Hidden Coven- The Complete Series, page 3
“You ran your wellspring dry last night.” Quinn helped me over a log blocking the path.
“My wellspring?” He’d mentioned this before but it still didn’t make sense.
“The source of your aether.”
“Could you speak mundane please?” I snapped. Exhaustion made me cranky.
“Every witch has magic deep within her. Call it a life force or even a soul.” He touched the beetle at his neck. I wondered if he knew how often his hands strayed to it. “That’s your aether. The wellspring is the vessel holding that power within you. Put simply, aether is pure magic. The wellspring is the cup that contains it.”
“And all witches have this aether?” I asked.
“Everyone does. But not everyone can access it, not even all witches.”
I remembered connecting to the amethyst, then the dreadful pulling sensation, as if my vital organs were being sucked from me.
“Is that what hurt when my spell went wrong? Did I somehow damage my wellspring?” I imagined a crystal goblet shattering, spilling my soul.
“You weren’t properly grounded for that spell.” Jane waited for us to catch up again. “Magic is greedy, and since you weren’t connected with the earth’s natural power, the spell pulled everything from you. Good thing your wellspring was so deep or you would have died before you severed the link.”
I frowned. “I don’t remember severing it.”
“Well, you did. More proof of how strong you are.” She seemed smug, as if my strength reflected more on her good judgment than my deeds.
I mulled it over as we broke through the last bit of brush before the village square. They kept saying I was a strong witch. I didn’t feel strong. I felt scared, weak and vulnerable.
The village was even busier now. We passed an open-air kitchen where a young witch fed vegetables into a giant pot hanging over a fire-pit. Standing by a wooden chopping block, two more women kneaded dough. They smiled and nodded respectfully to Jane but waved flirtatiously at Quinn as we walked by. The people here were every shape, color and age. I heard several different languages spoken as we made our way toward the village center.
I wondered about the organization of witches on a global scale. How had this place existed without anyone knowing? Were there other covens? Other supernatural beings? My mind shied away from that. I wasn’t ready for vampires or werewolves.
Olga still stood at her little cart by the spring. She handed me a cup of water with a wide smile, and I gulped it down.
“Have another cup,” Jane said. “You’ll feel better.”
It did help. The coolness spread down my throat and tingled in that place I imagined as my wellspring.
Olga handed me another bun, took in my haggard appearance and piled a second one in my hand with a wink.
“Thank you.” I took a bite and savored the cinnamon sweetness.
“Go easy on those,” Quinn said.
“Do they really help with fatigue, or is that my imagination?”
“They’ll give you a burst of energy all right, but in your state, you’ll crash hard when they wear off.”
I took another big bite. They were so good, I’d take my chances.
“Come with me,” Jane said. She headed down a path no wider than a deer trail that I hadn’t noticed on my first run through town. Quinn motioned for me to follow. Once in the trees, the path widened. A young man sat on a low wall blocking our way. When he saw us, he jumped off the wall and stood ram-rod straight.
“Morning, Karl,” Quinn said. “Everything quiet?”
Before answering Quinn, Karl bowed to Jane.
“Good morning, Mistress.” Jane returned the greeting with a nod, and he turned his attention to Quinn. “All’s quiet, sir, but I just came on duty. Ben said that last night was rough. Siranda is unsettled.”
An uneasy feeling settled in my gut. Why did they need a guard so close to town? Wasn’t that what the giant invisible ward surrounding the entire coven was for? Or did the guard protect something hidden in the woods? And who was Siranda?
A long wail erupted from the trees and Karl grimaced. “She’s about to start up again.”
The sound continued for several heartbeats, a cry halfway between the howl of a wolf and the lament of a mourner. Power sizzled through the ground under my feet, similar to the buzzing of the ward, but less aggressive. I recognized that signature. Magic.
The wailing continued in a terrifying harmony.
We entered a clearing with two stone hills, typical of old tomb cairns. The ground encircling them was well-trodden. Several paths led away to cottages tucked between the trees. Guards sat by the opening to each cairn. More witches lounged on lawn chairs outside the cottages, but no one spoke to us.
We circled the first cairn until a small opening showed a hollow inside. Quinn nodded that I should go in, but he was tense and frowning. Clearly, he didn’t want me here.
Jane pushed between us. “Come. Meet Siranda.”
I ducked under the low arched doorway. My eyes took a moment to adjust to the darkness.
A wraith-thin woman with milky eyes huddled on a pile of rags. Mouth agape, drool running into her greasy hair, she broke into a wail that scraped along my nerves. Collar bones stuck out of her thin shirt as her body arched into the scream. Then she fell back against the rags, pointing a skeletal finger upward.
Pictographs glowed red in the dim light, covering the ceiling and walls. Slowly, a new drawing appeared at the tip of Siranda’s outstretched finger—a stick figure hanging from gallows.
“She’s a seer,” Quinn whispered behind me. “We brought her from Romania when her coven kicked her out. Had this cairn brought with her stone by stone.”
“Why’d they kick her out?” I asked.
“She foresaw the obliteration of the coven and called for the sacrifice of the matriarch’s granddaughter.” He looked at Siranda with a mixture of pity and unease. “I’ll wait for you outside.” He turned and left.
Jane shrugged. “Siranda’s circumstances bother him. My son is a soft center covered in a hard shell.”
“Like a Tootsie Pop,” I said.
Jane smiled tightly. “And just as sweet.”
I wasn’t sure “sweet” was a word I’d use to describe Quinn. Serious, maybe. Reserved. Definitely sexy. But I supposed even baby scorpions were sweet to their mamas.
“Why don’t you clean her up and clothe her properly?” I asked. I could understand Quinn’s distaste. Siranda looked like a half-starved beggar.
Jane reached over and lightly touched Siranda’s arm. The seer shrieked and threw herself against the wall.
“That’s why.”
Siranda muttered and tugged her hair. I turned my attention to the drawings that covered the walls.
“They’re moving,” I said. The stick figures jerked in repetitive motions. Amazing. They were all variants on the same theme. People tied to stakes, burning in fire, beheaded by swords, hung on gallows. Each of the victims wore a pointed hat.
“These are all witches.”
“Yes,” Jane said. “Witches dying horrible deaths. The return of the Inquisition. In her more lucid moments, Siranda speaks of this future. A flux is coming, a time when magic will be a driving force in our world again and it won’t go well for us. Mundanes have a hard time believing in monsters. But witches? Witches are only a small step away from the devil and so from God. Much easier to believe in witches and blame us for all the evils in the world.”
“You don’t know it will be like that.” My voice was quiet in the small space.
“Don’t I? I know mundane courts of law will do nothing to protect us when magic starts to fly. So I will protect what is mine.”
Jane’s bland expression contradicted the fanatic conviction shining from her eyes. My argument bone tingled, and I wanted to stand up for the general goodness of humanity, but part of me knew she was right. Mob mentality often did rule. Now that I’d unlocked my magic, would the pitchfork wielding villagers come after me?
I moved across the room to study the undulating pictographs. They were mesmerizing. On the far side of the cave, a blackened scorch mark oozed across the ceiling, pushing the stick figures aside.
“What’s that?” I asked.
Jane hesitated. “That is our worst nightmare. A demon who would see us all dead or enslaved.” Her eyes blazed fierce fire. “Even now, he seeks to penetrate into the heart of the coven, to seize the power we control—if only he could find us.”
“Koro?”
Jane nodded, her face grim.
The black shadow slithered toward us, stopping here and there, like a dog sniffing for a trail before moving on with the hunt. I had the uncomfortable feeling that it knew we were watching it.
“But who exactly is Koro?” My mind conjured up horrors best left in the pages of pulp fiction.
“None of your concern,” Jane said abruptly, dividing the line between real witches and wannabes like me. But she was right, this wasn’t my problem. I could go back to my world and leave all this craziness behind. Or could I? Could I go home and forget all I’d seen here? Could I give up magic, now that my wellspring had been opened?
Our voices had roused Siranda. She turned milky eyes on me and raised a finger.
“You!” Her mouth opened impossibly wide and she shrieked.
“You! You! You!” The sound cut like knives. She stood on crooked legs and raised clawed hands. Her mouth twisted with hate.
“You kill me!”
Protection
Siranda tore at her face. Red lines of blood scored her cheeks. She yanked hair and ripped her shirt. Her wail began again, loud, dreadful and shocking.
Jane pushed me outside. Two attendants rushed from a nearby cottage to deal with the seer’s tantrum.
“What was that?” I gasped, glad for the bright light and fresh air.
You kill me. I shivered at the memory of her absolute hopelessness.
“She’s prone to fits.” Jane watched me curiously. “You shouldn’t take offense. Most of what she says is gibberish. It’s a difficult art to weed the truth from her ramblings.”
Quinn wasn’t as nonchalant as his mother. He frowned and glared at me.
Goody, I’d broken his seer. Just one more reason for him to dislike me.
Jane marched past Quinn, stopping to say a quiet word.
“Are we done here?” I wanted to go home.
“No. Jane wants me to show you the core,” Quinn said. “She wants you to truly understand our struggle before you make a decision to stay or go.”
“What’s the core?” I wrapped my arms tightly around my chest. I wasn’t sure if I was ready for another lesson in Magic 101.
“It’s best if I show you.”
Thankfully, the path cut downward here. I couldn’t manage an uphill climb, not even with Quinn at my back to steady me with a hand every time I stumbled.
Jane waited at the door of the second cairn.
“This is the core,” Quinn said. Another attendant sat beside the arched doorway. She offered water from a cooler and I drank gratefully.
My head buzzed in that now familiar signal. I stood near great magical power.
“I don’t want to go in there.” I had no idea what waited inside, but instinct told me it wasn’t good.
“I got you through the ward last night,” he said. “I’ll protect you from the worst of it.” He held out a hand with a grim smile. “Don’t let go.”
With shaking fingers, I took his hand. It was strong and warm. A wave of comfort flooded through me. The man was a drug.
Jane entered the cairn without ducking. I stooped, took a step inside and stopped.
Holding onto Quinn like a lifeline, I let my eyes grow accustomed to the low light. On the path, I had sensed power coming off this place. Inside, there was no mistaking its weight. My chest constricted. I fought to steady my breath.
A man and a woman sat cross-legged on the stone floor, eyes closed, hands pressed to the ground and lips moving in a constant rhythm.
“They’re vestals. Bond-mates to the core.” Jane’s dark eyes missed none of my reactions.
The vestals’ words were unintelligible to me and filled the cave with a slithering, discordant incantation. Their haggard faces were lit by the giant…thing suspended in the middle of the room.
The core.
Shaped vaguely like an anatomically correct heart, the core pulsed with magic. Purple veins of power throbbed within its orange glow. Two veins, each as thick as my arm, reached from the heart to the vestals’ heads, like dark umbilical cords, but the cords didn’t support life. They drank it. I could feel the greedy flow of magic. The whole structure, shimmering and translucent, might have been a mirage, but I didn’t want to touch it and find out.
I gripped Quinn’s hand harder, wishing I could pull it inside me, wishing I could wrap his protection around that fragile space I was beginning to recognize as my wellspring.
Instead, the core’s cunning magic crept inside me. I could taste it—sour and stinging like popping candy. Its scent burned my nostrils. The thumping beat drowned out all other sound.
Another vein separated from the core and reached for me. Its tentative probe wavered before my eyes. I knocked it aside, too horrified to scream.
My breathing stopped. I gagged. Choked. Fought for air.
Over the roar in my ears, I heard Quinn yell my name. I doubled over, sucking for breath. And my heart beat again. But it wasn’t my own tempo. My treacherous organ beat to the tune of the core’s pulsing song. I belonged to it.
And part of me welcomed the possession. The magic promised strength and euphoria.
With a tender prod, the purple vein kissed my cheek, seeking a connection.
“No!” I lurched out of the cave, breaking Quinn’s grip and the grasp of the insidious heart. Outside, I ran into the trees, stumbling in my haste to be away from the cloying magic. My foot caught on a root. I fell and retched into the bushes until bile stung my throat.
Blood recoiled in my veins. The sky spun around me. I was painfully aware of my heart beating in frantic palpitations, but at least it was my own again. After a moment, I breathed deeply and lay back in the cool grass.
Quinn sat beside me and gently raised my head and shoulders into his lap.
“Are you all right?” He looked odd upside down. His bug necklace dangled in front of my nose.
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
“You’re a sensate, like Abi. I’m sorry. I didn’t expect you to attract the core so easily. If I’d known, I would have created a proper shield around you.” He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped my lips. Lovely. I snatched the cloth and turned away.
I am a sexy, intelligent, woman. I closed my eyes and almost puked again. I am beautiful and strong. Bodily functions are a part of my beauty.
I rolled away from his grasp and pitched into the trees. If I had to throw up, I wanted a thick screen of foliage between us. I massaged my wounded pride and mopped sweat and saliva from my face.
That’s when I saw the grave markers scattered among the trees. I turned slowly. My eyes darted from stone to stone, some almost hidden in the undergrowth. Each had an engraved name, dates and symbol for the witch buried there.
Jane appeared beside me. She laid a hand on one of the gravestones.
“Sensate magic is a blessing and a curse.” Her tone was accusing. “It’s a powerful gift, but one that can cause you great harm if you leave it untrained. As you just saw.” She waved a hand over her shoulder at the cairn. “Most vestals study for months before they can commune as easily with the core as you did.”
“That was easy?”
“Easy for you. It takes months more to learn how to shield yourself enough to stay sane.”
“Fun. Why do they do it?”
“The core is an engine of sorts. The elders who started this coven, the Thirteen, conjured it over twenty years ago. It projects the ward and cloaking spell to keep this island hidden. Like all engines, it needs fuel. We’re standing on a ley-line.” She crouched and laid both hands flat on the ground in imitation of the vestals. “Can you feel it?” The question seemed simple, but her eyes were intense. Was she testing me?
I nodded.
“The core needs help to access the ley-line. The vestals act as conduits for the magic. They draw it from deep underground and feed the core. But as you felt, the core is hungry for magic. All magic. And unless you protect yourself, it can steal your aether too.”
I stared at her in shock and splayed my hands across my stomach as if that could protect me from those hungry purple veins.
“My husband lies here.” She stood and touched the stone again, a rough moon-shaped marker. I choked back a dozen questions. This place demanded a hushed reverence. “That would have been your fate, if you had given yourself to the core. We’ve lost too many witches to it.”
I could feel the echo of the core’s lure. It had been easy to succumb. These witches—this coven—kept poking holes in my perception of normal. Every time I was ready to believe in them, believe in their goals, they jabbed me with another injustice.
“What a waste.” I couldn’t keep the disgust from my tone.
Jane’s placid expression darkened. “You couldn’t understand. You think because you bungled into some raw power, you know what it’s like to live with magic. Your ignorance is only outmatched by your arrogance.”
Her words shot me and hit bone. I couldn’t deny that I was ignorant, but Jane had the monopoly on arrogance.
“What my mother is trying to explain,” Quinn said from behind me, “is that those witches sacrificed themselves. It’s a sacred duty. A voluntary duty. The vestals live and die knowing they protect the rest of the coven.”
