The Witch and The Raven

Chapter Two — Blood In The River

By the time the sun began sinking behind the trees, Vidalia had already finished most of the work waiting for her at the cottage.

The garden had been watered, the herbs she had gathered that morning were bundled beneath the porch, and the dishes from dinner were stacked neatly beside the sink. She still needed a few things from the forest before night settled in, so she tied her thick auburn hair into two long braids and pulled them over her shoulders.

She was still wearing the long blue dress she had spent most of the day in, though it was hardly as pristine as it had been that morning. A faded apron was tied around her waist, already streaked with dirt from the garden, and the heavy leather boots on her feet had belonged to her grandmother long before they had belonged to her.

They were much too large when Vidalia had first inherited them.

Now they fit perfectly.

She pushed her round glasses higher onto her nose before stepping beneath the trees.

The lenses were old magic, another thing that had belonged to her grandmother. They sharpened the world around her after sunset, allowing her to see through the dimness between the trees as clearly as she could during the day. Without them, the forest would have already begun to blur into shadows.

With them, she could see everything.

The pale veins of leaves.

The mushrooms hiding beneath fallen branches.

The faint shimmer of insects moving through the undergrowth.

And the plants that seemed to recognize her as she passed.

A low branch lifted itself out of her path.

Vines curled gently away from her boots.

When she reached for a cluster of wild mint, the stems bent toward her hand before she even touched them.

Vidalia smiled.

"Thank you."

The plants settled again.

Her magic had never felt like something she commanded.

It was closer to a conversation.

The forest offered, and she listened.

She moved deeper into the woods, gathering what she needed as the evening light thinned between the branches. Her basket slowly filled with herbs, mushrooms, roots, and berries, and every so often she stopped to check a plant before deciding whether it was ready to be harvested.

She was crouched beside a patch of wild thyme when she heard something moving beneath the brush.

Vidalia froze.

The sound came again.

A faint scrape.

Then a weak, uneven whine.

She pushed aside the leaves and found a small fox curled beneath them.

Blood darkened its fur.

"Oh, sweetheart."

The animal tried to pull itself backward, but its injured leg barely moved.

Vidalia immediately lowered herself onto the damp earth.

"Easy. I'm not going to hurt you."

The fox watched her with wide, frightened eyes.

Its hind leg had been torn badly, likely caught in a trap or mauled by something larger. The wound was still bleeding, though not as heavily as it must have been earlier.

Vidalia slowly extended her hand.

The plants around her responded.

Grass pushed gently through the soil.

Thin roots shifted beneath the earth.

A handful of vines slipped between the leaves and curled toward her fingers.

The fox watched them nervously.

Vidalia rested one palm against the ground.

"Easy."

She reached into the life around her, careful not to take more than the forest could spare.

Warmth gathered beneath her hand.

The moss beneath the fox thickened, cushioning its body while broad leaves folded carefully around the injured leg. Vidalia crushed several herbs between her fingers and pressed them against the wound, allowing their natural properties to mingle with her magic.

The bleeding slowed.

The fox's breathing gradually steadied.

Vidalia closed her eyes and felt the pulse of life beneath the forest floor. Roots, trees, flowers, insects, moss—everything was connected in ways humans could never see.

She borrowed only a little.

Enough to give the creature a fighting chance.

When she opened her eyes, the wound had begun to close.

It wasn't healed.

Not completely.

But it would survive.

"There," Vidalia murmured, brushing a hand over the fox's head. "That's all I can give you tonight."

The fox blinked at her.

Vidalia smiled before carefully standing.

She had learned a long time ago that healing was not the same as undoing. Sometimes all she could do was give something living enough strength to make it through the night.

She adjusted the basket on her arm and continued toward the river.

She had nearly reached the edge of the trees when she noticed something was wrong.

The forest had become too quiet.

Vidalia stopped.

Her glasses caught the last traces of evening light as she looked between the trunks.

There should have been birds.

There should have been insects humming beneath the leaves.

There should have been the constant rustling of small creatures moving through the undergrowth.

Instead, there was only the river.

And even that sounded different.

Vidalia slowly lowered her basket.

Then she heard it.

Water.

Running faster than it should.

She stepped toward the river.

At first, she saw nothing unusual.

The surface reflected the darkening sky, silver and blue beneath the trees. The current moved steadily downstream, just as it always had.

Then something red drifted past her.

Vidalia's breath caught.

She moved closer to the bank.

Another red ribbon twisted through the current.

Blood.

Her stomach tightened.

She followed the river downstream, moving faster now.

The blood continued appearing between the reeds.

More of it.

Enough that the river no longer looked entirely silver beneath the fading light.

Vidalia pushed through the last line of trees.

Her boots sank into the wet earth at the riverbank.

Something had caught against the rocks farther downstream.

A body.

For several seconds, she simply stared.

Another soldier.

Another casualty carried to the end of the Witchroad.

Vidalia had seen this before.

Too many times.

She lowered her eyes and exhaled slowly.

"Not again."

She stepped carefully along the bank.

But something about this one was different.

The man wasn't dressed like the soldiers she normally found.

His armor was heavier, dark metal layered beneath a torn black cloak. Gold detailing ran across his chest and shoulders, though much of it was hidden beneath blood and river water. A finely made insignia rested against his breastplate.

Even half-drowned and battered nearly beyond recognition, he carried himself like someone who had never been ordinary.

Vidalia frowned.

She had seen soldiers.

She knew what officers looked like.

This man was something else.

A general, perhaps.

She crouched beside the riverbank, studying him from a cautious distance.

His sword was still strapped against him.

A dagger rested at his side.

There were other weapons she couldn't immediately identify.

Vidalia reached toward the river to pull him farther from the current.

Then she stopped.

Something had changed.

A strange pressure gathered beneath her ribs.

She straightened slowly.

The feeling disappeared.

Vidalia frowned and looked toward the river.

Nothing.

She reached for the man's arm.

The pressure returned.

Stronger.

Her hand froze inches above him.

"What..."

She pulled her hand back.

The sensation faded.

Vidalia stared at the unconscious man.

Then she reached toward him again.

The pressure returned immediately.

A tug.

Not physical.

Magical.

It pulled somewhere deep inside her, like an invisible thread had been tied around her heart and drawn tight.

Vidalia's eyes widened.

She looked around the forest as though expecting an explanation to appear.

Nothing moved.

The river continued flowing.

The trees stood perfectly still.

Her magic was pulling her toward him.

No.

That couldn't be right.

Vidalia had felt magic all her life. She knew the difference between the ordinary currents of living things and something deliberate.

This was deliberate.

She slowly lowered herself beside him.

Her hand trembled slightly as she pressed two fingers against his neck.

Nothing.

Vidalia's heart sank.

She tried again.

There.

A pulse.

So faint she almost mistook it for the movement of the river beneath them.

Her eyes widened.

She pressed harder.

Another beat.

Weak.

But unmistakable.

"Oh."

Vidalia stared at him.

He was alive.

Her breath caught, and she sat back on her heels.

She had not found a living human soldier in years.

Not one this close to death.

Not one wearing the insignia of a man important enough to have an entire army answer to him.

And yet her magic had found him.

Or perhaps he had found her.

The thought sent a chill through her.

Vidalia looked toward the river, then back at the stranger.

The tug inside her chest grew stronger.

Her grandmother's voice suddenly came back to her, buried beneath years of memory.

If the magic calls you, listen.

Vidalia swallowed.

She had always assumed her grandmother meant the forest.

The plants.

The river.

The old magic woven through the sanctuary.

She had never imagined she might one day hear it calling her toward a dying soldier from the very kingdom she had spent her entire life learning to fear.

She looked down at the man again.

"Who are you?"

He didn't answer.

His breathing was becoming shallower.

Vidalia's gaze moved over the armor, the insignia, the blood, and finally his face.

Whatever he was, whatever he had done, whatever orders had brought him this far downstream, her magic had already made its choice.

The Healer's Covenant had awakened.

Vidalia felt it settle around her like an invisible hand.

She closed her eyes.

Then sighed.

"You're going to be trouble, aren't you?"

The river answered with another low rush against the stones.

Vidalia stood and began figuring out how she was going to get a fully grown, heavily armored man back to her cottage before he died.

It was going to be a long night.