Chapter Six: The Stirring of Souls

He stood before the wall of falling water that was Henneth Annûn and sighed at the utter beauty of it. Faramir had always loved this place, even when the darkness of Mordor had pressed in upon it. His father had shown it to him as a boy, and as a result, it still held much of the magical mystery that children's imaginations conjure in their early years. In those days, he had imagined fighting off evil sorcerers and dragons from the coveted holds, as he and Boromir would clamber in its tunnels endlessly for hours, encouraging the soldiers at his father's call to participate in their play. In later years, when he had grown and become a soldier himself, he had used it as a stealthy place to plan strategies and replenish the energies and spirits of his men. And as he grew to far more serious of roles, he came to appreciate the outward beauty of this hold for the aesthetic of it in hiding its trove. For him, in the end, it held rank as one of the fairest abodes in all middle-earth, and he was thusly proud that Gondor had prevailed and he had been able to share it with Eowyn. He had brought her here shortly after they married, and she readily fell in love with the same fervor and awe as he.

Faramir looked to the sky. He considered climbing up the passageway to the higher of the two entries in order to appreciate the waxing moon better, but he decided this place would suffice for the ethereal solitude it offered and the enchantment of its scenery. He was very content with the sight before his eyes and in his mind he compared it with the sights of Doro Lanthiron. Of course, it could never meet those standards, but it was still majestic to his mind.

As he recalled their arrival into the elven realm, he realized that all in the party who had not made recent visit gushed their amazement at seeing the beauty of that place. There was an aura that let them know that they were among the elves. A luster came over everything in that valley, and yet the source for the light was hidden, as if concocted from a heavenly means. The architecture of the elves' homes alone was enough to inspire awe as they were nearly invisible to the eye at ground level. Stairs had lead into the higher perches melding into clusters of trees, meandering through paths going from branch to branch, as if determined by nature's own judgement. Platforms emerged at higher points, melting into the structures of the trees, and talans were borne into the branches, seemingly floating on air, intertwined with the limbs of the trees and tucked into the walls of the valley itself. The rails of the spaces were braided vines of wisteria and grape and graceful tumbles of flowering clusters perfumed the air. Screens of woven lattice closed out the elements to each of the skyward rooms, but the serenity and peace of the outdoors was still felt, even when all sides were enclosed. This is where they had slept, each separately in their own flet within the peace of the treetops. It was a memory Faramir would long hold onto, for he had never before beheld anything as lovely as what the elves brought to his boyhood lands.

And yet despite the mystical qualities and overwhelming beauty of the elves' home, his preference was for this place and he noted with pride that those same hushed gasps had occurred when they had arrived here as well. It did not hold the aura of Doro Lanthiron, and in ways, it was a pale comparison being a somewhat manmade structure, but for Faramir, it was a comfortable space, almost like man's attempt to imitate what the elves had done, and it brought him peace to think his people could carve out something of nature too. And besides, with the work of the elves, this place now also seemed enhanced.

He walked forward a few steps down toward the water's edge where there sat a large rock. It was actually a boulder near the rapid eddy of water that emptied into the pool, but it was large enough and dry enough that he had used it on many an occasion as a place for deep contemplation. He took a few long strides over smaller stones to reach it, then climbed up to its peak and sat down on his perch.

He looked at the waterfall before him as his mind wandered. He thought about the companions he had left behind only moments ago in the cave somewhere within that cascade of water. Their place was secure, for he saw from his seat no hints of their position within. Assured, he smiled to himself. A better gathering of friends he could not ask for, and already he was enjoying his time amongst them immensely. Their spirits made him laugh, and he found he easily dropped any pretense when he was about them. His comfort in their company was so great, in fact, that often he had to remind himself that they were answerable to each other in their deeds and their duties. He smiled when he thought how different their personalities were when they talked of their business and their peoples.

He thought about Aragorn, and the friendship he had built there. It had been easy to take a part in the new kingdom under this man. He was an obvious leader, even if he objected at times to being thrust into the role. And although it was Aragorn's birthright, he had taken it almost apologetically, as if he had usurped Faramir's place as the leader of Gondor. Yet Faramir had never felt forced out. He had never expected to be anything higher in rank than the Steward of Gondor, so he did not feel slighted at losing his reign. If anything his merit had increased under Aragorn and his only regret was that his father and brother had had to die for his promotion in rank. But he did not blame Aragorn for that, only the evil taint of Mordor's gloom that shadowed their home that long while. Even still, Faramir did everything he could to prove himself worthy for the King's trust. And if that meant traveling to foreign lands, or directing relief from quells in warring city-states, or inspecting and recommending remedies after natural disaster, then by all means, he would be there. He would do nearly anything to maintain the trust the King had placed upon him. His father and brother would expect no less of him. And the friendship Aragorn had given him was a worthy reward. And as such, he fulfilled his duties as well as the King expected, if not even better. And yet, for all his love of the man, there was a small rivalry between the two of them. Truly was it insignificant, for never would Faramir allow it to hinder his role to his friend, the King. Still, like a younger sibling, sometimes the Prince had the urge to outshine his friend. That had been especially true when the two had talked of the magnificent buck they had seen on the ride up. Both were vying for its antlered crown as their prize, and Faramir longed for this trophy to hang from his walls.

But that was not why Faramir had taken his place on this rock. He was there because he was concerned, and for good reason. Something was not right with Eowyn. He knew this, though her appearance seemed normal. But he had been watching her since their breakfast yesterday morning. Her behavior at that meal had struck him as unusual. That she had been so forthright with the King was not unique. There had been many a dinner in the halls of his own home that had gone like the conversation at breakfast. So many, in fact, that there had been several nights when he had sat quietly listening as Aragorn and Eowyn debated state issues, unaware that Faramir had scarce said a word. But the Prince did not mind. Eowyn was sharp and her keen mind easily grasped nuances of politics, some that even he did not perceive. He knew that at yesterday's breakfast, she had been showing off her knowledge. That was plain to see, and amusing to him as well. But what troubled Faramir was her sudden panic at the thought of his departure. That bit of news had astounded her, and her fears in turn astonished him. It was not like her to argue against a part of his job post. She would never knowingly stand in the way of his progress. Yet she had begged that he not be sent away. Why? He understood her well, and he knew something was amiss. And so, he had been watching her carefully since.

It would have been easy had he been able to confront her directly with his queries. But Eowyn would not have taken that well and would have probably brushed him aside in a scolding tone. It riled her to have her motivations questioned, and she often took it with offense. And Eowyn, when her temper was riled, was as calming as a kettledrum. She invariably took a reactionary stance if charges were laid before her and the duel of words that could follow was not always pleasant. In the aftermath of her ire, she always showed regret, but her temper at first was nearly always blind to the damage it caused. For his part, Faramir made a concerted effort to avoid direct confrontations with his wife. Not because he feared her wrath (he was about the only one who could well hold his ground against her), but because he understood her. He knew why she reacted the way she did. She was a perfectionist. She strove each day to better herself over what she had been on the prior. He had found long ago that it was really very unnecessary to point out a flaw or a concern of her own make. She was her own worst critic, and silently berated herself for any mistakes she made long before anyone could dare comment on them. Needless to say, Eowyn rarely made the same mistake twice. He already knew she had most likely endured a mental flogging for the embarrassment she had caused them before the King. He knew he need not broach it. But that did nothing to ease his concerns or make her more readily available to question.

She had been reticent on their journey, and perhaps even before that, he now recalled. He had caught her at unawares several times since, a troubled expression gracing her brow, and he knew Arwen had seen it too. The elven Queen, in her observation, had glanced to Faramir to acknowledge that he was aware. No words had they spoken, but he knew that if he could not reveal the wrongs soon, he and Arwen would be conversing for the sake of his wife.

Eowyn's behavior, in some ways, reminded him of how she acted when she was angry with him. But what he could have done to anger her was beyond his comprehension. Still her actions were fitting. After twelve years of marriage, he had come to see that Eowyn really had two ways of getting to her points when vexed. One was as he had previously noted: with the driven force of confronting anger. And the other was with a far more dangerous weapon: subtlety. When her anger took this route, he could almost always count on her to be indirect, smoldering, uncertain and dreadful for that, for it could take months to wheedle from her the wrongs of her perceptions. Often she would hint or strike quiet moods, but rarely did she outright express her thoughts.

If she was flawed, it was in this way, and he mused that though a perfectionist in trait, she had never been able to remedy this in herself. He wondered if she even recognized her quick temper and brooding moodiness as a mar in her personality. Most likely not, he decided. It was infuriating really. He did not understand, but somehow this was her way of dealing with her feelings. It seemed silly to him, really, for after months of repressed fury, she would cry out all her misgivings, and in return he would grope with trying to understand her scorn, and then they would reveal to each other their true intentions in the faulted actions. And then, after both had said their part, they would forgive. He knew it was a strange way to argue, to share their emotions, to bare their scorns, but this is what worked for them. For her. It might have been better, he thought, if there was a way to temper Eowyn's approach, to make it more direct, for in his mind all she need do was tell him, with kindly words, what moved her at the start. He would have complied. It was easy to give in when it was something minor, which it usually was. But this was the pattern of their marriage.

There were days when he wished that they could quietly pass their concerns back and forth, without the heat of argument, more as it seemed done between Aragorn and Arwen. A tamer relationship at times would be refreshing, Faramir thought. But then again, he perceived trouble there as well, and he knew one should not judge from the surface what one does not fully see. The relationship between Aragorn and Arwen was not what he had married.

He had known what she was like, fiery and passionate, when he had asked her to be his wife. Standing at the wall at the warden's house those many years ago, he had seen Eowyn's spirit, and he knew exactly what life with her would be like. Challenging and perfecting, and never, ever dull.

But then, had they a different course for her anger, a different means of expressing her disapproval, they would have to forsake the forgiving afterward that was part of their ritual. And for Faramir, that in itself was a sweetness that made all that they endured worthwhile! He thought back on their last serious row, almost two months past. It had been an issue that he could barely remember. But the unbridled passion that came with her wrath on that night had been indefatigable. He smiled. Their rare lovemaking session afterwards had gone on all night. To Faramir's sly mind, the feasting she had taken of his body was evidence of more than just anger repressed, for it had been long since their expressions of love had been done with such sensual abandon. She had desired his touch as much as he desired hers. In the morning, she had apologized, as if she were ashamed of her actions. He laughed. How could she feel bad over something that felt so intimately right? But he said nothing of this and only kissed her as he had not kissed her in many long years. She melted into it, as she had the night before, and for a few weeks after, all had been blissfully well between them.

Yet still, if her current mood was caused from anger, he could not understand why she had spoken out. She never before had objected to his leaving on matter of duty. He could not establish a reason for her scorn.

He gave up. He did not understand her motivations. He would have to wait and see how it resolved itself. Doubtless Eowyn would eventually tell him.

He rose from the rock. It was time to return to their party. Turning, he gasped at the unexpected sight of Eowyn as she emerged seemingly from nowhere, appearing through the doorway he himself had come through only minutes before. Hearing his stifled cry, she smiled gently at him, knowing automatically that he would be there on the rock. "Forgive me," she smiled, and he caught his breath at how lovely she appeared under the starlight canopy. "I did not mean to startle. I only sought to reflect on the beauty of this place. I thought I might share the moonlight with you."

"There is plenty to behold," he said gesturing to the pale white orb climbing above them over the falls. "What tales can you bring me of our friends in my absence?" he asked, reaching out a hand to help her as she came to sit with him on the stone.

She laughed aloud, "They still talk of weapons. Gimli" she began with a laugh. "I swear, Faramir, as a shield-maiden in my younger days, I was familiarized with nearly every make of weapon and its use, and I fair say I know well how to wield most. But in all my learning I have yet to come across a weapon such as that that Gimli carries today."

Faramir laughed. "I believe it is called a halberd," he said.

She looked quizzically at him for this answer as she asked, "And what will he do with it?"

Faramir laughed openly in answer, "I have not the slightest idea."

Eowyn smiled softly, chuckling in memory of the dwarf's defense of the weapon, but it was brief and she looked away as if distracted. Faramir allowed the moment to progress on its own, and he watched as her mood quickly grew somber. Looking at the water as it poured down from the mossy cliffs, she sighed, "I am glad we have this moment to speak. I have to apologize to you."

Faramir was startled. It was rare indeed for Eowyn to apologize, and he wondered if she were about to venture into the topic that had been only now playing on his mind. He considered what he might say in answer to this, and he decided that nothing might be best. Yet to acknowledge that he was attentive to her words, he took her hand.

She went on and she looked terribly troubled at the words that began to tumble from her lips. "Yesterday morning I overstepped my bounds. I should not have spoken in your place. It was not asked of me, and it it was wrong. I know not why I said it, accept that" She stopped and collected herself. "I apologize to you, my husband," she said, looking him in the eyes. Hers were pools of liquid and within their depth he knew the greatness of her sorrow. So unusual for her. "I know not what else to say."

"Eowyn," he whispered, utterly moved by her sadness. This was not typical, and again in his heart, he knew something was seriously wrong. He took her other hand in his as he said softly, "My love, it is plain to me that something aches in your heart. Please tell me what troubles you?"

She looked down, hiding her face from him, but he caught a glimpse of a grimace slide over her mouth before her expression was hidden in shadow. The sound of a small sob revealed to him her tears. He pulled her close to him, and tucked her head into the crook of his neck as he gently stroked her hair. Stirring in his arms, he loosened his hold and allowed her to bring her face up to meet his. And then she softly spoke. "I am with child."

"Oh, Eowyn" he said, unsure of what else he could say. From her reaction he could tell she was not pleased, but he was uncertain if this was wholly a bad event, and waited for more of a clue from her to know what he ought to say.

A long moment passed without words, and as if judging him by this, her temper flared. "No," she spoke sharply, pushing him away. Her back stiffened in her anger. "You do not see it!" Shaking her head at his failure, she stood in retreat, stepping back across to the shore. She turned and said, "I cannot bare this child! Do you not understand what we have done? I will die!"

"Eowyn," he began again, knowing more rightly what was expected from him, "what happened with Theomund that may well never repeat. The healers told us you could bare children again. They said your body was not seriously damaged. There is no reason to believe"

"There is no reason for you to believe. It did not happen to you! How can you wait to see if I feel joy over this horror? I nearly died that day, and the weeks that followed were a nightmare. Surely you have not forgotten?"

He stepped up to her, and resisting her steely stare, he put his arms about her and pulled her into him. She did not fight him. The sorrowful look in her eyes drew a lump in his chest, and he found his throat constricting as he whispered in her ear, "I have forgotten none of it. How could I? I nearly lost you." He pulled her head into his chest as he continued. "But Eowyn, what choice is there? You are with child" He heard her sobbing into his breast and he stopped. He knew this was pointless. Pausing a moment, he thought on what might be said to make her feel more empowered. At last he said with a sterner voice and firm optimism, "We will seek out the best of healers. It is within my powers to do so. We will make sure you are carefully tended. You will remain well. We will see to it that the nightmare is not repeated."

She said nothing for a long while and then she spoke. It was barely a whisper. "There is another way," he heard her say. Looking down on her, she lifted her head. Her lashes were clustered into wet points and her cheeks were stained with tears. Her mouth was creased into the thin line of a frown as she repeated her words, "There is another way, though I fear you will loathe me for even uttering the possibility."

"What way? You are with child. There is no undoing such a thing," he said in puzzlement.

"But there is, my love," she replied forlornly. She looked down in shame as she said, "There is always a way to undo these things, if a woman is willing to let it be done to her. There are places one might go, healers who will administer it. I could have the child removed from my womb."

Astonished at what he was hearing from her, he replied in horror, "Eowyn, no! You cannot!" He knew of such places, such healers. He could not think of it. He could not see Eowyn ever deeming to have her body violated in that way.

Her face screwed up into an anguished expression. Her answer was a whispered cry. "Faramir, I will die if I carry it. I feel certain of this." Then she paused and she looked at him, but no more tears came from her, and she seemed more resigned to her fears for confessing them. She sighed, "You would hate me if I end it, I can see."

"No! No, I could never hate you! But but, how? How can you even think this way" tears glistened in his eyes as his breaking voice trailed off.

She touched his face in a comforting gesture as she explained, "Nor would I have ever have considered it before. I love you, Faramir. I love our children. I would never wish to see harm on any of you. But I feel this shadow will cast a pall upon our family." She turned his face to hers as she cried out, "I am afraid! I am not ready to die! I have so much I wish to see and dobut this baby threatens all of our futures, and I am torn by it. I would want this child, Faramir. I do not want to destroy it and I agonize over losing a life before it is even born. But I would do it to protect our family. I should not see us harmed by it."

He grabbed her shoulders into a fierce embrace as his words spilled out. "But this way Eowyn, I would fear for you! What you suggest it could kill you! Is there no other way that you will consider? Please, my darling, I would rather we take our chances with the healers than this route that you offer!"

"I do not know yet my answer. A part of me agrees. And a part of me quakes in fear. This baby is a terrible grievance on my soul. But at least do me this: concede to me that it I am the one who bares the brunt of this decision. I beg you, Faramir, do not scorn me," she said with pleading eyes. "To make the choice, it is not an easy thing, but please allow me to do it. I will not choose without consulting you in my decision." She stopped as she gazed at his reaction before she spoke with calm resolve. She bowed her head to him as she said, "But if it will cost me your love, I will do as you wish. We will face the consequences laid before us, no matter what they be."

He looked at her long. He knew this could not be easy for her. He saw all too well how she loved her children. And his feelings for her were the same, despite his shock at her proposal. "I love you, Eowyn. I only wish to see your happiness." He could see her pain. He stopped and he thought carefully before he said, "I I will trust you to choose."

Embracing him firmly in affirmation of his trust, she said, "I will ponder long on this, my love. I will not decide anything until I have considered all the possibilities, I promise."

Resting his chin on the crown of her head, he let his lips brush a kiss along her hair as a salted tear alit to it. He rested his cheek there as if to comfort, effectively concealing the trail of the droplet's path.

****

Kattica stretched her aching back as she stood. The extra weight that she carried seemed to plague her most as the day came to an end and the toils of her labors set into her bones. She rubbed her swollen belly absently as she resumed her wide-legged stance and began to move about the camp, collecting the empty tins, utensils and enamelware to begin the clean up that followed their meal. They were a large group, over twenty among them of mature age, and another eight young ones in the gathering. There were many plates to collect and clean. The other women followed her lead.

A small flutter stirred in her womb and she stopped for a moment to appreciate the feeling. Sighing with joy, a smile pressed her lips as she moved her hand to the place where the motion was felt. A larger hand joined hers, and she looked up to the sweet expression of Mattias, her husband. Her voice was assured and happy as she said to him, "Our daughter has hiccups."

He patiently waited, a look of mixed awe and anticipation gracing his face. He laughed as he felt a repeat of the fluttered movement from within her belly and he kept his hand in place there for a long moment before he pulled it away. "It will not be much longer now, will it?" he asked.

She laughed, "A little more still. But surely before the weather grows cooler."

Then lifting her hand briefly, he squeezed it gently as if exchanging his appreciation to her before he departed to make company with the men. She could see in his eyes that he was very happy. And so was she, for at last their greatest desire was before them. A baby. They had tried so many times before, always with heartbreaking anguish. But this time, they were blessed, and Kattica's womb had accepted the egg that implanted itself there. It was a joyous day when they had felt the first stirrings of life within her, and Kattica relished each repeat of that discovery as if it were the first.

Such happiness! Kattica had never thought this much bliss could be found. Certainly her life had not been meant for the extravagance of joy. And yet here she was the orphaned child of a remote and impoverished clan, scarred and crippled in early life, raised by a grandmother who died before she had come of age and she was happy. And she knew she owed it all to finding her one true love. Had Mattias not revealed himself to her at the clan gathering five years past, she may still be crisscrossing the plains in a broken down vardo and a sickly horse with the other pitiable cousins that made up her family. It had not been a happy life there hunger and thievery, constant moving, long days of grueling indentured work to pay off their debts. But worst of it were the nights and the dread of a wayward uncle who might climb into her pallet and force his wicked body on hers. Happily, Kattica had given that all up when she had given herself to Mattias.

Of course, there was a price for such tradeoffs. Bregus had not been kind in her assessment of her new daughter-in-law and the puri dai had openly accused Kattica of bewitching her son. With shock, Kattica swore it untrue. She was believed, but it had not been a good start at her immersion into the clan. Yet despite her innocence, Bregus held the girl in abeyance and scorn. It would not be an easy relationship. Kattica had been raised by the shuv'ni for her own tribe, so it was expected that she would continue her apprenticeship under Bregus. But the black witch gave Kattica little in the way of instruction, and it was innate talent and prior learning that gave the young woman any skills she acquired. For her part, Kattica did not really mind that Bregus ignored her. Kattica had been taught by her grandmother that black magic was evil and corrupting. She was happy she was not forced to perform it for the sake of the tribe.

Bregus had been equally as cruel when it came to Kattica's appearance, though to some, the girl might actually be pretty. With dirty blond hair, and piercing brown eyes, she was fetching to behold at the campfire, and that is where Mattias first set eyes upon her. But her smile was flawed. The scar that disfigured her face became visible when a glimmer of a smile was there, snaking its way across her mouth. It was a wicked slash that ran from her nostril to the base of her chin, and it left her with a grin that looked lopsided and strange. Because of it, Kattica rarely smiled. Except for now. Now more than ever.

But there was a flaw far greater that Bregus used to torment the girl: her gait. Kattica was crippled. It was a small deformity really, one leg slightly longer than the other. It had been the result of the same incident that had given Kattica the scar. Simultaneously, it had cost her the life of her parents, and the very near use of both her legs. More painfully, however, it had been the cause of the young apprentice's numerous miscarriages. Bregus quietly enjoyed seeing Kattica's pain at the mention of this flaw, and she berated the girl for being the instrument for her own bad fortune.

Kattica shook her head, chasing away the bad thoughts. They served her no good. No one else seemed to notice the ill-feelings of the elder shuv'ni, and the girl did not want to disturb her good mood with thoughts on something so bad.

Stacking the dirty plates in the wash basin, she ambled to the fire to check on the water slowly simmering there. No steam rose yet, and she felt impatience at the wait. Uttering a small spell under her breath, the fire grew larger, licking the sides of the pot. She sat down on a log as she waited for the water to heat. There was plenty of it to be had in this place. And because she need not fear lack of it, she considered, perhaps, she might warm some for herself and use it to bathe. She had not had that luxury in their travels prior to arriving in this place. Not for a very long time, but she had been taking advantage of the abundance since their arrival.

This place is lovely, she thought as she smelled the scent of pine needles laying like a carpet over the forest floor. Kattica could have easily seen herself and Mattias and their unborn child settling into this region for a long stay. It was the nature of her people to be wanderers, but that did not mean they could not linger when they found a place that suited their needs. They lived off what the earth made bountiful to them, and this place was certainly plentiful in her wealth. But Kattica knew Bregus was in search of something unknown to them all. She had set out with Gordash and Curtik a week ago, separating from the clan in search of a thing that Kattica could not guess at. In her absence, as instructed, their caravan had settled here, and the young woman could not remember more peaceful days within the clan.

She heard the sound of dogs barking and stiffened. It is them. They are back. An uneasy feeling washed over her. Bregus is back.

Kattica felt a dread weight pull down on her shoulders. All the happiness she had been feeling was suddenly gone. They would not find contentment in this place because Bregus would not allow it. Whatever it was that she was searching for overrode everything else that the family could desire. They would again be off in pursuit of some nameless thing that she shared only with the men. No doubt they were sure to be headed to a place less hospitable, where the land was not so forthcoming. There was no consideration for where best they might settle, only a mysterious obsession that haunted the old woman and led them on this chase.

Her people came with a reputation. They were not often welcomed in new lands. There were many tribes that got by stealing or cheating from the locals, doing what they could to eke out a means for survival. Her former tribe had been like that. The girl did not like being reviled. And she knew if they continued on the haphazard path Bregus was leading them on, that was sure to come for this clan as well.

It seemed strange to Kattica that no one ever questioned the word of the puri dai or dared try to fight her. While Bregus was the tribe matriarch, the men still held claim as the leaders. And Mattias most of all, as he was the eldest of the brothers. Their word was the last to be said on any issue regarding the well-being for their people, and yet Bregus seemed to rule their every move. Kattica was uncertain how she did it, but she felt sorcery of some dark sort was at play. Any magic that manipulated souls was black, and Bregus was a master of her dark power. But why she would need to cast magic over her own family, Kattica was unsure. One thing was certain, Bregus' words had little sway over her. Perhaps it was her own white magic that protected her, or the simple amulet that she carried in her pouch. Or perhaps it was because Bregus found little of challenge in the girl. This last was probably most true. While Kattica saw through the mask of the puri dai, she would never speak out or act against her. Spell or no spell, it was not proper to question the elder, and unless she wanted to be cast out for insolence, Kattica knew what her place was. And in her own mind and judgement, Bregus' deeds, while manipulative and dark, appeared done with no intent to do harm to others, at least as far as she could see. Kattica knew she could tolerate that. So long as she and her family were safe, so long as others were not harmed, she could live with the black magic. For really, she had little choice.

Involuntarily she flinched at the sound of the dogs. They barked and yelped in greeting as they entered the camp. The wagon pulled up near the bender tent she shared with Mattias. They would be hungry, she knew, and she stirred herself away from the steaming pot to gather plates and dish out the remains of the evening meal. She watched from the corner of her eye as Mattias approached the vardo.

In his delight, he pulled his two brothers down and into his arms, showing off his strength as he hauled them both off the ground in the embrace. "Tell me you were successful! Tell me our worries are over!" he said with a fierce grin on his lips. They smiled at his good-natured welcome, but his exuberance was not returned. Without words he read their failure. "I am sorry," he muttered, placing a hand on each shoulder in condolence. Then he changed the subject. "How is she?"

"See for yourself," Curtik nodded toward the back of the wagon as a foot stepped over the intricately carved and painted threshold and onto the platform. Mattias stepped quickly to aid his mother, then drew back as if he realized he need not.

"Welcome, Mother! I am pleased to see your return," he said as he gazed at her more upright posture. Kattica looked past him as she saw his questioning eyes. There was a difference in Bregus' appearance, though what exactly it was she could not lay claim to know. The old woman seemed less stooped, and her movements seemed lighter, quicker. But there was something more and the girl wondered what had caused the transformation. "You look well, Mother. I trust your journey met with some success at least?"

Bregus reached out to touch him. A gentle hand rested on his shoulder, balancing her last steps before she landed safely on solid earth. Kattica scowled as she saw this. The manipulative skills of the old woman did not allude her. She used sympathy from her sons and the rest of the extended family to gain her wants. Her expression was sad, and the effect to Mattias was immediate in his eagerness to bring her a smile. Kattica heard the shuv'ni speak, and the words came out coarse and menacing to the girl's ears. But she knew Bregus must have renewed her spell over the tribe, for the young woman also heard the voice sound pitiable in sweet sadness, "No, my son, it did not, and my fears for us grow greater by the day. If my tasks are not completed in the next few days, our family will suffer for it. In their wisdom, Gordash and Curtik have returned us to enlist the help of all the family. I hope it will suffice."

Mattias answered sympathetically, "Of course we will do everything in our power to bring you what you need. How may we serve you?" More of the men in the camp came to gather around and the blur of words that came next alluded her comprehension. Talk amongst them ensued and their voices became whispered and stern.

Kattica busied herself, silently bringing the three travelers their food and drink, keeping her eyes cast down as if oblivious to what they said. The discussions grew louder, with talk about salvation. She did not understand their mumblings, only that they seemed unfocused as yet, like they were passing a rumor. It was not her place to see or speak before them. She had no rights in tribal decisions. Yet she could not break away from their grouping. There was something new about Bregus that mystified her, and she desired to know what it was. She was caught off guard by the unflinching gaze Bregus bestowed on her eldest son. Kattica was astonished at the depth of emotion shown in that look, almost as if the elder were memorizing his face and gestures. And then she broke her glance and stared directly at Kattica. The girl looked away, but too late. She had already caught the tribal witch's eye.

"You! Girl! Go into my wagon and bring my drum. I need it now," she said to Kattica in her part-scornful, part-loving voice. Kattica shook her head, trying to break the double emotions conveyed in the words. Bregus was conjuring black magic, and the girl could feel the fringes of it touching her. But she obeyed as was expected and she hauled herself into the carriage.

Heavy aromas of incense and herb hung about the vardo. The confines of the space were dark, and her eyes were unadjusted to the light, but she felt her way across to where she knew the drum would be, hanging from a peg where it always was. Lifting it down, she could see the beauty of the instrument, decorated finely with intricate paint work and streaming beads. Turning about to leave, she spun into the table, brushing her hand lightly over the surface to balance herself. A scattering of dried flowers and herbs covered its top, a gauze sheet underneath it, as if used in the gathering of the plants from Bregus' stores. She looked carefully at the flowers as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. There were poppy heads, yarrow, fennel, dried clover blossoms along with valerian root and skullcap. A length of passion flower vine was coiled in the dusty fray of leaves, and dogwood branches laden with berries added color to the mix. There were a few other herbs that stood out and Kattica was troubled that she could not discern them. She sniffed at their sharp and pungent aromas to find a clue to their identities, but she did not know them. Many of these plants had the power to bring on sleep, and to do other things as well, but she wondered at what they would do if used in combination, and by what means they were meant to be diffused. She dared not ponder these thoughts any longer, for she knew Bregus would not like her to linger in the vardo. Kattica picked up the drum and carried it to the curtained door.

The girl was nearly knocked off her feet as a flutter of wings beat against her as she drew the curtain open in order to step out. The great owl bowled past her and into the vardo, sweeping directly up to its perch without pause. Its sudden appearance was startling.

Shaking off the fear she had felt at what had seemed like an attack, she looked down to see Bregus standing at the rear steps, waiting. Kattica was pleased she had not lingered longer, for she would not have enjoyed the elders berating. Instead, Bregus brusquely took the instrument from the girl's hand and readily strode away with lively steps to the edge of the camp. No one seemed to notice or watch as the old woman walked away, but Kattica gazed intently, uncertain as to what the elder was doing. Closing her eyes and spinning herself to face each of the navigational directions before facing north, the old woman squatted to the ground. She began to chant softly to herself as a soft tapping beat was picked up on the drum. Three beats, then two and then another two beats were the repetition that began to drone through the camp. After a minute or two of the continuous rhythm, the elder stood up and slowly stepped, shuffling her feet as she went, marking the circular perimeter of the camp in a counterclockwise direction, always beating the drum as she went. She stopped at four other points, each time again facing north, east, south, and west and chanting and squatting before moving on. She is making a pentacle, Kattica told herself. Why?

But no one paid the old woman any heed, and the girl wondered if the others of the camp were already under some kind of enchantment. She glanced about, but all things seemed as they should, and she wondered if she should resume normality herself. There did not appear to be any foul play at work.

When the shuv'ni was done with her ritual, she stood again at the northern point and called out words into the heavens. Kattica did not recognize them, and she worried for what was being asked, but then the elder stepped into the circle of the camp and she knew the spell was already at work. Slowly, the old woman walked to each adult member of the tribe and touched them, sometimes pausing to say more unknown words, and sometimes only moving on after the contact. Each person in turn seemed oblivious to her wanderings and words, and went on as if this were a normal thing, pausing a moment with each touch, as if lost in thought, and then resuming their prior activity, even engaging her at times in their conversations. But Bregus did not pause. She was determined to make contact with everyone, and thus made her way through the camp like this. And when she had seen every adult or nearly grown child, she stopped.

She had touched everyone, everyone but Kattica, and now she was smiling at the girl from across the camp, muttering more words to herself. Kattica felt as if she were a trapped animal as she glanced about, hoping to see that someone might notice. Unfortunately, she, too, seemed to be an ignored entity within the camp. She decided to use this to her advantage and used the opportunity to speak to the witch. Quietly at first, as if she were testing the ground, she found her voice.

"What is this you are doing, Bregus?" Kattica softly uttered. The elder drew nearer and the girl knew she had heard.

"So you can see my actions? The others cannot. No matter, though. I am only seeking out help," the old woman said as she continued to move forward. Her voice was still a strange cacophony of lightness and darkness, but the girl ignored the sound of it.

Kattica realized Bregus had her hand out, as if she were intent to touch the girl, and she stepped back a few steps. The shuv'ni smiled to the girl's movement as Kattica again spoke. Her voice remained neutral as she asked. "What help do you seek from me?" Bregus was mere meters away.

"Only the aid of an apprentice, as it should be. You will deny me?" the woman asked in her multiple voices, her smile remaining fixed as she continued her slow steps toward the girl.

Kattica did not fear Bregus. She knew, despite the quickened steps, that she could outrun the old woman and break the hold the elder placed toward her by simply stepping out of the circle of the camp. But she was curious as to what the elder wanted of her, so she continued questioning as she evaded the other's touch. "I have been your apprentice since I came to this clan. You have never wanted my help before. Why do you need me now?"

"The time is drawing near. I need everyone's help to do what I must do and their innocence. Too much information will not benefit you. You must trust that I only want your aid."

Kattica laughed. Her voice grew more assertive as the elder's movements came quicker. "You have enslaved your family. Why would I simply trust you when you cast such dark magic. You want more than innocence and aid, Bregus. It is time to share with me what it is that you seek out. For what does the time draw nigh?"

The shuv'ni's eyes momentarily lingered to the girl's belly. They betrayed her thoughts. The glance was brief, but steeped in greed. Kattica's eyes flashed in horror. Nostrils flared as she gasped out her surprise. Protectively, Kattica's hand went to her protruding abdomen to protect the unborn child resting there. She backed away further. The old woman wanted her baby!

Instinctively, Kattica began uttering a protective incantation her grandmother had taught her. She reached into her putsi to tug at the amulet that rested there. But as she did, a hand reached around and pulled it away, effectively flinging the small pendant into the brush outside the encampment. Her eyes could not follow where it had gone. She was flung around by the one who had disrupted her spell and her eyes raced up to see the face of her betrayer. It was Mattias! He grabbed her wrist in a painful hold, and she cried at the pain, but his eyes showed no evidence of his sight of her. He was blank. And then the girl realized for the first time just how terrible her plight had become. She cursed herself for not fleeing sooner as she struggled and prayed for a way to awaken her husband. Bregus had cast a spell of dark horror, and the girl feared for how evil it would become. Yelling out to Mattias, she tried to pull away. But his grip was too strong. She looked over her shoulder to cry out for help, though she knew it was useless. No one saw or heard her. She saw the outstretched hand of the puri dai drawing near. Too near. Bregus was going to touch her, and then something horrible would happen. Something. What? She needed to flee. Now! Now!

"NO!" she screamed as she again tried to run. Flailing in terror, she shrieked out, pulling and prying at her husband's grip. Frantic now, she was fighting him with every ounce of her strength. She kicked and scratched and tore, crying raggedly through it all, "Mattias, please!" But his grip was too strong. "NO! NO!" she wailed into his unseeing face.

And then she felt the witch's cold fingers touch her shoulder, and everything changed.

putsi a small purse-like pouch, tied on at the waist.