Page 200 of Anathema

While Zevander rounded the house, I quietly tiptoed to the door, noticing long lines of symbols that’d been carved into the wood. Frowning, I ran my finger over them. The moment my hand touched the knob, a sharp pointed object prodded my back.

“I’d think twice, Girl.”

I raised my hands to either side. “It’s me. Maevyth.”

“Don’t care who you are. Folks ain’t what they were before. Turn around and let me see your face.”

Before I had the chance, she gasped, and I twisted to see Zevander materialize out of nowhere, a monstrous shadow behind the old woman, holding a blade to her throat.

“I’d be careful about threatening her,” he said, and the moment she dropped her weapon, letting it clang against the porch, he released her.

“I know it’s been a couple of weeks, but do you remember me?” I asked.

Her brows came together in a frown. “A couple weeks? The Banishing of your sister was months ago.”

I blinked at that, my gaze flicking to Zevander, who sheathed his blade. “Months ago? That can’t be. I was only gone for … well, two weeks.”

She gave an uncertain look, eyeing me up and down. “Since you don’t seem to be infected, I suppose you might as well come inside and warm yourselves.” She hobbled past me for the door, and when she opened it, a wave of heat washed over me.

Zevander raised his brow, and I gave a nod, following after the witch. He lowered his head, forced to duck inside the archway as he trailed after me.

A blanket of heat nuzzled into my bones when I stepped into the room.

The Crone Witch grabbed a ladle, stirring a pot of stew she had on the flame. The savory scent of meat and spices watered my tongue.

“I don’t believe I ever asked your name.”

“Afraid you might call me Crone Witch?” She snorted, tapping the ladle on the edge of the pot. “It’s Elowen.”

“Elowen,” I echoed, glancing around her small but clean space. By the hearth stood two chairs, and adjacent to them, a wooden table with an additional two chairs, where Zevander sat. The wood creaked with his weight and looked almost comical beneath his big bulky form.

“What happened after The Banishing?”

“Hmmm,” she said, scratching her face, her long, yellowing nails digging into the wrinkles of her skin. “The fighting eventually stopped. Some suggested going after you in the woods, to be sure you’d died. They didn’t, though. Too fearful. But Moros followed you, seemed like he’d been in there for hours. Most left to go home after, figuring he’d died. Not me, I waited. Needed to see if anyone emerged from those woods.” She sat down in a chair and, from the small table beside her, lifted her pipe, already full of whatever she’d crushed into it. She leaned forward lighting a skinny wooden twig from the hearth and puffed her cheeks, burning the herbs. Leaning back in her chair, she stared off at the fire. “Moros did emerge.”

“Did he have Aleysia with him?”

“He did. Took her with him.”

I shot Zevander a worried look. “Then, she could be at Moros’s now.”

“She could be anywhere now. Moros didn’t stay long. He left town for a week, or so. It was when he returned that folks started getting sick. Complaining of spider bites.” Another puff of her pipe, and she frowned. “Then they started changing. Like those spiders burrowed right into their bones. Wasn’t long before the whole damn village went raving mad, killing and eating the living.”

“How did you survive?”

“Doing what I’ve always done. Kept to myself. Kept quiet. They don’t care for the noise much. Hurts their brains, or something. That’s when they get violent.”

My thoughts wound back to earlier, when I’d screamed for help and Uncle Felix had attacked. “The villagers, where are they now?”

“They slumber.” She sniffed and eased back in her chair. “In their homes. In the village. Almost like they’re waitin’ for something.”

“And Moros?”

“Can’t say. Haven’t seen him. Haven’t been to the village.” She nodded toward the pot of stew. “Couldn’t scrounge any meat from the woods, so I had to slaughter my goat. No matter, though. If I hadn’t done it, they’d have gotten him.” Another long puff, and she lowered her pipe. “Don’t know how much longer I can stay here. Don’t know how far the sickness has spread.”

Another glance toward Zevander showed him watching her closely, clearly not trusting the old woman.

“Where you been, Girl, that you think only two weeks have passed?” Elowen asked.

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