Page 13 of The Year of the Witching

They held on to each other in silence for a long time.

This was to be the end of them, the end of what they’d shared in girlhood. Somewhere amidst the passing years, Leah had become a woman and Immanuelle had not, and now the two of them would be split apart.

“You look like the bride of a prophet,” said Immanuelle, trying not to sound as sad as she felt.

Leah beamed and gave a little twirl, the pale skirts of her cutting gown billowing, light as fog. She’d hand sewn them from chiffon months before her wedding, working through the night by candlelight, stitching the verses of the Prophet’s Scriptures into her underskirts, as was custom for young brides. Her feet were bare and clean, her hair parted down the middle. About her neck was a new golden holy dagger much like the ones the apostles wore, though its blade was dull and much shorter. She toyed with it a bit as she spoke. “I thought you’d never come. I was worried.”

“Our mule took his time,” said Immanuelle.

“Well, I’m glad you’re here now. I need you. For strength.”

“You have me. Always.”

Leah reached out to grasp Immanuelle’s hand, her fingerscold. She studied the bandages. “Are you going to tell me what happened?”

“I wasn’t planning to.”

“Well, I want to know and you can’t refuse me because it’s my cutting day. Out with it.”

Immanuelle gazed down at her boots. “I was burned as a punishment.”

“It was Martha’s doing, wasn’t it?”

Immanuelle nodded, not looking at her.

“She’s too hard on you. Always has been.”

“This time, the punishment was warranted. Believe me.”

Leah frowned. “What did you do?”

Immanuelle stalled, half ashamed, half afraid to tell her. “I went into the Darkwood. My ram broke free of his tether, fled for the trees. I tried to follow him, but night fell fast and I got lost. I was going to give up, wait until morning to find my way home again... but then I heard voices.”

“And what did the voices say?”

Immanuelle faltered. “They weren’t saying anything I could understand.”

“So they were...foreigners?”

“No. I don’t think so. It’s just that the sounds they were making, they weren’t words at all. It was just whimpers and moaning.”

Leah looked very pale and very sick. “What did they look like?”

“They were tall, very thin. Too thin. And they were lying together in a glen in the woods, embracing the way a husband and wife might.”

Leah’s eyes went wide. “What did they do when they saw you?”

Immanuelle opened her mouth to tell her about her mother’s journal but stopped short. It was better for the both of them if she bit her tongue. She feared she’d said too much already. After all, in a short while Leah would be the Prophet’s wife, bound to him bythe sacred seal. Immanuelle knew there was power in a promise like that, and while she trusted Leah as her friend, as a prophet’s bride she wouldn’t belong to herself anymore. “They didn’t do anything. They just stood there. I ran before they had the chance to come closer.”

Leah was quiet for a long time, as if trying to decide whether or not she believed her. Then: “What on earth were you thinking? The woods are dangerous. There’s a reason we’re taught to stay clear of them.”

A flare of anger licked up the back of Immanuelle’s neck. “You think I don’t know that?”

Leah caught her by the shoulder, gripping so hard she winced. “Knowing isn’t enough, Immanuelle. You have to promise me you’ll never go into the Darkwood again.”

“I won’t.”

“Good,” said Leah, and her grip slackened. “I hope those women you saw go back to the hell they came from. There’s no place for them here.”

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