Page 60 of The Black Witch

“I wish I was ahead in my studies,” I tell Yvan, attempting a smile as I turn to him and meet his intense eyes. “I’m already behind, it seems...”

His glare goes scalding, as if he’s wildly affronted. I can feel the anger radiating off him in thick waves, bearing down on me.

I swallow audibly, really hurt by his unrelenting, bizarre level of hatred. I blink back the sting of tears and turn to Fernyllia.

Ignore him, I tell myself.Force yourself to ignore him.

“So, what would you like me to do?” I ask with forced pleasantry.

Fernyllia’s eyes dart around, as if she’s trying to figure something important out quickly.

“Why don’t I show Mage Gardner what to do with the compost buckets?” the fierce-looking Urisk girl offers in a slow, careful tone.

Fernyllia’s eyes flicker in the direction of the books and back to me again. She puts on another false, obsequious smile. “That’s anexcellentidea, Bleddyn,” she agrees. “Why don’t you go with Bleddyn, Mage Gardner. She’ll show you what to do. You don’t mind being around animals, do you?”

“Oh, no,” I respond with newfound enthusiasm. “Iloveanimals.”

“Good, good,” says Fernyllia as she wrings her weathered hands nervously. “Just follow Bleddyn out, then. The scraps need to go out to the pigs. She’ll show you what to do.”

I feel like Yvan and everyone else in the room are holding their collective breath as I set down my books and papers and follow Bleddyn out of the kitchen and into a back room. A few large, wooden buckets filled with food scraps are lined up by a door.

“Grab two and follow me,” Bleddyn orders icily, her eyes narrowed to slits. I notice that she makes no move to pick up buckets herself, even though there are several more waiting to be brought out.

Bleddyn opens the door with more force than necessary, and it slams against the outside wall of the kitchen with a sharp crack.

The door opens out onto a grassy pasture. Bleddyn grabs a lantern that hangs on a hook next to the door. It’s not raining anymore, but everything remains damp and cold, and I can feel the icy moisture of the grass seeping over the edges of my fancy shoes.

Frost will come soon. I can smell it on the early-autumn air.

As we trudge in the direction of a series of low barns and livestock pens, I find myself yearning for my mother’s quilt and a warm, dry room.

Soon. This day will be over soon. And then Rafe and Trystan and Gareth will be here, and they’ll help me make sense of all the terrible things that have happened.

The storm clouds are breaking up into slender, dark ribbons, a portion of the full moon appearing, then disappearing and appearing again, like some malevolent eye going in and out of hiding. With all the moving clouds and shifting light, the sky seems very large and oppressive, and I feel small and exposed. I think of the Icaral, out there somewhere, hidden like this moon, waiting for me, and a chill courses down my spine.

Bleddyn’s fast pace is creating a yawning distance between us, and I hurry to catch up, not wanting to be caught alone in the darkness.

I follow Bleddyn into one of the barns where pigs are being kept in a series of clean, spacious stalls that smell of mud, fresh hay and food scraps. It’s poorly lit, and I can barely see my way around.

Bleddyn opens the latch on the gate to one of the stalls. She points to a far corner, where a long trough stands, along with a sow nursing a number of snorting, snuffling piglets jockeying with each other for position.

“There,” she says, gesturing toward the trough. “Dump the scraps in there.”

I tighten my grip on the two scrap buckets and walk into the stall, my shoes sinking into something soft. I make a concerted effort to ignore it.

I’ll clean myself up later. And besides, I don’t want this stern Urisk girl to think I’m some pampered Gardnerian who can’t pull my weight. They’ll soon see that I’m as hard a worker as any of them.

As I pull up one foot, the shoe makes an unpleasant sucking sound.

A hard kick to my rear sends me sprawling.

I fall forward into the mud and pig manure, the scrap buckets falling out of my hands and tumbling over, food remnants scattering everywhere, one of my shoes coming loose. The pigs oink excitedly as they frantically scramble about for the food.

I push myself up onto my knees and round on Bleddyn, my heart racing. “Did you just kick me?” I ask, incredulous.

Bleddyn is leaning against a wall, smiling darkly at me.

“Why did you kick me?” I demand as I pull myself up.

---