Page 29 of The Witch's Spell
Though no one has yet said it, I’ve been thinking about the potential long-term effects should this magical mist choose to hang around. If we can’t leave—and no one else can enter—we could quickly find ourselves in a bad position. It’s early winter, and though all the villagers prepare stores for the cold months, they,we, rely on traveling merchants as well. Completely cut off from the other small villages and from Wysteria itself could potentially be dangerous.
And what of the birth? I know some women in Faunwood have experience in midwifery, but I wanted Niamh here as well, just in case. But now she’s trapped on the other side of the veil, unable to return.
The arm I have draped around Aurora’s shoulders tightens, tugging her more firmly against my chest.
“I don’t know yet,” I say truthfully. “But I intend to figure it out.”
Aurora wiggles herself up under my chin. My lips press akiss to the top of her head, and I notice the scent of pine and woodsmoke still clinging to her hair.
“Everything will be fine,” I tell her, but I think I’m trying to soothe myself as well. “There’s nothing else we can do about it tonight, and tomorrow is a new day. For now, sleep.”
“Okay,” she whispers, voice barely audible over the crackling of the fire, which keeps the room warm, warding off the chill as the wind taps against the window.
It doesn’t take long for Aurora’s breathing to deepen, and she softens against me. Slowly, as gently as I can, I slide my arm out from under her. Thankfully, she doesn’t awaken as I move her to her own pillow. I can tell she was exhausted; her mouth is hanging open, and she’s already snoring, a sure sign she needed sleep,badly.
I wiggle down under the blankets beside her, watching her sleep, thinking of our child still growing inside her, wondering and worrying about the future. It seems like the bigger her stomach gets, the more tension I feel gathering along my shoulders and the base of my neck and the more pressure I feel on my chest when trying to fall asleep without her beside me.
But for now, for tonight, she is here, the fire is warm, and we have all that we need.
And that thought is what I repeat in my head until I finally fall asleep.
I’m standing in a meadow. My vision is a bit blurry and twinkly around the edges, like I’ve just awoken andhaven’t quite gotten my bearings. The air is warm and smells of honeysuckle, and when I tip my head back, a summer breeze caresses my face.
Ethereal laughter whispers in my ear, and I turn, looking for the source of the sound. Instead, what I find is Aurora, standing in what I now realize is the fairy meadow in the woods behind Brookside.
And at her feet is a small red-haired child.
Mychild.
Aurora beckons for me to come closer. Her cheeks are pink from the heat in the air, and her hair hangs loose about her shoulders, strands drifting in the breeze like petals floating gently across a peaceful pond.
I walk to her. Beneath me, the grass is soft and a bit spongy. I realize I’m not wearing any shoes, and my trousers are rolled up to the ankles. My tunic is light and airy, the sun beaming down on my skin.
Aurora says something to the child, though I can’t hear what. It seems they’re playing with flowers and long pieces of grass, perhaps trying to twist them into something resembling a braid. Still, the child doesn’t turn around. They wear a long cotton tunic, and their hair kisses the collar.
I still can’t tell if I’ve a son or daughter.
“Rowan,” Aurora says. Her voice has a shimmering quality, like a windchime of crystals tinkling together in a sunlit window. “You’re here.”
I want to tell her that of course I’m here, I don’t want to be anywhere except where she and my child are. But no sound comes out.
And then the ground beneath my bare feet rumbles. Somehow, I know it’s about to split open, to swallow them whole.
Like the ice.
I try to reach for them, to grab them both and carry them to safety. But I can’t move.
When I look down, my feet are stuck in mud, and no matter how hard I try to pull them free, they are shackled deep within the earth.
With a mighty grumble, a crack splits the ground.
“Run!” I yell at Aurora. “Go! Hurry!”
But she doesn’t seem to hear me, though I’m screaming at the top of my lungs.
The crack rends the earth open, heading straight for Aurora, for ourchild.
Finally, the little one turns around, as if just realizing I’m there.
