Page 7 of A Touch of Shadows

Ever since she was a child, the song of the forest had been her lullaby. She had dreamed she had friends there, children like herself who danced with her. Sometimes she thought she still heard echoes of their laughter in the birdsong, their whispers among the leaves.

She’d be home long before it was full dark anyway. She always was. Her days were as predictable as the tides. And they always would be. One day, when Elodie was old and tired, Wren would take her place as hedge witch. She’d find an apprentice of her own, if anybody wanted to learn the little she had to offer, and Elodie would doze by the fire until…

‘He would never have been good enough for you, little bird,’ Elodie said as Wren opened the door, peeling back the wards so she could pass through with ease. ‘You know that, don’t you? But somewhere out there, there’s someone.’

How would she ever find anyone living here in the middle of nowhere, in the darkest forest, on the edge of the kingdom? Wren froze, her shoulders tightening under the green of her cloak. Someone? Maybe in her dreams. Part of her wanted to say something cutting and vicious, to tell Elodie not to make promises she couldn’t keep. She hadn’t had her happily ever after, had she? Whoever Roland was, he had been gone for all of Wren’s twenty years and Elodie had been entirely alone.

Men had tried. Rangers, villagers, passing soldiers… Elodie was having none of it. Sometimes forcefully. More than one had limped away from her, cursing her name. More than one had vanished in the forest.

Between the darkwood’s magic, and Elodie’s, they didn’t stand a chance.

CHAPTER 4

WREN

The village wasn’t far, if you knew the right path to take. Of course, if you didn’t you might never be seen again. But Wren had grown up here. The darkwood had been her playground as soon as she could walk and it had never turned on her. Not once.

Which should have been a warning in and of itself.

It sang to her, called to her. But she remembered what Elodie had always said and tried to only ever reach for the light. She just wished it wasn’t so hard.

The village was quiet when she arrived. There was nothing sleepier than Thirbridge on a late summer afternoon. Devin Carter gathered the supplies on the list quickly, his careful chatter running past her. Elodie kept a monthly account at the village trading station, which made everything easy. Half the time she never paid anyway. Those she helped or those who owed her would often just deal with payment for her. Hedge witches were like that. They served the community beside which they lived. And that community looked after them.

If they know what’s good for them, Elodie would sometimes mutter darkly. Wren was never entirely sure if she was joking. But they were not part of the village. They were always separate, always apart. If she hadn’t known before, Pol had made that completely clear.

It was as if by thinking of him, no matter how briefly, she summoned him.

He lurched out of the door of the tavern as she passed, almost colliding with a taller, slender man, deep in discussion with the stableman about his horse.

‘Wren?’ Pol shouted, her name slurred by ale. He’d started early then. ‘I want to talk to you.’ She bent her head and hurried forward, holding back from running. Without Elodie here, with that much alcohol in him… The wind rose around her and the trees on the edge of the forest moved, beckoning her forward. If she could just get there before?—

‘Wren! Stop, curse you. You did this, didn’t you? You did it on purpose. You cursed the child inside her. Admit it!’

The words brought her up short and she turned. Something was wrong with the baby? What did he mean? Pol bore down on her, tankard still clenched in his fist.

‘What?’

‘A girl,’ he snarled, spittle flying from his mouth. ‘What am I going to do with a girl? And now they’re talking about sending us to Farringdale. What am I going to do all the way out there? Do I look like a farmer? Lindie’s already packing. All set for it, she is.’

Wren sucked in a breath. She had to get away from him. Now. As far away as she could until someone could make him see sense. Lindie’s family maybe, or his father. Someone. Elodie would have to talk to them.

People did what Elodie said. They always had done. Anything else was unthinkable. If Elodie said they ought to go to the rich and fertile farmlands around Farringdale then that was what they would do. They’d be much safer there in the east than back here, where the darkwood could tempt him again.

And when a witch, even a hedge witch, told you to go somewhere, you went. Whether you wanted to or not.

And Elodie was indeed a witch. So was Wren, for that matter, though she might wish she could forget it.

We are witchkind. We will live free or die. That was what Elodie always said. Wren tried to think of it as a mark of dignity.

The wind blew harder, pushing him away from her abruptly. Pol cursed and he tried to keep walking, but the dust blew up into his face, leaving him spluttering in rage. Wren pressed onwards, as fast as she dared, making for the edge of the village. The tankard hurtled past her head, missing her by only a fraction and clattering on the ground.

And then he was on her.

Grabbing her by the scruff of the neck, he hefted her off her feet and shook her like a dog with a rat. She opened her mouth to cry out and felt the shadows rise between the trees, along the edge of the buildings. Just early evening shadows, pale things, but that didn’t mean they were useless.

She’d promised she wouldn’t use them. She’d sworn it to Elodie. She would reach for the light. That was what she had said all her life. She would always reach for the light. But there wasn’t enough here and the darkness answered more readily.

That’s the problem, Elodie had told her. It always does.