Visions of Fate (The Venatrix Chronicles Book 2) by Sylvia Mercedes

Author:Sylvia Mercedes [Mercedes, Sylvia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: FireWyrm Books
Published: 2019-08-29T05:00:00+00:00

The broad, rutted woodcutter’s track wound slowly through the fringe forest, seemingly without aim. Ayleth followed it deeper and deeper, her bones tense with expectation of that strange, buzzing sensation she knew heralded proximity to the Great Barrier. But whoever had made this trail—Jerlo, presumably, and other woodcutters before him—must have been eager to avoid the Witchwood, so the road never led close enough for her to sense the spell.

“Who would choose to live way out here?” Ayleth muttered out loud after she and Chestibor had journeyed into the forest for over an hour. Hedgewitches had suffered no little persecution throughout the years, both during and after the reign of the Witch Queen. But still, to hide this deep in the forest seemed strange. What was the point of practicing her weird craft if this Oma Githa wasn’t accessible to the people she allegedly helped?

But Jerlo had said signs of her presence would be visible enough, so Ayleth kept her eyes peeled and continued following the road.

Suddenly, Laranta reared up in her awareness, shadow senses prickling curiously. Ayleth had not bothered to reinforce the suppression spells this morning, and she felt their laxness now as her shade tugged against them.

Look, Laranta growled. Though she remained inside Ayleth’s head, Ayleth got a sensation of fur rising along a spine. Look, look, look.

Almost against her will, Ayleth’s gaze turned to the left. A little tree stood not far off the track. It would have been hidden entirely had the bounty of its red berries not seemed to glow in the solemn green shadows. A rowan tree—sacred to the Goddess and almost never seen growing wild. The sight caught Ayleth’s attention, even as it had Laranta’s. She drew Chestibor to a halt.

Could this be the sign Jerlo had meant?

Almost unconsciously, Ayleth slipped her red hood from her head and tucked it away out of sight. If she was now on the trail of the hedgewitch, she didn’t want to give away her identity too easily. Clucking to her horse, she guided Chestibor off the track and into the foliage. At first it seemed too dense for much progress, but as they drew nearer to the rowan tree, a narrow path appeared to her view, almost as though by magic. It led into the denser forest. If she had not approached the tree, she would have missed it entirely.

“Well, it’s a place to start,” she murmured, and nudged Chestibor on.

Rowan. Laranta shuddered inside her. I smell rowan. Ugh!

“I know, Laranta,” Ayleth answered soothingly. “We’ll be past it soon.”

Though sacred to the Goddess, rowan trees were repellent to shades. Often peasants would pin sprigs of rowan leaves and berries over their doors or around babies’ cradles as protection against evil influences. Whether it worked or not, Ayleth couldn’t say. She knew only that the practice was unsanctioned by Saint Evander and considered low magic. Judging by Laranta’s reaction, however, it might prove useful.

They passed more rowan trees as they followed the winding path, and, strung

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