Witches in Red by Barb Hendee

Author:Barb Hendee [Hendee, Barb]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Fantasy, Science Fiction
ISBN: 9780451414168
Amazon: 0451414160
Goodreads: 18110063
Publisher: Roc
Published: 2014-05-06T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

Mercedes: Five Years in the Past

The Death

The first time I experienced fear and sorrow in the exact same moment was the day I found myself looking down into the face of my dead mother.

I couldn’t believe it. It happened so fast.

She’d been standing beside me, my father, and Mariah, on the bank of the Vudrask River, just outside the city of Kéonsk. She was smiling and looking forward to all the pleasures of the Autumn Fair. Even in her late forties, my mother was lovely, small and lithe, with black eyes and a mass of black hair. She wore white peasant blouses and brightly colored skirts and silver bangles on her wrists. Everywhere she walked, the heads of men would turn to follow.

That morning, we’d just arrived outside Kéonsk, to set up for the fair, and we’d walked over to see the rushing river. There were barges coming and going, loading and unloading, and it was always enjoyable to watch the activity.

A merchant was trying to get a team of young horses to pull his wagon closer to the bank, and two dogs beside them broke out into a snarling fight. The horses bolted, coming straight at us. My father pushed me and grabbed Mariah, and my mother was struck full force by one of the horses as it tried to stop itself at the top of the bank.

She was knocked into the water, and my father cried out.

Men began to hurry over, but she was in the current facedown and did not appear to be moving. My father jumped into the river. Mariah and I ran along the embankment, calling to her, but it was a good distance until Father was able to reach her and pull her out.

She was dead, her face white, her hair soaked, her eyes closed.

Standing beside me, Mariah stared down, and in my shock and sorrow, I was hit by a sense of fear. My mother’s name had been Moira, and she was the leader of our small group of Móndyalítko. We depended on her for many things.

And in a blink, she was gone.

Kneeling on the ground, my father, who was called Jude, let out a shameless sob. Mariah continued staring down in silence.

I asked, “Father . . . what are we going to do now?”

He didn’t appear to understand my question, as I do not think he fully understood that it was my mother who had managed everything . . . everything for our family community for my entire life. His tears were all shed for the loss of a beloved wife, but I saw the larger scheme of things.

And I was afraid.

The Family

Our traveling group consisted of four wagons—one for each family—eight horses, one good-natured milk cow, and a varying number of chickens.

My mother was from the line of Marentõr.

And as an eldest surviving daughter, she was the undisputed leader of our small branch. Since my father, Jude, had married into our kin and joined with us, he took her family name, as was the custom.

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