Page 53 of The Crow Games
In the more southern provinces, they told folk stories about celestial beings whose grace was born of starlight. I hadn’t paid much attention to the myths, but studying him now, I wondered if his face framed in long silvery-white hair wasn’t exactly what they had in mind.
Chapter 12
“No scholar can confirm whether the brothers Alwin and Alrick are friend or foe.”– Esther Weil, Renowned Folklorist
When I awoke, Nola and Ruchel let out a cheer. Asher helped me to my feet, and the others made room for him, careful not to touch his shadows. I wiped drool from my chin, wondering what I’d looked like on my back with my mouth hanging open.
Definitely not like a celestial being, that’s for sure.
Alwin sat behind the round table. His chalice was gone. Four gifts lay neatly in a row in its place. The hexen relic made of skin and inked in witch blood was the first. Asher frowned at it.
I pressed a hand to my belly to steady myself. The sight of it turned my stomach.
Beside it was a dagger made of sharpened bone, the handle pearlescent. Another book was next, something old and bound in sheepskin. Alwin lifted the forked branch beside it. It looked as fragile as glass, made of dried-up twigs, but the wiriest wands were always the most coveted by water covens. I didn’t doubt this one was something special.
“For you,” Alwin said, handing the new wand to Blue. “May it aid you in your journey, survivor.”
Blue accepted the tool humbly, brow furrowed below her sea-colored scarf. “But I failed.”
Alwin ignored her, lifting the dagger next. With it lying across both hands, he held it out to Nola. “May it aid you in your journey, warrior.”
Nola took it greedily, weighing it in her palm. Hilt and blade balanced evenly on her finger. “It’s not hexen, is it?” Her nose wrinkled.
“It’s made of god bone,” Alwin said, “a tooth given by the Crone of Creation herself to the god Hilt for its crafting. There isn’t a thing living or dead, divine or Hel-born, that it cannot cut through. Use it wisely, soldier.”
He lifted the sheepskin book next and passed it over to Ruchel. “Written by the first air coven and translated into common tongue a century ago. It’s one of my favorites from my personal collection. I thought this gift best for you, daughter of the mind. I wanted to give you a scarf made of my robes that would enhance your magic, but I sensed that you would view such a thing as a curse more than a blessing.”
A curse? That made me curious. Why wouldn’t Ruchel want her powers to be enhanced? She was lovely and warm but as tight-lipped as Blue. Possibly even more so in certain ways.
Ruchel bowed her head. “Thank you for such a thoughtful gift. You are correct about my preference, but I too failed the trial. I don’t understand . . .”
Alwin’s generosity didn’t end there. He didn’t touch the hexen book, gesturing for me to come and help myself to it. “For the victor,” he said, “who won the trial not only for herself but for her coven.”
It was another lesson, another push away from the path of vengeance, back toward the journey I’d once been on where community mattered above all else. A lesson I would ignore. There would be time for such things once the guilty god no longer breathed.
I am vengeance now.
Alwin’s consciousness vanished from the room in a gust of wind that blew out half of the torches.
“That relic is an evil thing,” Asher warned, his voice as dark and deadly as a tomb.
With two fingers, I pinched the corner of the cover and opened it carefully. The feel of the skin under mine was cold, leathery, and repulsive. I wiped my hands down my trousers briskly. Gooseflesh broke out on my arms.
“The Guardians aren’t letting us out of here with it,” Ruchel said.
We gave our prizes to Asher. He fed them into his shadows, but he was not willing to touch the hexen relic directly. I couldn’t blame him. My fingers still felt filthy. We wrapped it up in our scarves, and Asher finally consented to hiding it in that place where shadows rest, certain no other reaper would come anywhere near it.
He melted away into the darkness, and we climbed the stairs without him.
The Guardians searched us as soon as we re-entered the library. They tried questioning us too, but we kept our mouths collectively shut. Nola pointed her middle fingers up at them when they tried to demand answers from her. Bram wasn’t amongst them. Was this some tactic of his, or was he back in the Upper Realm spying for the god king?
“Are we being held here?” I challenged the green warlock I’d once assaulted. He chose that moment to dump out the items from my satchel onto the tile floor, searching my belongings for the third time.
Three Guardians made Nola hold her hands above her head as they patted her down. They did the same to Ruchel.
“Be polite where you touch my high witch,” Nola growled, “or I’ll pluck out your eyes and burn your tongues to ash.”
“They must have failed the trials,” the green warlock said to the others. There were eight of them gathered in the atrium. “Bram said not to hold them. They’ll be back on their own to try again.”
