A shiver crawled down my back. Alina spoke of shadows all the time. But that was because of the illness that affected her mind. That was what the doctors had said, at least. It’s of course preposterous to think that the men of modern medicine might have been wrong. But as I huddled next to my sisters in the witch’s cottage, it seemed very much possible that even though Alina is the youngest, she could somehow see and even visit the world beyond this one, the place where shadows dwell.
The witch cocked her head, waiting for us to tell her more about the shadows. I knew Celestia wouldn’t—she’s too rational to acknowledge this possibility. Elise wouldn’t either—she thinks with her heart and would never say anything that might show our sister in a bad light. I knew, I don’t know how and why, that the witch wouldn’t help Alina if she sensed that we were hiding something from her. It was up to me to say it.
“A shadow of a swan visited our sister.”
The witch placed her palms against the table and leaned over Alina’s still body, toward us. “Swan shadow, you say?”
Scribs, I feared it then, that I’d said the wrong thing, revealed too much. The way Captain Janlav had studied the witch’s cottage was a clear warning. We shouldn’t tell her who we are. That might put her in danger.
“And news? This swan bear news?”
How could she possibly know? I shuddered as I thought of it, the cry from our little sister’s lips. The words I wanted to be a product of her shaken mind, not the truth.
“Our honored mother is dead,” Celestia said, not in a whisper as I would have done if I’d ever found the courage, but as a statement that couldn’t be proven false.
The witch circled around the table, running her finger along the smooth line of our little sister’s shadow. She halted before Celestia, Elise, and me, ignoring Merile. It struck me then that the witch considered Merile a child, too young to participate in the conversation meant only for adults. But in her blind eyes, I, who had yet to debut, was old enough to agree or disagree with her.
“You five…” This close, the witch’s clothes seemed even stranger, almost translucent. She wore a dozen, no dozens of layers of thin black cloth, wrapped around her in an intricate, shifting pattern. “You come with guards.”
I couldn’t stand her scrutiny. As curiosity toward a witch can never end well, I glued my gaze on the floor. But that turned out to be the exact wrong thing to do, for her shadow led a life of its own. She was old and young at the same time, dancing and stooping, and I’m not kidding at all here, Scribs!
“Swan shadow deliver you news…” The witch’s croaky voice trailed off. She didn’t need to say more. She knew who we are.
Scribs, now that I think of it further, I shouldn’t have said what I did. But the witch was the first person apart from the guards that we’d talked to since we had to leave home. The words kind of slipped out of my mouth unbidden. “Will you help us?”
Elise grabbed my arm, fingers squeezing through my blanket and sleeve. That was my chastisement. I’d confirmed to the witch she’d guessed right. And by doing so I’d placed her in some degree of danger.
“Me witch,” the witch said, in what I assumed was a proud tone. “Me help little one. That be in my power. Anything else…” She rubbed her elbow against her side and made a sound that resembled a fart! But if for a moment I was flabbergasted, even amused, her next words brought me back to the world of gloom. “Fail it be.”
What harsh words, even from a witch! Elise’s hand remained curled around my arm, no longer a source of punishment, but one of comfort. I think the feeling was mutual.
“We accept your terms,” Celestia said, and promptly proceeded to spit in her palm. Elise and I stared at her in awe. Our eldest sister was ready to make a deal with a witch! Those never came without a price, something you thought you were willing to give up, but that would cost you more than you realized.
The witch spat in her own, callused palm. She clasped hands with Celestia. She stared at her feet, at the swelling shadow around my sister. “You know what me want.”
“I shall give it to you gladly,” Celestia replied.
After the deal was signed, the witch set to work. She hovered around the cottage, reaching up for the ingredients she’d need in her spell. In the dimness it was hard to see, and I’d never been that good at naming plants, not unless they grew in abundance in the Summer Palace’s gardens. But I did recognize birch leaves shriveled to gray-green, and fir and juniper branches. Nettles. Daffodils. And dozens, if not hundreds of plants I had no idea about, a variety of moss and lichen too. Feathers of all sorts, those of magpie set separately, those of other birds bundled together. I might have been imagining it, but amidst the plants and feathers hung bones, dried feet of chicken and rodents perhaps. Things better not to think about or risk losing sleep over.
“Summer memory, grass, bare feet.” The witch lowered a long strand of what I hoped was just ordinary grass on the table, next to Alina. She glanced at Merile’s unmoving shape before the fireplace and said, “Lupine stem, you see too much.”
The rats by Merile’s side stirred then. The black one turned to stare at the witch. So did the brown one. The witch shook her head at them. “You. No time yet. You sleep.”
The rats lay down. They understood the witch’s words better than I did.
I wrapped my arms across my chest. Elise noticed my discomfort. She placed her arm around my shoulder. “She’s helping us.”
I knew that much, but still, any sensible person is afraid of a witch. Hence, I waited till the witch had drifted to the alcove before I whispered in as low voice as I could, “But she knows too much of us.”
“Hush,” Elise whispered back at me. “She can do us no harm.”
But the only light in the cottage came from the red-black embers. The tiny, thick windows didn’t let in the Moon’s light. That must have contributed to Captain Janlav’s agreeing to wait outside. Our father couldn’t see us. He couldn’t come to our aid.
The witch returned to the table. In her right hand she clutched a clay jar. In her left a piece of dry rye bread balanced on top of a carved cup. “Sweet, one love, other hate. Give away. Again. More.”
Elise’s arm, still around my shoulders, tensed. The honey was meant to represent me. The rye bread? That symbolized Elise, but why and how? And why did my sister react as she did?
“One more,” the witch said, motioning Celestia to meet her at the end of the table.
In the dim, red light, my fair sister resembled a spark itself. Something that strived, for a moment, with unfathomable beauty and vibrancy, but perished when it strayed too far from home, into the merciless night. “What shall it be?”
“Your finger,” the witch said, and I did gasp and Elise gasped too.
But Celestia boldly held out her little finger. If she feared that the witch might cut it off, no trace of that showed on her face, or in her posture for that matter. The witch cackled as she brought her thumbnail against my sister’s fingertip and promptly nicked the skin. “In cup it go.”
Celestia poised her hand above the cup. A tiny red drop swelled on the curve of her fingertip. It swelled larger, burst. Her blood trickled into the cup.
“Enough,” the witch said, and Celestia stepped aside, sucking her finger. Scribs, the scriptures say that our blood contains power. Then again, your pages say many things. One day I’ll figure out what’s nonsense and what’s actually useful. I swear to you that, and if you really want to call yourself my friend one day, you’ll hold me accountable for it.
“You watch,” the witch said to Celestia, Elise, and me before she gestured at Merile. Our sister hadn’t shifted an inch since entering the cottage. “Or you not. If you watch, you not stop. If you not watch, you not see.”