“I have children at home,” Naelin pleaded, “two young, beautiful children who need their mother. Don’t make me do this.” She glanced back and forth between them, trying to find a shred of sympathy in their eyes. The guard’s expression was colder than a mountain stream.
“They’ll be well provided for, regardless of the outcome,” the champion said, as if that would soothe her. “The Crown has funds for families such as yours. Your husband and children will never want for anything ever again.”
“Except for their mother!” Naelin’s voice was shrill. Her muscles screamed at her to run, run, run! But she knew she couldn’t outrun two trained warriors.
The guardswoman clucked her tongue. “That’s not a winning attitude. Use your power, and you’ll survive.”
And then you’ll take me away, Naelin thought. She couldn’t win. This was a trap. Use her power, and they’d take her away from her family, to the capital, where she’d face worse and worse tests until one finally killed her. Or don’t use her power, and risk dying here and now. “You’re condemning me to death. If the spirits come after me, I won’t be able to stop them, and you’ll be murderers.”
“The queen will pardon us,” the guard said cheerfully. “Good luck!”
“Use your power,” the champion advised. He then grabbed on to a rope above the bridge and shimmied up. The guard ran and leaped off the bridge, landing squirrel-like on a branch several trees away.
Naelin stood frozen for a moment. What was she supposed to do? Go home, and risk whatever “test” happening there? Stay here, all alone? Or return to the market?
Market, she decided. The champion wouldn’t dare “test” her while she was surrounded by innocent people, and her family would be safe. Spinning around, she ran back toward the platform. It wasn’t far. Just around the bend.
The rope bridge shook under her, and she shot a look behind her.
Three wood spirits, laughing gleefully, were loping toward her on all fours, like gangly squirrels. Naelin ran faster, her side pinching and the bag of flour pounding on her back. Ahead, she saw the platform—“Help! Help! Spirits are coming!”
On the platform, her cry was repeated, and people scattered, screaming. She kept running, her calves burning and her breath raking her throat. A clawed hand snagged her skirt. She felt a tug and heard the fabric tear.
Swinging her bag off her back, she threw it full in the face of the nearest spirit. The flour sack burst against its face, and the white dust plumed all around them. Coughing, the spirits slowed. She scrambled forward and onto the platform.
Ahead, in the market, it was chaos, as people ran for weapons and to hide. Stands were knocked over and used as barriers. Children were snatched up by parents and hidden inside barrels and behind boxes. Someone was shouting orders, and Naelin ran into the center of the tangle of people. She’d made it! Now the champion and the guard had to come! They wouldn’t let the spirits hurt innocent people, right?
“More above!” someone shouted.
Looking up, Naelin saw air spirits swooping between the branches. Leaves spun in whirlwinds in their wake. They plucked at the scarves that had served as tent covers, and the fabric swirled through the air as if this were a celebration—a terrible, terrifying celebration.
Caught up in the press of people, Naelin was swept backward toward the shops. She pulled charms out of her pockets and began handing them to everyone she could reach. “Keep these out,” she commanded.
But the spirits didn’t attack. They circled the crowd—air spirits above and tree spirits on the platform. Screaming, people shifted out of the way, flattening against the shops, as the spirits slinked through the market, looking in every corner and sniffing the air, as if they were searching for someone.
For me, Naelin thought.
She’d be found if she stayed here, out in the open. Glancing behind her, she saw a familiar shop—Corinda’s! With a burst of speed, she wove through the throng of people and pushed her way to the door.
Standing in her shop doorway, the hedgewitch was busily handing out charms. “Pay me later; take it now,” she was saying. Seeing Naelin, she cried, “You should be home!”
“Shh! You don’t see me!” Naelin squeezed past her inside and crouched by the window. Outside, six tree spirits stalked back and forth across the platform. Six! They hissed at the crowd, and people held charms in front of them with shaking arms. Don’t attack, she thought, but she didn’t let the words escape her own mind.
With the champion and the guard out there somewhere watching, she didn’t dare use her power. Naelin ran to the shelves. The flour had stunned them, and the charms repulsed them—what if she combined the two? Corinda’s shop had every ingredient a hedgewitch would ever need. Naelin pulled canisters from the shelves and began dumping the contents into a bowl. She recited the recipe in her mind, multiplying the ingredients and then stirring. She felt a faint tingle on her arms, raising her arm hairs. Almost done.
Cradling the bowl in her arms, Naelin ran to the window. She peeked out. Across the platform, by the fallen stands, she saw the miller pointing a shaky finger at Corinda’s shop. Silently, she cursed him and his overpriced flour.
The tallest tree spirit swung his head toward the shop, and Naelin shrank back. She hugged the bowl of herbs tighter against her chest. Her heart was beating loud, and she thought of Erian and Llor—Erian with her smile that lit her eyes and Llor with his cheerful grin. She pictured them curled up in bed, peaceful, and awake, Erian talking about her day at school and Llor tugging on her skirt, asking her to play.
Sniffing the air, the spirit stalked toward the shop. It gestured, and the others fell in behind it, fanning out. The air spirits hovered inches above the platform. Corinda backed inside. “Hide,” she whispered to Naelin. “They’re coming!”
Crouching beside the door, Naelin readied the bowl.
Corinda slammed the door shut.
Outside, the spirits howled. Corinda shoved a barrel in front of the door to brace it, and then she was knocked backward as the door burst open. Wood splintered in all directions. Now! Lunging forward, blocking her fallen friend, Naelin hurled the contents of the bowl at the spirits as they spilled through the doorway.
The spirits squealed. Scraping at their bodies, they howled. Their arms lashed out, and Naelin retreated. Grabbing Corinda’s arm, she dragged her away as the spirits boiled inside, covered in herbs and shrieking as if she’d burned them.
One of the spirits charged, though, plowing into Corinda. Its claws raked her, and Corinda cried out. Naelin threw herself forward, trying to pull the spirit off her friend. The spirit slipped through her fingers and launched itself at her, sinking its fangs into her shoulder. Naelin screamed, and it bit harder. The pain blanked out all reasoning, all memory, just the desire for it to stop, stop, STOP!
The thought flew out of her like an arrow, and she felt the word yank at her skin as sharply as the spirit’s teeth. Her blood on its fangs, the spirit reared back as if she’d hit it. Naelin clutched her shoulder, and saw the spirit had stopped.