“You are a witch.” I blurted out without thinking of how my men would react, and react they did. As they reached for their swords, the ringing of pulled steel reverberated in the small space. “Hold!” I growled. To my surprise, Myra did not so much as flinch. She simply watched us through keen grey eyes, a knowing smirk on her face.
“Put your weapons away.” My words were stern as my lips tightened. The muscles in my body coiled tightly. I was ready to react quickly, but to what, I had no idea. Though I still did not feel any danger, the circumstances had changed. We were not dealing with a person who possessed magical powers; we were dealing with a person who knew how to wield that magic. The variation was not mere semantics. It was the difference between a torch and a bonfire. Both should be respected, but one was much more dangerous.
In fact, according to my mother, there were more people who possessed magical powers and did not know it than those who practiced magic. Those who housed powers but were unaware generally ignored the strange events that often occurred around them. Myra was no such person—she was well-versed in her magical abilities.
With audible mutterings, my men obeyed my command and sheathed their swords. Her hands were clasped, resting in her lap. Her shoulders slumped forward a little, as though she had been carrying heavy bags in both hands for a long time. Her eyes roved, taking in everything about me and my warriors. Regardless how ancient and fragile she appeared, Myra was a formidable force.
“I’ve been called many things over the years: sorceress, enchantress, and, yes, even witch,” she said after a few moments. “While I find such labels ill-fitting for who I really am, I suppose they adequately answer what others really want to know—can I use magic? Yes, I can.”
“Surely the Britons do not condone your use of magic?” I asked.
“I don’t go around calling fire down from the sky, now, do I? To everyone else, I’m but a peddler of healing plants. If, after imbibing my tinctures, some find they have been miraculously healed, well… I make sure to give all credit to Mother Earth, who provides us with these wonderful herbs. Sure, there are some who have suspected over the years, but I have always managed to assuage any suspicions. Most just think me a crackpot or a charlatan. Either is fine with me.”
“So, this kingdom is unkind to those who wield sacred powers?” Amund asked.
“That is putting it mildly. They fear anything they cannot explain. People who are scared make rash decisions.” Myra explained.
I understood what she meant. My people were among the few who openly accepted those with gifts and sought to harness their power rather than shun them… or worse.
“How do you know who I am?” I asked, finally addressing the reason I was sitting in the witch’s home.
“I have seen you, Torben, many times from afar. Over the past year, I have been unable to scry without your face appearing in my bowl. I was not sure when you were coming, but I knew you would be here. Your coming is the mark of a major change in the future of this kingdom as well as that of your own Hakon clan.”
A chill ran down my spine when I heard her say the name of my clan when I had not mentioned it. I did not doubt she had seen what she claimed, especially after hearing my mother’s premonition. “What did you see?”
“Two futures continually appear to me.” Myra began. “One is a future filled with war and cruelty, where Britain is conquered by King Cathal of Tara. King Albric believes the union of his eldest daughter and the king of Tara is of equal benefit to both kingdoms, but he is mistaken. Cathal plans to overtake the kingdom and add it to his empire, making Albric’s people subjects of Tara. Any who resist will be killed or enslaved.”
“That’s encouraging.” Brant grumbled.
“And the other future?” I asked.
“You are to take Allete as your bride, and your union will eventually lead to a peaceful alliance with King Albric. Clan Hakon will prosper with the gift your bride brings to your people. You and Albric will align to defeat Cathal. Although there will be many casualties, you will be victorious.”
“Magnus would never let that happen.” Amund interrupted. “He’s never had much use for allies.”
“Your own chieftain must fall for this future to come to pass,” she responded, eyeing me warily as she spoke.
As I listened to her, I debated whether I should tell her about my mother and her prophecy.
“I already know about Hilda the Oracle.”
My eyes widened. Once again, the witch had managed to surprise me. “What do you know of her?” My soldiers did not know my mother was also a healer, but I needed to know if Myra was aware.
The witch hesitated before speaking. “I know of you mother’s gifts, but they are not common knowledge.”
I nodded my thanks.
“Yet understand that the future is never certain. Regardless of what your mother or I have seen, there is always a chance something else could happen. People are unpredictable. A single act, however seemingly insignificant, can change the course of history,” Myra said.
“I appreciate the information,” I said sincerely—it was reassuring to hear from another seer that my actions were not misguided.
“I have one more thing to offer,” she said, “which has a bit more practical value.” Myra stood and walked to a shelf filled with small vials of powder, liquids, and all manner of unrecognizable substances. On the end of the shelf, an ancient well-worn book rested, its crumbling pages hanging on by the slightest of threads. She laid it on the table between us.
“If you will allow it, I would like to cast a spell over each one of you. This spell will make you appear as a Briton to everyone but your own people, allowing you to blend in—you don’t exactly look like the other men around here.
I heard grumblings from the men standing behind me, but Myra continued, undaunted.
“The spell will also subtly influence the minds of those you encounter. You will be familiar to them, causing them to trust you when they might otherwise question your words or actions. To your own people, if you whisper the word reveal, the spell will lift from their eyes and they will see you clearly beneath the magic. My recommendation to you,” she said, pointing at me, “would be to get on the guard detail assigned to Allete. That way, you can be close to her. You,” she continued, pointing at Brant, “should go with Torben. The rest of you need to spread out among Albric and Cathal’s guards, allowing you to gather information on Cathal’s people and perhaps ferret out any plans he has.”
“Of course,” I answered. We appreciate your help very much, Myra.”
“There is one more thing you should know—another thing I have seen. A time will come when you will be required to offer your own life for Allete’s. At that time, the spell will break.”
I was shocked at her words. At no point had my mother mentioned that the princess’ life would be in danger.
“I’m confused.” I stared at Myra with a puzzled expression on my face. “How will I take the princess as my wife if I am to die for her?” The old woman smirked.