Troubled, her mother rose and went to an ancient chest that lay hidden
beneath a musty stretch of carpet, in a niche carved out of the cold
ground beneath. Kneeling over it, she unfastened the broad belt that
secured the lid, which she lifted and leaned carefully back against
the wall. Then with a quick glance at her daughter, she reached inside
and lifted out from among its shadowy contents a withered branch of
hemlock.
Moving to the fire, which glowed and hissed sullenly at her approach,
she thrust its head into the flames, holding the root in a stubborn
fist. Quietly and solemnly, she chanted some words in a language that
her daughter could not understand, and at length the dead leaves and
smoking stalk caught solid fire. Standing once more, she drew a slow
circle with it in the center of the room, then went to the door. As
soon as she opened it a cold wind pushed past and blew out the
trembling torch, but this seemed no more than she expected.
Stepping outside and closing the door behind her, the witch took a few
paces forward, turned again to face the hut.
Pages:
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32