Page 13 of Spellcast
I swallowed down the painful lump in my throat because I knew he was right. If they stayed, they would be as trapped as I was. I did not want that for them.
And just like that, I became a thing of the past.
It was a bitter thing to accept. Life was for the living, and whatever I was now...I wasn’t that.
My life was no life. It was something else. Something terrible.
I slipped from their room that night, from the house, a wraith walking through the sleeping village.
Snow fell lightly upon the blanket of white already piled on the ground, concealing the path, but I knew it from memory, so I followed the trail as though it would lead me somewhere, as though a destination awaited me.
I glanced behind me, expecting to see my footprints on the lustrous snow, but they were not there. The snow was smooth and unblemished.
I left no mark.
4
Anyone Anywhere
Day 36
Imattered once.
I had my father and brothers and Meya and Linnea.
There were people who cared if I lived or died. People who grieved when they thought me dead.
But then they moved on. Life resumed. Work. School. Children played. Adults complained about the shortage of food and the endless winter and tithes. They argued about the war and the exodus of youth from Isstad.
I didn’t blame them. I would have done the same.
Moving on was what people did.
But now I didn’t matter. I didn’t matter to anyone anywhere.
And that was the cold reality that followed me through every waking moment.
5
A Witch in the Woods
Day 84
Ididn’t sleep much anymore.
As all things that lived in shadow, I embraced the night, burrowing into my cloak and walking through the cold, visiting the various taverns in the village, my legs lifting, falling one after the other mechanically. Breathing without thought. Living without life.
The taverns could be counted upon to deliver diversion. They buzzed with revelry late into the night, especially in the winter. In the cold months, more than ever, the villagers sought the company of each other over pints of ale near a crackling fire.
I found myself in a corner, sitting on a forgotten stool with one wobbly leg, trying not to feel so very alone and apart from everything in the crowded room. I never thought that possible. To be alone in a space full of people, tofeelachingly alone when surrounded. It was still a new sensation, a fresh skin I’d donned that would never feel right or comfortable over my bones.
I watched sullenly as they caroused and drank and laughed, telling their stories, singing their bawdy songs. I sat, listening, hoping someone would mention me so that I would not feel so forgotten.
It was not an unreasonable expectation. My name still came up, my disappearance still a raw, pulsing wound in the village. Mothersclung fast to their children. No one went into the woods alone, the fear rampant that whatever had befallen me could happen again to any one of them.
It didn’t take long until I was mentioned tonight, conjecture given, speculation spouted over my fate.
I leaned forward, listening avidly, raptly to it all, thinking that perhaps one person would land on the truth.
