Elara Nightshade's Arc

Chapter 2 of 2

Elara walked into the wood before noon. The trees stretched in every direction, dark and endless. She had no map and no path. The old tales said the witch lived deep, but deep meant nothing among miles of the same gray trunks. By afternoon her legs ached, and the light thinned. Darkness was coming, and she was lost. She stopped to catch her breath. A branch snapped behind her. She turned and saw a black cat on a fallen log. Its eyes held tiny points of light, like stars trapped in glass. The cat stared at her, then leapt down and trotted away. Elara almost let it go. Then the cat paused and looked back, waiting. She followed. It led her over roots and through brush, always a few steps ahead. When she slowed, it stopped. When she caught up, it moved. The cat brought her to a grove of tall trees. Clusters of purple flowers hung from their branches like curtains. The air smelled sweet and wrong. Elara reached toward a bloom, and the cat hissed. She pulled her hand back. Poison. The cat had warned her. Beyond the grove stood a crooked shape. At first Elara thought it was a stump. Then it rose. A woman, bent and tall, wrapped in ragged green cloth stitched with thorns and moss. Glowing marks crawled along her arms. Her yellow eyes fixed on Elara, and her mouth split into a grin full of teeth. "You smell of the moon," the witch said. Her voice cracked like dry wood. "Cursed thing. You've come a long way to find me, girl." Elara's heart pounded. She forced her voice steady. "I need you to break my curse. It turns me into a monster each new moon." The witch circled her slowly. The black cat sat between them, tail curled. "I can break it," the witch said. "But I don't work for nothing." "I know," Elara said. "A message told me the price. You want a raven." The witch stopped. Her grin widened. "A raven, yes. Not any raven." She raised one long finger. "The one that speaks. It nests in the old chapel past the fog. Bring me the speaking raven, and I will lift your curse." Elara's stomach dropped. She had hoped to catch any bird. Now the task had sharpened into something harder. "A speaking raven," she repeated. "It does not wish to be caught," the witch said. "Many have tried. Their bones feed my grove." She turned back toward the trees. "Come with the raven, or do not come at all." The witch melted into the dark. The cat rose and pressed against Elara's leg, then trotted the way they had come. Elara followed it out of the wood. She had found the witch. She had the bargain she came for. But now she needed a bird that spoke and could not be caught, hidden in an abandoned chapel she had never seen.