Daughter of the Witch Wood Pt. 04

"Mother..." Sait eyed Min, then looked back. "Not in front of our guest, please. I've said plenty of times that I'll know the woman I want when I see her, and not before."

"Alright, alright." Ilay raised both hands in surrender. Erkin seemed to think that exchange very funny, for some reason, given the jiggling in his bare belly and the shaking of his shoulders.

"But I don't understand," Min said. "Sergen told me you all were under attack—that you somehow needed my help to stop..." She searched her memory. "...to stop someone named San, and the Bhalot."

It felt as though a cold wind blew over the camp. The old mates and their son looked at one another, and Ilay curled an arm around Min's waist, drawing them close together, hip to hip. "Take care how loudly you speak of the bear tribe, dearest," she said in a softer tone.

"The situation is dire and dangerous," Erkin added. "But Sergen is my kin, our kin, and if he said you would help us, I believe him."

"But why? Why me?" Min rested her head against Ilay's shoulder, closing her eyes for a moment. So many thoughts and emotions were boiling and swirling inside of her and she didn't know what to say, or to feel.

Min felt a hand on her leg, saw Sait's kind face and gentle smile when she opened her eyes. "You are one of us now—my father and mother are good judges of character. If Sergen has chosen you, and if you will stay with us, the tribe will welcome you."

"May I... May I speak with my..." She swallowed. "My mate first?"

All three of them nodded, almost in sync. Ilay kissed the top of Min's head, rubbing her back; she was tender and loving, reminding Min of her mother. It made her miss Erden, wishing she was there. "The curse, the sickness that Sergen tried to heal can't be lifted unless it's creator is slain, but I've found and isolated it—it won't trouble you again so long as the spell in your flesh remains."

"Then who is its creator?" she asked, taking Ilay's hand in hers, pulling it into her lap. She hoped that pleased the older witch.

Erkin answered her: "The creator's name is San, who you spoke of—a witch herself, and a powerful one. She and the bear-men are hunting our kind. We don't know where she came from, but she seems to have made our annihilation her one goal, whatever else may come. That seems to be why she works with the bears." He shook his head, perhaps in disbelief. "She became the mate of Ustal, their chieftain, and uses some dark magic to make them unstoppable. In the last year, they've killed dozens of my people." He sighed, turning his head to look around the small camp. "We are all that remains."

It was a solemn, sad moment. Min wanted to turn and run, to flee all the way back to her mother's hut, hide under the blanket and never come out again. But that was impossible now. She'd become part of a larger world, a reality she's never known about just days ago.

What Min wanted to do was to promise that she would help, that she would stay and fight by any means necessary. But she didn't. Her mouth tasted like ashes, and she slowly handed the bowl back to the chieftain's son and stood up, letting Ilay's hand go. "I will go and speak with my mate on this. Which tent is he resting in?"

"He always stakes his claim at the far end of the camp," Sait said, pointing the direction Selin had gone. "Shall I show you the way?"

"No, thank you. I should try to find it myself. Thank you for the food, it was very good."

Ilay patted Min on the hip in a silent goodbye. Erkin and Sait both bid her farewell with a nod. Nodding as well, Min turned on heavy feet and walked in the direction Sait had pointed to while her heart pounded in her chest and her hands curled tight at her sides.

The camp seemed like a homey, happy sort of place. She tried to imagine herself there as one of them: sewing torn tents, tending to cooking fires, rocking little ones to sleep. It was so different from the isolated life she'd lived. Min wished her mother was here. She was so distracted that she almost missed the tent flap ahead of her opening before Selin stepped out, all long legs and pale flesh, round hips and lovely eyes. When their eyes met, it seemed that the other woman was pleased with herself, and if Min could make an educated guess, she knew whose tent the woman had just stepped out of.

"What are you doing?" Min stopped several paces distant, scowling at the woman. "What were you doing in there?"

Selin flipped her hair back, snorted. "Are you going to accuse me of something?"

"If that's the tent I think it is, I'm accusing you of being somewhere that you aren't wanted, for one."

The blonde didn't even flinch. Min heard the familiar sound of bone cracking and reforming, and Selin's right hand was suddenly twice as long, spindly fingers outstretched, each tipped with an angry claw. "My father," she said, "is chieftain of this whole tribe. I go where I want to go."

Well. That certainly explained why Selin wasn't wearing her own kollik, at least. Or perhaps wolf-women could be witches too...but Min would have to worry about that later. She was aware then that the sounds of the camp had died down—there were hurried footsteps behind her as people approached, but no one spoke up or interrupted. Even the general noise of the forest itself was muffled, as though even the birds in the trees didn't want to be heard.

Min tipped her head again, hardly believing what she was seeing. "I am a stranger here. A guest. Do all of your people act as rudely as you, Selin?"

"Only when a stranger deserves it, you worthless waste of a good fuck." Selin sniffed, curling her lip. "Why Sergen chose to stick his cock between your legs, I'll never know."

"Selin!" It was Ilay's voice. "Stop that this inst—!"

With an upraised hand, Min herself stopped the older woman from speaking further. She didn't need or want someone else to defuse the situation;Selin was looking for a fight. It was up to Min to find a way to end things before they got worse.

Min focused on Selin's claws, that misshapen hand that would tear her face off if the other woman got a chance. She spoke softly, curiously, as she inspected their every detail: the narrow digits, the thickened knuckles, the claws turned black with sharpened points. "You wolves heal very quickly, don't you?"

Selin smirked, flaring her fingers open like a fan; the claws clicked and scraped on each other. "Faster than you can do anything about it."

If a wolf-man—or -woman—could initiate the change at will, that likely meant it was controlled by the will, the power of the mind. Min kept her hands away from her head; it was a bad habit, her mother said. Her eyes went blue as aku swelled in her skull and Min touched Selin's mind with hers.

It was a vulgar, wild, lecherous place, the sort of psyche Min might have enjoyed another time: she saw thoughts of debauchery, of lust and physical hunger; flashes, images of Selin with Sergen, with men she didn't know, thoughts of Sait, Ilay and Erkin, all jumbled and tangled together like vines on a tree.

Selin frowned, took a step closer. She visibly winced. "What are you doing?"

Min didn't answer. It reminded her of how she'd first learned to use her powers as a child, touching the minds of birds, small beasts, even insects—they were lower intellects, simple things that barely noticed her presence. Selin most certainly did notice that presence now, and the look on the woman's face said that she didn't appear to like it very much.

A quick search found the bestial piece of Selin's psyche, where woman and wolf were one, which also controlled Selin's physical transformation. With a thought, Min reversed the effect, like pouring water back into a cup.

Selin gasped, then screamed in shock and pain as her bones began to shatter and reform again. She clutched her wrist, watching in disbelief as her clawed fingers shrank and changed back to admittedly pretty hands with pretty fingernails, but they certainly didn't look very threatening. She looked at Min next, tucking her hand under her arm, as though that was enough to block the young witch out.

"If I ever catch you in his tent again," Min said in a soft voice, "I'll break your fingers so many times they'll never grow back." She wanted to glare but kept her face passive instead—that would, she hoped, be more frightening.

The chieftain's daughter fled.

After a moment, Min closed her eyes, took a calming breath, hoped that she wouldn't start shaking. Nobody behind her said a word—hopefully that meant she hadn't broken some kind of tribal decorum about threatening anyone. Before she could lose her nerve, she walked to Sergen's tent—her tent, their tent—lifted the flap, and stepped inside.