The Dark Remains - Mark Anthony [22]
The gardens of Ar-tolor were both larger and wilder than Calavere’s, with its neat paths and well-tended hedge maze that Aryn had played in so much as a girl she could navigate it with her eyes closed. Here, the walkways tangled back on themselves, leading at every turn to unexpected grottoes, shaded fountains spilling over mossy stones, and thickets where gods peered from leafy shrines with serene marble eyes.
They passed through an arch of moss-covered stone Aryn never recalled seeing in all her garden wanderings and stepped into a great space beyond.
It was like a temple all of green. Ancient trees formed twin colonnades, their trunks like columns arching into slender beams overhead. Flowering vines wove among the branches, completing the walls and vaulted dome. Silver moonlight tinged with emerald filtered down from above, and fallen petals glowed on the ground. Leaves stirred on the night breeze like the whispers of many voices. Then Aryn shivered, and she knew it was more than just the leaves that were whispering.
The garden was filled with witches.
All of them wore the same light green robes, and in the dimness the garments melded with the shadows of the trees, so that it was impossible to be certain how many there were. But Aryn was certain it was tenscore if it was one. A thrill rose in her chest.
Oh, Grace. I wish you could be here for this. It’s so marvelous—I never knew there were so many like us. You’d see that you’re not alone, that you’re never alone.
At the far end of the grove, marble steps led up to a circular rostrum. On the rostrum were seven pedestals, and atop each one shone a globe of light. At first Aryn wondered if they were glass balls filled with fireflies, but that was absurd. How could they be kept alive? Besides, it was too late in the year, and the light the globes gave off was not yellow but greenish like the leaf-filtered moonlight.
“What can it be?” Aryn murmured.
She felt eyes upon her and looked up into Lirith’s midnight gaze.
It is called witchfire, sister. Bright to look at, but cool to the touch.
Witchfire? Lirith had never spoken of such a thing before. But then, there were so many things Aryn had yet to learn. She opened her mouth to say more, but at that moment the tall witch who had led her group spoke.
“This way.”
Nayla guided Aryn and her companions toward the middle of the grove, while Lirith led her group to one side. They passed by other small clusters of women, and when they halted again Aryn saw that there was an order to the placement of the green-robed witches. The youngest were gathered on the right as one faced the rostrum. Aryn’s group was to their left, while in the middle of the grove were witches who were more of an age with Lirith and Grace. Beyond were witches of greater maturity, many beautiful still, but their hair graying, their faces lined with wisdom. And nearly lost in the shadows on the far left side were the eldest of the witches: the hags and crones, backs hunched, limbs gnarled, jaws toothless.
As she turned back, a flash of white caught Aryn’s eye. She glanced in that direction, then gasped. For a moment she thought the young woman was clad in the snowy petals that still drifted down from above, for she seemed to shine in the green gloaming. Then Aryn blinked, and she understood: It was a white robe the other wore—the very same garment she and Lirith had helped to weave only days ago.
“Isn’t she beautiful?” one of the witches of Aryn’s group—the one who had stared at her arm earlier—now whispered in her ear, her brown eyes shining.
Aryn nodded. As a girl, she had gazed into mirrors and had tried to picture what she might be like when she was grown: dark, slender, radiant, and whole. However, as she grew older, Aryn had never seen that beautiful young woman reflected back at her. Until now.
The young witch in white might have been Aryn’s sister. Her hair was dark as shadows, her eyes blue gems, her skin smooth as ivory. Yet there were realms of difference between them, for the other carried herself proud and straight, gazing on everything