Karen Wrighton - Ryte of Passage

Also by Karen Wrighton

The Afterland Chronicles

Ascension of the Whyte

Ryte of Passage

Ice and Fyre

Standalone

The Afterland Chronicles Boxed Set (Books 1 - 3)

The Last Girl Guide

Molly Midnight and the Little People

Watch for more at Karen Wrightons site.

www.karenwrightonbooks.com

Sleepless Psyche Publishing

www.sleeplesspsyche.co.uk

Email: sleeplesspsyche@ aol.com

Text Copyright 2016 Karen Wrighton

Illustrations 2016 Karen Wrighton

All Rights Reserved

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, incidents and dialogues are products of the authors imagination. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental .

Created with Vellum

For John, the love of my life, who read this first .

From Knucker holes, thou must acquire ,

Ice that stays the heat of fyre ,

Keep it well in Knucker's spew ,

Until again, I heed to you .

This charm begins ,

Though there are more ,

Three to fashion that ,

Which is cast, on four .

D espite the crowd's tumultuous welcome, Rose could not ignore her growing sense of unease as she was escorted into the Elder Witchs dwelling. It was a gnarled, dynamic structure, each of its chambers hacked from the core of the giant ebony tree. Rose was led directly to its centre, into a small circular room with a dirt floor. The dimly lit hollow was crammed full of roughly made furniture, each piece peppered with a myriad of whorls, ridges and knots where branches had once sprung from the living wood .

A cauldron steamed and bubbled over a fire in the centre of the room. A loud crack broke the silence, Rose flinched as a burst of smoking embers shot out of the flames. The room smelled stagnant and musty like mouldy earth, and the fumes from the fire did little to improve matters. A jagged hole cut in the charred ceiling formed a pitifully ineffective chimney. The resulting pungent, choking haze leeched into Roses eyes, causing them to smart and prickle .

The Elder Witch stood next to the fire with one hand outstretched, indicating a large wooden armchair draped in bearskins .

Lady Rose, I appreciate you accepting my invitation, she said, turning briefly to the Twocast male who had escorted Rose in. Thank you , Zac .

His dismissal evident, Zac, a well-built young man with a mass of unkempt dark hair, nodded and smiled. The white clay painted onto his face cracked, small fragments flaking off and floating to the ground like tiny desiccated snowflakes .

As Zac left the dingy, stuffy room, the Elder Witch eased herself into a sturdy looking wooden rocking chair, its twisted limbs rubbed smooth by many decades of use. The old woman could not conceal her obvious discomfort as she gingerly lowered herself into her seat. Rose sat on the bearskin-covered chair, feeling a pang of sympathy. Old bones... and this damp atmosphere cannot be helping .

Despite getting little sleep over the previous few days, Rose looked the epitome of youth and vitality; cheeks flushed and hair shimmering like spun silver in the firelight. In stark contrast, the Elder Witchs sparse white hair had long lost its lustre, and her paper-thin skin had grown cracked and splintered by the passage of time. All the same, Rose found herself marvelling at the piercing clarity of the woman's bright violet eyes, and her delicate, angular bone structure, which gave her an ageless, timeless beauty that was surprisingly engaging .

That was quite a performance you gave out there, said Elder, sounding impressed, though her eyes remained unreadable. In all my years I cannot ever remember hearing such a rousing soliloquy. It would be difficult, if not impossible, to find anyone here who would argue with the power or the validity of your words .

She paused, leaning forward, eyes narrowing as her smile vanished .

But that was your intent was it not, Rose the Whyte." Her words sliced through the air like shards of ice. "Is there no depth to your arrogance !"

Gripping the arms of the rocking chair, Elder's long bony fingers whitened .

What gives you the right to speak to my people in that way ?

Rose felt a tingle as the hairs on her neck bristled. She recalled Vega describing the incidents that had ostensibly built the Elder Witchs evil reputation. The stories were mostly the product of rumour and gossip, and although now accepted as folklore they were almost certainly wildly exaggerated. Vega had cautioned her to be prudent just the same .

I apologise, Elder, said Rose, smoothing the tremor from her voice. Maybe it would have been more judicious for me to have spoken to you first , but ...

Indeed, Elder's jaw tightened, her eyes brimming with fury. It was I who watched over these people. For nigh on a thousand years, I kept them free from persecution, educated them, fed them and healed them when they were sick. Where were you and your kind then Rose of the Whyte? What gives you the right to take them from me now and lead them off to fight in your war? I have earned my ryte of passage with these people Lady Rose and you most certainly have not .

The old woman spat out the words with such venom that it ignited a furnace of fury within Rose. It's not my war. I didn't choose this, I didn't choose to lead anyone into battle. I don't have the luxury of choice .

Rose struggled to contain her emotions, two red blotches blazed high on her cheekbones. She gasped, gulping in a lungful of air; she'd been holding her breath. Whatever is at the core of this woman's hatred is unlikely to be fixed by words alone, but I have to try .

I had no intention of taking your people from you Elder. Rose spoke the words softly, velvet, over cold, hard, steel. because firstly, I was not aware that you owned these people, and secondly because I was expecting that, as their leader, you would accompany them. That aside, I am curious as to why you hate we ascendants with such passion .

Oh, you are curious are you? Elder's mouth twitched in amusement .

The woman's sudden levity seemed ominous to Rose, she felt her heart lurch in her chest .

Elder pitched backwards in her chair, its rockers hammering into the ground where the wood had cut two deep grooves from centuries of rocking. Ultimately, her rocking stilled, her eyes clouding, as she gazed, entranced, into the flames of the fire .