The Cry of the Icemark - By Stuart Hill Page 0,117
at the amazed expressions around her and explained, “We’ve eaten nothing but meat for weeks.”
“More like months,” Oskan added. “I don’t think I could even look at another steak or cutlet, let alone eat one!”
Thirrin nodded in agreement, and Elemnestra discreetly signaled to Olememnon, who understood perfectly what she meant and sent a rider back to the palace with orders to change the menu for that night’s banquet.
The party then waited politely while the Queen and Oskan ate another apple, after which the Basilea took control of proceedings.
Slightly to the left of the welcoming party stood a large group of women, with one or two men among them. They were of all ages and their dress ranged from the rich and splendid to a pungent gathering of rags. But all seemed to be treated with respect by the soldiers and crowds that stood around them. At their head stood a tiny wizened figure, bent almost double with age. She leaned on a staff that was as thin and twisted as she was, and her fine white hair blew and streamed out in the light breeze, as though she were standing in a hurricane. Her name was Wenlock Witchmother, and she was the oldest and most respected of the White Witches of the Icemark.
The Basilea beckoned to them, and the entire group moved forward to surround Thirrin and her party.
“Greetings, Queen Thirrin,” the Witchmother said in a surprisingly strong voice. “We give thanks to the Great Goddess for your safe return from The-Land-of-the-Ghosts and pledge our loyalty for the coming struggle.”
Thirrin gazed at them with a mixture of wonder and respect. These were the White Witches her father had told her about. After Redrought had defeated the Vampire King and Queen at the Battle of the Wolfrocks and expelled all magical creatures from the Icemark, he’d allowed the White Witches to stay, and they’d repaid him with unswerving loyalty and service. She nodded her head in greeting to the Witchmother and thanked her for her continuing support.
“To that you’re welcome, Queen,” the old woman answered shortly. “But our main purpose here is to greet one of our own. Oskan the Warlock.”
Oskan stepped forward and bowed to the old woman, then waited silently for her to speak.
“I remember your mother, White Annis. Had she lived, she would have taken my staff as Witchmother when I am called to the Summer Lands. But the Goddess had other plans for her, and she went home before me. The Mother knows her own mind, and we must accept it. But I have this to say to you, Oskan the Warlock: Your path won’t be easy. Much of it is hidden, as was the fate of your mother, but I have been shown that as a saver of lives you may never kill, except perhaps once. And if that happens, you’ll pay a heavy price. I’ve been told to tell you that death will come from the skies and healing from the earth.”
Oskan frowned. “But what does that mean?”
The old woman laughed. “The Goddess will tell you when she’s ready, and not one moment before. Be content to know this, Oskan the Warlock, you’re favored by the Mother. Your powers are stronger than any I’ve ever known. I can feel the presence of them like storms in the summer air.” She paused here, and her eyes turned disdainfully to the Basilea and her soldiers. “Some people think the Goddess is for women alone and that she has no time for men; well, they forget she has her husband and loves him well. And they also forget that she’s the mother of us all, and a mother’s love for her sons is special and strong.
“Not many men carry the burden of her powers; that’s her blessing on them. Her gifts are heavy, and her sons she’s happy to see carefree. But sometimes she chooses a man whose spirit is strong. You can see them among us,” she said, nodding her head at the few men who stood in the group behind her. “And when she does, their Power is something to behold. But none, none at all equal you, Oskan the Warlock. And I say this now to all with ears to hear: I name you as my successor! You will carry the staff of the Witchmother when I am called at last to the Summer Lands. You will be Oskan Witchfather, only the second of your kind to carry the staff.”