shelf before turning her attention to the book resting on the desk and flipping it open to a random page toward the end. It was blank. She flipped forward until she found writing.
“I think this is her journal,” Isabel said, scanning the latest entry. “It seems we rushed her plans.” She flipped forward to the next page. “Doesn’t say why, but she’s pretty excited to have Hector and Horace. Wait. Oh Dear Maker … she plans to sacrifice them! We have to catch up to her before she reaches the mountain!”
“What’s she going to sacrifice them to?” Alexander asked.
“She calls it a ghidora,” Isabel said, flipping forward several pages. “Listen to this. ‘With the transference complete, I will have both my youth and my rightful place in the House of Karth once again.’ What do you think that means?”
“I don’t know, but I doubt it’s good,” Alexander said. “Take that, too … it might offer some useful insight.”
Isabel went to work packing the books and potions before carefully storing the jars of powder in her pouch. Except for the poison, since she didn’t understand how it was administered and didn’t want to accidentally poison herself.
“Anything else look useful?” she asked, scanning the room.
“One of those glowing jars of lichen,” Alexander said.
Once back in the cottage, she took what food she could carry and a length of sturdy rope, then filled her waterskin. Finally, she built a fire in the hearth and prepared a hot meal which she ate while cooking blackwort onto the blade of her dagger and boot knife. Finally, she tossed several burning logs into the corners of the cottage, then waited until the place was fully ablaze before heading for the exit to the hidden valley. The more she thought about it, the more she knew that Alexander was right. Hazel’s actions were those of an enemy … so war it was. She resolved to kill the old witch on sight lest she gain the upper hand yet again.
Isabel wasn’t anxious to be back in the swamp, especially alone, but she was in a hurry. It didn’t take long to pick up Hazel’s trail, in spite of the multitude of tracks left by the soldiers. The mud made for easy tracking and since the soldiers had left days ago, her friends’ tracks were fresh by comparison, which allowed her to make good time while still being alert to potential dangers and avoiding the water.
Alexander appeared at random intervals, sometimes just to keep her company, other times to warn her of some potential danger ahead. Even when he wasn’t visible, Isabel knew he was watching over her, a fact that was no small comfort in the dreariness and desolation of the swamp.
By the time she’d left the hidden valley, Hazel and her friends had several hours lead on her, but Isabel was fit and strong, driven by purpose and anger, while Hazel was old and frail. Isabel could make out the witch’s footprints amongst her friends, her stride was short and her gait was uneven, she could only be slowing them down.
“You’re gaining on them,” Alexander said, appearing next to her. “Unfortunately, they’re headed for a boathouse on the edge of deeper water. I doubt you can reach them before they get there.”
“And, of course, there’s only one boat,” Isabel said.
“I’m afraid so, but the boathouse is made of evenly cut timbers you can use to build a raft.”
“How far across the water?” Isabel asked.
“Couple of days,” Alexander said. “The foothills of the mountain are on the other side.”
“That’s going to put me at least a day behind them, and that’s without any unforeseen delays. I just hope I can catch up before Hazel gets where she’s going.”
“Me too,” Alexander said, fading from sight with a helpless shrug.
Isabel pressed on. The water became deeper, claiming more area, but she was able to stay on solid ground by following the trail Hazel and her friends had made. The old witch seemed to know exactly where she was going, a fact that made Isabel wonder even more about the mountain that once housed Siavrax Karth’s most secret laboratory. Clearly, Hazel knew much more about the place than she’d let on. Isabel only hoped her assertions about the Goiri were either wrong or just lies. The more she thought about it, the more she reasoned that Hazel would have felt threatened by the bones. After all, she was an old woman. Without her magic, she was helpless. If the stories were