us with raised eyebrows, him tall and lean, her thin and petite, both of them staring at the book Sven carried.
“That tower witch get the better of you?” Galath ran his thumb across a cut on Sven’s chin.
Sven grinned. “I found Skinn Lykill. It was worth a few cuts from some old witch-ghost.”
Teel handed Sven a slice of bread with melted cheese. “It was a risk. Are you sure she is fully contained within that tower?”
Lionel glanced at the Glee Starr girl. “If I know anything about magic, and I do, I’d say her ghost is held there by her own spell, one she wove when still alive. We are safe.”
A Quick named Amma jumped down from one of the trees. She was plump and strong, with beautiful eyes. She faced Sven, raised a finger to her throat, and made a slicing motion. “Someone should have boiled that Jade Fell witch down to the bone.”
Gyda made the Elsh sign of truth. “And crushed her bones into dust, as the Sea Witches did with the Cut-Queen. It’s the only way. Otherwise, they can leave a trace … a ghost, a memory, a scent.”
Ink described our night to the other Quicks as we ate breakfast. I found myself caught up in her story, even though I had actually been there and seen it all myself. Ink folded words into stories so seamlessly it felt like a spell—the trademark of any true storyteller.
Afterward, we gathered around Sven as she set Skinn Lykill on the stump of a tree. She undid the gold clasp and lifted the heavy front cover.
The Quick stared at the first page for a moment, then let out a small sigh. “As I expected, it’s written in Old Vorse.”
Ink nodded. “You will have to get a Scholar to translate it for you … which will be tricky, as most are itinerant—they roam from library to library in search of esoteric knowledge.”
Sven met the storyteller’s gaze. “I know of a Scholar who roams this forest every summer, though she will take some time to find.”
“Gretel.” Teel thoughtfully traced her blue tattoo with her fingertips. “She’s an odd one.”
“She knows every language, alive or dead,” Lionel added.
A pretty Quick with short brown hair and sad brown eyes stepped forward. “It’s said she searches this forest for the lost library of a legendary tree wizard. The library moves with the wind and shifts with the sun, so it’s nearly impossible to find.”
Sven smiled. “I’ve heard that story as well, Pip. And I believe it.”
“We see Gretel a few times each year.” Galath glanced at Ink. “She has long white hair and long white limbs, and she rides a giant white reindeer. She often watches us from a distance as we hunt—she’ll approach if invited, but otherwise keeps her distance.”
Sven tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. “Gretel will want to know about the other books in that tower.”
“But you have to find her first,” Gyda said.
I reached out and ran my fingers down a page of the book, over strange texts and stranger illustrations. “It appears you now have a quest to find a Scholar, Sven du Lac. Gyda has a quest to find a sword. Madoc has a quest for vengeance, and I have a quest to find my sister.”
The Quick leader looked at me. “It is good to have quests, Torvi. It is Vorse.”
“Stefan used to say that the Butcher Bards are roamers and artists who seek out danger and share a desire for adventure.” Ink rested her hand on the hilt of her knife and gazed up at the sky. “He used to say that each of us is a hero in search of a quest. He was right, of course. And here I am, the only one without a crusade.”
A slow smile spread across the storyteller’s face. She reached into her pack and pulled out a small book, bound in black leather. “I also took something from the Jade Fell witch. Ash and Grim. It is a book so rare it is considered half myth. And it is written in Old Elsh, so I can read it.” She paused. “I pledge here and now to learn its forgotten stories and share them with the world. This will be my quest.”
* * *
It took us several days to cut across the Brocee Leon Forest toward Lake Le Fay.
We moved leisurely, taking our time, setting up camp early, drinking Vite and eating stew, talking, boasting, singing the old songs.
We could all