Hecate’s ire pinned Vika in place at the crossroads under the swirling purple sky of the Underworld. Misha moved closer to the goddess of witchcraft, clearly choosing her side.
“I offer a third path,” Hecate said. “You accept my protection.”
Hecate proposed it as if her acceptance was a foregone conclusion, but Vika looked for the catch. “And what does that look like?”
“I can shield you from the immediate consequences, hide you from the Furies long enough for you and your friend to repair the knot.”
“And the price?” Vika asked warily.
Hecate shrugged as if it were inconsequential. “I have no use for you now. But, when I call, you will come. Immediately. No questions. Whatever task I set before you, you will complete it.”
Nothing ominous about that, Vika thought. Still, she didn’t have many options. She thought of Ben, alone in the orchard with this little book of spells, trying to hold back the unraveling. And Dahlia, alone and afraid. All the times she’d encountered Hecate, the witch had never been unfair. Frightening, yes. She was protective of those who were hers.
“Agreed,” Vika said. There were worse things down here than Hecate.
A smile stretched across Hecate’s lips as she extended a hand. “Wise.”
Vika took her hand. As she did, burning pain singed her wrist as power sealed their agreement. A triple moon mark appeared on Vika’s wrist, raised like a burn.
“There,” Hecate said. “You are under my aegis now.”
“Thank you,” Vika said, though the relief was short-lived. She was exchanging one binding for another.
“However,” Hecate continued, turning to Misha. “I cannot let you take her. The laws that govern death are not mine to break, even for one of my witches.”
“Then what,” Vika started to protest, but Hecate held up her hand.
“But I will give you something that will serve your purpose.” Hecate gestured at the knife and held out her hand.
Vika reluctantly handed it over. The cord wrapped around Misha’s grafting knife unwound, and Hecate handed it back to Misha.
“This can be a message between sisters,” Hecate said.
Misha turned the knife over in her hand, now able to hold it. Her fingers worked around the knife, deftly wrapping and retying it. Vika failed to see how this would help her.
“This knot,” Misha said, her voice clear. “She’ll recognize it.”
Misha handed the knife back to Vika. The handle was warm, the cord securely tied.
Hecate put an affectionate arm around Misha. "Go back to your trees, daughter. Your work here is done."
Misha's form flickered, already fading back toward the grove.
Hecate stepped aside, and the path to the river shimmered back into existence. "Your way is clear, Kere. But remember, you have a debt. When I call, you will answer."
"I understand," Vika said, though she couldn’t help but feel that Hecate had taken the one thing she needed and hadn’t given her anything.
"One more thing." Hecate's voice stopped her as she turned toward the path. "The knot you seek to mend is more than just a tangle of time and violence. You cannot bind a wound that is still bleeding. You must heal it."
"How?"
A cryptic smile spread across Hecate's face. "You have more in common with the witch who guards it than you think." She paused, her ancient eyes softening slightly. "You both chose duty over rest. You both carry deaths that are not yours to carry. Perhaps that is why the Fates sent you to her."
Hecate’s parting shot washed over Vika like cold water. Vika always thought that she’d picked her out of the way Northwoods town to get away from the Fates and the drama of the gods. It seemed like the furthest place from them. Had the Fates put her here? Had they sent her to Dahlia?
Before Vika could ask, Hecate dissolved into shadow, her dogs melting into the darkness with her. The crossroads faded, leaving only the single path to the river.
Vika clutched the knife, feeling the warmth of Misha's knot against her palm and the sting of failure in her belly, though it wasn’t failure exactly.
Not only had she been caught like a child doing something she shouldn’t, but she’d bound herself to a powerful goddess in the process. Hopefully, it wasn’t for nothing.
Sunlight assaulted Vika as she emerged from the cave in the state forest. Her phone sprang to life. Message after message rolled in from Ben, along with several missed calls.
Where are you?
A picture of his burned hand.
I know what Dahlia did. When are you coming back?
She quickly typed out a reply asking him where to meet him.
As she drove past the orchard, she slowed and rolled down her window, scanning the clusters of people gathered along the road. The air smelled sharp and ashy. No sign of Ben.
Bright orange tape roped off the orchard. Inside, the trees around the wyrd knot circle were black. The pink blossoms on the early tree were bright and untouched against the charred bark. It looked as though a campfire had gotten out of hand, but Vika suspected it was far worse.
She hurried to Ben’s bar and spotted him at a booth in the back, surrounded by books and papers. Millie was curled up at his feet. Vika waved to the bartender, and Millie bounded toward her, nearly knocking her over. After greeting Millie properly, with belly rubs and apologies for being away, Vika slid into the booth across from Ben. Millie rested her head on Vika’s feet, her tail thumping the ground.
“What’s going on?” Vika asked without preamble and then, noticing his hands, which were crisscrossed in angry red welts, added, “What happened?”
Ben drew his palm over the burns. “It looks worse than it is. I thought if I could temporarily anchor it, it would buy us some time,” he said. “But it didn’t work. When I touched the knot, I saw Dahlia use blood magic to kill the man who shot her sister. She used the trees. That complicates things.” He glanced at Vika’s hands on the table. “What’s that?” He pointed to Hecate’s mark. “Is that why you left? To get a tattoo?”
Vika covered the mark with her hand, then slipped both hands under the table. “Not exactly...”
The lie was ready on her tongue. Instead, she let out a breath. “I was trying to get something that would help Dahlia trust me, but… I ran into Hecate.”
Ben’s hands stilled on the papers. “Hecate,” he repeated, carefully neutral. “The goddess?”
Vika nodded, watching him. She noted the flicker of surprise he wiped from his face, the questions he wanted to ask.
“Okay,” he said instead and waited for her to continue.
She took a steadying breath. “Hecate said that we can’t just redo the binding. We need to heal the wound in the land left by the violence here.”
Ben raised an eyebrow. “Did she say how?”
Vika shook her head. “Of course not. The gods are rarely that helpful. Or helpful at all.” She gestured to the papers. “What’s all this?”
“Well,” Ben said. “After seeing the vision of Dahlia, I came to a similar conclusion. I was looking for anything that would shed light on how to secure the knot.”
“Find anything?”
“No, but I know several cleansing spells. So, we can start there. I think we also need to help Dahlia find peace. She’s protecting the orchard, but I think she’s also using it to punish herself.”
Hecate’s words echoed in Vika’s mind. You both carry deaths that are not yours to carry.
“I agree,” Vika said. “I’m going back tonight to try to talk to her. I hope she will trust me.”
“Good,” Ben said. “I’m coming with you.”
There was no dissuading Ben, even though it was after eleven by the time the tourists dispersed. As they walked up the path, Millie snuffled behind. Vika hoped the knife would be enough to gain Dahlia’s trust. Otherwise, she didn’t know what the next move was. They needed Dahlia to provide the missing piece of the puzzle.
Once they reached the stillness of the orchard, she was surprised to find she was glad to have Ben’s steady footsteps crunching beside hers. His flashlight swept the shadows between the trees before he stopped at the edge of the burned circle.
Ben’s brow creased in concentration as he studied the damage. It was worse up close. The charred bark on the trees was split open and the moss at the foot of the wyrd knot was black and crispy. The acrid scent of smoke still clung to the air.
He kneeled and opened his bag, bringing out a bundle of dried sage and other herbs. “I don’t know if this is enough to cleanse this mess,” he muttered.
“Can’t hurt,” Vika said as she left him to it.
Millie was already sniffing her way around the trees.
“Dahlia,” Vika called in her best non-threatening, sing-songy voice. “Come out, come out. I have something for you.”
Her feet crunched on the gravel as she wove between the trees. Behind her, Ben chanted as he wafted the smoking sage bundle inside the knot. Vika made a wide circle and turned back toward him. Maybe Dahlia would be drawn to his magic. Or his trustworthiness.
A flicker of white flitted between the charred trunks.
The temperature dropped. Frost spread in intricate patterns over the rough bark.
“No need for theatrics, Dahlia. I can see you, remember?” Vika’s voice came out in cloudy puffs.
The ghost materialized across from Vika.
“There, that’s better,” Vika said. “Was that so difficult?”
When Dahlia didn’t answer and only stared at her warily, Vika continued. “I know why you’re still here. I saw what happened.”
No response.
“You used blood magic. The trees obeyed because they knew you. Your family tended to them for ages, and when you needed them, they were there. Now, they need you. We need to heal this orchard before it gets worse.”
“Misha,” Dahlia said.
Vika pulled the grafting knife out of her jacket and unwrapped it. She held it out.
Dahlia’s eyes grew wide as her hand reached out. It passed through the handle once, and she brought it back, hovering over the knot Misha had made. “You found her?”
Vika nodded.
“I know this knot. I taught her how to make it. She couldn’t get it at first. We tried over and over, and she got so frustrated. I kept telling her she was fine, to let go and let her hands do the work.” Dahlia swallowed hard and looked up at Vika. “She is at peace?”
Vika nodded again. “You should be at peace too.”
“You saw what I did and why I cannot. Dark magic is forbidden. I killed him with magic.” Her voice faltered, as if it hurt to say the words out loud.
Vika took a cautious step toward her. “You defended your family and your land. That man brought violence here, and you answered it.”
“When he saw what I did, his brother burned everything. All the trees we tended.”
“You have paid the price for what you did,” Vika said gently. “His death is not yours to carry. The violence is in the land, the theft, the deaths, the betrayal, the fire, all of it. It’s all tangled together, and it’s why everything is coming undone. The wound has never healed. Help us heal it and then rest with your sister.”
Vika caught a waft of sage and Ben walked out of the trees. Dahlia jumped back, whether from Ben or the burning bundle, Vika wasn’t sure.
“Can you come look at this? There’s some crazy energy over here,” Ben said.