Witch of the Silver Locust: Dawn of the Blood Witch, #3

Table of Contents

Dedication:

Part 1

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Part 2

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Part 3

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Book Club Questions

Author Bio:

Witch of the Silver Locust

Dawn of the Blood Witch Book 3

Copyright © 2023 Maria DeVivo. All rights reserved.

4 Horsemen Publications, Inc.

1497 Main St. Suite 169

Dunedin, FL 34698

4horsemenpublications.com

[email protected]

Cover by J. Kotick

Typeset by S. Wilder

Editor Laura Mita

All rights to the work within are reserved to the author and publisher. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise, except as permitted under Section 107 or 108 of the 1976 International Copyright Act, without prior written permission except in brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. Please contact either the Publisher or Author to gain permission.

This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Library of Congress Control Number: 2022943394

Paperback ISBN-13: 979-8-8232-0015-8

Hardcover ISBN-13: 978-1-64450-773-5

Audiobook ISBN-13: 979-8-8232-0013-4

Ebook ISBN-13: 979-8-8232-0014-1

Dedication:

For Joe – You are my conduit—the one who open the pathways for me to make all things possible. Thank you for everything and always.

For Alex – For all your enthusiasm, all your help, all your support, and all your time. You have always been, and always will be very special to me. I’m thankful for the friendship we have now, even though you’re still 12 in my eyes.

For Morgan – It’s always for you, and always will be for you … just maybe when you’re much older.

Every tale has a beginning . The third book in the Dawn of the Blood Witch Saga tells the origin story of the mysterious and powerful witch Trond, the Witch of the Silver Locust. Split into three separate timelines, the Silver Locust encounters friends and foes, both new and old, as he tries to open the gateway to the old ones and bring about the witch utopia of New Eden on Earth.

Inspired by true events, he will have to endure an exorcism, the Church of Satan, and the Son of Sam if he wishes to fulfill his destiny.

Part 1

Chapter One

In the Time of Darkness

In the Age of Ice

Summertime, 760 AD

Caverns in the Far North

Night of the Full Moon

The fires burned low inside the gray abode, yet the shadows from the full moon peeking her rays into the mouth of the cave cast eerie shadows against the rocky walls. Jagged faces and distorted bodies took shape and flickered and flitted across the rocks. For a split second, I was filled with wistful longing and hope that struck me deep in my heart. Had the spirits come home to me? I breathed in and held my breath for a few seconds in wild anticipation, and like an optimistic little boy, I quietly whispered, Please come home. Please come home. Please come… But then a breeze blew in, and the shadow figures disappeared and shifted into something different. My heart sank, and I was once again overcome with that never-ending sense of misery an d anguish.

I sighed heavily with despair and made my way to my altar in the corner of the cave. It was situated deep enough so that it was somewhat hidden from the wandering traveler, nosey neighbor, or some other intruder to our home. It appeared to be an abandoned hearth or cooking station. The light from the fires at the front of the cavern scarcely reached it, so it remained tucked away and secret. But it was no secret. Not to me at least. That altar was my whole world now. It represented everything I had lost, everything that was stolen from me, and everything I was determined to reclaim and bring back into existence—for if Blodwyn could do it, I would do it, too.

My sister Blodwyn was the greatest witch I had ever known. Her power and strength were known far and wide throughout the villages, even reaching the outer skirts of the more nomadic lands. Our mother had been the town healer, a Heksa in her own right, but Blodwyn far surpassed Mother’s talents and abilities. All I knew of my mother was from the stories passed down to me. She had died while bringing me into this world, and when that day had come, Blodwyn, seventeen years my senior, swooped me from between our mother’s legs, washed me off, and called me hers from the moment of my first breath. Mother had given me a name before I was born, but Blodwyn had nicknamed me Ruz—for I had been born of a Blodheksa and my birthing blood had stained my silver baby hair to bright pink. Ruz Solvven. Pink Silver. She affectionately teased me often about that.

From the moment I could understand words, Blodwyn had established that she was my caretaker, my protector, my mentor, my teacher, and my sister, but I was commanded to never confuse that with the title of mother. As a child, though, hearing the other children in our village speak the word modir to their caretakers was a little jarring. That was not a word in my physical reality. My modir was an entity—a non-corporeal object, a word spoken on the wind. Once, many years ago when I was three years old, I called Blodwyn modir just to see her reaction. I was curious if she would find it endearing and embrace the title like snapping into a new way of thinking. However, it was the opposite. She turned on me with great fury and struck me across the face. Modir is gone, Ruz! she had screamed. Modir was taken away! But I will fix that. Mark my words. I swear it by the sky, and the moon, and the sun, and the stars, and the fixed iced earth, and the great beyond! I will slice open the sky and pull her back through the circle. She raised her hand to the sky and waved it in an arching gesture. For she is the Blodheksa, the Blood Witch who will open the gateway. She closed her fist and struck her chest. And I am the Blodsøster, the Blood Sister who will aid the Blodheksa in her mission. She pointed her forefinger and jabbed it into the crook of my shoulder. And you are the Blodbrødre, the Blood Brother who will fight by my side for eternity in the new world. This is how it must be.

That was the first time I saw her eyes change color. They flashed gray, to gold, to green, to white. At first, I thought it was my imagination or my head still ringing from the open-handed smack she had walloped me with. But no. Her eyes changed. It was as clear as day and forever burned in my memory. And it was at that very moment, at three years of age, that I understood—I understood that we were different from other families in our village, different from other people in this world.

And that’s how it was—our mother was gone, hidden somewhere in the shadows, somewhere in the great void between this life and the next. Blodwyn always preached about Mother’s eventual return. Thoughts of Mother’s resurrection consumed her day and night. I remember watching Blodwyn agonize over her altar, conjuring dark magics, mixing deadly potions, and making just the right combinations to will the Blodheksa back into form.

And if she was successful, then I shall be, too…

I knelt in front of the altar, raised my arms above my head, and began the prayer I had recited since the night Blodwyn died. It was a chant, really, a dirge of lamentation. A song of need and want and desire to raise not just her soul, but her body as well, from the great beyond. But I felt empty. Despondent. Useless…

Trond? a soft voice called from the mouth of the cave. Trond? Are you here?

Aizel, my companion, had returned from the outer village. I stood up and quickly shuffled closer to the fires, but not fast enough for her to catch me in the act. She put her hand on one hip and bounced impatiently on one leg. That was fast, I muttered.

Her mouth made a condescending tsk sound that echoed throughout the cave, and as she fully entered, she slid the strap of her pack down one shoulder, emptying the contents onto the ground. Her tools clanked when they hit the stones, and she shook the pack with force to expel the pieces of blood-soaked cloth.

Fast enough. It was Brigitta’s third child, so… Her voice trailed as she bent over to pick up the scraps of fabric. Here. She extended her arm to hand them to me. Put these on the altar with the others from the other day. Brigitta and Helga are cousins so their birthing blood could…

Did the mother and child survive? I asked.

Aizel rolled her eyes and sighed. Of all the years. Of all the babies I’ve delivered. You’re seriously asking this of me now? How many children have died on my watch? Do you think I would give you the blood of the dead? Do I not know how this is to be?

I lowered my head in shame. I’m sorry…

I know what you were doing, Trond, she scolded. I’m not stupid. And I’ve told you, it might not be time yet. We must have all the proper instruments in place. We must have the stars aligned just so. We must be patient…

Aizel’s words struck me deep and ignited a flame in my stomach. Patient? I screamed. Patient? How much more patience do we need to have before we give up? My eyes filled with tears, and I turned my head from her so that she couldn’t see my anger and sadness getting the best of me.

She placed a hand on my shoulder in comfort. I want Blodwyn back as much as you do, Trond. She wasn’t just yours. She was mine, as well. She was everything to me, too.

I turned back to look at her, and her soft blue eyes were also rimmed with tears. Aizel had been Blodwyn’s best friend, her confidante, her rock. They had been inseparable and had shared a love like no other. I know it pained her, too, that we had been unsuccessful in resurrecting Blodwyn, but all these years of futile attempts and constant excuses left my heart soured to her. I knew first-hand what Blodwyn could do. I witnessed the enormous power she wielded, and I wanted that power for myself, if for anything but to bring her back.

Aizel exhaled. Her sigh bounced off the rock wall and pierced my eardrums with a timbre that bore utter disgust. There isn’t a book about this. We have no instructions on how to proceed. We need to continue exploring all the possibilities by our mere intuition. Blodwyn left no other guidance than that, she pleaded with me as if reading my mind.

Startled, I paused. Aizel and I had made a promise long ago that we would never enter each other’s minds unless it was an emergency. I tapped my forefinger to the side of my temple. Get out of there, I admonished calmly.

My tone must have frightened her, for she took a step back and a look of concern briefly darkened her face. Think what you will, she began trying to brush off my threat, but she charged me with watching over you.

And when will that end, Aizel? I’m no longer a boy.

She grazed her eyes over my figure from my feet to my head. No, Trond. You haven’t been a boy for quite some time.

And yet, here I am. The body and countenance of a man of two hundred forty moon cycles. Yet that is not the truth. My time on this iced earth far surpasses that. And you… the face and body of a woman of childbearing age. Instead of delivering all those children, they should be falling out from between your legs by now. But how long and how old are we? The gift given to us by Blodwyn left us ageless on the outside, but are your insides rotted? You cannot be the Blodheksa if you can’t produce the twins! It has been months since you laid with me. You are too consumed with that book you’re writing, and those babies you’re dragging into the world. Why haven’t you let me touch you? Why haven’t you allowed me inside of you? Is your womb as desolate a cave as the place we…?

Aizel struck me across the face, and I quickly reached my hand up to my cheek to ease the sting. Enough! she yelled, silencing my tirade, and I was suddenly transported back to the moment when Blodwyn hit me. For the first time in a long time, I felt small, and weak, and useless. Like a child.

Aizel, I… I stammered, but she quickly cut me off.

Enough, Trond. Her voice was soft again, pleading me with, yet trying to find its own sense of rationale. We are not just heksas, we are the Aevir, the eternal ones. A gift given to us by Blodwyn. And we will remain Aevir until the task at hand is complete, until our roles are fulfilled. She lowered her head, and her mass of red curls tumbled and hung heavy on the floor. I know I’m not the Blodheksa, she said in a sad whisper. I wanted to be. I prayed to be. I longed to be. But I know I’m not. Our restless nights together have brought forth no child let alone the Blood Sister and Blood Brother.

So, what are you? I spat at her with repulsion. Was all this a lie?

No, Trond. Not lies. Just because we have yet to unravel the secrets of it all doesn’t mean we were lied to. She put her hand on my shoulder again and ran her fingers down the length of my arm until our hands met in an interlocking grasp. What is the goal of our way? she asked, prompting me to recite the tenants of our faith.

The Blodheksa will bring forth the Blodbrødre and the Blodsøster.

And who is the Blodheksa? she asked.

The most powerful witch in the world.

And who are the Blood Brother and the Blood Sister? she urged me on.

Her children who are the fixed points. They will be the vessels of her power and assist her in her goal, I parroted back the words that had been ingrained in me from birth.

She smiled at my response. And what is their goal?

To open up the realms so the old ones can reign again.

She squeezed my hand tightly, and her eyes lit up with pride at my response. Lest not forget that. That is our core. Everything we do, we do with that in mind. You know I want Blodwyn back just as much as you do, but we can’t let our efforts for her rebirth blind us in the efforts of our main objective. Do you understand me, Trond?

I nodded. Begrudgingly. And that’s why you’ve taken to writing it all down?

Yes. The records. All of it. I dreamt of six books, so six I must write. One alone will take a lifetime. The dream told me we need to have a living record of our history. And who would write it all down? If not me, then who?

Anger swelled again inside me. I knew Aizel was trying to snap me out of my lowly state and bring my focus and attention back to what we’ve always strived to accomplish, but something inside me was unsettled. It felt to me as if she was forgetting Blodwyn. As if she was forgetting the supreme nature of her power. We couldn’t achieve our goal of a new world without Blodwyn; I knew that for a fact. Blodwyn was the key. And even though I’d lost count of the moon cycles that had passed since she died, I knew I could never give up on bringing her back.

I reached out, grabbed Aizel by the shoulders, and pulled her to me. I bent down slightly and pressed my lips to hers, my tongue dancing wildly in and out. Her mouth was warm and inviting, and I began to stir between my legs at the very taste of her sweetness. For a moment, I felt her swoon against my hold and let herself ease into my passionate kiss, but after a while, she stopped and pulled away. No, she said. We can’t.

Why? I asked as my forehead crinkled in confusion.

We shouldn’t.

It’s nothing we haven’t done before! I pleaded as the ache in my loins throbbed.

I know, she said in a muffled voice. It’s just that…

I gave her a little shove away from my space and turned my back to her.

We were silent in the cave for some time. I kept my back to her in defiance, and she proceeded to pick up the tools from the ground and put them back in her