Chapter 1
For obvious reasons, the Swamp of Eternal Sorrow received very few visitors. On the rare occasion that a poor soul did happen to venture into its murky darkness, it was usually because they were lost, on an assignment, or following through on a dare. One night in particular, the latter happened to be why three teenage boys from a local village crept silently among its ancient trees, obscured by darkness.
“When we get to the witch’s lair,” one of them whispered breathlessly to his companion, “you’ll knock on her door and hide behind a nearby boulder. When she steps outside, you’ll throw the bag of herbs we gave you at her feet. You still have it, don’t you?”
Next to him, a shorter boy with round cheeks and eyes bright with excitement and fear gave a jerky nod and patted the pocket of his trousers. “Of course I do,” he hissed back.
The first boy pushed dark curls slicked by sweat and humid swamp air out of his eyes before continuing to ease his way forward. “Good. When it lands at her feet, the curse inside the bag will activate and trap her.”
From a short distance away, the third of their trio nervously glanced at the shadows of the jagged, looming trees that surrounded them. He was a tall, gangly thing with an anxious stiffness to his limbs, and his voice trembled slightly as he spoke. “What are we gonna do with her?”
The dark-haired boy glanced at the nervous one, frowning slightly. “We’ll drag her back to the village, of course.”
The nervous boy hesitated. “Right… but then what?”
“We’ll…” the dark-haired boy—supposedly the leader—said uncertainly. “We’ll hand her over to the village masters so they can deal with her! They’ll commend us for our brave act of justice. The village will see us as heroes.” This seemed to bolster the other two boys’ courage as they pressed forward, their thick boots sinking into the mud with every step.
They were, like most teenage boys creeping about after dark, idiots.
Leaning against a tree roughly twenty feet away, Katterin rolled her eyes. She had been following the boys—all of whom she estimated to be about 10 years her junior—for the better part of the past fifteen minutes, and the three “heroes” hadn’t noticed her once. Truth be told, she couldn’t blame them for that. By her nature, she blended into the shadows and rarely made any perceptible sounds. It wasn’t just because of the way her dark brown skin blended into the night-shrouded trees around her; she also moved about the world with silence draped across her like a cape. But the truly baffling part was that they hadn’t detected her companion, either.
“Do we… just let them do this?”
Katterin turned her head lazily to gaze down at the figure huddled beside her, obscured in a billowy cloak that had to be uncomfortable in this muggy air. Even with her light tunic and close-cropped hair, Katterin still felt the humidity cling to her skin like a warm, damp towel. She could only imagine how uncomfortable the boy beside her must be. Sucking on her teeth, Katterin raised an eyebrow. “Let them do what?” she asked.
Katterin’s companion—a pale boy around the same age as the ones about to make asses of themselves—watched the trio continue to creep forward through the trees. Aghast, he turned his wide, bright blue eyes up to her before turning his attention back to the group of teens. “We can’t just let them hurt her like this!” he hissed.
Katterin sighed and folded her arms, wondering how much longer this would take. “They’re not going to hurt her, Phinn.”
“But you heard them!” he hissed back, his thin hands clenching into fists. “They’re going to use that… thing to curse and trap her!”
“Last I checked,” Katterin replied dully, “a bagful of basil doesn’t hurt anyone. Unless they’re allergic. Is she allergic?” Katterin frowned slightly. “I mean, I don’t think she is. You know, I don’t believe that ever came up. Maybe I should ask her.”
“Basil?” Phinn asked, confused. “They said the bag had cursed herbs inside. How do you know it’s basil?”
“Because it smells exactly like a bag of basil,” she drawled, sniffing the air slightly. Through the mix of the swamp scents, her heightened sense of smell picked up the contents of the bag. Yes, that was definitely garden-variety basil in there. Katterin pushed off the tree and jerked her head to the side, indicating Phinn to follow her. The two quietly trailed the three village boys as they approached a decrepit wooden shack in the middle of the swamp. “Just watch.”
Phinn remained quiet, but Katterin felt the tension in the boy’s hunched posture as he stared at the trio. She rested a hand against his shoulder, causing Phinn to look up at her. She observed how his jaw tightened in barely restrained anger, and she wondered in passive amusement what the supposed “Swamp Witch” would think about this scrawny kid fearing for her safety. Katterin gave Phinn a relaxed smile, hoping to ease some of that anxiety. But he simply scowled and turned his attention back to the dull-witted youths who now positioned themselves around the shack’s front entrance.
Katterin studied the ramshackle building and had to admire the craftsmanship of it. Really, it took skill to make something look this run-down. Between the boards hanging loosely on crooked nails and the mold growing on the decayed thatched roof, the hovel looked simply disgusting. With the hazy moonlight streaming between spindly tree limbs that stretched out like gnarled hands of the undead rising from their graves, the effect was downright eerie. Katterin would have to compliment her old friend’s handiwork.
The round-faced boy followed his leaders’ instructions. With trembling steps, he approached the crooked door while his two companions heroically hid behind trees nearby. He raised a shaking hand, hesitating as he stared at the cracked wood and swallowed hard. Licking his lips, the boy took a deep breath to bolster his courage before squeezing his eyes tight and giving the door three quick raps. Instantly, he bolted away from the entrance to the hovel and stumbled to his knees behind a boulder a few feet away.
The supposed leader of their group gave him an encouraging thumbs up. Katterin swatted at a mosquito buzzing by her ear.
As the trio waited, the round-faced boy withdrew the pouch of “cursed herbs” from his pocket and gripped it tight, ready to launch it as soon as the witch stepped outside. A heavy silence fell on the group, anticipation combining with the oppressive humidity to make the air around them seem thicker. Katterin glanced from the boys to Phinn, taking note of how his slim shoulders strained with the effort to not confront this band of hooligans.
When she heard the low creak come from the door, Katterin straightened. Ah. So now the real show had begun. A slow grin stretched across her face in eager delight.
The round-faced boy went rigid, his eyes widening as he watched the door slowly open to a darkened interior. He raised the pouch, preparing to toss it. While the door opened, however, not a single soul stepped out. Instead, the creaking came to a gradual stop as the doorway gaped open like a mouth distorted in a silent, horrified scream. Silence gripped the three boys, all three of them suspended in a moment of pure anticipation.
For a long moment, nobody moved. The only sound that greeted them was the howl of the wind and the rattling of the tree branches in its wake. After a prolonged silence, however, that howl grew louder. Deeper. It swelled to a haunting melody that twisted around them. Crouched beside the leader of the group, his wiry companion shivered visibly despite the oppressive humidity.
“Who dares,” a hissing, twisting voice demanded from inside the open door, “to approach my domain?” That voice echoed unnaturally around them, as if spoken from a thousand places at once.
Oh, that was a nice touch. Katterin made note of that little detail.
The round-faced boy jerked back as though physically struck. Trembling, he gradually peeked around the side of the boulder and stammered, “We… we’re here to—to see the Swamp Witch!”
The howling wind grew louder.
“And what makes you think,” the voice hissed from the darkness, “you are welcome to see her?”
The three boys exchanged nervous glances before the leader straightened, his brow furrowing in determination as he piped up, “We have come to bring you to justice! Your presence in this swamp threatens our home and families!”
The hissing voice let out a low, chilling, humorless laugh. “Is that so?”
The leader squared his shoulders. “It is! And we won’t let you remain here like this any longer!”
The laugh grew louder, its pitch rising to a strained and cracking cackle. “And how will you do that,” the now-shrieking voice challenged, “if you’re dead?”
Instantly, twisting vines snapped around the boys’ legs and ankles, eliciting screams of terror. Katterin watched in delighted amusement as the vines lurched back, sending the boys sprawling face-first into the swamp’s muddy ground beneath them. Their screams became muffled, gargled cries of terror, accompanied by the slapping sounds of their limbs flailing desperately against the muck. Above them, the tree branches groaned and cracked as the vines pulled at the boys’ legs until all three dangled from their ankles just a few feet above the swamp floor.
“Let us go!” the leader shrieked, terror cracking his voice as he failed uselessly. “Please! Spare us!”
“And were you,” the rasping voice echoed around them, “planning to spare me?”
The vines continued to wrap around the boys’ bodies, twisting around their waists and torsos at an insidiously slow pace. The round-faced boy was now sobbing, terrified tears trickling past his temples. “We’re sorry!” he cried. “We… we won’t come back, we swear! Just please, let us go!”
The twisting vines slowed to a stop, coming to rest just beneath the boys’ throats. For a moment, all went still. The howling wind ceased. The creaking branches rested. The only sound was the heaving sobs that shook the round-faced boy as he slowly spun in his suspended position. Katterin, however, wasn’t watching the boys. Her eyes remained fixed in eager anticipation on the doorway.
Sure enough, a figure bled from the shadows there. The darkness seemed to part, splitting off in the form of a barefoot easing out to step onto the narrow porch leading to the shoddy door. Within moments a hunched figure with a bowed back, tangled hair that hung limply past bony shoulders, and tattered rags that may have once been a dress stood in front of the open doorway. The figure remained shrouded in shadow—only two glinting eyes stood out in the midst of that inky blackness.
“You dare,” the figure hissed, raising a bony finger to point at the lead boy’s horrified expression, “to step foot in my swamp again, and I will have my plants eat you and your family alive. Slowly. Do you hear me?”
With a jerky nod, the leader silently agreed. When the shadowed figure turned her finger to point at the other two boys in turn, they each followed their leader’s nod with desperate enthusiasm. The figure turned her finger up towards the night sky and, without another word, snapped.
Instantly, the vines released. With painful grunts, the boys fell to the sodden earth beneath them. In panicked twists of limbs, the three scrambled back up to their feet and, slipping in the muck, ran clumsily in the direction they had come. Their terrified sobs turned to relieved whimpers as they passed Katterin and Phinn, who watched on quietly.
When the boys had disappeared into the depths of the swamp, Katterin turned her attention back to the shadowed figure. Amused, she watched as the bowed back straightened and the hunched shoulders squared. As the figure stepped forward into the moonlight shining between tree branches, it let out a low sigh and pulled delicate fingers through the tangled mass of hair to smooth out the wild strands.
Where a wicked creature of the damned had stood hunched over just seconds ago in the darkness, now stood an elegant young woman with soft, lovely features in the pale moonlight. Placing her smooth hands against the gentle curves of her hips, her full lips drew into an annoyed frown as she stared in the direction the boys had fled. As she shook her head in obvious irritation, the honey-brown curls of her hair swayed softly with the motion. She almost turned to go back inside the hovel when something caught her eye, causing her to hesitate.
With lithe steps, the young woman approached the spot where the round-faced boy had hung suspended moments ago. A small bag lay limply on the ground, discarded and forgotten in the wake of the boy’s terror. Curiously, the woman bent down and scooped up the bag. She pulled at the straps that tied it shut, opening a small gap at the top, and raised it to her nose to give it a sniff.
“Hmm,” she hummed in satisfaction. “Basil. I was running low.” With a swift tug, she closed the bag again and slid it into the pocket of her dress. Then she turned, heading back to the still-open door.
The young woman stopped, her hand on the rotting frame, and turned her head slightly. “Well? Are you two just going to stand there all night? Or are you going to come in?”
Phinn stiffened. Katterin chuckled and put a steadying hand on his shoulder before stepping out from behind the tree and into the pale moonlight. The young woman turned from the doorway, her emerald-green eyes landing on Katterin with a mix of familiarity and suspicion. “And maybe,” the woman continued with a frown, “you can tell me what the hell you’re doing in my swamp.”
Katterin flashed the woman a grin that glinted brilliantly in the moonlight with relaxed joviality that contradicted the tension surrounding them moments ago. “Hello, Daphine. Miss me?”
