Author: Hob Goodfellowe

The ship was brought alongside a heavy oaken wharf by use of poles and hooks and ropes. The smash of small waves disturbed seaweed and beds of tiny, shiny mussels on the pylons. A few crabs scuttled out of the shadow cast by the tall ship, hiding franticly in cracks, or plopping straight down into…

A long journey by sea is an interminable thing if a person is not born to it. There are some–men and women alike–for whom a life at sea is the only life they will ever want. Strange ports and new people. Distant cities passing on hills. Spices and rare furs to trade. The thrill of…

The next morning Caewen gathered the things she had collected from the shelves and cupboards. She had a sizeable pile of coins and precious stones, as well as a small jewellery box packed with necklaces and the like. All of these, Caewen confirmed with Fetch lacked anything magical about them, or at least, inasmuch as…

Caewen looked around, listlessly turning over dusty books and rummaging inside clay pots, baskets and small lockboxes. An awful absence had entered the place. She had an irrational desire to set fire to the house, and watch it burn like the wooden pyre of a dead pagan king. But she didn’t. She did what was…

Caewen wrapped her arms around herself. She hunched her shoulders. There was a painful need to do something. Cry. Scream. Run around madly. But she couldn’t bring herself to do anything. Half of her was gone, and the sudden hollowness was awful. She felt as if she might never dream again. Never again idle away…

I cannot do it, she thought. I will step out of the illusion and reveal myself. I will give myself to him with the bone relic in my cupped palms. But I must not. She screwed her eyes shut and felt her jaw clench. The pain in her body and mind was now beyond bearing….

The door flung itself open and swirls of snow-glittering wind pushed into the cosy room, groping and feeling at the surfaces. They looked as if they were hands of darkness and ice, but as they crept closer to where Caewen and Cag-Mag sat, the old witch said simply, “No. Not here. Not in my house.”…

“He is ancient,” said Cag-Mag, “and if he had a name, it is forgotten. He was a mortal man once, and a sorcerer of great power. But do not conjure up in your mind’s eye some vision of an enchanter in silks and velvets: this was long, long ago. Think of a sorcerer robed all…

“Well? Are you going to stand about like last year’s scarecrow, or will you come in? Make a decision. Be quick about it.”  Caewen half-expected the door to open on its own, but it did not. She looked over her shoulder. Three feral shapes lurked themselves into view. They were mere silhouettes of darkness, outlined…