Prologue: 300 AD- Roman Britannia
Aiva stops running in the place where the willows grow close and small. She presses her hand on the earth to feel the vibrations of the soil. "The wizards are close," she says to her sister.
Riona stands tall among the trees, looking into the shadows of the woods and waiting for knowledge known only to the Prophetess. Riona will not live to see the eighteenth moon of her birth. Her earthly life ends tonight.
"They will find us soon," Riona says, eyes still searching in the movement of the woods, "I'm sorry. This is the end." Between the willows, from the corner of her eye Riona sees the ends of long red hair, whipping between trees. The child of her dreams, who is quick on her feet and always a step ahead of Riona, eludes her in waking hours as well. The child is out of her grasp, even in the moments before death.
"With our deaths so much is lost. All the knowledge of our coven will be only remembered by the wind and the earth," Aiva whispers. She hopes Riona cannot hear the fear in her voice. Even witches fear death. Aiva matches Riona's gaze, trying to see what the Prophetess sees, but only sees trees and shadow.
"The moon gives her power to these woods," Riona says, raising her gaze to the night sky.
A branch cracks in the distance. Aiva can hear the echoes of voices. Voices of excitement raise into the wind in the anticipation of violence and victory. They make no effort to hide their approach. They are loud and rambunctious; confident, but foolish. The wizards, mostly Roman, some British, arrive into the narrow willows.
Riona stands tall, watching the trees. She can see them, but they cannot see her. Not until she wants them to. In the trees, the witches hold the advantage.
Aiva strips a sapling willow of a long piece of bark. With the same knife, she cuts her left palm and wipes her blood on the tree's wound. "If we die, we will take many of them with us," Aiva whispers, "they are foolish to hunt us under the mother's full power."
"They do not know who they hunt," Riona agrees, "many shall die tonight." Without hesitation, Riona takes a knife from her satchel and cuts her long, blonde hair at the nape of her neck. She had not ever cut it before and it fell past her thighs, braided, and beaded. Her head feels strange without the weight of her hair, but her mind is clear. She speaks to Aiva in a strange whisper, "witchcrafts shall pass into a time of ignorance," she says to Aiva as she digs a hole in the damp earth with her hands, "but the child of the moon shall come. She will restore balance. Tonight, magic tells me of her coming."
"A prophesy?" Aiva whispers, "Riona, there is nobody to witness."
"Stefan is with them," Riona says, "I feel his trepidation as he enters these woods."
"Stefan will witness? How can you be sure?"
"Magic's will is set. I follow its path."
"You say that," Aiva says miserably, "but look at us. The last two of our coven, hunted down like animals by those Roman interlopers."
"Worry not, sister," Riona says, "magic will endure." She takes her hair and buries it in the hole she had dug. She takes a breath and starts to cry. She weeps and tears flow from her cheeks and into the earth. She thinks of Stefan, and his betrayal and of Aiva, and her loyalty. She remembers the power of her mother, dead for five years. She thinks of the girl, with the red hair and the face like the moon.
"The witches are close," a man's voice reverberates through the woods and to their ears. Aiva and Riona climb up into the trees and wait for the wizards to fall into their trap.
A young man with light brown hair approaches. Riona can see him through the branches. Stefan holds his hand up to his companions. They stop.
"Magic lies in wait," Stefan says, "tread carefully." One of his companions brandishes his wand and incants a Latin spell. Fire erupts from its end and spreads over the damp ground and licks the base of the trees.
"No!" Stefan says, as his fellow wizards cheer as the grove of trees crackles under the magical fire. Soon, the clearing is empty, the trees are blackened husks, and the ground is dark with soot. The magical fire burns hot and fast. The wizard steps forward into the burned area with misplaced confidence.
"If there are no trees, then these witches have no power," he says. The other wizards step forward, wands out, grins widening in anticipation.
"You are fools!" Stefan says, "the moon is full, and the witches keep the vengeance of the forest."
"And you are a coward," the wizard says to Stefan, "shaking in fear of the witches. We thought you would help us, witch-kin, but perhaps you still harbour sympathy for your once-coven."
"We hunt the Bretha?" Stefan says, taking a step back, "you didn't tell me."
"Why would we?" The wizard spits through rotten teeth, "we knew you would be afraid to face your old play-mates."
"Riona," Stefan whispers in horror, "the last Prophetess. We must flee. Now. We cannot hope to defeat her."
"It's too late," Riona jumps down from her tree, light as a feather. Her feet make no sound as she hits the earth. Stefan sees her, his once lover, with shorn hair and a manic look in her eye.
"Run," he cries as Riona screams out to the moon and brings together her hands overhead. The wizards are struck down at once. They lie on the ground, their backs broken and their wands snapped. Stefan stands still, his bones unbroken. He starts to run, but snakes overtake him, wrapping around his body and bringing him down to the earth. His companions die in agony, amid screams and cries for mercy.
Riona approaches Stefan, "you are foolish."
"And you are a murderer," he spits with a face of hatred.
"Yes," she says, "I am what you call me."
"A second party approaches," Stefan says, "if you flee now, you may live another day."
"I die under this moon," Riona says, "I always knew you would witness my death, Stefan, from that first moment when I began to weave our destinies together. Do you remember? The blood and the snakes?"
"Spare me your poison," he says, as a snake tightens around his neck.
"Do you remember Yule, four winters past?" She asks, bending down to him, "we made love under the stars, and I knew you would betray me. But I didn't yet know the words to be spoken."
"Stop!" Stefan yells, "I'd rather be dead than listen to you for even a moment more!"
"The daughter of the moon will come," Riona says in a strange whisper, standing tall and addressing Stefan, "she who has the power to break the hold of the wizards and breathe magic into renewal."
Stefan listens wide-eyed. Aiva stands beside her sister, listening intently to the words of prophecy.
Riona continues, "born to the defiant, her body is given to magic." Riona starts to breathe heavily, the magic in the air and in her body begins to pull her apart, "the forgotten magics of the earth, the dirt." She gasps, "the blood!"
Riona falls onto the ground. The snakes flee and Stefan stands up, shakily, eyes still on the fallen form of Riona. Aiva runs to her sister. She knows at once the Prophestess is dead. Aiva looks up to see Stefan's wand and a green spell.
Stefan looks at the dead bodies of the sisters for a long moment. The Bretha is fallen; the time of the covens is over. The dawning of the age of the wand is now.