Chapter 9 - Intermezzo

Speak not the name where venom sleeps,

Nor wake the root where silence creeps.

For threads once cut may never mend,

And Song once marked shall call the end.

Raven ran as fast as he could along the winding mountain road, his muscles burning under the weight of his precious cargo. Every step sent jolts through Elanor's limp form, and he could feel the unnatural heat radiating from her poisoned wound. The black veins had spread further up her neck since they'd left the ambush site—time was slipping away like sand through his fingers.

He knew the Witch would be awake at this hour. She always was when death came calling. He only hoped he'd arrive before it was too late.

Slipping through the dense brush that covered the foothills between the main road and the mountain proper, Raven approached the familiar hut. Ancient wards hummed in the air around the dwelling, invisible but unmistakable to those who knew how to sense them. The very trees seemed to lean away from the structure, as if even nature respected the power that dwelt within.

When he was still several paces away, the door burst open with startling suddenness. A stunning woman emerged, her presence commanding despite her simple robes. She gestured urgently for him to enter.

"Raven," she said, her voice carrying the weight of foreknowledge. "I was told you might stop by tonight. Is this her?"

The woman stood as tall as Raven himself, with cascading black hair that seemed to drink in the moonlight. She leaned her polished wooden staff against the wall with practiced ease and immediately took Elanor from his aching arms. Her expression darkened as she examined the festering wound on the girl's shoulder.

Raven set the instrument cases down carefully against the wall and caught his breath before explaining their ordeal.

"We were attacked on the main road," he said, wiping sweat from his brow. "Three assassins. She took an arrow to the shoulder, and I've never seen poison work this fast. The black veins, they're spreading like wildfire."

"How long has she been unconscious?" the Witch asked sharply, already moving toward her workbench as she cradled Elanor.

She pulled the blood-soaked tunic open with gentle but efficient hands, exposing the wound fully. A sharp hiss escaped her lips as she saw the network of black lines that had spread from the puncture site, creating an ominous web beneath Elanor's pale skin.

"About two hours," Raven replied. "Maybe a little longer. She was fading fast when I picked her up."

The Witch's expression grew grim. She positioned Elanor on the wide wooden table that served as both workspace and examination surface.

"Press your hands right here," she commanded, indicating spots on either side of the wound. "Apply steady pressure, but don't squeeze. I need you to slow the spread while I brew the antidote."

Raven placed his palms exactly where she'd indicated, feeling the unnatural heat that pulsed from the infection.

"Perfect. Don't move. Don't even twitch. I won't be long, but every second counts now."

The Witch rushed to a side room, her movements swift but controlled. She returned moments later with three distinctly different corked bottles, each containing liquids or powders of varying viscosity and hue. Setting them on her workbench, she began the delicate process of mixing them in a small iron cauldron.

With a casual wave of her hand, blue flames sprang to life beneath the vessel, hotter and more controlled than any natural fire. She poured purified water from the first bottle into the pot first, the liquid steaming instantly. After a measured pause, she scooped a precise amount of white powder from the second jar and dropped it into the mixture.

A loud pop echoed through the hut, accompanied by a shower of golden sparks. Without hesitation, she quickly dumped the contents of the final bottle into the concoction. The mixture transformed into a luminous purple that seemed to pulse with its own inner light.

The Witch then began whispering in an ancient tongue, her words barely audible to Raven as he maintained his pressure on Elanor's wound. The incantation wove through the air like visible threads, and the liquid in the cauldron began to glow more intensely.

Several tense minutes passed before she took a silver ladle and measured a precise amount of the antidote into a pristine glass bottle. The purple liquid had taken on an almost ethereal quality, seeming to move with purpose even while contained.

Turning toward Elanor, she dipped a crystal dropper into the mixture and drew up several precious drops. The liquid cast violet reflections on the walls as she held it up to examine its consistency.

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"Hold her perfectly still," she instructed as she positioned herself over the Songweaver. "This will be... intense."

The liquid in the dropper glowed like captured starlight. The Witch closed her eyes, centering herself, and began her healing incantation:

By blood unbound and venom drawn to root,

I break the fang and still the serpent's route.

Let death retreat where shadow dares not tread,

And silence claim what sickness would have fed.

She squeezed the dropper with deliberate precision. The first drop fell directly onto the arrow wound, and Elanor's entire body convulsed violently. Raven held her steady, his knuckles white with effort.

The second drop caused a visible pulse of purple energy to race beneath her skin, following the same paths the poison had taken. With the third drop, Raven watched in fascination as the black tendrils began their retreat, pulling back toward the wound like defeated soldiers.

The Witch leaned closer, her experienced eyes tracking every nuance of the cure's progress. Once the darkness had receded completely to the puncture point, she held her hand over the wound and whispered something new under her breath.

Raven nearly lost his grip when a small black marble suddenly leapt out of the wound and into the Witch's waiting palm. The moment it emerged, the gash sealed itself, leaving behind only healthy pink skin where the festering wound had been.

"She'll be weak for a day or so," the Witch said, studying the dark sphere with professional interest. "But she will make a full recovery."

To Raven's amazement, the Witch popped the black marble into her mouth and swallowed it without ceremony.

He reached toward her in alarm. "What are you—"

"Black adder venom. Extremely rare," she said calmly, apparently unaffected by what she'd just consumed. "And extremely expensive."

She fixed Raven with a knowing look. "There aren't many organizations that can afford to coat arrows with poison worth tens of thousands of quills per drop."

Raven's shoulders sagged as understanding hit him. He exhaled through clenched teeth. "Then it's as I feared. The Muted Cord knows the Songweaver has been named."

The Witch nodded once, waiting for him to continue his thoughts.

"I had hoped it was just Goldenvale's surviving loyalists who'd somehow picked up our trail, but..." He gestured helplessly at Elanor's now-healed shoulder.

"No," she said, methodically cleaning her workbench as they allowed Elanor to rest. "That would be far too much to hope for, I'm afraid. I assume you are taking her somewhere for training?"

"The Widow's Shroud," Raven replied. "We'd originally planned to focus on bolstering her musical abilities first, but given tonight's events, it seems she needs to learn proper combat skills. We'll begin her physical training there."

The Witch glanced at Elanor again, observing the steady rise and fall of her breathing. "Yes, I think that's an excellent choice. She'll be quite a sight to behold once they finish molding her, won't she?"

They continued speaking in hushed tones for nearly an hour, sharing intelligence about the growing threats and the best routes to avoid further ambushes. When Elanor finally stirred from her healing slumber, she immediately reached for her right shoulder, then winced as tender muscles protested the movement.

"What happened?" she asked groggily. "The last thing I remember was..."

Raven placed a reassuring hand on her leg. "You were poisoned, but you're safe now. The assassins have been dealt with permanently. Once you're ready to travel, we need to move again. We still have a long road ahead of us."

Elanor tested her range of motion and nodded, surprised by how well she felt. "I think I might actually be ready to go right now. How is that even possible? I feel like I should be much worse."

The Witch examined Elanor's shoulder one final time before helping her adjust her tunic properly. "You must have naturally high Vitality. Once I extracted the poison completely, your body began repairing the damage with remarkable speed."

Elanor opened her mouth as if to respond with specifics, then caught herself. "My Vitality is only—"

"Remember," Raven interrupted gently but firmly, "keep such details to yourself. You're in absolutely safe company here, but we need to establish good habits of discretion. You should only discuss your classes and statistics with those who are actively training you, and only during training sessions."

Elanor nodded understanding, filing away the lesson.

"You are already more powerful than you know," the Witch added. "And your strength will only grow from here. Keeping your true capabilities secret may save your life more times than you can imagine."

"I understand," Elanor said, then looked curiously at her healer. "What should I call you?"

The Witch laughed heartily, as if Elanor had shared a delightful joke. "Ah, everyone simply calls me the Witch. I've been walking this world so long, I've nearly forgotten my birth name myself." Her expression grew more serious. "You know better than most that there is genuine power in words. And what word carries more power than one's true name? But you, Songweaver, may call me Ayleriah."

Raven's eyes widened in shock. "You... you actually told her your..."

The Witch, Ayleriah, chuckled warmly. "Of course I did!" She turned back to Elanor with a conspiratorial smile. "Just promise me you won't use my name in your songs, yes? You can sing of the mysterious Witch if you must, but my true name is for you alone."

"I understand completely," Elanor said solemnly.

Ayleriah packed traveling flatbreads and several small bottles of tinctures into a well-worn leather satchel. When she finished, she turned back to Elanor, her expression shifting to something both solemn and strangely knowing.

She pressed the bundle into Elanor's hands and held her gaze for a long, meaningful moment.

"Your voice is power, child, but remember: not every battle is won by being heard. Learn when to whisper. Learn when to wait in silence. And when the time comes for action..." She paused significantly. "Strike without mercy or hesitation."

Elanor swallowed hard and nodded her understanding.

Ayleriah smiled then, maternal and warm, and cupped Elanor's cheek with a palm that felt both cool and infinitely comforting.

"Now go, Songweaver. Your path winds deep and sharp from here, but I have absolute faith you'll walk it with grace and strength."

Raven adjusted the instrument and weapon straps on his shoulder and gestured toward the door. "Come. The Widow's Shroud awaits, and we've lost too much time already."

Together, they stepped out into the gray half-light that precedes the dawn. The forest hushed around them as if holding its breath. Behind them, Ayleriah watched in thoughtful silence until they disappeared into the trees, the door swinging shut like the closing of an old, old book.