“S-s-s-so, End-der-der-aa, wha-what’s the p-plan?” The witchling’s lips were blue, and her hair was clumped with ice.
“You know the plan. We follow Abigail.”
“But the tracks …” Nelly’s words died at Endera’s glare. The skinny witch looked miserable, shoulders hunched under the cloak she had pulled over her head.
The tracks were the problem.
They had followed Abigail’s steps to the iced-over bridge. Endera had sent Safina up the cliff first. The girl had climbed it quickly, calling down to them to be careful not to spook the animals that lived inside the holes.
At first it had been easy following the narrow trail through the woods, but the snow had kept falling, and now they were in a vast sea of it. White. Pristine. Unmarked.
“Which way do we go?” Nelly asked. “If we stay out here, we’ll freeze. And we’ve got no food.”
“Quit your bellyaching,” Endera snapped. “We’re witches. We don’t complain.”
“Honestly, Endera, I would think you’d at least worry about food,” Safina said.
The firstling hadn’t complained once, which annoyed Endera. Safina should be crying in her boots. It was cold, and they were practically starving.
“Nelly’s right. If we don’t eat, we won’t have the energy to call up witchfire to heat ourselves, and we’ll freeze. Is that what you intend?” Safina waited for her to answer.
Endera whirled on the girl. “No, it’s not what I intend. I intend to make Abigail pay for what she’s done.”
“Great,” the witchling said without blinking. “Then tell us how we can eat. We haven’t seen her or caught up with her in two days.”
“I …” Endera blinked as a raucous caw broke through the clearing. They raised their heads as a large raven settled on a branch to study them.
Endera picked up a chunk of snow, ready to hurl it at the little beast, when it opened its beak.
“Pathetic,” it rasped.
Endera froze, letting the snow drop. “Who are you?”
The raven puffed up its feathers. “I am Bristle. I work for the queen of the witches.”
“Hestera?”
The raven bobbed its head.
“She’s no q-q-queen.” Nelly sneered, but her teeth chattered as she said it.
“Ah, but she will be,” the raven hissed. “First things first, you worthless half-wits must do your job.”
Anger lit a fire within Endera, and a ball of witchfire appeared over her hand. “Who are you calling half-wit?”
The raven stalked closer. “You, witchling. You waste time wandering in circles in the woods while the blue witch marches ever closer to the prize.”
“The prize?”
“The hammer of Thor.”
“The what?” Glorian blinked her snow-clumped lashes.
The raven cawed with impatience. “Listen, fools—the mission has changed. Madame Hestera wishes that you bring her the mighty Mjolnir.”
Endera gaped. “But …” Did the raven just suggest … “That’s impossible.” The witchfire died in her hands.
“And yet the blue witch plans to do it,” the raven hissed, stepping along the branch until it was eye to eye with her. “She has reported her plans to me—she is on her way to meet with Thor, retrieve the hammer, and then she is to get rid of that Balfin friend of hers. But Madame Hestera doesn’t trust her. Can you do as asked, or should we find another witchling?”
“Yes.” Endera gathered herself. “Tell Madame Hestera I will do as she asks—but how will we return with it? Our captain abandoned us.”
“A ship awaits due west of where you’ll find the blue witch.” The raven launched itself into the air. “Be sure to get rid of her and that companion of hers,” it called as it wheeled into the sky.
“Why does she want the hammer of Thor?” Safina asked.
“I don’t know,” Endera snapped. “But it doesn’t matter. If she wants it, it’s our job to get it.”
“But aren’t you curious?” Safina persisted. “It would help to understand why.”
Endera had reached her limit with the insolent firstling. She poked the girl hard in the chest. “You’re not in charge here. I am. So unless you have something useful to say, be quiet.”
Safina pulled back. “You know, you don’t know everything.”
“I know more than a dumb little firstling.” Endera pushed past the girl to stalk on. “Like I know where to find us some food.”
“Food?” Glorian suddenly snapped awake. “Now we’re talking. Jookberry pie? Shreek pudding? Or maybe some black cabbage casserole?”
Endera rummaged in the snow where the tip of a bush poked through and pulled up a fistful of frozen gilberries. She shoved them into Glorian’s hand. “Here. Now quit your yapping and get moving. We have to find Thor.”
“And how’re we going to do that?” Nelly asked as Endera strode ahead. “You’ve led us into the middle of a forest with snow in every direction.”
Endera stopped, her voice colder than the wind that nipped at them. “You doubt me?”
The girl cringed. “No.”
Endera grabbed Nelly by the collar, witchfire appearing in her hand as she hauled the girl close. “Just say it, ‘I doubt you, Endera.’”
Nelly held her hands up in defense. “I didn’t mean it. I’m just cold. And hungry.”
Endera held the witchfire a moment longer and then let it die. She pointed at the sky. “See those vultures? They’re following something. Thor is a hunter. I think he’s found something to hunt. Follow me or stay here. I don’t care.” She let go of Nelly and marched on.
One day she would lead the coven, she reminded herself. It would start here. Now. With these three witchlings.
She refused to look back. Refused to show weakness. Glorian would follow her, for sure. And probably Nelly. But Safina … She wasn’t sure, and she didn’t care. And yet she did.
Endera kept walking, and after a few beats, the heavy crunch of snow sounded behind her.
Definitely Glorian.
Then other crunches, lean and sly.
Nelly.
It took a moment, but then, finally, she heard a soft step.
Endera couldn’t stop the smile. The witchling had followed. She would come around. She would be Endera’s greatest follower.
Chapter 19
Snow. Snow everywhere. Abigail would have blasted witchfire to melt it all if she could. Her bones ached from the sled’s jolting. They had made only two stops to water the badgets and feed them chunks of frozen meat, which the creatures gulped down in one swallow.
“Are we there yet?” Abigail asked Izmerelda for the tenth time.
“Stop pestering me,” the troll hag snapped. “I’ve gots to feed my pretties.” She stopped the sled and hopped off to tramp through the snow. “Ah, here we go.” She held up a trap. A frightened hoblet quivered inside. Its forehead had a white spot, and its eyes looked out imploringly.
“You can’t feed them a hoblet,” Abigail said, jumping off the sled.