Six of them met in the orchard. The sun shone hot, although hulking clouds drifting from the west cast them repeatedly into shadow. It was two days after the death of three witches and the loss of the book. The undain that had stalked the island had not been found.
Hellen had insisted they wait until Fer was with them again. The young hedge witch sat opposite Hellen now, very pale, her gaze cast on the ground. She looked exhausted. She panted slightly as if she had been running. She had said little since waking up and could remember nothing of her struggle on the banks of the An. It was often the way with strong magic, of course: her mind sparing her the memory of overwhelming pain. But eventually they would need to know.
She wore the simple, white gown from the infirmary. Her hair, rich
