Free Child of the Sword, Book 1 of The Gods Within by J.L. Doty Page A

who commanded the room
entirely.
    “Come, child,” she said. “Stand before
me.”
    Morgin found he could not have disobeyed
even had he wanted to. He walked slowly across the small room with
both his mouth and his eyes wide open. It was impossible not to
stare at the old witch’s face: a miasma of wrinkles, though not as
wrinkled as he’d always imagined. Her hair was black, with flashing
streaks of gray that radiated outward from her face. It was pulled
back to the top of her head where it lay knotted and fastened with
combs and braids, and studded with tiny jewels.
    “Am I that fascinating, child?”
    Morgin suddenly remembered his manners and
diverted his eyes. “I’m sorry.”
    “Don’t apologize, boy. If you wish to look
at me, then do so.”
    Morgin chose to look at the floor.
    “Come, child. Raise your head. Look at me
when I speak.”
    He looked again at that wrinkled face and
those cold black eyes. “Yes, milady.”
    “That’s better. Now you sound like a proper
clansman. I am Olivia, but of course you know that. I am a witch,
but of course you know that too. Did you know that you are also a
witch?”
    “Yes,” he answered.
“Mother . . . Anna . . . the Lady
AnnaRail told me.”
    “Good. Do you know why you’re here
today?”
    “No, milady.”
    “You’re here because I wish to test your
power. I want to know how much of a witch you are. Do you
understand that?”
    “Yes, milady.”
    “Good. Now listen to me carefully. I am
going to caste certain spells, and while I am doing so you must
relax and remain absolutely still. You may experience certain
sensations, some of them not altogether pleasant. If so, do not
resist, for if you do you will be the one that is harmed, not I. Is
that clear?”
    “Yes, milady.”
    “Excellent. Now, I must have absolute
silence.”
    The room itself seemed to obey the old
woman’s command, returning a silence that was eerie. The walls in
that part of the castle were thick, and not even the noises of the
busy yard could penetrate to disturb them. Morgin had a sudden
desire to be away from there, for he could sense something building
within the close confines of that small room. It was akin to what
AnnaRail did when she performed a seeking, but where that something
was kind and soft, this was cold, hard, and powerful.
    Olivia’s lips began to move almost
imperceptibly, and Morgin caught the hiss of a faint whisper at the
edge of his hearing. The words she spoke sent a shiver up his
spine, words of power, and he concentrated on them carefully as
AnnaRail had taught him to do. He could hear each syllable clearly,
and yet when he tried to put them together into a word, the final
product eluded him as if he was meant never to understand such
words, or the power they called forth. But nevertheless he
concentrated on each as the old woman uttered it, and in so doing
he felt fearful power rising within his soul.
    Morgin watched the old witch build something
indefinable within her, and then she built something similar within
him. He felt violated, but he remembered her words and fought the
desire to resist her, until he felt he was being strangled from
without by her power, and from within by his own.
    Without warning Olivia’s power merged
painfully with his. He staggered under the suffocating weight of
it, struggled for air, and did something, though he didn’t really
understand what he did, or how he’d done it. But Olivia gasped,
stood, slapped him, and screamed, “Monster!”
    Morgin had been oblivious to the world
around him, but the slap snatched him back to the moment,
staggering, his face stinging with the force of the blow. He
watched helplessly as the old woman raised her arm to strike again,
but now her hand was glowing, with streaks of power dancing up and
down her wrist. The room was electrified with a sense of unreality,
and all Morgin could see was the old woman’s eyes: black and
angry.
    “Mother, no,” Roland screamed. “You’ll