Free Avelynn: The Edge of Faith by Marissa Campbell

out my divining bones, benign-looking in their white silk pouch. Several packets of herbs had been crammed into the tight space. I removed the ones that Muirgen had given me in her cottage. They contained herbs to stop a babe from clinging to a woman’s womb. The other bundles of herbs I didn’t recognize. I unwrapped several layers of cloth and discovered two long, thin stoppered urns. The stone goddess that had sat upon Muirgen’s table, old as time and worn by generations of hands, squatted at the bottom of the chest. There was also a wood carving of a raven, small enough to fit in my palm. Underneath it all was a letter, Muirgen’s handwriting as crisp and clear as if she had written it only yesterday.
    How had they gotten in there? I had never left my chest unlocked. I thought back to my decision to fight in the war against the Vikings, and my subsequent detainment with Halfdan and then Demas. I’d left everything in my cottage—all my keys, my possessions. Bertram knew where to find them. He must have placed these objects inside the box. But why?
    I turned the letter over. On the back were instructions on how to prepare the tonic to ensure a woman’s monthly bleed. Muirgen’s note recounted in detail the herbs used and how and when to collect and dry them. Below that were instructions on making a ritual drink for communion with the Goddess. I shuddered, remembering the potion Muirgen had given me at Samhain. Could I do that again? At the time, I’d not known she was giving me anything other than wine, but the effect of the powerful stimulant had been remarkable. I hesitated, uncertain whether I wanted to read the body of the letter. I steadied my resolve and broke the seal.
    Avelynn,
    A lot has happened, and I know you have questions, but I’m afraid I do not have answers. Bertram and I made choices you may not appreciate or approve of, and I apologize for not being forthcoming with you. We did what we felt was best. One day, when you have grown into your full power, perhaps you will understand.
    I know you feel you still have much to learn, but there is no right or wrong way to honor the Goddess. You do not need the book, nor do you need guided rituals and ceremonies. You will find your way, carving a new faith from the old, melding new ideas with ancient ones. You have only to follow your heart.
    I do have one request, and I imagine after your last experience with my special wine, you may be reluctant to visit that place again, but you must. There are two bottles of wine laced with ergot. I have included the recipe on the back of this letter. You must drink one of the vials and travel to the Otherworld. I will meet you there.
    Yours in faith,
Muirgen
    Even in death, the woman was frustrating … and elusive. No answers—only more questions. I set the letter down and rubbed the strain between my eyes.
    I read the recipe for the mystical wine. Two ingredients caught my eye and set my gut rolling and my palms sweating: ergot—a fungus that sometimes grows on grains and can afflict entire villages, causing hysteria and killing many—and mandrake, also a deadly and poisonous plant.
    It appeared to be a diluted solution. The recipe called for long boiling in multiple batches. Each time, one cup of decoction was added to a fresh cauldron full of water. I reminded myself the potion hadn’t killed me the first time, but I looked at the stoppered urns dubiously, unconvinced.
    I set the letter down and unwrapped Muirgen’s book, opening it to Ostara. The spring equinox belonged to a time of new beginnings and rebirth, when day and night were even. Fertility rites and symbolism dominated the ritual—a time to bless seeds and bury loaves of bread in freshly plowed fields. In ancient times, a young, virile man became the offering of choice. His life’s blood darkened the soil, a gift to the gods. Thankfully, Muirgen’s book called for a sacrificial hare instead.
    If there were ever a time for new beginnings it was