The hag sneered and broke into laughter. Her cackling was cold and cruel, with more than a touch of madness, and she continued until breaking into a hacking cough, oblivious to the stares of the clan leader and his court. Catching her breath, Maete spoke, her twisted features twitching.
'Ah, little king, would-be king, sad little king of your sad little hill,' she said, stressing each and every word. 'A hag's business is her own! Wise men know not to meddle in their affairs!'
She cocked her head, a curiously bird-like gesture. 'Ah, but you do not know old Maete, do you? But I do know you, Grimmyr Wild-Fire, though I would not expect you to remember. A fine pack of Wolves you have here... perhaps they will roam in their old lands soon, too? But! I have a hag's tongue, and a hag's memory,' she said, and added, as if sharing a secret; 'Best if I introduce myself before I forget me own name then, ehh? I am Maete, of the Old Wild, and I am old, boy, old as sin, old as the land itself. I was here before your petty kingdom or your clan, before the High Kin ever came with their ships and laws, before anyone had brought down an ax or a plow to these lands,' she said, her words dripping with disdain. 'I've walked in the footsteps of Father Wolf, boy. I know the stories the wind tells, I've put all creatures of the earth under my spell, one by one, stolen the ten and ten charms of Tharin, that one-eyed fool, caught a glimpse of...'
The hag halted, gazing around her frantically. Something was recited quickly under her breath. Satisfied, she breathed deep and continued.
'Ehh... I know a poison so foul it will kill even the healthiest man in a heartbeat, and a common herb that properly made will bring back one from the grave...' she said, smiling. 'I've crossed the Isenmount, where the Prince of Blizzards rules in his lonely tower, carried the children of great heroes and great beasts alike, seen the gods beyond the sea, breathed into the old ice in the deep, and heard a voice answer. I've fled the baying of the hounds and the dead horses.... but... but it wasn't my time. Not my time. Not yet, not ever. N-no. Mustn't think about Them.'
Maete took a step back, as if stung, hissing. She seemed to cower in fear of something invisible, before gathering her wits and leaning forward to whisper conspiratorially; 'Sometimes, on the full moon, I fly through the skies in the form of a great crow and feast upon the little children. Oh, their tender flesh!'
Another burst of laughter followed this, seemingly at Grimmyr. Maete turned her back at the chieftain and looked at the others present. Madness gleamed in her eyes, bright and terrible, and she looked like she could pounce on anyone without a moment's warning. But she was smiling, a mocking smile, full of disdain and assumed superiority. Then, a second later, it was gone, and she continued.
'Oh, you pretty thing... your blood is strong. You'll go far yet,' she said, then frowned. 'Ehh? That's not true. What are you on about, ye daft woman? Don't tell the pretty boy lies, black lies, evil lies...'
This time, she continued quickly. 'On the path, I saw a crow take flight thrice - a good omen, a blood omen. There will be a great battle soon. The carrion birds gather. They will feed,' the hag said. She shook her head sadly. 'Ah... sometimes Maete remembers... remembers what she used to be. But it's all lies, isn't it, little king?'
There was a long silence. Maete had closed her eyes, and seemed to shiver. But at last, she snapped back up, focusing her inhuman gaze into Grimmyr's eyes.
'Hrnh. So, boy. How's your mother?'
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Topic: You are King 4.1 (Read 10124 times)