Samhain Born

Samhain Born

When Alana went to the ancient hawthorn tree by the river just before midnight on her seventeenth birthday, All Hallows' Eve, she knew what she was doing. With a whispered prayer for forgiveness, Alana trimmed a lower branch from the tree, and swept the ground beneath the crown of its branches with the severed limb. She went counter clockwise, around and around, saying the nonsensical words the hedge witch had made her memorize. Finally spent, she sank to the earth and rested, her hands palm up on her knees and the river running at her back. No spirits could approach from that direction, and Alana could see the other approaches well.

This is why she had come. To call the spirits and hear what they wanted from her once and for all.

All her life, Alana had heard things, seen things, that others didn't see. There had to be a purpose to it. But no one would talk to Alana about these things, they never had and they never would. When her parents were still alive, they'd encouraged her silence, but since their death, Alana found she couldn't keep silent any longer. Her difference kept her apart. She had to know more to understand how she could live with it, and hopefully not be alone her entire life.

Alana shivered in the chill autumn wind, giving thanks it hadn't rained. Her mother's old cloak was worn, and she didn't know where she'd find coin for another one. Her farm income had dried up since her parents' death. Folk had nearly stopped buying milk, butter, and eggs from her. Now they knew she'd touched the food, where they'd been able to ignore it before if the price was good enough.

Even earlier today she'd been undecided, unsure whether she could carry out the radical plan that had occurred to her a few days ago. She'd checked her assumptions with the local hedge witch, an unfortunate association of her aunt's who was also the only neighbor still speaking with her anymore. Alana was sure her plan would work – but did she truly want it to?

Yes. She had to change something. Had to do something.

If the people weren't willing to talk about her second sight, maybe the spirits would have something to tell her. What did she have to lose? She may as well be the witch the townsfolk called her – she had to eat somehow.

A rustling snap drew Alana's attention. She couldn't see anything, and silently cursed the dark, and then herself for her silliness. Of course it was dark. She'd come at nearly midnight on All Hallows' Eve, the night when the veil between worlds parted and the dead came home again. What was she thinking?

Adrenaline surged through her as another footstep – undeniable this time – sounded yet closer. Alana started to inch back, but stopped herself. She'd swept in a circle, as the old hedge witch had told her, and she couldn't move from her place without undoing the spell.

Alana gathered her nerve. She'd come here for a reason.

"Who are you?" That wasn't even what she wanted to know, but it was a start. "Why can I see what's to come? Why are you haunting me?"

A raspy groan emerged from the direction of Alana's midnight visitor. Despite her intention to sit still, Alana scooted backward in alarm, only remembering the river when she felt the cold water at her fingertips.

A firm border – spirits couldn't cross running water. Feeling more confident, Alana tried to make out the shape in the shadows. But she could see so little; it had yet to step from beneath the trees.

"What is it, do you think?" The whisper in Alana's ear made the hair on her neck stand up, and Alana slowly turned to face this new intruder.

A tall, lithe woman with skin so pale it nearly glowed in the moonlight and huge, wide set eyes, met her appraisal. She raised a pale, arched brow and spoke again, louder this time. "What do you think you've called, Alana?"