The Blue Witch

witchlings

Her sightless eyes were milky white,

1

Abigail marched toward the iron gates of the Tarkana Fortress, holding her chin high. She wasn’t going to cry, not today, even though Old Nan had tied her braids so tight her scalp stung

he two riders raced through woods shrouded in mist and hanging moss. Odin, the most powerful god in all of Asgard, urged his steed Sleipnir on. Sleipnir’s eight legs pounded the ground sounding like drumbeats. Wind whipped at Odin and the woman grip-ping his waist.
Vor, Goddess of Wisdom, spoke in Odin’s ear. “Hurry,” she urged.
“Sleipnir can’t see.”
Vor whispered a string of words and the clouds above them parted, allowing the full moon to light the way. Odin clucked to Sleipnir until the thunder of hooves was deafening.
A burst of blinding green light led them to a clearing where a cloud of acrid smoke hung.
“We’re too late,” Odin said.
A black-haired woman wearing a heavy cloak lay sprawled on the forest floor. Odin took in the burn marks and deep scoring of claws that marred the trees. A battle had taken place here.
Odin helped Vor down. The seer’s pale blonde hair flowed in a curtain down her back. Her sightless eyes were milky white, yet she saw more than any other being in Asgard.
She knelt by the woman, checking for signs of life, then shook her head.
A baby let out a wail.
Odin searched for the source of the noise, parting a swath of bushes. Tucked into the nook of a hollow trunk lay a babe swaddled in a blanket. A glowing bubble of energy encircled her. He waved his hand, wiping away the protective field, and lifted the child.
The baby fretted, reaching up to grab Odin’s beard. He gently pried her fingers away and held her out.
“Well?”
Vor placed a hand on the baby’s head, then nodded. “This is the child I saw in my vision.”
A heavy weight settled on Odin as he cradled the child.
And so it begins.
“She can’t stay with us,” Vor said softly. “When the other gods find out what she is, they will banish her.”