As the sun just peeking over the horizon painted the grass of the steppes with long orange streaks interrupted here and there by hazy edged shadows of the gorse that grew everywhere, her energy was almost spent.

The fear that kept her feet moving in a staggering parody of a run was fighting a losing battle against the emptiness that gnawed at her gut and the fatigue her lack of sleep over the last two days had caused.

Her pace slowed and she staggered to a halt, hands on her hips she bent over and let her breathing settle, then she walked around in circles stretching out her legs. Everyone knew that the run wasn't done until your legs knew about it.

She swung the pack off her back to see what Hamoul had given her and had just spotted the small waxed leather wrapped pack of trail meat when she heard what she'd been dreading hearing ever since she started running, a loud and triumphant shout.

Shooting a frightened glance toward it she saw off in the distance a dozen warriors of her former tribe. Worst she saw two much taller shapes in the middle, the Chiefs Man and the Lead Hunter, mounted on two of the tribe's herd of horses.

Dropping her pack and desperately dragging the energy from Skysister knew where she broke into a staggering run.

She could not allow them to catch her.

Chill despair clutched at her heart with icy talons, how could she outrun the men let alone the horses? Gasping helplessly for air as she staggered forward tears started streaming down her cheeks.

She stumbled, her foot caught by a tussock of grass when an unexpected voice deep in her mind spoke. A cold whispering tone she knew was not her own which said, “I come at your call, unbonded witch.”

Her arms windmilling frantically she fought to keep her balance, thankfully after what seemed like an eternity right on the edge of falling flat on her face she recovered and she was running again. If her exhausted lurching stagger could really be called a run.

Goose flesh prickled her arms as she heard that same cold passionless voice deep in her mind again, “Carefully witch, it wouldn't do to be caught now. Not with aid so close at hand. I’ll be short, my terms are simple, you will have no other than me, no friend, no family, no lover, no child, none that might threaten our bond. If you accept I offer you aid not just for now, but for life as long or short as that may be. I can and will teach you the ways of the Witch, the small castings, the rituals, the bargains needed and who to make them with. Even more I offer you the deep learnings, the old secrets that none but a Witch in the fullness of her power can touch and survive. I offer you all of this and more, all you need do is say 'I agree' and the pact will be sealed.”

Shivering she said, “The older hags spoke of a cold whispering voice that might offer us younger unbonded witches a deal, power, knowledge, aid, all freely given or for a small cost. We were taught to spurn that offer with all our might. We were taught of you and I know your history, know you always bring ruin… but, Skysister save me, I don’t want to die. Though I know this is a horrible mistake, Aignew, I agree.”

A hideous hunger and eagerness was in the voice when it next spoke, “By you heart and by your soul be bound, from this day til the end of yours we are as one. I will be master, teacher, and servant. Let it be so!”

A hush fell over the world, the pounding of her feet, the panting of her breath became muted, dulled, but not the birdsong it was still vibrant, bright, alive. Her heart spasmed in her chest and she felt the intangible fabric of her soul quail under an assault by something chill and slightly acidic, it settled in and stretched, filling her.

The sounds of the world returned. Brash and loud after the stillness.

She could feel the energy she'd been gifted and small twitching spasms ran across her body. She stopped, turning to wait for the men and horses. She knew exactly what she could do and she would, if they didn't leave her alone.

It didn't take long for them to catch up, they'd been even closer than she'd thought.

They spread out around her in a loose semi-circle.

Face fixed in a manic grin, her muscles straining the seams of her leathers as they bunched and swelled, with crazed eyes she almost whispered as she said, “Run. Run little men, run and I will not destroy you.”

A man stepped forward, drawing her eye and commanding her attention, he said, “Surrender, your defiance of the tribe's will ends now and you will submit. The Tribe demands it!”

She frowned at him, feeling the power behind his words scrabbling to gain a hold on her mind, then she laughed and her frown grew. The sound of her laugh in her own ears was very wrong, frightening, it was the broken warbling cackle of someone who’s sanity had fled.

Then she grinned and laughed some more, so be it.

Aignew’s voice in her mind said, “Ignore the spirit-talker. I will take his spirits and let his own magic destroy him, brace yourself.”

She saw a tall thin dark shape appear near the mantled man, long spindly arms shot out from the form, grabbing something unseen out of the air and stuffing it into his maw. She saw his jaw work as he chewed and a surge of strength and energy slammed through her, she groaned deep in her throat as the seams on her leathers burst with audible pops. Vaguely she was aware the Shaman had collapsed to the ground writhing and screaming.

It was too much power for her to hold and remain still, cackling wildly she moved.

A tribesman fell, face unrecognisable. Surprised she stood there looking at the blood on her fist, frowning. She hadn't meant to kill him, had she?

Another pair of tribesmen approached one to either side. One slashed at her with a large knife, to avoid that she must move into the other's stab.

Instead their mouths dropped and fear lit in their eyes when she didn’t move and their knives turned on her bronzed skin as though it was hardened hide. Each knife leaving only a small scratch that barely bled behind.

Before they could recover their wits, she blurred and two inexpert but sledgehammer like blows from her fists fell on them. Ribs shattered, organs burst and pulped and they were thrown to the ground, already dead.

She frowned again, standing over their limp and broken bodies. More death, why had she done that?

The Chief’s Man shouted, “Run! She’s battle-tranced. Run or Die!”

The shout caught her attention and her head snapped around as matching action to words he laid his heels into the horses ribs.

A frightening smile of unholy joy lit her face. She knew who that person was.

The soft soles of her boots tore divots out of the ground, two steps and she was moving as fast as the galloping horse, three more and she'd caught up to it. A grunt of effort and she jumped sailing through the air and landing on the horses swaying and jerking rump as easily as if it was flat ground.

Almost casually she grabbed him by the arm and yanking him out of the saddle held him dangling far above the ground. She looked at him as he struggled. Then a sickening crack sounded as his arm broke and she hurled him to the ground, exactly as she'd seen him to do a young girl who'd got in his way less than a season ago.

The twist of his head and the crunch as he landed said he would never do so again, good.

She dropped into a seated position and the well trained horse stopped, standing and waiting.

She blinked, tensing and twitching, she wanted to chase them and kill, remove the threat, destroy the source of her distress, but even in her deranged state she still didn't want to murder her tribesmen. So she just watched them until they were out of view.

With another broken hysterical cackle she kicked the horse into motion. Leaving behind the broken corpses and the writhing Shaman with strange growths distorting his body and with nothing but madness in his eyes.

*******

Much later Raelea dropped across the horses neck trembling and feeling sick as the insane energy faded from her. The horse slowed to a walk, foam lathered and blowing as she stopped urging it to run. It ambled slowly to a stop and she slid from it's back, landing on the ground with a dull thud.

She lay on the close cropped grass, shivering violently as the midday sun beat down on her and lit her closed eyelids with brilliant redness. Rolling and lurching to her knees she heaved a dozen times, groaning faintly as only a thin burning bile tore at her throat on it's way out.

Eyes streaming tears she wailed, “Why Aignew? Why did you make me kill?”

Her familiar's cold whispering voice said calmly inside her head, “I did not. I gave you power and you acted as you desired, I did not influence you in any way.”

“I would never kill my kin! Kin-slayers are judged by the Gods and will go to the Realm of the Unmentioned when they die. All I wanted was to run, to get away. It must be you, it had to be you, I couldn't kill like that, not ever. All I wanted was to get away...”

Still calm, cold, and unexcited he said, “Those who fear for their lives have little desire to chase a killer so I'd say you succeeded. In my long experience the Gods care nothing for your kind in your short lives, let alone what happens to your spirit on your death. On death you may ultimately be headed to the Realm of the Unmentioned but I have never met a spirit that has been there and I am very old, As old as I am I have seen the oppressed when given power before, admittedly too much power for I didn't expect the spirits but without fail they strike out at their oppressors. Usually with incredible violence, as you just did.”

As the spirit spoke her tears slowed and then dried to leave clean tracks through the grime on her cheeks.

The familiar was right. Her memories were dim, hazy and dark, but she had wanted to kill the strangers hunting her, that was simply good sense. She slightly regretted taking lives but life on the steppes was harsh and they were nothing to her. Not now. The Elder Witch herself had broken those bonds.

She moved away from the stinking puddle she'd left. Sitting down and hugging her knees in an attempt to control her shivering she said, “What do we do? What will we do? The ones who fled will tell the tribe and they will come again but this time they will come in all their power. It won't be one Shaman it'll be all of them with their spirits, the witches will come too because this time they won't come hunting a mere runaway girl they'll come hunting a witch. Even the false god herself might come. What can we do? Show yourself familiar, I want to see the spirit to go with the voice.”

The cold voice in her head was frostier than ever as he said, “Eh-eh, show some care my witch. Politeness will get you much further, however, I will comply with your 'request'.” He appeared lounging on the grass next to her and said, “Happy now? A boost like I gave you before will not be possible again any time soon. That was all the power I'd accumulated in twice the length of a tribesman's life, we will not have anything near as long as that. Your magic is strong but without training... training, hmmm...”

As his voice trailed off, his hand raised up and stroked at a patch of his 'face' where the silver lines that defined his features were missing leaving only darkness.

Eyes twisting and trying to slide away, she studied him. He was very hard to look at because her eye wanted to give him shape and mass to match the lines of his features but could also see they were just silver lines drawn on a perfectly flat, vaguely person shaped plane of darkness.

Looking away, to give her eyes a break from studying this strange creature she’d bound her life to, she noticed the foul taste lingering in her mouth. Walking to the horse she searched and found a waterskin hanging among the packs, gargling and spitting she rinsed it out.

While the spirit was still silent and lost in thought she might as well see what spoils she'd gained and started rummaging through the horse's packs finding that her flight would be comfortable at least. The Chiefs Man had certainly not skimped on the quality of his gear and supplies. There was a luxuriously thick and soft bedroll and food was well taken care of, there were several pouches of pounded fatmeat with the blue blush of Skysister's berries in it and a full sack of good smoked fish.

Her stomach growling, she scooped out a portion of fatmeat and hungrily stuffed it into her mouth. Even trail food was bliss when you were starving.