Marek took a step back from the red-haired woman. His boots scuffed against the dirt and dried leaves on the forest floor. He did not believe her. None of what she just said made sense.

"You are a liar. You’re not Odhran." He said.

The red-haired woman did not react with anger. She watched him. Then she leaned in closer again. Before Marek could move away, she grabbed his wrist. Her fingers were cold, and her grip was stronger than he expected.

She shut her eyes.

Marek tried to pull away, but her hold tightened. Her face remained still. Then her eyelids flickered. She kept them closed for several seconds. She saw flashes of his journey so far.

When she opened her eyes again, her expression had changed. She looked at Marek as if she recognized something inside his body that he could not see in himself.

"Forsaken," she mumbled, her hold on him loosened.

Marek jerked his arm away. He stumbled back two steps and nearly lost his balance on a root pushing out of the ground.

"You visited the Archivist of the Forgotten Path; that is how you found me." The Red-Haired said.

Marek stared at her. A surprised look on his face. "How did you know that?" He asked.

Elian stepped forward. She looked at Marek with clear annoyance.

"You are a fool," She scoffed. "You doubt a witch after she just saved your life. If you do not believe her, she could kill you right now." Elian raised her bow at him.

The gesture made Marek’s chest tighten.

"But it would be a waste of time killing you after saving your ass." Elian aimed her bow elsewhere and shot at a bird in the tree above his head.

The bird dropped to the ground next to his leg. He jumped in fear and held his hands to his chest.

"You have come a long way to find me," she said to Marek. Her voice was steady. "He has a purpose to fulfill." She said to Elian through their mind-link.

"Then we should honor our guest," Elian replied.

Marek still doubted her. She did not look like a witch from the stories women told in taverns. Those stories always described witches as older women with crooked spines, walking sticks, and a little child for help. But this woman has a beautiful face despite her age. She had a competent younger company with a bow and an arrow.

The red-haired stepped closer again. Marek tensed but did not move back this time. She reached up and placed her palm against his face. Her fingers traced the wound on his cheek, his nose that was bleeding, and his swollen lips. Marek winced. The pain was sharp and immediate. He tried to turn his head away, but she kept her hand in place.

She mumbled a few words in an ancient language. "Vrenn-sora dreth. Vrenn sorn-weth en drazh. Thal’voren en."

Then the pain stopped. Not gradually. It stopped all at once. The burning sensation in his cheek disappeared. The throbbing in his ribs and knee faded. The ache in his left shoulder, which had been bothering him for eight days since he slipped on a wet rock, vanished.

Marek reached up and touched his face where the wounds had been. His fingers met smooth skin. No blood. No cut. No scab. He touched his ribs through his shirt. The tenderness was gone. He looked down at his fingers. There were no cuts or bruises on them.

The red-haired woman turned away from him. She signaled to Elian with a small nod of her head. "We move on, Elian." She said.

"What? Are you just going to let him go just like that?" Elian said through the mind link.

"He’s bound to come with us." Odhran replied.

Elian picked up the bird and walked away. Odhran looked back at Marek.

"You can choose to believe my words or stay in the woods, for when the people who want the reward find you again. Or worse, you die." She did not wait for an answer before walking away.

Marek stood alone in the clearing. He looked at the bodies of the eight men on the ground. He did not want to die. He had come too far to die alone in the woods. That was the simple truth of it. He had done so much to find this woman. If he doesn’t follow them, all of it means nothing.

Marek followed the women. He caught up to them within a minute. The red-haired woman did not turn around to acknowledge him. Elian glanced at him briefly but said nothing.

"I believe you," Marek said. His voice came out rougher than he intended. He cleared his throat. "I believe you are truly Odhran. I heard from a certain traveler how the wanderer’s witch really looked. They said red hair that never fades. And eyes that change color depending on the light. Your eyes are green right now, but in the clearing when I first saw you, they looked different."

Odhran kept walking. "Good to know you know how we look. I also know how far you’ve come to find me. What you seek is a minor issue for me, but are you aware that you have to pay a price?"

Marek nodded. "I am willing to pay anything."

Odhran stopped walking. She turned to face him. "Anything?"

"Yes." He shook his head.

"Even if I asked for your life? Would you give it to me?" Odhran blurted.

Marek stopped on the track. His feet would not move forward. He looked at Odhran’s face. She was not smiling. Her eyes were steady and calm, as if she had asked a question about the weather. But the real question itself pressed against his chest like a physical weight—his life.

His eyes widened. He could feel his heart beating louder than his thoughts.

Elian laughed. It was a loud and honest laugh. Not cruel. Just amused. "Look at his face, I have not seen a man look that scared in my whole life."

Odhran shook her head. "It is a joke," she said.

"He doesn’t seem to have a sense of humor," Elian added.