The Binding Read Online Free

child. Just something to calm a mother’s nerves.”
    I accept the tea with a muted, “Thank you,” and she takes the crying baby.
    "There, there, little love,” she coos. “It will all be over soon, I promise." The old woman looks up at me, and the expression on her face is at once accusatory and compassionate. It should be impossible, but it is so. "This won't be pleasant, dear one, but we all do what we have to do, don't we?" She speaks to the baby, but she's still looking at me. Then she takes the baby to the table and undresses her.
    Elisha smiles. "Such perfection." She lets the baby grasp her finger for a moment, then turns back to me. "Are you certain this is what you want? Once we begin, there's no stopping. If there's any part of you that's willing to let her become what she was born to be, listen to it now."
    I do. I listen. I hear the part of my mind whispering that God wouldn't create something that He hated, that if a child could be born with magic, perhaps my people are all wrong about it. And then I remember the young woman at her trial, shackled and filthy, helpless and hopeless, and no one willing to hear her pleas of innocence. That is all that waits for my precious child if I let her stay as she is, if she should manage to live that long. I shake my head. "It has to be this way."
    Elisha looks away. "I know. I had to make sure." She runs her wrinkled hands over the soft, new skin of my baby's body. The baby tucks her legs up to her belly, and Elisha pulls them back down. She leans in close, and I move to the side to see what she's doing.
    A tear forms in her eye, sparkling like a gem in the firelight, and slides down her nose to splash onto the baby's face. The old woman wipes it away, gently. She whispers something into the baby's ear, but all I catch is the two words at the end.
    “I'm sorry . ”
    She hums a strange tune, like nothing I've ever heard. "Foreign" doesn't begin to describe it. "Unearthly" comes closer. At first the baby seems interested, alert and bright-eyed. The Woods-witch opens a jar of foul-smelling ointment and rubs it into the baby's skin, starting with her toes, working up her legs, then fingers to shoulders, body and head, ending with her face. My baby cries.
    "Shhh," the old woman says, and picks up a wooden pacifier that she's dipped in honey. The baby takes it and sucks furiously, drawing comfort. I step forward to touch her, but the Woods-witch grabs my hand and shakes her head. I step back a few paces, and she motions for me to move farther away. She watches until she’s satisfied that I won’t interfere, then returns to her work.
    My fingers tingle, then grow numb. The sensation spreads through my body. I want to ask what she’s done to me, but I’m afraid.
    Ancient hands pass over the baby, hovering a steady few inches from her skin. I feel a disturbing energy building, coming from the baby. It’s that lightning-strike tingle multiplied by a thousand.
    She spits out the pacifier and starts wailing. The magic turns my stomach, and the cries break my heart. I step forward, and feel dizzy. I take another step and fall, landing hard on my hands and my knees, gasping for air. The old woman shoots me a warning glance.
    Once we begin, there's no stopping .
    The Woods-witch keeps singing, and my precious child's cries turn to strangled screams, though the old woman never lays a hand on her. I lie on the floor, frozen, tears streaming from my eyes, unable to wipe away the mess that leaks from my nose. My heart pounds with terror as my daughter's pain vibrates through my body. The connection shouldn't be surprising. Not so long ago she was a part of me.
    It seems that the screams will go on forever . . . then the cabin is silent, and the magic gone. The old woman is finished with her song. The baby has stopped crying, but I think that her screams will echo in my brain until the day I die. I've betrayed her. It was what I had to do, the only way for her to live, but I'm