The inside of the shack looked very much like one would expect a dingy little building in the middle of a swamp might look. The air was stale and damp, the floorboards old and pitted. A single candle lit the dark, one-room cabin. A small bed made of vines and leaves sat in one corner and on it lay Jarek. On top of some blankets on the floor next to the bed was Basco. Both were fast asleep and seemed oddly peaceful, almost happy.

  “See? Told you they were fine,” croaked the old woman as she sat in a rocking chair situated near an unused fireplace. “They’re just dreamin’ happily right now. Put up a bit of a fight, they did. Almost didn’t have time to cast any magic.”

  “What did you mean when you said you knew I was coming?” Satchel asked.

  “In a minute, lad. Can’t have a proper conversation without introductions, now can we? Tell me your name.”

  The thief regarded her for a moment. “Satchel,” he said.

  The old woman waggled a finger at him. “I mean your real name.”

  “That is my name.”

  She leaned forward, her brow furrowed. “No, it isn’t.”

  “Yes, it is,” Satchel insisted.

  The woman scowled. “No one’s told ya?”

  “Told me what?”

  “Good gods,” she said and shifted the scowl to Jarek. “Not so dependable.”

  Satchel stared at her, perplexed. What did she mean by that?

  The witch regarded him. “Your real name ain’t Satchel. That’s just the name Jarek gave you because that’s what he found you in.” She shook her head. “Unimaginative man.”

  Satchel crossed his arms. “If you know so much, what’s my real name supposed to be?”

  The old woman sat back in her chair and stared at him, contemplating. She seemed to reach a decision. “No. The fool can tell you himself. It’s his job anyway.”

  “‘His job?’” Satchel’s head swam in confusion. “What do you mean? And just who are you?”

  The woman took in one long breath and then said, “You did introduce yourself as I asked. Not your fault it got botched.” She stood. “I am Itannia, otherwise known as the Witch o’ the Bog.”

  She curtsied or rather attempted it. It looked awkward, and Satchel felt embarrassed for her.

  “I’m also known by many other names. Hag o’ the Woods. Mad Swamp Lady. Daft ol’ Bat. Crazy B-”

  “I get the idea,” interrupted Satchel.

  “No need to be rude,” she said, frowning. Itannia returned to her rocking chair and motioned for Satchel to sit in a nearby soot-covered armchair. He couldn’t tell if the dark green color was fabric or mold.

  Stolen story; please report.

  “I’ll be fine standing.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  The witch leaned back in her chair and, from the nearby table, picked up a pipe with a long spout, stuffed it with what looked like moss and dirt, and lit it. It filled the hut with a smell that Satchel, to his surprise, found rather pleasant, like green apples in autumn. It had a soothing effect. His apprehension began to wane as his muscles relaxed. He slid into the armchair, no longer caring how dirty it was.

  “Now then,” the witch said, “ask me a question. You must be full of them.”

  Whatever she used in her pipe, it seemed to help him think more clearly as it relaxed him.

  “Earlier, you said you knew I was coming. How?”

  Itannia leaned over the side of her chair, and when she sat back up, a small, well-used ornate box rested in her hands. She opened the lid and showed Satchel its contents. Small odd-shaped rocks, each with a little design, lay haphazardly within.

  “They’re bones,” said Itannia. “They came from the fingers of an old soothsayer.”

  Satchel grimaced.

  “Don’t make a face. He wanted it this way. Besides, they’ve served me well these many years. They let me see into possible futures, though it’s not without its dangers. The gods’ realm is a mysterious and dangerous place.”

  “So, you can see everything that’s going to happen to everyone?”

  She shook her head. “Not everythin’ and not everyone. Most people live borin’, ordinary lives. They’re easy to read. Then there are some folks like you. Bones can’t settle on one path.”

  “You’ve looked into my future?”

  “Futures, my dear. Plural. You’re a strong one, you are,” the witch said with a nod. “Stronger than you even know. It’s why the mandolin’s music didn’t get ya. You’ll go on to do great and miraculous things.” She took a long drag from her pipe and let the smoke out slowly. “Or you won’t. It’s up to you.”

  “I don’t understand,” Satchel said. “What does that even mean?”

  Itannia shrugged. “What the bones tell me are the paths you might take, but there are so many of them that I’d go mad if I looked at each one.”

  Satchel began to feel frustrated. It felt as though the conversation hadn’t gone anywhere. Then he thought of Addie.

  “Could you use the bones right now?” he asked.

  “Ah, the girl,” the witch said as though reading his mind. She shook her head. “She is an odd one. Her future is so entwined with yours that it’s hard to distinguish her paths from yours. I do know that many of her paths end only in pain and sadness.”

  Itannia then gave Satchel a long look that made him uncomfortable.

  “What will happen to her?”

  “That, my boy, is not for you to know.” She adjusted herself in her seat. “But you came to find help for her. That girl is under a spell. I s’pose you saw the ring on her finger?”

  Satchel nodded.

  “The ring is enchanted with magic that lets someone else possess her and use her for their own devices. The one that’s got her now is wicked indeed. Tuh! Wicked’s too nice a word for the likes o' him.”

  “Who is he?”

  “You met him last night, young man. The White Knight.” Itannia spat after she said the name.

  Anger welled up inside Satchel as memories of the previous evening flooded in.

  “What can you tell me about him? Where is he?”

  “Slow down, boy. I can’t help you find him. Some bein’s in this world I can’t see no matter what I do. The White Knight,” Itannia turned her head to spit, “is one of ‘em. He ain’t human, I can tell ya that much. What exactly he is I’m not certain, but he was created by one of the gods without the All Father’s permission, of that I’m sure.”

  “Then how can you help me?” Satchel said impatiently.

  Itannia grabbed her pipe and jabbed the mouthpiece at him. “Watch your tone. I will help, but even if I could tell where he was, leadin’ you to that monster would be leadin’ you to your death. He’s far too strong for you and your friends. There is only one person in this world that can go face-to-face with him, and he’s a little busy right now. One day, you might be strong enough, but that won’t come for some time. I can tell you what might happen, but you won’t like my answer.”

  Satchel rubbed his face. This conversation generated more questions than answers. Unsure what else to ask, he said, “Then what should I do?”