Hallowed Ground by David Niall Wilson, Steven & Wilson Savile Page A

lead to – or from – anywhere.
    The wind, which had been nothing more than a soft breeze, stirred, gathering force and whipped the trailing branches of the trees violently.   The temperature dropped.   It wasn't a gradual chill.   The snap and crackle of frost coated the bark, glittering white.   That whiteness spread from the trailing tips of the branches, along the length of the thick limbs and chased down to the boles of the trees, transmogrifying the forest.   It spread deep into the roots, freezing the earth beneath his feet.
    Benjamin felt a snap of energy, an instant of bone-deep fear that simultaneously froze him in place and screamed at him to run and not look back.   Don’t look back. Don’t ever look back....   In the center, where the roads crossed, the witch waited.   She smiled and held out her hand.   It was the first time he'd seen her smile, and it was beautiful, but the beauty was a thing of surfaces, there was no depth to it.   He did not want to touch her because he knew then that she would feel every bit as cold as his dead Elizabeth.
    He took a step, staggered, regained his balance and met her in the center of the road.   If possible, the temperature dropped a few degrees further.
    "Do you remember?" Jeanne asked.   "Do you remember the words, Benjamin Jamieson?"
    He didn't trust his dried, parched lips to form his answer.   He nodded.
    She raised her arm and gestured for him to approach.   In that instant, he almost found the strength to run.   He met her gaze, ignoring the wind and the cold and raised one foot from the road beneath him.   He actually began to turn, but in the end, he couldn’t do it, not when a part of him believed this madness might truly be a chance for his Elizabeth to return to him.   Instead, he stepped forward.   In only a second, he stood so near to her that her breath, frosting in the frigid air, dampened his cheeks and her eyes became all that he could see.
    The wind rose again, sending branches and leaves scurrying up and down the trails in all directions.   The rime of frost coating the earth cracked brittle beneath their feet.   Benjamin dared not move.   Tiny crystals of ice swirled as the breeze agitated them, lifting up from the dirt as they twisted and gyrated, coming together like a small tornado localized around the clearing.   Jeanne's hair, flecked white now, writhed like the reptilian locks of Gorgon Medusa, and her cold smile widened.
    "State your name," she cried.   The words caught on the wind and whirled about them so they seemed to come at Benjamin from every direction at once, embittered with the wrath of the mad wind.
    "Benjamin Jamieson," he said, the words whipped away from his tongue.   His throat was so dry it felt like he'd swallowed sand, but his words were clear.   By some trick of the wind he heard them as if from a great distance.
    "State your desire," Jeanne whispered - cried - screamed - laughed.   She did all of these things, or maybe none of them.   Her voice shifted from that of human to the elemental whispering of the wind itself, her words so forceful they were a scourge upon his soul.
    "Elizabeth Stark's life; bring her back to me." he said softly.
    The leaves rustled, accepting his demand.
    "State your offer," Jeanne Dubois said.   She reached out a long slender finger and poked her fingernail beneath his chin, lifting his eyes.   He was momentarily disoriented because she lifted his gaze to hers, but surely he was the taller?   Surely…
    "Anything," he whispered.
    Jeanne Dubois laughed again, the sound harsh and derisive.   "Anything from the sweet boy," she said as she raised her hands above her head and turned her face to the moonlit sky.   The silver light fused with the gilt frosting of the ice and the mad tangle of her hair.   In that moment it went beyond beauty; she was radiant.   She spoke a single word.