The Witch's Boy

The sea meant I love you.

The sea meant I will one day return.

The sea meant I must find the world and hold the world and live in the world. And I must love the world. And love it and love it and love it. As much as I love you

Almost a year since he last held her hand. The sensation of it—the realness of her, the trueness of himself—shot through his whole being.

My friends, he thought. My friends returned

Why hadn’t he held onto her? Why did he let her go away? Why didn’t he pull her into the weight of his family, hold her in place, give her somewhere to belong?

fear is a difficult thing to unlearn

“Oh, grow up,” the king snapped savagely.

“I can’t,” Tam said in a merry voice. “I’m dead. Dead things can’t grow.”

How can you tell your child that you must leave her forever?

His silence had weight. It had substance and presence and teeth. And people noticed

When someone dies, the soul stays trapped inside the body until nightfall. And then it emerges and goes . . . elsewhere. No one knew where

She had a name, but no one used it. Her children called her Mother, her husband called her Wife, and everyone else called her Sister Witch. She was a woman of power, both loved and resented, and she was listened to—always