Prologue
Rain fell, but that was not unusual in the Highlands, and the three creatures making their way over the hills paid no heed to the weather. What they did take note of was unclear, for they seemed to sense things that were not there, answering voices unheard and peering at sights unseen. They were an odd trio: women, to be sure, but less and more than that term implied. Their hair, once different colors and textures, had faded now to the same matted gray. Clothing hung in tatters, long unwashed and uncared-for. The three cunning, leering faces seemed at once knowing and unaware.
The tallest, who led the way, suddenly stopped and faced the other two, bony face alight with enthusiasm.
"Shall we tell?" she asked. "What say you both?"
"Tell!" said the second, and the third echoed, "Tell!"
"If it be ill?" The crone’s crooked finger pointed at them and her eyes narrowed.
"Tell!" the two repeated.
The smallest of the three, whose skin was gray with dirt and scaly from some vile disease, spoke. "They must make of it what they will. We are not to blame."
"No, not to blame," said the third, who lacked an eye, having only smooth skin over the spot where the right one should be. "They think themselves better, all of ‘em. We shall tell and then see how it goes for them."
With nods all around, the three again made their way across the hillside, sometimes taking a
dancing step or two, sometimes speaking to the air, and, as they melted into the nearby woods,
muttering words that pleased them but would make no sense to anyone else: "Double, double, toil
and trouble . . ."
Macbeth's Niece « Sample Chapters » Chapter 1
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