Bloodwitch (The Witchlands, #3)

“Perhaps,” he said slowly, “if you tell me what it is you aim to do, then I can tell you how I aim to help.”

Kullen said nothing, and as the seconds flicked past, the room seemed to shrink, as if every drop of air was being reeled into Kullen’s lungs. And as each second ticked past with no response, Merik’s lungs cinched tighter and tighter.

Until at last the Fury flipped up his hands. “Why not?” he mused aloud, and Merik’s breath finally released.

“It is quite straightforward.” The Fury slouched once more against the wall. “I want to enter into the mountain, but my Heart-Thread shuts me out. The entrance is magicked, and … Let us just say that brute force is not working fast enough. We were able to enter the Crypts, but I fear that will not get us into the Sleeper’s heart.”

Into the Crypts. That was where Merik had left Ryber and Cam. They must have moved on, though. Deeper inside this mountain that Merik still did not understand.

“You have seen no sign of Ryber?” he asked, careful to keep his tone casual.

“No. She and that boy Leeri went deeper into the mountain, and now they need never return. The Crypts are not the only doorway in or out.”

There it was again. A reference to doorways. First Ryber, then Esme, now Kullen. “What are these doors?”

“Power,” Kullen replied simply, as if this explained everything. “Whoever controls the doors controls the Witchlands. They lead all across the continent, Merik. Enter the mountain here”—he stretched his right arm long—“and come out of the mountain here.” He stretched his left arm.

“Then why can’t you use those other doors?”

“Unfortunately,” Kullen’s nose wrinkled, arms dropping, “I cannot remember where they are. I used to know, and I know that I found one in the south—Ryber told me I did, but the blighted Sightwitches stole my memory. Although…” He flung Merik a terrible, wide-eyed grin. Then he knocked at his skull. “They could not take all the memories. Only one. Only your Threadbrother’s. The rest of us are still in here. The Fury is still in here, and he was present on the day of reckoning.”

Merik had no idea what that meant. He had no idea what most of it meant, but as long as he could keep Kullen talking, he could keep formulating a plan. “So then,” he tried, “you do know where the entrances are?”

Instantly, the Fury’s smile fell. A wind swooped around him, vicious and cold. He began to pace.

“I know of only one.” Step, step, step, twist. “But that wretched Eridysi made it so the door to my people only traveled one way. I cannot use it to get in. As for the other doors, I was never allowed to use them before betrayal ruined us all. And the other survivors like me…” He scowled, ice lancing over the stones. “They remember even less than I do. Useless, the entire lot of them. So as you can see, that leaves only the Crypts for access. Since that is the way I remember, then that is the way we use.”

Step, step, step, twist. Step, step, step, pause. Kullen angled toward Merik. “Now tell me: what do you propose, Threadbrother? How will you help me gain what I need?”

Merik wet his lips, so dry. His throat was dry too. Distant, cursory annoyances, though. Right now, all that mattered was moving with the wind, with the stream. Prove himself; lose the collar. Think, think, think.

He got no chance to think, though. Not before the Fury offered a proposal of his own. “Lure them out and kill them.” He spoke this almost to himself, words so faint, Merik scarcely heard them over the still whispering wind.

Then Kullen was striding toward him, and as he sank into a squat, he repeated: “Lure them out and kill them, Merik. Then I will trust you again as my Threadbrother.”

“Them?” Merik asked, even as he knew what the answer had to be. Even as he knew he could not say no to this request—not without losing his only gift from Noden since coming here.

“Ryber and Leeri.” Kullen grinned. Death gleamed in his eyes.

“But she is your Heart-Thread.”

“Was my Heart-Thread,” he corrected. “Like you, though, she has not been very loyal.”

Never, in a thousand lifetimes, could Merik kill Ryber or Cam. He would kill himself before he would ever do that. But right now, it was the only thing he could say to prove himself. He would not startle this prey. He would move exactly as the wind and stream demanded.

“All right,” he said, chin rising. “As you command, Kullen. I will lure them out, and I will kill them.”





FORTY-ONE


Something changed between Aeduan and Lizl. When the fight ended, Lizl did not draw her sword on Aeduan, and Aeduan did not attempt to flee. They simply stood there, steam coiling off the corpses and blood soaking the soil between them.

The night was suddenly too quiet.

“You did not use your magic,” Lizl said eventually, small gasps to punctuate her words. Her face was marked with blood and dirt. “In the fight, you could have held them in place, but you didn’t.”

“I … only use it if I must.” Aeduan gulped in air, so thick with the scent of death. “It is not honorable. Not against our own.”

“What do you care about honor?” There was no venom in her voice. Only exhaustion and genuine confusion.

Aeduan offered no reply, and she did not seem to expect one. The moments slid past, both breathing. Both processing what had happened. They had fought their own people, they had killed their own people, and it had been the right thing to do.

“Are there any survivors?” Lizl asked at last, and Aeduan nodded, a ragged thing. His magic might be weak, even with the Painstone, but he could still sense four people alive within the encampment.

“We can do nothing for them,” he said roughly. “They will not see us as allies.” He gestured to their cloaks. “They will try to flee or try to kill us.”

“Ah,” she agreed, rubbing at her eyes. It only smeared more blood across her face.

“This is not the first massacre I’ve seen.” Aeduan described the dead tribes he had found, and the dead monk who had blamed the Purists. For the first time since the fight had ended, anger flashed across Lizl’s face.

No more numb shock, no more panting recovery. Her lips snarled. “Why would Natan order this?” She turned slowly, head shaking as she took in the full battle. “They said it was to stop the Raider King, but … but that sounds like shit to me.”

It sounded like shit to Aeduan too. The Monastery had never interfered in war before. “I thought it was the tier ten that had drawn the monk to the Nomatsis. But now…”