Lillian. I have to go underground to continue following Lily and her coven.
Go, Carrick. Stay close to them, but don’t be discovered.
As you wish, My Lady.
*
Lily slept very little that night. Her mechanics tried to help, but they had to use their own faltering stores of energy to do it. Until she was healed and the injury dealt with, her mechanics could only mask her pain—and they couldn’t keep that up for long. They were all tired, cold, and hungry.
After only an hour Lily demanded that they stop, and she gutted it out alone for the rest of the night. Every bump on the tracks brought pain, jarring her out of whatever doze she managed to fall into and the night turned into one long half sleep that was more torturous than it would have been if she’d simply stayed awake. Her mechanics tried to give her comfort by smoothing her hair and holding her hand, but as Lily had already learned, pain builds a barrier between the hurt and the whole. It leaves the sufferer isolated, with nothing but an ocean of time to cross.
Lily could feel herself rising up on her raft, and she could hear Lillian calling to her from the Mist. Lily didn’t want to go back to the barn. She fought it, but Lillian was better at directing the currents in the spirit world, and like it or not Lily felt her raft being drawn into Lillian’s memory.
… I stay in a huddle all night. I back myself into a corner, knees drawn to my chest, watching the lambs watch me. They keep their distance—too beaten down to approach me. Or maybe I just make them sad. Seeing me, they’re probably all reminded of their own first night in the barn.
I hear the sounds of the Woven outside. The chittering noises they make in the dark. My skin crawls. Dawn comes and light seeps through the cracks in the roof, illuminating shafts of dusty air. The feeble sun is not enough to warm anyone in this never-ending winter. I am so low on energy that even I’m shivering.
One of the lambs creeps forward—a little boy no older than seven or eight. He holds out the edge of his shawl, offering to share half. I know it’s awful of me, but before I accept I check him for bloody stumps.
“It’s okay,” the boy says, understanding my hesitation. “The doctor hasn’t caught me yet.”
I look down, ashamed of myself. The boy is sweet and I smile, gratefully accepting his company. “The doctor?” I ask.
“He takes our arms and legs in a way that doesn’t kill us,” he whispers. His eyes are blank with terror and he presses against me, trying to warm his emaciated body. “He’s the most scary of them all.”
“How often does he come?” I ask, my own fear feeding off his.
“Every day when the sun goes down,” he says with haunted reverence.
We spend the morning clinging to each other. We don’t talk. When a canteen of water is passed around at noon I refuse, allowing the boy to drink my share. He thinks I’m being kind, but really I’m only doing it to protect myself. I doubt anyone who gets put in the barn gets fed, but the less food or drink I allow into my body, the longer it will take for me to pass my willstones. The extra dose of water gives the boy a burst of energy—enough to speak anyway.
“Are you a witch?” he asks, half holding his breath in excitement.
I nod and mime swallowing my willstone. He smiles at me brightly, and then his face falls. “They took mine and smashed it. They smashed all our willstones to make us quiet.”
That’s why they’re all so docile. And why our captors had no qualms about throwing me in the barn with them, no matter how strong a witch I might be. If the lambs don’t have willstones, I can’t claim them and fill them with power so we can fight our way out. The boy nestled against me has talent, too. He senses I’m a witch and he feels the need to be close to me. He could have been a mechanic.
“You look like the Lady of Salem,” he whispers.
I smile at him, but I don’t answer. I don’t know if admitting it would get me killed faster or not.