Trial by Fire

“Rumors,” Roberts spat. “A bunch of drubs in the dungeons claimed they saw another Lillian gadding about the woods with Rowan Fall, when we could all attest that the Witch was in the Citadel. That doesn’t make it true.”


Thomas Danforth sat back in his chair, deflated. Gideon had always known that his father was not a strong man and that he often caved to the wishes of the other men on the Council. Danforth was well liked among them for exactly that reason. Knowing his father wasn’t going to find the strength to convince the Councilmen, Gideon glanced up and looked into the corner of the room. Carrick stood with his back to the wall, huddled under a dark cloak, so that he nearly disappeared inside his own glowering shadow.

“Tell them what you told me about the shamans of your people,” Gideon ordered.

“Now he’s talking about shamans—the craziest of all the drubs,” Roberts muttered incredulously to Wake, throwing up his hands. Roberts leaned imploringly across the table toward the final member of that evening’s covert cabal, Councilman Bainbridge, who had until this point remained silent. “Don’t tell me you believe any of this nonsense, Bainbridge?”

Bainbridge’s face was stony. He wasn’t nearly as old as Roberts, but he was just as respected. He had a lot of innovative ideas, and had been elected by the citizenry in his district by a huge majority. He also had more reason than most to hate the near totalitarian rule of the Lady of Salem’s Coven, as Lillian had squashed several of his pet projects for being “too scientific”.

“I’m not saying I believe it or don’t believe it,” Bainbridge said equitably. “But I am wondering why Lillian’s head mechanic would call this meeting to begin with.”

Gideon knew what Bainbridge’s problem was. Why would someone whose power hinged on the Witch want to meet with three men who had so long opposed the overreaching power of the Witch and her Coven? Gideon could sense Bainbridge’s caution. Gideon could be working for Lillian, trying to root out those who opposed her. But these men of the Council could never understand Gideon’s frustration. They had no magic. They had no idea what it was to be a mechanic who was claimed by a witch—no—chained to a witch—who wouldn’t use him.

“Because I’ve worked with witches long enough to understand why the Council hates them.” Gideon heard the edge of spite in his voice, and made no attempt to rein it in. “The Council is supposed to be equal in power to the Coven, and the two bodies of government are supposed to balance each other so no one group has too much power. But we know that’s rubbish. If the Coven doesn’t get what it wants all it has to do is put an embargo on electricity, medicine, meat, clean water—or any one of the dozens of things that witches supply the citizenry—until the people who elected you to stand up for them against the total control of the nonelected Coven demand that you give in to their wishes. How the hell is that democracy?”

“So all of this is for democracy’s sake?” Bainbridge asked with one raised eyebrow. Yet despite his disdain, Gideon could tell he was intrigued.

“The witch system has to go,” Gideon said finally, and watched the nervous glances dart around the table.

“Or rather, there needs to at least be an alternative to all the things the Covens supply the people, or the Council will never have any real power,” Danforth interjected quickly.

Roberts was already shaking his head. “And where are we supposed to get these things? The people need energy and food and medicine—how are we supposed to supply that for them? Not even witches can pull something out of nothing.”

“Really?” Gideon asked pleasantly. “Carrick. Would you please tell the distinguished gentleman of the Council about the shamans of your people?” he repeated pointedly.

Carrick’s deep voice rose up out of the darkness around him, like a bit of shadow had been turned into sound. “The shamans say that there are an infinite number of worlds, all of them different, and that their spirits can travel to them and come back.”