Sightwitch (The Witchlands 0.5)

In my defense, I normally excel at using proper, precise language. But dreams were new for me. As was navigating the Crypts alone.

And now it was too late to stop the ghosts from running wild.

Off they went, dragging me with them. They shoved and guided, towed and chanted, “Dreams, dreams, dreams.” They swept me from one record to the next. Hide-bound, wood-bound, parchment, cloth—hundreds of Memory Records. Any and all that mentioned the word “dreams” they led me to.

I withdrew no tomes from the shelves. I could barely remain standing. The ghosts were a tempest of cold and strength and loneliness.

It was a feeling I knew all too well. I didn’t need more of it to scrabble over my skin or grapple down my throat.

Yet there was no escaping that hollow cold, nor breaking out of the ghosts’ frantic pull. Until eventually, we reached the end of Level 5, and here, they all stopped at the dark mouth of a doorway that led farther into the mountain. The deeper levels of the Crypts.

Beyond were steps. Beyond were older ghosts. Beyond were dangers that Serving Sisters could not face without the Sight.

Yet beyond, there might also be answers …

Panting from all the running, yet also shivering from all the ghosts, I gaped at the shadowy doorway, my feet nailed to the floor.

I wanted to descend. Of course I did. I had been alone for forty-one days, and I wanted Tanzi back. I wanted all the Sisters back—especially if my dreams might actually mean something.

You have already broken the Order of Two, said the voice like Tanzi’s. You might as well break Rule 16 and go below Level 5. No one will know you did it, Rybie-Ry.

“No one except Sirmaya,” I muttered.

Sure, but what good has following the Rules done so far? You’re stuck up here, and we’re all stuck down there. Besides, I still don’t think the Rules are even real.

Such a compelling argument from my imaginary Threadsister.

I leaned toward the doorway. The ghosts gusted up. My left foot lifted. The ghosts swirled and nudged. They wanted me to keep going. They wanted me to see what waited beyond—

A shriek crashed through the Crypts behind me.

I reeled about, grabbing for my knife. Someone was with me, someone was coming for me. Danger in the Crypts!

But it was just the Rook, tangled with ghosts. Lots of them. His heat and life must have lured them close, and no matter how hard he flapped his wings, they only clustered tighter.

Curse that bird. He had scared me. So badly I had to stand there for several ragged breaths, hand to my throat as I waited for my pulse to slow.

And curse that bird again because now the ghosts were too addled to be helpful.

I would have to return another time.





Eridysi Gochienka

Y2786 D134

MEMORIES—

Since yesterday, Nadya has been angling for Lisbet and Cora to be my charges. The last three meals, she has placed them directly beside me and murmured things like, “Lisbet reminds me so much of you” and “It is lovely to see how much Cora makes you smile.”

Or, more pointedly, “You haven’t taken on any new girls in almost two years, Dysi. ’Tis time.”

It is tempting. Cora was so sweet at the morning meal today, growing bolder with each hour she is here. And, oh, how infectious her laugh is. Meanwhile, Lisbet is sharp as a Sightwitch key. Question after question she plies at me.

Did I mention their resilience too? I believe I spent my first week at the Convent crying. Yet the girls offered only a few mournful looks after that first bout of tears at the Sorrow. Since then, they have both been chin up and gaze forward.

But I cannot take them on. The doors to each kingdom must be finished. Lady Baile and the others are depending on me—whole nations are depending on me.

And each day that passes without a solution is one more chance for the Exalted Ones to discover us. To discover me.

Two little girls are a distraction I simply cannot afford.

Yet I also cannot seem to drop the notion.

“What are those?” Lisbet asked when I pulled out my taro cards at the end of midday meal. Around us buzzed the voices of my Sisters, broken up by the clack of wooden spoons against clay bowls.

It is such a habit. Whenever I need to make a decision, my fingers move for my pocket. I withdraw the cards, a question spinning so I can ask Sirmaya directly.

“These are taro cards,” I told her. “You know the game?” At her nod, I explained, “I tied Sirmaya’s magic to these cards so that I may read the future.”

“Is that the Sight?” Cora asked.

For half a tight breath, the old shame swelled. But then it was gone. I had been a Sightless Sightwitch Sister for so long now, the claws of that truth had worn down to nubs. “No,” I said. “I don’t have visions like they have. I cannot look at something and recall it in perfect detail, and I cannot access the memories of the dead.”

“But that is what the Sight is,” Lisbet insisted, and I found myself floundering.

How could I explain this to a child? How could I succinctly describe the magic, the spells, and the all-knowing power of the Sleeper? This was not a Sight that I had been given but one that I had chosen to have.

Nadya came to my rescue. “There are signs in the world all around us, girls. Clues to what Sirmaya, our sleeping Goddess, needs us to do. If you know how to look, you can find these hints without the Sight.”

“There are no coincidences,” Cora asserted, her expression grave. A student reciting her latest lesson.

I couldn’t help it. I smiled.

“Precisely,” Nadya continued, offering me a smug side eye. “And the cards allow Sister Eridysi to see those portents more easily. Each card has a meaning, and the magic that binds the cards to Sirmaya dictates which card she will draw.” Nadya waved to me. “Show them.”

So I did.

Three cards I plucked, as is my usual method when a question plagues. One card for my question; one card for the action I must take; and one card for the future.



The Twins. Lady Fate. The Empress.

“Ah,” I breathed as the meaning became instantly clear—and as Nadya clapped her hands, entirely too overjoyed.

“Praise be to Sirmaya,” she declared, looking first to Cora, then to Lisbet, and finally to me. “It seems you three have been matched by the Sleeper herself—and as we know, Dysi dearest, there is no changing what is meant to be.”





LATER

After I resurfaced from the Crypts, the Rook pecked and pulled at my tunic. A sign he wanted me to follow him.

I feared one of the Nubrevnans had somehow wandered through the glamour … Yet at the same time, I also hoped one of the Nubrevnans had somehow wandered through the glamour.

Rule 37, the Rule of the Accidental Guest, is very clear, but I would have savored every moment of conversation before I carried it out.

It wasn’t until the Rook led me directly to the ladder at the lookout’s nest that I realized who had come.

A supplicant. Someone was at the Supplicant’s Sorrow.