Sightwitch (The Witchlands 0.5)

“Is there a river?” I asked the Rook, and he ruffled his feathers in acknowledgment.

Sure enough, 213 steps later, I reached it. The water’s churn masked all other sounds and cut straight across my path, much too violent to cross. And also much too wide.

“Blighter,” I muttered, lifting the lantern higher and squinting. Far to my right, a waterfall crashed down, bursting from a hole in the rock tens of paces above.

Behind the waterfall stood the exit. Exactly like the square-shaped hall I’d just abandoned, the path forward continued precisely where I could not go.

For half a breath, defeat settled over me. A sense of hopelessness as icy as the water misting off the river. I had taken the only path forward, and now it seemed to end.

But I gritted my teeth, fingers tightening around the lantern, and cut right. There had to be a way across. The Summoned Sisters came this way, didn’t they?

Probably.

Maybe.

Either way, it was my only option forward.

“Help me?” I asked the Rook as I swung my lantern left, right, searching and searching.

A huff of air in my ear—undeniably annoyed—and the bird hopped off. In four easy flaps, he crossed the river and glided to a stop beside the exit.

Useless.

“Thanks.” I flung him my fiercest glare. Then I stalked back the way I’d come. I fell into a rhythm, moving in time to the constellation skipping song we all learned as children.

Four times, I went up and down the rough riverbank, water sinking deeper into my exposed skin and hair with each pass.

It wasn’t until the fifth pass, as I was aiming away from the falls, that I realized I had the right idea—but the wrong rhyme.

I wrenched about, light spraying wide, as the words unfolded:



It was one of the stranger Rules that Tanzi used as proof in her argument against them. I had always thought it meant I had to stay sharp and aware of my surroundings at all times.

But maybe …

In long lopes, I hurried to the waterfall, then craned my neck to glimpse behind. Right there, impossible to see unless you knew where to look, were stepping-stones.

After tying the lantern to my pack and verifying all my tools were still in place on my belt, I sucked in three deep, bracing breaths.

Then I jumped. Water pelted against me, numbing my limbs. Mist clouded my vision, and for a terrifying moment, I thought I’d missed the stone entirely.

But no. There was solid ground beneath me. I was still, somehow, upright.

I had to swipe water from eyes again and again before I could even see the next rock, and I took at least ten more steeling breaths before I felt confident enough to make the leap.

Hop, hop, skip, skip. Four stones in total before I reached the other side.

There, the Rook waited. He paused his preening just long enough to glance at me, an expression of such deep boredom I couldn’t resist marching over to him and shaking.

Water sprayed.

He hissed and clacked, skittering back. And I laughed—my first laugh in …



Goddess. I can’t remember the last time I laughed. And it felt so good. A light warmth to fizz in my chest. Even as the Rook catapulted onto my shoulder and nipped at my ear, I couldn’t stop giggling.

I had made it.

I had evaded the monster of the Crypts. I had crossed the storm. Now I was moving forward once more.

Just under six and a half hours to go.


LATER — 6 hours left to find Tanzi

My delight over my progress was short-lived. Soaked through from the waterfall, I was all too quickly freezing. All too quickly shivering.

To make my bone-chill worse, ice took hold of the landscape. Hoarfrost at first, a white glaze to coat the stone and mask the wall’s design. Then came icicles, spiking down from the ceiling. Some stretched so low I had to stoop and swirl around them. Shortly after that, there was no stone left. Just a slippery, glistening expanse that tinted my lantern’s light blue.

I was cold. Colder than I’ve ever known. My fingers turned to clumsy bricks. I had to stop sketching in my diary. No more drawing each bend and curve in the halls, each rise and step or intrusion of ice. Instead, I marked numbers of steps and turns.

One hour passed, one flipping of my hourglass, yet it felt like days I tromped forward. One stumbling footstep to the next, counting, always counting. Even the Rook on my shoulder and the pack on my back became distant, forgotten things.

The halls were too cramped to risk a fire’s smoke, so I tried jogging to stay warm—and to gain speed—but after falling twice and almost twisting my ankle, Sister Rose’s voice came scolding through my mind.

“Rule 10, Ryber! Rule 10! What does it say?”

I’d been racing for a seat beside Tanzi in the dining hall. I’d tripped; my bowl of stew had sprayed.

“It’s the Rule of Meticulosity,” I’d answered while sopping up stew with my tunic.

“Exactly. And it does not merely apply to our work, yes? There is never a reason to rush. Wherever you are trying to go will still be there, even if it takes you longer to reach it.”

Sister Rose had been right that day in the Convent. Tanzi would have waited for me no matter how long it took me to fetch my stew.

But would she wait now? Could she?

“Doesn’t matter,” I hissed, toddling back upright while the Rook watched. “If I hurt myself, I’ll never reach Tanzi or the other Sisters. Rule 10. Rule 10.”

The Rook warbled his agreement before reclaiming his spot on my shoulder. Then, in a rare display of affection, he rubbed his beak on my jaw.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” I murmured, and off we went once more.

On, on, on. Cold, cold, cold.

Until at last, the hallways changed shape … then gave way entirely.

I had reached a cavern.

It was like being inside a glacier—I can think of no other way to describe it. Bluish light diffused the space, though where it came from, I could not say. Perhaps Sirmaya Herself, but certainly not the sky. Larger than any floor of the Crypts, the cavern stretched for as far as I could see.

As did black lines. At first, I thought they were cracks. Yet when I stilled my chattering teeth long enough to examine more closely, I found veins of pure darkness wefting through the ice.

I had no inkling what they might be, and I was too cold to much care.

A ledge crooked out from the frozen wall. It did not look safe. A single false move, and I would fall straight down to a death of shattered bones and frostbite.

However, right was the only direction to go, so right the Rook and I aimed. We were achingly slow, too slow, and the quicksilver taunted me with its ceaseless drip-dripping.

I was helpless to move faster, though. So cold had I become that each planting of my foot felt like someone else’s foot. I heard the heel land—and I saw the heel land!—but I certainly didn’t feel it.

All I wanted was to stop. To lie down. To sleep.

In the deepest recesses of my mind, I knew this was a sign the cold was killing me. That to slumber would be my end.