Sightwitch (The Witchlands 0.5)

Instead, there was simply more ice like we’d seen throughout, with shadows and black webs hovering inside. Fog skated across my boots.

Unlike before, however, the passage that cut forward was a mere crack in the cold. So narrow and low, I would have to walk with head bowed and shoulders angled sideways.

“That’s a tight fit,” Captain said, and I flinched.

I’d forgotten he was here.

Frowning, I sheathed my knife. “You don’t have to fit,” I told him. “You can leave now, Captain. You flew me here, and now … You can leave this ‘nightmare place’ and find out where you came from.”

Eyes thinned, he glanced from me to the door. Then back to me again. “It doesn’t look very safe in there. What if you get hurt?”

“My Sisters will help,” I said, though I had no idea if it was true. Nor did I care. Time was moving forward while I stayed still.

“I can take care of myself,” I added, lifting my arm. “Come on, the Rook.”

After a sympathetic cluck in Captain’s direction, the Rook obeyed. A flap, a swoop, and his weight bore down on my forearm. Then hop, hop, hop he reached my shoulder.

“Will I see you again?” Captain asked, and I made the mistake of meeting his gaze. Of taking in his face.

“Wounded” is the only word I can think of to describe it. His ribs bowed in, out, each breath short and rasping.

All while snowflakes danced around his head.

“I don’t know,” I answered honestly.

“I could wait for you.” His eyebrows crooked up in earnest. “Then we could leave this place together.”

I shook my head, a single curt movement. “I’m not sure I’ll be coming back, Captain. I …” I glanced at the Rook. Then at my toes. Anywhere to avoid meeting his sad, sad eyes. “I’m not sure what I’ll find inside here or how long it will take me. You should leave, while you have the chance.”

Then, because I had no choice, I turned away from him. “I’m sorry, Captain. I have to go now.”

“Oh.” The word was more sigh than tangible sound, and a whip of cold air kissed my shoulders as I strode away.

“Good-bye,” I said, and I did not look back.

When I reached the ice, I bent low. A dip of my torso, a slouch of my spine, and I ducked into the ice.

The last thing I heard before the passage swerved left and the ice swallowed me entirely was a gentle, “Thank you for saving me, Ryber Fortiza, and I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

Navigating the ice took all my concentration and all my flexibility. The path leaned and dipped, warped and contorted.

Within ten paces, the Rook had to abandon his spot on my shoulder and hop his way through. Another twenty paces, and the ice narrowed so tightly I had to squirm sideways, suck in my stomach, and shimmy onward.

The black shapes hovered, unmissable with my gaze aimed straight into the ice, and I had the strangest sense that the black lines tendriling outward were reaching for me.

Fortunately, the squeeze lasted only fifteen sideways steps. Then I popped into a room of such crystal perfection I could do nothing but stare for several long, shivering heartbeats.

The ice spun upward like a snail’s spiral, and a pathway, smooth as glass, arched around the edge. Every few paces, an ice-clogged door honeycombed into the ice.

A crack erupted behind me. I jolted around, certain the ice had somehow moved. Certain the passage had collapsed behind me.

But it was just the Rook, shaking loose from the ice and clacking his displeasure. A frosty moment later, he resumed his perch atop my shoulder—and I resumed my journey forward.



Though I did wonder how the Rook had managed to make so much noise.

I quickly forgot my confusion. Up my feet carried me, careful at first in case the ice was slick. All was fine, though, and within one loop, I was running.

Then sprinting flat out. My arms swung, and I pumped my knees higher, faster. Around, around. Up, up.

My exhales came in sharp, cloudy gasps, and the Rook’s talons dug deep to hold on. It hurt. I didn’t care. I was too close to care about anything except slamming my feet, one foot after the next.

Had the Rook not stabbed his beak into my ear and screeched, I would never have noticed the gap in the ice. It was an open door.

I skidded to a stop, hand slinging out to wrench me back the other way.

My shredded palm tore anew.

“This … way?” I panted, and at the Rook’s acknowledging purr, I shoved inside.

Except it wasn’t the right way at all. I had entered a tiny cube room, where two shadows floated in the ice directly before me. Small shadows. Child-size.

Then, gouged out of the walls on either side of me were two holes, each my height and deep enough to hold me.

Before I could ask the Rook why we were here, he bounded off my shoulder with a squawk and landed beside a tattered book and a hand-size gold leather pouch.

Clearly, whatever these items were, he thought I needed them. “Fine,” I huffed, trying to catch my breath.

I yanked up the pouch, but before I could snag the book, my eyes landed on its cover.





Diary of Eridysi Gochienka





My fogging breaths broke off. All I could do was stare, hand outstretched. Body half crouched.

Eridysi Gochienka.

That was the Eridysi of legend, and this was her diary. Yet I felt no interest or elation at the sight of it. All that came was a vast shoveling horror.

For if this was her diary, then this place must be her tomb.

And if this was her tomb, then I knew what the shapes in the ice were—and I knew exactly why time was running out. The Sisters had been called for sleeping, and I had to reach their tombs before it was too late.

My muscles erupted with power. I snatched up the diary and pouch, and, abandoning the Rook, I charged out of the room and onto the spiral once more. Somehow my feet knew where to take me. Or perhaps it was Sirmaya, leading me the rest of the way.

The spiral blurred around me. I lost track of the cold, of the diary and pouch still clasped in my hands—of who I was at all. Everything shrank down to what I knew waited ahead.

After an eternity of running, I reached a gap in the ice large enough to barrel through. The spiral kept rising, but I knew this was the branch I needed.

I veered through it, and moments later, another cube faced me. This one, though, was large enough to hold a hundred Sisters.

Large enough to hold all the people I’d ever loved.

Then there they were. Each and every face of each and every Sightwitch who had filled my days. The ice hadn’t covered them entirely yet—not all of them, at least. Some still had enough of their faces exposed for me to recognize them.

Over there was Ute, and beside her was Birgit. There were Rose and Trina and Margrette. Oriya and Fazimeh.

And there, in the farthest corner, was Hilga … with Tanzi right beside her.

I hurried to my Threadsister, a numbness rushing over me as I scanned the ice. There had to be a way to clear it. A way to dig her out—to dig them all out.

I rushed past Ute, then Birgit. They looked so peaceful with their eyes closed. Nothing like the images in the scrying pool.