Sightwitch (The Witchlands 0.5)

Lady Saria arrived last night, under a veil of moonlight. It took us hours to descend for mere moments of work, yet not once did she complain.

We did not tarry in the mountain’s depths. Once she had carved the six doorways inside the cavern, we hurried back to the surface. She had to be back in her court by dawn, or the six Paladins who now called themselves the Exalted Ones might notice something amiss.

What must it be like to control stone? The Sightwitches are gifted with the magic of Sight from Sirmaya, but it is nothing compared to what the Twelve can do. They control all six elements as easily as I summon breath.

I had not seen the Lady work her magic before—only heard tales and read records. ’Tis more incredible than I’d imagined. A single thought, and the granite rippled. I felt it move beneath me, alive. Answering her call.

Though I could not see the Threads of her magic, I could not resist asking her about them on our return to the surface. “How do you manipulate them?”

“I am bound to the earth,” she said simply, “and the earth is bound to me.”

That was the only answer she gave me—a nonanswer, really, yet I haven’t been able to shake the words from my mind. Though we both are nearing thirty years of age, she has the memory of all the Earth Paladins that have come before. Her wisdom permeates all she utters.

Binding Sirmaya’s magic to an object is the key to everything I create, yet what I lack is a bond that is strong enough.

Not even the Vergedi Knot is enough. Though it is stronger than the Arlenni Loop I used to make my taro cards, it still cannot hold enough power to bind the doorways to an entirely different place in the Witchlands.

For these doorways to open and remain open, I will need more Threads. More of Sirmaya’s raw magic.

My head throbs from so much time close to the Goddess. She is so vast. She fills every space in my mind and soul. ’Tis all too easy to lose myself in Her.

And if I lose myself before my time for sleeping, then all my plans will fail. All our plans will fail.

The Six and I balance beneath a knife’s edge. Which side will cut us, though, is yet to be seen.





Eridysi Gochienka

Y2786 D132

MEMORIES

Head Sister Nadya made me go outside today.

“When was the last time you saw sunlight?” she demanded, having cornered me in my workshop. She scuttled around the room, clucking her tongue at my piles upon piles of notes. And my piles upon piles of rocks.

“What are these even for?” She scooped up a handful of coastal limestone. “They leave dust everywhere, Dysi.”

“Don’t touch them, Nadya.” I rubbed at my temples. By the Sleeper, this headache was getting worse. “Please. Everything is where it is meant to be.”

“Except for you.” She dropped the stones clack, clack, clack atop their brethren and turned sharply toward me. “You do realize that you were supposed to take Sorrow duty three weeks ago.”

My forehead wrinkled. “That sounds … vaguely … Maybe?” My frown shifted to a scowl. “You know I do not have the Sight like you. ’Tis hard to remember.”

“Which is why I covered for you, Dysi, though I have a thousand other things to do.” Her expression softened. “And I covered the time before that too. And the time before that as well. Even though you lack the Sight the rest of us have, that does not excuse you from all Convent duties.”

“Sorry,” I mumbled, though truth be told, I was not sorry. My inventions and my workshop—this was my world, and right now, I was stuck on this blighted Vergedi Knot. Everything beyond seemed trivial.

“Well,” said Nadya, “you can pay me back by going to the Sorrow today.”

It took half a beat for those words to settle in my mind. Then I was on my feet in an instant. “I cannot go to the Sorrow!” I opened my arms. “I am right in the middle of this—I think I have figured out the Knot, and if I can do that, we can finally open the doorways. No more Exalted Ones to enslave the people—”

“ENOUGH.” Nadya drew herself up to her fullest height. “You make this excuse each and every time, and though ’tis a noble one, I am sick of it. When was the last time you bathed? Your blond hair has turned black with grime. A single day outside of this cave will not affect the Exalted Ones’ grip on the land.” She thrust a pointed finger at the door. “Besides, a change might shake things loose. Now, go.”

I cringed.

“Go, Dysi.”

I went, and it was easily the longest ascent I’ve ever made. Or at least it felt that way. My thighs burned and my lungs ached, and I realized—with some horror—that it had been several days since I’d actually left my workshop in the mountain’s heart.

I will say, though, now that I have bathed and sit at the Supplicant’s Sorrow to await any visitors to the Convent, Head Sister Nadya was right. It was good to step away. I needed the exercise, I needed the sunshine, and I needed the spring breeze against my cheeks.

The scent of lilac is thick on the air.



LATER

Someone came to the Sorrow today. A man with sadness in his eyes and two daughters he could not raise.

“Their mother … died.” He struggled to get those words out, speaking in the mountain tongue, though he looked No’Amatsi.

“Can your tribe not help?” I asked. Afternoon fog curled around us, wispy vines to caress the bridge and the island.

“I am amalej.” He shifted his weight, and his eyes briefly met mine. The first time since he and his daughters had joined me on the island. “I am a soldier in the Rook King’s army,” he continued, “and I’m often away. Please, can you not take them?”

Lisbet, a girl of eight, stared at me, unflinching, with huge hazel eyes. I liked the stern set of her jaw; she would fit in well here. The younger girl, Cora, hid behind her father’s legs.

“We can take them,” I said slowly, choosing my words with care. “But you must tell no one we have done so. The war brings too many orphans to our doors, and we struggle to find space—much less food.”

His shoulders relaxed slightly. Relief…and loss too. No man wishes to be parted from his children, especially if they are all he has left of his wife.

Lisbet, to her credit, gave no reaction at all.

The man then twisted to reach for Cora, ready to pull her around. Yet he paused, his hand upon her dark head.

“May I visit them?”

The question was so low I scarcely heard. And though ’tis not allowed anymore—not allowed at all—I found myself reciting the old rules. “Yes. Once a month, you may come. On the day of the full moon.”

A thoughtful nod. Even without this grief to shroud him, he seemed the sort of man who spent most of his time inside his own head. “I will return in two weeks,” he offered at last.

Then he left.

It hurt me to watch him say good-bye and walk away. To watch Cora weep and Lisbet grit her teeth against tears. He must be near to me in age, yet he has already lost so much.

But this is the will of Sirmaya and the way of the Convent.