Well of Witches

by J. A. White

  Into one of the metal poles someone had etched the word SWOOP.

  “What is that?” Safi asked. She was still new to riding a horse, and nearly slipped from Shadowdancer’s back as she pointed toward the tube.

  Taff’s eyes blazed with curiosity. “I’m not sure. Maybe it transports water from one place to another?”

  “Then why build it so high?” Safi asked.

  “To keep the water away from animals?” Taff suggested. He turned to Kara. “What do you think?”

  Kara gave him a playful nudge between the shoulder blades, spurring him onward.

  “I think if we try to puzzle out all the mysteries of this place we’ll never get anywhere,” she said. “Let’s keep moving.”

  At day’s end they followed a path down to the beach and spread their blankets on the sand. Kara was exhausted, but as soon as she stopped moving a more pressing issue arose; despite her Kala Maltan cloak, lined with the warm fur of some unfortunate Thickety creature, she quickly began to shiver. The night’s temperature, already frigid, danced on the edge of a precipice and might plunge to dangerous levels while they slept.

  “We need to build a fire,” Kara said.

  Safi already had her grimoire open.

  “Let me take care of that,” she said, smiling at the spell revealed only to her.

  “No,” Kara said. She reached over and shut the grimoire. “Help me gather wood instead.”

  “But the spell is right there. All I have to do is say it!”

  “Get some of those beach weeds too. They’re dry enough to use for tinder.”

  With a look of profound disappointment, Safi slid her grimoire back inside its satchel.

  While the girls built the fire Taff attempted to catch a crab lingering along the ocean’s edge, but the invisible pellet from his slingshot ricocheted off its shell and the crab scuttled back into the ocean. Instead they dined on hardtack and boiled oats, along with a pot of bitter coffee. Kara, who no longer ate meat, gave Taff and Safi the last of the jerky.

  When the meal was done, Kara scrubbed their utensils clean in the ocean and lay on her blanket. She looked over at Taff, already asleep, his rapid snores complementing the lapping of ocean waves. Pleasant dreams, brother. Kara took out Sordyr’s letter, intending to study it further before retiring for the night, and heard the soft shifting of sand as Safi knelt next to her.

  “Why didn’t you let me use magic to keep us warm?” Safi asked.

  “There’s no need to waste a page on something that can easily be done without magic. That’s what the grimoire wants you to do. The more spells you cast, the faster you’ll get to the Last Spell.”

  Safi pulled at her pigtails, a recent habit she had developed whenever she was thinking hard about something.

  “And any witch who uses the last page goes to the Well of Witches,” Safi said, remembering what Kara had told her in Kala Malta. “Where their souls will be drained to power other grimoires.”

  “Exactly.”

  “What do you think it’s like?” she asked, staring into the fire.

  Kara carefully put Sordyr’s letter away and sat up, folding her legs beneath her. The ocean, infinite and black, rolled toward the horizon in undulating waves.

  “I don’t know,” she said.

  Kara hadn’t spent much time trying to picture the Well of Witches as a physical location. The dark nature of the place was such that picturing it at all seemed to invite misfortune; she would no sooner ponder its inner workings than imagine the death of her brother.

  I can’t really be thinking of going there. Can I?

  “Kara?” Safi asked, a look of concern crossing her face.

  “You won’t need to worry about what it’s like,” said Kara, “if you never cast your Last Spell. And to make sure that happens, you need to stop thinking about the grimoire as a helpful tool. It’s not. It’s your enemy.”

  “But it helped us on the ship.”

  “And also helped itself in the process. How many spells did you cast in order to stop Coralis? How many pages closer to the Last Spell did it take you?”

  Safi nodded carefully, mulling this over.

  “It wants to be used.”

  “It needs to be used,” Kara said. “Witches are its lifeblood. All the spells, all the power—it’s nothing but a giant trap. That’s why you must never waste a spell. Each page is precious, and should only be used when all other options have been exhausted.”

  Safi grinned. “You’re teaching me.”

  “No, I’m not. I’m just telling you about some things I learned.”

  “Also known as teaching.”

  Safi giggled, and Taff turned over in his sleep, mumbling some words of mild annoyance.

  Kara smiled despite herself.

  “Okay,” Kara said. “We’ll try one thing.”

  “A lesson?”

  “If you want to call it that.”

  Safi clapped her hands together in anticipation.

  “This isn’t meant to be fun,” Kara warned.

  “Of course not.”

  Kara placed her elbows on her knees and rubbed her temples. She should not be the one teaching Safi how to use a grimoire. She was too young, and hardly an expert with the grimoire herself, and . . . not even a witch anymore! She wished Mary Kettle were here, or, better yet, Mother.

  But they’re not. It has to be you.

  Kara took a few moments to think carefully before she spoke again, wanting to choose the right words.

  “My mother used her grimoire for years and years without it ever turning her evil,” Kara said with a certain degree of pride. “She was only a few spells from the end when she died, but I have a feeling she could have made those last the rest of her life. And she never hurt anyone. She was somehow able to overcome the grimoire’s influence and live life the way she wanted.”

  “Was her grimoire different than others?” Safi asked. “Maybe some are good and—”

  “That’s what I thought at first too. But Mary Kettle says that all grimoires are evil by nature.”

  “Why?”

  It was such a simple question that Kara was amazed she had never thought of it before. Why were all grimoires evil? The first grimoire had been a gift for an unhappy princess. Sordyr, its creator, had never intended to introduce such a dark force into the world.

  So what happened?

  “And why can’t boys use them?” Safi asked. “I’ve always wondered about that one too.” She picked up a shell and held it to her ear. “Not that I mind, of course. Girls are better.”

  “Taff can use Mary’s toys. That’s a type of magic.”

  “Sort of. The real magic is in the toys themselves, though. Taff can’t cast a spell. No boy can.”

  “What about Sordyr?” Kara asked. “Before he lost his powers his magic was as powerful as anyone’s.”

  “Because he’s a wexari. The rules are different for them. But even with all that power he still couldn’t use a grimoire.” With a single finger Safi scrawled the outline of a book in the sand. “Only girls. Why? There has to be a reason.”

  Kara agreed that it was curious, but there were more pressing matters to consider right now. Safi is insistent upon using the grimoire. How can I keep her from hurting herself?

  “Let’s get back to my mother for now,” Kara said. “I’ve thought about this a lot, and I think she was able to control the grimoire by doing two things. The first was using it as infrequently as possible, and only when she had to. That’s how she made it last so long. The second . . .” Kara paused, collecting her thoughts. “Remember how I said my mother disguised her grimoire?”

  “By making it look like a regular school notebook. That was brilliant, by the way, casting a spell on her own grimoire like that.”

  Kara blushed as though the compliment had been intended for her.

  “Yes—and it wasn’t a spell the grimoire would have wanted her to cast. Its main goal is to be used—that’s how it survives—so being camou
flaged like that would have been the last thing it wanted. My mother must have forced it to cast such a spell. She bent the grimoire to her will, and I’m sure that wasn’t the only time. I think doing that helped her keep its evil in check.”

  Safi grinned. “Like showing it who’s in charge.”

  “Exactly. You think you could do that?”

  “Make my grimoire look different?”

  “Not necessarily,” Kara said. “Though I suppose that could work.” She tapped the open page of the grimoire. “Is the spell to keep us warm still there?”

  Safi nodded, and Kara swallowed an unexpected pang of jealousy; to her, of course, the page looked completely blank.

  “Change it,” said Kara.

  “To what?”

  “Doesn’t matter. Just exert your control over the grimoire. Make it do what you want it to do.”

  “But I thought you said not to waste spells.”

  “This isn’t a waste. This is training.”

  Safi smiled.

  “I’ve got a good idea.”

  Spreading her thin fingers over the open page, Safi closed her eyes. Her eyelids fluttered quickly, as though she were deeply asleep.

  Ocean waves rolled over the surf. Fire sputtered and snapped.

  “I don’t think it’s working,” Safi said. “It doesn’t want to let . . .”

  “Try harder.”

  Safi’s small chest pulsed inward and outward with deep, rapid breaths. She grunted softly from the base of her throat. At first Kara thought it was simply exertion, but then she realized that it was words—though not from a language ever meant to be spoken.

  Safi’s eyes flew open.

  “Did it work?” she asked.

  Kara gave her a questioning look.

  “Your powers!” exclaimed Safi. “I cast a spell to restore your powers! Did it work? Something happened.”

  A faint hope rose in Kara’s chest.

  Could it be that easy?

  Kara didn’t feel any different, but what did that mean? She hadn’t tried any magic yet! She reached out with her thoughts, seeing if there were any animals in the area that might respond.

  Nothing.

  But it was the grimoire that cast the spell, Kara thought, trying not to let disappointment overwhelm her. So maybe it can only return my ability to use a grimoire, not my wexari powers.

  Kara picked up Safi’s grimoire and riffled through the pages, looking for the black whirlpools that would prove she was seeing through the eyes of a witch again.

  Blank, blank, blank.

  “It didn’t work,” Kara said.

  “Are you sure? Because I did something.”

  And then they both felt the increased ferocity of the campfire’s blaze and saw its magical mauve hue.

  “The fire,” Safi said, frowning down at the book. “I cast the spell it wanted me to. I didn’t even know.” She grunted with frustration. “Let me try one more time. . . .”

  “I think that’s enough for tonight.”

  “Just one . . . It’ll work this time. . . . I can feel it. . . .”

  “Safi,” Kara said.

  She started to take the grimoire from Safi’s hands but the girl pulled it away. “It’s mine!” she screamed.

  Silence stretched between them.

  “I’m sorry,” Safi said, throwing the grimoire on the sand. “I just . . . lost myself for a moment.”

  “I know,” Kara said. “It’s to be expected. It happened to me as well. It was only at the very end that I learned how to control its power.”

  Safi looked up, the raging campfire reflected in her terrified green eyes.

  “But what if I’m not like you?” she asked. “What if I’m not strong enough?”

  “You’re going to have to be,” Kara said, smiling slightly. “You’re the only witch we’ve got.”

  Their journey the following day was uneventful, but after the sun fell past its midday apex a large field opened before them. Rows of tall metal towers stretched across the horizon, each with a perfect circle of ten metal blades extending from its center.

  Taff gasped in amazement and slid off Shadowdancer.

  “What are those?” Safi asked. “Are they magic?”

  “No!” Taff exclaimed. “They’re windmills!”

  “Are you sure?” asked Kara. They had a single windmill on De’Noran, squat and wooden and nothing like the behemoths standing before her now.

  “Definitely,” Taff said. “Whoever built them used sheets of flattened metal instead of sails but it’s the same idea.” His body trembled with excitement, and Kara realized that these wonders constructed by human hands enthralled him in a way that magic never could. “I wonder what they’re using them for,” he said.

  “I don’t think they’re being used at all anymore,” replied Safi. “Look how old they are.”

  Blinded by her initial wonder, Kara had overlooked the copper patches covering each windmill like a rash. A strong breeze swirled through the field but most blades remained motionless, rusted to their hubs. Those that did turn emitted a horrible grinding noise.

  “Sorry, Taff,” Kara said, tugging at his ear.

  She had assumed that her brother would be disappointed, but instead his eyes opened even wider than before.

  “Are you kidding?” he asked. “If this is their old stuff, I can’t wait to see what their new stuff looks like!”

  Safi playfully poked Taff in the ribs, which she knew was his most ticklish point. It should have been an innocent enough moment, but Kara saw the way Safi’s hand strayed to her satchel afterward, just to make sure the grimoire was still there. An unconscious reflex, like brushing her hair away from her eyes.

  “You want me to carry that for a while?” Kara asked. “It looks heavy.”

  Safi’s smile faltered for only a moment.

  “I’ve got it.”

  They continued west, the windmills looming to either side of them now, each footfall landing in a bladed shadow. Safi remained astride Shadowdancer, but Taff skipped along the road, his eyes flickering everywhere, not wanting to miss a single thing. Kara was glad to see her brother in such high spirits, but it was hard for her to share his enthusiasm. The rusty windmills were so foreign-looking that walking past them felt more like a dream than reality. She had seen unexplainable things in the Thickety, of course, but that had been different; in a land governed by magic, the unexplainable was expected.

  But this was reality. This was supposed to be familiar.

  I have no idea what to expect, Kara thought. The enormity of leaving De’Noran for the first time had been lost in more pressing concerns. Now, as though floodgates had opened, a stream of questions rushed through her mind: Will the people here look like us? Will we speak the same language? Do they have schools? What do they eat? Do they hate witches?

  The extent of Kara’s ignorance pressed down on her like dirt on a coffin lid.

  Will anybody here be willing to help us?

  They were close to reaching their destination, but Kara had never felt more lost.

  It was dusk when they arrived at the town, its name carved into a placard that hung from a simple post by the side of the road. Though the letters were not quite as formally shaped as the ones Kara had been taught by Master Blackwood, she was able to read them just fine.

  “Nye’s Landing,” she said.

  The town cradled a kidney-shaped stretch of beach where large fishing boats bobbed up and down in peaceful repose. Ocean mist stretched its fingers between stilt houses sitting just beyond the clutch of high tide. From a cliff overlooking the beach, the beams of a lighthouse guided any stragglers home.

  “Where are all the people?” Safi asked.

  “It’s a fishing village,” Kara said. “They rise before dawn and go to bed early.”

  “This early?”

  “I’m sure there’ll be someone who can help us.”

  They crossed the beach and entered the main part of the town. It was much larger tha
n Kara had anticipated, a mist-hazed labyrinth of narrow cobblestone lanes and simple buildings.

  But no people.

  The clack of Shadowdancer’s hooves mingled with the pleasant tinkling of wind chimes that hung from many houses. The residences were mostly dark, though faint light leaked from a few of them. Kara thought she saw a face at a window, gazing at them with curiosity, but it quickly dropped out of sight when she turned in its direction.

  “What’s that?” Taff asked, pointing to a blue light floating in the distance.

  Following the beacon through the mist, they found the source of the light to be a tall pole with a spherical glass enclosure at its top. Inside the sphere, water swirled, giving off a luminous glow the color of the sky.

  “It’s pretty,” said Safi.

  A second light appeared in the distance, and the children journeyed deeper into the town to find it. Just as they discovered a sphere identical to the first one, a third light appeared. They set off after it. The lane narrowed, forcing them to walk in single file, and then expanded again, opening into a large quad that Kara assumed was the center of town.

  There a man wearing a knit cap stood before one of the poles, as yet unlit. From the ground in front of him emerged a black pipe ending in a curved handle. It resembled a well pump, except there was a hole at its peak and no spout from which to draw water.

  “What’re you youngins doing out?” the man asked. “It’s near dark!”

  “We’re travelers,” Kara said, “looking for a place to spend the night. Is there an—” She searched her mind for the word, which she vaguely remembered being used in some of the later stories in the Path. When Timoth Clen traveled alone, searching for the Last Creed. The places he stayed . . .

  “You looking for an inn?” the man asked.

  Kara nodded.

  “Right behind you,” he said. “Didn’t you see? There’s a bed on the sign in case you can’t read. Now get.”