Well of Witches

by J. A. White

  “The green is gone,” Kara said. She stepped forward and touched the new brown strands with the tips of her fingers.

  Lucas blushed.

  “It’s been a long time since I’ve been around a Fringe weed,” he said. “The color went back to normal. Does it look strange?”

  “No. It looks right.”

  Lucas shook his head in amazement.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked. “Where are Taff and your father?”

  Lucas’s question snapped Kara back to the reality of her situation.

  “There’s much I have to tell you,” she said.

  Mrs. Galt moaned gently, and Kara realized that their reunion would have to wait until they were certain the woman was safe. Removing her cloak, Kara slid it beneath Mrs. Galt’s head.

  “I really hope I didn’t hit her too hard,” Lucas said.

  Kara swept her fingers over the swollen knot of flesh at the woman’s temple. “It doesn’t feel so bad, but we should get her someplace warm and comfortable.”

  “No wonder,” Lucas said, noticing something past Kara. “She brought him a toy. I’m surprised she only drew the one unghost. Toys attract them like flies.”

  Looking over her shoulder, Kara saw a transparent boy with curly brown hair rocking the wooden boat up and down as though it were at sea.

  “That must be Liam,” Kara said.

  “Don’t look at him! You’ll only make him real again.”

  “You looked at him!”

  “I glanced at him. In passing. You’re practically gawking.”

  She saw that Lucas was smiling, and she smiled back, the rhythms of their friendship falling into place like the tumblers of an old lock.

  I’ve missed him so much.

  They were trying to figure out the safest way to transport Mrs. Galt back to the inn when a group of men surrounded them. Like Lucas, they wore dark clothes and long bows on their backs, though some of the men held spears as well.

  “What happened here?” asked the only man riding a horse. He had close-cropped hair and was dressed in finer clothes than the others.

  “Good evening, North,” said Lucas. And then, seeing the man’s disapproving expression, added, “Sir. Mrs. Galt paid heed to her son’s unghost. Brought him forth with warm words and his favorite toy.”

  “Of course she did,” North said, though not without sympathy. “We knew this was coming. This is hardest on the mothers. Was she attacked?”

  “Not exactly. I was forced to render her unconscious. Sir.”

  “You hit her?” North asked, shaking his head. “This is why a boy your age should not have been allowed to join the town guard. You mean well—I’ll give you that, at least—but you lack the experience to make cool-headed decisions. If it wasn’t for that grandfather of yours—”

  “How can you judge him?” Kara asked. “You weren’t even there!”

  “And who exactly are you, girl?”

  Kara was about to answer when North’s eyes sharpened and in one shockingly fast motion he notched an arrow to his bow. The other men followed suit, their line of sight directed at a point behind Kara.

  She turned around.

  Safi and Taff were standing in the middle of the road, looking very confused by all the attention. Safi held the grimoire open in her hands.

  “We heard someone scream,” Taff said.

  “What are you doing?” Kara asked the men. She backed away until she was standing in front of the other two children. “This is my brother and our friend. Lucas! Make them stop!”

  “You know this girl?” North asked Lucas.

  “Yes,” he said. “If you’d just give me a chance to explain . . .”

  Safi flipped a page of the grimoire, and a nervous murmur swept through the crowd.

  “Drop the book, child,” North said.

  His eyes, and the eyes of all the other men, rested on Safi’s grimoire.

  They know what it is. They’re scared of it.

  “Why should I?” Safi asked, a challenge in her gaze. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “Because a witch has been terrorizing our town,” said North, “and I’m in no mood to take chances.”

  “I’m not the one you’re looking for.”

  “Prove it. Give me the book as a show of faith.”

  Safi’s eyes darkened. She tightened her grip on the grimoire.

  “You can’t have it. It’s mine.”

  The men raised their spears, prepared to charge. Archers moved themselves into a better position to fire.

  Kara whispered, “You better do what he says.”

  “Why?” Safi asked. Her finger glided over the open page, tracing words Kara could not see. “I can handle this.”

  “I know. But at what price?”

  The men drew closer like beasts waiting to pounce.

  “Safi,” Taff said. “Please give them the book.”

  “It’s mine.”

  North’s bowstring creaked as he pulled it back farther, readying himself to fire. The shaft of the bow was translucent and swirled with the same blue liquid that illuminated the town. It whooshed gently, waves against the shore.

  “On three,” North said. “One . . .”

  Something changed in Safi’s face. Her expression seemed to sharpen, as though her features had been honed on a whetting stone.

  “I can make your arrows burst into flames before they ever reach me,” she said in a cold voice barely her own. “You too, if I was so inclined.”

  Now that the spellbook’s open it wants to be used. She’s caught in its thrall. Kara looked out at the faces of the men, their expressions hardened and merciless. Safi is going to get herself killed—or take a life herself. There’ll be no saving her after that.

  “Give me the book,” Kara said.

  “I have this under control.”

  “That’s what the grimoire wants you to believe.”

  “Just trust me. Can you do that?”

  “Two,” said North.

  “I’m sorry,” said Kara.

  She snatched the grimoire from Safi’s hands.

  “Kara?”

  The men were on her before Safi could say another word. The girl stared at Kara in disbelief, too surprised to be angry, too surprised to even react, while the men gagged her and tied her hands behind her back. She winced in pain as they knotted the cord too tightly.

  “Hey!” Lucas said. “Don’t hurt her!”

  The grimoire was torn from Kara’s grasp and handed to North, who secured it in his saddlebag.

  “She’s a witch!” shouted one of the men. “She’s the one been turning our children into unghosts!”

  “That’s ridiculous!” Kara exclaimed. “We just got here today. Whatever’s going on, Safi had nothing to do with it!”

  “Who knows if this one’s telling the truth?” added a second man, his voice a sandpapery rasp. “Could be they’re in league together. Could be all three of them have been hiding among us for weeks. Makes a lot more sense than blaming one of our own.”

  “The girl didn’t hurt anyone,” said Lucas. “Just because she’s a witch doesn’t make her bad, and if she’s friends with Kara, then—”

  “Speak for yourself, boy,” snapped the first man. “You ain’t got no children to worry on. Myself—I’d sleep better knowing there weren’t no witches at all in Nye’s Landing.”

  The men hoisted Safi to her feet and attached a second rope to the one that bound her hands. Safi kept her head down the entire time, even when they pulled the rope tight and began to drag her behind them like a leashed animal.

  “Where are they taking her?” Taff asked.

  “They’ll put her in a cell for now,” Lucas said. “Don’t worry. We’ll explain everything, and once the Mistrals—”

  His attention was distracted by rising voices in the crowd, exclamations of “Witch!” and “Kill her!” and “Do it now!”

  Kara knew these sounds well.

  The crowd had flared i
nto a mob, a rapidly spreading conflagration fueled by hatred and fear. This was an entity far more dangerous than any single person; it fed on consciences and empathy, permitted its members to do the unthinkable.

  “Burn her!”

  “Hang her!”

  “No!” a woman shouted. “Drown her in the ocean! An offering! The old ways for an old evil.”

  The mob roared its assent.

  Safi struggled against her binds but there was nothing she could do. The group moved as one toward the beach, holding her aloft like an offering to an ancient god.

  Lucas turned to North. The man sat astride his horse, not liking what he was seeing but frozen with indecision.

  “You have to stop them!” Lucas exclaimed. “Now! This girl here is the one I told you about, the hero of De’Noran.”

  Something flickered to life in North’s eyes.

  “You’re Kara Westfall?” he asked. “The one who bested an evil witch back in Lucas’s village?”

  Kara glanced at Lucas in surprise and then nodded hesitantly.

  “She’s the only one who can help us!” Lucas exclaimed. “Nye’s Landing needs her—and we’re about to murder her friend!”

  North stroked his carefully shaved cheeks, considering this information. Finally, he gave a short nod and exclaimed, “HALT!” His booming voice brought the mob to an instant standstill. “I forbid you to harm this girl. She will be imprisoned and await the Mistrals’ judgment.”

  “Is that wise?” a man asked. “She’s the one who’s been—”

  North withdrew his long bow and fired an arrow into the man’s foot. He fell to the cobblestones, whimpering in pain.

  “Is there anyone else who would like to question my judgment?” North asked.

  No one did.

  “Take the witch to the Stonehouse,” he said. “You two, Lucas, come with me. We’ll set this matter before the rest of the Mistrals.”

  Soldiers pulled Safi past them. Among the larger men she looked incredibly small and fragile.

  “I’ll fix this,” Kara told her. “I promise.”

  Safi didn’t even look in her direction.

  Lucas guided Kara and Taff toward a beacon of torchlight shimmering at the end of the beach. They were followed by a group of armed men who stayed close enough to make their presence felt.

  “What’s going to happen to Safi?” Kara asked. “What’s the Stonehouse?”

  “Just a jail,” Lucas said. “She’ll sit in a cell until we straighten all this out with the Mistrals, and then she’ll be released.”

  “You sure?”

  “These aren’t the Children of the Fold. The people of Nye’s Landing are much clearer-headed about these things.”

  “They didn’t seem so clearheaded just now.”

  Lucas ran a hand through his hair. “You’re right. Everyone’s a little on edge. But these are good people. They’ll see reason in the end.”

  Kara wanted to believe him, but seeing the mob eager to drag Safi to her death had resurrected painful memories.

  Lucas doesn’t understand how quickly notions of right and wrong can change when people are terrified.

  “Who are these Mistrals, anyway?” Taff asked.

  “Sort of like the Elders back on De’Noran,” Lucas said. “A council of four. South, East, West, and North—who you’ve already met. Their titles harken back to an older time, when Nye’s Landing used to harness wind for power.”

  “We saw the windmills on our way into town,” Taff said.

  “Most of the old ways have changed since then, but the Mistrals have remained. Three of them will give you fair counsel.”

  “And the fourth?” asked Kara.

  Through the black leather of his glove, Lucas scratched at the stumps of his missing two fingers.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “Just tell the truth and you’ll be fine.”

  A few minutes later the beach ended in a massive rock wall that jutted into the ocean. A ring of torches had been set into the sand.

  Four figures wavered in the light.

  The Mistrals sat on cragged boulders arranged like the points of a compass. Using stern-looking North as her starting point, Kara figured out who was who. East, younger than the rest and nearly bald, fixed her with a haughty expression. South, the only woman, wore many necklaces of shells and smiled warmly as they approached. Only West, the oldest by far, did not seem to notice their arrival, concerned as he was with twirling his long white hair around his left wrist.

  Taking Kara’s hand, Lucas made his way to the center of the circle.

  “Good evening, Mistrals,” he said, kneeling on one knee and clasping his hands above his head. Kara, unsure what to do, awkwardly followed his lead. “I humbly apologize for the unannounced arrival, but I believe I have a solution to our town’s problem. Do you recall, when I first came here, what I said of De’Noran and all the dark things that happened there?”

  “Witchcraft and magic,” North said. “We thought you a fool at the time. Or crazy.”

  “This started long before Lucas’s arrival,” South said in a gravelly voice. “For how many years have we all laughed at the Children of the Fold? ‘That crazy cult that actually believes the old legends,’ we said, ‘slavers who scoff at the World and think the forest that covers their island is inhabited by monsters.’” She sighed. “Perhaps if we had not been so closed-minded we could have been better prepared.”

  “It’s not too late,” said Lucas. “This girl here is Kara Westfall. She’s the one who used her powers to save our entire village from an evil witch. And now she can save Nye’s Landing.”

  All four Mistrals turned to look at Kara.

  “What are you doing?” she whispered to Lucas. “I never said anything about saving anyone.”

  Lucas gave her a half smile.

  “It’s what you do,” he said.

  “You dare bring a witch before us?” asked East, rising to his feet. Purple veins bulged from his forehead.

  “A good witch,” said Lucas.

  “There is no such thing!”

  “How can you be so sure of yourself?” South asked. “This is new for all of us. Just because this girl can use magic doesn’t make her evil.” Her brow furrowed as a thought occurred to her. “You’re not evil, girl? Are you?”

  “No,” Kara said. “Not evil.”

  She considered adding And I’m not a witch anymore, either, but wasn’t sure if that would be the wisest decision. It might be best for Safi if these adults believed that Kara had the ability to help them, at least for now.

  “How old are you?” asked North.

  “Thirteen.”

  Kara had celebrated a birthday right before they left Kala Malta. She had forgotten entirely, but Taff remembered and surprised her with a hairpin he had whittled from a piece of wood.

  “Tall for your age,” said South.

  “Tell me about these unghosts.”

  “Like you don’t know already . . . ,” started East.

  “Oh, hush,” said South. She turned toward Kara. “Children started disappearing a few months ago—straight from their homes. They’d just go to sleep, everything normal as can be, and the next morning their beds would be empty. We sent search parties out but found no trace of them.” She sighed. “And then they started coming back. Only at night. They call out, ask for help, and . . . they’re children, so it’s just so hard to refuse them.”

  “But you must,” said North. “We don’t think they mean to do any harm, but their touch upon the living is . . . unnatural.”

  Kara held up her bruised wrist, showing that she understood.

  “Why do you call them unghosts?” she asked.

  “Because though these children may act like spirits,” replied North, “we are certain they are simply under some kind of spell and will someday return to us. Ghosts, if they exist at all, cannot touch the living.”

  “The children are enchanted, that’s all,” South said, her voice wavering. “Enchant
ed. Not—not—”

  Dead.

  The Mistrals’ logic was flawed at best, but Kara understood why they so readily accepted it. To think otherwise would be to sacrifice all hope.

  “There was a witness,” said North. “Harren Lake. Saw a small figure in a cloak holding a book just like your friend’s. Except . . .” North paused, remembering something. “Your friend’s book is white. Harren said the book he saw was dark. Black or gray, maybe.”

  In Kara’s mind, pieces began to slide into place.

  Someone in this town has a grimoire. They must have gotten it from Rygoth—it’s too much of a coincidence to think otherwise. This is exactly what she planned. Bring the spellbooks to the World, get them into the hands of unwitting witches. Sow disorder and chaos. Kara remembered the Bindery in Kala Malta, the tall piles of grimoires stacked in stone storehouses. There had been hundreds of books, maybe even thousands—and the great beast Niersook had carted them all across the ocean. How many grimoires has Rygoth already distributed by now? How many towns and villages are suffering from her malice?

  A painful knot tightened Kara’s stomach.

  I’m the one who set her free. This is all my fault.

  “I’ll help you,” Kara told the Mistrals.

  “We did not ask for your help, girl,” snarled East. He addressed the other Mistrals, slashing his hands through the air to punctuate each point. “Need I remind you that it is magic that is our true enemy? After everything that has happened, why would we trust a witch? As far as I’m concerned, the best thing would be to put an arrow through her chest right now.”

  “Let us not be rash,” said North. “She is only a child.”

  “There is magic in the world!” East shouted. “We can’t just sit here and act like the same old rules still apply.”

  Kara thought that the oldest Mistral, given the soft snoring sounds coming from his direction, had fallen asleep, but now he spoke for the first time. West’s voice was quiet, like crinkling paper.

  “What rules, exactly, are you speaking of?” the old man asked. “The ones that forbid us from ordering the death of an innocent child?”

  “She’s not innocent,” East replied, but even he was deferential to the old man. “Neither is her friend.”