Well of Witches

by J. A. White

  A long ripping sound tore through the night.

  “No!” Grace exclaimed, far too loud. The black-cloaked witch standing closest to them raised her head and started in their direction. Kara ducked behind the stone and turned toward Grace.

  She was holding two pieces of torn paper in her hands.

  “The spell was too powerful,” Grace said. “The page was already weak from all the time it spent away from the grimoire. It couldn’t handle it.” She met Taff’s eyes, her expression uncharacteristically soft. “I’m sorry.”

  Dirt crunched on the opposite side of the stone as the curious witch drew closer. Lucas reached for his glorb-bow but Kara shook her head. She breathed deeply, feeling each heartbeat thudding in her chest, surprisingly calm. I know exactly what to do. It’s just a matter of getting it done. Like chores on the farm.

  “Taff,” she said, keeping her voice as close to a whisper as possible. “Grace needs a grimoire. When I make my distraction, sneak over to that pile and steal her one. Grace, be ready to try that spell again. Lucas, can one of those fancy arrows of yours break those chains?”

  “I think so,” Lucas said. “But—”

  “Good. Go get my father. And keep an eye out for Safi. She has to be here somewhere.” If she’s not dead, of course. “I’ll meet you all back where we landed. If I’m not there—don’t wait for me. I’ll figure something out.”

  She backed away from the stone.

  “Where are you going?” Taff asked.

  “To get my wolf.”

  Kara stepped into the open and nearly collided with the approaching witch. The girl raised her grimoire to cast a spell but Kara knocked it from her hands.

  “Rygoth!” Kara exclaimed.

  Robes rustled as witches spun in her direction, torchlight illuminating a sea of startled faces. That’s right, Kara thought. Look here! Keep those backs turned so Lucas and Taff can do their jobs.

  Dozens of grimoires opened at once. The night was filled with the sound of flipping pages.

  “Close your spellbooks!” Rygoth exclaimed. “Let her come.”

  Kara maneuvered past the aboveground coffins, mud sucking at her boots. Desiccated faces shielded by violet glass watched her as she passed. When she reached the silent witches they parted into two sections, forming a path that led directly to Rygoth. No escape now, Kara thought. I have to be prepared for anything. She called out to more vultures, constructing mind-bridges from specific memories of death—lifeless eyes, swollen bodies—in order to tempt the carrion eaters. Soon all of the stones in the circle were topped with hunch-winged shadows.

  Wait, Kara told the vultures. Not yet. On my signal only.

  She stepped before Rygoth’s throne.

  To either side of the wexari stood the twins, their wan faces slashed with joyless smiles. Did they really kill Safi? Kara thought, scanning the graveyard and seeing no trace of her lost friend. Her blood raged, and the wolf seated by Rygoth’s throne bared his fangs.

  “My persistent little wexari,” Rygoth said. Sparks of color glinted in her fractured eyes. “I was wondering when you would get here.”

  The lack of surprise in Rygoth’s voice, as though Kara’s arrival had been as expected as nightfall, needled her with fear.

  What else does she know? Is this all a trap?

  Are the others in danger?

  Kara pushed that last thought away, picturing instead a clear blue sky with white clouds. I have to keep my mind as blank as possible. If Rygoth slips inside she’ll learn all our . . .

  “No need to protect your secrets from me, Kara,” Rygoth said. “I already know them all.”

  Kara had her doubts about this. She felt a scratching at her skull, like a dog wanting to be let inside the house.

  She’s trying to gain entrance to my mind. She wouldn’t be doing that if she knew everything already.

  “I’m not afraid of you anymore,” Kara said.

  “Why? Because you have your powers back?” Rygoth smiled at Kara’s shocked expression and clapped a hand to her mouth. “Oh dear! Were you hoping to take me unawares? Have I ruined the surprise?”

  The witches erupted into laughter. Rygoth let it continue for a few moments, her pitiless eyes never leaving Kara’s, and then raised one hand into the air.

  The laughter stopped immediately.

  “So you’re not afraid of me,” Rygoth said. “How inspiring. But there’s a serious flaw in your logic. Being a wexari again should make you more afraid of me. Before you were just a meddlesome child. But now? I really do have to kill you.”

  Kara looked into Rygoth’s eyes and saw not hatred or joy but something even worse: the first stirrings of boredom.

  I have to stall, give the others as much time as possible.

  “How did you know I got my powers back?” Kara asked.

  Rygoth smiled.

  “Now that’s a question I’d be thrilled to answer.”

  She snapped her fingers, the sound muffled by the white gloves. A small figure stepped forward from the first row of witches and pushed back her hood.

  “Safi!” Kara exclaimed.

  The girl shuddered at the sound of her name but did not look in Kara’s direction. Safi’s green eyes, usually so full of life, were flat and dull.

  The twins didn’t kill her. They brought her to their queen.

  She’s alive!

  “Allow me to introduce you to my seer,” Rygoth said. “Stubborn little thing at first. But she’s learned her place. Tells me all sorts of useful information—like the fact that you got your magic back, for instance. After this she’s going to help me gather the princess’s grimoire, piece by piece. You think you’ve seen magic? Just wait.”

  “Safi,” Kara said. “I’m going to get you out of here.”

  Raucous laughter shook the witches.

  “Is that so?” Rygoth asked. “Tell me, Seer. Do you want to leave my side?”

  “Of course not,” Safi intoned. “I live to serve you.”

  “What will you do if Kara tries to take you by force?”

  “I will kill her, if my master commands it.”

  Rygoth smiled and folded her hands in her lap.

  “Kara, Kara, Kara. I’m a bit bewildered by what you hope to accomplish here. Are you waiting for the right moment to send these vultures you’ve gathered up on the stones?” Rygoth sighed. “Yes, Kara, I know about them too. They would never dare to attack me. No creature would.”

  Kara saw, however, the way Rygoth’s eyes flickered up to the birds. She was not afraid—not even close—but there was a certain degree of weariness in the glance, as though taking care of the vultures would require more energy than she’d like to expend. Kara saw her slumped shoulders, the way she leaned on one armrest of the throne.

  Creating all those creatures to attack the graycloaks must have taken a lot out of her. She’s exhausted.

  I have to do this now. I won’t get a better chance.

  “I met Minoth,” Kara said.

  Rygoth raised her eyebrows in surprise before quickly regaining her composure.

  “Of course,” she lied. “I already knew this.” Rygoth straightened in her throne and smiled widely. “Did he admit his mistake in forcing me to leave Sablethorn? Now that he can see the greatness I’ve achieved, did he—”

  “Actually, he didn’t mention you at all. Oh, wait. Yes he did! After I went into the queth’nondra and passed the Sundering test—that’s how I got my powers back, but I’m sure you knew that—Minoth told me that you were too scared to take it. He said that I was a better witch at age thirteen than you’ll ever be.”

  Rygoth’s lips tightened with simmering rage.

  “That’s not true.”

  “If you say so,” Kara said. She clapped her hands together, as though she had just thought of an idea on the spot. “I’ll give you a chance to prove it. A challenge. How does that sound?”

  “I don’t need to prove anything to you. If I wanted to, I could—”


  “Oh,” said Kara. “Looks like Minoth was right. You are scared.”

  A murmur of shocked whispers passed through the witches. Rygoth regarded them with fury, a hint of color rising to her cheeks.

  “Name your challenge!” Rygoth screamed.

  Kara nodded. She was relieved to have made it this far in her plan, but now came the hard part.

  “That wolf by your side came to me first,” Kara said, “and you stole him. I want him back. That’s the challenge. The wolf sits between us and we both call to him. If he comes to me, you let me and Safi go. If he goes to you, I will pledge my loyalty and serve you as you see fit.”

  Rygoth smiled at this.

  “I accept your challenge, child. This should be quite amusing, while it lasts.”

  She waved a hand and the wolf trotted to a point between them. It sat back down, its scorpion tail arcing high into the air. The witches pushed together for a better view, forming an alley between the two wexari with the wolf right at the center.

  “Shall we begin?” Rygoth asked.

  Kara already had, trying to listen for what the wolf needed—so she would know how to build her mind-bridge—but his thoughts were blocked by dark walls. Rygoth smirked, clearly sensing what Kara was attempting to do, and sent forth a whip-strike across the wolf’s mind. Kara felt it as well, a fiery bolt of pain. She screamed. The wolf whimpered. The witches cheered. Head down, the wolf started in Rygoth’s direction. Kara shook her head and tried to pierce Rygoth’s walls, looking for an opening, a weakness, anything. They were impenetrable.

  Finally, she got down to one knee and called the wolf to her.

  “Here, boy.” Kara thought for a few moments and then added, “Here, Darno. That’s what I’m going to call you, okay? I hope you like it. All creatures deserve to be named.”

  The witches thought this was the most hilarious thing they had ever heard, and the resultant laughter was deafening. Kara ignored them. I don’t need to see his thoughts. I know what he wants. I’m sure of it. She laid the images of freedom on the ground between them like a trail of food—standing on the edge of the Wayfinder, the ocean breeze whipping through my hair, dashing through the trees of the Thickety, flying on Rattle’s back. . . .

  Darno took a few steps toward Kara.

  The witches stopped laughing.

  And then Rygoth struck out again with lashes of pure, seething hatred, and the whimpering wolf backed away from Kara and toward his master. Freedom is not enough, Kara thought, and she flooded the wolf’s mind with memories of love and companionship. The wolf reversed direction, took a few steps toward her. Yes, thought Kara. Come with me. I’ll take you away from here! We can be great friends, you and I.

  He was almost within her reach now. Kara held out her hand, waited for his warm nose to greet—

  Rygoth rose from her throne and screamed with fury.

  Darno howled in excruciating pain. His eyes became watery, his stinger shook. He took a few steps toward Rygoth, but Kara’s hold on him was still strong and he hesitated. He wanted to be with her. Kara could feel it. He wanted to be loved.

  But if he resisted Rygoth much longer she was going to kill him.

  Enough! thought Kara. I don’t want her to hurt you anymore. I release you. Go!

  The wolf scampered across the graveyard and did not stop until he was cowed before Rygoth’s feet.

  The witches applauded.

  “I have taken countless lives,” Rygoth said. “At first it’s thrilling, but as the years pass it becomes routine, like blowing your candle out at night. But your death is one I shall truly savor.”

  Kara, her mind elsewhere, hardly heard the words. She had never really thought she had a chance to beat Rygoth. Her primary goal had been to build a connection to the wolf so he would do what she wanted when the time came.

  Now!

  Darno’s scorpion tail shot down like an arrow and pierced Rygoth’s hand.

  The wexari stared at the wolf in complete disbelief, and then her hand began to swell, the glove cracking open at the seams and finally tearing away altogether, revealing a swollen mass of flesh. “What have you done?” Rygoth screamed, raising her deformed hand into the air. “What have you done? Kill her! Kill her!”

  All around Kara, grimoires began to flap open.

  “Attack!” she commanded, looking skyward.

  A cloud of dark feathers descended upon the witches. The vultures would have no doubt preferred the tender flesh of carrion, but the grimoires had the stink of death to them and were an acceptable substitute. Razor-sharp talons snatched the books and carted them away.

  Amid the chaos, Rygoth hunched over her still-ballooning hand; Kara pushed her way to Safi.

  “Come on,” Kara said, grabbing the girl’s wrist. “Let’s get out of here!”

  Safi shoved her away.

  “I will never go with you!” she screamed. “Never! I serve only the Spider Queen!”

  Safi spoke a few words from her grimoire and a gust of wind slammed into Kara, thrusting her through the crowd of witches. She tumbled and rose just before the inner circle of stones.

  Safi was nowhere to be seen.

  The witches had begun to gain the upper hand in their battle against the vultures. Fire lit the night and winged bodies dropped from the sky. A woman pointed in Kara’s direction and screamed, “There!” Sparks of magical energy chipped the stone to Kara’s left.

  She ran.

  Kara had always been a fast runner, but exhaustion was overtaking her body and the witches slowly gained ground. She reached out to the creatures of the forest for help and heard leaves rustle, screaming, fewer footsteps than before. Finally, she reached Rattle, wings extended, ready to leave. There were only three shapes on the rustle-foot’s back.

  “Where’s Grace?” she asked, quickly taking stock.

  Lucas shook his head and pulled Kara onto the rustle-foot’s back.

  Her strength was finally failing, the world growing dim. Wings flapped. The ground grew smaller. The twins stepped out of the trees and into the clearing, the grimoire held between them. Kara couldn’t hear the words of the spell from that distance but she saw boulders transform into great snapping birds of prey and launch themselves at the rustle-foot. Kara reached out with her mind to stop them but she was too tired; magic was beyond her. She was about to throw her arms in front of her face when suddenly the sky shimmered. The rock monsters instantly reversed direction, as though they had bounced off some kind of invisible surface, and plummeted toward the startled figures far below them. The twins barely had time to flee into the forest before the boulders crashed into the surface and a geyser of earth shot into the air.

  As the dust cleared, a black-cloaked figure holding an open grimoire stepped out from the shadows and pushed back her hood, revealing a stubborn clump of short brown hair.

  Bethany, Kara thought. She’s dressed like the others . . . but she saved us.

  Bethany quickly slammed her grimoire shut as a mob of witches swarmed into the clearing. Luckily, these new arrivals were too distracted by the departing rustle-foot to wonder what Bethany was doing there, and the young witch donned her hood and vanished into their numbers.

  Be safe, my friend, Kara thought as Rattle stretched out her wings and sailed into the night. Kara squinted at the unconscious figure in front of her, roped securely to his seat. Even in the darkness she recognized his familiar form. “Father?” Kara screamed against the raging wind. “Father?” He didn’t move. “Father? Is it you?” Kara reached out a hand to touch his shoulder but a sudden rush of dizziness nearly caused her to topple into the night. Heart pounding, she grabbed the folds of Rattle’s skin.

  Please be you, she thought. This can’t have all been for nothing.

  Kara closed her eyes, held tight, and hoped.

  They landed just outside the graycloak camp. By the light of the flickering campfires, Kara saw dozens of soldiers heading in their direction. “It’ll be fine,” Lucas assured her. “These are m
y friends.” Kara still felt uneasy—these were graycloaks, after all—but Rattle was too exhausted to carry them much farther, and Father had wounds that required attention.

  Kara helped Taff to the ground.

  “What happened to Grace?” she asked.

  “I brought her a grimoire, just like you told me to,” Taff said. “She opened it up and read from the first page. Then she said, ‘Thank you, whelp,’ and vanished.”

  “What about Father?” Kara asked. “Did she undo the curse first?”

  There was no need for Taff to answer that question. Father had finally regained consciousness. He saw Kara and his mouth curled into a scowl.

  “Imprison this witch!” he exclaimed to the approaching graycloaks. “And her brother, too! I’ll see them both killed come sunrise.”

  They shackled Kara to an iron hook driven deep into the earth. The sky was still dark but with a hazy tint to it as dawn began to stir. At most they had two more hours to live.

  Lucas had tried to save them, of course, but he had been restrained by the other graycloaks and dragged away. She had no idea where he was right now. Taff sat right next to her, shackled as well, his mind working out a way to escape.

  “Any chance you can create one of those monsters like Rygoth did?” Taff asked. “Maybe something that can bite through chains?”

  “Sorry, brother,” Kara said. “I don’t think I could enchant a worm right now.”

  It was true. Her head pounded fiercely and her whole body ached. She had used too much magic in too little time.

  “I can’t believe Grace left us like that,” he said.

  Kara gave him a bemused look.

  “Okay. Maybe it’s not so hard to believe.”

  “Some people can’t change who they are.”

  Kara considered telling Taff about Safi, but then wondered what would be the point.

  Let him believe his friend was true to the end.

  Timoth Clen entered the clearing. He was wearing new robes and his face had been scrubbed clean of blood and dirt.

  “Leave us,” he barked at the guards. “There are things these two need to tell me before they swing from a tree.”

  His face was set in a furious grimace as he knelt before Kara. He reached into his cloak. Kara drew back, expecting some sort of knife.