by J. A. White
“Wix has such pretty hair,” Rygoth said.
Though he could not say why, the name filled Martay with crushing sadness.
“Who’s Wix?” he asked, tears streaming from his eyes.
The Spider Queen laughed and left him alone with a dead army and an empty red chest. Though Martay remained a living statue, his wounds continued to bleed. He died just before morning but went mad long before then, his mind snapping beneath the magnitude of all that he had lost.
BOOK ONE
THE HOURGLASS TOWER
“The seeds of the future are buried in the past.”
—The Last Days of Kronia
Author Unknown
Kneeling by the stream, Kara cupped her hands together and splashed water on her face, grimacing as pinpricks of ice stung her cheeks. Her reflection rippled in the moonlight: dark circles under darker eyes, hair lank and wild.
I look like a witch, she thought, chuckling to herself.
The starry night was ripe for introspection, and Kara found her mind wandering to the strange events that had brought her to this place. She could trace the main path of her journey—growing up among the Children of the Fold, her travels through the Thickety, sailing to Sentium in order to stop Rygoth, regaining her powers in the Well of Witches, the battle in the graveyard—but quite a few of the details escaped her. Wexari magic required memories to work, and her mind was littered with blank spaces, like patches of dead grass in an otherwise fertile field.
Behind her, footsteps crunched through a thin crust of snow.
“Evening, Darno,” Kara said.
The wolf regarded her with amber eyes. His scorpion tail was curled in a tight spiral, the stinger tucked into a fold of fur.
The night is quiet, Darno thought, and Kara heard the words in her head as clearly as if he had spoken them aloud.
“Quiet is good,” Kara said. “Right?”
Not good quiet. The quiet before the leap.
“I don’t follow.”
Darno sent her a vision of a taloned, apelike creature swinging silently through the treetops of the Thickety, waiting to pounce upon the innocent paarn below it.
“You think we’re being hunted?” Kara asked.
Yes.
“Have you seen someone? Something?”
Not seen. Felt.
Darno had survived for years in the Thickety before Rygoth stole him away, so Kara was not about to dismiss his finely honed instincts. She couldn’t justify abandoning a good hideaway based on a feeling, however—not without confirmation.
“Let me see what’s out there,” she said.
Kara extended her thoughts to dozens of creatures in the vicinity: birds mostly, for these made the best sentries, but also rodents skittering through the undergrowth and even a lumbering bear. Some animals welcomed Kara into their minds, but the stubborn ones required her to spend a memory in order to construct a bridge between them. For a hatchling who had just learned to fly: lifting Taff into the air so he can clothespin Father’s shirt to the line. With a hungry squirrel she shared the taste of freshly picked hushfruit.
Once inside their minds, Kara searched the animals’ memories. They hadn’t seen anything unusual.
“I think you’re just being your overprotective self,” Kara suggested to Darno. Since she had rescued the wolf from Rygoth he had been a constant shadow by her side, baring his teeth at every branch snap. Then again, she supposed he had good reason to be paranoid: Rygoth wouldn’t rest until she was dead, and now Grace was loose in the world as well.
“There’s a blizzard in the air,” Kara said. “Maybe that’s what has you on edge.”
Darno nudged her shoulder.
Yes, he said. Snowfall soon. Go inside. Not safe.
Kara sighed. At times, Darno’s constant vigilance could grow tiresome. When she had professed these feelings to her brother, his face had brightened instantly: “Now you know how I feel around you!”
“Give me another moment in the cold air,” said Kara. “I need my senses about me before I head back inside and give the spell another go.”
Not that it will matter, she thought. We’re trying to do the impossible!
She cupped her hands beneath the surface of the pond, intending to splash her face, and fell backward with surprise.
The reflection in the water was not her own.
Darno rose up on his haunches, scorpion tail uncurled and rattling violently. Kara placed a hand on his flank.
“It’s okay,” she said. Now that the initial shock was over, she recognized the girl instantly. “That’s Bethany. She’s a friend.”
Darno glared down at the image in the pellucid stream. Kara understood the wolf’s doubt. Though they could only see Bethany from the chest up, it was enough to reveal the double-fanged spider sewn into her black robe. She appeared to be a loyal follower of Rygoth.
Kara knew differently.
“I never got to thank you for saving us that night,” Kara said. “If you hadn’t reflected the twins’ spell back at them we’d all be dead right now.”
Bethany waved Kara’s words away. The motion should have caused the water to ripple, but it remained eerily still.
“You saved me from becoming the monster of Nye’s Landing,” Bethany said. “You brought me back into the light. I owe you a debt that can never be repaid.”
“You’re giving me too much credit. All I did was point you in the right direction.”
“You know it was more than that.”
Kara poked the stream with a single index finger. Concentric circles spread across the water but Bethany’s image remained undisturbed, as though she were a solid form floating just beneath the surface.
“How are you doing this?” Kara asked.
“A particularly useful quirk of my grimoire,” Bethany said. “I don’t know if you remember, but the pages aren’t like regular pages.”
“They’re mirrors,” Kara said.
“Mirrors that cast the reflection I choose. All I have to do is look into a page and picture the face I want to see. The grimoire does the rest. The tricky part is that the other person has to touch the mirror in order for me to see them. Or water—any reflective surface will work.”
“It’s a crafty bit of magic, Bethany,” Kara said. “But you have to be careful not to overuse the grimoire. It can take hold of you before you realize it.”
“I know. But you helped me resist it once, and that’s given me the strength I need to refuse its call.”
Kara nodded, remembering her own experience. A grimoire’s dark influence was powerful, but it could be subdued by a strong enough will.
“Now that I’ve created a link between us,” Bethany continued, “you can call on me if you need to. Touch any reflective surface with two fingers and picture my face . . . just don’t let your thumb touch anything or the spell won’t work.”
“Why not?”
“I have no idea,” Bethany said, throwing her hands into the air. “It doesn’t make any sense!”
“I know,” Kara said. “Magic is so weird sometimes, isn’t it?”
Both girls burst into laughter.
It felt so good to talk to someone who understood. Kara wished that Bethany were here with her right now. She often longed for the company of witches—the good ones, at least.
“Where are you?” Kara asked.
“I’m not sure, to be honest with you,” Bethany said. “We’ve been traveling the same road for days. I just follow along, keep my head down. Everyone’s asleep right now.” She leaned forward, peering behind Kara. “All I see behind you are some treetops and Rygoth’s wolf. Actually, I guess your wolf now.”
“Darno is not anyone’s wolf.”
“The point is, you could be anywhere that has trees and wolves. That’s about all I want to know, just in case Rygoth decides to poke around in my head at some point. In fact, don’t tell me anything important at all.”
“What if she finds out you contacted me?”
“She won’t. I blend in with the other witches so well, I’m not sure Rygoth even knows I exist. All my life I’ve wanted people to notice me, but I just vanished into the background. I thought I was cursed.” Bethany smiled slyly, making her look like a completely different girl. “Now I’m starting to think it’s a talent.”
“Still, Bethany. You’re taking a big risk talking to me.”
“I had to. There’s something you need to know.” She paused, looking away. “It’s bad.”
Kara folded her legs and leaned against Darno for warmth.
“Tell me,” she said.
“You heard about what happened at Ta’men Keep, right?”
Kara shook her head. “Been avoiding towns and people. Makes it difficult to keep up with what’s going on in the world.”
“I’ll give you the short version,” Bethany said. “Rygoth attacked the Keep and killed everyone inside it. They were guarding a grim.”
“What’s that?”
“A section of Princess Evangeline’s grimoire—which Rygoth calls the Vulkera.”
Kara felt ridiculous. All these weeks trying to locate the princess’s grimoire, and she hadn’t even known it had a special name.
“And she has this . . . grim now?” Kara asked.
“Yes.”
“How did she find it?” asked Kara. She leaned forward as a horrible thought occurred to her. “Was it Safi?”
“No!” Bethany snapped. “Rygoth just followed a trail of clues that led . . . How could you even think that Safi would help her?”
Kara could tell, given Bethany’s defensive attitude, that the girls had become good friends during their two months together. More than two months, Kara reminded herself, forgetting to account for her time-stretching days in the Well of Witches. Safi has been Rygoth’s captive for over a year, which means Bethany has known Safi longer than I have at this point.
“I hate doubting her,” Kara said. “She’s my friend, too. But I know how tempting the darkness of magic can be. You understand, Bethany. I know you do.” Even in the water, Kara could see the other girl’s cheeks flush slightly. “Besides, if Safi was still . . . herself . . . why did she attack me at the graveyard?”
“Because Safi knew that she could do the most good by staying,” Bethany said. “By attacking you and remaining by the Spider Queen’s side she demonstrated her unquestioning loyalty. After that, Rygoth really started to trust her—which allowed Safi to lead her all over Sentium, following false visions.”
Guilt warmed Kara’s numb cheeks. She had been so certain that Safi was caught in the thrall of dark magic and required rescuing. Instead, the younger girl, through courage and guile, had done more to stall Rygoth’s schemes than Kara.
Taff never lost faith in her. I won’t either, after this.
“How did Safi hide the truth from her?” Kara asked. “Rygoth can see into people’s minds.”
“That was my doing, actually,” Bethany said, with no little pride. “I put these mind mirrors—that’s what we called them—in Safi’s mind, so that every time Rygoth took a peek she saw a girl who worshipped her utterly and completely. But of course what Rygoth was really seeing was a reflection of how she feels about herself.”
“That’s brilliant,” Kara said.
“Safi thought so too,” Bethany said, a sad smile on her face.
A particularly fierce wind bit through Kara’s cloak. She learned into Darno, seeking warmth.
“What’s wrong?” Kara asked.
“Rygoth figured out the truth,” Bethany said. “She imprisoned Safi.”
“But she can’t hurt her,” Kara said. “She needs Safi to find the rest of the grims.”
“Rygoth claims she has another way. And since she found Ta’men Keep without Safi’s help, I think she might be right.”
Kara thought about this. If Rygoth truly didn’t need Safi’s help anymore, there was no reason for her to keep the girl alive.
“We’re coming to rescue both of you,” Kara said. “The grims can wait.”
“No!” Bethany exclaimed. “Don’t waste your time on us—Rygoth has the first grim already! You need to find the other three!”
“But—”
“Did Safi ever tell you about the vision she had? About what happens if Rygoth uses the Vulkera’s power?”
Kara nodded, remembering. Rygoth, grimoire in hand, standing on a mountain of bones. That’s all that will be left of the world.
“Then you know what’s at stake,” Bethany said. “The only thing that matters is keeping the Vulkera out of Rygoth’s hands. Nothing else is important.”
Kara knew that Bethany was right. But she hated the thought of leaving her friends in danger.
“I’ll find the grims first,” Kara said. “And then I’ll come for you.”
“Don’t worry about us, Kara,” Bethany said. “Rygoth doesn’t even know I’m helping you, and if she hasn’t hurt Safi by now, I’m sure that she’ll be fine. I’m not scared at all.”
Even through the water, Kara could hear the quiver in Bethany’s voice. She was a good witch, but a poor liar.
The stone farmhouse sat on a knoll overlooking several fields and a small pond. In the warmer seasons the view might be worthy of paintings, but for now all she could see was barren sameness in every direction. There were many things about Sentium that Kara enjoyed, but this frigid winter weather was not one of them. She missed earth, the smell of freshly grown flowers, chirping insects.
She missed Lucas.
It had been two months since she last saw him. She was certain that her father, now only pretending to be Timoth Clen, would do his best to keep him from danger, but Kara had no way of knowing if either one of them were safe, and she worried constantly. The graycloaks were out of their league when it came to magic, and she couldn’t fight the feeling that she might never see Lucas again. Rubbing her hands vigorously by the hearth, Kara remembered how Lucas had almost kissed her at the Swoop station and felt a keen regret: Why didn’t I lean forward and meet his lips when I had the chance?
“Kara!” Taff called from upstairs. “Get up here!”
“Coming!”
She started up the stairs. For the most part, the farmhouse was comprised of features familiar to her: a wood-burning stove, four-poster beds, spheres half filled with water that required only a glorb to swirl them into illumination. Other elements of the house, however, baffled Kara and emphasized the fact that they were still strangers in this part of the world: ridged, metallic discs that adorned the walls like familial portraits; shelves filled with cheaply made chapbooks written in an unintelligible language of dots and swirls; countless buttons, dials, and switches that seemed to serve no purpose whatsoever. (Which of course did not stop Taff from pushing/turning/flicking each and every one, repeatedly.)
Kara still didn’t know who owned the house; it had been empty when they found it, like so many other places. The world was in flux, and rumored sightings of the Spider Queen caused people to abandon their homes like animals fleeing a burning forest. On their journey here, Kara and Taff had traveled along roads packed with dusty emigrants, their wagons piled high with a lifetime of possessions.
Why do they bother? she wondered. There’s nowhere safe to go.
Ducking her head beneath the low doorway, she squeezed along a narrow staircase to the attic.
Though they slept in the downstairs bedrooms, where it was warmer, this was where the Westfall siblings spent the majority of their time. A huge pane of glass set into the sloped ceiling kept the room well lit during daytime hours, and they had pushed the moldering crates against the walls, giving them the space they needed. With no usable paper to be found, they had covered the floor with charcoal drawings and any available wall space with lines of dense script.
Taff was kneeling on the floor, his back to her. He had found a blank space and was rapidly drawing something with a piece of charcoal worked down to a nub.
“Why were you gone for so long?” he
asked.
Kara hesitated. She wanted to protect her brother, but she had also promised herself that she would never hide anything from him again, no matter how terrible.
Taff stopped drawing, sensing something wrong.
“What is it?” he asked.
She told him everything. When Taff learned that Rygoth had already acquired one-fourth of the Vulkera, he pounded his fist into his knee in frustration. The news that Safi was in great danger hit him even harder, and Kara expected Taff to argue with the decision not to try and rescue his best friend immediately. He surprised her, however, immediately understanding the hard logic of making the grims their first priority.
He’s getting older, Kara thought.
“We need to focus on the spell,” he said, his voice trembling ever so slightly. “The quicker we stop Rygoth, the quicker we can save our friends.”
“Good plan,” Kara said, resisting the urge to wrap her arms around him; he was doing his best to act like an adult and needed to be treated accordingly. Instead, she peeked over Taff’s shoulder at his most recent sketch. “You’ve been hard at work. What are those things you—” She paused, noticing crumbs on her brother’s shirt, “Hey! Did you eat the last of the cake?”
Taff grinned impishly.
“I got hungry. And to be fair, it was my cake.”
Two days ago, Taff had celebrated his eighth birthday, and Kara had managed to scrounge together the ingredients for a pumpkin cake with sweet-cream frosting, his favorite. She had also given him a battered pocket watch purchased from a peddler. Taff had taken it apart the next day and was still working out how to put it back together again.
“Don’t worry,” Taff said. “As soon as we get this spell to work, I’ll bake you a cake to celebrate.”
“Looking forward to it,” Kara said with more confidence than she felt.
She thought back on the conversation that had started it all. Father, no longer Timoth Clen but needing to continue the facade for their own safety, had come to free Kara and Taff from their imprisonment by the graycloaks. In their few precious minutes together, he told his children something useful he had learned while the ancient witch hunter inhabited his body.