Witch's Pyre

by Josephine Angelini

  I found Red Leaf, he told her.

  Where is he? Lily immediately shared what she was getting from Breakfast with the rest of the coven.

  He’s in bad shape. A raptor has him. This is what he showed me . . .

  . . . I only let my eyes crack open—barely enough to see—and hope that it doesn’t notice that I’m awake. If it thinks I’m awake, it holds me tighter to keep me from struggling until I can barely breathe.

  Great, leathery talons encircle my chest and my waist. Wings that are ten times the length of a man pound the clouds to either side of me. I’m so cold and the air is so thin.

  There’s that voice in my head again that is so like mine. Maybe I’m crazy. Maybe I’m dying. The voice inside my head asks me where I am.

  I look down and see nothing below but flat green stretches. The Ocean of Grass. A cloud hangs low on the horizon—a smudge across the otherwise blue sky. No. Not a cloud. Great Spirit, protect me. It’s the Hive . . .

  He’s about halfway across the country, Una said in mindspeak.

  The raptor has taken him to the Hive’s territory, Breakfast added.

  Grace will have him soon, Lily said. We have three, maybe four days until she has him, and we still have to join up with Lillian’s army.

  Lily looked at Rowan. His expression was guarded, their disagreement on pause, but not forgotten. “We can go now if you want. Your pyre is ready whenever you are,” he said crisply.

  Lily climbed the pyre and, with no claimed in Lillian’s army for her to use, she was forced to call out to Lillian herself.

  I need to use you as my lighthouse.

  Where are you? Back in your world?

  No. I need you to put your hand on the ground and feel the earth under you.

  I’m doing it.

  Now I need you to let me possess you.

  Why?

  It’s how I’m going to get my army to yours. Hurry. The fire is rising.

  Lily smelled the smoke billowing up from the bottom of the pyre and felt the heat that followed. The next moment she was out of her body and soaring across the overworld toward the beacon that was Lillian. She was easy to find, high up in the Appalachian Mountains.

  She dove down and felt searing pain—Lillian’s pain. Her guts rolled with nausea, and her vision tracked a few seconds behind the movement of her eyes, setting the world into a dizzying spin around her. It took her a moment to push past Lillian’s sickness enough to feel the vibration of the earth under Lillian’s hand, summon the willstones of her claimed, and jump them all to Lillian’s position.

  Lily’s army appeared amid Lillian’s. There was no boom or gust of wind or streak of lighting. The Outlanders, below folk, and ranch hands simply materialized among the open spaces between the Walltop guards on the rocks and cliffs.

  Lily appeared next to Lillian, inside her tent. “Tell your soldiers not to panic,” Lily said.

  Lillian’s cracked lips were parted in surprise, but she gathered herself and closed her eyes for a moment, sending out a message in mindspeak to all of her claimed. Lily could hear the shocked murmurs coming from outside the tent, but luckily, she didn’t hear the sounds of fighting.

  “I probably should have given you more warning,” Lily apologized. “A bunch of Outlanders and criminals appearing alongside a bunch of soldiers could have been bad. I see that now.”

  “I know why you didn’t warn me. You couldn’t give me any chance to figure out how to do this . . . feat . . . and go without you,” Lillian replied. She crinkled a wan cheek into a half smile. “What would you call this in your world?”

  “Teleportation,” Lily answered. “But that sounds so corny I’ve mostly been calling it jumping.” Her face pinched in sympathy. “You look terrible, Lillian.”

  “I told you. I’m dying,” she replied with a humorless laugh.

  “I’m sorry.” The words didn’t seem big enough.

  Lillian was paper white, skeletal, and the sickly sweet smell of decay clung to her. Her head was wrapped in a strip of linen, and from the bare pink sheen of the skin high on her temples, Lily could tell it was because her hair had fallen out. Even her eyes seemed drained of color. Lily reached out and took Lillian’s hand. She wanted to hug Lillian, but she knew that any contact would feel like knives sticking in her.

  They heard voices outside the tent and turned in unison as Rowan, followed closely by Captain Leto, pushed into the tent. Rowan stopped abruptly and made a dismayed sound deep in his chest when he saw Lillian.

  “I’m sorry, My Lady,” Leto was saying as he grabbed Rowan’s arm. Rowan didn’t resist. He’d gone boneless as he stared at Lillian.

  “It’s all right, Leto,” Lillian said, raising a placating hand. “Rowan is here for her.”

  Leto noticed Lily and dropped Rowan’s arm in shock, looking back and forth between the two Lillians.

  A long sigh gusted out of Rowan. “Oh, Lillian. Why didn’t you let me help you?” he asked. He took a step toward her and Lillian lurched away from him, her eyes pleading.

  “Don’t, Rowan. There’s nothing you can do to help me now,” she said. She turned to Leto. “Captain, would you please escort Lord Fall out of my tent and ask him what his people need? Lily and I will be out in a moment.”

  Rowan allowed Leto to lead him away. Lily turned to Lillian.

  “You’re still not going to tell him?” she asked. Lillian shook her head. “I think you’re wrong,” Lily persisted. “I understand why you hid the version of River you saw in the cinder world, but Rowan’s changed since you knew him. He accepted that I wasn’t you. He can accept that his father wasn’t that man in the barn.”

  Lillian looked down, wringing her hands. Lily watched her, eerily recalling how she was prone to do that when she doubted herself.

  “I can’t,” she whispered. “What was this all for if I do?”

  Lily felt truly sorry for her. “Do you want me to see if there’s anything I can do? I don’t know much about healing,” Lily said, trailing off with a shrug. She thought of Toshi. He would know how to heal Lillian.

  “I can show you,” Lillian said, accepting Lily’s offer.

  Lily helped Lillian comb through her cells and kill off as much of the cancer as she could, but there weren’t enough healthy cells left after that to keep her organs running properly. Lily might not have done much healing in her time as a witch, but she knew a failing liver when she saw one. When she had done everything she could to keep Lillian going for a few more days, she sat back on her heels.

  “Your rose stone did all the work,” Lillian said. She wiped away the sweat beading on her upper lip. “So it’s true that the different colors are better at different kinds of magic?”

  “Yes,” Lily answered distractedly. She heard shouting outside the tent. “Lillian, we need to talk.”

  “We do. It was always my intention that you take my place when I’m gone. That’s why I went to find you in the first place,” Lillian said. “I’ll leave instructions with Leto that you are to be treated exactly as they would treat me. Salem is yours.”

  “No, that’s not—” Lily stammered. “It’s the Hive. We can’t beat them. Not with the numbers that we have right now.”

  “I know. That’s why we need to use the bomb.”

  “But that’s insane—you know it is,” Lily said.

  The shouting outside the tent grew loud enough to bring Lillian to her feet. She and Lily looked outside and saw people running past as Lily felt Rowan reaching out to her mindspeak.

  Things are getting ugly out here. Come quickly.

  “It’s Rowan,” Lily said urgently.

  She and Lillian rushed out of the tent and followed the sound of a fight to a clearing among the trees, where a year-old rockslide had knocked down a swath of thick timber. Rowan was holding back someone who looked like he was trying to attack Alaric, while Caleb and Tristan restrained two screaming ranch hands. Una, Breakfast, Captain Leto, and some of his uniformed soldiers seemed to be busy wi
th crowd control as waves of people, most of them from the ranches, shook their fists and shouted. At the center of it all was a small Outlander woman with steel-gray hair and skin like leather. She stood stock-still with her hands crossed in front of her, her gaze elsewhere and her expression unconcerned.

  “Chenoa,” Lillian said, teeth bared. The name hissed out of her like a curse word.

  As Lily and Lillian approached the center of the clearing together, the shouting fell to a murmur. The crowds stopped pushing against the barricade and the man in Rowan’s headlock settled down enough that Rowan let him go.

  Chenoa looked at the two Lillians, her mouth tilting with a knowing smile. Her eyes were like two black beads—hard and clear—and they sent a thrill down Lily’s spine.

  “So I suppose you’ll be fixing to hang me,” Chenoa said, instigating a fresh round of hateful calls.

  “She should be hanged!” yelled the man recently released from Rowan’s headlock.

  “Otter—don’t,” Rowan growled in warning in case he decided to lunge at Chenoa again. Rowan knew this man. He spun away from Rowan and faced the bloodthirsty crowd.

  “She killed my Lena and our baby,” Otter said. Voices shouted out the names of more dead. “She could have told us what was in those canisters.” More voices rose like “amens” in church. “She should have told us it was going to make them sick.”

  Lily looked out at the quickly turning mob, and then back at Lillian’s impassive face. Lillian would let the mob hang her, and as Lily recalled the women dying horrible deaths in the tunnels, a tiny voice in her head said maybe Chenoa deserved it.

  But then she noticed the Outlanders in the crowd were slowly detaching themselves, watching with their weapons ready. Lily reached out to Rowan.

  Will the Outlanders fight if the ranch hands try to hang Chenoa?

  Yes, Rowan replied in mindspeak. To a lot of Outlanders she’s a hero. This could get very bad, very fast. Find a fire and get ready to fuel us.

  I don’t think you can stop my army from tearing itself apart, Rowan.

  Neither do I. The only thing that I’m concerned with now is keeping you safe.

  While Lily racked her brain for a way to defuse this powder keg, Mary stepped forward, holding up her hands for everyone’s attention.

  “We below folk know all about the dust sickness that Chenoa brought on us,” Mary said in a commanding voice. “We’ve seen it with our own eyes. And if you’re anything like me, you’ve had nightmares about it ever since.” She started to pace around Chenoa, circling her like a cross-examiner. “This isn’t just something she brought on the women who agreed to carry her poison dust into the Outlands. It’s something that got brought back to those women’s families. Children. Babies, even.”

  Chenoa grunted and smirked. Mary broke off and turned to address her.

  “You think babies dying is funny?” Mary asked. Chenoa leveled her with a look. Anger seemed to gather around the old woman like a cloak. “Speak,” Mary urged. “Give us some reason why you did what you did. I’m trying to give you a chance here, or would you rather I just let my people string you up?”

  For a moment it seemed as if Chenoa would remain silent on her own behalf. She looked out at the mob as if it were happening to someone else, and then nodded to herself as if she already knew the ending to this story.

  “I’ve always been good with numbers,” she said in a soft, dry voice that carried. “I’ve always been able to look at numbers and equations and understand them. Always been able to see through the numbers to the truth hidden behind them. I don’t know, maybe it’s a kind of magic. How many children do you think I’ve had, blond city woman?” she asked.

  Mary was taken aback by the question. “I don’t know,” she replied.

  “Four. All dead in their first year.” Chenoa’s voice was even and empty, her words pressed flat by the weight of the grudge within her. “My first babe starved to death. Belly swollen and so weak she couldn’t even cry anymore. She just made this mewing sound, like a kitten.” A long silence spilled out of her and swept over the crowd. “My middle two were taken by the Woven and the pox got my youngest. You ever see a baby die of the pox, blond city woman? No, you haven’t. The witches wouldn’t help us Outlanders when the pox came, but the below folk, they got the medicine ’cause they’re citizens.” Chenoa laughed, her head settling deeper into her shoulders, like a bird’s in a rainstorm. “You below folk are acting like you invented suffering, but how many of your children were lost by what I did? A few hundred? How many hundreds of thousands of our babies starved, were taken by the Woven, or died from the pox . . . or maybe you’ve done the math and think your pink babies are worth a thousands times more than our brown ones?” Her mouth pressed into a sneer. “Well, I’ve done the math, too, and I got some different numbers. One number in particular.” Her eyes dropped to the ground, all the fire suddenly snuffed out of her. “Four.”

  When it became clear that Chenoa would say no more, the crowd began to shout their grievances at her again. There had never been anything she could say that would have persuaded them not to hang her, and the fact that they pitied her only served to anger them more. A rock was thrown. Then another.

  Oh my God, they’re going to stone her, Una said in mindspeak. A score of Outlander braves notched arrows into their bows.

  Tristan addressed the coven in mindspeak. Lily, can you jump us out of here?

  Jumping might be our only option, Caleb agreed.

  Jumping won’t stop them from killing one another, Lily argued.

  We can’t contain this, Rowan said.

  I brought them here to fight together, not one another. I can’t just let them riot.

  While Lily looked around at the mounting chaos, she met Lillian’s eyes. Lillian turned away from her, unyielding. She wanted Chenoa dead. Samantha dithered her way into the center and stood next to Chenoa. She looked out at the crowd, wringing her hands and trying to duck as rocks sailed by. Lillian took a step forward to stop her, but Samantha moved even closer to Chenoa.

  “You can’t have both, Lillian,” Samantha said, suddenly calm. “You have to decide. Chenoa or Grace.”

  Samantha stared Lillian down. She was chillingly sane and in control of herself. She didn’t back down until Lillian finally looked away. Knowing her job was done, Samantha seemed to unravel. She shuffled off into the crowd where Juliet hastily corralled her and took her away.

  Lillian turned to the crowd, raising her voice so everyone could hear. “I need her,” she shouted. She stepped forward, stood in front of Chenoa, and raised her hands. “Listen to me—I need her.” The sound from the mob died down. “When we get to Bower City, we are going to be facing a force too large for us to conquer. That’s a fact. Our only hope is to use the last remaining bomb against the Hive, and Chenoa is the only person who knows how to detonate it safely.”

  Surprise, confusion, even sounds of dismay arose from the mob.

  “But Alaric promised the western city would be our home,” shouted one of the Outlanders.

  “Mary promised us the same,” said a ranch hand. “What good is fighting the Hive if we’re just going to blow up the city when we get there? We’ll still have no place to live.”

  “We came out here to fight for a home,” someone else added stridently, touching off an avalanche of responses.

  Alaric stepped out next to Lillian and quieted the crowd. “Let us consult with the leaders from all factions before we make any decisions,” he said. “Everyone make camp until we’ve had a chance to discuss the best plan of action.”

  The crowd began to disperse, but Lily could hear the grumbling and feel animosity mounting as they went.

  CHAPTER

  13

  Toshi walked casually down the hill toward the trolley line. It wasn’t easy to walk casually. In fact, just thinking of what it meant to act casual stopped him from being able to do it.

  A Worker landed on his shoulder. Then another. Toshi forced hims
elf to breathe in and out. He thought of the color green and recalled the sound of rain. When he opened his eyes again, the Workers were gone.

  The Hive had been on edge for almost a week now. The Warrior Sisters had come down from the high watchtowers that had kept them out of sight, and they now hovered over the streets or clung to the rooftops and to the sides of the buildings. Workers were quick to swarm, and more than one panicky citizen had been anesthetized with a sting, collected by a Warrior Sister, and never heard from since. Any elevated emotion could call Workers to you for closer inspection. Toshi was even setting them off in his sleep now. He’d wake, drenched in sweat, to find his body completely covered in them like a living blanket.

  Toshi broke into a light jog and swung himself up into a passing trolley. He spotted his contact and shuffled through the other passengers until he stood back to back with him. It wasn’t long before he felt his contact bump into him. Toshi opened his hand and passed his contact a small vial of antidote—or what Toshi and Ivan hoped was an antidote—to the Workers’ stings.

  His contact palmed the small vial easily and then waited for the next bend in the trolley line to disguise bumping into Toshi again. Toshi briefly felt the man’s hand tuck a note in the folds of his tunic, and then his contact hopped off the trolley.

  Toshi watched the man blend seamlessly into the garment district’s waves of humanity. He wondered whether he would be the one to test the antidote himself, or whether the vial was going to be smuggled out of the city to one of the farms for the rebels hidden there to test it. Toshi knew it might be safer to get it out of the city, where the death of a Worker might be chalked up to accident, but that would take longer.

  In the Hive, every single member was accounted for. If even one Worker used her stinger or was killed, a Warrior Sister came to collect the tiny body and investigate the reason. Even the death of one Worker could alert the Hive to foul play, and thus Toshi and Ivan had been unable to test their antidote.

  They still hadn’t completely abandoned the idea of finding a way to kill the Hive, but keeping what homegrown rebels they could find alive in case of a rebellion had become a more pressing concern. Mala had insisted. She argued that they couldn’t hope to gather more support for the cause unless they could offer some kind of protection against the instant death that was, at present, the only outcome for defying the Hive.