by Katie Cross
“This vay.”
Andrei led him around the back where a hidden shanty, not unlike the one Derek would soon invade, waited. Andrei used an incantation to blow the accumulated snow away from the door and then shoved it open. Derek eyed it warily, but followed Andrei inside.
A blast of warmth welcomed them. Derek stopped abruptly. Despite the shoddy appearance from the outside, a full blacksmith shop filled a spacious interior. Bellows. Healthy fire. A stack of wood that rose all the way to the ceiling. Swords crowded every wall, nook, and cranny in glittering, metallic shades.
Andrei spread his hands. “My shop. Touch nothing.”
“Impressive.”
Andrei waved it off. The door closed behind them. He shucked off his heavy coat, revealing a silk shirt of deepest black. It flowed in long, beautiful lines down his lean arms and slender frame.
“Ve cast spells to make it look not-so-impressive outside.” A brief flash of teeth illuminated Andrei’s face in a rare, toothy grin. “Less taxes. The tax vitches don’t come in. Just look.”
Derek advanced into the room, eyeing the open rafters where strips of metal hung, glinting in the firelight. Tallow candles illuminated sconces along the walls, casting warm curlicues of light throughout the space.
“Do a lot of witches around here use those spells?” he asked.
“Most of the vitches in my tribe, yes. Others, too.”
“Do you think the kidnappers are in your tribe?”
“No.”
In the back of his mind, Derek accessed a familiar, often-used spell that only the Brotherhood of Protectors knew. It gave them the ability to send thoughts to each other without speaking. The closest approximation was transporting a thought into the mind of another witch. It gave no access to their mind, just the ability to mentally speak.
Things may not be as they seem at the shanty. He sent the thought to Jeramy and Nathaniel. Likely magic on the outside. Could be different inside.
Within seconds, Jeramy responded with a thought of his own. It came into Derek’s head clear as a bell and quiet as a whisper.
Nathaniel, look into it. I’m just about to speak with the High Priestess before I return for the raid.
Nathaniel’s voice immediately followed.
Understood, Brother. Will report in ten. All quiet here.
The warmth beckoned to Derek, so he stepped closer to the stone fireplace. Andrei stood at a wall cluttered with gleaming metal shafts. Wooden pegs held the various swords in place. The sultry room left space for Andrei to move freely while Derek hovered close to the flames, thinking.
After a minute of silence had passed while Andrei shifted through the room, mumbling to the walls, he turned to Derek.
“I have a sword for your daughter.”
One second passed after Derek heard the word daughter, registered what it meant, snatched the front of Andrei’s shirt, and slammed him into a wall. Before he could demand an explanation—how could a witch like Andrei know about Bianca when Jeramy didn’t even know?—seven glinting swords pressed against his neck with the cool kiss of metal.
Derek froze.
How had Andrei pulled seven swords in such a short time? No one outside the Brotherhood had ever bested him with a weapon.
Andrei’s eyes tapered into slits. “If you move, you vill die.”
Derek opened his hand, releasing him. Andrei stepped back. The swords remained, pressing against Derek’s skin with the lightest of pressure. Andrei studied him for a moment, his mahogany eyes dark and wary. A light, strange thrum of magic seemed to reverberate in the back of Derek’s mind. One he’d never distinguished before.
Well, well, Derek thought, eyeing the swords. How very interesting.
“So … you’re an Ensis,” Derek murmured, swallowing. One sword retreated into Andrei’s palm; the rest returned to empty slots along the wall. “A Swordmaker using the ancient magic.”
Andrew held out a hand, his face a blank slate. Derek inferred his lack of rebuttal as agreement. “Your sword,” Andrei said. “I vant to meet it.”
Derek had a loyal sword that he’d trained with since he started the Guardians—a surprisingly well-built, agile thing that he’d been given when he joined. Most Guardian swords were functional, but not invincible, and yet his had never failed him. A strange puzzle he’d pondered often.
Derek pulled it free. Andrei grabbed it by the hilt and shuffled across the room with expert footwork, swinging the sword in wide arcs. Once finished, he returned it without a word.
“Can you tell anything about it?” Derek asked, driving it back into the sheath. Andrei shook his head once.
“Doesn’t speak.”
The Ensis, or Swordmakers of Southern Network legend, used an ancient magic to communicate with their swords. The swords responded like living things. According to lore, only certain witches had the talent, and even fewer knew enough to explore it. Rumors of the Ensis had faded in recent centuries with the oppression of the Southern Network leadership.
“You have an impressive workspace here.” Derek glanced around. A rumpled blanket and flat pillow lay in the far corner. “Do you stay here much?”
“I live here.”
“Here?”
“Yes.”
“What about that house outside? It seemed quite large.”
Andrei acted as if he hadn’t heard. His smooth brow had furrowed into a pile of lines. He tapped his teeth together, alternately mumbling and jerking his head back and forth, as if speaking with someone—or something. Derek couldn’t explain it, but he had the distinct impression that Andrei spoke to the swords.
Finally, Andrei held out a hand and whispered something so quietly Derek couldn’t hear. A smaller, shorter sword hanging near the ceiling lifted itself free and drifted into Andrei’s hand. He studied it, nodded in satisfaction, and extended it to Derek.
“This is Viveet. She belongs to your daughter now.”
Derek pulled the sword from the sheath. The blade rang as it slid free. Andrei’s placid expression didn’t waver. Derek had no reason to trust him, but he did.
“And how do you know I have a daughter?” he asked as he swung Viveet through the air. She sliced it without a breath of resistance. Andrei nodded to the sword with a shrug.
“The sword knows.”
Etchings in the metal shone bright blue, climbing in an intricate pattern of leaves and twisting vines.
“They all know vat they vant. I tried to make it something else, but no.” He sliced a hand through the air. “The sword vanted the leaves. So, I made leaves. She vill be bright, more agile, vith your daughter.”
Derek ran the pad of his thumb along the edge of the blade. The metal felt cool and certain. Hummed, almost. The color spiraled up through the sword with twists, hidden nuances of color and light and hue. When he touched it, it felt like Letum Wood. Home. Safety. He knew, but couldn’t explain, that this was not his sword.
Andrei gestured to it.
“The sword is patient. It vill vait until your daughter is ready.”
Derek inspected it again. The blade was light, short—just the size for Marie, which meant it would eventually be perfect for Bianca.
“How old is your daughter?”
Derek hesitated. “She just turned two.”
“Ah. You vill start her with a shield first?”
“Of course.”
Andrei nodded once. “I vill trust you, then. You vill be good with this. You teach your daughter the vays of the shield, and then the sword.”
“Andrei, I can’t just take it.”
“You must.” He shrugged. “It is not for me to decide. The sword has decided. I obey.”
Derek bowed only his head, holding it in place for three seconds before straightening. Andrei closed his eyes to accept the gesture of gratitude. Derek strapped the sword to his belt.
“Bianca will cherish it.”
“She vill. Viveet vill require it. Now go back to your vitches. Find Viktoria. I vill vait
here.”
Less than an hour later, the rough animal hair of Derek’s fur cap itched. The sharp sting of winter bit at his nose again. Cold seeped into his boots, attacking his toes. He longed to return to Andrei’s shop. Or, better yet, to Marie, where the fire was bright but her smile brighter. He tried to ignore all the discomforts by setting his mind on the mission.
Get in. Save the girls. Get out.
Nothing had changed in the last hour, according to Nathaniel’s report. He detected no magic in use around the shanty. No smoke streamed from the chimney, which concerned Derek. Were the girls inside without heat? Layers of snow, thick as frosting on the sparse evergreens, sparkled in the moonlight. Flakes fell in torrents now.
Jeramy appeared at Derek’s side, his gaze hooded, so not even the whites of his green eyes showed.
“No magic in use to protect it from intruders,” Nathaniel said from just behind them. “I haven’t sensed any active spells, anyway.”
“Me either,” Derek murmured in agreement. The forest lay as dormant as a tomb. The unlikely possibility existed that a different, unfamiliar magic was in place, but he still would have been able to sense something. Or so he hoped. Yet, he’d felt nothing at Andrei’s, and his shop was full of active magic. Unfortunately, Derek had learned long before that even being a well-trained Protector did not equate with being invincible. He didn’t like the variables of this equation, but the decision wasn’t his to make.
“I think they’re rookies.” Jeramy rubbed a hand over his eyes. “Incompetent. Trying to make a little currency on the black market.”
“Rookies are wild cards,” Nathaniel said.
Jeramy set his hands on his hips. “Indeed. There’s no telling what they’ll do.”
Nathaniel punched his chest. “It’s bloody cold out here. Let’s go. I hate the Southern Network.”
Derek silently cast a spell. A powerful, invisible layer of protection rippled down his arms, torso, and legs like a warm rush of water. It would provide at least twenty minutes of defense from most known, dangerous spells.
“Just like always, brothers,” Jeramy said. “In and out. We were never here. Derek, get your hands on the scumbag. Andrei said he’ll take it from there. Southern Network tribal justice is sufficient, I believe. They’ll disembowel the witch alive and hang him from a tree for their gods to torture in the next life.”
The three of them fell into their respective duties without another word. Derek transported to a rickety side door. Jeramy to the main door. Nathaniel disappeared underneath an invisibility spell. He would remain outside as backup while monitoring the perimeter. Derek and Jeramy would storm the shanty at the same time.
The magic of their protective spells and invisibility came with seamless, nearly undetectable strength. Despite years of experience, Derek’s heart still pounded as he stared at the door, prepping the magic in his mind. His fingers tingled. His sharpened vision caught every detail.
Jeramy gave the signal.
As one, they used incantations to jerk both doors off their hinges, casting them into the snow with dull thuds, then rushed inside the one-room shanty.
Six girls lay on the floor in a limp pile of bodies. One girl stared at the ceiling, blinking slowly. Another’s head lolled to the side, her breathing slight and infrequent. White powder dusted their faces. Bright pink circles flushed the apple of their cheeks. Their lips had been painted a bright, cherry red. One of them wore a wig of bright white hair, which had gone askew. All of their hands and ankles were tied, the skin underneath rubbed raw. A hazy smoke filled the air. Not another soul could be seen.
Six, Derek thought to Jeramy and Nathaniel, crouching next to the girls. There were only supposed to be three.
Jeramy swung a sword into all the open spaces, lest a witch attempt to sneak by with an undetected invisibility spell.
Andrei mentioned disappearing runaways, Nathaniel said.
Derek tugged a wig loose, revealing a girl with olive skin and thick brown locks. The younger girl next to her looked like a sister. These two look like they’re from the Eastern Network. This must be even bigger than we thought.
Was it confirmed that the witch responsible for the kidnappings is here? Jeramy asked.
No, Nathaniel responded. Just that the girls were here.
Jeramy cursed under his breath, barely making a sound in the still house. We can’t leave the Southern Network for good until the witch returns. We’ll get the girls to safety, but the mission isn’t complete until the witch is taken.
Agreed, Derek said.
While Derek felt for pulses—all were slight and faint—Jeramy kicked aside a moldy straw mattress. Paper lanterns, no bigger than Derek’s palm, littered the floor. The room smelled foul, with a pungent sweetness beneath. Except for a tattered dress in the corner and discarded tins filled with crimson goo, the room lay empty.
Derek pulled the top girl off the pile. A fake wig of snowy hair fell away, revealing long blonde tresses. He pulled one of her eyes open. Blue. Stacey Vartan. One of the missing girls from the Southern Covens. His stomach churned. She wasn’t much older than twelve. He thought of Bianca at home, her soft black hair, wide gray eyes. She was just walking now, waving her chubby fists. The thought of someone doing something so atrocious as this made his rage boil. He carefully pulled Stacey off the ground and into his arms. Jeramy lifted a girl that fit the description of Jasmin, the other missing witch from the Southern Covens.
I’ll follow you, Jeramy thought to Derek.
The darkness and pressure of a transportation spell took Derek’s breath away. He didn’t maintain the invisibility spell during transporting, and as he released it, a surge of power made the annoying pressure of transportation fade more rapidly. Less than ten seconds later, the High Priestess stared at him with tight lips.
“Good. That must be Stacey.” She nodded once. “Where is Jeramy?”
“On his way.”
Two apothecaries rushed to him. He transferred her into their arms. Stacey’s head rolled back as the apothecaries whisked her to a bed near the fire. The High Priestess motioned with a jerk of her head.
“Good work. Leave.”
Jeramy appeared, a body in his arms, just as Derek finished his transportation spell to return—including the addition of emerging from the transportation spell invisible again. Once he returned to the hovel, he paused. With both doors gone, the hazy air had cleared. It felt as brisk inside as outside. The four remaining girls had started to stir. The one from the Eastern Network sat upright, blinking, as if dazed. A thought from Nathaniel entered his mind.
Something’s changing.
Derek already felt it. A slight twinge in the air. Keep monitoring, he thought. I’ll be back.
The Eastern Network girl groaned as Derek plucked her from the pile and transported away just as Jeramy returned, reaching for her sister. When Derek returned to the shanty, only two witches remained. One sat upright, blinking. Her coiling ropes of silky black hair and narrow eyes fit the description Andrei had given of Viktoria. A smoky, drugged cloud filled her eyes, but her movements appeared purposeful. The last girl, a short, tiny little thing, no older than ten, hadn’t stirred.
Strengthening, Nathaniel thought to him. Whatever it is. I can’t tell. It’s changing.
The low, strange percussion, so unlike anything he’d ever felt, forced Derek to pause. He stared at the remaining girls with a frown. The new magic felt too … bizarre.
I feel it, too, he thought to Nathaniel. It’s … different.
Edgy. I don’t like it.
Derek couldn’t shake the strange feeling that something wasn’t right.
Could it be tribal magic? Nathaniel asked. Tribal magic would explain why Derek had never felt it before—he’d never worked with the Southern Network tribes.
Viktoria’s gaze drifted around the seemingly empty room, with doors ripped off their hinges, eventually landing on the smaller witch in confusion. She attempted to stand, but wobbled. Grateful
to be invisible, Derek waited, observing. The smallest witch’s eyes opened, caught his, and quickly shut again. His hand moved to the hilt of his sword. Her eyes had been clear.
And she’d seen him.
Derek felt a familiar shift in the magic. Jeramy had returned, invisibility incantation still in place.
What’s going on? Jeramy asked. Something feels different.
Derek caught something out of the corner of his eye. Viktoria stared straight ahead in horror. He glanced down. His invisibility incantation had started to fade, slowly revealing his shoes, ankles, knees—
Impossible.
Stronger magic, Nathaniel’s thought barked through their heads. Expanding by the second. Jeramy appeared piecemeal as well. Despite Derek’s every attempt to recast the spell, nothing happened.
Something is forcing our magic out, Derek thought.
No spell can overpower Brotherhood magic.
Nathaniel’s reply came with a chilling response.
No known magic.
The short girl on the floor opened her eyes again. Her hair had faded white as the driven snow. The skin around her eyes turned to bags. Derek swore. Where the short, young witch had once been, now an old hag, with deep-set wrinkles and glimmering black eyes, sprang to her feet. She bared her teeth, gripping one of the paper lanterns in her hand. It burned with a sudden white-hot flame. She threw her head back and started to chant.
Get out of there! Nathan screamed.
Jeramy threw himself at the hag. Derek barely had time to grab Viktoria before a percussive boom rippled through the cabin, flattening the walls. A blinding flash of bright light followed. Derek transported away mid-leap, Viktoria tucked under his arm. He landed at Andrei’s, on his back, with a heavy thud.
A group of witches stared at him, chattering in a rapid, unfamiliar language. His ears rang. Black spots swam before his vision. The witches stopped talking as Andrei waded from their midst.
“You found Viktoria!” he cried, reaching for the girl. Andrei stopped in his tracks. He blinked. “Vat happened?”
Derek’s mind buzzed. He had to get back. Now. He shoved a stunned Viktoria into Andrei’s arms and disappeared without explanation.
