Sightwitch

by Susan Dennard

  Hilga is worried. Finally, her cool demeanor has cracked. She chews at her fingernails and snaps at anyone who crosses her.

  At least this is what she does when I see her, which is rare. She shows her face only at mealtime, if even then. Every waking hour she spends in the Crypts, and each day she enlists more Sightwitch Sisters to help. But not me.

  Never me, for I do not have the Sight and I am of no use to anyone.

  I have tried to enter the Crypts. Four times now, but no one will go with me—and I cannot defy the Order of Two. Only the Rook will join me. He follows me everywhere I go lately.

  Cursed bird.

  Tanzi always loved him, but I find him a squawking nuisance.

  Y18 D165 — 13 days

  Seventeen more Sisters were Summoned.

  I feel ill. I do not sleep. No one does.

  The mountain shakes, a bare ripple most of the time, yet thrice now we have had full tremors that knocked books off shelves and branches from the trees. Storms have struck too, so I spend every day cleaning debris off the trails. I have never been so focused, so intent on my chores.

  I am the model Serving Sister, adhering more strictly than ever to the Rules. I must! I’m the only one left unchosen, and all the Sightwitches are busy looking for answers. Someone must keep forty-four mouths fed and the Convent running.

  Today, I cleaned the bridge at the Supplicant’s Sorrow, scraping off the algae and bird waste. It took only a few hours, though, so I then moved on to the dolmen in the Grove.

  My knuckles are raw. My knees too, and my shoulders burn so sharply I can barely lift them over my head.

  What does Sirmaya want from us?

  Y18 D167 — 15 days

  Twenty more sisters were Summoned.

  Y18 D168 — 16 days

  Twenty-two more Sisters were Summoned.

  Hilga and I are the only ones who remain.

  Y18 D171 — 19 days

  I know what is coming. Soon, Hilga will be Summoned, and I will be the only Sister left.

  I dare not utter these words aloud, though, and Hilga holds her tongue too. In fact, we have exchanged no words in days.

  She scarcely looks at me. Her gaze, her mind—they are in another realm. Lost inside the Memory Records she combs from the Crypts. Or perhaps claimed by whatever prayers she offers, unanswered, to the scrying pool.

  Y18 D174 — 22 days since Tanzi was Summoned

  Hilga was Summoned today.

  I knew it would come as surely as if I had the Sight.

  It came. It passed.

  I am alone.

  Two spirit swifts swirled up from the scrying pool to Summon her. They landed on the observatory floor so close to me that my heart surged into my eyeballs.

  But no—of course not. Of course they did not come for me. They skipped urgently past and dove straight for Hilga. One even nipped at her gown.

  Then Hilga’s eyes focused on my face for the first time in weeks. She spoke to me too.

  “You do not need to follow me to the mountain, Ryber, nor hum the Chant of Summoning.”

  It was strange to hear my name on her lips. Strange to hear her voice at all, husky from underuse.

  Somehow, I did not collapse to the floor at her words. In fact, my knees had locked so tightly, I barely moved at all.

  “Listen to me, Ryber.” She reached for the bell-pouch at her hip and untied it in a single, practiced movement. Carefully—frightened even, as if she worried the spirit swifts might disapprove—she approached me.

  The birds did indeed disapprove, for one chittered in that shrill, ghostly way of theirs. More sensation inside my skull than true sound.

  But Hilga was already to me at that point and offering me the bell. “I have no answers for what is happening beneath the mountain. I do not know why Sirmaya Summons us, and I do not know what the future holds. No clues are hidden in the Crypts, and none of my prayers to the pool have been answered.

  “All I can guess is that she needs us for … something. And it is our duty to protect her, just as she has protected and provided for us over all these centuries.

  “You are alone now, Ryber. The last Sightwitch Sister. This bell must pass to you. Take it.”

  I took it. My hands did not shake.

  Inside, though, I was screaming.

  “There are two kinds of Sight,” Hilga tried to say, but the swifts cut her off, fluttering their starry wings and hopping toward us.

  My lungs closed up; I rocked back a step. Please—was it already time?

  Quick as a fighter, Hilga grabbed my wrist and tugged me close.

  Then her silver eyes bored into mine. “There are two kinds of Sight, Ryber. The kind that lets you see the future, relive the past, and catalog the world around you in a detail you never knew possible. That is the Sight that I and the other Sisters have.

  “But there is another Sight, a simpler Sight—one that is rooted in clarity of purpose. An ability to see the path that matters most and stay firmly gripped upon it.

  “I’m sure you can guess which one will serve you better in the long run. Which one will serve us all. Now ring the bell.”

  I blinked. Then wet my lips, trying to absorb her words. To understand. But they were nonsensical sounds that knocked aimlessly in my skull. Two kinds of Sight. Gripped upon it. Which one will serve us all.

  The swifts flittered toward us. One clacked its aetherial beak.

  “Ring the bell,” Hilga repeated, more forcefully now.

  I rang the bell.

  A stuttering heartbeat passed before the answering toll sounded in the distance.

  Then Sister Hilga turned away from me and walked out of the observatory, out of this world, and out of my life entirely.

  Tanzi Lamanaya

  Y17 D254

  A man came today. I don’t know why, but Hilga let him in—and not just beyond the glamour either, but into the Convent.

  I caught a glimpse of him and his two companions when they reached the Supplicant’s Sorrow. I had traded cleaning the dolmen for sheep duty today, since out in the meadows, I can pretend I’m far, far away.

  The Windswept Plains, perhaps. Or even the savannas of southwest Marstok. Anywhere but here.

  I’d followed the sheep down to that grassy patch that overlooks the pond. When I saw that we had visitors, I of course abandoned the sheep entirely and crept down to the glamour’s edge.

  The man who led the way—the one who ultimately entered the Convent—was tall, broad of shoulder, fair of hair, and with eyes of stormy blue. At his neck, he wore a gold chain that he fidgeted with constantly.

  His companions strode several paces behind. One of the men was just as tall and just as fair, though lean and slouchy. He smiled often and kept muttering things that the final man—a distinctly Marstoki-looking man, who kept his hands defensively high as he walked—chuckled at despite his best efforts not to.

  At first, I thought his stance awkward. Then I spotted the triangular Witchmark on the back of his hand.

  A Firewitch.

  My interest, which had been piqued before, was now tenfold hooked. A hundredfold.

  Hilga herself came for the men and bowed to each of them, a sight I’ve never seen. Hilga bowing! Then she led the leader through the glamour and into our home.

  So much of the world has forgotten we exist, but some still remember—or still believe enough to go searching.

  Like Gran-Mi.

  As Sister Rose always says, “History might easily be rewritten, but someone somewhere always remembers what truly happened.”

  The glamour keeps accidental visitors from wandering beyond. The magic masks us with images of forest expanse and bare mountainside; those who approach too close will abruptly find themselves lost and disoriented. Without really knowing why, they’ll turn and walk the other way.

  These three men knew what to do, though. They followed the proper protocol, going to the Supplicant’s Sorrow and waiting for someone to meet them.

&nbs
p; I couldn’t help but think of Ryber in that moment. The only child ever to find her way here on her own. To ask to be let in. No wonder the Sisters all thought she would be powerful one day.

  I still think she might be too, even if she claims she has given up hope.

  I wanted so badly to follow Hilga as she guided the man onto the Convent grounds, but even I won’t break a rule where Hilga might see.

  As soon as Trina came to relieve me of shepherding, I pelted straight for our bedroom, where I knew I’d find Ryber huddled over a book. When chores end, that’s always where she goes first.

  Except that when I barged through the door, she wasn’t hunched over Tüll’s Compendium or A Guide to the Constellations.

  She had a child’s slate on her lap. The kind with the Nine Star Puzzle embedded into the stone.

  At the sight of me, she flung the slate under the covers and then, knowing it was too late—I’d already seen—she dug herself under the covers too.

  “Any luck?” I asked with forced lightness.

  “Of course not,” she snarled, words muffled by the blanket.

  I scrabbled onto the bed and burrowed under with her. It smelled like chalk, and a streak was smeared across her cheek. “I can tell you the answer, Rybie-Ry.”

  “No,” she spat and, chalk still in hand, she clapped her hands to her ears. “I will figure this blighter out by myself, even if it takes me an entire lifetime.” Then, as she always declares and has for the past seven years: “Sister Hilga says that it takes some Sisters their whole lives to find the answer.”

  “Can I at least give you a hint—”

  “NO.”

  With a groan, I kicked the covers off. Ryber gets worse and worse these days about following the Rules, about having to do everything perfectly ALL. THE. TIME.

  Yes, I know she thinks that acting like the perfect Serving Sister will draw the spirit swifts from the scrying pool. That it will get her a Summoning from Sirmaya and she will finally earn that powerful Sight like the Sisters always promised her. But I think she’s wrong.

  It won’t make a lick of difference. Sister Gaellan never remembered the Rules, so she constantly broke them by accident. And Sister Lachmi prided herself on breaking as many as she could. Yet they’re both clear-eyed now, and Ry still isn’t.

  My poor Threadsister.

  I just want her to be happy. To be free.

  But she never will be if she won’t think beyond like I keep telling her.

  “Hey,” I murmured, poking her in the shoulder. “Why do birds fly south in the winter?” I waited a beat before declaring, “Because it’s too far to walk!”

  She glared at me.

  I sighed. “Laugh, Ry. It’s funny, don’t you think?”

  Then, because I was truly desperate to see her smile, I dragged out the only thing I knew she couldn’t refuse: “How about we go swimming under the Convent?”

  She shot upright, the slate and puzzle completely forgotten. “Yes, yes, yes!” In a flurry of blankets, she tumbled out of bed and aimed for the door. “Last one there is an earwig!”

  By the Twelve, she can move when she wants to.

  Ugh, I thought, as I hurried after her. Why do I do this to myself? Sleeper knows, I hate earwigs—and I hate swimming under the Convent even more.

  Goddess, the things I do to make her smile.

  Then again, she does the same for me.

  Y18 D180 — 6 days since I became the last Sightwitch Sister

  I tried ringing the bell today, to see if it would trick the Goddess into welcoming me into the mountain. I tried first in the observatory after morning prayers …

  Nothing. No answering toll came from the chapel.

  So I tried again at the chapel.

  But still, nothing. Instead, the words above the entrance mocked me.

  TWO OR MORE AT ALL TIMES,

  FOR A LONE SISTER IS LOST.

  I am a lone Sister.

  I am lost.

  A lone sister is lost

  A LONE SISTER IS LOST

  A lone sister is lost

  A lone sister is lost

  Y18 D184 — 10 days since I became the last Sightwitch Sister

  Why am I here?

  Is it because I never solved the Nine Star Puzzle?

  Every day I say my morning prayers. Every night I stand vigil in the Grove.

  Why am I here? Why am I here? Why am I here?

  Part of me thinks I should simply leave the Convent. I do not have the Sight, so unlike the other Sisters, I can survive just fine in the outside world. But … where exactly would I go? And what if Tanzi returns in that time?

  LOST LOST lost lost LOST

  No. I have to stay. I led myself here by choice when I was four years old. I might not remember that snowy day nor how my aunt chased after me, insisting we continue onward to our new home in Saldonica. But when I found the Sorrow and Sister Hilga came out—when I told them all I was supposed to join—no one argued. My aunt and her family continued on their journey without me, and I became a Serving Sister.

  Surely all of that means something. Surely the Goddess brought me here for a reason.

  This is my home. Tanzi and the Sisters are my family. I cannot … I will not abandon them.

  No. I will wait here and I will continue serving Sirmaya for as long as She needs me.

  Lost lost lost lost

  I am lost

  I AM LOST

  Y18 D195 — 21 days since I became the last Sightwitch Sister

  Why am I here?

  I have done each Convent chore at least ten times.

  I have tended the gardens and the sheep and the chickens every day. I have washed the Supplicant’s Sorrow and the dolmen and even the Standing Stones too. The trails are spotless, and the cellar has never been so free of cobwebs. I have cleaned the lookout’s nest and reinforced the ladder—something no one has bothered to do in ages.

  Every rule I was ever taught, I have followed to perfection. Just as I’ve always done. I still say my morning prayers to an empty room—though I have finally stopped expecting the spirit swifts to Summon me.

  Thirteen years it has taken before I finally gave up hope.

  Pathetic.

  I am pathetic.

  LOST LOST LOST LOST lost lost

  Lost Lost Lost LOST lost lost LOST lost lost

  Y18 D209 — 35 days since I became the last Sightwitch Sister

  Without the Rook here I do not know what I would do.

  He is not human, but at least he is sentient. At least he listens and communicates in his own strange bird way.

  Or maybe he doesn’t. Maybe I’m imagining it all.

  WHY AM I HERE?

  A lone sister is lost

  THE UNIVERSITY OF ONTIGUA

  CHAPTER 3

  The Great Mystery of Eridysi’s Lament

  Many conflicting tales exist surrounding the disappearance of the once famed Sightwitch Sisters, and just as many tales exist proclaiming to know where to find them. Known across the Witchlands for their abilities to both record the memories of the dead as well as foresee events of the future, their mysterious sect has not been seen since the days of Eridysi, almost a millennium past.

  While some accounts declare Eridysi the most powerful Sightwitch ever to have lived1, this humble scholar asserts that she was not, in fact, powerful at all.

  I will even go so far as to assert that what set Eridysi apart from other Sightwitches in the scrolls of history is that her final writings are the only ones of which we still have record.

  1. See the works of Markus fon Grübe, Kristine Jialla, Raphael Hanssen, or Pitora Abedirashi.

  Diary of Eridysi Gochienka

  Eridysi Gochienka

  Y2786 D128

  MEMORIES—

  The first doorway is almost complete.

  I am so close. We are so close.

  Lady Saria arrived last night, under a veil of moonlight. It took us hours to descend for mere moments of work, yet not o
nce did she complain.

  We did not tarry in the mountain’s depths. Once she had carved the six doorways inside the cavern, we hurried back to the surface. She had to be back in her court by dawn, or the six Paladins who now called themselves the Exalted Ones might notice something amiss.

  What must it be like to control stone? The Sightwitches are gifted with the magic of Sight from Sirmaya, but it is nothing compared to what the Twelve can do. They control all six elements as easily as I summon breath.

  I had not seen the Lady work her magic before—only heard tales and read records. ’Tis more incredible than I’d imagined. A single thought, and the granite rippled. I felt it move beneath me, alive. Answering her call.

  Though I could not see the Threads of her magic, I could not resist asking her about them on our return to the surface. “How do you manipulate them?”

  “I am bound to the earth,” she said simply, “and the earth is bound to me.”

  That was the only answer she gave me—a nonanswer, really, yet I haven’t been able to shake the words from my mind. Though we both are nearing thirty years of age, she has the memory of all the Earth Paladins that have come before. Her wisdom permeates all she utters.

  Binding Sirmaya’s magic to an object is the key to everything I create, yet what I lack is a bond that is strong enough.

  Not even the Vergedi Knot is enough. Though it is stronger than the Arlenni Loop I used to make my taro cards, it still cannot hold enough power to bind the doorways to an entirely different place in the Witchlands.

  For these doorways to open and remain open, I will need more Threads. More of Sirmaya’s raw magic.

  My head throbs from so much time close to the Goddess. She is so vast. She fills every space in my mind and soul. ’Tis all too easy to lose myself in Her.