Sightwitch
Page 16
But when an arrow hit me … That was when everything shifted. In a haze, I flew ashore and found my way through the jungle. Somehow, I discovered that door and entered the mountain.
I don’t remember what came next. Not clearly. All I recall with any clarity is you. I woke up, frozen to my core, and there you were.
I thought you were either a ghost or goddess. Luckily, you were neither. I would call you a goddess, but I know you’ll just scowl and tell me to shove off.
I don’t know if the arrow wound or the magic of the mountain rattled my brains, but I forgot who I was or how I’d gotten there. It wasn’t until I returned to the jungle that my memories came back.
The sailors and tradesman came back too. I would have thought they’d have left me to die, but there they were, combing the beach in search of me. When they found me, the arrows hit me in quick succession.
After that … I really don’t remember. I lost all control. Heat took over. It throbbed inside me, and I was hungry—so blighted hungry.
But then you saved me. Clanging a bell and singing a shanty, you brought me back from the edge.
I owe you everything, Ryber Fortsa. My life, my mind, my—
Ryber Fortiza
Y18 D223 — 49 days since I became the last Sightwitch Sister
MEMORIES
Captain Kullen left me today. With his wounds fully healed, his memory returned, and even his uniform scrubbed clean, there was nothing left to keep him here.
We sat on that boulder by the grassy knoll that overlooks the falls. Even the Rook had joined us, though he seemed more interested in bathing himself than watching the river below.
Nubrevnans crawled across the forest, the shore. At least a hundred women and men, and with one angry Windwitch at the fore.
“Merik,” Kullen informed me, “acting like he always does. He will budget and ration, even to the detriment of his own health … until I’m involved. Then he will waste a hundred sailors and witches and boats and food.”
“It’s what Thread-family does,” I said quietly.
Something in my tone must have betrayed my thoughts, for Kullen’s brows pinched, and he offered a gentle smile. “I’m sorry about the Sisters.”
I pretended not to hear, and in my most Hilga-like, matter-of-fact manner, I got to my feet, dusted off my tunic, and declared, “There’s something I need to tell you.”
He winced. “That sounds ominous.”
“When you leave the glamour”—I gestured south—“you’ll forget everything that happened here. The memories will get buried in a place you cannot find them.”
His eyebrows shot high. Then, in a flurry of limbs and speed, he hauled to his feet. “I’ll forget everything? Even you?”
I nodded.
“I didn’t forget when I left Paladins’ Hall. On the beach, I remembered you!”
“Because the glamour doesn’t reach inside the mountain.”
“But I don’t want to forget you, Ryber. Or … anything that’s happened. Please—can’t you change the spell?”
“No.” I twisted away to frown in the Rook’s general direction. I knew this would not go well, yet it was turning out harder than I’d imagined.
Because I didn’t want him to forget me either.
I hopped off the boulder, and grass blades scratched at my knees.
Kullen followed, leaping down in a graceful whip of wind. His shadow stretched long over the meadow.
“Is this why you made me write down what I remembered? You knew I would forget.”
“Hye,” was all I said before striding to the falls’ edge.
The Rook paused his cleaning to watch me stalk his way with Kullen fast on my heels.
“Then I won’t leave,” Kullen said, though it was less assertion and more plaintive beg. “I’ll stay here—”
“And do what?” I cut in. “This is no place for you, and an entire army is trying to find you.”
“A navy,” he murmured in a very Captain Kullen-like correction. Then, with sudden animation, he added, “You said ‘buried.’ That the memories would be ‘buried in a place I cannot find them’—which means they’ll still be in here. I just have to … to dig them up somehow.”
“You won’t be able to.” It took all my control to keep my stern Hilga mask in place.
“I will,” he insisted, and there was an edge to his voice I’d never heard before. A determination—a strength that could tame storms and summon cyclones.
“It’s time,” I said, motioning to the falls. To the river below. “You need to go before some Nubrevnan accidentally finds this place and I’m forced to kill him.”
He sniffed, a bitter sound. “You would never follow through with Rule 37.” He strode to the cliff’s edge, and though he scowled down at the sailors and ships, I do not think he truly saw them.
“Will we ever meet again?” he asked eventually, dragging his gaze back to mine.
I hesitated. There was one side of Lady Fate’s knife, one path that I could take in which I was certain we would meet again. The answers to healing Sirmaya might reside somewhere in that Paladin mind of his, meaning one day I would need to find him.
And if I was being honest, I wanted to find him.
But there is always the sharp, hidden side of Lady Fate’s knife, where what we want is not what we ultimately get.
“I … will try,” I forced out, groping for the right words. Then I bobbed my head curtly and repeated, “I will try to find you. One day, Captain.”
“Ah.” His shoulders relaxed. A warm breeze gusted around us—not from the summer’s day, but a charged wind. A happy wind.
Then Kullen flashed me his widest grin yet, and I couldn’t help but match it with my own.
Either he was getting better at smiling, or I was getting used to it.
“Good-bye, Captain,” I said with a small bow.
He lifted a fist to his heart and swept a bow so low that his pale head scraped across the grass. One bow for me, then a second for the Rook, who still splashed upon the shore.
“Safe harbors, Ryber Fortiza,” he declared as fresh, magicked winds furled in. The grass lashed and waved. “And safe harbors to you, the Rook.”
Then Kullen Ikray launched off the knoll, leaving me, the Convent, and his memories of us both far behind.
Y18 D261 — 87 days since I became the last Sightwitch Sister
MEMORIES
The doorway to the underground city waited before me. Once I stepped through, I was through. There would be no easy return to the Convent. Unlike the other passages, this door had been created to go only one way. Refugees who’d entered the underground city could not return for safety reasons.
I felt bound to the stone, unable to move, just as I had for the past twenty-five drips of my new hourglass.
So much had changed since last I’d been in Paladins’ Hall.
For one, I was finally clear-eyed, although I did not have the Sight like other Sisters. I still woke after dreamless nights, and I still slept after days in the Crypts with only ghosts to keep me company.
My eyes had silvered, I assumed, from being so close to the Goddess. Or perhaps because I had made a choice. I had chosen a path.
Skull-Face and the Death Maidens did not try to kill me anymore, though, so at least that was something.
Whatever those creatures were—strange extensions of ghostly memories or guardians created by Sirmaya Herself—I did not know. But now that my eyes were silver, they paid me no mind when I entered their darkened Crypts.
For two, the Rook had left me. Without warning or good-bye, he had flapped off the day after Kullen had departed, and I hadn’t seen him since.
All I could think was that his master was out there somewhere. The Rook King. A Paladin with a fortress in the blustery, windy mountains that I’d read about in Eridysi’s diary. Why the bird had lived all these centuries, why he had helped me in the mountain, I really could not guess—though certainly I tried.
For thr
ee, I knew at least some of the Paladins were alive and spread across the Witchlands. Maybe they remembered who they were, or maybe they did not. Perhaps, like Kullen, they simply needed a broken blade and shattered glass to trigger the memories from their past lives.
Either way, Kullen and the Paladins were important.
As were the Cahr Awen, that pair of witches who could heal the Wells and, I surmised, Sirmaya too.
I didn’t know how it was all connected, but the answers were out there. Not hiding in a record in the Crypts nor waiting to be summoned from a scrying pool. Nor even hoping to be flipped from Eridysi’s taro deck—which was my taro deck now.
With that thought, I couldn’t resist snapping over three cards. One last peek at the future, to see what might be coming.
Yet all I got were the same cards I’d always drawn the last few days: The Paladin of Hounds, Lady Fate, the Giant.
Kullen. Me. Change.
I had spent almost an entire week in Eridysi’s workshop, going over her inventions and notes. There was so much to be found! Little notes from Lisbet and Cora, perfectly preserved, as well as some of Lisbet’s prophecies that had been overlooked when Sister Nadya and the rest had assembled everything into “Eridysi’s Lament.”
Which, of course, was Lisbet’s Lament all along.
In the workshop, I learned about Threads and power and life before the Convent was cut off from the world, masked behind a glamour after the battle of the Twelve wrecked everything.
I learned that Tanzi was right: the rules were never meant to be Rules, but merely suggestions that we had added to and added to over the hundreds of years we’d been cut off. The Sisters, myself above all, had lived by the rules until they had caged us in.
With no change to shake us loose, we became lone Sisters gone lost.
I also learned about choice. Eridsyi had never been gifted with Sight, so she had made her own—just as I had done in the tomb and just as I was doing now.
You’ll understand once you’re Summoned? Well, I’d Summoned myself, and now I did understand: paths do not come to you. You have to find them for yourself, and sometimes, you have to carve new ones entirely.
That knowledge alone has given me power indeed.
Twisting my neck, I tossed a final glance to a tiny flicker of blue high atop the end of a hidden bridge.
This wasn’t forever. I would be back for Tanzi and Hilga and the rest of my Thread-family. I would be back when magic was healed and Sirmaya was no longer dying.
“I love you, Lazy Bug,” I said. Then I pivoted back to the door.
It was time. I was ready, and before another drop of quicksilver could fall, I steeled my spine and walked out of the Convent, out of the mountain, and into my new life.
I was the last Sightwitch Sister, and I had work to do.
Tanzi Lamanaya
Y17 D319
Threadsisters
THE SLEEPING GIANT
Rtes dol Sirmaya
The Weapon of the Giant that Cradles Us When We Sleep
A recent excavation at an early Marstoki fortress in the Sirmayan Mountains revealed a shrine beneath the pri-mary structure. Inside and perfectly intact was a relief of the Sleeping Giant constellation with the words Rtes dol Sirmaya underneath. Sirmaya, a deity worshipped by the earliest humans to inhabit the Witchlands, roughly translates into “The Giant That Cradles Us When We Sleep,” while Rtes dol means “the weapon of.”
Overtop the stars were remnants of painted lines, mostly eroded by the ebb of time, a bow-like shape made across the constellation as well as across six adjacent stars.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
For the Witchlanders: you all continue to be the reason I write this series. I think of you every time I hit a sticky spot. “What would the Witchlanders want? What would they think?” So thank you for being my muse, my audience, and my friends.
Thank you to Rhys Davies and Heather Saunders for the amazing design and illustrations. You two were so patient, so attentive to detail, and so incredible at bringing the world of Sightwitch to life. Thank you, thank you.
Huge thanks to my wifey extraordinaire, Rachel Hansen. The Witchlands wouldn’t be the Witchlands without your input, ideas, and constant calm in the face of my endless panic. Tu me manques.
To Melody Simpson and Sam Smith: I owe you eternal gratitude. Your feedback on Sightwitch was not only invaluable for the story, but it gave me, personally, a new lens through which to view the world.
Thank you to Melissa Lee and Cait Listro, whose cheerleading and critiques took this story (and my bruised ego) up a level. You each have a special spot in the Witchlands (pick a kingdom, any kingdom!).
Alex Bracken, Erin Bowman, Victoria Aveyard, Leigh Bardugo: I rely on you ladies so much. From real talk to craft talk, from venting to celebrating, you’ve been there for me. Thank you.
To Sébastien: I have no words to express my appreciation. Without you, I simply could not write books. You’re my best friend, my Heart-Thread, and my ever-willing partner in hilarious hijinks. Je t’aime.
Eternal thanks must go to Joanna Volpe, Devin Ross, and Hilary Pecheone, who have held my hand this past year … and every year. The whole New Leaf Literary gang has given me more support and love than I ever deserved. Thank you.
The same goes to my incredible team at Tor Teen: Alexis Saarela, Amy Stapp, Patty Garcia, Kathleen Doherty, Zohra Ashpari, Tom Doherty, Jim Kapp, Elizabeth Curione, Rafal Gibek, Cynthia Merman, Seth Lerner, Scott Grimando, Lucille Rettino, Theresa Delucci, Sumiya Nowshin, Rebecca Yaeger, Lauren Brantley, Megan Barnard, Alex Cameron, Jeremy Pink, and Megan Kiddoo. Thank you all so very much for all your hard work.
Last but never least, thank you to Whitney Ross. Advocate, editor, friend. I owe everything in this series to you and all you do behind the scenes. I am so, so glad the Witchlands brought us together, and here’s to many more years of this awesome partnership.
ALSO BY SUSAN DENNARD
Truthwitch
Windwitch
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
SUSAN DENNARD has come a long way from small-town Georgia. Working in marine biology, she got to travel the world—six out of seven continents, to be exact (she’ll get to Asia one of these days!)—before she settled down as a full-time novelist and writing instructor. She is the author of the Something Strange and Deadly series, as well as the Witchlands series, including the New York Times bestselling Truthwitch and Windwitch. When not writing, she can be found hiking with her dogs, slaying darkspawn on her Xbox, or earning bruises at the dojo. You can sign up for author updates here.
Visit her on the web at
susandennard.com
thewitchlands.com
Twitter at @stdennard
Facebook at facebook.com/SusanDennardAuthor
susandennard.com/newsletter
stdennard.tumblr.com
instagram.com/stdennard
ABOUT THE ILLUSTRATOR
RHYS DAVIES is a freelance illustrator, mapmaker, and artist. Originally from Wales, Rhys studied fine art in London before moving to the United States. After spending many years as a product designer with Yankee Candle, Rhys now spends most of his time illustrating maps for novels, amongst other numerous creative projects. He lives in Amherst, Massachusetts, with his wife and two children.
Visit him on the web at
rhysspieces.com
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Map
The Sleeping Giant
Ryber Fortiza: Y18 D152
Tanzi Lamanaya: Y10 D23
4
Ryber Fortiza: Y18 D153 — 1 day since Tanzi was Summoned
Ryber Fortiza: Y18 D154 — 2 days since Tanzi was Summoned
Ryber Fortiza: Y18 D155 — 3 days since Tanzi was Summoned
Tanzi Lamanaya: Y16 D89
Y18 D156 — 4 days since Tanzi was Summoned
Y18 D159 — 7 days
Y18 D161 — 9 days
Y18 D165 — 13 days
Y18 D167 — 15 days
Y18 D168 — 16 days
Y18 D171 — 19 days
Y18 D174 — 22 days since Tanzi was Summoned
Tanzi Lamanaya: Y17 D254
Y18 D180 — 6 days since I became the last Sightwitch Sister
Y18 D184 — 10 days since I became the last Sightwitch Sister
Y18 D195 — 21 days since I became the last Sightwitch Sister
Y18 D209 — 35 days since I became the last Sightwitch Sister
Eridysi Gochienka: Y2786 D128
Eridysi Gochienka: Y2786 D132
Ryber Fortiza: Y18 D212 — 38 days since I became the last Sightwitch Sister
Ryber Fortiza: Y18 D215 — 41 days since I became the last Sightwitch Sister
Eridysi Gochienka: Y2786 D134
Tanzi Lamanaya: Y14 D27
Ryber Fortiza: Y18 D216 — 42 days since I became the last Sightwitch Sister
Y2786 D218
Y2786 D302
Y2786 D354
Y2787 D104
Y2787 D105
Y2787 D105
Y2787 D106
Y2787 D176
Y2787 D271
Y2787 D336
Y2787 D338
Y2788 D3
Y2788 D41