The Last Witch

Colter turned out to be a very excitable collie. As the narrow little cart bounced along the uneven track, he bounced around the tired mare and sniffed at the tracks ahead. The cart itself wasn’t quite wide enough to fit both of them, and since it was only a single seat of wood being pulled along, there wasn’t anywhere else to go. 

The path narrowed out as they passed the rows and rows of vegetables, all green and healthy and neatly parted. The occasional farmhand stopped tilling and fixing nets to wave as they passed, which Gershwin returned. Asher noted that a small handful of them had guns slung over shoulders or sitting next to tools. 

‘The wild animals are still bothering people?’ Asher asked. 

Gershwin sighed. ‘Things are bad right now. I don’t know why the Gate is so… unstable, but the animals are noticing it.’

‘Is there any way to fix it?’ Asher asked. 

‘If there is, then I haven’t found it,’ Gershwin said. ‘Though if you want to know if it’s connected to what happened to you, probably? I couldn’t tell you.’

Asher didn’t want to dismiss the possibility, but if it meant all of this was connected to one singular thing, a catalyst that could be followed, then he just needed to find the trail. He needed to go back to being a professional. 

Gershwin pulled the mare to a stop at the edge of the property, where rows of tilled farmland was separated from wild, thick pine woods by a single rotted fence. The quiet of the open air pressed down heavier. The sounds of the animals milling around and the farmhands working and chatting were all gone. In their place was the hiss of wind against pine needles, and the small chittering of bugs. Colter rushed ahead, then skidded to a halt. A low growl rumbled from his throat as his tail dropped between his legs. Gershwin whistled, a sharp, commanding sound, and the dog rushed back to them, ducking around her skirt. 

‘Just there,’ she said. 

Asher struggled forward, his cane wobbling against the uneven ground, and his legs aching no matter how much weight he put on them. He could feel Gershwin’s gaze burning into the back of his head, waiting for the moment he would hit the wrong dip in the path and collapse. 

The space in question sat just on the inside of the fence, a perfect circle carved through fence and farmland, as large as Asher was tall. Like the ring around Valenda, it was a smooth ring of ash that cut through grass and dirt, but the inside wasn’t fresh grass this time. Instead black, craggy rock filled the inside, pointed tips stacked on top of each other. As Asher drew closer, the rock carried the unmistakable whiff of sulphur. 

Struggling down onto his knees proved a bigger challenge than walking, and each time he attempted to bend his knee without the shooting pain through his bones, he felt ten years add to his lifespan. Gershwin made a noise of protest behind him, but by the time she could get any words out, he was already on the ground. 

He poked at the ash ring with his cane, and like at Valenda, the ground broke away, revealing a thin line of chasm underneath. The smell of sulphur was strong enough to burn his nose, and unmistakable waves of heat pulsed off the rock. If he didn’t know better, he would have thought it was part of a volcano. 

With the idea of slipping between worlds, he didn’t want to dismiss the idea of volcanic rock being transported here, only there were no volcanoes in Tarinye. Nor were there any in Euthria, and the one that made Telkesi already blasted itself into oblivion decades ago. Valenda had been a field originally, though that had been over five hundred years ago when Tarinye was a group of nomadic warriors. Either the transportation – if that was even what it was – was completely random, or these circles of land were coming from one of these other places. 

Asher frowned. The ring between grass and rock wasn’t ash like he initially thought. It was too thick and gritty to be ash, but too flakey to be dirt. He picked up a small amount, pinching the pieces and grinding them under his nails. It was the same stuff that had been under his nails when he was recovering. The same that stained his skin when he touched the weird smoke. 

‘Was all of this here when you found me?’ Asher asked. 

Gershwin nodded. ‘You were sprawled across the middle of it, all beat up. Is something wrong?’

‘I don’t know,’ Asher admitted. 

‘I can’t see the spirits,’ Gershwin said. ‘That’s Aria’s thing, so I don’t know what they’re doing.’

Asher had found a way to ignore how some things looked a little stranger than others, but at the mention of them, the spirits in question snapped into focus, as though they were sitting dormant until called upon. They took the form of a gentle fog, a thin white mist that lapped over the ground like waves. It wouldn’t pass over the circle. 

He considered the grit in his hand, then the clear line through the ground. Heart pounding in his throat, he tossed the specks of strange dust into the circle. 

White flame exploded out at the contact, shooting up into the air and blasting a wave of hot air out that sent Asher staggering back. A sharp pain shot through his tailbone, and before he could blink, Colter was on top of him, driving a wet nose into his face and whining. By the time he pulled his focus to the circle, the flame had already disappeared. 

Colter flopped down across his lap, his weight pushing into Asher’s legs. Asher scratched at the dog’s chest absently. He needed to learn more about these spirits. He needed to see Valenda again now that he could see them. This could be his trail.

‘Everything alright over here?’ One of the farmhands approached, fixing Asher with a steely gaze. A couple other men were standing a little way away, watching. 

‘We’re fine,’ Gershwin said. ‘Colter just made a new friend.’

The farmhand nodded, then he and Gershwin came forward to pull Asher to his feet. Colter danced around their ankles, nudging each of them with the top of his head. Asher stumbled, feeling shame creep up at being handled so thoroughly. Already he was sick of this leg. The sooner it healed, the better he would be at doing what he was good at. 

When the farmhand wandered off, Gershwin leaned in, her voice low. ‘I know this is all new, sweetie, but you can’t react to the spirits so obviously. People will know something is up.’

‘You didn’t see that?’ Asher asked. 

Gershwin shook her head. ‘I just saw you fall.’

Noted, Asher thought silently. People were arrested for less, hung for less. Even if his leg healed back to its normal strength, this was going to be an uphill battle. Though part of him imagined a scenario where people started pointing fingers for something he didn’t even do. He had been to the Underlands – to Le Torkani, as Aria had called it – and the stories said that people who went there deserved it. He thought about admitting the horrors he had witnessed there and people thinking he had struck some kind of bargain. Or maybe, he would go back to Dalvany and people would assume foul play before he did anything. If the little he knew about witches were false, how easy was it for something so innocent to mean death?

‘One more thing,’ Asher asked. Gershwin shifted as she guided him back to the cart, but didn’t say anything. ‘How many of the people they hang actually witches?’

Gershwin swallowed. ‘I don’t have an answer to that question.’

A knot twisted in his stomach. 

‘If you mean a general sense, like someone who just knows about it like I do, or a Seir like Aria… I don’t know. How do you decide the verdict is witchcraft?’

‘I don’t know,’ Asher admitted. ‘I never arrested anyone for witchcraft. Usually I ignored the people who tried to point fingers.’

‘Don’t agree with it?’ Gershwin raised an eyebrow in surprise. 

‘Don’t believe in witches,’ Asher said. ‘Can’t arrest it if it’s not real.’

Gershwin snorted, a smile breaking through her grim expression. It did little to ease the twisting, sick feeling in his gut. With everything going on, there would probably be more nooses knotted and more fingers pointed. He needed to go back to Dalvany, even if he risked being one of the accused, but it was going to be chaos.