Chapter 23 #2
Empath nodded. “Because of your actions against us and Willowspire, your use of dark magic and affinity for the sinister arts of witchcraft, we can no longer welcome you as a sister in our coven. We stay in the light, Rumor. You have strayed too far from where you should be.”
Her words kicked me in the gut.
My own coven was abandoning me.
“You think you can just cast me aside? Kick me out? What about my mothers? What about the line of Malefic witches before me who helped build this sisterhood and coven? Do they mean nothing to you? No, clearly they don’t—because you let my mothers be killed, you let my sister be stolen, and you sent me like a lamb to slaughter to the Blackthorne daimons.
Oh, and trying to marry me off to the Vipers, too. I should have seen this all coming.”
Twenty came to stand in front of me, his presence a small, secret comfort as I fought back rage-filled tears.
Empath pressed her wrinkled mouth into a thin line, looking as if she had much to say but ultimately decided to say nothing of importance. Only quietly commanding, “Go home, Rumor.”
“Answer my final questions and I’ll go. Answer these last few things and I’ll quit being the horse beating on the wards my mothers helped you build.”
Empath glared at me with cloudy hazel eyes for a long moment before dipping her chin in a slow nod. “Ask.”
“Did my mother really write a letter to Ophidia Viper to give to me, saying that my sister and I should marry her sons?”
Empath nodded. “It was a means to an end that I assisted them with, on this very winter’s solstice, many moons ago.”
“A means to what end?”
“It’s all your mothers ever wanted… to protect you and your sister. The Vipers can shield you both from harm of the greatest measure. I suggest, since you will not listen to me, that you listen to your mother’s letter, and do as she says.”
A scoff left my throat, but I kept the insults I wanted to snap at her inside my chest, knowing my time for answers was running out as the moon’s precious light and immunity over us waned.
“Where is Prism now?”
“Did your Blackthorne daimons not inform you? Or have you been too busy in their beds to ask?”
Twenty laid his ears back and hissed. Empath shot him a dirty look. Biting the inside of my cheek, I repeated the question. “Where is my sister?”
“Where all lost things go. She chose her path, and like you, she’s chosen darkness.”
“How do I bring her back?”
“Perhaps—” Empath stepped forward, the weight of her magic pressing upon my shoulders. “You should be asking what you can do to fix what you’ve broken.”
“Willowspire will be rebuilt. I will see to it—”
“I’m not talking about buildings made of stone,” Empath interrupted.
“I’m speaking of forces much more difficult to rebuild.
Your sister searches for what you stole from her.
The hex she left looms over you like a storm cloud, child, and I fear it is only the beginning of the plights that will soon come to plague you for your selfishness. ”
I shook my head, weeding through her response. “Prism is searching for what I stole? What did I steal? I…” Then it occurred to me. Why my sister walked through the fog… “She’s trying to bring back her monster, isn’t she?”
Empath let out an exasperated sigh and glanced over her shoulder. My life hung in the balance, and my crone—I mean, my former crone, seemed eager to get back to her party. “Prism will not succeed in her quest.”
“Good,” I breathed.
“No.” Empath’s gaze met mine. “The outcome when she learns this truth will be far worse than if her endeavors were fruitful. We are all in danger here, Rumor—and it is all because of you.”
“I killed a wither. I killed the monster that took her ,and that’s my fault?
This is all because of Asunder. Don’t you see past your magic blueberry muffins and pretty songs every solstice enough to acknowledge that?
Our gifts are stifled, we live in constant fear, and I’m the first witch to challenge that and actually do something in this goddess-forsaken town, and you cast me out! ”
“And I would have cast you further if it weren’t for the bargain I made with your mother,” Empath hissed in a rare showcase of anger.
“You could never manage to get far enough away from Willowspire for my liking—but for now—you have done enough that I can thankfully no longer call you a witch of my coven.” She waved a hand. “Be gone with you.”
“Be gone with you!” I shouted as she turned away. “Cowards, all of you.”
Empath turned, and I knew my crone and coven were about to be lost to me forever. I called out one last time, a passing thought flying free. “What about Trinket? At least take the young witch into the coven and guide her. What she did wasn’t her fault.”
The old woman furrowed her gray brows. “Who? I know not of whom you speak, child.”
Leaving me standing in muddled confusion and rejection, my ex-crone disappeared into the solstice circle.
A gathering I’d never be invited to again.
My source of witch’s knowledge gone. The lineage of witchcraft, the line of spellcrafting knowledge, all gone in one swoop.
In a decision made without me. My mother had struck a bargain with Empath, written a letter to the Vipers’ mother, all for what?
For this? How did this keep either my sister or me safe?
And Prism… my chest burned at the thought of her recklessness.
What was she doing? Waltzing into… into the beyond?
Thinking she could harvest her dead monster from the afterlife?
All of that for a beast she’d known a few weeks, while cursing her sister, her family, who’d been here for her for a lifetime?
My boots felt too tight and my dress too scratchy as I marched home.
Dejected, alone, outcasted. What was a witch without her coven?
I approached my cottage, an enchanted witchy abode that I suddenly didn’t feel worthy of.
Candles flickered inside and smoke curled from the chimney.
Trinket inside, milling about, reminding me of Prism—reminding me more of what I’d lost. As if I needed more reminding.
Not feeling strong enough to go inside yet, I slumped onto the porch step and rested my forehead on my knees while hugging my legs.
I rocked back and forth, sucking in cold air as the night chilled my exposed skin.
Tears burned at the corners of my eyes. A branch cracked in the distance.
Probably a squirrel or bird—but my mind flicked back to the red wither.
Where had he been going? His thoughts, his feelings…
how could a monster feel? The monster communicated and lived amongst women without harming them.
Oh, goddess, I just recalled that one of the women had been pregnant.
Had that been the fate awaiting Prism? Was that the life she wanted to leave Willowspire for? My sister sought to leave me, for a monster.
But at least they weren’t as wretched as I’d envisioned them to be. Though, were they capable of love? Was the one who my sister allegedly cared for—had he been anywhere near worthy of her? The women in the red wither’s psyche seemed to think so. The monster himself mourned for Prism.
The community ached in the wake of this wither’s death. A death that came from my hand, my magic—a killing blow that brought down a creature of old, both rescuing and repelling my sister from me.
I couldn’t shake the feeling of being in the red wither’s head. His emotions were steadfast and deep. Had my sister’s wither been the same?
Something twinged in my chest.
A strange and uncomfortable feeling.
It begged for acknowledgment.