Chapter 16
Without the Venator guards and their oppressive numbers, the rest of the trip went by quickly.
Semras rode on her gelding surrounded by the protection of Estevan and his knights. With every league they got closer to the gates, more and more travellers filled the road, forcing them to slow down to a trot.
The witch’s white hair and yellow eyes gathered a lot of attention from the thickening crowd.
Faces turned on her passage—glances of mistrust and alarm, but also of curiosity and delight.
These came mostly from the younger generations who must have never seen or heard of witches before; still, their interest didn’t target her alone.
Inquisitor Velten rode through the crowd just as he had in Bevenna four days ago.
Head held high, he ignored both the reverence and, to her surprise, the hostility thrown at him.
Themas had told her about the waves of protests against the Inquisition’s influence, but she hadn’t expected to see them displayed so openly.
In spite of it, no one contested their priority.
Wagons and carriages stopped to give them way, and their small group navigated through the torrents of men, women, and children accompanied only by their trailing gazes.
Soon, she couldn’t take notice of them anymore; for far beyond the edge of the human sea, Semras saw the city-state of Castereina for the very first time.
It awed her.
It shocked her.
Vast curtain walls of wine-coloured stone surrounded a city of contrasts.
Separating the upper inner district from its outer ring, their impressive span encircled the throat of the vast hill the city sat on in a tight, suffocating grip.
At their feet, buildings of red and white stones pressed into each other, crashing against the walls in a rising wave.
Beyond it all, the sharp spires of a main keep reached for the skies.
The ancient fortress, turned into the heart of the sprawling city, loomed from a steep cliff overlooking the coastline.
From there, the sea stretched over the horizon toward the Al’Andakkad Empire, its shorelines lying just far enough that Semras couldn’t see them from where she watched.
How men, blind to the Unseen Arras, could have crafted a city so intricately married to the landscape, Semras didn’t know. Perhaps there was truth to the old legends of a kingdom founded by a witch queen here, some thousands of years ago.
If they were, then the Deprived had stolen its bones and desecrated its primordial beauty in the name of expansion.
Castereina poured out of its curtain walls and onto the surrounding land like a blight.
While the stone and plaster facades of the inner districts remained relatively clean, their red brick neighbours on the lower ones looked devoid of any architectural elegance.
Human overpopulation had even tainted the fields surrounding the city. Stacked in concentric rows, an overabundance of buildings grew between golden fields. Columns of smoke emanated from wide, tall chimneys peppered around.
It felt polluted, dirty. Dead.
Inquisitor Velten led them toward a gate further east from that withered land, past a large bridge of metal bent in ornamental shapes she had never seen the likes of before.
Hours after Semras first saw the walls, and long after the sun began its slow descent, they crossed it.
Sweat ran down her spine at the creaking of steel against steel, and she exhaled in relief once they left it behind.
Beyond, a large stone arch marked the entrance to the upper districts of Castereina.
The crowd here had thickened into a dark, writhing mass, pushing and pressing one another to get closer.
Two large banners featuring the blazon of Castereina’s ruling dynasty—a horned hare over a striped shield—billowed over their heads, guiding them toward the open gates.
There, guards in dark tabards checked each traveller and their papers by the blinding light of sconces before funnelling them through or sending them away.
“Inquisition, let through! Let through, Inquisition!” Sir Ulrech bellowed as they rode through the crowd.
People grumbled, taking advantage of the low light to complain anonymously. Stuck between the bridge and the walled cliffsides, the rabble had nowhere to sidestep, but the intimidating silver and golden insignias of Elumenra made them creative.
Their little company faced no issues at the gates. As soon as they reached the front of the line, the guards let Inquisitor Velten and his retinue pass without even checking them for papers. A good thing too—she had no idea what these papers were supposed to be.
Semras crossed the giant stone arch with trepidation, wondering what exactly awaited her beyond. At least, she mused, the night would offer her a quieter, less overwhelming version of Castereina.
It did not.
She gasped, hand flying to her mouth. “What in the name of the New Maiden is this?”
Estevan laughed. “Welcome to modernity, witch! A world where you, and thus I, are no longer needed.”
‘Modernity’ greeted her with long rows of buildings, each taller than the other, lining up a wide paved street.
Lamps of wrought iron dotted the road, throwing light from a candle-less flame within.
Bewildered, Semras stared inside storefronts and house windows, their interiors brightly illuminated as if the sun shone from within.
People—more people than the witch had ever seen in a single place—walked by everywhere, paying them no mind in favour of dodging small, speedy carriages barreling out of the numerous side streets.
The Deprived didn’t know night had fallen. They kept going about their day, under the light of those small artificial suns, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
“This isn’t … that’s … those lights are not enchanted, are they?” Semras asked.
Estevan cocked his eyebrow at her. “They are lit by gas lines,” he said. “The Prince ordered them to be installed throughout the entire city a few years ago, and they have grown to be quite popular. You should travel more. This is nothing compared to the rest.”
“The rest? You mean there’s more?” The witch couldn’t fathom what could be more impressive than replacing night with day.
“Check your calendar, witch,” he replied, voice tinted with mirth.
“We are less than two years away from the nineteenth century. Science is progressing faster than ever, and not only to bring us the wonder that is modern plumbing. Soon, there will be little left of what you witches can do that the ‘Deprived’ cannot. One day, all this will spread to the smallest village of the peninsula.” He threw her a disquieting glance.
“When that day comes, you and I will no longer be relevant. The world of tomorrow will want nothing to do with mysticism and faith.”
Semras had never seen anything like this before—not in the hamlet of Bevenna, and certainly not in the Yore Coven. This ‘science’ astounded as much as it alarmed her. “Our worlds are growing ever further apart …” she murmured.
The implications frightened her. What would become of the Covens once this monstrous and ever-sprawling ‘modernity’ reached their forests? What would remain once it had devoured all?
Suns that never set over a world deprived of sleep—one that could dream no longer.
“Come.” The inquisitor guided Pagan away from the main street. “We are leaving the horses at the stables and taking a carriage the rest of the way. It will spare us from the crowd’s curiosity.”
Semras followed him to a side street lined with stable stalls. A carriage waited for them there, its side branded with the Inquisition’s coat of arms—a golden, twelve-pointed star with its arms ending in whirling flames.
Sir Ulrech and Themas dismounted next to it.
Flitting about, stable boys scrambled on their feet to assist them.
Bemused, Semras watched the young men and their tight, striped jackets of bright yellow and dark blue load their luggage at the back of the carriage.
They looked like little bees, buzzing around the horses effervescently.
Hands seized her waist, and she yelped as Estevan helped her down from the gelding. At her miffed protest, he laughed. “The witch sleeps so sweetly in my arms, but Radiant Lord forbid I touch her waist.”
His shoulders were still shaking with mirth when he led her toward the carriage.
It was a good thing that his hand on her back guided her to it; Semras couldn’t stop herself from looking around.
Everything surrounding her felt alien and perplexing.
This thing they called a city was an unnatural monstrosity.
No trees, no wildlife; not even a single stone had been left unshaped by human hands.
The world had been remade, tailored, and manufactured to fit their needs.
It was an abomination to the eyes of a woodwitch.
And it stank.
The smell of burning coal and rotting sewage choked her senses. Sweat and manure and urine mixed in a repulsive draft she couldn’t escape.
Her distraction kept her rooted in place in front of the carriage door; someone’s hands had to guide her to sit inside. Then the knights took places on the outdoor seats, and she found herself alone with the inquisitor.
The carriage departed with a shake. Startled, Semras threw her hands on each side of the thin walls to steady herself. Her palms pressed against their upholstered panels of black velvet.
With consternation, she stared at the luxurious fabric covering the interior of the carriage. Her priceless velvet dress had cost her so much to acquire, and here it was used for decoration. Sweat ran down her spine. She was sitting on a small fortune.
“How do you like the glorious city-state of Castereina, witch?” Estevan asked.
Wide-eyed, Semras gawked at him. “You live in such a place?” Throwing aside the window curtains, she resumed studying every detail of the city lying beyond.