The War of the Witches: Part 2
Our linked hands burned with the heat of a compressed supernova. In the blink of an eye, the protective canopy of trees disappeared.
We stood under the midday sky at the base of the tallest nearby mountain, behind a jagged outcropping of boulders. The mountain’s monstrous outline had been but a distant impression from the trees and, in a moment of incomprehensible magic, Everly had transported us directly to it.
“Holy shit,” Ryan eloquently expressed my sentiments about our abrupt change in scenery. ”Magic is so dope.”
Their wide-eyed wonder induced a pleased smile that briefly rounded the apples of Everly’s cheeks. She gestured for us to follow as she moved forward, the pebbled ground crunching beneath the wheels of her chair.
None of us dared break the fraught silence that hung between us as we traipsed over the rocky terrain. Instead, we kept our heads ducked low in case anymore Zombie Jesuses—Zombie Jesi?—lurked about.
Everly laid her hand against the mountain. I expected the earth to shake beneath her power. Instead, an archway appeared between two boulders. She whispered, “This way,” and led us into complete darkness.
Azo’lah activated her glowing shield. “Captain, I’ll take the front, yes?”
Like slipping on a favorite jacket, Ryan switched from excited teenager to responsible Captain. They nodded. “Matt and I will take the back. Fleetwood stick close to Azo’lah until we know what’s what.”
“Aye aye,” Fleetwood agreed with a solemn salute. We rearranged ourselves per Ryan’s directive. Chester and I fell into step behind Fleetwood.
Azo’lah plunged forward, the light of her magenta shield almost blinding in the darkness. I pulled a light out of a pocket on my bandolier and attached it to my shirt collar. Matt, Ryan, and Chester followed suit. The tunnel was high enough that even Azo’lah didn’t need to duck. It was also wide enough that Chester could walk next to me, for which I was glad. I already feared a trap—or worse, introductions with strangers.
The walls were smooth save for the intermittent sigils deeply engraved into the stone floor. They varied in size and shape—some were interconnected pictographs smaller than a butterfly, others crisscrossing lines that stretched from floor to ceiling. Without thinking, I grabbed for my notebook to sketch them all out to ask Everly their meaning.
Chester’s hand stilled me. “Maybe later, Gretch,” he said beneath his breath. “Like when we know we’re for real safe.”
Right. Not the time.
“Keep up,” Everly called to us, her voice preternaturally loud after so much stealth and silence.
Chester leaned in close. “What the hell have we gotten ourselves into?”
I shrugged anxiously, adjusting my tool belt across my shoulder. What the hell had I gotten us into? This mission had been my idea, and I had recklessly dragged my friends along because of a tip from Shockley, of all people.
If anything happened to them…
The tunnel came to an abrupt dead-end. Everly spun to face us. She frowned. Lines, incongruous with her youth, deepened around her mouth. “Listen up,” she ordered, “we don’t bring outsiders here. Ever. But your dumbasses landed in the middle of a war, and Zorina said to bring you to Anthea, so that’s what I have to do. While here, you will be under our protection but break our trust...” Flames danced across her palms.
“Understood.” Ryan straightened their shoulders. “Myax, weapons away.”
“Captain?” Azo’lah asked, though her shield dissipated back into the jeweled band on her forearm.
“Everly won’t let anything happen to the Fulyiti while we’re under her protection,” Ryan met our witchy savior’s haughty gaze with their own. “Isn’t that right?”
“That’s right, Captain.” Everly clapped her hands together, extinguishing her twin flames. “I know it’s jarring, but please, try not to shout.”
At my back, Matt asked, “Why would we shout?”
“You’ll—” Everly’s sentence was swallowed by our screams as the ground beneath us vanished. I clutched at Chester and Matt as we plummeted hard and fast toward an uncertain, but most likely painful, fate. We stopped falling as abruptly as we started, landing gently on the hard-packed soil.
While solid ground beneath my feet was very welcome, I was concerningly queasy. Matt looked a little green as well.
“Is everyone alright?” Azo’lah asked over Everly’s snorting laughter. Our Myax looked equal parts angry and annoyed.
Fleetwood grabbed at us, bouncing excitedly. “What the shit?” she giggled like a child at an amusement park. “Can we do that again?”
Chester clutched at his sides. “It’s like the elevators on Destyr, but so much worse.”
“Delto’s light, your faces,” Everly gasped between sharp cackles. “Please tell me you aren’t going to throw up.”
“Did you not give them any warning, Everly?”
The voice drew my attention from my friends, and I finally took in our surroundings. We were in a cathedral-sized room inside the mountain. Like the tunnel we had just dropped out of, the ceiling and walls were smooth as though carved by a master sculptor—or more likely, a very skilled witch. Orbs of light floated above us, casting the room in sharp shadows. The floor was decorated with more sigils, though these were interwoven together, which I assumed strengthened their magic. Weapons racks loaded with wooden bows, metal blades, and sharpened crystals lined the walls. The room looked like a cross between a forge and a workshop, filled with witches constructing weapons and enchanting glowing ammunition.
A man clad in brown tactical pants and jacket strode to Everly’s side. They had the same nose and chin. Everly smiled up at him. “It’s the simple things in this life, Uncle Gideon.”
“My apologies for my niece’s poor manners,” Gideon said, dipping his head in greeting to us. “You are most welcome and safe here.”
Everly’s brow furrowed. “How’d you—”
“Zorina sent scouts ahead,” Gideon replied. He gestured to us as he stepped back. “Please come. Anthea awaits.”
“Who is this Anthea we’ve heard so much about?” Ryan asked.
“Our Ephemeris,” Everly replied.
Fleetwood stepped forward, placed her right hand over her heart, and bowed deeply. “You honor us with such hospitality, Elder Gideon.”
We followed him and Everly across the cavernous room. As we passed, the witches who were hard at work, honing weapons and performing small, miraculous feats of magic, turned to gawk at us.
I stared back, enraptured by how human they all looked. Save for their milky third eyes, they all could’ve easily walked down any street on Earth. Even their outfits, much like Gideon’s, would have fit in amongst my home planet’s soldiers.
Gideon’s light touch against the wall made a doorway appear. He beckoned us into a much smaller room. A fire in the stone-cut hearth lit the walls, every square inch of which were etched with overlapping sigils. Many looked like they had faded due to age and had been re-carved. I desperately wanted to date the symbols, but I knew now wasn’t the time. At the center of the room sat a long wooden table, a sigil of three linked circles carved across its surface. An imposing woman occupied the chair at the head of the table.
This had to be Anthea. The firelight lent her brown skin and dark eyes an ethereal glow, and I understood instantly how she came to be the Ephemeris of these people.
She was dressed the same as the others in leather tactical gear that looked softened from extended use. Her graying black, yellow, and red braids were pulled into a knot atop her head. The crystals embedded into the arch of her high-backed chair glittered like a celestial crown above her. I was reminded strongly, for a moment, of the mosaics of the First Auhtula and her crown of fractal stars in the Temple of Aluthua.
“Delto’s light be upon you, esteemed guests,” Anthea’s voice was warm but deliberate, like someone aware of the weight her words held.
Fleetwood, Azo’lah at her side, stepped forward and bowed deeply. “It is an honor that the seven stars lit our paths as one. I am Fulyiti Kezira of House Fuiq, from the central continent of Destyr. Please call me by my chosen name Fleetwood Mercury. May I share the names of my chosen family?”
Anthea’s face fell. “Fulyiti?” She stood so quickly her chair scraped loudly against the floor. “I was told of a mismatched crew of humans and Destyrians, but nothing of a Fulyiti.”
“Yes, well,” Ryan said, with a sardonic smile, “Fleetwood likes to keep a low profile.”
Anthea gestured to the table. “Please, Fulyiti Fleetwood, sit. You and your chosen family are most welcome to share my table.”
“You are most gracious, Ephemeris Anthea.” Fleetwood nodded her thanks and took the seat opposite Anthea’s. Fleetwood introduced us as we filed into the remaining chairs. Everly took the spot across from Ryan while Gideon excused himself to gather refreshments.
“It is an honor to host you. Even during times such as these.” Anthea returned to her seat. “Though I must ask, what brought your crew to Huxor during a time of war?”
With a sarcastic tilt of her chin, Everly replied, “They came to stop the necromancers from stealing the Crystal of Cajlire.”
Anthea squinted judgmentally, even her third eye seemed to cast aspersions upon us. “What interest could you have in assisting us in stopping the necromancers?”
Ryan patted my shoulder, prompting me to explain.
“The Crystal of Cajlire,” I winced as I butchered the pronunciation, “is an ancient artifact, sacred to your people. I’m an archaeologist. It’s my job to help preserve and protect those kinds of items. The rest of the crew...” I trailed off, gnawing on my lip. I searched the table for help, my eyes finding Azo’lah’s.
“We recently suffered the loss of a cherished piece of Destyrian history,” she picked up where I left off. “It is our hope to aid your people in protecting this piece of your culture so you may not feel such loss. We have been in dangerous situations before and are prepared to aid you in your battle against these necromancers.”
“I mean no disrespect to you or your chosen family, Fulyiti Fleetwood,” Anthea said, folding her elegant, scar-dotted fingers together on the table. “The Order of Necromance has been an indestructible scourge since its founding. Their power is a pestilence that has seeped into the very soil of our planet, poisoning our crops, our animals, and our way of life.”
“We’ve been at war for three sun-sojourns,” Everly explained. “Even if Umbra Daxolos and his followers hadn’t obliterated my village, we would’ve had to leave. The soil yielded nothing for the previous two harvests. The animals were dropping dead without reason.”
Gideon returned, bearing a tray crammed with steaming mugs which he distributed around the table. “Tea,” Gideon explained at my questioning look. I took a tentative sip and was pleasantly surprised to find it tasted much like the Earl Gray blend I preferred back home.
Chester cleared his throat. “Forgive my ignorance, Ephemeris Anthea. But who is Umbra Daxolos, and what exactly is the Order of Necromance?”
“A bunch of imbecilic assholes,” Everly muttered under her breath. Gideon scolded her, but Ryan beamed across the table.
“The Order of Necromance is an ignorant collective of all-male witches who live by the falsehoods propagated by their Umbra, Daxolos. They have turned their backs on the natural order of the universe in their search for power,” Anthea sighed wearily. “Daxolos has twisted a prophetic warning into a false dogma that states that the necromancers are destined to obtain ultimate power over all witches and the universe. The way they do this is through the destruction of the Crystal of Cajlire.”
“What happens if they destroy the crystal? Does anyone know?” Though Ryan directed the question at Anthea, their eyes kept straying to Everly.
Anthea said, “The exact course of events remains unknown, even to our most advanced Seers. But what we do know is that if the crystal is destroyed, the necromancers will most certainly gain the power they so desperately seek. This will, in turn, tear apart the very fabric of the universe.”
The sip of tea that I had just taken leaked from my mouth as my jaw dropped. I wiped at my chin as I squeaked, “I’m sorry, what?”
Fleetwood held up her hands, her fingers meshed together. “Tear apart the universe?” She pulled her hands apart.
Anthea nodded.
“A group of men needlessly seeking undeserved power in order to ruin everything?” Azo’lah said. “Why am I not surprised?”
“So freaking cool,” Ryan murmured. At all of our indignant glares, they continued, “I mean, it’s obviously awful, but space magic that can rip the universe in half? That shit is insanely cool.”
Chester shook his head. “It’s impossible. The number of physics principles this violates—”
“They can make flames appear in their hands, mate,” Matt interrupted. “I don’t think they care about physics.”
“I’m just saying,” Chester said, his voice hardening. “What specifically about the necromancers gaining this ultimate power will destroy the universe?”
“The Order of Necromance is an affront to nature,” Gideon said, his tone turning as steely as Chester’s. “To seek to master and reverse death is in direct opposition to the teachings of our goddess, Delto.”
Anthea said, “Currently, when the necromancers perform their heresy, the bodies they raise are just that. Empty vessels. While dangerous to the balance of the natural order, these vessels can only remain reanimated for an hour or two at most. They return to the dirt as the necromancer who brought them back is drained of power.”
“And if they have endless power, those bodies will stay reanimated forever,” I surmised.
“Yes, but more importantly, “Anthea said, “by destroying the Crystal of Cajlire and harnessing its power, the Order of Necromance will be able to reach beyond the veil and return departed souls to those they reanimate. By thwarting true death, they disrupt the balance of life, thus destroying the barrier between this plane and the next. If the barrier falls, so too does our universe.”
Smartly, I had stopped drinking my tea and therefore did not dribble all over myself when my mouth fell this time. These necromancer assholes were attempting to steal power to return souls. What the fuck even was magic?
“Well, that’s some shit.” Ryan scrubbed their hands through their hair. Any enthusiasm they previously had for space magic seemingly evaporated when souls came into play.
Anthea’s head bowed solemnly. “Now you understand the severity of our situation. Only those with magic have any hope of defeating the necromancers and those they raise. Everly will return you to your ship in the morning so you may return to safety and—”
“No,” Fleetwood interrupted. “We aren’t leaving.”
Ryan said, “You’re talking about the legit end of the universe. We aren’t walking away from that.”
“Absolutely,” I said, though my agreement felt unnecessary at that point. I was the reason my crew was here in the first place. If they weren’t leaving, not even the universe’s imminent implosion could drag me away.
God, I was going to kill Shockley the next time I saw him.
“Could you pass the salad? Mehuxula wants some,” asked a young, pale-haired child, who was seated across from Matt. At our questioning looks, she pointed to the adorable, large-eyed animal that looked like a cross between a frilled lizard and a pint-sized triceratops seated in her lap. The young witch couldn’t be older than ten. Nevertheless, she appeared utterly unperturbed to be seated next to Ryan and Fleetwood. Two unclaimed spaces were open to the child’s right, leaving her practically alone with six adult strangers. Whatever her actual age, she was much too young to be at war.
“Anyone else feel like we’re in dystopian Hogwarts?” Matt murmured as he passed the salad bowl. On either side of him, Chester and I muffled our inappropriate laughter. The assessment wasn’t far off. After we met with Anthea, Gideon led us to the dining hall, where dinner was being served. All around us, witches of all ages sat at long, rough-hewn tables under a soaring glittering, crystal-dotted ceiling.
Are you well, Myaxi? The words, which always appeared with the warmth I associated with Azo’lah, bloomed and faded across my mind. You’ve hardly eaten. Is the food not to your taste? I took a bite of the greens, which burst like autumn across my tongue.
I’m fine. I just...why couldn’t we see the crystal before dinner? I glanced up to my right, meeting Azo’lah’s amused gaze. She brushed a placating hand down my ponytail, her fingers grazing my upper back.
“What’s different about you two?” the young witch demanded, pointing between Azo’lah and me. Her small nose was scrunched in consternation.
“What?” I asked.
“You’re all connected. I can see it,” she clarified, snagging a roll as a tray came down the table. “Here, these go fast,” she advised, distributing one to Ryan and Matt.
“What do you mean, you can see it?” Ryan asked, shoving half the roll in their mouth.
“I’m learning to see auras and connections. They’re like, um...glowing threads.” The child waved her roll between Fleetwood and Chester. “Their connection is really strong. It’s like they’re married, but not…”
“Well done, Orla,” Anthea said as she and Everly approached the table. The child, Orla, beamed brighter than the Destyrian suns at the praise. “They share all of what they are with each other. Well, almost,” Anthea amended as she looked between Fleetwood and Chester. She slid elegantly into one of the free spaces beside Orla and began loading up her bowl. “They are twin souls.”
“Budge over,” Everly commanded, guiding her wheelchair behind Orla and Ryan. She made a sweeping gesture with her palm and the bench split in two. The space between Orla and Ryan widened as the bench glided sideways, leaving just enough room for Everly to slide her chair in. The display was arresting from this side of the table, where I could only see part of it. From the look on Fleetwood’s face, it was even more impressive with a full view. Matt elbowed me in the ribs, tilting his head toward Ryan, whose face was flushed pink.
“Show-off.” Orla flicked her fingers at Everly, sparks flying out of them. “I saved you a seat; you didn’t have to halve the bench.”
Everly grinned unrepentantly at Ryan. “But I wanted to sit next to Captain Thorley.”
“You will repair the bench after you’re done, Everly,” Anthea instructed mildly, between bites.
“Ephemeris Anthea, what’s different about their connection?” Orla waved at me and Azo’lah, her small voice practically a whine. “I’m terrible at this. Why do I even have to learn it?”
“Because maintaining the balance in nature is one of the most important rules of magic,” Anthea said, setting down her fork. “If you can’t see the connections, then you can’t recognize the effect your choices are having. If you couldn’t see your connection to Mehuxula, how would you have known he had chosen to be your familiar? Also, did you ask our guests whether you could practice your craft with them? Other peoples are not as open with each other as we are.”
“Yes, yes,” Orla promised, even though she most definitely had not asked permission to read us like living tarot cards. She fed Mehuxala a handful of salad before pointing at Azo’lah and me again. “Why’re they weird?”
“There are too many ways to count,” Fleetwood grinned. I fixed my eyes on my plate, wondering if it was impolite to excuse myself. It was bad enough that I had a terrible vibe or whatever, I honestly didn’t expect my aura to be less of a mess than me. But to have somehow lump Azo’lah in with me too—
Myaxi, I do not believe it is as—
“Oh,” Everly breathed. “That is odd. I’ve never seen anything like that.”
Beside me, Azo’lah stiffened. I glanced up to find the three witches staring at us. I realized, with relief, that I hadn’t tainted Azo’lah but that it must be visible to the witches when we communicated using Azo’lah’s technopathy.
Anthea was looking between us, her dark eyes more knowing than I wanted. I fought valiantly to keep the panic off my face and resorted to taking an oversized bite of salad.
“The tall one wants something from the short one. She wants her friend to do something because there’s a gap that keeps appearing. A want, or promise unfulfilled,” Orla said slowly, apparently uncaring of the discomfort she caused.
“Well, it doesn’t take magic to see that,” Ryan quipped, and my friends cracked up. Really, I expected Azo’lah to harp on this subject, but the rest of them knew better than to encourage it.
“She wants me to become a Myax, and I don’t—” I stopped myself before, ‘I don’t deserve it’ could pop out. I cleared my throat. “I’m quite happy being an archaeologist.”
“What is an archaeologist?” Everly smiled at me. “I wanted to ask earlier.”
“Someone who studies the history and culture of people through the recovery and analysis of their material remains,” I recited. After so many years of explaining the differences between archaeology, anthropology, and even geology, to my relatives at holiday gatherings, I had found it best to have easy definitions at the ready.
“She digs up old ass things to get the dirt on our ancestors,” Fleetwood translated. “On Destyr, we had a ‘let the past be the past’ type attitude, but we’re learning hella much from the exorcism of the Temple of Aluthua.”
“Excavation,” Chester corrected, filling his bowl with another helping of salad. “You should tell them the story, FleetMerc.” And bless her, she was off.
It didn’t take long before Fleetwood, and her hyperbolic retelling of some of our adventures seemed to have won over our hosts. Her endearingly unique, over-the-top brand of charm, with supporting interjections from Ryan had all three witches gasping with laughter. I was beginning to realize that Ryan and Fleetwood were a non-traditional diplomatic tour-de-force whose secret weapon was that they were actually sincere in their enjoyment of meeting new people.
At the end of their retelling of our confrontation with the Sarl, Everly said, “We should go to the target range.” She snapped her fingers, producing a small, flickering flame above them. She arched one challenging eyebrow at Ryan, whose grin flared to a full-force sunbeam beneath Everly’s attention. “Magic against mechanics. We can see if your aim is as good as you claim.”
“Um, actually,” I said, turning to Anthea, “would you mind very much if I looked at the crystal now?”
“Wow, you lasted longer than I thought,” Chester laughed. He also turned to Anthea and added. “You’d make Gretch’s day if you allowed us the honor.”
Anthea nodded. “Very well, but guards will, of course, be present.”
I had a hard time not shouting with glee. “You can go to the target range, Captain,” Azo’lah told Ryan. “Gretchen and Chester will report their findings back, as always.”
“Great!” Ryan stood, gesturing to Everly. “After you, fair witch.”
“You won’t be calling me that when I emerge victorious.” Everly grabbed Ryan’s outstretched hand, pulling them toward the exit at the other end of the hall.
Fleetwood sighed, clasping her hands over her heart as she watched them leave. “Be brave, young lovers.”
“Everly did not repair the bench,” Orla noted sourly, looking up at Anthea as we all stood.
“Good practice for you, then, little one,” Anthea. “If you require help, seek out one of the Elders.”
Orla muttered something that sounded like “Goddess cursed favoritism” as we followed Anthea out of the hall.
Once, when we were on J’olpri before it all went to shit, I had stumbled upon a vendor who had been selling jewels cursed by the witches of Huxor. I had almost succumbed to their beauty and their power. The Crystal of Cajlire needed no magic to keep me just as spellbound. It was kept in a small, unadorned room which, like the entire base, had been carved out of the mountain with magic. It had one narrow doorway, which required magic to access, and was guarded by two spindly witches who eyed us suspiciously as we entered the crystal’s chamber.
The crystal, the only object in the room, rested on a braided wooden pedestal.
“Doesn’t look very magical,” Chester murmured, firing up his Ran’dyl to take scans.
I didn’t exactly agree. The five-sided crystal was roughly ten inches tall and mimicked a fiery sunset fading into a star-dappled night. It had writing in a different language on each face, small and precise.
“Five sides for five languages,” I said as I walked around the pedestal. When I dove into the Destyrian Royal Archives to research the crystal, there had been frustratingly little about it. In fact, Shockley’s brief call had proved more informative.
“Yes, the ancient languages of the magical peoples of this quadrant: Destyr, Huxor, Yurdyn, Lallar, and the fifth,” Anthea explained, “is unclaimed. All our histories state is that we lost our brethren to the Knife’s Edge Galaxy more than four thousand years ago.”
I stopped, thunderstruck.“There’s Ancient Destyrian engraved on this crystal? No one mentioned that before!” I raced around the crystal in search of the glyphs I knew from the Temple of Aluthua.
“Magical peoples?” Chester asked, brows raised skeptically above his glasses frames as he read the scans his Ran’dyl was already producing. “All of them?”
“Yes. You know of the Iz’waij of Destyr and we, the witches of Huxor,” Anthea explained. I forced my eyes to not stray to Azo’lah. “Then there are the shape-shifters of Yurdyn. A dwindling race who can turn themselves into anyone and anything.” I caught Chester’s eye, and I knew we were both thinking of Jordan, the shape-shifter on Sadrilla’s crew. “And there are the Lallar: they are able to not only sense and manipulate the emotions of others, but to plant the seeds of feelings in your mind.” The Lallar were unfamiliar to me, but their abilities sent a chill down my spine. What would it be like to be that powerful?
“And the fifth lost race?” Matt asked as he leaned over my shoulder to inspect the crystal.
Anthea waved a hand through the air. “Their powers are unknown. What is known is that all five peoples lived in harmony for a great deal of time, and the Crystal of Cajlire was a testament to that. But, as the years passed and the magic amongst all our varied peoples began to dwindle, our shared history was forgotten. As war broke out across the universe, my ancestors removed the crystal from its original location and have kept it hidden ever since.”
“What does it say?” I asked, as I took pictures of the crystal and its etchings from various angles.
“The exact translation has been lost. And, as the languages are ancient and no longer spoken, we only have guesses.”
“You lost the translation?” I asked, horrified.
Anthea’s gaze turned scathing. “We have lost much in the various, needless wars brought to our doorstep. Invaluable pieces of history and culture, most importantly, people.”
I flushed, ashamed of myself. Of course, the loss of the witches was what was most important. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply—”
“No, I am sorry,” Anthea interrupted, with a sharp shake of her head. “My temper is worn thin by the necromancers. Your inquiry did not deserve my scorn. I can provide you with our best guess at a translation.”
I accepted this as the olive branch it was. “Please, but also, a member of our crew reads Ancient Destyrian. I’ve been learning through my work but Fleetwood’s fluent. Fleetwood, want to take a look at this?”
“Of course, Gret’chen, my Gret’chen!” Fleetwood stepped forward, Azo’lah at her side. She stooped forward for a closer inspection. “I thought it would glow with the flow or something,” she whispered mournfully.
“Well, it’s as old as they said it was, but otherwise, I’ve got nothing,” Chester held out the scan of his Ran’dyl.
Fleetwood said, “I am missing a great deal of context, but it could mean, As the moon lights the shadows...no, sky. No, wait, night. As the moon lights the night, Delto gives birth to the five.”
“What has been passed down is: As the moon lights the night, Delto bestows magic to the five,” Anthea corrected gently.
Fleetwood tilted her head. “Yeah, I can see that.” She squinted at the next two lines. “This is tricky. The hand who carved this may not have been a native speaker. Some of the glyphs look unusual.” Her long finger pointed to a cluster of glyphs. “It is hard to guess the context without knowing the exact glyph they meant.”
Anthea said, “We read it as: Keep her gift in our sight, Protect the vessel and magic survives.”
“That could be possible,” Fleetwood conceded, “but it could also be: The hand of the reune rises, Swim across the bubble for longevity.”
“Great,” Everly said. “What’s a reune?”
“A Destyrian horse,” Matt answered.
Everly grimaced. “What’s a horse? Do they have hands?”
“No,” Chester said.
“Then that’s a shit translation,” Everly huffed.
“But it’s an accurate one,” Fleetwood said.
I stepped forward, holding up my hands. “Ancient Destyrian is a nuanced language. I’ve never come across anything about the Ancients having any type of relationship with the witches of Huxor,” I glanced at Azo’lah and Fleetwood. “Is there anything historical that would have necessitated this?” Fleetwood shook her head. Well, if I wasn’t invested before, I certainly was now. I turned to Anthea. “Do you mind if I take a closer look at this? I think something might have been lost in translation. And if something was lost, there’s a possibility it’s something that could help you now.”
Matt held a fragrant bowl of sauteed veggies beneath my nose. “Come on, Gretchen, time to eat.”
I salivated at the aroma from the bowl, but my attention remained fixed on the Ancient Destyrian engraved on the crystal before me. I shoved the veggies out of my sightline. “Not yet. I’m close.”
Matt groaned and shuffled away. “Someone talk sense to her.”
“You’ve been close for the last five days,” Ryan sighed from their post, leaning against the wall between the door and Everly. For as long as I had been studying the Crystal of Cajlire, Chester had been telling me about how much time our dear Captain was spending with the young witch. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one with an obsession on Huxor. “Take a break, Borowicz. That’s an order.”
“You’ve been at this for the last ten hours,” Chester added quietly from the seat on my right. He had been in and out of the chamber while I conducted my study, helping me search my Ran’dyl for reliable translation texts and providing a sounding board for ideas.
At Chester’s back, Fleetwood—the only one of us who could read, write, and speak Ancient Destyrian—hovered. She had spent most of her time split between helping me translate and assisting Azo’lah in training the witches in new hand-to-hand battle tactics. “Gret’chen, you must take your toffee break before your soul decides to no longer fly!”
I grinned at Fleetwood’s misspoken Broadway lyrics. Though, regardless of her word usage, she had a point. I turned to the crystal, desperate for an answer to jump off its glistening edges and smack me in the face.
Keep her gift in our sight, Protect the vessel and magic survives.
I knew there was a meaning hidden amongst the lettering, if only I had the patience and knowledge to uncover it.
I leaned back in my wooden stool and finally looked around the torch-lit chamber at the faces of my friends and the witches who lined the walls. Everything was blurry. I dug the heels of my palms into my eyes, sending rainbows exploding across the backs of my eyelids.
Maybe it was time for a break.
I pushed back from the pedestal I had spent the last five days hunched over in my endeavor to help the witches of Huxor. There was something there—something useful in the connection between Ancient Destyrians and Huxor. If I could clarify the translation, I knew I could help turn the tide against the rising horror of the necromancers. Just in the time that we had been on Huxor, the necromancers had moved within miles of the mountain, and the reanimated dead became horrifyingly familiar.
During my short bathroom breaks, I had witnessed bloodied witches returning, their bodies battered, and their spirits even more so. I overheard one young witch keening in Gideon’s arms, telling him how she’d been forced to fight the corpse of her recently impaled twin.
I turned my attention to the two witches assigned to oversee my continued inspection of the crystal. Their young faces were lined with the worry and exhaustion I felt down to my bone marrow. I could not fail them. I had to find an answer.
“I’m so close,” I argued.
Fleetwood hummed sagely. “Closeness is a matter of perspective.”
A set of six-fingered hands gripped my shoulders and squeezed. I looked up at Azo’lah. “Rest your mind and your eyes, Myaxi. You must refresh yourself intermittently if you wish to help to your highest potential.”
“You don’t think I’m helping to my highest potential?” I asked, my voice breaking. A spike of hurt pierced through me, and unwanted tears pooled in my eyes. Did Azo’lah really think I wasn’t trying my hardest to help?
“Alright, that’s it!” Everly declared, her chair rolling forward. “Let’s go, stubborn Earth archaeologist! It’s time for food and a nap.”
I turned my watery gaze to the young witch. “I don’t need food or a nap!” I wiped furiously at my face in an attempt to hide my tears.
“You’re burning yourself out,” Everly approached me slowly, as though I were a spooked animal. “If this emotional outburst is anything to go by, you’re going to crash before moonrise, and Goddess knows when we’ll get you back in working order.” She wrapped a gentle hand around my wrist. “Come on, Gretchen.”
“I’m not having an emotional outburst,” I argued as more tears welled.
Everly was having none of it. “Enough,” she said. “If you won’t come willingly…”
“You’ll what?” I feared the answer.
“Oh, oh, oh, don’t go willingly, Borowicz,” Ryan strode forward. Their eyes were alight with excitement. “I want to see what she can do.”
“She wouldn’t use magic on me,” I said, my eyes widening in terror and wonder at the thought.
Everly tipped her head to the side questioningly. She nodded toward my stool. “I wouldn’t?”
I looked down to see myself no longer planted safely on my stool but hovering in a seated position at least a foot above its sturdy embrace. I shrieked, scrambling to grab ahold of Azo’lah’s hands which still rested on my shoulders. I opened my mouth to demand that Everly put me down immediately, but instead, I said, “You can levitate people? How?”
Ryan rocked on the balls of their feet. “Magic!”
Chester rolled his eyes. “The crystal most likely manipulates the field of gravity for her.”
“Yeah, like I said,” Ryan’s exuberance rolled off them in waves, “magic.”
“If you would not mind returning Myaxi to her seat, Everly, I believe she is ready to come with us willingly,” Azo’lah said. She pushed down on my shoulders, but I stayed stubbornly aloft.
“If you insist.” Everly flicked her wrist.
I dropped into my seat with a soft, “Oof.”
Azo’lah offered me a hand. “Dinner, Myaxi?”
“Alien gods and goddesses, yes,” I agreed. Now that my focus wasn’t solely directed at the crystal, I finally realized how hungry I truly was. I walked over to Matt and held out my arms. “Feed me!”
Matt’s eyes widened with guilt. His cheeks bulged with half-masticated vegetables. The bowl he had brought for me was empty. He swallowed his mouthful. “Sorry, Gretch, I didn’t think we’d actually convince you. Though, there’s more in the hall, along with some delectable meat skewers.”
I gave him a haggard grin as I looped our arms together. “Take me to the food.”
Fleetwood skipped to my other side and cheered, “Feed me, and you’ll see more!”
She and Matt dragged my tired body out of the room, all of us thanking my multiple Huxor-appointed guards as we passed them. “Do you think there’s any more of those maple cakes left?” Chester asked as he and Azo’lah fell into step behind us.
“There are cakes?” I asked.
“Yeah, mate. With fruit filling and frosting,” Matt said.
My mouth dropped in mock-offense. “Why didn’t you lead with that? I would’ve left that stool ages ago had I known there was cake!”
One bowl of grilled vegetables, two meat skewers, a mug of cider, and two maple cakes later, I was filled to bursting.
I snagged a third frosted cake from the passing platter as it made its way down the long table toward a small platoon of middle-aged witches preparing for their nightly guard duty. Now that I was fed and watered, I could admit that Everly and my friends had been right. I was feeling refreshed. My eyes even ached less.
“So much for not being hungry,” Chester teased me from across the table. He was on his second helping of veggies, his hand steadily shoveling his meal into his mouth as he read a translated book from the Destyrian Royal Archive on the most revered Iz’waij of Golyn’s Golden Era. He intermittently muttered, “Impossible,” into his bowl.
My snarky retort was lost in a spray of cake crumbs across the table. I clapped my hand over my mouth, mortified. Ryan and Everly, who were tucked close together on my right, burst out in uproarious laughter. Spotting their hands twined together on Ryan’s lap did more for my well-being than the delicious meal I had just consumed.
Azo’lah handed me a rough linen napkin, fighting a smile. I wiped frosting and berry-filling from the corners of my mouth. “Sorry, sorry,” I apologized, “I have manners, I promise. I just didn’t realize how hungry I was until I saw food.”
“Can’t say I’ve ever had that problem,” Matt said, draining his mug of cider.
Across the hall, Fleetwood cried out in faux-agony, “I surrender! I surrender!”
I spun in my seat to find her on her knees, a tiny witch perched on her shoulder, and two more hanging from her arms like they were monkey bars. I watched as a horde of tiny witches swarmed her. Fleetwood and the kids squealed with delight as they fell into a pile of uncoordinated limbs and tiny, sparking spells.
“These young ones are quite spirited,” Azo’lah commented, a note of fondness in her tone. “Were they to face the darkness, they would certainly make fine Myax. As would you, Myaxi, were you to finally take your oath.”
I almost choked on my final bite cake.
“One meal, guys,” Chester said, his eyes still on his article. “I’m asking for one full meal where you don’t argue about this in some capacity.”
“And your wish is granted because I’m not arguing about it,” I replied, my recent reinvigoration dwindling rapidly. “I’m not taking the Myax oath, and that’s that.”
Azo’lah’s nostrils flared. “But it is your birthright as a—”
“Azo’lah,” Matt cut in, “maybe we could give it a rest for one night?”
“Or possibly put the issue to bed altogether?” Ryan suggested. My body went hot then cold as realization struck me like lightning. Ryan said, “I know you mean well, Azo’lah, but this is Gretchen’s decision, and if she—”
I stood up quickly. The motion sent everyone who was sharing my bench wobbling as it slid backward.
“Gretchen?” Chester asked, finally turning from his article. “Why’re you making that face?”
“Put it to bed!” I crowed joyously. At my friends' confused looks, I expounded, “The crystal! I know how we can defeat the necromancers!”
As I waited for Anthea and her most trusted generals to make it to the crystal’s chamber, my excitement in my breakthrough warped into churning anxiety. As every minute passed by and more skeptical eyes filled the room, doubt took hold. The fate of not only this planet but the entire universe rested on the shoulders of my new, Fleetwood-approved translation. If I was wrong, we would all pay the price.
Anthea strode into the room. The gathered witches straightened, their attention snapping to watch me debrief their Ephemeris. She stopped on the opposite side of the crystal’s pedestal. Even though her third eye was clouded, I could still feel the weight of its gaze directed at me. “I received word that you’ve found something?”
I gulped, summoning all of my bravery in the face of too much attention. Knowing that all of my friends stood at my back, ready to support me, hardened my resolve.
“Yes, I have,” I confirmed.
“And?” Anthea pressed.
I cleared my throat and pointed to the Ancient Destyrian engraved on the Crystal of Cajlire. “I believe I’ve worked out a more accurate translation, one that provides a clue in defeating the necromancers.”
One of Anthea’s generals, a man with waist-length braids, snorted dubiously at the back of the chamber.
“That seems… highly unlikely,” Anthea said. My heart sank. “But I am listening, Gretchen of Earth.”
“Ch-Chester, you want to start at the beginning?” I prompted.
Chester stepped up to my side. “Not many descendants of those who engraved this crystal still speak or write in the languages inscribed here. The translation that you have all been operating under wasn’t incorrect, per se. It was just one of many possibilities.”
At Anthea’s raised eyebrows, I took over. “Ancient Destyrian glyphs have multiple meanings. The meaning is based on the placement within the sentence, as well as overall context. For example, the second glyph in the second sentence on the crystal,” at my back Chester was using his Ran’dyl to project an enlarged image of the glyph overhead for everyone to see, “can mean home, plateau, sandal, and is also one of the conjugations for the verb to light. Due to its placement and context in this particular circumstance, it reads lights.”
“That is the translation we had written,” Anthea inserted.
“It is,” I conceded. “This was just a demonstration of how complex this language is. The last two sentences were what bothered me.” Chester’s overhead projection changed to show the current, incorrect translation.
Keep her gift in our sight, Protect the vessel and magic survives.
“The problem with these sentences, at least in Ancient Destyrian, is that the possibility for translation is… almost endless,” I explained. “Fleetwood, could you please?”
“Happily, dearest Gret’chen,” Fleetwood walked up to stand between Chester and me. “This sentence contains the three most common glyphs in Ancient Destyrian.” The aforementioned glyphs pulsed purple in Chester’s projection. “This one alone has over a dozen uses based on sentence structure and modification. If it is at the beginning of a sentence, directly followed by a verb, it means man. But if it appears in the middle of a sentence and is preceded by a verb, it means throne. And those meanings can also be different depending on verb tenses. It is all very confuzzling.”
Zorina, one of the first witches we met and Anthea’s most trusted general, said, “How do you know all of this?”
“As Second Fulyiti of the central continent, it has been my privilege and my duty to learn the language of my ancestors,” Fleetwood replied. “And believe it or not, the human language of English is even more complicated.”
“Fulyiti,” Azo’lah murmured from behind us.
Fleetwood smiled brightly. “All of this is to say, in her astounding brilliance Gret’chen, has jigsawed out a more accurate translation.”
Without prompting, Chester changed his projection to the new, hopefully accurate, translation in modern Destyrian, English, and Huxorian.
“As the moon lights the night, Delto bestows magic to the five. Her gift is present in her sight, return to the cradle and the natural order revive,” Anthea read. Like a breeze through autumn leaves, whispers swept the room. “Are you sure of this?”
Beneath the choking swell of hope, my positivity wavered for a moment. But I trusted my hard work, Chester’s research, and Fleetwood’s years of study. “Positive,” I said. “With this sentence structure, the glyph that had previously been translated into vessel can also mean severed ear, broken cup, or infant’s bed, otherwise known as a cradle.”
“Put it to bed,” Ryan repeated gleefully. Almost an hour later, they were still chuffed that their wording had been what sparked my translation discovery.
“And this one here,” Chester said, illuminating another Destyrian character, “does mean order. But not just any type of order, such as organization. It means natural, as in untampered with.”
“The natural order,” Anthea repeated, the doubt in her eyes replaced by a gleam of possibility.
“Yes, the natural order. The basis of Huxorian magic,” Ryan said.
“We have to return the crystal to the cradle,” I looked around hopefully. “Whatever that means. It should return everything to the way it was intended. Does anyone know what the cradle is?”
“The crystal was originally kept in the Temple of Delto,” Anthea explained. “ The temple stood in what was our first permanent settlement. The birthplace of civilization on Huxor.”
“If the human is correct, by returning the Crystal of Cajlire to the Temple of Delto we could defeat the necromancers with minimal loss of life,” Zorina said.
“We hope,” Anthea said.
“Where is this temple?” Matt asked.
With a wave of her hand, Anthea produced a rolled parchment out of thin air. “We all know where the temple is,” she said, unrolling the worn map and allowing it to float unfurled in the air before us. “It is our holiest of lands. Located here.” She pointed to an expanse of land that dropped off into the sea. If I was reading the map correctly, it appeared to be no more than twenty miles away from our current location.
“If this map is right, I can fly us there in minutes,” Matt said.
“It is not that simple,” Anthea sighed. “Two harvests ago, the Temple of Delto fell under necromancer control.”
Of course, once one problem was solved, another, more dangerous one presented itself.
“Myax, take a look at the map,” Ryan ordered. Azo’lah immediately leaned closer. “You think you can come up with a plan of attack? Majumdar can help with entrance and exit strategies.”
“I can certainly draw up plans.” Azo’lah turned to Anthea. “With the help of your warriors, of course.”
“You don’t understand,” Anthea pressed. “The temple is in the heart of their territory.”
“Of course it bloody is,” Matt said.
“That isn’t ideal,” Ryan conceded. “But if this is the way to stop the necromancers…”
“Then go beast lightning,” Fleetwood finished for them.
“We’ll do it,” Ryan said. “Our team will return the crystal to The Temple of Delto.”
“I’m coming with you,” Everly piped up as she moved forward. “You may be good, Captain, but there’s no way you’re doing this without a witch.”
“No, certainly not,” Anthea agreed. “We will defeat this enemy as our ancestors intended.” She nodded to the crystal where the ancient writings of Huxor and Destyr glinted. “Together.”