The Last Witch

Asher tried to run, tried to move his legs faster than his body would allow, but he still felt agonisingly slow in a way that only made the fear gripping his chest stronger. He was a witch. Much like the old stories of people working for the little voices whispering in their ears, demons using puppets to break free, he had gone to their home and come back changed. He was a witch. He would hang by the neck if anyone found out.

He was a witch.

Penn was fighting off two of the rock creatures, one of which had swallowed him up to the waist and was dragging him along the ground, while the other beat at his hands and his face, cutting off any gesture or word he tried to throw at them. Asher glanced around desperately, then saw a small rock loose on the craggy wall next to him. He picked it up, thrust it into the flame pillar, then tossed it as hard as he could.

The rock struck the stone beating at Penn’s face, and exploded like a torch hitting gunpowder. That same roar rocked through the stone walls around him, and Penn pulled his hand free with a shout. With another yell, he caught an ember from the blast in his fist and thrust it at the still thrashing golem. The rock that made it’s face shattered into dust.

Asher scrambled to find another rock, but the flame pillar next to him flared into his face. He recoiled, and something deep in his gut stabbed into him, making him double over. The same flayed feeling on his hand was now on his face, but also under it, squirming and burning and coming alive. His vision blurred, but he could make out the shape of the second monster exploding into a fountain of dust.

The creature that stood up from the wreckage wasn’t Penn. It wasn’t the Alchemist either. This one was tall, tall enough that the long, straight, pointed horns on its head stretched beyond the tops of the rock walls around it. Spikes – or perhaps other horns – jutted out from its neck and out from under the mane of thick hair that covered its head and face. Asher’s vision blurred, trying to catch the details, but another wave of pain rocked him. He could only see a silhouette against the still angry flames, a tall, jagged thing with too many limbs and angles, twisted like the knots of an old tree.

The creature turned to face him. Another wave of pain wracked through Asher’s chest, and his vision blacked entirely as the contents of his stomach came up. He vomited against the ground, heaving against the bile taste in his throat. The burning under his skin faded, but his entire body shook, trapping him on his hands and knees.

A hand tapped on his shoulder, and Asher jumped, but Penn’s face hovered over his, and he relaxed. ‘Are they dead?’ his voice came out as a wheeze.

‘Yes,’ Penn said. ‘Get up.’

Penn dragged him to his feet with a surprising amount of strength, pulling Asher back down the road, away from the rubble and the bile he’d left behind.

‘They stopped me,’ Asher said. ‘The spirits. I tried to help and—’

‘You did help,’ Penn said. ‘You’re too new. Pushed too hard.’

‘So it’s true,’ Asher said. ‘I really am a witch.’

‘Yes.’

Witches aren’t real. The little voice in his head still chided him, still made him feel stupid for thinking it. Though, he knew there was more to it. If he wanted to accept this was real – and he needed to – then he needed to know how much anyone else knew; if this was just a story or he had been an idiot for denying it. If he had been so stupid to be the only one, then he could accept that, but if it was only the stories he had heard, then where were the real witches, and who was being hung for what crime?

‘Thank you,’ Penn said. There was a sullenness to his words that Asher hadn’t heard before. He sounded older, worn down.

‘Don’t mention it,’ Asher said. ‘Besides, they went for me too.’

‘They attacked you because they want me,’ Penn said.

‘Why you?’ Asher said. ‘Because you’re Nakati?’

‘Yes.’

‘The Fienta called you something else. Jalti or Jilita or… what does it mean?’

Penn didn’t answer.

It was a slow crawl forward. Asher’s leg screamed, only a dead weight that dragged behind him as Penn held him upright. He had a vague memory of leaving the other crutch by the survey tent in Valenda, but the thought of struggling all the way back made him want to curl up and burst into tears. If he really was magic, it would have been handy to have some kind of instant heal trick, though not even Gershwin and Sara had managed that.

‘Can I ask something?’ Asher asked.

Penn didn’t answer.

‘Do people side with the Fienta?’ Asher asked. ‘If they can wander into our world, can they—’

‘No,’ Penn said. ‘Not normally. The Gate stays solid. Nothing comes out. Nothing. Archemislt has stayed here when the Gate closed. That’s why he’s still here…’ He sighed. ‘The Gate is breaking. Too many breaks. No rules anymore.’

‘This started a year ago?’ Asher asked.

Penn nodded, his face grim.

‘There was a woman in that place,’ Asher said. ‘With a lot of birds. She stopped me from going after my friend.’

‘I remember.’

‘She disappeared from this town a year ago too.’

‘So?’

Asher noted that whatever Penn’s title meant, detective wasn’t it. ‘She wasn’t one of those monsters, and I don’t know why she disappeared but something is off about it. If it’s connected, then maybe there’s something there.’

‘Okay.’

Thudding echoed out in the distance, a rumbling that made Penn freeze. Asher strained to hear where it was coming from, too aware of how he was hanging off Penn like a sack of potatoes, a dead weight that couldn’t even stand, much less fight anything else off. In a flash he remembered the stories of animals becoming rabid around people, disturbed by the spirits and the monsters. He should have brought one of the rifles.

The thuds drew closer, and Asher recognised horse hooves. Penn relaxed. ‘It’s not a Fienta.’ he said.

The researchers, Asher hoped. Someone would have noticed he was missing by now.

Shadows fell in long strips along the rock as the spirits dimmed, giving way to the bouncing flame of a torch. The horse that appeared around the corner was a large beast of a thing, black and tall with legs as thick as his torso. Clyde sat on its back, reigns gripped tight in one hand and a flaringly bright lantern in the other. When the light spilled across Asher and Penn, he pulled the great stallion to a halt.

‘Do you have any idea,’ Clyde said, ‘how much trouble I’d be in if you disappeared again?’

Asher flinched. ‘I’m sorry. I… my crutch broke on the rock.’

Clyde grunted, then glanced Penn up and down. ‘Who’s your friend?’

‘This is Penn,’ Asher said. His mind whirled for an explaination, but exhaustion chased anything believable away. ‘He’s with me.’

Clyde regarded them both, and Asher wondered if the man had grown suspicious, or if he saw something in Penn, when he shrugged and threw his head back. ‘Get on then. We’ve already set up a camp for the night, but we can make an extra spot for your friend.’

Strong hands raised him onto the horse, and Penn leapt up easily, sandwiching Asher between the two of them. As Clyde turned his steed around and the creature began to bounce back towards Valenda. Clyde was tense in front of him, and Asher hoped it was exhaustion or strain. He couldn’t be the only one who had been feeling it.

‘You know something the rest of us don’t, don’t you?’ Clyde asked. He didn’t turn as he said it, so Asher couldn’t see his expression. If Penn hadn’t been sitting right against his back, he would have shrunk away.

‘I’m just trying to do my job,’ Asher mumbled.

Clyde sighed. ‘You’re a good kid. I know you’re trying, but don’t lie to me.’

Asher flinched. ‘What do you want me to say?’

‘Nothing,’ Clyde said. ‘Not a word. I’ll cover for you tonight and if anyone asks, I’ll vouch for you. But I don’t want you hanging around anymore. Not around me, and not around any of my boys.’

Did Clyde suspect he was a witch? Asher hoped not, but he couldn’t blame Clyde for being afraid. ‘You want to protect them,’ Asher mumbled.

‘I don’t think you’re a threat, if that’s what you mean,’ Clyde said. ‘But I can’t lose anyone else. My boys - my people, I should say - are all good folks. They work hard, and we’re in the crossfire if things go tits up. I won’t have them in the crossfire. So whatever you’re doing, leave me and mine alone.’

Asher swallowed, though it didn’t ease the lump in his throat. ‘I’m sorry about your friend,’ he said. ‘If that means anything.’

Clyde sighed again. ‘Yeah. I’m sorry too.’