The Last Witch

Norrah was silent as the carriage bounced along the road. Asher wished she would say something. The shadows over her face were starker in the shadows of the curtains, so if it was exhaustion that lulled her into silence, he didn’t blame her. Yet, getting into the carriage had taken an effort. Minutes of twisting and trying to pull himself up when even the slightest pressure on his leg sent a thundering dull pain through the bone left only an awkward pressure over the tiny space. At least Norrah was small enough that they could sit with a little bit of space between them. He found himself watching the farmlands pass out the window. With the Golharie farm sitting on the edge of the forest, it meant there was a lot of farmland to pass before they saw the township. 

Then there were the spirits. Small spectral curls of mist tapped against the glass like tiny, ghostly hands. Bursts of blue and green flashed at each hoof-fall of the horses just outside, and occasionally the crops in the fields outside grew strange flowers like the one that still sat in the kitchen when he left. Gershwin’s warning echoed in his head and he tried not to stare at them.

Asher needed to speak up first. 

‘What did I miss?’ he asked. 

‘That would depend on what you remember,’ Norrah returned. She even sounded tired. 

‘Not a lot,’ Asher said. ‘I remember being in the market, and there was a boy missing his mum and a woman missing her daughter, then...’ Then he was pulled into the Underlands and attacked by monsters. Saved by a man who’s eyes caught fire. 

At some point he needed to find out what happened to Penn. 

‘Then you disappeared, and logic and civility left with you,’ Norrah said. ‘Captain Chavereau told me you started freaking out, and even pulled your sword on a merchant, and he couldn’t find you anywhere.’

Asher flinched.

‘From there, more people seemingly vanished, and other people began to panic.’ Norrah sighed. ‘I don’t know the specifics beyond that. The Dalvany Lieutenant came back and it was all our efforts to stop a riot from breaking out. Eventually we had most of the people in the town hall, and we were trying to check for the missing when…’ she shook her head. ‘I don’t know. The market disappeared.’

In a ring of ash, I imagine, Asher added silently. ‘The stalls and the tables, or the buildings too?’

‘A few of the buildings were missing parts. A railing or balcony here, front steps over there,’ Norrah said. ‘You don’t seem surprised.’

‘It’s the reason we’re both here, isn’t it?’ Asher said. ‘Valenda disappeared without a trace. I think they’re connected.’

Norrah turned to the window, her posture stiff and her shoulders square. She wouldn’t meet his eye. Asher could only think of Navarre and how distant this woman was even in the tight space. No knees pressed against his, and no sly little winks or comments eased the tension. There was nothing but distance between the two of them. 

Navarre was gone. 

‘I don’t understand any of this,’ Norrah mumbled. 

‘Likewise.’

‘I hope you aim to remedy that,’ Norrah said. ‘I have been stretched far too thin with the latest events, so I hope despite your injuries you are ready to step in where I can not.’

There was bite to her words, a flash of shame behind them. Asher suddenly had the sense that she was asking for help, in her own way. 

‘I will get to the bottom of this,’ Asher said. ‘It’s personal now.’

Norrah flopped back against her seat, wringing her hands together in her lap. ‘More than anything, I need to know you’ll be an ally going forward. Swear that you will work with me.’

‘I promise.’ Asher felt dirty saying it. He wouldn’t tell her about the monsters, about Penn or about the flickers and sparks sailing past the window, caught in a non-existent breeze. Parts of this mess were on him now, and even if he did tell Norrah, there was no saying she would believe him. He’d sooner find himself on the Black Scroll before anything else.

‘Do you believe you were injured by malice?’ Norrah asked. When Asher raised an eyebrow in question, she met his gaze. ‘For this to be personal. Do you wish to know what happened, or do you believe a party is at fault?’

‘Maybe a bit of both,’ Asher admitted. ‘If I can find out where I was, then maybe I can find a way to bring the others out too.’

‘Out?’ Norrah echoed. ‘Out of what?’

Asher flinched. The image of Navarre being dragged into the shadows flashed through his head. ‘That place,’ Asher said quickly. ‘In my head, I picture it like the Underlands.’

‘But you don’t remember enough for key details?’

This was already a nightmare. Pull yourself together. ‘I was delirious when the farmers found me,’ he pointed out. ‘I remember snatches, but I can’t tell if they were nightmares or memories.’

‘And you feel little need to share?’

‘I don’t see a point when I can’t say if they’re real or not.’

Norrah continued to stare at him. Asher hoped nothing was written on his face that would give something away. If Norrah could admit that she was swimming against the current, then could he admit at least to the madness, or how he didn’t trust his own mind. He wasn’t prepared to deal with any of this. Though Gershwin and Aria’s warnings echoed in his head, he still felt exposed. He still felt as though the slightest wrong move would have him hanging from the noose before the day ended. He was well out of his depth. 

‘There is something you are not telling me, Lieutenant,’ Norrah said. When Asher flinched, she nodded as though she’d been waiting to catch him. ‘Even if you doubt the validity of your memories, I would like you to share them. Aren’t the small details the things that matter in these situations?’

‘I guess,’ Asher said. ‘But anecdotes are also the most unreliable.’

‘You will be working against your own bias then,’ Norrah pointed out. 

She had a point. ‘I remember being in Dalvany Manor,’ he said. At the mere mention of the nightmare, it sprang to the surface as if waiting to torment him. ‘Everyone was there, and more. I know that’s not true, unless you know something you’re not telling me.’

Norrah’s lip curled. ‘There’s no need to be smart, Lieutenant, but I see your point.’

Asher opened his mouth to say more, then closed it again. He needed to be careful with what he chose to say. It wasn’t just him on the line; anything could lead back to Gershwin and Aria. They didn’t deserve that from him after all they’d done. They didn’t deserve the consequences period. ‘I… I remember being afraid,’ he admitted. ‘More afraid than I’d ever felt in my whole life.’

Norrah shifted, and she went back to staring out the window. When she spoke, her voice was small. ‘We are all afraid, Lieutenant,’ she said. ‘Admitting that is not out of the way for even those braver than us.’

Asher said nothing. Maybe he was wrong to dismiss Norrah so completely. Fear was playing a part in all of this, and even now a single conversation was making the blood roar in his ears. Disappearing cities and disappearing people had a bizarre edge to it, enough that he could see the same existential anxiety in Norrah’s features. She had to be open to the idea of an unnatural explaination; anyone who wasn’t at this point had to be too stupid to be involved.

The smell of salt hit hard the closer they came to Dalvany, growing steadily more powerful until it was overpowering. 

The sensation pulled him into a childhood memory of running up and down the dock with the other boys, and the many dock-women who would ruffle his hair or tell him to settle or give him a huge hug before they lifted entire barrels onto their shoulders and lifted whole crates from ships with their bare hands. Asher shook the thoughts away. Focus. 

‘There’s something you need to know,’ Norrah said. Her nose wrinkled, letting him know that she could smell the salt too. ‘Evelyn heard word of your return before I did. She’s been in a rather dramatic state because of it. It’s the reason I came for you and she didn’t. I think you should be prepared.’

Asher nodded. Dealing with Evelyn hadn’t been at the front of his mind, but he needed to check in on her when he got the chance. So much had gone off the rails so quickly. He only hoped the damage others had experienced was minimal. The best case scenario was that his bout of madness was isolated, though he doubted it would be true. 

The carriage came to a stop, and Norrah pulled in a deep breath, straightening herself up and flattening the folds of her skirt. She blinked away the weariness clouding her eyes, then pushed the carriage door open and stepped into the town square. Into the salt flats that now covered the space where the market used to be. 

Asher opened his own door and took in the scene around him. White, flat stretches of crystal covered the ground around him, shimmering in the weak sunlight. He leaned over and prodded his cane against the surface. It sank into the salt, giving way to clear blue water beneath that pooled against the wood. As Norrah had described, the ashen ring that separated salt from cobblestone had sliced through buildings around the plaza, leaving doors hanging above empty stone and metal prongs sticking out of the walls. A few people milled around, but they gave him only a sideways glance before they went on their way.

Getting out of the carriage proved to be as difficult as getting in, made more so by the wet, uneven, and constantly shifting ground beneath him. One labourer rushed to help him as Norrah came around to meet him as well, and Asher could only fall limp as rough hands hauled him down. 

The town hall was missing its bottom step. It was also the space that saw all of the commotion he was expecting from arriving here. A few white tents had been propped up at the base of the stairs, the poles sinking deep into the salt and the water breaking through to lap at the cloth. People rushed around, hauling carrier-carts or ordering others around, while lines of people hauling blankets and barrels and carts of food up and down. Watchmen guided people back and forth and pointed groups in directions, some leading to agitated mares waiting outside the ash ring, while others disappeared further into town. With a nod to Asher, Norrah lifted her skirts and rushed towards one of the tents at the base of the stairs.

There was a small group sitting by the steps of the town hall, huddled into a wall made from the ash ring carving into the stairs. There were only four of them, but one held a slab of wood that had been carved out with a blade. The words read; The Sleepless are Awake. Asher doubted that was the case – he was sure that if this really was the end of time, things would be far more final – but he didn’t know if he should consider the idea that the gods were… real. Real and returning to finish things. No. He’d consider it if he had a reason to. Yet, people were glancing at the sign as they passed, and their demeanour noticeably shifted, becoming more haunted, more tired than they were before.

Asher hobbled after Norrah, each step aching every bone in his body, making his leg scream. The effort was made worse by how each cane sank into the salt, and his legs sank in with them. It was slow, so much slower than the people rushing around him, and he dreaded the thought of keeping this up for the rest of the investigation. If any of the watchmen had come to him in this state, he would have forced them to take leave. He would have forced them to retire if there was little sign of them recovering. 

Gershwin had said there was no saving his leg. He would be lucky if it healed straight. Already he couldn’t keep up with the people moving around him, and already he could feel the pain of the strain pulling him back. He would have sent himself home. Would he really be living in a future where he didn’t walk straight? Where he wouldn’t be able to do the very tasks he had been happy doing for the last few years? Was he seeing a future where he wasn’t a Lieutenant anymore?

No. No, his leg had to heal. It would heal. He just needed to push forward, and have some patience with himself. 

He would go back to his usual strength eventually. Right?

He ducked beneath the cloth door of the tent, and his stomach lurched as groans and blood filled the air. He had walked into a scene too similar to what he had seen above the pub before it all happened. People in cots, being fussed over by grey faced volunteers, covered in instruments and bloodied bandages. Asher noticed the doctor from before in the far corner, as well as the red-haired teenager who had been attacked by a hawk, among a few others who had been patrolling the streets when he arrived. The teen noticed him and gave a small wave, and Asher nodded back. The scar along her face had healed, but it had also left a permanent crevice across her face. 

She was attending an unconscious figure in the cot next to her, who was passed out cold. It was the bartender who had opened her second storey to the first makeshift hospital. 

‘What happened to her?’ Asher asked the kid. 

‘She was one of the ones that disappeared,’ the girl said. ‘Like you did, sir. She’s still fighting off the sickness.’

‘You’ll find that’s the case for most of these ones.’ The doctor stepped forward, offering a hand to Asher, which he took. ‘Good to see you made it back, Lieutenant.’

‘I want to help if I can,’ Asher said. ‘Any way I can.’

The doctor gestured to an empty chair on the other side of the tent. ‘Off that leg first. I want to take a look at you.’

Asher nodded, and saw Norrah talking to one of the doctors in the corner, showing her the parchment that Gershwin had written. He fixed his arms against the two canes, then yelped as a hand grabbed his arm and pulled him to a stop. The bartender. She was awake and staring at him, gripping his arm tight enough that her nails left dints in the skin under his coat. 

‘H-hey,’ Asher stammered. Clyde had said her name, but it wouldn’t come to him. 

‘I remember you,’ she said. 

The doctor froze. The teenager stared at him. Others in the room turned to look as well. 

Had she been in the ring around the fire? Asher couldn’t remember faces, only those of the monsters. ‘I remember you,’ he said. Her name came to him in a blink. ‘Tippy, right? I came into the bar to see the injured people. I was with Clyde. That’s what you mean, right?’

‘You are the dancing man,’ Tippy said. 

Asher felt a lump form in his throat. 

‘Hasn’t been much of a relief effort aside from what you see here,’ the doctor said. ‘When Tippy disappeared nobody wanted near her business. They thought it was jinxed. It probably didn’t help that she started going on about... that when we found her. It’s all she’ll say.’

‘It’s you,’ Tippy said. ‘You are the dancing man.’

‘I... I don’t know what you mean,’ Asher said. He could feel eyes burning into him as more people shifted their attention to the scene. ‘I don’t remember much about what happened. Can you remind me?’

‘We were all dancing.’ Tippy was staring at him with an intensity that scared him, a kind of mania that seemed to be willing to push the thoughts into his head. 

He did remember the ring around the fire, but there hadn’t been dancing. Had there? He would have described it more like a march. 

‘We were dancing around the fire,’ Tippy pressed. ‘A fire in a forest, and we were all dancing, then you were there and we were dancing together.’

She had to be one of the people he’d pulled out of the circle. It was the only explanation, but he struggled to picture when there had been dancing. When had their even been music?

‘Anything coming back to you, Lieutenant?’ Norrah quizzed. 

Asher shook his head. 

‘You are a very good dancer,’ Tippy said. ‘A great dancer. You swept me off my feet. Then you threw me at the fire and I woke up here.’

‘I what?’ The words escaped before Asher could stop them. Penn. Penn had hands on fire and eyes on fire, so Asher could see how she thought that, but the words were still a shock. 

‘That’s new,’ the doctor muttered. He raised an eyebrow at Asher, and must have seen something in his expression because his softened. ‘There’s not a burn mark on her anywhere. Aside from the mania she’s probably the least injured here.’

Asher strained to remember anything that matched the woman’s story. The fire he remembered, and he remembered the ring around said fire, but dancing? He was also positive he had tossed the people in that ring away from the flame. He’d almost been burned himself! If this was what the woman remembered so vividly, how much of what he remembered was accurate? He’d been so concerned with separating nightmare from real that he didn’t think that all of it had been warped by his own fear. If he couldn’t trust Tippy’s statement to be completely accurate, he didn’t know how to trust his own either. 

‘Sit,’ the doctor ordered. ‘Now.’

Asher obeyed, easing out of Tippy’s grip and hobbling over to the chair, where he dropped into it less than gracefully. The doctor knelt down in front of him and lifted his injured leg, ignoring Asher’s hiss of pain as he prodded at the bone. 

‘I don’t remember...’ The words didn’t feel as dirty as they had before. He still couldn’t trust his own mind.

‘Don’t hurt yourself,’ the doctor said. ‘Been quite a bit of that going around.’

‘But--’

‘Every story that’s come out from wherever you went has been different,’ the doctor said. 

‘How am I supposed to figure this out if I don’t know what happened?’ Asher asked. 

The doctor sighed and lowered his leg back down. ‘Lift your toes.’

Asher obeyed. 

‘Good. Now drop them and lift your heel. Drop and lift your toes again. I want you to keep doing that until I tell you to stop.’

The bone tinged in response, sending a dull pain thundering up his whole leg. Asher grit his teeth and forced the joint to keep moving. 

‘Your healing pretty well,’ the doctor said. ‘You’re young, you might come out of this with no sign it ever happened. You might. Until then, I don’t know what you expect to do.’

Asher stared at him. It was happening. He was being told he couldn’t return to being a Lieutenant. His time in the city watch was over. A watchman with a bad leg was not a good watchman. His career was over. 

‘If you exert yourself while the bone is still healing, you’ll have a crooked leg for the rest of your life,’ the doctor said. ‘I want you off it. You need rest, and you need to take a moment away from all of this. You’re not well, Lieutenant. You haven’t had a chance to bring yourself back to the real world.’

He knew Gershwin was a witch. He already suspected Asher of the same thing. Asher could see it in the man’s expression. He’d already been caught out. 

‘You need rest,’ the doctor pressed. ‘More than what you’ve already had. Do with that what you will, but that’s my professional opinion.’

‘We can find ways for you to help while you recover,’ Norrah pointed out. ‘This has been a nightmare for weeks, and I doubt it will resolve tomorrow.’

Asher nodded. If anything he needed the distraction. He couldn’t let himself be thinking about how he might never again patrol the streets with the other watchmen, or be able to jump at the earliest quest for help. None of it even felt real anymore. It was all a distant dream, another world that he might never see again.