Page 12 of Sightwitch
“I’m sure you can guess which one will serve you better in the long run. Which one will serve us all. Now ring the bell.”
I blinked. Then wet my lips, trying to absorb her words. To understand. But they were nonsensical sounds that knocked aimlessly in my skull.Two kinds of Sight. Gripped upon it. Which one will serve us all.
The swifts flittered toward us. One clacked its aetherial beak.
“Ring the bell,” Hilga repeated, more forcefully now.
I rang the bell.
A stuttering heartbeat passed before the answering toll sounded in the distance.
Then Sister Hilga turned away from me and walked out of the observatory, out of this world, and out of my life entirely.
Tanzi Lamanaya
Y17 D254
A man came today. I don’t know why, but Hilga let him in—and not just beyond the glamour either, but into the Convent.
I caught a glimpse of him and his two companions when they reached the Supplicant’s Sorrow. I had traded cleaning the dolmen for sheep duty today, since out in the meadows, I can pretend I’m far, far away.
The Windswept Plains, perhaps. Or even the savannas of southwest Marstok.Anywherebut here.
I’d followed the sheep down to that grassy patch that overlooks the pond. When I saw that we had visitors, Iof courseabandoned the sheep entirely and crept down to the glamour’s edge.
The man who led the way—the one who ultimately entered the Convent—was tall, broad of shoulder, fair of hair, and with eyes of stormy blue. At his neck, he wore a gold chain that he fidgeted with constantly.
His companions strode several paces behind. One of the men was just as tall and just as fair, though lean and slouchy. He smiled often and kept muttering things that the final man—a distinctly Marstoki-looking man, who kept his hands defensively high as he walked—chuckled at despite his best efforts not to.
At first, I thought his stance awkward. Then I spotted the triangular Witchmark on the back of his hand.
A Firewitch.
My interest, which had been piqued before, was now tenfold hooked. A hundredfold.
Hilga herself came for the men and bowed to each of them, a sight I’ve never seen. Hilgabowing! Then she led the leader through the glamour and into our home.
So much of the world has forgotten we exist, but some still remember—or still believe enough to go searching.
Like Gran-Mi.
As Sister Rose always says, “History might easily be rewritten, but someone somewhere always remembers what truly happened.”
The glamour keeps accidental visitors from wandering beyond. The magic masks us with images of forest expanse and bare mountainside; those who approach too close will abruptly find themselves lost and disoriented. Without really knowing why, they’ll turn and walk the other way.
These three men knew what to do, though. They followed the proper protocol, going to the Supplicant’s Sorrow and waiting for someone to meet them.
I couldn’t help but think of Ryber in that moment. The only child ever to find her way here on her own. To ask to be let in. No wonder the Sisters all thought she would be powerful one day.
I still think she might be too, even if she claims she has given up hope.
I wanted so badly to follow Hilga as she guided the man onto the Convent grounds, but even I won’t break a rule where Hilga might see.
As soon as Trina came to relieve me of shepherding, I pelted straight for our bedroom, where I knew I’d find Ryber huddled over a book. When chores end, that’s always where she goes first.
Except that when I barged through the door, shewasn’thunched overTüll’s CompendiumorA Guide to the Constellations.
She had a child’s slate on her lap. The kind with the Nine Star Puzzle embedded into the stone.
