Page 25 of Witchlight
What if, by cleaving and binding you, one lifetime grew louder than all the others inside of you? The lifetime that belonged to Bastien. What if his strong emotions, his strongfuryallowed him rise to the surface?
And what if I could instead awaken strong emotions fromyou? From my Captain, my Kullen Ikray?
I will keep searching. The ghosts of the Crypts are used to me by now, and they lead me to new records every day. And as for Skullface and the Death Maidens on the lowest levels, they seem almost gladfor my company. They run to me whenever I arrive, and then they linger while I study and read.
I once wondered if they were ghosts or guardians created by Sirmaya Herself. Now I think it’s the latter. Their… well,clinginess,for lack of a better word, makes me think they sense something in the mountain isn’t right. And they wantmeto find the solution.
I will. Just as I will keep sending the Rook to your ice tomb.
I love you.
—Ryber
The Six Elements and the Magic Associated Therein
A TREATISE BY SISTER KOMLA INHAR
It is a misconception to say that Aether Paladins possess power over mind and soul while Void Paladins possess power over flesh. In fact, both types of magic can manipulate Threads—but it is the end result that differs.
An Aether Paladin uses Threads to transfer a soul into a body other than its own. Typically, these souls belong to the dead, and typically, the Aether Paladin will restore those Threads to their original corpse, thereby bringing a person back to life. However, there are records in which Aether Paladins have attached the Threads of the dead into a new body—almost always without the consent of the host.
Control, meanwhile, is the domain of the Void Paladins. They can manipulate a person’s mind by weaving a soul against its own desire. In turn, this causes the body to act in ways it otherwise would not.
To put it simply, a Void Paladin creates a puppet. An Aether Paladin creates a possession.
THIRTEEN
Iseult det Midenzi knelt over the dying man. He had been fine two days ago, his wife said, but now he had these shadowy lines across his body. Please, are you the one who heals the Cleaved? Please, can you help him?
Iseult couldn’t help him.
She had tried. Since dawn, when the woman had first found her at the imperial hunting lodge, Iseult had tried to weave this man’s Threads back into life as she had done with the Hell-Bards a month ago.Living, living, breath and living. Threads that heal, Threads that thrive.But it was early afternoon now, and still his Threads had not responded.
It made no sense. Iseultshouldbe able to control these Threads. Sheshouldbe able to heal this slowly cleaving man. Yet it was as if, by destroying Corlant, the very nature of cleaving had changed. Gone was the quick, vicious death that bubbled up from the core and burned a person from the inside out, magic turned molten and cruel. Now it was this agonizing thing that crept over a person for days, sucking the life from them.
It was horrible to witness, and Iseult hated that none of her tools as a Weaverwitch could stop what Moon Mother had decided must be.
“Iseult,” Safi whispered, kneeling beside her. “You’re exhausted. You need to stop.”
“I c-can’t.” Iseult’s hands trembled as she wove them through—again—the man’s Threads. Strands like burning silk. Here were the ones that bound him to his wife and his three daughters. Here were the ones that bound him to his work as a blacksmith. And here were the Severed Threads eating him alive.
They seared against Iseult’s palms, as Severed Threads always did, except now she couldn’t control them. She was going to have to turn to this man’s wife and say, “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”
It was the third person in as many days Iseult hadn’t been able to heal—and the fourth person in a week who’d had no magic but had begun cleaving all the same.Why?
“Come,” Safi repeated, and this time, she gripped Iseult’s elbow, gentle but unrelenting. Iseult didn’t fight her Threadsister; there was no point, and Safi was right: she was exhausted.
“I will come back soon,” Iseult told the wife, a lie on two fronts. First, becausesoonwouldn’t save the man. Second, because Iseult was leavingsoon.Tonight, in fact. She and Safi were leaving this eastern corner of Cartorra to brave the Windswept Plains.
Still, it gave the woman hope to offer promises. It made this woman feel like someone cared enough to do something—and Iseultdidcare. And shewasgoing to do something. “Keep him warm and make him drink water.”
“Thank you,” the woman replied. The lines around her mouth and eyes were stark with exhaustion and fear. And with love too, for the Threads that bind etched deep marks upon the soul.
Yet as the woman offered Iseult jars of lanolin meant for oiling blades, as a thank-you, Iseult spotted faint shadows within the woman’s weathered hands. They followed her veins, and were it not for Iseult’s magic—her constant connection to Threads and the corruption that can work inside them—she would never have noticed. But she did notice, she did recognize, and her heart broke for the second time that day.
It was spreading. This slow, incurable cleaving was spreading.
“Th-thank you,” Iseult murmured to the woman before her weak grasp on stasis could give her away. Then she hurried with Safi out of the woman’s home.
