Page 58 of Witchlight
For half a moment, Iseult gazed at the forest—so near, yet still impossibly far. If she pushed their horses to the brink, could they reach those trees ahead?
Logic quickly thrust in:You cannot outrun a Windwitch.
“Control their bloods if you can,” she commanded Aeduan, yanking Cloud to an unkind stop. Then Iseult was on the ground, frozen grass snapping beneath her.
Aeduan dismounted too. Safi did not. Her Threads were past suffusion by pain and verged on unconsciousness. It was a wonder she was still on Dandelion’s back.
Iseult reached with her magic, latching her focus on to the Windwitches. Four sets of Threads, each vibrantly yellow from their magic. She spread her fingers, teeth grinding against the heat she knew would come when she grabbed their lives, their emotions, their powers…
It had been a month since she’d last done this; she had sworn never to do it again. But sometimes Threads made decisions the mind could not.Sever, sever.
Her fingers twined into Threads. One Windwitch, two. Both were fully visible now, and their arms high. Their Threads bright with an imminent attack.
Iseult hauled the Threads to her mouth and chomped down.
There was the heat. There was the skittering from the wild electricity of their power. And oh Moon Mother,therewere the Severed Threads of the slow cleaving. These people too were dying. Fire cut into Iseult’s teeth, into her gums. Through her eyeballs and down to her toes. These Windwitches were so close to cleaving on their own, she barely had to bite to finish the job.
Except now, as Iseult tried to hold on to them—as she tried toclaimsome of their witcheries as her own so she could fight any other forces that might be coming this way—she found she couldn’t. The Threads wouldn’t obey her. They wouldn’t stay woven around her fingers. Instead they were shriveling, burning like fuses downward.
And these two fully cleaving Windwitches were about to crash into Iseult, Aeduan, and Safi.“RIDE!”Iseult roared at Safi as she slapped Dandelion’s hindquarters.
The horse bolted—and Cloud too, just behind. Only Surefoot stayed back, seemingly unafraid of the hot, unnatural winds tornadoing this way.
Aeduan stood beside Iseult, his eyes aflame as if he searched for their blood scents. The winds had ripped back his hood, and now shadows slid across his face from the snow and debris carried on unnatural winds.
But he had no more success than Iseult did. The Windwitches arrived: two women dressed in furs not so different from Iseult’s own.
Nomatsis,she realized as she watched them crash to the earth… then writhe back to their feet. Somehow, this was the worst thing to have happened so far. To be faced with two women ofherheritage. Two women who prayed to the same Moon Mother.
Iseult couldn’t look at them. She lowered her head, pressed herself intotheir winds, and unsheathed her mismatched moon scythes. She charged the two Cleaved as they rushed her. Pustules erupted on their faces, spewing tar into their winds. Their lips curled back like they were feral animals, desperate to feed. And that was what they were, weren’t they? They werehungryfor pure magic, good magic.
Just as their goddess was.
Iseult reached the taller of the two Nomatsis and swung at the woman’s throat. The furs split apart, then the throat split apart too. But Iseult didn’t get all the way through to the spine before the second Windwitch was upon her.
Iseult toppled to the earth. So fast, she didn’t have time to withdraw her claw scythe from the first Windwitch’s neck. Snarls filled Iseult’s ears. Oil and heat razed her skin. She grappled and fought, both with her body and with her magic. Maybe she could control the Threads. Maybe she could still run.
The woman went completely stiff atop Iseult. It took her several booming heartbeats to notice—toseethat the woman was choking and her eyes were losing clarity.
The Windwitch died like that, on top of Iseult. Her winds sliced off, and for half a lung-crushed breath, there was no sound but the wavering grass to fill Iseult’s ears.
Then Aeduan was there and dragging away the woman his magic had ended. “We can’t stay,” he said. His eyes blazed red as a funeral pyre. “More witches are coming. Raiders too.”
Iseult flung out her magic, grasping across the earth and hills and sky. He was right: at least a hundred people marched this way, clearing paths through the grass and snow.
Panic clogged her throat. She felt as she had when the Marstoks had taken Safi away in Lejna. When Emperor Henrick had carved away Safi’s magic to make her a Hell-Bard. When Corlant had looked at Iseult beside the Solfatarra and croonedMy daughter.
She was helpless. Completely helpless, no matter how wicked she let herself be. The Threads would not be twisted. She could cleave, but she could not control. She could kill, but she could not dominate.
“I c-cannot control them,” she said as Aeduan helped her stand.
“Then let’s ride.” He tried to pull Iseult toward Surefoot, but she resisted.
“Safi,” she told him. “Go after Safi and keep her safe. I will buy us time.”
His head reared back, eyes widening. The blood within them draining ina single heartbeat. “No.” He reached for Iseult with more urgency. “There is no reason for that. Come, and we can both get away.”
“No, listen to me.” She clutched his bicep and pressed her face close to his. His eyes were such pure, icy blue, she’d once thought them the color of Threads of understanding.
