23

Miraveh would have left Jukunashar that very night, were it not for the fact her armour was still receiving repairs from the local smith. She had suffered the stares before, due to her nocturnal outburst. Now those stares had a more volatile tint to them. The Witches of the Coven didn't trust her. Turotara continued to spar with her, but even she acted cautious around Miraveh. Sialira had not spoken to her in days.

And she couldn't blame the young Witch. The display of her power, magnified by the relic, had terrified Miraveh, also. She had avoided using her power for so long, not really counting her attempts to suppress it, or her use of it to choke the magic of the harpy, that to see it unleashed proved to Miraveh, more than anything, that it was something best left alone. Ignored. Hidden. Nothing good could come of that power.

She now suppressed her connection to magic more and more, often spending hours without any connection at all. Suppressing the magic came as easy as breathing and she would not feel satisfied until she could suppress her magic forever. Though she now had another problem that itched at her, like a parasite burrowing under her skin.

Using the relic had given her a thirst for more and she teetered on the edge of wanting to find another relic and her desire to lose her magic completely. A maelstrom of conflicting urges and thoughts that threatened to tear her apart, amplified by the dreams that now held more faces that accused her. The face of Brothimir the latest and most prominent.

He had survived, though it took a full day for him to recover, and he begged to see her every day. She couldn't go to him. The thought of what she had almost done to another living being haunted her. Even now, she could remember her thoughts. How easy it was for her to have torn him apart from within, or to shred his mind. With the relic in her hand, she could have done anything. Everything.

"Concentrate!" The wooden practice sword smacked against her arm and Miraveh knew it would add to the other bruises. Turotara stepped back as Miraveh whipped her eyes towards her. "You have the skills. You were taught well, but your mind wanders. You could beat me at any time, but you hold back, or you disappear into your thoughts. You must be in the moment at all times in a fight!"

"I have much to think about." Miraveh didn't believe she could beat Turotara at all. The woman had speed, power and a technique so smooth, she almost rivalled Alran. Almost. "Again. Don't hold back."

"You think I've been holding back?" Turotara turned away, tucking the practice sword under her arm and lifting a towel from a nearby bench. "Enough practice for today. When do you leave?"

The large guard wiped her face, her armpits and the small of her back, her eyes watching for Miraveh's reaction. Miraveh had only told Daras of her plans to leave. Daras and the dragon. How Turotara had learned of her plans, she couldn't know, but now she wondered whether the woman had told anyone else.

Turotara rubbed the towel over her short hair before dropping the towel to the bench and taking a water skin from a nearby hook. She said nothing, waiting for Miraveh to answer, taking a long drink. With a wipe of the lip of the water skin, she offered it to Miraveh. Miraveh took the skin and looked around the area of the Coven House courtyard where they had practised every day.

"In the morning. Daras is saying goodbye to his sister." She took a drink and then another. She didn't like to talk of her plans in the open and she looked towards shadows and corners. "The dragon has agreed to open a portal to the Southern Lands. From there, I ... I don't know. Somewhere. Somewhere where there's no magic."

"No such place anymore." Turotara slipped her jacket over her arms, fastening the ties. "And the Velaurian Order? You wanted to find survivors? I pay attention, you know. I'm not the big dumb ox everyone thinks I am."

"Of course you're not!" Miraveh copied Turotara's movements, putting on the velvet jacket from the wardrobe in her room. She flipped her hair from beneath the collar, looking with envy at Turotara's shorter hair. "I found the Order and it was disappointing. Something else will come to grab my attention, I'm sure, so long as it's far away from Witches and Hunters O' The Dark and Pillars. Who cuts your hair?"

"I cut my hair." Turotara had fastened her sword belt around her waist and now took a thin, sharp knife from a sheath at the back. She waved it, raising an eyebrow. "Want me to do yours?"

As she returned to her room, trying her best to avoid everyone, she rubbed her head several times. She had grown her hair from childhood, only taking off a little here and there to keep it tidy. She had once felt proud of it, as every woman in Donsa village felt pride in their hair. Miraveh felt pride in little, of late. Least of all her hair, that had started to annoy her, flicking into her eyes, slicking in rain and taking hours to dry. The stubble she now had felt liberating.

She continued climbing, before going to her room, to the very top of the tower, to tour the observation circle and look upon the city below, the dragon upon its perch where once the castle stood, its King within. To look out over the landscape to the north, through the mountains and crags, ravines and crevices. Then to look southwards, towards the Southern Lands and beyond.

There, high above everything and everyone else, she stopped suppressing her magic and allowed it to flow once more. It no longer felt euphoric, or exciting to feel the magic return. It felt heavy and that heaviness had come with a high price. It was not a gift, this magic, but a burden. With the return of the magic came the return of the itch at the back of her mind and she knew, now, what that itch was.

Somewhere, out there to the south, there lived a person that had the potential to become a Pillar. Someone that could take the place of one of the current Pillar's guarding the world against the incursion of meddling gods. Which one, she could not tell. A replacement for the Pillar of Grace? Or of Despair? Or of Hope? Miraveh almost laughed at the idea that the gods of Grace, Despair and Hope needed others to keep them from this plane. Even a shadow of the God of Despair had almost ruined the world.

It felt like another demand. A demand to find this Pillar. Demands did not sit well with Miraveh. She snapped off the flow of magic and the urge to seek out the Pillar disappeared in an instant. She had no time for this and no inclination to search for the Pillar. Let Yusuvur do it, or some other fool she had dragged into her schemes and games.

She returned to her room, almost passing down the stairs like one of the storms she had conjured. At first, people did not recognise her without her long hair, but soon those accusing eyes returned and Miraveh didn't care. She almost stopped suppressing her magic, if only to terrify those who scuttled away as she passed, but she didn't. She held her magic locked away, tight and secure.

Upon reaching her room, she started to pack things away into her saddle bags. Spare clothing, fire making materials, food, water. She had scrounged as much as she could without bringing attention to herself and she could buy more as soon as they reached the first town in the Southern Lands. She didn't doubt that Daras had scurried away far more along with items not even needed for a journey, also.

She allowed herself two books to add to the weight of her saddlebags. One, an illustrated history of Alsurna region that spoke of her home in vivid, loving terms that brought back memories of the life she had once led, before becoming ripped away to fight the Shade of Xirasir. The other, a book to learn how to speak the dominant language of the Southern Lands they would encounter, Purma. She had managed to learn a few words and phrases, but she would need to know more.

The door creaked and her hand moved to the hilt of her sword, only for Daras to slip inside like a shadow snaking across a wall. He looked both ways along the corridor before turning towards Miraveh, holding back a shriek of excitement.

"What have you done with your hair?" His hand reached out, patting the stubble and causing him to laugh before rubbing his own, shining, bald head. "I like it. Not as pretty as my own head. I believe you can release your sword now."

"Is everything ready?" She turned her back to Daras, returning to packing her saddlebags. "We need to move as soon as I've picked up my armour. I'll have the horses ready at the southern gate by seven bells. For this to work, you have to be as good a thief as you profess to be, Daras. Better."

"Oh, I assure you, I am more than capable of this task. Though, I do have my doubts." Before Miraveh could pack away the language book, Daras began to flick through it, nodding. "You know I speak Purma? Of course you do. But, yes, I am good enough. I still don't understand why you want me to help the Hunter O' The Dark escape, though."

Neither did Miraveh.

-+-

She stood outside Sialira's door for far longer than she expected herself to. Many times, since leaving Donsa, Miraveh had told Sialira to go back, offered her the chance to return to Yusuvur. This time, she was not giving the girl the choice. She didn't want the young Witch to accompany her. Over time, though Sialira still annoyed her, Miraveh had come to like the girl.

Here, in Jukunashar, within the Coven House and under the protection of the dragon, Sialira would be safe. Among like-minded people. People that Miraveh could not trust, but Sialira did. Though the dragon would not admit it, Miraveh knew the ancient creature would not allow harm to come to the people of the city and the Coven would not allow harm to come to a fellow Witch. Twice the protection.

A hand hovered at the door, fingers curling into a fist, but Miraveh still could not knock. If she told Sialira of her plans, to take the Hunter to the south, free him to return to the rest of the Hunters O' The Dark where he could warn them of the power of the dragon, the girl would argue incessantly about those plans. Yet Miraveh could not miss the chance of Brothimir, possibly, warning his fellow Hunters of her power, not that she intended ever using it again. A simple act of mercy and a hint of a threat could change everything and, if it didn't, the Hunters would only have one more, pitifully powered Karline back in their ranks.

The hand fell back to her side. Sialira would not understand. In truth, Miraveh couldn't understand it, either. The Hunters would not change, their hatred ran deep and had festered from the days of the massacre of the Velaurian Order. What they had expected of Witches, powerless at that time, she could never know, but the Hunters O' The Dark blamed them and all magic for their woes and the tribulations of the world. One freed Karline would not change that.

"She studies with Consturtu. A bright girl, though her power is inadequate for her intelligence." The voice did not make Miraveh jump. She had heard the footfalls before the Phrenica had even turned the corner. "She is bright enough to know you intend leaving her here with us. Normally, I would say that was for the best, but I fear for you without her influence."

"Her influence? Or the influence of Yusuvur? Or yours?" Miraveh turned to see the Phrenica, resplendent in multi-coloured robes that masked his weight well, ringed fingers resting upon his belly. "Have no fear for me. My time will come when it comes. Other, better people than I have died even with the influence of Witches to guide them. Why should I expect a better outcome?"

Her voice trailed away as she saw the hurt pout upon the Phrenica's old, worn features. He smoothed down his long beard before turning, offering Miraveh to walk by his side. With one last look at Sialira's door, Miraveh moved to the Phrenica's side. Talk of death had flashed memories of her dreams through her mind, dreams of those that had died, and her guilt cowed her. She could not let Sialira become another face in those dreams.

Or Daras, for that matter. Little did he know that she intended leaving him in the first settlement they reached beyond the isthmus. There, he could continue on to his home, to live out his life, practice thievery to his heart's content. Safe. Away from her. She only needed him to get to the Southern Lands. After that, his life was his own. A long life, she hoped.

"Are you not lonely, Miraveh Arachild?" As they walked towards the stairs, the Phrenica looked up towards her and Miraveh saw only kindness within the man. Kindness could hide many things, however. "You consort with Sialira and with the thief. You have struck quite the friendship with the captain of our guard and she speaks so little, I feared her mute for some time. Yet, there is a gulf between you and them wider than the Sea of Baerakis. Perhaps wider than the ocean. It must be lonely, to hold yourself back so."

"I don't need friends. Friends die, or they run off to fight new battles, or they turn out to be nothing more than snakes twisting in minds." Miraveh didn't want to say anything at all, but words tumbled from her mouth. She tested the Phrenica's magic, but he wasn't casting any spells. "I've lost too many people and, too often, it's been my fault. I don't want that responsibility anymore. Everyone is safer without me."

The Phrenica lifted the skirts of his robe as they began to descend the stairs and Miraveh wondered whether he would accompany her all the way to the stables and then to the outskirts of the city where the dragon would open a portal for her to pass beyond the Hunters encampment that mirrored the one to the north. She considered telling the Phrenica to leave her, here, to go about his business, but she felt he awaited the right time to say something.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Miraveh glanced towards the other side of the great hall, where another set of stairs led down to the cells, deep below. She expected Daras had already begun his attempts to free the Hunter, Brothimir, and she needed to get ready to leave at speed. The Phrenica stopped, turning his back to the stairs to the cells. He lifted his hands, tugging at one of his rings until it slipped from a large finger.

"I know you will say you do not want it, but I offer you this." The ring, far more simple and plain than any of the others, looked too big for her fingers. The Phrenica waited for her to take it. "It was one of our first attempts at enchanting objects when magic returned. A simple device. Should you ever need advice, or to call for help, this will create a connection between us. We can use it to talk, for a short time."

As Miraveh's fingers touched the ring, it began to dwindle, growing smaller. Within seconds, it had become small enough to fit upon one of her own fingers, though she hesitated about wearing it. She couldn't trust the Phrenica. Witches, though not evil, as such, were manipulative to extremes. Little Witches did were ever without some expectation of reciprocation. She knew that more than anyone.

Even Sialira only travelled with Miraveh, offered to teach her in the use of her magic, because Yusuvur had ordered her to. Because, in Miraveh, they had the potential of another Witch as powerful as Yusuvur and, as she had come to realise, there were scant few Witches with that potential. Even now, taking a sense of the Phrenica, Miraveh knew that he, though powerful, paled in comparison to hers or Yusuvur's power.

With the threat of the Hunters O' The Dark, of magical creatures growing in numbers, of elves and Gaele, and dwarves and goblins emerging, the ever-present threat of gods breaking through to the world and the resultant chaos that would ensue, the Witches needed powerful recruits. Recruits like her. And, in time, the Witches would indoctrinate these new Witches and the needs of the Covens would become the needs of the new Witch. Miraveh did not want to become anything like Yusuvur.

"Forgive me when I say that I never intend using this." From a pouch upon her belt, Miraveh retrieved the necklace upon which the relic had once sat. She fastened the ring to the necklace and hung it about her neck. "Now, if you will excuse me, I have to get ready to leave. Tell Sialira ... tell her ... never mind."

"Yes, I expect the smith is already awake, polishing your mail shirt and legs ready for you to pick them up?" And there it was. The duplicitous true nature of a Witch. Even one as kind as the Phrenica. "And a fresh leather jacket. We have paid for the repairs. Oh, and your thief? We will let him perform his task. It will be interesting to see where we need to improve our security."

Miraveh's hand balled into a fist. Of course they had known. Perhaps Daras had let slip something to Sialira. He did so like to boast of his prowess. Perhaps a passing Witch had cast about within Miraveh's mind. Whatever the case, the Phrenica knew of her plans and if the Phrenica knew, any number of Witches could stand in her way if he wished it.

"You don't intend trying to stop me?" She placed emphasis on the word 'trying' and let the suppression of her magic fall away, allowing it to bloom into the senses of anyone within range. She had no idea what she would do if she needed to use it. "You know I intend taking the Hunter?"

"I do. Know about the Hunter, not intend stopping you. Please, control your magic. Allowing it to flare so is quite vulgar." The Phrenica grimaced, curling his nose as though a fetid stink had floated between them. "You are taking the Hunter from the city, this is a good thing. We had no idea what to do with him and we aren't murderers. Better he is gone than languishing in a cell, taking good Witches away from their studies. No, take him. He's yours."

"Then we have nothing more to talk about." Miraveh inclined her head, meaning to turn away, but she lingered for a second. "Yusuvur has been here, hasn't she? She mentioned me, that's how you knew my name. Sialira could have told you, but she's loyal to Yusuvur and would not divulge anything without her master's orders."

"She has been here. She tried talking to the dragon, but it ignored her, as it ignored everyone but you." A be-ringed finger pointed towards Miraveh and she could see the greed for knowledge within the Phrenica's eyes. "I wonder why that is? Regardless, Yusuvur said little, only that you were to be given any help you required. You have a powerful patron. Not only powerful in magic, though she is that, but powerful in her political will. You would do well to embrace her, not push her away."

Another one that bends the knee to the glory that is Yusuvur. It sickened Miraveh that so many fell for that woman's words. She could persuade a horse to break its own legs and still race twenty furlongs. Miraveh was done with that and done with Yusuvur's sycophants. This, more than anything, proved that leaving Sialira behind was for the good of all concerned. The sooner Sialira became a mere Witch, studying and practising magic, and not following the orders of Yusuvur, the better.