CH259 · Rewrite
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Chapter 259: The Witches from Sleeping Island (Part 2)

Back in the office, Roland spread the five ability records across the desk and read through them in order.

“How were they?” Nightingale materialized from the corner with her chin propped on one hand, leaning on the doorframe between the visible world and whatever she carried with her when she stepped back into it. “Anyone you particularly like?”

“They’re all good,” Roland said, without looking up.

A short silence. “All five of them?”

He gave her a look. She stuck out her tongue and went back to the fish in her hand, nibbling with an expression of deliberate innocence.


He started with the two whose utility was most immediate.

Lotus first. The ability to reshape terrain at will, within a five-meter radius, consuming magic proportional to the compactness of the soil and the ambition of the transformation — she was the answer to a problem he had been accumulating for months. The fieldstone-and-cement walls he had been planning to build around Border Town’s next expansion would require enormous material stockpiles and extended construction time. Lotus could raise an earthen wall in a fraction of that time, using the ground itself as the material.

He unrolled a rough site map across the desk and marked the sector: the narrowest gap between the North Slope Mountain and the Redwater River, the natural bottleneck that made the smallest defensible perimeter possible. It was tight enough that the wall could realistically be completed before the Months of Demons began, and small enough that it would not overextend the defensive line. The new perimeter would include a portion of the Concealing Forest — an asset in itself, that forest, and already encroaching on the town’s awareness — and would double the current area of the settlement.

Doubling the defensive perimeter meant doubling the demand on the First Army. This was manageable: the weapons generation that had seen off the past two Months of Demons was already substantially more capable than what the town had fielded the winter before last, and the next round of improvements would push it further. He could designate the demonic beasts’ traditional approach routes, build batteries and bastions at the chokepoints, and position the expanded troops to respond rather than simply stand and hold.

And Lotus could do something else for him — the path through the southern mountains. A direct route from Border Town to the coastal shoal, through rock that currently had no passage. Transforming stone rather than loose soil would drain her faster and produce results only as good as her current capacity, but the project was feasible across several months. When it was complete, Border Town would have its own natural harbor, and the Fjords trade would become as simple as walking down to the water.

Candle and Anna together, meanwhile, would work on the next generation of machine tools — the production apparatus for firearms and other mechanical components. The gains from Candle’s state-preservation ability would compound: Anna freed from the most repetitive aspects of direct production, the tools themselves held at optimal performance, the quality floor of the output raised regardless of raw material grade.

Sylvie’s assignment was already clear from the moment he had understood what she could do: exploration. The North Slope Mine was a natural cave system with more than a hundred channels, most of them unexplored. Twenty had been opened and assessed. The remainder was an unknown that bothered him more than the uncertainty itself warranted — there were stories among the older miners, vague accounts of sounds in the deep channels, of passages that connected to something that had been, once, something’s home. He wanted a complete map. He wanted it done by someone who could see through the walls without being in the passage at all.

Lotus would follow Sylvie’s surveys and improve the passageways, increasing the efficiency of extraction as they worked. Between them, a single season could establish what the mine contained and begin developing it properly.

Honey was the most open-ended case, and Roland found himself genuinely interested in the possibilities. He had no radio, no telegraph, no mechanical signaling system worth the name. The message networks he relied on were slow by any standard he had grown up with, dependent on human riders who could be delayed or intercepted or simply lost. Carrier pigeons were traditional for a reason, but traditional carrier pigeons were trained through weeks of patient conditioning and could be confused by distance and weather. What he needed was a network of birds trained and maintained by a witch who could speak directly to their instincts.

Honey could not make birds smarter. She could not give them knowledge they lacked. But she could command them with a directness and reliability that no conventional trainer could match, and she could use the animal messenger ability to build chains of relay animals that would bring messages faster than a rider could travel. It was not a radio. But in a world where a dispatch from King’s City took days, it was not nothing.

He closed the ability record book.


“How were they?” Nightingale asked again, from the couch, having relocated herself at some point while he was thinking. She had her legs tucked under her and the dried fish balanced on her knee.

“I just told you. They’re all good.”

“You said that before.” She pulled a face. “I meant which one is your favorite.

“Lotus and Candle are the most immediately useful.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“That’s what I’m choosing to answer.”

Nightingale gave him the flat look of someone who had decided she was not getting anywhere with the current approach, and went back to the fish.

Outside, the sun was past its peak and the courtyard was cooling into late afternoon. Somewhere in the castle, five witches from Sleeping Island were learning the arrangement of the corridors, and the location of the kitchen, and the name of the cook who kept dried plums in his pocket and would share them if you knew to ask. Small navigations. The beginning of belonging somewhere.

Roland leaned back in his chair and looked at the map pinned to the wall beside the window — Border Town’s current extent, with the projected expansion marked in charcoal, the North Slope Mountain shaded in, the route to the southern coast still a dotted line through solid rock.

For now, a dotted line. A few months from now: a road.

He was still thinking about that when Nightingale, apparently finished with her fish, said, “You know, Anna’s going to eventually want to know why you’re always smiling like that when you look at the map.”

“I’m thinking about engineering,” Roland said.

“That’s what you always say.”

“It’s always true.”

She pulled the empty bag inside out, found nothing remaining, and folded it carefully. “Whatever you’re planning — just don’t get anyone killed this winter.”

The familiar weight of it — not accusation, just reminder. He nodded, and meant it.

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