CH537 · Rewrite
☕ Support

Chapter 537: The Dream (Part II)

Candlelight filled the underground chamber—dozens of them, pooled into a trembling gold that barely reached the ceiling. The crowd knelt in concentric rows, faces down. Iffy knelt among them, her knees on cold stone.

“Is this the new girl? Lift your head and show me your face.”

She raised her head. What looked back at her was a mask—smooth, reflective, cold as polished iron. She almost screamed.

“Don’t be afraid.” The voice was softer than the mask deserved. “The mask is for concealing who I am, nothing more. I am Heidi Morgan. From today, you are Bloodfang.”

Iffy found her courage in a fold somewhere deep in the fear. “Why—why can’t you accept Annie?”

“Presumptuous!” The red-haired woman’s voice cracked through the chamber.

Laughter from the kneeling ranks—quiet, knowing, directed inward.

“It’s all right.” Heidi descended from the dais with the slow ease of someone who had never needed to hurry. She stopped before Iffy and looked at her for a moment. “Because I cannot feed them all.”

“She can find her own food—”

“And live like a rat? Burrow in gutters, survive on leavings, grow feral with each passing season?” Heidi shook her head. “I have watched what that does to people. The Bloodfang Association does not make rats. It makes beasts.”

“Beasts?”

“Have you seen a cliff wolf?”

Iffy had not.

“They are the symbol of the Kingdom of Wolfheart. Masters of the high places.” Heidi’s voice took on the cadence of something repeated and believed. “Every litter, the mother kills the weakest cubs she cannot feed—so the rest grow strong. What do you say to that?”

Iffy said nothing.

“You might say: divide the milk equally, and all survive. But survival is not strength. Underfed cubs cannot hunt when they come of age. They cannot leave the den. They cannot reproduce. The bloodline ends, slowly and gently and completely.” She lifted Iffy’s chin with two fingers. “The God’s message is here, in the cliff wolf: what does not grow strong, ends. Combat witches—like you, like what you are becoming—are the symbol and the shield of our race.”

The candles guttered. Iffy could feel the emotion of the assembled witches pressing against her like heat—excitement, purpose, the particular joy of people who have been given permission to believe they matter.

She hesitated. “What if there’s enough food for every wolf?”

Heidi laughed—a short, genuine sound. “Then they are no longer wolves. They are dogs.”


The whip fell across her back with a sound like a branch snapping.

“Twenty-four.” She had learned to keep the count without being asked. Clenching her teeth was automatic now.

The lash came twice more. Blood and sweat traced down her spine in cold lines.

“That’s today’s quota. Double tomorrow if you fail again.” A large rib landed in the center of the four punished witches. “Dinner was over an hour ago. This is what I petitioned from the Lord—extra provisions. Divide it without using your abilities. Remember: without magic.”

Enough meat for four full stomachs. After what training consumed, having extra was the difference between completing tomorrow or breaking halfway through.

Like a beast.

Only the strong survive.

Iffy’s eyes fixed on the meat. Then she threw herself at the nearest witch.


“The Secret Association—destroyed. No one escaped. Not even the leader.”

“The church is encamping by the eastern coast.”

“Damned nobles.” Heidi’s composure had cracked; something raw was showing through. “I’ll tear them into pieces.”

The Wolfheart influence was being eliminated piece by piece. Only the Bloodfang Association remained, and barely. Iffy still didn’t understand exactly how the nobles were involved, but she could read the pressure in the room.

“Let Shaji and me go. We’ll end them.”

“It’s too late.” Heidi clenched her hands. “The church has found Archduke Island. We can’t stay.” She looked around the room with the expression of someone choosing between exits they do not like. “We go to Sleeping Island.”

“The one that sent a pigeon last time?”

“The association led by the Wimbledon girl. We’ll draw from their numbers and strengthen ourselves—temporarily. I will come back. The Kingdom of Wolfheart will be mine.”


“Why do these people follow a little girl?” Heidi’s glass shattered against the far wall. “What does she have?”

Sleeping Island had proved stranger than expected. The witches there answered to Tilly Wimbledon with a loyalty Heidi seemed unable to reverse engineer. The leader herself had an Extraordinary standing watch at her shoulder—remove that, and the whole structure should have wobbled. It didn’t.

“She preaches that non-combat witches are equals,” Shaji offered. “No one wants to be excluded.”

“Ridiculous. Does she forget who defeated the church in the Fjords? Combat witches. And she expects us to believe her brother in the Western Region agrees with this fantasy?”

“He does seem to.”

Made up. Stories to win the assistant witches’ votes.” Heidi was pacing now, a motion that Iffy recognized as something other than anger. It was fear, wearing the face of anger. “I will not let them keep saying it. You are going to the Western Region. You will expose her lies. Tell the lord I can offer him double what she can.”

Iffy did not say: You look nothing like a beast right now. You look like a lamb that has finally noticed the fence.

She did not say it. She had learned, long ago, what to leave unspoken.


“Why did you abandon me?”

Annie stood before her—or what had been Annie. Her face was a white, unmarked space.

“You left me for this.” Her voice came from nowhere and everywhere. “For this master, this life, this ridiculous doctrine. You betrayed everything.”

“No—Annie—”

She looked and could not find Annie’s face. It had been so long.

Don’t let me forget her. Please don’t let me forget her.

She wrenched herself awake.

Gray-white ceiling. The hanging lamp. The weight of a body drenched in sweat.

A dream.

She squeezed her eyes shut and reached for the image of Annie’s face, and found it—still there, still clear. She exhaled.

When she opened her eyes, there was a small girl at the bedside, watching her with the careful openness of someone who hadn’t learned not to.

“Who are you?”

“Nana.” The girl tilted her head. “Did you have a bad dream?”

Iffy’s shirt clung to her back. “Did I—say anything?”

“You kept saying ‘I am a beast.’” Nana spread her arms wide, as if demonstrating something. “‘I am a beast, I am a beast.’ Over and over.” She paused, earnest and puzzled. “But you’re not a beast.”

“You don’t know what I am.”

“I do,” Nana said, and a small smile crossed her face. “You’re just like me. We’re both people.”

Discussion

Suggest a change