CH700 · Rewrite
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Chapter 700: The First Senior Witch

No. 76 had made her decision before Wendy finished looking at her.

The surveillance was already established. Moving against it would accomplish nothing except confirming suspicion that currently existed only as instinct. Going on the tour, staying close to the four Wolfheart witches, seeing what Neverwinter chose to show its newcomers — these were the best options available. If the witches entered the Castle District and she wasn’t already inside the trust perimeter, the distance between her and the Chosen One would only grow.

She gave Wendy a slightly self-conscious smile. “I’m sorry to be extra trouble.”

“I told you she wouldn’t mind,” Amy said cheerfully.

Across the table, Annie had said nothing. She was looking at the two of them with the expression of someone who had noticed a texture in something and wasn’t yet sure what it meant.

No. 76 filed this.


The street outside was clean — the previous night’s snow swept to the sides in neat ridges, the pavement visible and dry underneath. New flakes were still falling, but fewer of them, and the city moved through them as though they were minor weather rather than the Months of Demons. Workers moved through the streets with the purposeful efficiency of people who had somewhere specific to be and knew how long it took to get there.

The Five-Colored Stone warmed in its setting.

No. 76 kept her head at a natural angle and found them: two shapes above, in the falling snow. One human. One bird — large for a pigeon, white, which she noted with the professional interest of someone cataloguing surveillance assets. Not pets sent to observe. Witches sent to observe, which was a meaningful distinction. The Witch Union was running the kind of security protocols she associated with organizations that had learned, at cost, what insufficient caution produced.

She revised her estimate of them upward again.

In the Taquila age, city-states of this size had operated with comparable thoroughness. The difference was that Taquila had four centuries of institutional knowledge, a codified intelligence apparatus, and six thousand witches in residence. Neverwinter had apparently reproduced the outcomes from scratch.

“Since we’ll be walking for a while,” Wendy said, leading them north, “let me explain some things about witches and their abilities.” Her voice had the relaxed quality of someone covering a subject they’d thought about carefully. “From the moment of awakening, every witch lives with the magic bites. The Church called it Demonic Torture. It isn’t — it’s a natural consequence of magic power growing faster than the body can adapt. I imagine you all know this already.”

Annie nodded. “Survival into adulthood depends on it.”

Amy raised her hand. “Broken Sword told me.”

Broken Sword said, quietly, that she’d worked it out while wandering alone. She’d been using her power constantly and had noticed the pattern by chance.

Wendy sighed with the warmth of someone who recognized how narrow that margin had been. “The Witch Cooperation Association taught what we could. Getting here at all was fortune. But once past adulthood — once the magic power has solidified — the original ability can develop further. A witch may gain derivative skills. The magic cyclone expands, becomes more distinct.”

“Magic cyclone?” Amy said.

“An internal current that never stops moving. Every witch has one. Only certain abilities can perceive it directly — but it’s always present. Its form determines the nature of the power.” Wendy touched Amy’s head lightly. “When we test your ability, you’ll learn what yours looks like.”

No. 76 kept her expression receptive. Internally, she was doing other arithmetic.

This has become secret. The information Wendy was describing — the bites, adulthood, the cyclone, the mechanism of survival — was knowledge the Union had distributed broadly in the old days. Basic maintenance for witches, the way a soldier learns to care for wounds. The fact that the women walking beside her had survived to adulthood by accident, by chance, by figuring it out alone in the wilderness — that meant Starfall City had not passed this on.

What did they do with four centuries?

She knew the official answer. Starfall City had been building the God’s Punishment Army. Every witch who survived was a candidate for the process. Survival information, spread too widely, might have made witches harder to collect.

Lady Alice had never intended that. Lady Alice had fought for witches because witches were the civilization, not the resource.

Or perhaps, over four hundred years, Starfall City drifted. Perhaps Lady Alice’s will and what the city became are not the same thing.

She did not pursue this thought to its conclusion. There was too much else in the street demanding attention.

“There’s more than solidification,” Wendy continued. “Power can evolve. More than once, and not necessarily in the original direction. As long as a witch deepens her understanding of her own ability, the possibility remains open.” She reached into her coat and produced a small silver plate — palm-sized, with a red crystal set at its center. “I want to introduce you to a new sister. Come here, please.”

No. 76’s attention contracted to a single point.

The silver plate. The red crystal. The proportion of it, the slight crudeness of the setting — not the refined craftsmanship of the Quest Society’s workshops, but the correct basic form, the correct principles, unmistakably derived from the same source.

A Sigil of Listening.

The Taquila heritage. Distributed to Blessed Warriors, maintained in the Union’s archives. How had it come here? Through the ruins, most likely — fragments scattered through the old kingdom after the fall, recovered by scavengers who didn’t know what they had, eventually finding their way to someone who recognized the shape of the function even if not the history behind it. The imperfect setting suggested it had been rebuilt from a damaged original, the crystal installed by someone working from partial knowledge.

But it worked. That was what mattered.

The shape that dropped from the sky was a girl — blonde, young, perhaps fourteen, landing with the casual ease of someone for whom the air was simply another surface. Behind her, or rather on her, white and considerably rounder than any respectable pigeon had a right to be, came the bird.

“Hello, everyone!” The girl’s smile had the wattage of someone who found everything about the present moment satisfying. “I’m Lightning. The greatest adventurer in Neverwinter.”

“I’m Maggie!” The pigeon lifted its wings with evident satisfaction. “Coo-Coo!”

Amy pressed both hands to her mouth. “The bird is talking.

“They’re witches,” Annie said, with the calm of someone who had spent enough time in the world to stop being surprised by it. “The ability is probably related to physical transformation.”

“You’re right.” Wendy extended her forearm to offer the pigeon a perch. “Maggie is a Union sister whose power has evolved.”

No. 76 stared at the pigeon.

The Five-Colored Stone had not particularly reacted to Lightning. But when it caught the pigeon’s signature — when the stone processed what the pigeon’s ability had become, the layering and coherence and depth of a transformation that had gone far enough to cross the threshold — it warmed in a way she recognized.

Senior Witch.

Maggie preened on Wendy’s forearm. Spread her wings with the self-conscious pride of someone presenting credentials. Settled again, and looked at the newcomers with bright, attentive eyes.

No. 76’s four centuries of formal training contained, among many other things, a rule that had never been subject to exception, debate, or amendment: Show proper respect to every Senior Witch of the Union, regardless of circumstances.

It was an unbreakable rule.

In Taquila, a Senior Witch would have joined the upper council. Would have been one of the rulers of the Holy City.

The pigeon rubbed its beak affectionately against Wendy’s cheek.

No. 76 felt something give way in a place she hadn’t known still had structural integrity.

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