Rewrite That Witch
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Chapter 899: The Witches From Afar (Part I)

“I can see the port!”

Molly’s sudden exclamation pulled every witch on deck toward the railing.

“Where? Where?”

“We’re finally almost there — half a month floating around the sea…”

“That silver speck over there — is that another ship?”

“Didn’t someone say only the Charming Beauty sails this route?”

“Then it’s probably a fishing boat.”

They crowded at the railing and stood on their toes to see where Molly was pointing, bright and eager as girls at a window.

Captain Jack “The One-eyed” watched them and shook his head with a slow smile. He turned to Camilla Dary, who stood apart from the excitement with a face that had not changed expression since morning.

“You don’t look very pleased,” he said. “What’s wrong? It’s a good day.”

“Good in what way?” Camilla replied, not looking at him.

“Good to be home.” Jack tapped his pipe. “Is returning to your homeland after so many years not worth celebrating? It’s plain that none of you ever truly considered Sleeping Island home. Not that you disliked the Fjords — but a refuge is still only a refuge.”

Camilla had no answer for that. She did not know whether he was right. But she knew that the number of witches willing to travel to Graycastle’s Western Region had risen sharply after Princess Tilly’s letter arrived: from roughly half to nearly eighty percent. If the first wave settled in properly, it was hard to imagine how many of the remaining witches would choose to stay on the island at all.

Sleeping Island should have been their home. It was a place where no one hated them for what they were, where the church could not reach to threaten their lives. The island was underdeveloped compared to the mainland kingdoms, and the customs were different in ways that still sometimes surprised her — but given ten years, she had believed, Sleeping Island would flourish. Perhaps not even one generation before newly-awakened witches thought of it as their true hometown.

After a long silence, she said quietly, “I wish what you said were true.”

“Hmm.” Jack stroked his beard. “You don’t trust the new king?”

Camilla looked up. “How did you know?”

“It was written on your face.” The old captain smiled. “Do you remember what you looked like three years ago, the first time you sailed out?”

“Three years ago…” She thought for a moment. That was when Princess Tilly had begun gathering the witches, encouraging them to leave Graycastle. Jack and the Charming Beauty had smuggled a large number of them from the harbor cities to the Fjords, at considerable personal risk. It was the foundation of everything that had grown between Sleeping Island and the one-eyed captain.

“Worn-out and frightened?” she offered, uncertain.

Jack burst out laughing. “Just that? You were no better than walking dead — beaten-up, desperate, with nothing left. Look at yourselves now. The past is the past. Some of those witches have already been to Neverwinter several times. If it were truly as miserable as you fear, they wouldn’t be coming back with the faces they have.”

“But the nobles are all two-faced—”

“But are you?” He cut her off gently. “If I remember correctly, you come from a noble family. You were better dressed than anyone else the day you left Graycastle — civilians don’t wear silk. If I had detested nobles back then the way you detest them now, what would have become of you?”

Camilla opened her mouth. The words did not come.

Jack “The One-eyed” blew a slow tendril of white smoke. “I don’t believe you can judge a person by their origin alone. Apart from the Three Gods, who chooses the family they are born into? The same holds for witches. Don’t you think that hating nobles because they are nobles is the same thing as people blindly hating witches?”

The words moved through her like something cold and bracing.

“Perhaps you’d say that you understand the nobility because you were part of it. But don’t forget — that prejudice of yours can still harm someone who doesn’t fit your mold, so long as even one such person exists.” He paused. “Forgive me, child. I’m probably not the right person to lecture you. I only say it because I don’t want to see you let the past cloud what’s in front of you. People can’t always live there.”

No one else would say this to me, Camilla thought. Tilly knew perfectly well that one should look forward — it was the reason she had gone to Neverwinter herself. But Tilly would never be so direct. The intimacy between them, and the respect Tilly had for her, kept the princess from pressing that kind of counsel. The old captain was perhaps the only person on Sleeping Island who still saw her as a child — and therefore felt entitled to speak to her like one.

She let out a slow breath. “You may be right.”

“Right?” Jack chuckled. “I’m old. I’ve had a great many similar experiences. If I didn’t stay optimistic, I wouldn’t have lasted this long on the sea. But things are likely to get difficult for me in the near future anyway.”

“Why?”

“Who’s going to board the Charming Beauty once all you witches return to the main continent? I’ve heard from the big trading houses that a new kind of ship — no sails, moves under its own power — will soon replace these wooden boats across the Fjords. Faster, carries more cargo. Nobody will want an old baby like this one. Not even for freight.”

“I could speak to Princess Tilly about that—”

“Speak about what? Supporting me for the rest of my life?” Jack tapped his pipe. “That’s a bit premature. My legs still work. In fact, I plan to join Sir Thunder’s expedition team once you’ve all arrived in Graycastle.”

“An expedition?”

“That’s right. If I can find something in unexploited waters beyond the Shadow Islands, what I earn from it would be more than enough to build my own fleet — let alone support myself.” Jack turned to face the open ocean. The wind had come up slightly, and the water ahead was the color of hammered steel. “I may be getting old and my legs aren’t what they were, but I’ll say this: there is no better navigator in the whole of the Fjords.”

“Is that so…” Camilla glanced at him sidelong, as though seeing him for the first time. His appearance was nothing remarkable — a weathered old man with a pipe and one eye. But the expression on his face in that moment was something precise and particular: total comfort in the face of what he could not yet see.

“Captain — we’re nearing the shore!”

The lookout’s call came from the mast above.

Jack didn’t bother looking up. “Do I need to tell you what to do?”

“Take in the sail! Slow her down!”

Camilla turned toward the dock and felt something shift in her chest.

Red banners hung everywhere along the wharf, each reading Welcome to Neverwinter. Among the people gathered to receive them were not only witches but ordinary residents — and near the trestle, a column of children, eleven or twelve years old, each holding a bouquet. They stood very still and straight, waiting.

“What a reception,” Jack said with a soft whistle. “Just for the way the King is greeting you, you might consider giving him a little more credit.”

He raised his arm toward the sailors working across the deck.

“Lads — get ready to dock. We’ve arrived at Neverwinter!”

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