As I move toward Chatham Castle, I continue to find nothing but ambivalence and uncertainty as I go. Odds that I should hear more about the magic increase—but nothing has changed.

  Sometimes I wonder what’s worse: fear of the magic or not knowing the magic at all. Although the Eastern Network fears Watchers to the point of murder, at least they acknowledge them. The Central Network seems to just ignore their existence.

  Perhaps they are hiding here as well, just in a different way.

  3rd day, 2nd week, 3rd month of spring

  Bickers Mill Covens, Central Network

  After rambling around all the libraries in the Western Covens and finding nothing, I ventured back into the forest.

  The Bickers Mill Covens are a quaint place. I quite appreciate the Central Network creating a system of Coven organization. The Southern Network has no such infrastructure, and the Eastern Network is always shifting. As for the North, they group by village in unspoken, but well understood, territories.

  I digress.

  The Bickers Mill library also has nothing definitive. No witch I speak with seems to have any knowledge of Watchers. They tell stories with mere hints of heretic witches who claimed to see the future. Still, I take it as a possible sign. After a feast of information in Taiza and now an incredible dearth of knowledge, I am eager for any progress.

  The librarian says Chatham Castle and Chatham City are not far from here—just a carriage ride or a full day’s walk. Hansel, their High Priest, seems like a decent witch. They have news criers in almost every town, and I’ve gotten used to listening to them each morning. The High Priest writes up a summary of the news and sends it out to the criers. In terms of being able to speak to all witches, it’s a progressive idea, but it must require a prodigious amount of time. Besides, who is to say he’s providing correct information? It seems like a good way to spread ignorance and lies in the hands of evil leaders. They need something that originates with witches, not from their leadership. Like a scroll that updates itself.

  I digress.

  All the same, I have contemplated attempting an audience with the High Priest, though I remain undecided. It occurs to me that I am several months past my year anniversary as a traveling scholar. Odd. Not sure if that means something or not.

  I think Rodan would have liked the Central Network.

  9

  Chatham City

  4th day, 2nd week, 3rd month of spring

  Chatham City, Central Network

  The allure and reputation of Chatham City called to me, and I answered.

  Chatham City is one of the strangest cities I’ve seen yet. The buildings and streets are quite close, and it’s always a bustle of activity. The Eastern Network never puts structures this close together—as if they think buildings need room to breathe—but here in Chatham, it seems as if the buildings want to sit on top of one another.

  I have found a little inn in the heart of the humming downtown. Even as I scratch this out, I peer out the window at all the witches outside. So many witches—when I don’t have to engage with them—are quite entertaining. I believe I could pass many hours here with my quill, my candle, and something to think about.

  I have appealed to speak with the High Priest and stated that, as a traveling scholar, I could greatly benefit from his insight. Hopefully I will know soon. I can appreciate that any Network leader must be very busy.

  Still, science calls.

  1st day, 3rd week, 3rd month of spring

  Chatham Castle, Central Network

  The hurried, cobblestone streets of Chatham City are overwhelming, but they are nothing to the interior of Chatham Castle.

  I sit and write inside the behemoth of gray stone. Despite the size, voices are hushed, and the entire castle feels quiet and solemn. The Assistant to the High Priest settled me in an empty dining alcove to await my appointment.

  There are so many staff members that it seems impossible to track, and I can’t help but wonder how one witch, reportedly the Head Housekeeper, can manage all these moving pieces. The decorations are elegant. The banners of sunlight falling in from outside bright.

  I’m quite enamored with the castle, even if the Central Network hasn’t been my favorite. Their history of tumultuous leaders does seem irresponsible, but then so does the Eastern Network’s propensity to allow one family to gain far too much power over and over again. Then again, the bloodbath of tribal leadership in the West also doesn’t make sense.

  In politics, as in science, the answer isn’t always readily apparent.

  The fact that I was able to obtain a meeting with the High Priest already makes me like him, for I cannot imagine why he said yes to my request.

  I am eager for this interview.

  3rd day, 3rd week, 3rd month of spring

  Chatham Castle, Central Network

  The meeting with the High Priest has … confounded me.

  Although I pride myself on being a witch who enjoys a good puzzle and looks forward to mental challenges, I am stymied by what occurred.

  Hansel, the High Priest, is in his late fifties, a trim, clean-cut, brazen kind of witch without being audacious. He was cognizant of time but not hurried, and approached in a business-like manner that I immediately appreciated.

  “You have intrigued me with your request,” he said as he settled in a chair behind an impressively large desk. “Please, do explain your view on future-seeing. Or Watcher magic, as you called it.”

  My shock could not be denied. I expected no understanding from him at all. While I gave a stammering overview—not very brief, although I tried—he listened politely.

  “I’m sorry,” he finally said, “but I don’t believe this magic exists in the Central Network.”

  Yet another shock.

  The odds of no Watchers living in the Central Network are so low it almost can’t be calculated.

  Something is afoot.

  My tongue felt tied in knots at this point. Hansel spared me the embarrassment of stammering a reply.

  “There are innumerable types of magic at work in Alkarra, Ronan. The only one I care about is the one we’re using right now. And, perhaps if it even exists, Almorran magic. But it hasn’t been around in at least a thousand years, and I believe it has died away.”

  At this, he leaned forward. There was kindness in his eyes, if not a firmness that I would expect to see from a leader in his position.

  “I’m sorry, but I believe this isn’t the place for you to do research. Besides, it sounds like a magic that could easily be exploited or turned to the detriment of other witches, which is not something I am willing to allow here. Please, do not bring it in.”

  With that, he stood, effectively dismissing me. I left without a word.

  Now that I’m back at the inn, staring at the bustling street below, my thoughts have coalesced. Responses flood my tongue, but the opportunity is gone.

  What can be done?

  The High Priest feels they have no need for such a magic, and on some level, I cannot blame him. The power of the Watchers—and their counter, whatever it is—puts them in a precarious position. No matter what it comes down to, the intent behind their use of the magic is what ultimately decides what happens. That is a lot of power.

  I can’t blame Hansel for not wanting to deal with it.

  On the other hand, I think of Taiza, and the way they keep themselves and others safe through the magic. While imperfect, it was effective. I feel I know more about the magic than anyone else. Most Watchers, even. I can’t help but wonder if I’ve lost my objectivity.

  Fear can be combated. Where can one go academically with indifference?

  10

  The Central Highway

  4th day, 3rd week, 3rd month of spring

  Central Highway, Central Network

  I have left the dusty, hot streets of Chatham City and head toward Ashleigh.

  All of the inns along the way are full, and the highway is notorious for violence, so I travel closer to Letum Wood. Although there are no guarantees here and I’m not fond of such a suffocating forest, I feel somewhat safer here than near the highway.

  Off to sleep I go, still puzzling over this conundrum, feeling a little bit pathetic. Martorius has done more to create safety for Watchers than I have. What good is research when I cannot inspire action?

  5th day, 3rd week, 3rd month of spring

  Central Highway, Central Network

  It’s the middle of the night, and I cannot sleep. The teeming world of Letum Wood seems to awaken in the deepest darkness, and all I hear are creatures stirring. Nightmares of forest lions plague me. I think I shall leave and spare myself the horror. There was a pub not far away. Perhaps I can find solace there, or return to Martorius. I cannot explain why I hesitate to go back to the North. My heart yearns to, and yet … I cannot bring myself to go. For Martorius’s sake. I have been so afraid lately of hurting him. Of doing to him what I did to Rodan. For am I not cursed to harm those I love?

  There is an unknown quality of age in Letum Wood. It feels old. Sometimes menacing, sometimes not. Even as a scholar rooted in science, I cannot help but wonder if the trees do live, the way the foresters claim.

  Later that night …

  A pub gave me refuge from my fears.

  The pub remains open into the wee hours for all the shady characters who travel the highway at night. Doing what, I cannot fathom, and don’t want to know. I have found a booth, tucked myself into my hood, and ignore all those who bustle around me with loud laughter. Every now and then, I jerk awake, unaware that I’ve fallen asleep.

  The owner of the pub came over with some light ipsum. I am not opposed to an occasional ipsum, so long as it isn’t as strongly brewed as in the Southern Network. I appreciated the unwinding effect of the ipsum as I drank.

  The pub owner and I spoke for a few minutes. A greasy apron covered his paunchy belly. “Watchers?” he grunted, beady eyes narrowed. “Future-seeing witches. Sure. I’ve heard of them.”

  “Yes?” I asked—perhaps too eager.

  He studied me, then nodded once. “One Watcher, a male. Thorp. Lived around here for a while. Others were always afraid of him, so he never went out much. When he did, he was normally helping someone. Best hunter I ever met.”

  To say that this excited me is an understatement. I nearly choked. He pounded me on the back. “Slow down, fellow!” he said. “Plenty more ipsum for ya.”

  “Thanks,” I wheezed.

  No doubt the Watcher didn’t reveal that his power had some limits, and those limits prevented him from seeing future possibilities for everyone. Even now, ideas whirl through my mind. Explanations. Questions I would like this witch to answer.

  “Want ta meet him?” he asked, swinging a towel over his shoulder. My eyes widened.

  “Yes,” I said. “Please.”

  “Walk inta Letum Wood,” he said, “and don’t stop. Thorp will find ya.”

  At this, I glared at him. “A joke?”

  The solemn set of his eyes deterred my paranoia. His jowls swung slightly as he shook his head.

  “Not at all.”

  I will set off through Letum Wood in the morning. Martorius will not like this, so I shall not tell him. He sacrifices much to serve others, and I must do the same. Perhaps this Watcher can tell me something I don’t know. Perhaps Thorp could make the difference.

  Science help me.

  11

  Letum Wood Again

  2nd day, 3rd week, 1st month of summer

  Letum Wood, Central Network

  I’m convinced I’m an utter fool.

  Three days of wandering to find Thorp have led to nothing but ravenous hunger, delusional thirst, and an oppressive heat so strong I long for a bank of Southern Network snow.

  My scientific mind cannot decipher why I decided to do this. Yet I fear transporting away to take a break and perhaps missing Thorp. Perhaps the pub owner was lying. Or, maybe, I wonder in a frenzied state of paranoia, Thorp is testing me and won’t reveal himself. For how could he know I was here? Letum Wood is massive.

  I may be losing my mind.

  Letum Wood, meanwhile, teems with life. Something is always happening beneath this bright, verdant canopy. I cannot help but stop sometimes and stare. The sheer enormity of the trees … even if I gathered the data on these trees (life span, mean size, median growth rate, etc.), their enormity would be difficult to comprehend. What sort of energy and soil does life such as this require?

  I digress again. I left three days ago, and so far it has been uneventful. No sign of the Watcher—or even the trail the pub owner swore I could follow for days. It ended after mere hours. Maddening. At least no forest lion has attacked me.

  Yet.

  I feel that a Watcher could benefit me with safety right now, and I long to be back in Taiza amid the gentle snow flurries, holding a cup of Ima’s bone broth.

  3rd day, 3rd week, 1st month of summer

  Letum Wood, Central Network

  While traversing a shallow stream—and grumbling under my breath, for everything here is thick and clogged—a piece of moss dropped onto my right shoulder from above.

  Anyone who is famliiar with Letum Wood knows that forest lions are silent and always kill by dropping from the branches.

  Without a glance up, I ran as fast as I could. I careened down the trail, pack slamming on my shoulders. Although hardly brave, I sprinted like a wild thing. It made me think of Rodan. I can’t help but wonder if he felt the same feral panic, like an out-of-control flame, ripping through his body when the mob came after him. Did he wonder where I was? If I had been there with him, the way he had asked, could I have saved him?

  Why didn’t his powers warn him?

  Such were my thoughts—and more with teeth and blood and gore—until a shout stopped me in my tracks. A human shout. I glanced over my shoulder to find a woman standing there, one hand lifted. In Letum Wood, that is a friendly sign.

  “A lion,” I said, panting. “It was—”

  “It’s gone.”

  “So there was one?”

  In the back of my mind lurked the possibility that I had imagined the whole thing. Perhaps it had simply been a piece of moss falling to the ground. The woman nodded.

  “Indeed.”

  “No more?”

  Blood on her right wrist streaked all the way to the top of her shoulder, confirming her nod. Somehow, in the midst of my sprint, she’d killed the beast. I wasn’t sure if I should be thankful or terrified.

  Her voice was soft, and quite melodic. She had a little bit of a ferocious air about her, but I suppose one would have to, living here. Thanks to all my work with Watchers in Taiza, however, I noticed her brief moment of pause. A distance in her eyes.

  My heart nearly stopped. Perhaps desperation drove me to it, or I couldn’t fathom the thought of another soul slipping back into the forest and leaving me alone, but I blurted out, “Are you a future-seeing witch?”

  At this, her lips pursed. Her murky brown eyes darkened.

  “No,” she said. “I see the past.”

  This sent a chill down my spine, but the moment of darkness in her gaze soon passed. She looked me over, lifted one eyebrow, then motioned into the trees with a nod of her head.

  “Come,” she said. “I have a forest lion to skin, and you look hungry.”

  Against my better judgment, I followed her.

  4th day, 3rd week, 1st month of summer

  Letum Wood, Central Network

  Her name is Arabelle.

  She lives alone in Letum Wood. She’s constructed an impressive house here. All four walls are made from a shaving of bark as thick as my arm that fell to the forest floor. Only one of Letum Wood’s many dangers. She’s cut windows out of it and placed thick panes of glass and a wooden door. Some sort of sap runs along the edges and floor, effectively sealing out the weather. It’s quite cozy, and brighter than I expected for how little light makes it to the forest floor.

  She allowed me to sleep on the floor last night, which was generous, considering she doesn’t know me well. After all, foresters in general seem like a mistrusting lot.

  I have learned more than I ever expected—perhaps more than even the Watchers at Taiza were able to tell me.

  I have found the counter magic.

  Even if I never find Thorp, this mad idea to wander this forest is already worth it. Is this the culmination of my research? Perhaps. For because of Arabelle, everything is different.

  From what she has said, I would guess she’s not overly powerful but not inconsequential either. She has been unabashedly open with me. While the Watchers stumbled over the details and hesitated to tell me things, she has shown no restraint.

  Arabelle sees the past for the forest. Apparently, we are in one of the safer spots, as she has seen no recent history that involves predators, which is reassuring. Indeed, she saved my life from the lion because she had seen that it had been stalking there for days, and she went to check.

  “I don’t know much about the power,” Arabelle said over tea. She’s a middle-aged woman with crow’s-feet, bright orange hair, and green eyes as bright as any I’ve ever seen. “I see variations of the past. It’s clear what actually happened, but other possibilities show up too. At first, it was confusing. In a forest like Letum Wood, there are either endless things that appear, or almost nothing at all. Sometimes both.”

  “Is there a name for this magic?”

  She shrugged. “Don’t know. Don’t know the purpose either.”

 

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