“Inquisition, let through! Let through, Inquisition!” Sir Ulrech bellowed as they rode through the crowd.
People grumbled, taking advantage of the low light to complain anonymously. Stuck between the bridge and the walled cliffsides, the rabble had nowhere to sidestep, but the intimidating silver and golden insignias of Elumenra made them creative.
Their little company faced no issues at the gates. As soon as they reached the front of the line, the guards let Inquisitor Velten and his retinue pass without even checking them forpapers. A good thing too—she had no idea what these papers were supposed to be.
Semras crossed the giant stone arch with trepidation, wondering what exactly awaited her beyond. At least, she mused, the night would offer her a quieter, less overwhelming version of Castereina.
It did not.
She gasped, hand flying to her mouth. “What in the name of the New Maiden is this?”
Estevan laughed. “Welcome to modernity, witch! A world where you, and thus I, are no longer needed.”
‘Modernity’ greeted her with long rows of buildings, each taller than the other, lining up a wide paved street. Lamps of wrought iron dotted the road, throwing light from a candle-less flame within. Bewildered, Semras stared inside storefronts and house windows, their interiors brightly illuminated as if the sun shone from within. People—more people than the witch had ever seen in a single place—walked by everywhere, paying them no mind in favour of dodging small, speedy carriages barreling out of the numerous side streets.
The Deprived didn’t know night had fallen. They kept going about their day, under the light of those small artificial suns, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
“This isn’t … that’s … those lights are not enchanted, are they?” Semras asked.
Estevan cocked his eyebrow at her. “They are lit by gas lines,” he said. “The Prince ordered them to be installed throughout the entire city a few years ago, and they have grown to be quite popular. You should travel more. This is nothing compared to the rest.”
“Therest? You mean there’s more?” The witch couldn’t fathom what could be more impressive than replacing night with day.
“Check your calendar, witch,” he replied, voice tinted with mirth. “We are less than two years away from the nineteenth century. Science is progressing faster than ever, and not only to bring us the wonder that is modern plumbing. Soon, there will be little left of what you witches can do that the ‘Deprived’ cannot. One day, all this will spread to the smallest village of the peninsula.” He threw her a disquieting glance. “When that day comes, you and I will no longer be relevant. The world of tomorrow will want nothing to do with mysticism and faith.”
Semras had never seen anything like this before—not in the hamlet of Bevenna, and certainly not in the Yore Coven. This ‘science’ astounded as much as it alarmed her. “Our worlds are growing ever further apart …” she murmured.
The implications frightened her. What would become of the Covens once this monstrous and ever-sprawling ‘modernity’ reached their forests? What would remain once it had devoured all?
Suns that never set over a world deprived of sleep—one that could dream no longer.
“Come.” The inquisitor guided Pagan away from the main street. “We are leaving the horses at the stables and taking a carriage the rest of the way. It will spare us from the crowd’s curiosity.”
Semras followed him to a side street lined with stable stalls. A carriage waited for them there, its side branded with the Inquisition’s coat of arms—a golden, twelve-pointed star with its arms ending in whirling flames.
Sir Ulrech and Themas dismounted next to it. Flitting about, stable boys scrambled on their feet to assist them. Bemused, Semras watched the young men and their tight, striped jackets of bright yellow and dark blue load their luggage at the back of the carriage. They looked like little bees, buzzing around the horses effervescently.
Hands seized her waist, and she yelped as Estevan helped her down from the gelding. At her miffed protest, he laughed. “The witch sleeps so sweetly in my arms, but Radiant Lord forbid I touch her waist.”
His shoulders were still shaking with mirth when he led her toward the carriage.
It was a good thing that his hand on her back guided her to it; Semras couldn’t stop herself from looking around. Everything surrounding her felt alien and perplexing. This thing they called a city was an unnatural monstrosity. No trees, no wildlife; not even a single stone had been left unshaped by human hands. The world had been remade, tailored, and manufactured to fit their needs. It was an abomination to the eyes of a woodwitch.
And it stank.
The smell of burning coal and rotting sewage choked her senses. Sweat and manure and urine mixed in a repulsive draft she couldn’t escape.
Her distraction kept her rooted in place in front of the carriage door; someone’s hands had to guide her to sit inside. Then the knights took places on the outdoor seats, and she found herself alone with the inquisitor.
The carriage departed with a shake. Startled, Semras threw her hands on each side of the thin walls to steady herself. Her palms pressed against their upholstered panels of black velvet.
With consternation, she stared at the luxurious fabric covering the interior of the carriage. Her priceless velvet dress had cost her so much to acquire, and here it was used for decoration. Sweat ran down her spine. She was sitting on a small fortune.
“How do you like the glorious city-state of Castereina, witch?” Estevan asked.
Wide-eyed, Semras gawked at him. “Youlivein such a place?” Throwing aside the window curtains, she resumed studying every detail of the city lying beyond.
“Not as often as I ought to,” he replied, laughing. “I dredge through backwater swamps in search of heretics and criminals more often than I am resting at home. Superstitions are, sadly, not fashionable in Castereina, so I am seldom called by distressed witchfinders to investigate within the city itself. Truth be told, most citizens do not even remember your kind are more than folktales.”
