“Walter!” Cassandra practically skipped past him, and he couldn’t help but smile. As long as she wasn’t sharing words of doom, the madam was a joy. She seemed cut from bliss itself, and the fact that she barely remembered to cover herself in any semblance of proper clothes didn’t hurt matters.
“Miss Cass!” he called back, but who knew if she heard. The woman barely paused most of the time, as if wherever she was going next was always urgent.
At the corner nearest the tavern, Scylla nodded as he looked up and caught her gaze.Thatone would be a force no matter what, but Walt was grateful every day that she’d not pitched her lot with Sondre. Her illusions were all that kept them safe from hikers on trails or some sort of devices in the sky that the last batch of new arrivals called “sat-lights.” Giant all-seeing cameras up in space like stars.
In my day—Walt stopped himself mid-thought.This is still “my day.”
He was still on this side of the sod, and until he disappeared into wherever witches’ bodies went when they died, it would stay his day.
Walt pondered the issue that was the heart of the ongoing factions: to tear down the walls or to keep trying to create a self-sustaining world of their tiny hidden home. Neither solution worked, but staying here without some kind of plan for the problems of the water and the noxious air wasn’t an option. That was akin to waiting for all the witches to sicken and die.
So what’s left?
Some people waited for the magic to offer an answer. Others waited for the heads of houses to figure it out. So far, though, there wasn’t an answer on the table.
Unless we move the whole damned town…
But to where?
How?
Could magic move the castle?Wouldit? Magic brought the castle and Congress building—and hobs—here in the first place…
All Walter could say for certain was staying would mean dying and trying to live among the non-magical folks would also mean death for quite a few people.
Walt understood far too well that some sorts of ignorance were too ingrained for people to surrender. Scylla understood it because of her skin. Prospero understood it because of her love of other women. When both women had come to Crenshaw, they were near death from the violence of racism and homophobia respectively. Sure, things had changed the last century or so, but the Barbarian Lands were still a place of inequity. Changedidcome. The English were no longer killing Highlanders or stealing their lands as they’d been in and after the Battle of Culloden when Walt had died.
But change was slow, and the benefit of centuries of living was that Walt saw that some changes were slower than others. So if Walterhad tochoose a side, he’d not be on Sondre’s. For all that the rage Sondrefelt made sense, his way in the world had been an easy one. White. Male. Straight. Handsome. Athletic. Able-bodied. Jovial. Men like Sondre couldn’t always understand that the path they had walked was lined with privilege—and Walter had no desire to prove it by showing Sondre and his ilk how poorly the world would react to them once they landed in the category of outcast.
The non-magical in the Barbarian Lands would includesomewho accepted the magical, but here in Crenshaw, they’d built a community where race, gender, sexual orientation, faith, and culture were not grounds for prejudice. Surrendering that safety wasn’t a thing he could accept. But neither was poison from their own water and air. It left a quandary that was seemingly impossible as both paths ended with the death of witches.
As Walter approached the turn to the road toward his destination that morning, the leader of the more reasonable of the two factions approached.
“How would we decide who had to go back if we are out of space?” Walt asked Prospero softly as she fell in step with him. “Would we start with the newest arrivals? The straight white men? It’s not our fault we were born straight or white or male.”
Prospero sighed. “I know, Walt. I don’t want to send anyone back.”
“No water, no room, what else is there?” He shoved the last of his honey and butter bread in his mouth. “Don’t think I am unaware of your trip over there, Prospero. I know where you were, lass.”
She paused. “I don’t know what you m—”
“Ha! That lie will work on everyone but me, girlie.” He poked his chest with a recently wrinkled finger. “Chief witch. This devil-wrought job of mine comes with perks. I know you went there, even if I don’t know why. I feel your comings and goings.Anyof you.”
The look of abject terror in her eyes was enough that Walt felt guilty. The woman was a thorn in everyone’s side, but he’d known her since she arrived in Crenshaw. Back then, he was the headmaster, the one who retrieved her nearly dead body.
The woman cringed away. “No more. Please.”
One eye was swollen shut, and the other mangled. At least a few teeth were missing. The then-head of the infirmary had muffled a cry. “That poor creature.”
“You’re safe, lass.” Walt had stepped backward, instinctively giving her space. “Drink up. It’ll ease your pain.”
The vial the healer had given her was slick with blood from her hand and her mouth when she handed it back. Several fingers had been so broken that the bones pierced the skin.
“No one will hear your secrets from my lips or hand or actions,” he said softly, echoing words he’d said more than once since her arrival in Crenshaw. “You can trust me.”
He watched her mask slip into place, cold and unfeeling. Deadly. That was the image she’d created over time, and it was easier than it should’ve been thanks to her propensity to slide into minds and shift the memories of those around her.
“I had to try to find an answer,” she admitted. “Bringing back supplies isn’t enough. People are dying.”
