The Wayward Witch Chronicles

Following Norui, it was all Pip could do to keep up with her frantic pace. They’d reached a low mountain ridge several kilometers from the camp they’d abruptly abandoned. But now she’d stopped, drawn back even, staring ahead into the night. “No, no, no no no–”

“Norui, what’re you lookin’ at?” Between the thick snowfall and moonless sky, Pip had precious little light to see by. Darkness might not trouble the eyes of a Mani, but Pip strained to pick out anything more than snow and shadow. “Lass, ye gotta tell me what’s goin’ on! Yer right scarin’ me.”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so so so sorry–”

Through the winds, Pip heard it. The tune of a man whistling what might have been a cheery sound if it wasn’t so low, dragging on. The sound of it transfixed Norui to the spot, shivering from something other than the subarctic cold, her eyes wide and horrified.

Pip got a glimpse. Something standing too near, just a few paces away. It had the form and dress of a gentleman, but it wasn’t right. Too long-limbed. Too sharp-toothed.

The whistling stopped as it smiled, terrible in its joy. “Well, well! Hello, my dear Noruiniviani.”

Whatever it was that had held the witch in place snapped at the sound of the creature’s voice, and she startled back a step. Pip squared off towards the threat, gripping his small hands into tight fists. “Who the hell are–”

The sound of something thumping into the snow, and in the same moment, massive wingbeats.

“Norui?!” Stunned, Pip turned to look after her, but she had vanished into the night.

The manifestation in the night snow laughed, and faded back into shadow. The Nuralli was left alone atop the frozen hill, agog, with nothing but the witch’s fallen journal to keep him company.

“Lass?” Pip’s voice cracked painfully, nearly paralyzed. “Norui! Where’d ye go?”

Disbelief had a stranglehold on West. Was he even seeing what he thought he was seeing? Unable to find words, West looked to his companions.

The aura of fear had vanished when the showman disappeared, and Roman’s breath shook only slightly as he stepped out from behind the pillar. Roman seemed perplexed as well, though it was impossible he could have the same reasons on his mind as West. “Vera! What happened, and what am I looking at here?”

Vera was already pointing one of her myriad wands at the winged woman on stage. The distraught woman stared at the stone ground of the stage beneath her, clutching at the small white creature in her arms as she battled against tears and panic. “Looks like an Aeriani, sir,” Vera reported. “Sort of a Mani, supposedly. Folks call them Aeries.”

“Supposedly?”

“Never seen one. Never met anyone who did. Storybook sort of thing.” Vera pressed the sigil of her wand, to no visible effect. “No magic, no illusions, no charm. Not even armed, if I see right.” She paused. “Still, don’t be dumb.”

“As if I’m ever,” Roman answered, his eyes searching the darkness behind the stage. “What about that other thing?”

Vera scanned the room before shrugging. “No idea. Don’t feel that fear spell anymore, so gone for now, seems like.”

“Hm. Keep an eye out for it.” Sword in hand, Roman started down the steps.

Heart jumping, West hurried to intercept him. “Roman, what’re you doin’ there, lad?”

“I’m investigating, Investigator.” Roman slowed his stride. “Seems like the smart thing to do. Would you care to join me?”

“Aye, I will,” West agreed forcefully. “But as long as we’re bein’ smart, let's not be rash either.” He nodded at Roman's drawn blade.

Roman waved his free hand dismissively. “Of course not.” He didn’t sheathe the sword, but neither did he hold its point as high as moments before.

As West followed Roman down the steps, frantic thoughts raced through his mind. What’s me move now? Is that her? There cannae be anyone else in the world that looks so alike, but… hell. Even if she is, she’ll nae recognize me so long as I’m lookin’ like a human. Mebbe I oughta jes’ tell her it’s me– but what’ll Roman be thinkin’ then?

He eyed the swordsman and dismissed the idea. With the exit cut off, he was going to need to keep Roman and Vera’s trust, and they were already suspicious creatures. If they learned he knew the Aerie, they’d never believe it was by chance.

Damn it. West’s best move was to keep his own counsel. But it wasn’t easy, not with the way his heart was slamming on the walls of his ribcage. On the edge between excitement and anxiety, all he wanted to do was cry out, Norui, lass, it’s me! But for now, he’d let things play out, and then… well, he’d play it by ear.

As they began to draw near, the Mani caught sight of them through the eerie gray lights of the stage. “Wait! Wait, wait, o-one moment, I’m….” She smeared at the dampness on her face with a palm, rising to her feet with more haste than grace. “P-please just, I need a moment, t-to–!”

Roman stalled, still several steps away from the stage. His brow furrowed. “To what?”

“I’m– I just n-need to….” Crestfallen, she buried her face in the long fur of the winter-white squirrel she held, trying for a deep breath, managing only a shaky gasp. The creature squeaked pitifully at her. Roman stood his ground and kept a wary distance. The Aerie steadied her breath and raised her face again. “Sorry. I’m… I couldn’t, and it– I’m all right now.” Her voice rang bitterly through the hall.

Roman studied the woman for any sign of danger. He’d tightened the grip on his weapon, raising the blade to the ready.

“Easy there, lad,” West murmured, “she doesnae look like any sort o’ threat, do she?”

“Don’t get complacent. We don’t know anything.”

“Yer right. Let’s try and change that.” Addressing the woman on the stage, West called out, “Pardon me, but what’s yer name?”

"S... Sunny." A numb flush prickled over West’s face, and his lips parted as the last traces of guarded uncertainty fell away. Norui had called herself Sunny when he’d first met her, too.

At the same time his heart sprang up in excitement, a heavy weight pulled it down. He couldn’t imagine worse circumstances to be rediscovering his old friend in. What happened to ye?

Meanwhile, Roman frowned, rankled by the common sound of the name she’d given. "Unusual name for, ah, a Mani, isn’t it?" Roman's eyes were fixed on her wings, but even knowing the right word for her kind, he shied from it and used the more familiar Mani. "I don’t believe your mother calls you that.”

Something went dead in Sunny’s eyes. "No. But it's... it's easier... I mean, Sunny's easier for most people t-to say."

"Is that right? Odd choice for a pseudonym, isn't it? Very, ahm. Ironic." Roman exchanged an amused glance with Vera.

"Ironic?" Sunny echoed.

Roman's expression eased into a reassuring smile as he turned back to Sunny. "Just to find a ‘Sunny’ in a dark place like this," he said. "In any case, West's right. I don't see any reason to think you might be dangerous, Sunny." With a nod toward the Investigator– appreciation, acknowledgement, or dismissal, West found it hard to be sure– Roman slipped his gladius into its sheath. At his confident gesture, Vera trotted down the stairs to join them.

“You’ve got blood all over you. Is it yours?” Roman asked.

Vera pointed to the abrasions on Sunny’s forearms. “Rope mark,” the scholar commented. “Hurts?”

Sunny seemed lost for words. West felt much the same way, hardening his face against a fresh surge of worry. Impatience threatened to make him break his silence, but he reminded himself fiercely, he needed to let this play out. As long as he didn’t know who Sunny was, his opinion mattered to Roman. If that perception changed, both he and Sunny would look more suspicious by tenfold. The last thing they needed was to start pointing fingers at each other when they needed to figure out what was going on.

“Hm.” Roman stepped up onto the platform, suddenly enough to startle Sunny. Undaunted, the swordsman got a grip on her free arm, turning the wrist about to get a proper look at the injury. “We can wrap that up for you.”

Recovering her equilibrium, Sunny snatched her hand away. “Don’t– don’t bother!” She winced at the sound of her own echo. Roman's back stiffened, but before he could retort, he realized a streak of red had smeared onto his hand when he’d taken her arm. Stepping back from the woman, he produced a handkerchief to wipe his hand clean. Sunny, meanwhile, mumbled, “That’s… thank you, but it’s not a g-good use of time. I need– have any of you got s-something to write on?”

Roman settled his hand back on his hilt. “I’d be glad to lend you whatever supplies you need, but I’d like a bit of explanation for what you’re doing in this place first.”

“That’s– that’s very reasonable, but m… misguided.” Sunny seemed to shrink in on herself. “Get me s-something to write with first. Then I can answer your questions."

Unaccustomed to taking orders from others, Roman’s mouth tightened, but he acquiesced and shrugged off his pack. A few seconds of fumbling produced a small tin of charcoal sticks and a rolled piece of vellum. “Will this suit?”

“Yes. Th… thank you.” Sunny lingered back a nervous moment but, biting her lip, screwed up her courage to accept Roman's offering. She seemed to need several meters of distance to be comfortable, and lacking any better surface, she sat on the stage floor and spread the vellum in front of her. The tired creature in her arms protested as she transferred it onto her lap, then sighed and slept.

Vera slipped behind Roman. West could just barely overhear her ask, “Shall I take a look around, sir?”

“Please do,” Roman agreed, and the scholar began a slow walk-around of the stage, peeking behind the tall curtains at the back, finding only a wall, and continuing on.

“You had q-questions,” Sunny prompted. The amber torque around her neck glinted in the light as she leaned forward, laying down the first broad strokes of a sketch.

“... Yes.” Roman hesitated. The distance Sunny wanted to keep between them seemed to chafe at him, and he frowned and shuffled his feet. “I was asking what it is you’re doing here.”

“I’m not here because I want to be, if that’s what you’re wondering. I don’t… quite know how I wound up here. It… first, I was with a f-friend. We were somewhere safe, with someone we trusted, but I think we w-were tricked….”

Her hand stalled over her drawing, distracted. West did his best to keep his face impassive despite his roiling stomach. He recognized himself in the story, and ached to know what had happened after.

Charcoal still hovering over the vellum, Sunny’s wings and shoulders slumped. “Th-things… happened, after that.” She took a deep breath. “But that’s not relevant. Then I was h-here. Like this, but meeting a different group.”

“One of those?” Roman asked, gesturing toward the front of the stage. Sunny closed her eyes and nodded. “All of those?” Another nod. Roman turned to face the audience, numbering again the dead.

“Before, when w-we were tricked. There was s-some sort of curse. You saw it– it looks like some sort of crystal, right?” Roman made an affirmative noise. “I don’t know exactly how it works, but… I can't d-do anything. It’s like w-waking up in the morning and never realizing you fell asleep, but no dreams, no rest.” Setting down the charcoal, Sunny pressed her face with her palm. A moment later, her voice steadier, she picked up the charcoal again. “Well. That’s what I’m d-doing here, anyway.” She resumed her work.

Hell, lass. West folded his arms, struggling to keep the maelstrom of thoughts and memories from spilling out. She could barely get any part of her own story out, but he could fill in every missing gap, up until after she’d been cursed and they’d gotten separated. It was thinking about the part after that gave him a hollow, helpless feeling in his gut.

This place only opened once a month. She spent the time between as if in a dreamless sleep, only freed from her crystal prison to meet with groups like theirs and play in this horrid death game. Forty-seven days suspended in crystal, then, to one day – or actually, one night – of consciousness. Exactly how much time’ve you lived outside o’ that curse since we lost ye… or how little?

He had so many questions burning for answers. He only hoped that soon, he’d have the chance to ask them.