Joseph Lewis - Wren the Fox Witch

“Mistress?” she whispered.

“Am I your mistress now?” Yaga cackled from the ring, and her face shimmered out of the shadows for a moment, and then vanished again.

“Is she in there?” Omar asked.

Wren nodded. “It’s done.”

“Almost.” Omar picked up Yaga’s necklace from the carpet and held it over his seireiken. The pendant glowed white hot, and then faded to dull gray, and Omar slipped the dead metal into his pocket. “It was only a tiny shred of her soul. It won’t matter much to her that it’s here in my sword with me instead of in your ring with you.”

“Are you sure?” Wren asked.

Omar shrugged. “Remember, there’s a shred of my soul in your body right now, keeping that fox of yours under control, and I’m not suffering much for it, am I?”

“I guess not.” Wren stared at her ring for another moment and finally let her hand fall to her side. “It’s sort of sad. For two months, all she wanted was to see her son again. But they missed each other by a few hours, and now they’re both dead, and never had the chance to say goodbye.”

“Not exactly.” Omar held up his seireiken. “He was here. He saw the whole thing.”

“What? You mean you killed him?”

“I did.” The Aegyptian sheathed his bright sword and crossed the shadowy cellar to the bottom of the stairs. “And that shred of Yaga’s soul in here with him will leave them some small connection for the rest of time. It’s more than Koschei deserves. But Yaga… I can’t help feeling I owed her more than this.”

Wren looked at Tycho, who could only shrug and offer his hand, and she took it and followed him up the stairs into the light.

Wren stood in the wasteland of broken stone and drifting smoke that used to be the Palace of Constantine and gazed up at the three enormous skyships hovering above the two cities.

“I see flags,” she said, peering up through her blue glasses at the bright sky. “Blue flags flying from the ships.”

“Imperial banners,” Omar said. “I suppose that means Darius bought them, instead of making some sort of unholy alliance with Marrakesh. It’s a good sign, actually. If they were flying Mazigh flags, it would mean the war was spreading across Ifrica as well.”

The one airship still cruising over Constantia began dropping bombs over the distant harbors to the north of the palace. Wren watched the tiny black specks tumbling through space and the bright flashes of fire on the ground and the small clouds of dust and smoke rising from the waterfront.

Across the river, the other two airships were slowly circling the burning district near the shore, chasing each other like a pair of sharks around an unseen school of flying fish.

“What happens now?” Wren asked.

“More fighting,” Tycho said. “Followed by some negotiations, skirmishes, alliances, betrayals, more negotiations, and eventually a ceasefire, if we’re lucky.”

“And if we’re not lucky?”

“They take Constantia.”

“Oh.”

Omar cleared his throat and the others looked at him. “I have to find someone,” he said. “She was in the palace, and I suppose she left during the evacuation, but I somehow doubt she’s hiding in some shelter somewhere. I have to go. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He gave Wren a long worried look. “Stay safe.” And he strode away.

Wren glanced at Tycho. “I wonder who-”

“It’s Nadira,” Yaga said, her tiny voice whispering from the Denveller ring. “He’s looking for Nadira, the Damascena. But he won’t find her. She left before the bombs began to fall and I don’t think she’s coming back. But let him go. He needs some time alone.”

“I’m sorry about Koschei,” Wren said.

“No, you’re not,” the ghost said. “But thank you for saying it.”

Wren looked at Tycho again and saw him staring at her. “It’s all right, I’m just talking to… you know, her.”

He nodded. “Well, I guess we should be getting back to the cistern to tell the Duchess what’s going on out here.”

Across the courtyard, a couple of the Hellan guards emerged from the shadows with ropes and shovels. The sounds of the bombs falling and exploding echoed across the city.

“More hiding?” Wren took a few steps toward the distant airships. “More of this? More things burning and people screaming?”

Tycho followed her. “I’m afraid so.”

“And all because you have a church and they have a temple?” Wren sighed.

It’s all so stupid. It’s not over gold or food, or even revenge. They’re killing each other over the gods, as though the gods could be made or unmade by a sword or a fire.

Whatever exists in paradise or the nine hells won’t change just because a different person sits on the throne of Constantia.

And meanwhile, people are dying.

Soldiers.

Fishwives.

Children.

She kept walking across the courtyard past the broken columns and burnt timbers and shattered windows. “I have a better idea. Come on.”

They walked together through the ruins of the palace and out into the wide snowy park beyond. She glanced at him, and he smiled at her, and she could tell he wanted to say something, but he didn’t, and she didn’t ask what was on his mind. Eventually they reached the sea wall, which had been teeming with young soldiers and younger marines just a few hours earlier and now were bare and silent. They climbed the iron stairwell in the north watch tower and stepped out onto the platform high above the water and looked out across the channel at the burning homes of Stamballa and the burning homes of Constantia.

They look exactly the same, don’t they?

Wren pushed her glasses up her nose. “We need to make the airships go away. And then make the warships go away.”

Tycho laughed. “Yes, that would be nice.”

“Then I’ll make them go away.” Wren placed her hands on the cold stones of the wall in front of her.

It’s still the middle of the afternoon, still too warm. But Yaga could gather the aether in the daylight, and the valas taught me to pull it from the earth. It should be enough.

“Wait, what are you going to do?” Tycho put his hand on hers. “You said you can only move aether, and souls. You can’t move ships.”

“No, I can’t. But there are people in those ships, aren’t there?” Wren nodded up at the flying behemoths. “Remember how I pushed Omar and the marines across the water, and they pulled their boats with them? Well, this is exactly the same. Only bigger.”

“Wren, you don’t have to do this. In fact, I don’t want you to do this,” Tycho said. “This war has been going on for years, and this siege is just one more battle. There’ll be more. More people will die. It’s the way of things, I guess. But it’s not your responsibility. It’s not your fight. And there’s no need for you to dirty your hands with it.”

“I know it’s not my fight,” she said softly. “It’s my choice. Now get behind me. I don’t want to pull your soul out of your body by accident. You’d die, and I’d be sad. So get down.”

He squeezed her hand and then moved around behind her.

Wren took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and began to spin her soul. It was even easier than the last time, and the shivers quickly gave way to gooseflesh, and then the pulsating waves of heat racing round her body. The silver bracelets on her wrists buzzed and hummed against her skin. She opened her eyes and watched the wisps of aether flying up out of the ground, swirling up through the wall and into the air above her.

I’ll need a lot. More than before. A lot more. Those ships are awfully far away.

She stood very still, enjoying the rippling sensations running up and down her legs and across her breasts and throat and face as her whirlwind of aether grew ever taller around her. And then a very different sort of heat and shiver ran through her hips, and she smiled.