CHAPTER 10 : QUIET BEFORE THE STORM
"The best method to store havoc is to gather it slowly over time. Braid it together to form a stronger chain. But be careful, havoc can 'leak' and cause chaos disruption. Watch out for feelings of euphoria or ‘drunk’ behavior. Sometimes, in moments of great need, a witch can call on large amounts of havoc at once if they use a channeler. Without a channeler to siphon excess havoc you run the risk of crackle and rifting.
Note : Never use a civilian as a channeler, unless you want to clean up the mess.” ~Maral Becken, Havoc Tips And Tricks
TIRMA
I touch the tip of my finger to a candle wick and light it, chasing the darkness of midnight to the corners of my room.
Avaris sleeps soundly beside me, her chest rising and falling. The back of her palm touches her cheek, and her hair loops over the curve of her pillow in pale gold ringlets.
She looks completely different asleep, peaceful. She tells me she doesn't dream anymore. I made the mistake of asking her why once. Her eyes grew far away, like two ponds icing over from an unexpected frost.
She never said why, only that she prefers it this way.
I open the pine drawer of my nightstand and unwrap a small, plum-sized undershadow eye from a cotton purse. Unlike the boy's, which is fresh, this one is a dull red, like dried blood. Undershadows lose their luster over time, and this one is at least fifty years old.
It winks at me in the candlelight.
A shiver rolls up my spine. I hate these things. They always look like they're watching me.
I suppose they are.
My vision constricts and is pulled through the eye's channel thousands of leagues south. It feels like being sucked through a straw.
It doesn't take long for my eyes to adjust. I'm on the mantle of a grand fireplace, staring at a tall witch in a flowing, silver robe. A band of stormstones keeps her bone-white hair back, and her square jaw is set in marble.
"Valemie," I send my voice through the connection.
"It's Maelstrom Raventoc now," she snaps, pacing back and forth across the carpet. She shimmers as she moves. The air seems to slide through her, but that’s typical for a wind sprite.
"Val."
"Sorry," she pinches the bridge of her nose. "It's been...a stressful few weeks. Things are coming out of the dark, things I haven't seen in centuries. Two days ago an albatross bat was found in the westpoint steeple. It ate the priest! The paperwork alone—"
"Have you cornered the source?"
"No, but the havoc stores are in flux. Something is disturbing the balance. Our oracles can't see ahead anymore, not that they were reliable in the first place but still..."
"You know why I’m calling, right?”
"I—I don’t have time to look into missing children! Between managing coven politics and citizen unrest, not to mention the anti-chaos squads growing bolder by the day, my hands are tied."
"We both know who’s taking them, Val.”
She sighs, hands on her hips, and solidifies for a moment. Spikes of lightning shoot through her hair. “What do you want me to do? The floaters make their own rules.”
“Admit it. You don’t care because they’re stealing from poor farming villages and not from Starfall.”
“This isn’t about voters, it’s about resources. I have to prioritize my city. It’s my job.”
I wish I could break something, or slam my fist against a wall. But I can only throw my voice through the undershadow’s eye. “They’ve been allowed free range of our sons for a millenia. It has to stop.”
She peers at her half of the undershadow’s eye on her mantle. “Why do you suddenly care, Tirma? What aren’t you telling me?”
“Nothing. Just...keep an eye on the sky.”
"Always.” She runs her hands through her hair. “So, how is she?”
“Better. Teaching in Rock Valley has been good for her. It’s peaceful.”
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“Good,” she nods, “and you?”
“I miss the excitement sometimes, and the library, of course.”
She chuckles. “You haven’t changed a bit.”
“I know.”
“Be safe.”
“You too.”
The connection severs, shooting me back through a tunnel and spitting me out the other side. I inhale a sharp breath, regaining my senses as my vision straightens.
Avaris is sitting up. Her legs hang over the edge of the bed. She turns her head to look at me, chin touching her shoulder. “Any news?”
I tuck the undershadow eye back in its place in my nightstand. “No. She won’t be much help. Made Maelstrom though.”
“Good for her.”
“Don’t be like that. I had to.”
“Be like what?”
“It was two hundred years ago. Can’t you just let it go?”
“She’s a snake, Tirma! A lying, betraying, evil—”
I slide to her side of the bed and touch her chin, turning it towards me. “Yes she is,” I whisper into her lips. “Now kiss me.”
“Tir—”
I press my lips to hers and, after a moment of resistance, she melts against me. I spend the rest of the night making Avaris forget all about her troubles.
Yet Valemi's expression lingers in the back of my mind, she knows something.
I'm sure of it.
NILAH
The air crackles with havoc.
It’s everywhere. It’s following me. It wants me.
The magic branches from a single source. Egg. It prickles like the thorns of a tangled rosebush, or a porcupine cornered into a hole, defending against a predator.
Except he doesn’t seem to notice it at all. He remains blissfully unaware of the disturbance to the chaos he’s causing. He circles Little Abbey, watering potato plants, like nothing is wrong.
It’s aggravating.
None of the witches notice. Not the masters, not the students. I’m the only one who can see it.
I just want to know why.
The girls are excited. The springtime festival is upon us. Ribbons and paper lanterns are up, Ursa is helping carry picnic tables out to place beside the pond.
My focus is on Egg. Like it always is. I feel like a compass, and he’s the north pole. I can’t stop myself from pointing in his direction.
I’m wearing my good dress, a deep cream wool with long sleeves that opens wide at the wrists, hemmed with violet stitching. My hair is held up with purple ribbons. It’s the afternoon before the spring time feast, just before the sparklers are lit. The threat of rain hangs heavy in the air, and the sky is blocked by angry grey clouds.
But the Warden insists the party must go on, even if we're rained out and forced to bring it inside. She says we deserve a break.
The closer I am to him the heavier the havoc feels. It pushes down on my shoulders and slips into my lungs with every inhale. I feel it grasping at my inner chaos, trying to gain a handhold. It’s like invisible pollen in the air.
It’s impossible not to breathe it in.
Egg is wearing clean clothes and his hair is brushed—an occurrence I’m fairly certain was the result of an insistent Yendy from earlier this morning. He’s having a one-sided conversation with Norasmus, who is perched on a barrel of feed. He seems to be explaining the dynamics of weather prediction with an excited glow on his face.
I can’t help but sense Norasmus is bored.
I don’t blame him.
The second thing I notice is that Egg looks different. He’s the same height, but his shoulders are broader, his hair is longer and almost reaches his chin now. His chest is thicker and he no longer looks like he's drowning in the fabric of his green tunic.
But there’s something else. A shining light behind his eyes.
He looks...happy.
“Were you really a king?” I saunter up and ask, hands stuck in my dress pockets.
He straightens, surprised to see me. Norasmus flutters to the ground, escaping to peck leftover corn between the blades of grass. “Yes,” he says, adjusting his collar and clearing his throat.
“Like, the king? The one up there?” I point to the sky.
“Yeah,” he says again, holding back half a satisfied laugh, “wasn’t it obvious?”
“We’ll...you’re kind of skinny.”
“I’m not—”
“And young.”
“So—?”
“And a bit dumb.”
“I am not!”
The last king, as far as I knew, was silver with age. He died shortly after I was born, but had spent his life enjoying the pleasures the great riches in the sky had to offer, like every king before him.
Starfloat always helps itself first.
Especially at the expense of everyone else on the ground.
If he really was going to be crowned King, maybe that explains the havoc sparking around him. Maybe kings in training come with special powers.
The havoc is seeping into me now, filling the cracks in my chaos. My vision is filtered through an electric haze of gold. I feel incredible. Unstoppable.
I lean close to his face.
“Meet me after dark, once the festival is underway.”
His lashes flutter nervously. “Err...w-why?”
“Because I want you.”