CHAPTER 9 : EGG-SPANDING HORIZONS

"I've uncovered the ruins of what was once a great tribe. The architecture alone is wonderous. Spindles of pale material that form tunnels and bridges. The darkness is all consuming down here, but these glow like bones in the moonlight. Patterns are everywhere, beautiful shapes that grow infinitely smaller and more detailed. The mathematics alone...I wonder why they left all this intact? Was there a famine? A plague? An extermination? So much to learn. This will be the shining pearl of my career..." ~Han Flechma, Lost Journals of the Twilight Trench

EGG

A few hundred eyes, shining with worry, watch as the door to the infirmary creaks open.

Warden Avaris steps out, sleeves rolled up to her elbows. There are dark circles under her eyes, and streaks of blood stain her skirt. Her hair is tied away from her face, with a few forgotten strands sticking out on end. In her arms are a bundle of towels, soaked red.

The witches-in-training have squeezed together on the stairwell. Their faces peek out from doorways to their dorms. Many are holding hands and hugging each other's shoulders. The tension is so thick it feels tangible, like a looming thunderstorm.

The Warden inhales a small, sharp breath. "She's going to live."

A unanimous sigh of relief echoes throughout the tower. Smiles widen and a few girls cheer.

"She also needs her rest." The Warden calls out over the noise.

The cheers quickly fall away.

"Today is a free day, classes are canceled. Stay within the salt lines, do not go anywhere alone, and return to the tower at least an hour before dark."

Birds are chirping outside, it’s already morning. They’ve been working on Bavetna since yesterday afternoon. Stomachs growl hungrily.

As if on cue, Yendy shuffles out from behind the Warden. She claps her hands three times. “Come, girls! Nothing like a good helping of oatmeal to warm the spirit, don’t you think?”

Little by little, the girls trickle away. Very few choose to leave the tower, either following Yendy or returning to their dorms to sleep, read or play cards.

One girl with straight, dark hair and arrow-shaped eyes, lingers. She offers the Warden a blue rose. “For Bavetna.”

The Warden accepts it with a gentle nod of her head. “Thank you, Moroka. I will make sure to give it to her.”

Moroka ascends the stairs, leaving the Warden and I standing across from each other.

"Can I see her?" I ask.

Her expression hardens. She opens her mouth—

"Let the boy in," Bavetna's deep voice orders from inside the infirmary.

Holding my gaze with what feels like a warning, the Warden steps aside, allowing me to enter.

The infirmary is illuminated by glass spheres of blue witch light hovering in the air. The thick incense makes my nose twitch. Hanging quilts divide evenly spaced cots. There are basins of water, and jars of what I presume to be medicine tied with twine on the walls.

It’s practically primeval, nothing compared to the sanitation chamber in the palace, where everything is clean and white and gleaming with silver instruments.

Bavetna’s many-limbed shadow is behind one of the quilts. I pull it back.

Immediately, I drop to my knees and hurl into a nearby wastepaper basket. When I finish, I wipe my mouth with my arm and slowly stand up. I can't look away, and my hands are shaking uncontrollably.

Bavetna is lying on her stomach on a cot. Her torso is bare except for the bandages. Despite them, I can see the damage. Four lightning bolt shaped gashes have rendered her back apart. Her skin, normally a robin egg's blue, is purple with bruising.

Beside her is Tirma packing up a small wooden box with needles and thread. She looks just as tired and disheveled as the Warden. “Do not move,” she orders Bavetna and leaves.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spot the Warden wander back inside to dispose of the soiled bandages. She rinses her hands in a basin, eyes focused on the task, but I can tell she’s listening intently to our conversation.

"What did that to you?" I ask, risking a step closer, holding back another round of bile.

"A screecher."

"What's a screecher?"

"Not something you want to meet in the dark." She rests her chin on four of her interlaced arms. "It should not be here. Screechers make their nests high up in mountain caves where the snow never melts—it was not the only misplaced monster I encountered either.”

"There were more?" I ask, mind racing with the nightmarish possibilities.

"Indeed. A pack of nettlefangs, a gauntbear and a pair of blackmaws, probably mates by the sizes."

"What are—? Never mind, I don't want to know. What does this mean? Is it bad?"

"It's not good." She closes all four of her yellow eyes. "Monster migration like this hasn't been seen in many years. Something is disrupting them."

"Like what?"

She cracks open a single eye to stare at me for a long, quiet moment, then closes it again. "Not sure yet. The villagers in the surrounding towns are scared. They've closed their gates, lit their watchtowers. The world is shifting. Less safe. Their children—"

“That’s enough, Bavetna,” the Warden interrupts, striding over. “You need your rest.” She produces the blue rose and sets it on the edge of her pillow. “From Moroka.”

“Ah,” Bavetna curls her fingers around it and pulls it closer to her face, “thank her for me.”

“I will,” the Warden clasps her hand on my shoulder and directs me out of the room. She tries to shut the door but I stick my heel in.

My brow pinches together. “Is she really going to be okay?”

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The Warden sighs. “Yes, Egg. If she rests. Her wounds are wide, but they are surface deep. They will heal with time.” She pauses. “You should sleep as well, you have been awake since yesterday.”

She closes the door.

Instead of going up to the Warden’s room to sleep, I turn and descend the tower.

NILAH

Moroka invited me to play cards with Heedee, Radish and Rose to take our minds off Bavetna fighting for her life. We sit around a wicker table on our room’s balcony.

I find myself distracted. All I can think about is havoc, and the absence of it. Oh, the usual havoc is floating around. Games like cards always produce a misting of it. So many little possibilities. Constantly shifting and swapping places. Winners and losers.

But it’s so...thin. It’s like drinking water when all you really want is wine.

And besides, I can’t pull on any of it. Altering the game with magic would be cheating.

Heedee is concentrating very hard on her cards, legs crossed. Radish and Rose have formed a kind of silent team, a talent they seem to have developed as identical twins. Moroka is watching me from over her cards like a cat waiting to pounce on a bird.

I try to pay attention. I have a moss guardian, a torch and three soldiers. The element on the table mat is everfrost, which my torch negates, but if I set the game field alight then I can’t use my guardian without burning him up. Knowing it’s a middling move, I place a soldier on the field.

Moroka smiles and counters with a mountain blade.

The three other girls groan.

“How are we supposed to win when Moroka has all the rare cards?” Heedee threw hers on the table.

“It’s not my fault you’re all bad at trading.” Moroka shrugs.

My attention is already split. A small, blonde dot is making its way across the grounds.

“What are you looking at?” Rose asks, craning her neck to see over the railing.

“It’s the farm boy,” I mumble, tilting my head.

Radish pushes down Rose so she can see better. “What’s he doing?”

A small smile tugs at the corner of my lips. “He’s getting back to work.”

EGG

The following month passes by in a blur.

My days are consumed by chores. Day in, day out, it’s always the same. I wake up alone to the sound of Norasmus’s crowing. Where the Warden sleeps—I still don’t know. Maybe she doesn’t. I dress, collect a small lunch from Yendy who is always awake before anyone else, and get to work.

Plucking eggs from the chicken coop, shoveling manure, sifting hay, filling troughs, watering the herb garden, milking the goats—the list goes on and on and on.

But I’m still not done.

I hoe the fields that encircle Little Abbey in one large ring and plant potatoes. I start on the outside and work my way in. It takes me hours.

Whenever I feel like giving up, I think of Bavetna.

And keep going.

When twilight rises I return to the tower, eat a bowl of soup or a flat, toasted circle of bread with cheese that Yendy generously leaves out for me on the kitchen windowsill and finally collapse in bed.

The next day it starts all over again, but as time goes by, some things start to get easier.

I’m faster at collecting eggs now, and can avoid most scratches and pecks. The goats no longer kick me when I try to milk them either. Hauling the wheelbarrow barely hurts my back, same thing for my arms when refilling the bucket at the well. My skin tans instead of burns, and I’m seeing muscle definition on my legs, stomach and arms.

I’m getting stronger.

Eventually, the Warden allows Bavetna to leave the tower for fresh air, but with strict instructions not to lift a finger. She sits on a rocking chair on the farm house porch, a pillow behind her back, and smokes a long, painted pipe. She watches me work, sometimes shouting out suggestions or advice or to point out something I’m doing wrong.

Soon, even that fades.

I think she trusts me.

The first time I see the tiny green leaf of a potato sprout I’m overwhelmed by an emotion I can’t quite describe.

Satisfaction? Excitement? No...

Pride.

I’m proud of myself.

I foster those sprouts like they were my own children. I give them water, keep the bad insects away with peppermint spray, and string chicken wire to deter the horned rabbits and venomous mice. Soon they grow bigger, and greener, and leafier, and my pride grows too.

When Bavetna has healed enough she returns to hunt in the woods, check her game traps, and prowl the perimeter with her bow. At first it makes me nervous, and I keep my rake close at hand just in case I need a weapon, but no new monsters emerge from the woods. Bavetna leaves the grounds and farming to me, and that continued trust only increases my drive.

I want to succeed.

Every night, in my cot, I look up at the stars. Sometimes I look for the palace twinkling in the dark, but not always. It feels like a lifetime ago. I hadn’t realized how much I was missing out on. Up there the trees are metal, the forceful winds keep everyone inside, and there’s nothing to look at most days but endless blue sky, or rolling clouds just beneath Starfloat’s islands and platforms.

Down here, it rains, and I can smell the dew on the grass. Yendy packs the vases in her kitchen with real flowers instead of crystal ones. Little Abbey’s tower is bursting with life. It’s full of noise and movement—where the palace was always empty, with long hallways and servants who never looked me in the eye.

Even some of the witches have started to warm up to me. The girl with puffy hair, who I learned is named Heedee, likes to pet the chickens. For some reason, they all love her, and whenever she visits they make sure to be on their best behavior. She agreed that Norasmus was an odd one when I asked for her opinion. “He likes to be sung to. Try it some time.”

Another girl with muscles even larger than mine called Ursa occasionally helps me haul bags of feed. “It’s good to exercise the body, and not just magic,” she said.

Slowly, I begin to learn all their names.

Moroka cares for the herb garden, pruning and weeding during her free time. She’s the one who told me to mix discarded egg shells in the fertilizer instead of throwing them out. Bevany, who wears pants and a tunic like a boy, is obsessed with a card game called Horde of Chaos. She gave me a starter deck just to have someone new to play with. Radish and Rose, a pair of bright eyed twins, like to switch places and pretend to be each other—as far as I know, only the Warden can tell them apart.

There are dozens of others. Some ignore me, some talk to me, and some help me practice at cards when I get a free moment. I learn lots of things this way. About the villages they come from, the lessons on havoc they’re taught, the upcoming spring festival, their families...

I don’t think I have a family.

Maybe the Silk Sisters counted. And the Oracles, the Archanists, the Servants, Lyara...but now I’m not so sure. Families, from what I gather, aren’t supposed to discard you.

Speaking of being discarded...

Nilah has barely spoken to me since I generously offered to accept her into my harem.

I’m starting to think no one wants to be in my harem, and I haven’t risked asking anyone else. I’d prefer not to get another clod of dirt thrown in my face.

Which is fine.

I don’t need a harem.

To be honest, in the clouds, the women were selected by the oracles, not by me. They were always pretty, but they never spoke to me. They lived in a different wing of the palace, waiting until the day I drank the starlight and was officially crowned as The Endless King.

As much as I want to hate these witches...I have to admit...they’re not all bad.

Tirma surprised me with new clothes that actually fit. She even stitched a tiny, golden egg on the corner of my collar. The Warden, after giving me a stern lesson on fire safety, allowed me to use the bath house again—only during irregular hours, of course. Bavetna even began providing me something called ‘wages’, which she instructed me to save for a rainy day.

Maybe I can stay here after all.

A small seed of hope unfurls in my chest.

Maybe I don't need to be the Endless King.

The seed sprouts a tiny, green leaf.

Maybe I can just be...me.