CHAPTER ELEVEN: A PLACE OF WITCHES

----------------------------------------

Chronifer only froze for a fraction of a second before shifting his stance, resting his back against the wall and placing one leg up casually. Folding his arms, he thought wryly, I might as well go down looking cool. It wasn’t likely he was in real trouble–after all, she’d called him ‘visitor.’ That was at least one point in his favor.

He wasn’t prepared for what he saw next. The girl who emerged from the curve in the hallway was... breathtaking. It wasn’t just her beauty, though that alone was enough to stagger him. It was something more–something unplaceable that made her feel otherworldly. He forced himself to look at her forehead rather than her face, but the image lingered, unbidden, in his mind.

Her sharp features carried a softness, offset by her deep green hair–an unusual color that shimmered as if kissed by moonlight. Her pupils' amber. Her eyes, puffy from tears, glowed beneath oversized gold-framed glasses, their light a quiet defiance against whatever sorrow had touched her. Dangling emerald earrings swayed gently as she walked, each step a study in grace. The soft coral of her lips contrasted with her fair skin, a single vibrant note in an otherwise muted palette.

Her attire, too, caught his attention. The dress shared similarities with the garments worn by his father and even himself, rooted in the same traditional aesthetic, but it carried a distinct elegance that set it apart. Its floor-length skirt flowed in deep violet hues, shifting to a wine-red gradient at the hem, like a sunset caught in motion. Gold embroidery danced across the fitted bodice, accentuating her figure, while loose, sheer sleeves lent an ethereal quality to her movements. The style reminded him of the structured grace his father often favored, yet it was unlike the fashions of his mother and Dante. Even her heels – ornate, golden patterns glinting with each step – seemed crafted for someone accustomed to commanding attention.

“Hey,” she said softly, her smile breaking through the traces of her earlier tears. “I’m Ruhira, pupil of High Mistress Oniihino. She mentioned she had a special visitor… who shouldn’t be seen…” She gestured for him to follow.

“Where are we going?” Chronifer asked, keeping his tone neutral and deciding not to introduce himself just yet.

“Your room. High Mistress Oniihino will probably meet you there this evening.” Her steps were deliberate, unhurried, as she glanced back at him. “You don’t look like the High Mistress, though. She called you her nephew.”

“Well…” Chronifer hesitated, weighing his options before settling on the simplest explanation. “It’s a distant relation.”

“Hmm. I don’t believe you,” she said with a startling frankness. “I’m sorry, but she said you and your friend are her nephews. He’s a Sitsi’an–not even half-human, pure. You’re human, which is believable, but you look more like…”

Her words trailed off, and her expression shifted as realization struck.

“You’re the Montcroix-Wythe son–the one who didn’t get the birthmoon.”

Chronifer sighed, the weight of recognition pressing down on him. With a small, dramatic bow, he replied, “I’m Chronifer Montcroix-Wythe. Nice to meet you. You mentioned my friend. Where can I find him?”

For a moment, Ruhira froze, her amber eyes wide as she studied him closely. Then, with surprising grace, she dropped to one knee and bowed deeply. “My liege, this Sister greets you.”

Chronifer blinked, caught completely off-guard. He stammered the first thing that came to mind. “Uh… you may stand?”

She rose quickly, though her sudden deference left Chronifer grappling with a new, uncomfortable thought: Was he seen as royalty? A young master?

“W-welcome to the Jade Coven,” she said, her voice faltering as though unsure how to address him now.

Jade Coven? The name intrigued him. That sounds amazing. But instead, he asked, “My friend, where is he?” Clearing his throat, he added, “And what’s the Coven about?”

“Your friend was carried off by one of my master's comrades, who I now guess was… was Cowardicelore…” Her eyes darted around as she spoke the name.

So Dante took him. I hope he's fine. What about my parents?

After a moment or two after nothing happened, she seemed to remember his other question. “You don’t know? The Jade Coven is one of the main powers in Onyx Thorn. Some even count it among the great families under your clan.”

Chronifer’s confusion must have been plain on his face. He avoided her gaze, suddenly finding the walls more interesting.

“Well,” he started carefully, “to be fair, my education was focused elsewhere – fighting, monsters, survival.” He shrugged, his voice husky yet still holding a pronounced childishness. “Family politics wasn’t exactly a priority.”

“I wasn’t blaming you,” she said softly, her tone carrying a sincerity that caught him off-guard. “Sorry…”

Her apology was genuine, not the hollow kind meant to soothe pride. Chronifer noted this, appreciating it more than he cared to admit.

“I don’t mind telling you about the Jade Coven–or the other families–at least what I know about them,” she offered, her voice steadying. “If you don’t mind listening.”

Chronifer smiled, extending his hand with deliberate confidence. “Certainly, Ruhira?”

“Ruhira,” she confirmed, clasping his hand firmly, though a slight tremor betrayed her nerves. “Pupil of High Mistress Oniihino and former daughter of the Nocthegen family.”

The formality of her introduction seemed to anchor her, her shoulders relaxing slightly. Yet a flicker of unease remained in her emerald-green eyes.

“Well,” she began, smoothing her glasses with a deliberate motion. “The Jade Coven is part of the Caj’malarie – or, as some might translate it, the Witch Sisters. Though the Endless tongue doesn’t quite capture the depth of the meaning.”

Caj’malarie means Witch Sister. So calling herself a sister fits, I guess. Chronifer almost shrugged but stopped himself, watching her adjust her glasses again, her face brightening with enthusiasm.

“The Caj’malarie,” she continued, her voice gaining momentum, “is led by High Mistress Oniihino, who also oversees all the coven leaders. She’s the head of heads, so to speak.”

“Wait,” Chronifer interrupted, raising a hand, his curiosity piqued. “Does she have her own coven? I mean, I saw her here not long ago.”

Ruhira smiled softly, as though indulging a child’s earnest question. “Why would she need a coven when she already commands them all? Every coven leader answers to her.”

Chronifer nodded slowly. That… makes sense, I guess.

“Although,” Ruhira added, her tone lightening with a hint of pride, “the High Mistress does favor the Jade Coven. It’s where her office is, after all, and where the entire Caj’malarie began. You could say it’s the heart of everything.”

“Interesting,” Chronifer muttered. “But if she’s in charge of everyone, does the Jade Coven even have its own leader?”

Ruhira chuckled, the sound soft and amused. “Funny you asked. You’ve already met her, Under Mistress Wombessa, the leader of the Jade Coven and High Mistress Oniihino’s right hand.”

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

“Oh,” Chronifer said, the memory clicking into place. He hesitated, recalling the sounds of harsh slaps from earlier. “And the other covens? Are their leaders… different?”

“I bet.” She began. “From what I hear, the only Under Mistress as harsh as Wombessa is Ba’awolewa of the Shagus Clan Coven. The others are… easier to work with, or so they say.” She said conversationally, adjusting her glasses.

So each clan within the spiral has a coven. He thought.

Pale light poured in through the evenly spaced windows, each beam shimmering faintly as it broke through thick layers of ice clinging stubbornly to the glass. The reddish stone walls radiated a low, steady heat that seemed at odds with the frost outside. Carved into the stone were intricate designs that shifted subtly in the flickering light, as though alive, watching, waiting.

Chronifer in a moment of silent went through the knowledge he had acquired.

First was the name Shagus, he only knew of his Clan and the Shinasho’s due to his father surprising hate of their jokes and now he knew one more the Shagus. He had also noted the fact that Ruhira had introduced herself has Oniihions student which he surmised made her very important, he also did not miss her calling Wombessa Oniihinos right hand woman, or the name of the Shagus under mistress.

But before he could continue his series of shockingly fast thought threads Ruhira spoke. “... Shully is the real unlucky one.”

“Sorry I didn’t hear you?” He asked.

“No, it’s nothing,” Ruhira said, with a small smile.

“What do you guys do?” Ruhira who's walking pace had increased significantly tilted her head at that. “The Caj'malarie.”

“Oh, simple actually,” She began in understanding. “We are masters at politics, business and teaching. Look into the politics, business and education systems of the Spiral and you'll find us there. We also do a bit of other things…” She ended with a mysterious edge.

Chronifer immediately asked about the “other things,” but Ruhira, clearly in a playful mood, began teasing him with non-answers.

After a bit of silence filled only by the melodic steps of both Chronifer and Ruhira after her teasing, Chronifer offered another question.“Is there anything else i need to know?” he said.

“Oh, you need to know everything,” Ruhira replied with a sly smile as they climbed another staircase. The steps felt strangely warm beneath his slippers, faint grooves worn into the stone from countless years of use. “Otherwise, you might cause a war – or worse, a feud.” She seemed more at ease now, her tone growing playful.

“The Caj'malarie, like most organizations in the multiverse, exists to gain power. But we also help… as advisors, mostly. Of course, we're known for our darker work. Plagues, catastrophes, the kind of destruction that makes the multiverse tremble.”

She turned, a smile curling on her lips, but her eyes gleamed with something darker. Chronifer shivered. Her fists were clenched at her sides, her knuckles white – a signal of something restrained, something volatile beneath her calm exterior. “Imagine starting a feud with us.”

Chronifer was amazed and by the shaking of his hands, scared. The light flickered faintly across the stone walls, casting fleeting shadows that danced like specters. Yet So much power, he thought. This was real power, the kind that had been unattainable in his past life as John, constrained by rules, reality, and his own insignificance, in the grand scheme of the existence he had known.

But here, his limit wasn’t shallow, or made so by the very rules of existence, no.

Here, his limit was boundless.

Their conversation continued as they ascended, the winding stairs seeming endless. Chronifer glanced back, surprised by how far they had climbed. His legs burned faintly, but the steady warmth emanating from the walls helped ease the strain.

Ruhira, undeterred, continued her lesson. “On the topic of the great families, there are fourteen under the Montcroix-Wythe. I don’t know everything about them, but I can at least tell you their names. It’ll help you recognize someone when they inevitably try to impress – or threaten – you with their lineage.”

“Go on,” Chronifer prompted, curiosity piqued.

“There are the Nocthegn,” she began, then paused, glancing at him with a wry smile.

Chronifer caught the look and frowned. “Oh, oh.” He exclaimed in realization. “You’re from one of the great families.”

“I was part of one,” she replied, her tone shifting slightly. “I’ve moved on.”

Chronifer noted the subtle edge in her voice—pride mixed with something deeper, more guarded. He thought to press her for details but held back, filing it away for later.

“Anyhow,” Ruhira continued briskly, “then there’s the Dreuxmore. They’re basically strategic geniuses, generation after generation. I bet it’ll still be the same now.” She climbed another step, her voice bouncing lightly off the stone walls. “Then there’s Léovarre, Scaevus, Morcaide, Tou’ken, Lofthan, Oranxi, Thrivlanky, Polack-Dot, Vorrik, Azielis, Sélian, and Drosian.”

Chronifer tilted his head. “That’s it? You’re not going to tell me anything about them?”

Ruhira sighed, a rueful smile tugging at her lips. “I’m sorry, but my knowledge of them is... patchy at best. The Nocthegen, Dreuxmore, and maybe the Vorrik, I could give you something on them. The rest? They’re just names to me.”

He hummed thoughtfully. “Still, knowing the names is a good start.”

Ruhira nodded, continuing up the stairs. “Just remember, every one of them will have a reputation they expect you to know. A single misstep, like calling someone a Polack when they’re a Léovarre, could cost you an ally or gain you an enemy.”

Chronifer chuckled dryly. “Sounds exhausting.”

“Oh, it is,” she replied with a grin. “But that’s the price of power. You’ll figure it out soon enough.”

Chronifer raised an eyebrow. “But... Can I really make an enemy of them? Aren’t they all under the Montcroix-Wythe clan?”

Ruhira laughed, a sharp, knowing sound. “Oh, absolutely. You could gain an enemy easily. They might refuse to work with you – no trade, no diplomacy, no missions. And that kind of blow can cost you far more than you'd think.”

Hmm, stressful. She seems to know a lot about politics. I see the advisor part of the Witches now.

A silence fell between them as they continued walking, the faint echoes of their footsteps the only sound in the air. Chronifer felt the weight of a choice lingering. He could keep her at arm’s length, like so many others from his past life, or...

“Do you want to be friends?” Chronifer asked, his tone light but sincere. “You can tell me all your witch stuff and stop by to visit me every now and then.”

They reached his room just as he finished, the curved hallways behind them giving way to a private space.

“Sure thing, Chronifer,” Ruhira replied with a smile, waving as she turned to leave.

He walked into the small room and shut the door. Almost immediately, boredom assaulted him like relentless waves. There was no book to read, no sword to practice with – only the monotony of silence. Sleep seemed like the only escape.

But it didn’t last long.

“Darling, are you going to sleep through my visit again?” Oniihino’s voice, smooth and lilting, slipped into his dreams. “Although, you should know, I’ll be away for a few days.”

Chronifer’s eyes snapped open, his heart already racing.

“Up, up now, darling,” Oniihino said lightly, standing at the foot of his bed. Her garment was as stylish as ever, a rich emerald hue that shimmered faintly under the dim light. Her figure was graceful, charming, yet predatory.

“Good day…” Chronifer hesitated, unsure how to address her.

“Oh, dear, just call me Aunty–or even ‘dear’ if you prefer,” she suggested with an amused calm, moving closer to sit at the edge of the bed.

“Good day, Aunty,” he said cautiously, instinctively shuffling a fraction away. Her presence felt overwhelming, like a storm contained within a human form. Yet, she only smiled, shifting slightly closer.

Ugh. This woman.

“The Council has summoned the new generation of the Spiral to the Eyeless Center in one week,” she began, her tone both pitying and knowing. “I’ll escort you when the time comes, but let me warn you now–your life is about to become Damnation. Truly.”

Her words hung in the air, heavy with foreboding.

“I know your education has been… limited, but let me tell you this: everything will soon descend into chaos. Bedlam. Most will not survive what’s coming. Your parents were wise to begin your training in the arts first. These days you have left, these fleeting days of peace–will be the last you’ll know for years. Rest while you can.”

Chronifer wanted to speak, to ask a dozen questions about his parents or what she meant by ‘bedlam,’ but his tongue felt heavy, his mind reeling.

“Your parents are caught up in the Council’s plans,” she continued, her voice softer now. “You won’t be seeing them anytime soon.” She paused, her eyes briefly meeting his, something almost maternal flickering there.

Before he could respond, she stood. The air around her seemed to shift as though the room bent to her presence.

“For now, I’ll leave you with these words” she said, her voice steady and formal. Then like a memory she was gone and like a storm Chronifer’s mind thundered Into motion.

"What bedlam?" Chronifer whispered to the empty room, his heart a drumbeat of dread.