“Since when can you fly?!” Iwy lay on the soft forest ground until the world stopped spinning.

  “No one can fly, actually, you use a throwing spell. It’s just called flying.”

  “Is that why my stomach feels like it was turned inside out?” Iwy said and sat up shakily, her tone suggesting that hurtling over treetops and startling a flock of geese, which Triand seemed to enjoy, was not only on a whole other level but in another damn building.

  “Air’s been living up to her name, is all.” Triand had ended up tossed into the lake or into the crown of a tree more than enough times to recognise the magic. She could practically taste it. Good old Air. When this was all over, she’d plan a long visit. “Good thing, too. No one’s tracking her.”

  “Alright, seriously now. Who’s tracking us?”

  “Well, by the looks of it ... everyone.”

  And they seemed to be getting better at it, the sneaky bastards! If they were using what she thought they were using, soon she wouldn’t even be able to magically light her pipe!

  “How?” Iwy said, trying one leg at a time. “Did they put up enchanted posters of our faces everywhere? And where did she throw us to?”

  This part of the forest could have been right out of a book. Decently dark and cool with very thick foliage and roots growing every which way across barely trodden paths. Gnarled trees were a cliché, but it was fair to say that these trees possessed a reasonable amount of gnarlage. It wasn’t an area that saw too many humans. The reasonably gnarled trees seemed to lean closer to inspect the travellers.

  “Well, I’m not saying we’re lost ... but we’re lost.” Triand didn’t like to say she was lost. Mostly because she liked being lost. You met the most interesting people that way and wound up at new places you’d never thought you’d see. It was just a bit inconvenient when she was in a relative hurry.

  Technically, they had to keep straight north, which would be so much easier if the ground didn’t suddenly turn vertical. Someone had invented forest paths to circumvent this problem, quite literally. Only these days, there were more of them than was healthy. You went away for twenty-odd years and they rearranged the entire Black Forest, there should be a law ...

  They were at a crossroad that shouldn’t be here, three ways leading into slightly similar directions and no sign in sight. It was probably a new addition to local traffic.

  “I think,” Triand said finally after thinking about it, “I think the middle one was here last time.”

  “And you were here last ...”

  “It’s been a while, give or take a decade. Or two.”

  Triand set out on the middle path. Iwy looked over her shoulder at the map. The mountain range Triand was trying to stare a hole into was marked Witchheads, right on the upper end of Lake Familiar, the giant lake at the southern edge of which was Prey. There were two big x’s on either side. And a handwritten note that said, “Nope, nopity nope.”

  “Know anyone here?”

  “More or less.”

  “Think they still remember you?” Iwy tried tactfully.

  “Dunno.”

  It was always a bad sign when Triand refused to talk off half of Iwy’s ears.

  Dusk was not far off when the path led them over a bridge, or what was left of it. The stream underneath had long trickled dry.

  “Anything else I should know?” Iwy tried again. The mage had been awfully quiet for a while now.

  Triand came out of whatever ruminating trance she had thought herself into. “What? Oh, yeah. We might meet witches. Witches in these parts are a special case. They use channelling objects. The more powerful they are, the smaller the object can be. Look out for that.”

  “So, they’ll have a good laugh about your staff?”

  “It’s basically camouflage.”

  Iwy shrugged, not convinced it was working.

  Her head turned at the sound of a snapping twig. Then they were attacked by a bear.

  The bear didn’t snarl or growl. It would have needed vocal cords for that, and they had rotted off anywhere between a year and two ago. But it was still in full possession of its teeth and seemed to be aware of that fact.

  A skeletal paw rose to strike and the two backed away, which turned out to be a bad choice. They were wedged between a tree and the aggressive bear.

  “Just stay calm, it can smell fear!” Triand said.

  “No, it can’t,” said Iwy, the eternal voice of reason.

  The bear remains came closer.

  “Or it shouldn’t.”

  Iwy’s palms grew warmer. She didn’t know if that was a good thing, what with her back pressed into wood. She tried to become invisible. Not that it had ever worked, but adrenaline could be its own kind of magic.

  A small girl appeared behind the skeleton. She could be barely older than seven and she would have been the cutest little child Iwy had ever seen were it not for the faint blueish light rising from her tiny dark brown hands.

  “Is she even old enough to be a mage?” she hissed to Triand.

  “Ah, I might have forgotten one category.”

  “And that would be?”

  “Necromancer. Summoner of the dead. She’s definitely one.”

  The girl’s big brown eyes grew even bigger. “Hi. I don’t know you.”

  “Yes, well, uh, we’re not from here. We’re visiting someone.” Triand drew her head back as the bear brought what was left of its snout closer. “Quite clever, young miss. Why go for humans if bears are an option? Really, good thinking there.”

  The world’s tiniest necromancer’s cheeks dimpled as she smiled. “Thanks. I like you.”

  “Great! Does that mean you’re gonna call your skeleton bear back, please?”

  The girl whistled, and the bear let off, trotting back to dig at some roots. It didn’t seem to realise it was dead.

  “Thank you. If you don’t mind me saying so, you seem awfully young to know necromancy.”

  “Oh, I know. I think I’m the youngest yet. But it’s just so easy, isn’t it?”

  Iwy threw Triand a look. A whole speech, a bill of indictment, a signed confession, and a treatise on Midland swear words went into that look.

  “Indeed,” Triand said non-committally as out of the corner of her eye, she saw another eye. It belonged to a squirrel, which looked at her with more disdain than should be possible for a decaying rodent. “I’m Triand. What’s your name?”

  “I’m Elmina. Come here, Fluffy!” The undead squirrel scattered over and came to a halt on the girl’s shoulder.

  “You wouldn’t know the way to the next village, would you?” Triand kept her smile intact. Iwy edged away, trying to keep the mage between herself and the rotting fauna.

  The girl cocked her head. “Do you know auntie?”

  “Who?”

  “Auntie’s nice. She gave me biscuits today.”

  “Oh, really? That’s nice.”

  “She gave me biscuits so Mr. Floof won’t dig up her garden anymore.”

  “Mr. Floof likes to dig, does he?”

  “He found a woman in the woods once, but auntie said it’s her sister and she doesn’t want to come back.”

  Triand nodded as if this was a perfectly reasonable conversation. “Could you show us where auntie lives?”

  Elmina nodded.

  “What do we want with this auntie person again?” Iwy mumbled.

  “Dunno, buy food from her, see if she knows a village around here, check if she knows a shortcut to Ermeres. And mainly to get away from the bear.”

  Said bear came trotting up as the young necromancer skipped off among the trees. Triand and Iwy had some trouble keeping up.

  The forest opened into a clearing, occupied by a small house. Triand shuddered involuntarily.

  “Someone step on your grave?” Iwy mumbled.

  “No, this place just looks familiar, somehow,” Triand said. “And there’s no evidence that actually works.”

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  “This is auntie’s cottage,” Elmina pointed.

  It was a small wooden cottage in the middle of a vast garden. Herbs found nowhere else in the forest grew on one side of the beaten path leading to the front door, vegetables on the other, shielded only by a low, sun-bleached fence. Iwy could have sworn one or two blooms turned towards her.

  She couldn’t see very well through the small windows, but there was light inside.

  “I have to stay back or Mr. Floof will go for her carrots.”

  “Can’t you just tell him to ... not do that?” Iwy asked.

  “Mr. Floof is very stubborn,” the girl said earnestly.

  Triand nodded while elbowing her apprentice. “Of course. Well, thank you for your help, young Elmina.”

  “Tell auntie I said hello,” Elmina said as she skipped away, whistling for her undead bear, in the direction of the village Lakeside, which Triand remembered remotely. “I think I’ll see you again.”

  Iwy looked after her. “That is one weird kid.”

  “I know, I like her too. Come on.”

  They managed two steps.

  The door flew open with a bang before they were even close enough to knock. “Triand Liosa Yondbridge!”

  “Uh-oh.”

  This woman was a witch by any standard. It wasn’t necessarily the black dress, the grey hair piled on top of her head, the haughty look on the pale face, not even the eyebrows that were even thicker than Triand’s. You looked at her and you just knew. She could have dressed like the empress of Barium and the witch hunters would still follow her ornate carriage for miles.

  Iwy noticed a small wooden spoon hanging on her belt. If this was her channelling object, she was immensely powerful.

  Triand stood frozen on the grass as the woman made a beeline for her and hit the mage over the back of the head.

  “Ow! Is that any way to say hello?”

  “It is, to someone who hasn’t shown her sorry face here for over twenty years!”

  Triand rubbed her skull, apparently realising why this neck of the woods had seemed familiar and why Air had insisted on teleporting them. “Yeah, well, we’re only passin’ through anyway, nice seeing you again, aunt Ilsra, let’s go ...”

  “You’re not getting away this easily this time, young lady!” She finally noticed Iwy. “Who are you supposed to be?”

  “I’m her apprentice, ma’am!” Iwy said quickly, ducking so she wouldn’t earn a slap herself.

  “Apprentice!” Aunt Ilsra turned back to Triand. “How nice that you’re dragging other people into your nonsense now.”

  “It’s not nonsense ...”

  The old witch pointed at the open door. “Inside, girl. I will not ask you again.”

  “Girl she calls me, like I’m not forty-two years old,” Triand mumbled.

  “What was that?”

  “Nothin’!”

  Inside was small, but very cosy. Copper pots and pans dangling from the ceiling, herbs hanging in all the windows to dry. Iwy recognised Mother’s wort. A jar of salt had been placed prominently on the mantle of the fireplace in the kitchen that also was the main room. In a corner shelf, well-thumbed books collected soot. Behind it, a small staircase led to the room directly under the roof.

  Triand’s aunt closed the door and immediately began bustling around the kitchen, an immensely upset sort of bustling, and they had caught her in the middle of dinner preparation, it seemed. Iwy suspected a very long, very convoluted family story between these two.

  “The pendulum warned me. The grass rings warned me. The very moon warned me that trouble was coming my way. If I’d known they meant you I’d have stayed in bed.”

  Triand hadn’t moved much farther than the door. “It’s not too late for that. We have somewhere else to be anyway ...”

  “Sit down, Triand. You’re half-starved, do you think I can’t see that? Even more than usual. You can’t live off brandy and pipeweed at your age. You can’t live like that at any age.” She turned around and took her niece in. Her face clearly didn’t like what it was seeing. “You look ... old. Still have the same haircut, I see. You know what they say about women who keep themselves looking like they did when they were younger.”

  “Yeah, it means that woman likes what she likes.”

  The aunt sniffed. “That’s a pretty big staff. Have you grown weaker?”

  “It’s mainly for hitting people.”

  Ilsra turned to Iwy. “You don’t have a staff.”

  Iwy had been standing quietly by the kitchen bench, trying to not let the awkwardness bother her. “I’m not sure I need one?”

  “Good. Only weak witches are obsessed with runes and magical artefacts and wands and staves and sigils and what have you. It’s why wizards have to use all that nonsense.” She glanced at Triand as she said this, who looked quietly and tiredly annoyed. She had expected this sort of argument to break out, but that didn’t mean she had the nerve for it.

  “What’s with the bangles? Protection?”

  “Yep.”

  “Prepared for everything, are you? Iron, silver ... not sure what you want with the copper one.”

  “It’s filled with salt,” Triand said sourly.

  “Hm. So you did remember something. And the big one?”

  “Filled with booze. For emergency emergencies.”

  “Again! This is what killed your mother. Worrying about you!”

  “You told me it was a thought scrambling curse gone wrong.”

  “So you did get my messages. Did you ever think that I might like a reply?”

  “I did reply!”

  “Sending a note saying, ‘Got it, thanks, won’t make it to the funeral’ is not a reply.”

  “I was stuck in an undersea ghost town out east at the time, it took weeks to get out, carrier herring was all I could manage ...”

  “You and your excuses!”

  Triand didn’t say anything in return, but her face screamed ‘How is this an excuse, godsdamn!’ at the far wall. Iwy began to wonder if there had ever been a time the two had actually gotten along.

  Ilsra drew herself up sharply. “Well. I need dinner and so, I suppose, do the two of you. You, girl, you look strong. Ever chop wood?”

  Iwy jumped. “Sure.”

  “Then you can help me. And you sit here and think about what you’ve done. And chop the onions while you do that.”

  Iwy followed her master’s aunt outside and to the far side of the house. She used a tree stump as a chopping block, but the axe was nice and sharp despite its age. It felt good to do some decent work again. Granted, everything was better than to witness the wrath of an elderly relative.

  Ilsra didn’t let her out of her sight. She pulled a pipe out of her apron pocket and lit it while she watched Iwy work. “Do you have a name, girl?”

  “Iwy.”

  “Well. At least you know the rule to never tell anyone your full name.”

  “I ... guess?”

  “How long have you been with my niece?”

  Iwy counted. “Around three weeks, I think. Four weeks, maybe.”

  The aunt sniffed. “Four weeks an apprentice. Can you do anything yet?”

  “A bit.”

  “She teach you any real magic or just that fancy wizard nonsense?”

  “Well, she taught me the circles, and some herbs ...”

  The axe went up and down, rhythmically. Iwy stole glances at the garden, the darkening forest beyond. It was hard to imagine Triand growing up among this amount of tranquillity. She couldn’t even picture her as a child. If someone had told her Triand had one day entered the world as a fully-grown middle-aged mage, robes and all, she would have believed it.

  Iwy couldn’t imagine coming home after twenty years to this sort of greeting. She couldn’t imagine staying away from home for twenty years at all. But what if? Would her parents be this angry? She hadn’t written in a while. She didn’t even know if any of her letters had made it back. Triand wasn’t one to let her emotions show too much, but this situation must be getting to her.

  “Mhm. You ever help with a birth?” Ilsra continued her quiz.

  “Do cows count?”

  “What about siblings?”

  “I mean, I was in the room with the younger two, but the midwife didn’t need me after all.”

  “Your folks, they’re farmers?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You know how to protect your crops?”

  “Not with magic, no. I haven’t had ... this thing for long.”

  “Hm. You’re not even close to from this area. What does she want here?”

  This was a family matter. She had to stay diplomatic. “You really need to ask her that.”

  “I’m asking you.”

  “It’s a long story. And she tells it better.”

  “Hm. Seems you’re loyal. That’s very na?ve of you. A proper witch is loyal to herself, first and foremost. And trusts herself the most.”

  The axe came down hard. “She’s saved my life about five times, I’ll take my chances.”

  “So you do have some bite to you. Carry that for me, will you?”

  Iwy picked up the pile of wood and followed. She watched somewhat confused as Ilsra walked around the house while touching the wall with a dried herb stalk every yard or so. “Still. You could have picked a better master for yourself. You could be a great witch.”

  “My parents picked her for me. More or less. There were witch hunters after me, I didn’t have much of a choice.”

  “Witch hunters, eh? They’re everywhere these days. She teach you any proper curses?”

  “No.”

  “Figures. Not quick enough.”

  Iwy still followed with her pile of wood. “Why are we doing this again?”

  “I live in a house made of wood and you’ve got fire in you. Just a precaution.” She tapped the pile of wood. “This can burn instead of my whole house. Put that one log over there.”

  Iwy didn’t question how she knew this. Triand had once told her that a witch’s power was knowing people. “I could just stay outside.”

  “Nonsense.” Ilsra shooed Iwy back inside the house and turned to her niece. “Are you done?”

  “Chopped the onions, ground the spices, got the oven to a moderate temperature so the pot can get warm,” the mage said immediately. “You only made me do this about a thousand times when I was visiting as a kid.”

  Ilsra sniffed but seemed for a moment unable to find any fault with her. “You met Elmina the necromancer, I take it.”

  Iwy placed the wood by the stove. “You know her?”

  “Everyone does,” Ilsra said as she stirred the ingredients into the soup pot. “She’s been around for two years or so now.”

  “Doesn’t she have parents, or someone else?”

  “I don’t know. I suppose they’re not dead, or she’d drag them around with her. She’s with someone else every week. Maybe in a year or so we can get her to stay somewhere, permanent like. Still so scared of living people, she is, doesn’t like to be in the same house for long. Took long enough to get her to talk to us at all.” Iwy was about to ask who the others were, but Ilsra scoffed and shook her head. “Necromancy. At that age, no less. What’s the world coming to, I’d like to know. If I get a hold of those parents, teaching their poor child this…”

  Triand’s eyebrows shot up into her hairline. “You told me you and mam used to dig up your great-grandma’s skull to ask her advice on spells you were planning!”

  “That’s different, that’s family.”

  Ilsra ladled out soup with the air of a gunner loading cannons. This was just like Sunturn feast dinners when both sets of Iwy’s grandparents had still been alive, and all aunts and uncles had been present. Every little thing could become a medium feud. Looking the wrong way over your soup bowl could turn into a thirty-years-war of passive aggression. It fell to her to try and make some non-argumentative conversation over dinner. “So, uh ... you have a lovely house. Did you build it yourself?”

  “It belonged to our mother. My sister and her wife built their own closer to the village once they made it official. Mostly so this one could be closer to other children.” She tapped her spoon on her bowl. “Though of course if we had known one of them would die so soon, they could have saved themselves the trouble.”

  “I’m sorry. What happened?”

  “Goose-related flying accident,” Triand said without looking up.

  Ilsra looked sternly at her across the table. “They put a curse upon themselves.”

  “No one died because of a curse. Unless you think messing with geese in mid-air because you’re trying to track their migration pattern is a curse.”

  Iwy made the mistake of picturing this in her head. “Why would she ...”

  “Ma was very scientific.” Triand got up. “Well, thanks for dinner, aunt Ilsra, was great seeing you, we should do that again in ten to fifteen years ...”

  The mage sat down abruptly again, as if not quite of her own free will. She threw her aunt a dark sulking stare.

  “There’s no sense in running off. It’s dark. You stay the night. Maybe a few days.” This was by no means phrased like a request or an offer.

  “Why? Will it take you that long to get done yelling at me?”

  “Don’t get cheeky with me, Triand. You two take the second room. I use it as a storeroom these days, but the bed’s still there.”

  It was only one bed, meant for only one person, a lot too cuddly for Iwy’s taste. She hadn’t had to share a single bed with anyone since Elisia had turned ten and they were both too big. “So, I’m thinking back to back.”

  “You want the inside or outside?”

  “Outside.”

  Triand didn’t bother to undress and only grudgingly released her boots. Wedged between Iwy’s back and a shelf of fruit preserves she stared at the jars. “While we’re at the lake, I want to try something with you. I think I have an idea how to get your powers going.”

  “Great,” Iwy said, pulling the blanket up to her chin.

  “Don’t get too excited, you might put me in a good mood.”

  “You and your aunt really rub each other the wrong way, don’t you?”

  “It’s a generational thing. You’ll see it with your parents one day.”

  “She makes it sound like the main problem is you don’t like witch magic.”

  “I’ve no problem with witch magic, only with my family’s kind. Got along fine with Goody Deron and Old Ursla down in Grimspell and Lakeside. Which is where we should have gone, by the way. They always had a more ... direct approach.”

  “Think your aunt or someone around might be able to help with the Eye?”

  “No. Their fire magic won’t be enough. ‘sides, until I’ve convinced them it’s their fight I’ll be up to my nose in shiny masks.”

  “Hm.” Iwy shifted and grabbed something. “Why is there a pouch full of herbs in the sheets?”

  “Warding spell. Just shove it under the pillow and get some sleep.”