Page 87 of The Witch and His Crow
Another fist. More blood. Stars exploded behind my eyes as I rocked into the grasp of the air-witch, his body acting as a cushion so I couldn’t fall to the ground. It was to his displeasure because he pushed at my limp body, complaining of my weight.
‘Be quick about it,’ Jaz commanded as she straightened before me, dusting herself off. Her knuckles had split, smudging her blood with mine.
I blinked through agonised tears, clinging to consciousness as I watched the fire-witch pace towards the door. Deep red tongues of fire rose across both his hands, angry and vicious. Heat crackled the air, dust partials popping like fireworks beyond his skin. His gift reminded me of Arwyn, who was helplessly laid out on the bed inside the locked room. Except this witch’s gift would burn and smoulder, not singe with the kiss of cold winds and ice.
Panic set in, but so did clarity.
I focused on the flames in his hands, scrambling for something to do. In the dark of my mind, a symbol spun like golden thread. I saw it, both before my eyesandbehind them. A triangle of thick lines, its sharp tip pointing north. My fingersmoved, blood-coated and stiff, painting the symbol onto the floorboard at my side. I knew with certainty that the symbol belonged to the element of fire.
And now, it belonged to me.
With intention as strong as iron, I painted the symbol over and over until it smudged over the wood. The fire-witch lifted his burning hands to the door, lowering his palms to the wood. My finger continued moving. Then, as his palms connected with the door, his flames dimmed to nothing but strands of dark grey smoke.
Gone. In a puff of smoke. No, not gone but shifted—transferred to another.
A moment of confusion followed. No one spoke. Not even Jaz made a comment as she watched, expectantly, for the witch to follow his command. He was busy looking at his cold hands, turning them over, shaking them, willing the fire to come. But it wouldn’t.
His flames were mine now.
Fire sparked across my fingers, sizzling skin but not burning it. The light caught across Jaz’s face, making her look back towards me, but it was too late. I kicked my head back into the water-witch’s chin for a second time, then reached up with my burning hand and grasped her face. Her screams rose so quickly, her voice cracked. Flames caught her hair, spreading over flesh with ease. There was no time for sorrow and thought. I’d grieve these deaths later, when mine was no longer an option.
I went to thrust my hand towards the air-witch, but before my fingers collided with him, the fire spluttered out. I didn’t need to look to the symbol on the floor to know it had been smudged away as the burning water-witch floundered about in horror.
‘How…’ Jaz said. Her eyes were glowing and yet her Gift still didn’t work on me. This magic was old, not something her Giftcould affect. Clearly Jaz wasn’t one for feeling powerless—but neither was I.
More proof that whatever I’d done in the catacombs beneath the castle had worked.
Another symbol flashed to my mind. This one was overly familiar to me because it was the symbol for my element, air. A triangle pointed north like fire, but this had a horizontal line slicing through its middle. Unlike with fire, I didn’t need to paint this with blood. My familiarity and intention with the element were clear enough.
The symbol for air flashed before my eyes, burning into my retina.
Jaz reached for me with clawed fingers, but they barely brushed my face as my element came to my aid. It began with the rattling of wind against glass. The window at my side shook in its frame, stained glass quivering as the wind screeched outside.
It was a warning.
I ducked my head down, cowering into myself as the window exploded in a cloud of coloured glass. Cold winds wrapped into the room, a vortex of power like what I’d seen when Eleanor faced down the Hunters.
Except this storm belonged tome.
Jaz’s scream was loud and sudden, but it soon became distant. By the time the torrent of glass calmed, I opened my eyes to discover why.
Jaz no longer stood before me.
In fact, I couldn’t see anything of her. The air-witch who had held me down at my side had released me. I turned to find him cowering beside me, a shield of glass left around his body. Only one shard had hit him, slicing clean through his cheek. The rest had been stopped by the shimmering bubble he’d conjured around us. Conjuring a shield was a passive gift, but it had kept him, and me, alive.
‘She made me do it,’ he said, cowering before me as many Witch Hunters had before. Fear and apology spun in his eyes. I studied him, unable to act, as he retracted the shield from around us.
‘I figured as much,’ I spluttered, mind high on the use of such strange power. I felt the element as though it was a physical thing I could grasp, taste, smell and hear. ‘You and your friend better leave before I change my mind.’
‘He’s…’ the air-witch sobbed into his hand. Not sobbed—gagged.
I turned fast, filling in the gaps.
The fire-witch who had tried to burn the door down was dead. He was slumped against the wall, his back embedded with glass like a porcupine. Blood ran in rivers around his body. I smelled burning and shifted my attention towards it. Behind me was the smouldering corpses of the water-witch.
The guilt came thick and fast.
I pushed myself to standing, aching in every muscle and bone as I hobbled to the grimoire and picked it from the floor. The urge to vomit was strong, but I swallowed the bile down and turned my back on the dead. Jaz, and two of her witch allies, killed with old magic. I couldn’t see Jaz’s body, but the far-off screeches of creatures told me that the demons were coming to collect the bodies.
