Windwitch (The Witchlands #2)v(112)

No, not the earth—the stones. The river-smoothed gravel of the shore. It undulated and rippled, like waves upon a sea. All of it guided by almost invisible Threads of dark green.

Iseult’s eyes traced the Threads through the mist … to Owl. They were her Threads. This was her magic.

There was no time to consider what that meant—or to try to stop it. Another man had seen Iseult. His saber lashed out.

Iseult dropped low. The air whistled overhead. Too close—the blade had been too close, and the man was too close. Iseult needed space.

Or silver Threads would work too. Iseult fell to the gravel, and the mountain bat did her work for her, taking out three men at once.

Four men left.

At that moment, Aeduan yanked the sack off Owl’s head. And her Threads lanced out, explosive in a way Iseult had never seen before.

The earth rumbled. The mountain bat screamed, Threads of Earthwitch power laced over everything.

Iseult’s legs buckled beneath her. She fell to the slick rocks, blade lost and hands grabbing. The Amonra rushed in close. Iseult tumbled for it. Then the water’s bite crashed over her, stealing all air from her lungs, all thought from her mind.

For three long, echoing heartbeats, the frosty, bloodstained waters churned around her. She was trapped in place. Towed underwater.

Then the earth boomed beneath her. It crunched and rocked, lifting her like a mother carries a child. All the way out of the water. All the way back to shore. Then the stones dropped Iseult into Aeduan’s arms.

He eased her to her feet, shouting something. Run, Iseult guessed. Hurry, she assumed, but she wasn’t actually listening. Her attention was trapped by the shriveling-in Threads of an Earthwitch who had done all she needed to do.

Iseult strained to see Owl, clambering roughly up the cliffside—all while the mountain bat hovered and flapped. It was a guardian that let no soldiers approach. That beat down arrows the instant they were near.

It made no sense. A child who could move the earth. A child who could control a mountain bat. Yet there was no denying what Iseult saw.

They caught up to Owl in moments, and without a word, Aeduan hefted her onto his back. She hugged his neck tight, her Threads burning bright with that same warm sunset.

Then together, the three of them continued up the rainy cliffside while a creature of legend, a creature of battlefields, cleared the path ahead.

*

Merik and Vivia stood on the water-bridge. Merik on one side and Vivia on the other.

Whitecapped water hurtled toward them. Tall as the dam. Tall as the city. The flood would hit them in seconds. Winds, warm and weak but wholly his own, gathered to Merik. Vivia too, summoned her tides.

They looked at each other. Two Nihars. Two magics. A brother and a sister who’d never known each other, never even tried.

The flood arrived.

Out flung their arms. Wind, tides, power. A wall of magic to meet white foam. Merik slid back, his planted feet dragging across the slick stones even as his winds roared ahead. He screamed, a sound that tore from his throat. Sent his jaw slinging low, and more winds, more power coursed out of him.

More, more. An untouched well, deep inside him. Bound not to Kullen but to his own Nihar blood. To his sister battling the flood beside him.

No rage, no hate, no love, no past. Just now. Just this water, slowing, sweeping, splashing.

Stopping.

Merik lifted one leg. He stepped forward, pushing himself, pushing the wind, pushing the flood.

A second step became a third. One foot after the other, over a green valley and under a sky now flickering with blue.

Across the bridge, Vivia walked as well. Their steps matched. One. Two. Fight. Push. Three. Four. Keep moving.

And inch by furious inch, the flood withdrew. Fight. Push. Keep moving.

Then ice thundered across the water-bridge, crunching over the river. Up the flood—and briefly distracting Merik. Briefly letting the flood stutter forward and gain a few inches.

Stix, Merik realized. She raced toward them, running atop the ice she’d made. Then she fell into step beside Vivia, mimicking the Nihar pose and joining the fight.

The flood stumbled back.

Fight. Push. Keep moving.

More people arrived, more witches. Wind and Tide. Stone and Plant. Civilian and soldier, everyone pulsing forward on that same Nihar beat.

Back, back, they gained ground, they gained speed, and soon everyone was walking upright. Then jogging.

Then stopping entirely, for they were back at the broken dam. The water was slippering inside its old home, while ice and roots and stone slowly ascended. One level after another, a wall made by hundreds of witches. Hundreds of Nubrevnans.

Until there was nothing left for Merik to do. He turned, and again he met Vivia’s eyes. She nodded once, and something almost like a smile settled on her lips.

Merik nodded back, already easing up his ripped, sodden hood. Already swiveling away to return to Lovats. His sister had control of this battle, of these witches, of this new dam growing before their very eyes.

She didn’t need any clumsy attempts to help. Especially not from a dead man.

So it was that Merik stepped off the water-bridge and flew for Pin’s Keep.

*

Aeduan had been walking for hours, with Owl on his back and the Threadwitch five paces behind—and with the mountain bat always crisscrossing the sky.

They were out of the Contested Lands, but only barely. And though Aeduan had veered north of where he and Iseult had originally traveled, he didn’t dare slow.