The Covens didn’t travel in groups, sadly — you generally would get one Sister and one Warden from any Coven looking for a fifth member, while the rest stayed home to cover their duties.
As Holder and Nora explained it, Daughters who are ready to join a Coven would arrange to meet with Sisters to determine the fit, both sides would rank their choices, and the matches were made.
Covens were partly about teaching you how to deal with all kinds of people, all kinds of energies, but sometimes that could prove harder in practice than in theory. It’s why that central motivating spiritual goal — the Dry — held such a powerful place in their lives.
The Dry was a moral framework relying on dispassionate neutrality and personal experience. It meant conflict was frowned upon socially, making these matchups often the calmest way out.
In fact, plenty of Sisters came to Port Merrymet to find their own replacements, as a final thanks to the Coven they were leaving. Our Lady Maeve was moved by this.
These searching Sisters and Wardens laughed and chatted among themselves as much as the Daughters. It was a lovely, wonderful scene.
“Hello, Dreamers.”
A ragged-looking but striking Daughter of the Flame stood before them.
“My name is Daughter Ember. I am looking for a Coven —” she nodded, anticipating the next question, “…And for revenge.”
Our Lady Maeve was less than pleased by this approach, and had half a mind to let the girl know. But She reflected.
Revenge. A girl after Queene Death’s own heart, She thought. Hear the young lady out. She may have a real grievance.
“I must bring down a corrupt kingdom. I will need help. In the stories of the Dreamers, they say you love freedom. And freedom is what I need.”
Sister Ember looked around, paranoid.
“I’ve said too much, too loudly. Find me when you reach Ventura.”
She vanished right before Maeve’s holy eyes, well before anyone could respond.
“A corrupt kingdom, eh?”
It sounded right up Holder’s alley, too — and Holder clearly agreed. She nodded slowly.
“I’m curious. Ventura is the fourth Land up the Chain. It’s mostly covered by a long-abandoned mega-theme park called Fairylande, or so they say. We’ve never tried to get the Actæon past the mists that encircle it.”
Santana, Redwoods, Ællaë, Ventura, The Coop, Mission and Arcadia: The Seven Lands of the Shattered Chain.
“There’s something I don’t like about that young woman,” Maeve said, in Her lightest tone. “I wonder what she really wants. People are very… friendly… here. Soothsayers grabbing at You from off the street, random Witches making weird offers, nasty hexes…”
Maeve wondered if Holder was still having fun, in this appealing rising heat, among these strange women. A quick look in her eyes spoke loudly to the affirmative.
Another Soothsayer — they presumed, given her knotted blindfold — approached. This one didn’t paw at Maeve, but there was something strange about the way she moved. She was quite old, with a pronounced shake. Her eyes were bright, and sharp as knives.
“Our Lady. May I tell your fortune?”
“I’m afraid I can’t pay you, I’ve just recently died. And I’m afraid your sister already got to us, seer.”
“No matter,” the Witch intoned. “This one’s on the house. I see before You tortoise and hare. One alive for 200 years beneath the earth, making its plans. The other only just born, crying to help. They must converge. When they do, seize the moment. Do not hesitate, or all is lost. Lady, do you hear? You must strike.”
Maeve thanked her, tired of prophecies. Tired of them being about Her, particularly.
“And how about My little family here? Any orders or commands for them?”
Maeve realized She’d let some irritation show, and coughed lightly by way of apology. The Witch didn’t take offense, or notice the cough. She was deep in her visions.
“Holder Stone, you are mother to the hare and midwife to the universe. Without your mind, it all falls apart.”
Maeve wasn’t jealous, exactly, but it was certainly more like what She’d expected to hear about Herself.
“Benjamin of the Beasts, you’ve been quietly suffering since you arrived. They can help you find a better shape at the Burning Springs.”
Benjamin ducked his head in shame. His lack of control over his abilities seemed to really bother him. But Maeve could see what the Soothsayer was talking about: The shadows under his eyes, the cracked and chapped lips. The desert was treating the boy poorly.
“Diamond Dogs, you will question every word of your Creed…” They shook their heads. “…With your faith only the stronger for it.” They relaxed again in relief. They seemed to be taking this soothsayer stuff pretty seriously, Maeve thought. Maybe they didn’t know any better.
“…Or you might also join the Fallen permanently.”
The Diamond Dogs shrugged. Become outsiders, she meant, like the rest of them. Seemed unlikely. “It will be your choice, when the time comes, but it won’t feel like it.” They relaxed again at this, but Maeve could tell they’d all had enough.
“Had I gold, I would give it to you, Seer. Thank you for your wise counsel.”
She nodded her head, serene again. Her Warden arrived in a panic, having apparently lost track of her in the crowd, and acknowledged the group tersely before she helped the seer back across the street.
“Well! I can’t help wondering what that was all about,” Maeve began lightly, but they shook their heads, uninterested in discussing it. Fair enough.
“And Holder, this rabbit nonsense — anything you’ve neglected to tell us?” Holder smiled, shaking her head. Her stormy eyes said a bit more than that, but Maeve had decided not to pry into any of their minds without invitation.
Telling the amnesiacs everything up front would be a waste of time, and probably a huge mistake. But that didn’t mean Maeve wasn’t burning up with curiosity. What was Holder not saying yet? What did the hare remind her of?
An adult fire eagle’s wingspan was double Maeve’s height — and She was not an uncommonly short Lady.
The closest bird slapped her huge wings on the air in welcome, and settled back down upon her nest. Giant fire eagles were as monumental as any of them could’ve hoped. Those raptor eyes, so deep with calculations. The noble, firm grandfatherly sweep of brow and beak — and the flames, licking along the edge of their wings. Maeve wondered what that would be like to touch. Perhaps to ride.
A vision took Her breath away with its sudden vividness: Our Lady’s prophesied arrival back in Ællaë, reborn, astride a giant eagle, lit up with holy fire against the night.
Writes itself, She thought. Assuming they’d consent to it, of course. She wondered if they were even sentient.
Holder had apparently made a friend: A plummy-voiced Sister to the Flame listened attentively as Holder described fire eagle history as she had experienced it.
“Do you think Dry Witches date?” She asked Queene Death.
“Do Dreamers date, for that matter,” muttered Queene. “I wonder what a date even looks like, in the Apocalypse.”
What had She, just as a person, done for a thousand years? Why hadn’t She saved the world? What was the point of the Dream, if not that? It came back to that for Her more often than it should.
The understanding she’d gleaned was that the Americas were toast, as far as anyone knew, and there was no global communication network to find out about others. The common description of the times had already been “Midapocalyptic” for years by the time of the Shattering.
Across the Chain, it was common knowledge that they were the only humans left alive, although there wasn’t definitive proof of that, either.
As the Diamond Dogs explained, their hidden Arcadia took this a step further, considering itself “humanity’s time capsule.”
When Holder spoke with such determination about reuniting the Chain, she was easy to believe. Her hope inspired, famously. But it got harder to see clearly if She thought about the scope of it.
Our Lady knew she should be paying attention to the eagles. But honestly, it seemed as if the main point of visiting them was to see them, and She’d done so. Hiked a howling, windy mesa to do so, in fact.
“They have one foot in Wind (and the other in Fire),” the Diamond Dogs suddenly murmured.
And it was true. She felt a kind of kinship with them for that, at least. Magnificent beasts.
Our Lady was just wondering how Her own cult would stack up against Arcadia’s, given some sort of Battle Royale, when a piercing voice cut through the gusts.
“Sister of the Wind,” it said, and nothing more.
She looked around and was irritated to find no one was looking at Her at all. Just the fire eagles, watching Her like She was going to steal their great burning eggs.
“…Hello?” She said it quietly. There was so much about the world She didn’t know yet.
Laughter rumbled across the sky.
“Turn round, Sister.”
Definitely a fire eagle, then. How awkward.
The creature’s eyes danced with delight. He seemed to think She was funny.
She thought, This is technically the most interesting thing that’s ever happened to Us. As yet.
“I came to gawk at you, like a dumb beast,” Our Lady said with a practiced curtsey. “I didn’t know.”
“We don’t speak often. But You’re the Dreamer of the Wind — we owed You a greeting, at least. We are creatures of the Wind, You and I.”
She wondered what the beast might mean, but not enough to inquire further. Perhaps there was further eagle wisdom to share.
“Any advice for a fellow creature?”
The giant nodded, scratching his beak upon a wing.
“The deals these Witches make are unbreakable. That’s a good thing. But it is also, sometimes, a hard thing. The magic doesn’t bend, it binds tighter.”
He looked out, watching the noon sun dance on the water far, far away.
“We share this desert island with them, and by law we return here every night at sunset. We are thus constrained to a radius of half a day’s flight. That won’t get you so far as Ællaë, not even with the Wind at your back.”
Which meant that they’d never be up for the big showstopper into Ællaë. Which was not, of course, the point. The point was that they had traded freedom for control. She definitely got his meaning.
“Are you saying they trapped you?”
“We are safe. We thrive in the Santana heat and dryness, seafood dinner a mile away whenever you want it. The tourists, frankly, are a big part of it — the people are endlessly fascinating. We are not trapped. But we also cannot leave.”
He stood then, towering between Her and the Sun, and shook his wings out.
“We aren’t trapped. We were not lied to. But still. There is something galling about limits. You feel it too.”
He settled back into his roost.
“I know not what they have planned for You, Lady. I only know You and Your Dreamers are the Chain’s last hope. May Your agreement with them make You stronger.”
All in all, a very interesting visit up an originally boring-seeming mesa. Our Lady grew impatient after making her goodbyes to the eagle, and asked the others when they could return to the Witches. It was nearly dusk.
Also by Jacob Clifton: Dance Yrself Clean, five stories about what love costs, and whether it’s worth it.