-

  A witch was coming.

  Yu stared at himself in the mirror, straining, listening.

  Silence.

  No — not silence.

  In the common room below, the world breathed as if unaware. The clink of cutlery, murmured conversations, the scrape of chairs against stone. A log shifted in the hearth; fire cracked and spat embers. Somewhere in the depths of the hall, the shaman’s voice wove through it all, humming a slow, foreign melody.

  It was deceivingly peaceful.

  Yu swallowed against the tightness in his throat. It was unreal — to be the only one suffocating under waves of panic. He imagined them, the others, some hunched over bowls of steaming stew, others lounging and stretching their legs before the fire. With the vivid sounds, the images formed naturally.

  He did not want this. Yu did not want this to happen. And most of all, he did not want to be the only one who knew.

  “A witch is coming,” Yu whispered, his breath fogging the mirror. His voice was hoarse, barely more than breath. He said it again, louder. Then again, nearly a shout. He needed to make it real.

  And suddenly – below – silence.

  The shift was instant. Bowls scraped across tables. Chairs screeched against the floor. Metal rattled, belts unfastened, leather buckled, blades loosened in their sheaths. Footsteps; some deliberate, measured, others rushed. Some ran upstairs, followed by doors thrown open, then slamming shut.

  Tension bristled. Yu was caught in it. He did not stop to change, did not think of his half-dressed, sloppy-bandaged state. He wrenched the door open and bolted downstairs.

  -

  The common room had emptied. From the escort party, Fallem, Kal, Nion, and Ondahr remained — armoured, armed, ready, with Nion and Ondahr in full battle gear. The shaman stood by the hearth, her melody unbroken. No guards were present, except —

  “Come here!” Bubs, from the kitchen.

  He had not called Yu by name, but Yu knew the command was meant for him. He ignored it and rushed outside.

  Tirran stood by the entrance, alongside — Estingar? Probably. Yu had given up distinguishing between the two ulbatans. Might as well default to Estingar from now on.

  “A witch is coming,” Yu panted. His head spun. The cold hit like a slap, and he had not eaten all day.

  “Yes,” said Tirran.

  Estingar – probably, still – tilted his head, glancing down. “Well, we were going to wait for the captain before asking about your abilities, but since you’re already here, how do you know?”

  Yu pressed his arms tight against his chest, trying to suppress his shivers. “I hear her.”

  “What? How?” asked Estingar.

  “Interesting,” said Tirran.

  When Estingar asked, Yu opened his beak to explain, but as Tirran spoke, he froze. Something in the omira’s voice made him falter. That deliberate restraint. That careful, measured weight. The control. The attempt not to be the one thing right here, right next to him, that was something so much worse than a witch.

  It made Yu swallow his words. I made him hesitate to reveal just how well he could listen in.

  “Sorry,” he muttered instead. “It’s too cold. I need to get dressed.”

  He turned on his heel and rushed for the door.

  “Yu.” Tirran’s voice pinned him at the threshold.

  “Yes?”

  “Have Bubs bandage you.”

  “Uhm, yes.”

  “I can do it,” Estingar offered. “We’ll go upstairs. He’s probably getting the room ready.”

  “Good,” said Tirran. “Then come back.”

  “Can’t leave all the fun to you, can we?” Estingar grinned,all needles, as he strode inside.

  Yu followed, all the way to the bathroom.

  Estingar barely glanced at the floor. “Well, that’s an impressive mess.”

  He did not dwell on it, though, but stepped right into the sodden heaps of ripped feathers and torn cloth, through all the water Yu had spilled. He went straight for the salve and bandages.

  He treated Yu right there, just as they stood. Yu held his breath and clenched his jaw in an attempt not to wince as Estingar applied another layer of ointment over what he had already covered. He also went over the places Yu had missed, the awkward angles on his back, which he covered with swift, methodical movements. Compresses came next, then bandages, pulled tight. The entire process, from the moment he opened the tin to the final knot, took less than three minutes.

  This efficiency disturbed Yu more than it reassured him. It gave him the horrible suspicion that the guards had to do this way too often. Still, despite the pain and his growing distress, it did feel good to finally have it all sorted.

  “Thank you,” Yu managed at last. He did not look directly at Estingar but past him, at the bathroom mirror, where the ulbatan’s back was reflected. Still, no silver.

  “No worries. Now get dressed.” With his foot, Estingar nudged a charred scrap of fabric on the floor. “Though that shirt is useless now.”

  Yu followed his gaze to the burnt and torn remains.

  “Still got spares?”

  “I guess.” Yu had not packed much. Warm winter stuff was extremely bulky, and space in his backpack had been sparce to begin with, not with all the supplies he had to cram in for the trail. But there should be one more set, besides the wet, frozen mess he had worn when he arrived yesterday.

  “Good. See you in a bit.” With that, Estingar turned to leave.

  “I — uh, I’ll clean up here,” Yu said quickly.

  Estingar paused in the doorway, frowning as if Yu had just suggested something utterly ridiculous. “That takes way too long.”

  “What?” Yu looked around. “Well, yeah, but, I mean, I have to clean this up. All the cloth, the feathers, the —”

  “Gotta admire your work ethic.” Estingar smirked. “Do it after.”

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  “After what?”

  “Don’t leave Tirran waiting too long.” Estingar laughed, already heading for the stairs. “Man, I still remember my first witch fight.”

  What?

  Wait — WHAT?

  -

  So there he was.

  Outside.

  Standing with the two guards, wrapped in every layer he owned, buried under a sodden, stinking coat that would probably never dry again, not after four weeks of soaking up all of the storms between the settlements and here.

  There he was, staring into the dark. Straining. Listening.

  Waiting for a witch.

  “So,” Estingar asked, voice inappropriately light for the situation, “how’d you know she’s coming?”

  Damn.

  Yu kept his eyes forward, locked onto the swirling snow illuminated by the orb light. The rational part of him was aware that the other guards should know everything, but his gut told him not to reveal anything to Tirran. So he gave a half-truth: “I recognise someone with three heartbeats coming.”

  More often than not, his hearing acted on its own. Yu could not always control it, less direct it. On a good day, it was possible for him to hear heartbeats, if he really concentrated. Though from a distance, it was close to impossible to tell if three belonged to one person or just three people walking close together. And right now? Right now was not a good day. With the wind howling, his breath unsteady, and people talking right next to him, there was no way Yu could focus. He gave up and took in the conversation instead.

  “How do you know?” he asked, turning the question back on them, “I mean, that there’s a witch?”

  “By smell,” Tirran said.

  “I sense her energies,” said Estingar — possibly Estingar.

  “What does that mean?” Yu asked.

  “Her essence is unmistakable,” Estingar explained. “Dense. Potent. Unlike anything else.”

  “Is it?”

  “Yeah,” Estingar continued. “Like wizards, witches carry a unique signature. But theirs is older. More … primal. More intertwined with nature. More like beastkin, closer to beasts, really.” Estingar paused. He shifted his shoulders and wings, as if rolling the sensation off. “With a witch close enough, I can sense the concentrated strands of Rothar around her hands, feet, and eyes. They coil. They twist. The nexus points of her power.”

  Yu listened closely. Amidst the layers of ambient noise, he heard the subtle clicking sounds that underlined all of Estingar’s words. Yu listened not just to them but to everything. And then he found it; the faint resonance thrumming within his head, the ghost of a reply coming from above, as the other ulbatan, somewhere on the first floor, responded. Even as Estingar spoke to Yu, he was communicating with his brother.

  “How do they look?” asked Yu. “I mean, her colours.”

  “With this one? It’s dark blue hues that spread from her fingers and toes. Faint traces around her eyes.”

  Yu knew of witch markings.

  The Shaira had come to the settlements before. People spoke of their markings, the way they grow with time, like tendrils creeping further inward the more magic they use. Every time witchcraft is used, it is inscribed in the flesh.

  Their craft shows their raw bond with nature, and so do their bodies. Witches move barefoot through wilds that would tear others apart, with hands unflinching against thorns, ice, and jagged stone. If injured, their bodies heal fast. Minor wounds close in hours, deep wounds in days. Cold does not bite them. Heat does not scorch them. Hardships that would cripple others only hardens them further. And that is, before their use any spells upon themselves.

  “What do we do now?” Yu asked. “Are the crystals in the common room —”

  “Brave guardsmen of the guild, yesss, what do you need?” Harrow jumped between them, a blur of steel and eagerness, clad in full armour and grand sickle ready in hand.

  Fallem and Imbiad followed right behind her. They were not even fully out the door when —

  “No,” Tirran said.

  One word.

  Harrow’s expression collapsed.

  “Please go back inside,” Tirran continued. “Otherwise, it gets too crowded. For now, only guards will remain on the platforms and lookouts.”

  “Aw, come on,” Harrow groaned, letting the sickle’s blade drop to the ground with a loud thud. She was obviously dissatisfied but retreated nonetheless. Fallem turned back too.

  Yu moved to follow them.

  “Yu, stay,” Tirran said.

  “All right — wait, what? No, I mean — But Bubs called me when I came down —”

  “Stay.”

  “Nice try, and so subtle” Estingar grinned, sharp and knowing, flashing every needle-tooth he had, “But if you wanted to sneak a food break, you need to be way more creative.”

  Yu froze. He stared, from Estingar to Tirran, into the storm, and back again. This was wrong. So, so wrong. Harrow should be here. Fallem should. Anyone should be here. Anyone but him. Yes, why the fuck was he standing here when Harrow was inside? What the grand fuck was wrong with Tirran? —

  They had the wrong idea. Him and Estingar. Completely, horribly, desasterously wrong. They thought he was useful. Why? How? They did not even know what he could do — No, worse, they did not know what he could not do. They did not know that his hearing was all he had.

  “Tirran, listen —”

  “Let me stay.”

  Yu was not the one who said that.

  Imbiad had stepped forward. He stood firm, feet planted, shoulders squared. Unlike Harrow and Fallem, he had not turned back.

  “I am a water elementer,” Imbiad said. “I can wield both water and ice. I will fight if needed.”

  Yu looked from the wizard to Tirran.

  As always, his eyes darted everywhere, even as he replied: “If you wield ice from the mountain, you may disrupt the foundational structures of the guild.”

  “I may also oppose any attempts by the witch to do so,” Imbiad countered. “Know that I will be careful. If necessary, I will only draw from a distance.”

  For the briefest second, Tirran’s eyes locked onto Imbiad. So brief, so quick, Yu barely registered it before it was over.

  “It is my duty as a wizard to protect against witches, regardless of where I am,” Imbiad added.

  Tirran gave a curt nod. “All right. But do not start a fight.”

  “… before we do, that is,” Estingar added with a grin. “Same goes for you, Yu. Man, that sounds weird — For you, Yu. For you, Yu. For you too, Yu.”

  “Yes. Fine.” The words left Yu’s beak before he even thought about them. They just came out. Maybe because the idea of him fighting – yes, actually starting a battle against a witch – was so absurd that it could only be treated as a joke. Or maybe because his panic had reached such an advanced stage that it had looped back around and gone full circle into utter resignation.

  Yet, some part of him still believed he would survive this, apparently. Because that part kept him from dead-staring into the void and made him ask about the guild’s protections instead.

  Estingar kept playing around with his name, as if he were the first to notice how stupid it was. Eventually, though, he explained that the guild was heavily warded against most forms of elemental magic. Additional seals prevented intrusive spells, like the abilities witches used to access or manipulate minds. All protective enchantments were upheld through energy crystals, both the ones Yu had spotted in the common room and others stored safely in designated rooms.

  Yu was also told that Deltington was watching from a balcony above them, which confirmed his earlier observations. Gurs was stationed at a second entrance on the third floor, which Yu had yet to see.

  “All seals are fully charged,” Estingar assured. “There hasn’t been a witch in months.”

  “None that we noticed,” said Tirran.

  Yu hesitated. “What happened last time? When a witch came here? Or witches? How many were there?”

  “Three came,” Estingar explained. “Just before the last rampage on the Barnstream wizards, eight weeks ago. You came from there, right?”

  “I live in Undertellems.” Lived.

  They did not have to tell Yu about the attack. He had been there. Well — not there exactly. He had not seen the Shaira directly. Tria had made him hide, like she always did when witches were near. The settlement was heavily warded against magic.

  “They came to fight here too?” Yu asked. “To capture wizards?”

  “Surprisingly, they didn’t,” Estingar replied. “Not this time. They sought oracle. From a Transcender who was staying with us then.”

  “Oracle? Was he a guard?”

  “Quiet now,” Tirran said. He spoke with what was probably meant to be a whisper. Yet, to Yu, his voice only grew darker. More threatening. “Yu, are you familiar with the Shaia’s abilities in mind manipulation?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.”

  It was not. It was not good. Not really. Yu did not know why he had answered that way. Maybe because he did not want to hear more from Tirran. Maybe because he did not want to learn more about just how powerful the Shaia really were. He knew it was dangerous to listen to them, with or without T?????e????????_???????h????a???????????r????????????????u???????????????????n. Their voice carried spells — spells that distorted reality and warped perception, even if they had been cast far in advance.

  Yu listened.

  For such spells.

  For anything.

  The travellers’ heartbeats pulsed just beyond the storm. He strained to hear more – words, clues, any sort of exchange – but they did not speak. Or maybe he was simply too nervous to —

  Shadows emerged at the edge of the storm.

  -

  -

  I hope the changing seasons bring you inspiration, warmth, and a sense of change. Wherever you are, may your days be filled with good stories, kind company, and moments of quiet wonder about all that was and could be.

  The Duckman