A Witch always looks! The abyss gazes, so we stare right back. We are Witches. And we do not shy no matter the Black.
— Witch Maybeline of The Chalant Coven of Revolution and Witchcraft
* * *
The world is full of forgotten places.
Holds and forts that lay abandoned. Mountain passes that no one walked and paths that none still talked about.
The stories just... stopped.
But it was known in a sort of Silent way, that once, Mankind grew and expanded. That they conquered mountains and valleys and sailed oceans....
That they cut and burned the forests and turned them into cities and cut the stones of the earth and broke them and formed them into fortresses and towns and roads.
That they dallied with Others. That they created items of such power that the world quaked beneath them and the heavens burst open and sang — though none really knew what that meant anymore.
It was also known that Mankind shrunk after that.
They fled the oceans and they walled up their cities.
The Others disappeared and the ones that were left, Mankind fought bitterly and slaughtered.
They built Towers of Magecraft and they broke those old and ancient holds and fortresses.
And the ones they couldn't break, they did worse.
They forgot.
* * *
Thirteen days before Winter fell, one of those lost places stirred.
In a forgotten room, in a lost hold, a hole burst open.
Space bent and twisted, and the fabric of the world Screamed as it was forced to split and tear, a little at first — and then wide open.
The world Screamed and... cackled?
A Witch toppled out of that hole and it snapped shut behind her... and for a moment that seemed to stretch just a little longer than it should have, that lost place fell back into Silence.
But only for a moment.
* * *
The Witch toppled. Then she did what any falling Witch would do.
She snatched at her hat before it could slip too far off her head and swished it through the air saying in a clear voice — "Featherly Feverly Fall But Cleverly!" And the world — Listened.
The Witch spun upright and slowed, her Witch's Gown barely fluttering about her ankles, and landed elegantly and lightly on the balls of her feet, just as she should.
A Witch, always lands on her feet. And she was obviously a Witch.
The Witch peered around at the dim room. Then she sniffed at the air, sneezed twice and wrinkled her nose, grimacing.
Then she balled up Light in her hands and threw it high up into the air above her head where it cast a warm glow over her surroundings.
"Morgana's Spectacles!" She rolled her eyes in Dawning Consternation. "I knew it. They never can manage to hide that Aroma of Ancient Knowledge. It's like they actually like that smell!" The Witch sneezed again and stalked forward into the —
YOU ARE READING
The Wizard of Elsewhere
FantasiWizards are a finicky bunch who prefer shuffling about their Libraries, pouring through ancient tomes, or discussing at length the existential complexities of the number thirteen to... just about anything else. Wizards haven't ventured on quests i...
