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I shove the string into my pocket without thinking, knowing I need this with me. I cannot help but wonder if fate drug me out of bed tonight. The Ladder calls to me with almost a low hum from my pocket. I press my hand over the lump in my pocket, and my fingers vibrate over the pent-up magic.
I dig through the rest of the pack, grabbing a small piece of cloth wrapped tightly around dried meat. I help myself to a handful of their tinctures, slipping all my spoils into my now very full pockets. I seal the pack back up and make my way out the window. With a final glance towards Jaz’s bed, I ignore the pain in my chest for betraying them and turn to leave. I do not bother replacing the window - they’ll realize they were stolen from reasonably quickly anyway.
The clouds pull back from the moon as I make my way to my home, and I slip back through my front door. It feels fortuitous on the balmy summer evening. I slump at my table and bury my face in my hands. Self-preservation has made me do plenty of questionably moral things, but this one feels like I am condemning someone to death.
I feel compelled to examine the Witch’s Ladder again. I empty my haul from my pockets and grab my pack from the shelf it sits on. Dumping the contents of it onto my table, I begin to sort what I have set aside and what I have acquired.
My base needs are covered with items like flint, a canteen to fill with water, the newly acquired spile, and alcohol for making tinctures and cleaning wounds. I also have a roll of cloth for bandages wrapped around two additional blades. My whip is tightly curled and strapped to the front.
My mother’s voice about always having a backup to my backup plays in my head as I rewrap the blades tighter and slip in the whetstone to accommodate the new additions to my pack. I add the meat and premade tinctures from Jaz’s pack and stare at the Witch’s Ladder. I touch it, the soft vibrations from it echoing in my fingertips.
I am drawn to this ancient item of power. Should I even bring this along, potentially to use, not knowing what the spells within it contain?
It’s as if I have no choice in the matter. I’m bringing along unknown magic.
I know it as soon as I question it, a little niggling in the back of my mind making it clear that I cannot possibly leave it behind. Wrapping it gently around itself, I slip it into a hidden interior pocket of the pack. It bumps against a smooth obsidian stone carved with a flourished M. Slipping it into my palm, I remember my father giving it to me the night before my first Race.
“The Mistflow name used to mean greatness, Lola.”
He only called me Lola when my mother was not around, and it always brought a smile to my face.
“My father made me my talisman when I was born and gave it to me before my first Race. I carry it with me to this day, and I credit that love with all of the good in my life. When your mother told me she was with child, I knew I had to do the same for you. I shined and polished this stone, carving it by hand while you grew in your mother’s belly. I have carried it since, hoping it absorbed all my love and dreams for you. Now that you are about to run your first Race, I want you to carry that love with you as you journey up the Summit.”
I grip the stone tightly, tears brimming my eyes and threatening to spill at the memory. How could someone who loved me so much leave me behind? His words reach out through the past and echo in my head.
“Viola Mistflow. You are destined for greatness and adventure. You will live the life I have dreamed for you in Ytopie. I promise.”
I cannot stop the tears from falling and press the stone to my chest.
Chapter 6
Zeph
ItwasbittersweetwhenI first became an elected member of the Patricians. The role was only open because Stone was stepping back to an advisory role instead of a ruling one. Stone has been in my life for as long as I can remember, having also been an advisor to my father. He’s a Bliksem, or Storm wielder, a lesser magic under Autumn.
I would have preferred to live a quiet life without being a part of a regulatory body, but Stone informed me that it was my duty to all of Krillium, and I have always had a hard time turning him down.
My father was a Patrician for decades alongside Stone. When he died, and Mace filled his empty spot, I assumed Stone would stay on to guide Mace. That was not the case. Mace did not need Stone’s oversight, so here I am. A reluctant participant in the political structure of a society I do not even know if I support fully.
The Patricians were initially formed for the citizens of Ytopie to communicate with the Gods. The Gods were not entertaining individual requests and grievances from citizens, so the Patricians were elected to be the go-between.
Or rather, that’s what was told to the citizens.
When I gained my seat on the board, I was let in on the best-kept secret of the land.
The Gods are gone. And no one is sure where they went.
Our history says that the first fae colonized Ytopie to avoid persecution from the humans of Krillium. While it may seem unlikely for humans to have any leg up on magical fae, they had sheer numbers on their side. There are at least three humans for every fae, and at the time, the fae were not practiced in their magic the way we are now.
The location of Ytopie, wrapping around Gallant Summit, was strategic to keep the humans from breaching the city. Jealousy over the fae’s close connection with the Gods and our magic created a hostile relationship we could never overcome.
Everyone, save for the Patricians, believes the Gods are solitary and quiet and will only deign to show themselves to us. However, Stone informed me that no living fae has seen the Gods when I gained my seat on the board. “Why are we keeping up with this facade?” I asked, confused at the point of it.
“The humans will not Race if they do not believe the Gods demand it,” Stone had said simply.
I shouldn’t have been surprised that Stone did not see a problem with this. I remember the day I discovered the dirtiest secret of Ytopie. Stone, a Patrician then, was in his study, working on the plan for that year’s Race. My father was sitting across from him, and I, a young child at the time, hid behind a bookcase, undetected to the two. It was my father’s first year as a Patrician, and Stone was getting him up to speed on the inner workings of the Race.
“So, after the winner’s ceremony, we escort all of the humans down to the village,” Stone said, his voice quiet and grim. “These humans, the strongest, most clever of the lot, hold the most risk to Ytopie and everything we hold dear.” A wave of anger had clawed at my chest even then, a monster trying to escape with his words.
