Chapter One - First Witch

Batima knew well that the books behind the gated wall were forbidden to her, but that did absolutely nothing to quell the scorching curiosity that the tiny golden seal peering from between the ornate iron bars aroused in her. Like the painted eyes of the portraits hanging in the assembly hall, it watched her every movement. It whispered to her, joining the chorus of voices and opinions that normally accompanied her own thoughts. It beckoned to her. It promised her. It willed her to look at it. It drew her focus again and again from the volume on which she vainly attempted to concentrate. What if I just looked at it? After all, I can open the gateI think. She closed the book she had been reading with her fingers marking the page that contained the paragraph she had read over and over. She turned to face the far end of the hall where the gated wall stretched from side to side. Thousands of volumes were locked behind it. From where she sat, they largely appeared to be a blur of grays and browns and black, and occasionally blue or faded red. Except for the one glimmering spot that strained to make itself seen. Batima had strolled around the room countless times, scanning book titles on the open shelves while she contemplated what she would read next. She searched her mental pictures of the gated wall. She had always made it a point to pass it by slowly, and although the books behind the gated wall were not accessible to her, it didnt stop her from studying their titles and topics. Higher magics. Nether magics. Dark magics. Alchemies. Demonologies. All books of magic deemed too powerful or too dangerous to be left unprotected. This one was new. She had no recollection of it always being there. Batima let the book she had been reading close and pushed herself away from the table. She glanced at the massive wooden doors that led into the hall before standing. Trailing an index finger along the length of the tabletop, she casually made her way to the gated wall. She glanced again at the double doors before stopping in front of the book with the golden seal. This one had no title. Only the

shining golden spot at the top of its spine identified it. She could easily fit her hand through the bars to reach it. However, beside the fact that the bends and curls of the pattern were themselves a spell, they were also such that none of the books would fit through the open spaces. Theoretically, I can open the gate, she thought. She glanced again at the double doors expecting at any moment to be discovered. To those without the knowledge, the gated wall was a seamless maze of woven iron curls and twists without a defined entrance. But she had read about this particular magic. It was a complicated mixture of magics and elements without one specific starting point. The specific references had been scattered and unrelated, but when the principals were taken out of their contexts and applied together, the gated wall was its product. Only Jorgen knew that she had figured it out. Only Jorgen knew the magnitude of her talent. Only Jorgen had ever sincerely cared about her. Her stomach cringed with a pang of loss for the only father she had ever known. It was Jorgen who had discovered how effortlessly Batima absorbed and comprehended magic. He had also humorously discoveredthat Batima leaked magic when she unintentionally caused the wild vine growing along the outside of the stronghold to completely overgrow the entire structure. She smiled a little remembering how angry the Priors were and how Jorgen only laughed in secret delight at her talent. Batima brightened a little remembering Jorgen hooting raucously as she related the tale of Firson's face when he discovered what she had done. Jorgen had encouraged her to learn all she could, but cautioned her to never reveal the true scope of her abilities. He warned that there were those who would try to turn her to their own ends. She didn't know exactly who they were, but she carried Jorgen's warnings close and kept everyone else at a distance. Not that it really mattered since most of them stayed away from her anyway. Batima found herself lost again in a barrage of painful memories. Her skin grew warm and began to flush as she normally did when she became emotional. Loss and loneliness crept into her fingertips.

She wrung her hands as the familiar urge to do something, to be busy, spurred her attention back to the gated wall. She looked around once more before placing her fingertip at the end of an iron curl. She focused on the magic principles and gently pushed. The cold metal responded by shrinking back upon itself to the place where it connected with the next iron curl. In its place was an opening large enough for her to retrieve the book without having to force it out. I knew it! Batima whispered to herself excitedly. Her heartbeat hammered in her chest. Her pulse throbbed in her fingertips. She reached in and rested her hand on the book's spine for a moment before pulling it out through the bars. She had scarcely cleared the gate before the single iron curl sprang back into its former self, sealing the gate once more. Batima turned the book over in her hands. The gold seal on the spine seemed to be what kept drawing her attention. She opened the front cover to the first page. It was blank. And so was the next page, and the next. She flipped through all of the pages. They were all blank. She closed the book again and her eyes were drawn back to the gold seal on the spine. The intricate symbol with details too small for her naked eye to make out was again demanding her attention. As if she were only a spectator, she watched her fingertip reach for it. The end of her index finger pressed into the shiny spot, covering it entirely. Aenon. Did she say that? Was that her own voice that she had just heard? Yes? Batima whirled at the sound of the new voice in the room to discover startling silver eyes staring at her. Panic welled up in her just as she succumbed to the blackness.

*****

Hello. His voice chimed quietly. Batima's eyes fluttered open. She was lying on the floor looking at the patterned ceiling. A dull ache radiated from the spot where her head hit the floor. He was still standing in the same spot. His silvery white hair framed his face as he looked down upon her. She raised her head to see him more clearly and was startled to find that she could see through him. Batima scrambled a few paces across the floor and away from him. She pressed her back against the gated wall. The silver eyes pressed into her, holding her in place. Dont be afraid, he said softly. Batima glanced quickly at the massive double doors expecting even more that one of the Priors would walk in on her here with the transparent man that she had somehow conjured. She had no ideahow long she had been lying on the floor. How would she ever explain this? What could she possibly say that would not have her confined to her rooms and her freedoms and privileges revoked? Or worse, turned out of the stronghold to a world of which she knew nothing. His mere presence was more than a breach of the trust that Grigor had convinced the Priors to grant her. It was evidence. The Priors already mistrusted her and her unusual magic. They largely treated her as an outcast and referred to her as a void. They called her magic a drain. They feared the sickly weakness they had all experienced at some point being in her presence as her own magic pulled on theirs. They argued that she was dangerous. Even though Jorgen had taught her how to control it years ago, enabling others to be around her without the ill effects, they still avoided her simply knowing the implications of her unusual ability. Grigor was the only Prior to befriend her after Jorgens death. He had been the only voice for her at the Priors Assembly when they had no idea what to do with her. Grigor made it possible for her to remain at the stronghold and continue her studies. And now shes done something as foolish as to conjure this man with the silver eyes from who knows where! The voices chastised her. Another in a long string of disastrous mishaps involving her magic. Her own birth blamed for the death of her mother who had become weak and frail while bearing her.

Batima realized she had squeezed her eyes shut and had been wringing her hands frantically. Aenon reached out to her where she cowered on the floor, and they both flinched violently and snatched away when he touched her. He hesitated a moment and then reached for her again, but she only cowered further against the gated wall. Dont be afraid, he said again softly. She immediately calmed as he guided her to standing. She felt a reassuring warmth where his hand had briefly rested on her forearm. Im sorry! Batima said hastily knowing that she had just unintentionally tapped his magic. ImIm sorry, she stammered again straightening herself and adjusting her robe. She turned and looked directly into the striking silver eyes and examined him for the first time. He was beautiful. He was beautiful like nothing she could accurately describe. His pale hair hung in loose gossamer strands away from his face. His eyes... She noticed that he cradled his left hand gingerly where he had touched her. His name was Aenon. She knew that already. She had spoken his name aloud when she touched the golden seal, but she didn't know why she said it aloud. She didn't know from where she had summoned him or exactly how. He was beginning to fade. They stared at each other wordlessly as he vanished before her eyes. Although she was frightened by the idea, she nonetheless wanted him to stay. Just as the last remnants of his visage dissipated, Grigor and Rhees burst through the doors in a heated debate. Grigor stopped mid-gesture when he realized Rhees wasn't looking at him anymore. He spun around in timeto see Batima fall to the floorfar end of the room in front of the gated wall. As Rhees charged toward her from the other end of the room, Batima secreted the small book into her robe pocket. "What were you doing here at the gated wall?" He eyed her suspiciously as she untangled her feet from the bottom of her robe. Grigor had drifted over quietly. "I...I was rounding the end of the table when I became lightheaded. I wasn't feeling well. I must have fallen," Batima fumbled being careful not to meet his eyes. She stayed in place while Rhees stood

over her casting a meticulous eye over the gated wall, scrutinizing its contents as if he were familiar with every book behind it and its position. "Wasn't there someone here with you?" Rhees glowered down at her. "What do you mean?" Batima began again to wring her hands nervously. "What a ridiculous question, Rhees," Grigor interjected as hestepped between Batima and Rhees,shielding her from his glare. "Are you okay now, Batima?" He extended a hand to her and helped her off of the floor. "Maybe you've been working too hard at your studies. You should rest. Return to your rooms and I will have your evening meal brought to you." Rhees postured himself to intimidate Batima as she passed him by, but gave way when she passed closer than he had anticipated. She cautioned a sidelong glance at him as she slid past Grigor into the corridor and he withdrew even further. Grigor gave her shoulder a slight squeeze before gently nudging her on her way. "Rest," he admonished her once more and watched as she disappeared into the flickeringshadows. As Batima made her way through the corridors and back to her own rooms, she took a secret pleasure in the way that Rhees shrank away from her when she passed him by. She wished that she could find some pleasure in the idea ofshrinking him to a hardened husk after draining the life out of him, of watching him be tormented as heexperienced himself wastingaway, but the thought of intentionally inflicting harm on another person made her sick.Rhees, however, always made it his business to know what she was doing and always attempted to intimidate her. For reasons unknown to her, he hated her.He made sure that she understood it clearly. His boldness with her was fueled by the knowledge that she feared being turned out of the stronghold, but at the same time he feared what he knew she could easily do to him. He feared her power, but not her person, and he worked diligently at striking a balance between his fear and his hate.

One day, she thought as she entered her rooms. One day what? One day, something would be different. That was all she could hope for.She touched the wicks of the candles and the lanternon her study table and they sprang to life with a steady flame. She touched a finger to the awkward chunk of wood in her small hearth. It smoldered a moment before it, too, burst into awarm glow. A corner of the book with the golden seal pressed into her thigh. She hadn't forgotten about it. She had only not dared to pull it out of her pocket for fear of being discovered with it. It worried her that she couldn't explain why she had spoken the name of the curious stranger aloud. Still not daring to remove it from her pocket, she flopped down on her simple but comfortable bed and drew the pocket of her robe containing the book up to her chest. Absentmindedly she fingered the corner of the book responsible for poking her while she and her chorus pondered exactly what had happened up in the study. "A spell," she whispered to herself, "It must be a spell..." She gave the small book a slight squeeze before retrieving it from her pocket. She willed the candle on her side table to light. Peering closely, she examined what of the detail she could make out. Although the elements of the design were still vague, Batima began to feel as if she understood it and what it was trying to say to her. "A name," she said aloud, "The symbol is his name! Or maybe it speaks his name," she rationalized. "No, it causes the wielder to speak his name." Again she began to feel the call that urged her to place the tip of her finger over it again. It lulled. It cajoled. It invited her to once more summon the spectral stranger with the silver eyes. A tiny knock at her door caused Batima to start. She shoved the book into her blankets and sprinted to the door before the knocker could open it on their own. When she cracked the door to peek out into the corridor, she could see no one.

She opened the door wider and found her evening meal abandoned on the stone floor. She picked up the tray and scanned the empty corridor. Only the wildly wavering torchlight provided any indication of the courier's hurried retreat. Batima stepped back into her room. Her fear of being discovered with the book resurfaced as soon as the door closed behind her. The bowl on her tray clattered as her hands began to tremble. She nearly dropped the tray onto her study table and began to pace the floor. She clenched her hands together in an attempt to not wring them. The voices whispered hushed warnings to her. She paused and glanced toward the spot where the book lay hidden beneath her covers. The voices pressed her more urgently. You'll be discovered! They're going to find out... They'll send you away... They'll seal you in the catacombs... The voices drowned her own thoughts. Their whispers spoke over each other in their clamorous efforts to be heard. She fought the overwhelming urge to scream. She knew it would be disastrous if she screamed. The last time she screamed she ruptured the eardrums of two initiates and blinded a Prior. The magic in her voice was dangerous. She had to maintain control. She squeezed her fists to the sides of her head while she struggled to wrestle control from the frenzy that the voices attempted to stir up. "Breathe," she whispered frantically, "Breathe..." The door... Batima froze in her tracks and looked squarely at the door. The voices quieted. The door. She had never considered barricading her door beyond the simple slide bolt that only prevented non-magical entry. She would have to ward her door. She perched on the edge of her bed and considered how she needed to proceed. Anything too powerful would draw attention and suspicion. Too little protection would leave her still vulnerable. Her only real hope would be that she could put a ward in place and never have it discovered by anyone attempting to enter her rooms. A seal should be enough, she thought. Enough to make the door immovable, but also just enough to require detectable magic to undo or break through. Batima crossed the to her door and ran

her palms across the slightly raised grain. She placed a fingertip to the tiny crevice that separated the door from its frame and began to fill the empty space with her magic. Solid, she thought, Immovable. When she had finished, the door was as unyielding as the stone walls themselves. She retreated to her bed, exhausted from the adventure of the last few hours and collapsed into her covers. She was glad to have been able to expend a little magic to alleviate the throbbing in her fingertips. She was also glad that she didn't injure anyone this time and that she had managed to keep her exploits in the study hall undiscovered. After a few deeps breaths the way Jorgen had taught her, she was able to relax and drift off to sleep. When the bells tolled dawn, Batima woke to find herself holding tightly onto the book with the golden seal wrapped in one of her blankets. Hers was an interior room without windows, so the bells were her only indication of day or night without the luxury of natural light. She had looked forward to a room with a window when she moved up from the floors below, but she believed in her heart that Rhees had always arranged for her to remain in the dark, more like a captive than an initiate of the Order. She had to decide what to do with the book while she was away from her room. The dim glow from the unnatural flame in her hearth provided enough light for her to survey her sparse furnishings. There was no place for her to hide it, or really anything else. This, too, was probably by Rhee's design. She recognized that she had little in the way of real privacy beyond being able to close her door when she entered her rooms. The bolt, again, only offered non-magical resistance. There was nothing to prevent any of the Priors from letting themselves into her rooms whenever they wished. She didn't think that they ever had, but she also never had anything to hide before. She would have no choice but to take it with her. Batima finished her preparations for the day. She wrapped the book in a piece of cloth torn from one of her blankets and tucked it into the waistband of her trousers underneath her robe. She wasn't

concerned that anyone would accidentally feel it there against her body. No one but Grigor ever touched her, and even those occasions were infrequent. She was only concerned about it being visible. It suddenly occurred to her that she had not once thought of returning the book to the gated wall. She had not thought to throw it into the hearth and let the flames consume it, or to rid herself of it by any other means. She realized that she felt an attachment to the book with the golden seal, as if it were hers and her secret to keep. Although she didn't normally go to the library this early, it would still be empty at this time of the morning. Batima tried to appear normal as she traversed the corridors on her way to the library hall. She knew that she would be returning, but again reflected upon how she had not considered returning the book to the gated wall. What, then, would she do with it? She nearly stumbled as she recalled the appearance of the stranger. She hadn't thought about him since before the knock at her door. "I need to do some reading about...whomever he is," she mumbled to herself. She dared not say his name aloud for fear of unintentionally conjuring him. She had no idea if saying his name aloud required touching the symbol in order for him to materialize. She needed to learn who he was, but she had no idea where to begin. As she reached for the latch on the library door, she paused to look over her shoulder before slipping silently inside. She closed the door quietly and turned to find Rhees glaring at her. There were four other initiates, one of whom she had never seen before seated at the table. "Batima, we've been waiting for you," he said making no effort to hide the contempt in his voice. "It seems that you've been spending quite a bit of time alone and without guidance in your studies. I've decided that you'll be continuing your studies with a few of our other very talented initiates. You probably already know Jobe, Analis, and Berger. This is Mogdalyn, our newest initiate. She is extremely talented." His last words reached out to Batima as if to remind her that not only was she not special, she was especially not special.

Mogdalyn was beautiful in an ethereal and powerful way. Jorgen had cautioned her that they were very careful not to use the word "powerful" to describe the members of the Order and the initiates, but powerful was a very accurate way to describe her. Her very pale hair lay across her shoulder in a long thick plait, and her disciplined blue gray gaze appraised Batima as if she already knew of her. She gave Batima the slightest nod of acknowledgment. "Batima, come and join the others so that we may begin," Rhees invited. Batima's heart raced. Jobe and Analis stared at her curiously while Berger appeared ready to bolt from his seat. Mogdalyn continued to gaze at her levelly while Rhees' impatience was plainly displayed on his face. This is all wrong, Batima thought to herself trying to control her rising panic. No, this is all wrong. Why are they here? Her thoughts returned to the book tucked into the waistband of her trousers. Not in years had she been required to take her studies with other initiates. Not in years had she required supervision, and now that she had something to do, now that she had in her possession something completely forbidden to her, Rhee's wanted to teach her? Rhees... Batima had begun to wring her hands as the panic tightened in her chest. "Batima!" Rhees barked. Batima winced and made eye contact with Rhees just long enough register his scowl before the blackness took her again.