War of the Networks Page 11

  “You seek a friend?” She put one hand on her hip and cocked her head. “You desire nothing for yourself?”

  “This is my desire. You’ll know her already. She’s an old woman named Isadora.”

  Dafina’s lips pulled down. “The Watcher of Letum Wood?”

  “Yes.”

  “She is missing?”

  “Mabel kidnapped her. I think she’s here, in the Western Network, but I don’t know for sure. I need to find her. It’s a matter of life and death for all of us. Your pack as well.”

  The red aura of Dafina’s wings intensified. She made chubby fists with her hands. “You desire me to stay here, daughter of the Central Network?”

  A temper in such a small being didn’t really frighten me, though perhaps it should have. Although they were tiny, their magical abilities were not. Still, I showed no fear. “Yes.”

  “I shall not!”

  “Then give up your beauty. I’m sure the fairies in your pack will welcome you back when your hair falls out and your skin wrinkles like an old hag.”

  Her face turned beet red, matching her fiery hair. She let out a hiss. “You know our magic?”

  “I do.”

  “Fine,” she spat. “I’ll seek the Watcher of Letum Wood.”

  “No,” I said, holding up my hand. If I wasn’t precise in my request, she’d take advantage of seeking Isadora for all of five minutes. “You’ll find the Watcher, not just seek her, and return to tell me where she is. Also, you’ll want to leave this room through the door, not the balcony. The balcony is enchanted to destroy anything that goes off the edge.”

  Dafina’s wings moved so fast they hummed. She tightened her fingers, bending them as an old woman would.

  “I shall find the Watcher of Letum Wood to fulfill the favor,” she hissed, spitting every word with a wave of disdain. “But you, daughter of the Central Network, are no friend of the fairies.”

  She disappeared through the door in a streak of light.

  A Strange New Land

  The next morning started too soon—I woke with the earliest light of sunrise. Although Mabel’s chamber still lay quiet under the subtle blanket of night, the rustle of movement sounded in the background.

  “Are you going mad here in this cavern yet, Bianca darling? If you are, I have good news. We’re going to take a little trip this morning.”

  I sat up to find Mabel standing in front of a gilded, full-length mirror, inspecting her reflection with a shrewd eye. Torches along the wall illuminated the room. She wore an elegant dove-gray gown with sleeves that fell to her wrist. Her hair spilled onto her shoulders in a golden waterfall of curls. Her eyes were blue, so I knew she was calm.

  “We’re going to the Northern Network,” she said. “I’m sure you don’t want to miss this opportunity.”

  I held my breath to keep myself from gasping. “The North?” I finally asked. She eyed me askance, amused.

  “You heard me.”

  For one long, silent moment, I couldn’t think. The words Northern Network whirred through my mind on repeat. Just like Marten had taught me, I shut my mouth and waited for the situation to unfurl.

  “Don’t look so surprised,” Mabel said, watching me in the glass. “Witches have always lived in the Northern Network. They’re just exceptionally good at hiding themselves. They don’t particularly like us, you see. I can’t say that I blame them.”

  Which would make them a fabulous ally. A tingle of fear shimmied down my back. Hadn’t I been telling Papa to do this all along? To search out the North to see if it was really inhabited or not?

  “You mean to negotiate with them?” I asked, turning around. Although I tried to force indifference, my mind raced. What would we find when we arrived? Were they a strong Network? How would Mabel transport us safely into such a treacherous, mountainous world? The idea was so foreign I felt confused. On so little sleep, my still-muddied brain tried to sift through all it meant with limited success.

  “I do mean to negotiate with them, though it will be tricky. The High Priestesses have answered my request, granting me an audience with them. A rare circumstance.”

  “High Priestesses?” I repeated. “There’s more than one?”

  “Yes.”

  “How do you know?”

  Her teeth sparkled when she smiled. “Because I do my homework.”

  “Do they know we’re coming?”

  Mabel rolled her eyes. “Of course they do. I’m not entirely sure what to expect when we arrive. They’re notoriously paranoid. But rest assured—we’ll speak with those in power eventually. Three women run the largest Network in Antebellum. Don’t you like them already?”

  The lower Networks—which included all the Networks except the North—all had a similar hierarchical structure: one High Priest and one High Priestess, with variations in who did the governing and who held the most power. After three hundred years of separation from the lower Networks, differences in government hardly surprised me. But three High Priestesses? The Northern Network already exceeded my expectations.

  “I see,” I said, striving to keep my tone neutral while my head spun with all the new information. As usual, Mabel saw right through it.

  “No,” she said, her eyes gleaming. “You don’t see. You have no idea how much power lies in the North, Bianca darling. But you will soon. Oh, you will soon.”

  My right arm rose. The manacle glowed so brightly I turned away. Piece by tiny piece, a chain grew from the manacle until it attached itself to a similar manacle on Mabel’s right wrist.

  “Added security,” she said. “Your father may be able to transport another witch, but no one in Antebellum can transport three. And, just in case…”

  A cold, prickling feeling wrapped around my neck. When I attempted to speak, nothing came out.

  “You have a notorious reputation for speaking when your opinion is not wanted,” she said. “This shall prevent any unwanted communication, I think. Come. Let us transport there now. I will not be late for my destiny.”

  Darkness overtook me, along with the pressure of transportation that pressed on my face, hands, and eyes. Mabel held my arm so tightly it throbbed. The stress pushed into the sinews of my skin. I’d never transported for such a long time. Just when the intensity threatened to obliterate my body, Mabel released me. I fell onto rocky ground, slamming my shoulder into a boulder. Mabel landed like a feather while I lay on my back, gasping.

  Mabel craned her head, studying a copse of evergreen trees surrounding the dirt road we’d landed on. We were high on the side of a rocky, lush mountain. I stood up and brushed the dirt from the back of my dress. Mountain after mountain waited behind the trees, stacked back to back like sentinels. Their rocky crags rose into the sky. A skirt of snow held on to their peaks, giving way to waves of undulating green hills. There was no leaden humidity, nothing but a delightful freedom of breath and wind, like we’d entered a perpetual spring day. Unlike in the Central Network, where the canopy of Letum Wood blocked the sky, the mountains hugged the world with arms of stone.

  “They should be along soon, I would imagine,” Mabel said, the chain between our manacles jerking me to the other side of the road when she spun. “They will have detected us.”

  She must have seen the question in my eyes.

  “Whom do I speak of?” she asked merrily. “Well, the North has a complicated welcome party for witches who transport into their land. None of that will matter, of course, as they’re expecting me and will grant me a diplomatic pardon. You’ll see soon en—”

  “Halt!” an unknown voice shouted. Ten witches materialized in a circle around us, arrows nocked, three of them within a breath of my face. All of them had a thick purple rope tied around their right forearm. Swords dangled from their hips, and thick pads of leather protected their necks and chests. Most of them had dark brown skin, just like the gypsies in the Central Network, but I noticed three fair-skinned warriors in the group.

  A towering, dark-haired witch st
epped forward from the ranks, his sword drawn. He had long legs, chocolate skin, and a vibrating, deep voice.

  “Hands up,” he commanded. I obeyed. “What is your business crossin’ over our boundaries?”

  His voice was husky and deep, with thick rolling r’s and a heavy burr. I could barely understand him.

  “I’m here to speak with the High Priestesses,” Mabel said, her arms hanging at her side. “They’re expecting me.”

  He barked a command in a different language and lowered his sword, holding his chin high. “So you’re the visitors from the lower Networks that we’re to be expectin’,” he drawled, looking us over from top to bottom. He sneered. “You can keep your war where it belongs and go home.”

  Some diplomatic pardon, I wanted to say to Mabel.

  Mabel’s eyes tapered. The Guardian jerked his head toward us. “Tie them,” he called, “under the authority of High Priestess Farah.”

  The word Farah purred like thunder off his lips. From the respect in his eyes, I had a feeling that Farah would be an enemy worth contending with. Mabel didn’t fight when two Guardians grabbed her wrists and bound her hands in front of her, but her eyes became slits as thin as her lips.

  “Be careful what enemies you make,” she said with a cold smile.

  He cast an arrogant look over his shoulder as he sauntered away. They tied my hands behind my back and tossed a burlap bag over my head. The smell of dirt filled my nostrils. Only a few pinpricks of light shone through the coarse material. I refused to panic. Instead, I focused all my attention on listening to the sound of wheels clattering over the cobblestones as the North Guards led us further into a strange new land.

  We rode downhill over bumpy roads for hours.

  Every jostle sent my body swaying from side to side. My skull smacked into a metal bar so many times a headache pulsed in the back of my neck. My hands burned from being tied together, and I longed for my sword. Couldn’t she have transported us any closer? I hoped Mabel was as uncomfortable as I was.

  Just as the ride evened out, the bustle of a village drowned out the clop of hooves. The aroma of fresh-baked bread made my stomach growl. We’d moved into a shadow—I couldn’t feel the sun. The jostling carriage stopped fifteen minutes later. My heart took off like a hummingbird. We’d arrived.

  The North Guards grabbed my arm and yanked me out of the back of the wagon, pulling Mabel with me. I stumbled and pitched forward, but a hand caught me, stopping me from falling onto my face.

  “Easy,” a familiar voice murmured, so low I could barely hear it. My entire body went rigid.

  Merrick.

  His firm hand squeezed my arm in silent command. Be quiet, I imagined him saying. The tips of his fingers brushed against the inside of my arm, sending a bolt of fire across my skin. Luckily, the hood bought me time to gather my wits without giving anything away.

  “I’ll take this one,” Merrick said in the same low burr. It sounded … natural. My heart pounded, and I strained to hear their conversation. Questions fluttered through my mind like a flock of birds. Why are you here? I wanted to ask. How is this possible?

  “Follow me,” Merrick called. “We’re takin’ them inside Balmberg Castle.”

  Whether he said that for my benefit, so I’d know where I was, or he was some kind of leader, I couldn’t discern. Maybe both. Was this the mission Papa had sent him on? My frustrations doubled. I wanted to say so much!

  Mabel lengthened the chain between us while we ascended several flights of stairs and walked through a maze. The world had darkened, which meant we’d likely moved inside. Cool air filtered into my burlap hood, clearing away some of the dusty stink. We turned a sharp corner and stopped. The ropes around my wrists fell away.

  Merrick stood just behind me, his chest nearly touching my back. Our proximity made me lightheaded. I closed my eyes and resisted the urge to spin around and throw myself against him. He let go, but the tips of his fingers trailed across the small of my back before he stepped away. I listened to his departing footsteps with a sinking feeling in my stomach. The air seemed colder without him behind me.

  Come back, I wanted to shout. Please, come back.

  “You may remove your hoods,” an unknown voice said from across the room. “Forgive our less-than-charitable welcome, but Her Majesty is careful when it comes to protectin’ the Network.”

  I reached up and pulled off the hood. A burly witch approached us with a confident stride. He had short brown hair chopped off in an erratic fashion, as if he’d attempted to do it in the middle of the night with no light. A cluster of pink scars on the right side of his face pulled his eye down and twisted half his eyebrow in a perpetual grimace. A well-groomed beard covered the parts of his face that weren’t scarred.

  “The name’s Wolfgang,” he said. “I’m the Head of Guardians in the Northern Network.”

  Mabel’s scowl didn’t ease, but he ignored her.

  “Such poor treatment is inexcusable,” Mabel said. “The High Priestesses were expecting me.”

  “Still are,” Wolfgang said, stopping a breath away from Mabel. Her jaw tightened. “But this is our Network,” he continued, the deep brogue of his accent more pronounced. “We’ll be doin’ this our way, not yours.”

  Mabel’s nostrils flared, but she said nothing. I rolled my lips together to keep from laughing. What a delightful place the Northern Network had turned out to be so far. Wolfgang cast a sidelong glance at me, my manacle, and the chain anchoring me to Mabel.

  “Who are you?” he asked.

  “This is my prisoner, Bianca Monroe,” Mabel said.

  He didn’t acknowledge her response. His shrewd eyes remained on me. “Can’t you speak?” he asked. I shook my head.

  Mabel watched him intently, her head tilted back. “She’s the daughter of Derek Black.”

  Ah. That’s your game. She’d brought me along to buoy her social power. To gloat. To win the vote by showing superior force. Wolfgang grunted.

  “Don’t care. Why are you chained to her?”

  Mabel’s smile tightened. “She wanders off on her own a lot.”

  “Better figure somethin’ else out. You can’t go into the throne room wearin’ that.”

  Mabel lifted an eyebrow. “And why not?”

  “It’s a weapon, stupid witch,” he cried. “I’ll not let you near Their Majesties with a metal chain. Are you daft? What if you tried to choke them? Or hit them?”

  Mabel recoiled. “I’ll not be separated from her.”

  “I didn’t say you had to be,” he said. “Just get rid of the chain. She doesn’t have to leave your sight. Don’t be so scared.”

  “I’m not afraid of anything,” Mabel retorted.

  Wolfgang grinned, which twisted the distorted half of his face into a scowl. “Sure you aren’t. Now, lose the chain, or I’ll escort you to the dungeons until you do.”

  The manacle around her wrist disappeared, taking the chain with it one link at a time. She glanced at me.

  “Stay close, Bianca darling,” she hissed through her teeth. “You wouldn’t want another little shock to knock you out again, would you?”

  Passing out would reduce my chances of spotting Merrick again, so I shuffled closer to her.

  “Come on then,” Wolfgang said, already halfway across the room. He muttered under his breath, “Stupid foreigners always take forever.”

  Beams of light streamed in long ribbons through the hallway. The air had cooled inside the heavy stone walls of Balmberg Castle, reminding me of Chatham. Balmberg sat in the middle of a close ravine. Craggy mountainsides vaulted out of the earth around us, climbing so high I could barely see the sky. Water thundered down the rock ledges in bursts of froth, spinning a lacy design of falling mist. Several stories below, a bridge ran from the castle entrance to a road that wound up the steep mountainside. The river flowed around the castle before it dropped into the village and disappeared.

  Wolfgang stopped to gesture at a window. “The Balmberg waterfal
l is considered the jewel of the North. The castle was built around it so our first High Priest, D’Artagnan, could see its beauty whenever he wanted.”

  Mabel cast an idle glance outside and yawned. A faint chime rang in the air from far away. I cocked my head to hear it better, drawing Wolfgang’s attention.

  “The Mala bells,” he said, noticing my curious expression. He pointed to the bridge below. Hundreds of strings filled with tiny bells ran across it in a glittering canopy.

  “Whenever a witch dies, we set them free on the river to complete their journey,” he continued. “When they pass under the bridge, we put up a white bell about the size of your smallest fingernail. The wind immortalizes them forever. No two Mala bells look or sound the same. They’re all unique, made by a witch in the high mountains named Hezba.”

  The Mala bells created a sweet, beautiful symphony that rode on the wind. I had to settle for smiling my thanks at Wolfgang.

  “Can we continue?” Mabel asked in a chilling tone. “I have business to conduct back at home.”

  Wolfgang’s forehead puckered. “Cheeky monster, aren’t you?” He turned to continue on, speaking mostly to himself. “And a High Priestess at that. I’d start a war with you, too, if I had to put up with your attitude.”

  Mabel gritted her teeth.

  I pulled myself away from the view with great reluctance. A fair-skinned witch in a fuchsia turban drifted by us, wisps of blonde hair coiling to her shoulders. She nodded wordlessly to Wolfgang and met my gaze with a curious smile. I returned her smile, eyeing her bright yellow dress. I’d seen so many bright colors in the Northern Network that I wondered if the people were somehow related to the gypsies, who dressed in a similar style. Could they be some kind of descendent? A splinter group?

  A low-arched entrance of gray and black rock welcomed us into the East Wing. Wolfgang reached up and slapped the top of the door as he passed underneath. I felt a reverberation in the air.

  “Here we are,” he cried. “The East Wing, where Their Majesties do all their best work. The throne room is just ahead on the left.”