Witchshadow
Chapters (70)
- Title Page
- Copyright Notice
- Dedication
- Map
- Epigraph
- BEGINNINGS
- PART I
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- PART II
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- FIFTY
- FIFTY-ONE
- FIFTY-TWO
- FIFTY-THREE
- FIFTY-FOUR
- FIFTY-FIVE
- FIFTY-SIX
- FIFTY-SEVEN
- TRICKSTER
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- Also by Susan Dennard
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
- Newsletter Sign-up
Title Page
Copyright Notice
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Dedication
FOR CRICKET,
who taught me what motherhood means
Map
Epigraph
Stones in motion,
Tools cleft in two.
The wyrm fell to the daughter made of moonlight long ago,
He just did not know it yet.
—from “Eridysi’s Lament”
WITCHSHADOW
For a recap of the Witchlands series, head here:
SusanDennard.com/recap/
BEGINNINGS
The Rook watches from an oak branch.
His feathers rustle. His beak clacks. It has been a long time since he saw the Sun and the Moon come together.
It has been even longer since he saw them heal a Well.
A hundred people attend, arranged in stiff rows around the wide pond. Some have weapons, most have uniforms, and all have bored scowls. Behind them, long-dormant beech trees stand sentry. Six—always six.
Snow fell in the night, a light dusting that has turned the pine forest to fragile white. But it never touches the Well, nor the mossy flagstones surrounding it, nor the beech trees waiting to come alive.
The people call the Sun “Domna.” They call the Moon nothing at all. Both girls wear matching brown shifts that come to their knees, but this is where their likeness ends. The Sun, with her golden hair, is annoyed and does not try to hide it; the Moon, with her black hair, is impassive, all her feelings and thoughts kept tucked away behind lucent nothing.
They remind the Rook of someone he knew long ago. Someone who broke the world just to make it new again.
Both girls are clearly cold. Both shiver and bounce, breaths fogging. A stone overhang lurches above the Well, blocking what little light the true sun gleans at this early hour. The girls are trapped in shadow.
When at last a round man with furs nods for them to begin, they do not hesitate. A single glance passes between them, a hint of a smile on the Sun’s face, then, hand in hand, the Sun and Moon dive into the cold, dark Well.
Soon, all that is visible are their legs, flashes of pale skin that wink beneath fresh-churned froth. A flicker of pale hands, a shimmer of toes. Then they vanish entirely, swallowed by the Well.