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Back Witchshadow Save as PDF
Chapters (70)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Notice
  3. Dedication
  4. Map
  5. Epigraph
  6. BEGINNINGS
  7. PART I
  8. ONE
  9. TWO
  10. THREE
  11. FOUR
  12. FIVE
  13. SIX
  14. SEVEN
  15. EIGHT
  16. NINE
  17. TEN
  18. ELEVEN
  19. TWELVE
  20. THIRTEEN
  21. FOURTEEN
  22. FIFTEEN
  23. SIXTEEN
  24. SEVENTEEN
  25. EIGHTEEN
  26. NINETEEN
  27. TWENTY
  28. TWENTY-ONE
  29. TWENTY-TWO
  30. TWENTY-THREE
  31. TWENTY-FOUR
  32. TWENTY-FIVE
  33. TWENTY-SIX
  34. TWENTY-SEVEN
  35. TWENTY-EIGHT
  36. TWENTY-NINE
  37. THIRTY
  38. THIRTY-ONE
  39. THIRTY-TWO
  40. THIRTY-THREE
  41. THIRTY-FOUR
  42. THIRTY-FIVE
  43. THIRTY-SIX
  44. PART II
  45. THIRTY-SEVEN
  46. THIRTY-EIGHT
  47. THIRTY-NINE
  48. FORTY
  49. FORTY-ONE
  50. FORTY-TWO
  51. FORTY-THREE
  52. FORTY-FOUR
  53. FORTY-FIVE
  54. FORTY-SIX
  55. FORTY-SEVEN
  56. FORTY-EIGHT
  57. FORTY-NINE
  58. FIFTY
  59. FIFTY-ONE
  60. FIFTY-TWO
  61. FIFTY-THREE
  62. FIFTY-FOUR
  63. FIFTY-FIVE
  64. FIFTY-SIX
  65. FIFTY-SEVEN
  66. TRICKSTER
  67. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  68. Also by Susan Dennard
  69. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  70. Newsletter Sign-up

Safi pored over the Loom, so many souls, so many colors, so many lives. She wondered if she could find herself. She wondered if she could find …

“Uncle,” she whispered, her voice a thousand miles away. “Where are you?” The Loom gave her no answer; the souls within kept dancing. “Help me … get closer,” she told Zander, already reaching for the drop-off into the Loom. He did as ordered, even though he too must be overcome by cold and shadow.

Each step brought more colors, more movement. Safi almost thought she could hear whispers, though they did not reach her ears. Instead, they vibrated inside her.

“Empress,” Zander said—his voice even more distant than her own. “We must hurry. The shadows are worsening.”

She knew it was true. She could feel herself unraveling and her soul reaching for the freedom of the Loom—although it was not really freedom at all.

“Uncle,” she repeated, louder. More forceful. “Where are you, Uncle?” Then again, “Uncle, show yourself to me.” Nothing happened. The ghosts of Hell-Bard souls did not acknowledge her, did not slow.

And gods, she was cold. It submerged her. Drowned her. She really did not have much time remaining.

“Please, Uncle. Wherever you are, I’ve come to save you. It’s me, Safiya. Please.” Still nothing, and now she sensed—as if beneath layers upon layers of snow—that Zander was tugging her away.

“We have to go,” he said, and suddenly, Safi was rising up, her feet vanishing beneath her. He is lifting me, she realized, though she could not wrap her arms around him or even grip his collar to hold on. Her muscles were no longer her own. She was dissolving into the Loom.

The Loom streaked sideways. The Threads within glittered away … But not before Safi saw it. Saw him.

“Wait,” she said, still holding the Truth-lens to her eye. A cluster of Threads raced toward her. Zooming larger and larger by the heartbeat. Until they were right in front of her. Shimmery white. Uncle Eron, Safi knew. And ah, he was an Aetherwitch healer. All these years and she’d never realized it. She’d never known that he—like her—had had his magic cleaved away. And that he—like her—had been bound to the Aether Well.

Whispers drilled into her skull. They were not true words, yet somehow, she understood. The impressions, the feelings, the images all showed her exactly where Eron currently was. Somewhere with fog and heat and waters that boiled on banks of yellow. Where sulfur tainted the air, and dampness soaked through everything.

He was sick. Very sick.

I’m coming, she told him in that same nonlanguage his soul had used with hers. Then she lowered her Truth-lens and forced out the command, “Go.”

TWENTY-ONE

They had Cam.

It was the only reason Vivia did not fight: they had Cam, and there was a knife at his throat.