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
The diary went beyond mere spells too—beyond manipulating Threads and recording Portia’s experiments. Eridysi wrote of her life in the Sightwitch Sister Convent. Of the days when she was dragged, all the way across the Witchlands, to live in Portia’s decadent court and watch the world descend into chaos.
For that was what had happened in those days. The Paladins had been the only witches in the land, and that power had corrupted them. Instead of supporting rulers chosen by the people, they had become the rulers themselves. Tyrannical. All powerful. Unstoppable.
And Eridysi had watched it, helpless to intervene—and helpless to stop her own fascination with the power Portia had wielded. With the power they all had wielded.
Theirs is so different from the raw magic inside the mountain, and yet the source is the same: Sirmaya. Midne tells me, in her soft tones, that when she and the other Six enter the mountain, she feels as if she is coming home.
That was the name Corlant had used. Midne. Lev had used it too, all those days ago, claiming Midne had been the first Hell-Bard, the first to have her magic expunged … And it was true. Iseult found that page within the diary too: the creation of the first Loom. Eridysi had recorded every step with scientific detachment. A stasis Iseult recognized; a stasis she appreciated. Horrible things had happened. All Eridysi had been able to do was bear witness.
And when Portia had cleaved her fellow Paladin, Midne, to build the first Loom, Eridysi had borne meticulous, detailed witness. Here was how she’d cleaved the other Voidwitch. Here was how she’d kept Midne alive—stopping the cleaving before it could fully consume—and here was how she’d used that raw power to build her Loom, binding it to a basin beneath the earth, where Sirmaya’s Threads were closest to the surface.
The first Hell-Bard. The first Loom, and all of it laid out step by step upon the page. If Iseult wanted to, she could make one too.
Her mind teemed. Her thoughts skipped from one to the next, unable to settle. Unable to slow. Building a Loom. Reanimation. The Dreaming. So much to absorb. Too much for a few minutes of reading. Midne. Portia. The Sightwitch Sisters. What could Iseult do with this knowledge? What could she become? Threads beneath a mountain. Aetherwitches. Sirmaya.
Other thoughts slipped into her skull too. The words Owl had just sung. Save the bones, save the bones, lost without them, have no home. And all the stories she’d told in the past two weeks. Long ago, when the gods walked among us.
Iseult’s breath slid out, and she ran her thumbs along the diary’s cover. Somehow, this book had lasted a thousand years. And somehow, simple paper held more power, more potential than she’d ever known possible.