Page 38 of Thornlight

Celestyna’s skin prickled. She recognized that voice now,from the stories her parents had told her and Orelia, every night before bed.

The Old Wild, they’d said, had gone into hiding after the breaking of the Vale. That was what allowed the royal horse masters to match the unicorns with their harvesters. That was why the Break kept growing and the Gulgot kept coming—because without the Old Wild, the land was brittle and weak.

And why had the Old Wild gone away, leaving only traces of its power behind?

Because of witches.

Witches from the Star Lands, and not the Vale. That was true.

But witches nevertheless.

Celestyna tried not to feel guilty about the stormwitches her soldiers killed every day. Sometimes she stared down at Estar from her tower bedroom and watched the eldisks flash. With every bloom of light, a trapped stormwitch died.

At first, after her parents explained the truth to her, Celestyna had watched the eldisks flash and cried for days.

But now her eyes stayed dry.

It was revenge, her parents had said. Cold and clean and practical. A war between witches broke the Vale and unleasheda monster from the deeps of the world, so Celestyna would use witches to fight that monster. She would use as many as she needed to, just as her parents had done, and her grandparents before them.

Celestyna stood at the open window, the mistbirds’ eyes upon her. She stared at the ground so far below and took three deep breaths to find her courage.

Her parents had believed she possessed the brains and strength to end this fight, like they never could—maybe even before Orelia found out the whole truth. Her sister would never need to know what awful things her family had done for their country, and she would never have to do them herself.

So Celestyna listened to that thin Old Wild voice whisper,Run, girl, and with one last look at the mistbirds, she climbed out the window, and obeyed.

She didn’t stop until she was up in the wet black mountains above Aeria.

The thin air carved up her lungs. A pain in her side made her bend over to catch her breath. Her hair had fallen loose from its shining silver net. Her gown’s hem was soaked through, the fine fabric ruined.

She looked back at the gleaming white towers of her family’s castle. A bright chorus of horns pierced the cloud-heavy skies. Specks of darkness streamed across the castle bridges—her own soldiers, searching for her.

Celestyna’s smile was sharp and proud, and for herself alone.

“Good luck,” she said to her soldiers, not meaning it.

She began following the secret rocky path her parents had told her about, hoping the witch who lived at the end of it would be glad for some company. That would make it easier to catch the awful old creature by surprise.

A pang of something sharp and aching seized Celestyna’s heart. She shrugged it off, clenching her sweaty fists.

“Witches broke the Vale,” Celestyna whispered firmly. “They deserve no kindness.”

And since the Fetterwitch was clearly no longer strong enough to protect the Vale, Celestyna would do it herself.

No matter what it cost her.

.15.

The Bitter Else-Hand

Climbing up a tremendous crack in the earth for years and years was hard enough for Cub.

But climbing with the else-hand around his neck made everything harder.

He called it the else-hand for two reasons:

The first reason was that it felt like a giant hand clamped around his neck. Sometimes it hung loosely; sometimes it squeezed, which choked off Cub’s breathing.

The second reason was that the hand was not made of flesh or bone or blood. It was made of something unseen, somethingelse.