Page 113 of The Demon Tide

The old woman’s brown wizened hands come around mine before I can. “Take it,” she says kindly. “A Xishlon gift.” Her eyes briefly flick toward the shoppe across the street and flash with what looks like a spark of defiance as her smile momentarily dims.

I follow her line of sight toward this shoppe’s owner, an older Noi man in a dark purple tunic stamped with an ivory dragon. He’s glowering at us, and a rush of fear shoots through my lines in response to the loathing in his pale blue eyes, my tangled fire magic sparking to fitful life.

Sweet Ancient One, does he suspect what I am?

A row of Noilaan flags line his stall’s roof, the white dragon on sapphire, as well as a large version of that mysterious purple sign.

“What does the sign say?” I ask Bleddyn as my apprehension mounts.

Bleddyn frowns as she and the man lock glares.“‘Noilaan for the Noi,’”she bites out.

The grim realization courses over me.He doesn’t hate me because he knows I’m the Black Witch. He hates me simply because I’m not Noi.

I’m both relieved and horrified at the same time.

“Ignore his horrible sign,” the old woman insists, giving the man a blazing look of disgust. She gestures toward the Black Witch toy still gripped in my fist. “Take it, toiya,” she says, rebellious support shining in her dark eyes. “You smash that witch with the mallet when the moon turns lavender.” Her smile makes a faltering return as she pats my arm. “There’s a prize inside her head, and it will give you good luck for the whole year. It is our tradition. You’ve come a long way to get here, toiya. I want to give you some luck and good wishes. I am happy you are here and safe fromHer.” She pointedly glances down at the toy.

I struggle to ignore Bleddyn’s incredulous grin.

“Here, you take one too,” the woman says to Bleddyn, handing her another toy.

“So... I just smash her head in for luck?” Bleddyn clarifies, her grin widening. “Can I use a bigger hammer?”

The woman nods with enthusiasm. “Any hammer you like, toiya.” She slices the air with her hand emphatically. “Just knock her head right off and claim your prize.”

I look back at the hostile merchant and his head whips angrily away. I notice he’s selling mostly figurines of Vo, the Noi people’s dragon goddess, Her purple incarnation wreathed in a spiral of white birds.

Gripping the figurine, I turn back to the old woman, who is still smiling warmly at me. I know she’s trying to be kind by making a point of publicly welcoming two refugees. But as I glance at the figurine’s small hammer, I can’t help but think of the Gardnerian winged Yule cookies and how my people break their wings.

“Thank you,” I tell her shakily. She nods and pats my arm again, perhaps taking my flustered demeanor as my being overcome with gratitude.

Bleddyn flashes one last smile at the woman, and we move to take our leave.

“Go back to where you came from!”

It startles me, the venom in the man’s tone, slowing both Bleddyn’s and my steps as we look at him in surprise.

“Be sure to smash the witch for luck!” the woman counters, too loudly, and I know the comment is actually meant for the man—her way of pushing her support of us in his face. Her eyes meet ours in blaring solidarity and her defiant kindness sparks a stronger resolve in me—to get my power unbound so I can smash Vogel down before he can reach this land and this welcoming old woman selling Black Witch toys.

“There are a lot of those signs,” I note as Bleddyn and I advance down the Sixth Tier thoroughfare, weaving around the thickening pedestrian and street traffic.

“A movement has sprung up,” Bleddyn explains. “The Vo’nyl. They’re pushing for a majority on the Noi Conclave. Their leader just won a seat using the slogan stamped on all those signs.”

“Oh, Bleddyn...” Dread rippling through me as I take in sign after sign. “The Noi should be careful. Or it’ll be like Verpacia all over again.”

She gives me a grave look. “Oh, it could be even worse. The Vo’nylwant to shun all magic other than Noi. Forbid any religion other than Vo’lon.” She frowns, her emerald eyes tightening. “They’re completely reactionary, afraid all Westerners are set on polluting their magic and destroying their culture.”

She quiets as we weave around a merchant’s table selling purple moon pendants hanging from silver chains stamped with glowing sapphire Noi runes, then another displaying statues and jewelry and small fountains depicting the Vo’lon faith’s purple Source Tree, so much like the Ironwood Source Tree present in the Gardnerian faith.

“There’ve been some mob attacks on refugees,” Bleddyn confides.

An outraged dismay rises, sour on my tongue, as I think of the Night of the Burning Blessing Stars, assaulted by the horrific memory of Olilly in Rafe’s arms, blood streaming from her mutilated ears, her hair brutally shorn, and Bleddyn, beaten bloody and crumpled in that dark alley.

“They used to hate only the Gardnerians and Alfsigr here,” Bleddyn says as we pass a store selling countless purple finches in moon-shaped cages, “but now it’s becoming a hatred of everyone fleeing the Western Realm.”

I clutch the Black Witch figurine, stunned by this terrible news, barely registering the soft whir of rune ships passing above. The rich aromas of foods seasoned with unfamiliar spices wafting around us as we enter a dense restaurant district, outdoor seating areas narrowing the tree-lined central road.

“Here we are,” Bleddyn announces as we slow to a stop, and my brow rises at the sight of the most fantastical restaurant I’ve ever seen.

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