Page 153 of Bloodwitch
Come,she commanded the water and the Well.Come to me.
The water and the Well obeyed. Small rivulets at first that climbed and curved, that converged and magnified. Higher, higher, stronger, stronger.
Distantly, Vivia heard war cries approaching. Distantly, she felt stampeding feet upon the stone. But it was the water that told her exactly where these raiders were—small vibrations and shivers. Hundreds upon hundreds of intruders vaulting this way, and more pushing in through that impossible, magical doorway.
They were almost to Vivia’s square.
Come,she urged the water.Faster.
The water came faster, vast rivers now that rocketed toward the surface. Toward Vivia.
The raiders came faster too. They had reached the square. They had seen her, and even as connected as she was to the waters and to the Well, there was no missing the roars that bellowed nearby.
Come,she thought again, but this time she did not address the water. This time, she lifted her chin and opened her eyes—andthistime, she addressed the men charging toward her. Baedyed and Red Sail. Furs and beards and black silk and tattoos. A mass of violent hunger.
Come.
For half an eternal second, she almost imagined she saw what they saw: a woman waiting for her death. Submissive and weak and bowing to the force of masculine rage. But men had ruled the Witchlands long enough with only bloodshed and chaos to show for it. It was past time Noden and the Hagfishes bent to a woman’s rule.
Vivia erupted to her feet, and the water erupted with her. Two geysers that punched through stone right as the first raiders entered the square.
The water destroyed them.
It tore them from their feet with the force of a tidal wave, and as Vivia’s arms flung high, the water flung high too. It carried bodies, it carried weapons. Then it tossed them wide in a cascade of snapping spines and shattering skulls.
More raiders hurtled in behind the first wave. They tried to circle around the geysers, around the bodies crashing down.
Vivia twirled, and the water twirled with her. It whipped outward, splitting into a hundred limbs that moved as she commanded. That lashed and struck and yanked men low. The water was an extension of her body, of her mind. It wanted what she wanted—it wanted its home empty and safe.
Vivia lost all concept of time. She lost count of how many people she felled. The water measured time by drought and flood, it measured life by wave and erosion. It had no interest in humanity, no concern if blood stained its soul.
The water gathered and built and rose, and the higher it climbed, the stronger Vivia felt. Still the raiders charged; still she slashed and slew. Free, alive,unstoppable. No fetters to hold her down, no masks to hold her back.
Until her water suddenly hit resistance. Until it suddenly reached a body that would not yield, that would not bend.
Vivia startled back into her mind. Her water whips stilled. She gasped, stunned by the water’s icy claws—by how high it had flooded around her. All the way to her mid-thighs and still rising. Bodies floated by, some twitching, some choking, but most unmoving and dead.
More raiders still came too. Vivia heard them splashing and shouting.
It was the person standing before her, though, that seized Vivia’s attention. A figure in a sodden gown swayed in the water, and on either side of her were two iron shields that had stopped Vivia’s attacks.
The Empress of Marstok’s chest quivered in time to desperate breaths. Black coated half her face. She stared at Vivia and Vivia stared at her.
Then as one, they started running. Toward each other. A slogging, slow stride through water and corpses.
They reached each other, and the Empress of Marstok collapsed into Vivia. Her skin was frozen to the touch and it shone a sickly green beneath the foxfire. The black on her face was, Vivia realized, crusted blood.
No time to ask how Vaness had gotten here. No time to prop her up and keep fighting the raiders. Now the men were pouring into the square faster than Vivia’s waters could attack—faster than she could keep track of.
The water, though, did not need her anymore. It had answered Vivia’s call, and now it reigned supreme. A frothy, rising mass that would soon be too high for the raiders to defeat.
So, without another thought, Vivia let her water whips fall. Then she gripped the Empress of Marstok tightly to her—she was so small, so broken—and together, they drove through corpses and water.
Together, they left the underground. Together, they ran for the night.
SIXTY-ONE
Storm and stone, lightning and earthquakes. Iseult’s body was a conduit for noise and electricity. Wind seared against her, rain flayed her skin. She held Leopold, and he held Owl. Their Threads shone, two beacons to guide Iseult home.
