Page 1 of The Witch who Trades with Death

It wasn’t yet winter, but it was still colder than anything Khana had experienced in her twenty years. Her breath came out like smoke from a pipe, and the chill breeze cut right through her layers. She wanted to turn around and curl back into bed with all its blankets and furs, but the day waited. Perhaps she ought to have taken the time to get out of her night gown and into actual clothes, rather than simply tossing on a coat and boots and running out the front door.

“I assume someone from your master’s family is hurt?” she asked in heavily-accented Ghura to the man leading her through the darkened streets. She’d only recently gotten the hang of the local language.

“The old man’s sick again,” Sipah answered. He was bearded, gruff, and very large. Or perhaps Khana was just short. “You’re going to make him better. Permanently, this time.”

Khana sighed. She’d lost track of how many times she’d tried to explain this. “Old people are difficult.”

“Figure it out.”

She followed Sipah into the blackness, the stars and moon their main source of light. A handful of homes had candles in the windows, and she could see the glow from a few fireplaces, making the dwellings look like spirits in the black, frosty night. Almost every building in Pahuuda was made of stone – the rocks cut out of the mountain range a short walk away and stacked into homes, shops, and taverns with sharply diagonal roofs. Some were built like the tips of spears cutting into the night. Others had their rooftops slide to one side, as if the entire building was one tipsy step away from crumbling.

They walked silently for a while. There was no snow, but frost made the short, tough grass crunchy beneath their boots, like stepping on thin glass. To distract herself from the cold creeping through her flesh, Khana hummed: melodies from her homeland, half-remembered lullabies, part of a Ghuran ballad. Sipah didn’t tell her to stop, thankfully. The buildings got larger and spaced farther apart, some even creeping up the mountain, until they reached the boundary of one of the richest families’ estates. Little gargoyles and statues peered from the darkness, and they passed by a familiar stone porcupine, its detailed quills puffed up and mouth open in a snarl.

Sipah led her through the Pinnsviris’ sprawling estate. Each of the Seven Families had an animal symbol, and the Pinnsviris’ were porcupines. Statues of the large rodent, tapestries and even paintings were everywhere . One tapestry depicted the major events from the family’s last several generations, leading armies and winning battles against invaders trying to attack through the mountain pass. Khana wasn’t sure how much of it was true; every rich, important person liked to flatter themselves in history. But they were very pretty.

Sipah took her to the master bedroom. Unlike Khana’s cluster of furs and blankets on the floor of the inn, the head of the Pinnsviri family had an actual bed, complete with a mattress thicker than the length of her thigh. It dwarfed the thin, pale man under the blankets, who was barely more than a skeleton.

Khana had once had a bed like that, only a year ago. She pushed the thought from her mind. You cannot afford to panic over the past right now .

The last few times Khana had visited, the old man had been surrounded by a dozen family members who had come for a deathbed vigil. Now, there was only his son Veta and granddaughter Bhayana. Through long practice, Khana kept the distaste from her face at the sight of her.

Sipah bowed. “Sir. I brought the witch.”

“I didn’t realize frogs wore nightgowns to visit their betters,” Bhayana said. Her words were barbed, but her tone was light and friendly, as if she and Khana got along. “Is it a new fashion trend?”

If Khana were a braver soul, she’d point out how everyone else in this room – except Sipah – was also in a nightgown under a coat or robe. Even Bhayana herself, who somehow still managed to look glamorous, like a model waiting for the artist to arrive so she could strike the perfect pose.

Khana kept her eyes down. “Sorry,” she said, although she wasn’t. If she hadn’t prioritized speed over appearance, she would have been scolded for that instead.

“Your emperor. Is immortal,” Master Pabu Pinnsviri croaked from the bed, wheezing breaths between his words. Every inhale sounded like a battlefield in his skinny, shriveled lungs. “You will. Do that. For me. Now.”

“I don’t know how,” Khana lied.

“You’re lying,” Veta accused. His silvering hair receded from his forehead, and he was built like a square.

“Emperor Yamueto does not share his secrets,” Khana insisted. That part, at least, was true.

“We’ve summoned you here a dozen times in the last month, dragging my father’s life out for a few more days at a time. It’s not working.”

“It’s all I can do.” Khana put her hand on Master Pinnsviri’s frail chest. Closing her eyes, she could sense his life force, thin and sluggish. Like the light of the candle almost out of wick. “I can… delay. Again.”

“Do it,” Master Pinnsviri croaked.

“I need a death.”

“We have servants,” Bhayana pointed out. “They might be a more permanent solution.”

Khana’s hands turned to fists. “ Animal death.”

Bhayana ignored her, keeping her eyes on her grandfather. They had the same sharp, calculating eyes, like they could see your whole life in a single glance and find you wanting.

Veta sighed. “If we kill anyone under our roof, the chief will have our hides.”

“They’d be giving their lives for their master. They should want to be sacrificed,” the young woman argued. “We can pay their families if they complain.”

Khana swallowed. No. She wouldn’t do that again. She would not drain the life of a human for selfish old men ever again.

“We won’t be able to keep it quiet, and the chief will punish us for it,” Veta insisted. “Sipah, take the witch to our best yak.”

Khana relaxed. She hesitated to speak, and when she did it was with a small voice. “It will not keep forever. The first witches tried this. When they got old, they needed more and more life. Every year, then every month, then every day, then…” She glanced down at Master Pabu. “It will come. Someday soon, I think.”

“Go kill a yak, death-bringer,” Veta spat.

Behind the estate was a field the family used to raise their yaks, big horned beasts that grazed the rough grass. How they could sleep in such cold, Khana didn’t know. It probably had something to do with their thick, heavy coats.

She had already killed a handful of the herd in the last couple of months, but the Pinnsviris were one of the richest families in town and had plenty more huddled in their barn, so she didn’t feel too guilty about it. After browsing the paddock, she settled on a buck in its prime. It groggily snuffled at being woken, but didn’t protest Khana’s poking and prodding. She nodded to Sipah. “Keep it still.”

Sipah held the yak’s side. Khana knelt, the frost crunching beneath her knees, and put her hands on its fur: “Death can be joyful, but it’s always a tragedy. I’m sorry.”

She reached for the animal’s aji , the magical element that kept every being’s heart pumping and brain working. Their life force. The Ghura – people of Pahuuda – called it rabala , similar to their word rabuul for “blood.” The Reguallian Empire and formerly free kingdom of Tlaphar said saviza . Without it, they were called “dead.”

She breathed in.

The yak quickly realized something was wrong and tried to shake her off, but Sipah kept it pinned down. Soon, Khana had pulled so much aji that the yak was too weak to fight, and finally, it stopped breathing.

Wisps of glowing smoke curled around Khana’s skin, a swirl of yellow and black. Little topazes and onyxes danced around her fingers. It wouldn’t be noticeable in the day, but at night she was a torch, enough to illuminate Sipah’s bearded face that barely concealed his discomfort.

Khana was not uncomfortable. She felt powerful, far more awake than she’d been a minute ago, thanks to the new life thrumming through her veins. She savored the feeling while she could.

They went back to the master’s bedroom. Khana put her hands on him again and breathed out, pushing the yak’s aji into the old man. His body resisted it, even more so than the time before, but eventually he absorbed it and the glowing wisps of multi-colored light sank into his wrinkled skin. The temporary energy leeched away from Khana, leaving her exhausted and sleep-deprived once again.

There was almost no change in his appearance, but as soon as Khana stepped back, he sat up without help and stretched. “Ah! Much better.”

Bhayana visibly relaxed. Veta hugged his father, muttering, “We really need to find a more permanent solution.”

“We will,” Master Pabu agreed. He motioned for Khana to leave. “You can go now, witch. Use the back exit.”

Sipah didn’t bother returning her to the inn, so Khana walked on her own. The eastern sky had lightened from black to gray, bleaching out the stars, and she gave up all thoughts of going back to bed with a quiet groan.

The mountains to the north loomed in a line of grumpy gods. She passed a pair of hunters heading that way with bows and arrows at their backs, and a trio of fishermen going the other, towards the tundra.

The town gradually resurrected itself. More candles and fireplaces glowed within homes as people prepared their breakfasts; families emptied their chamber pots into stone sewers that then helped farmers fertilize their otherwise near-barren fields; yaks and goats bleated and called to each other at the first signs of light, already demanding food – the music of morning in Pahuuda. Khana tried to focus on enjoying it rather than dwelling on her own fatigue.

She stumbled back into the inn. The only light was from the kitchen in the back, turning all the cushions and walls into dark specters of themselves. Heimili must have woken up. But to her surprise when she rounded the corner, it was not Heimili warming a pot of tea over the fire and readying the dough to cook. It was his son, Haz. “You’re awake!” she blurted.

“Good morning to you, too,” he yawned, scratching his chin-length hair. It looked like a bundle of black silk turned into a bird’s nest.

“Did you get any sleep?” she asked, noticing the bags under his eyes.

“Eh. Sleep is for the weak. Who broke what this time?”

“Master Pabu wanted to cheat death again.”

“Ah. That old shit.”

“The yaks won’t work for much longer,” Khana said, sitting on the rickety stool by the warm stone counter. The stool was one of the few pieces of actual furniture in the building –cushions and blankets were so much easier and cheaper. It was made of animal bone and hide, and creaked under her slight weight. “Bhayana suggested using servants.”

Haz grunted. “She loves her family. One of her few redeeming qualities – that and her lips. But she often forgets that other people also enjoy living. Tea?”

She accepted a cup. Ghuran tea was louder, more bracing than the delicate, subtle teas she had enjoyed in the distant Reguallian Empire. It had caught her off-guard the first time she’d tried it. Now, she gratefully nursed her clay cup, knowing she’d need it to stay awake and alert for the next few hours. Haz downed his like a shot of strong vodka, wincing at the taste or temperature, and poured himself a second.

“Drink that, then get the dining room ready,” he instructed. “Baba will chew us both out if customers don’t have their breakfast on time, and I’m not nearly awake enough to deal with that.”

Before Khana had a chance to sip her tea, they heard the front door slam open.

“I just put the bread in the oven!” Haz called out. “Can you be a little more patient?”

But they weren’t customers. A handful of soldiers ran into the kitchen, blocking the exit. They were armed and armored: thick layers of wool and cloth covered them head to foot, and they held animal-hide shields that probably weighed as much as Khana did.

She instinctively shrank away, flinching when they towered over her. “Come with us.”

“Rude!” Haz scolded, swatting the soldier’s arm with a bone spoon. The soldier blinked at the flour-stained man. “If you’re going to burst into my father’s inn and bully our employee, can you at least tell us why?”

“This doesn’t concern you, boy. The chief wants to speak with her.”

“Why?” Haz demanded. Khana ran through a mental list of everything she’d done in the past few days, wondering which action may have caused offence.

“We found a night creature.”

Khana’s clay cup slipped from her fingers and shattered on the floor. “What?!”

“Don’t talk back, witch,” the soldier snapped.

“Where is it?”

“You don’t ask the questions here–”

“ Where is it?” she repeated, jumping from the stool, ready to wring the answer from his neck.

He jerked back at her sudden advance, his comrades tightening their grip on their weapons. “The hunters who found it brought it to the chief. She ordered us to bring you to identify–”

“Let’s go.” She shoved her cloak and boots on and sprinted outside.

The soldiers quickly caught up with her, with those damn long legs of theirs, grumbling, “We can walk there, you soul-sucking bitch.”

She ignored them and ran faster. It’s not true. It’s just a particularly large or decimated animal. It’s not true.

Despite walking by it a few times, Khana had never been inside the Pahuudan chief’s home. The Bvamso family estate was, like other Old Family homes, on the high ground, built into the mountains. And similar to the Pinnsviris’, it was covered with their own family symbol: wolves. Khana ran by two stone canine sentinels that marked the perimeter, and a couple more outside the door that finally slowed her from her sprint.

Khana’s breath came out in high-pitched wheezes, but she pushed on. The soldiers led her through a thick wooden door to an audience chamber. Chief Phramanka looked up when they entered. The older woman’s dark braid was turning gray; she had a square jaw and thick eyebrows that went up when she saw her. “And I thought you’d need to be dragged here kicking and screaming.”

Khana leaned against the stone wall, panting. Phramanka knelt on the floor, over something big covered in a wool blanket. Her son, Sava, stood behind her and gave Khana a grim little wave. Like his mother, his long, black hair was braided over the left shoulder, giving him easier access to the quiver of arrows on his back. That, paired with the wolf pelt over his shoulders and boots still on his feet, told her he had likely been part of the hunting group that found the creature.

On the other side of the room stood another man who looked like an older, wider version of Sava: silvering beard, thicker frame, soft eyes, with a massive, sheathed sword on his back. Sava’s father, Thriman.

Phramanka stood with a grunt, brushing hair from her face. “Take a look at this, girl. Tell me what you think.”

Trembling, Khana approached the blanket and knelt. Her hands shook as she reached out. It’s not true. It’s not true. It’s not –

She pulled back the material.

The creature before her had a mountain goat’s twisted horns and hooves, pale fur with black stripes, and long teeth perfect for tearing flesh. Nothing natural about it.

“Well?” Phramanka asked.

Khana’s hand fell back in her lap, limp. “It’s… it’s a night creature. Goat and tiger, by my guess.”

Thriman swore. Phramanka sighed.

“Scouts found it dead in the mountains, about halfway between here and Tlaphar,” Sava reported. “It was at the bottom of a cliff. We think it slipped and fell, maybe got spooked by something.” He turned to Khana. “What do you think?”

Khana swallowed, her eyes never leaving the body. The black stripes looked like knives. “When Emperor Yamueto takes interest in a kingdom, he sends these types of scouts. Experiments. He mixes and matches different animals to find out what the ideal soldier would be in their environment. Once he’s done that, he sends an ultimatum: surrender or…”

“But why us?” Sava asked, scratching his square jaw. “We don’t have any valuable resources he needs, no strategic position he can use against others, and we haven’t done anything to insult his honor.”

“We have a witch,” Phramanka said, pointedly looking at Khana.

Khana swallowed. “I don’t think it’s me,” she said, not entirely truthful. “I think that conquest is the only thing that truly gives him joy anymore. He’s lived for centuries. At this point, I think it’s the only reason he’s living.”

The chief grunted. “Is his entire army made of night creatures? There must be at least one human giving orders.”

Khana calmed, just a little. She’d bought the lie. “There are. It depends on the strengths and weaknesses of the defending kingdom, but no more than a fifth of the army will be night creatures. They take up too much time and aji to make a whole army out of them. Yamueto always sends at least one witch to lead them, usually a son or grandson.”

Sava knelt next to Khana and re-covered the night creature. She blinked, no longer able to stare at it.

“So. We’re at war, then?” Thriman asked cheerfully.

“Technically, no,” Phramanka said. “This night creature did not trespass within our borders and did not hurt anyone. So strictly speaking, this is not a declaration of war.”

Khana’s temper flared, meeting the chief’s eyes for the first time that morning. “So you’ll do nothing?”

“Easy,” Thriman warned.

“I said no such thing, girl,” Phramanka replied testily. Khana shrank back.

“The emperor has very poor timing,” Sava commented, his deep, soothing voice calming everyone in the room. “He can’t get an army across the mountains before the winter snows block the pass, so he’s given us ample warning. Five months, at least. That’s the earliest he can even get here, unless he’s figured out a way to make these things fly?”

He looked at Khana when he asked that. She shook her head. “He’s tried. But you can’t create something from nothing. Every night creature has at least some of the strengths and weaknesses of the creatures it was before. And there isn’t anything with big enough wings to carry a human.”

Sava nodded and looked up at his mother. “Are we calling up the militia then?”

Phramanka pointed to him. “That is exactly what we’re going to do. I’ll send a letter to the king. But first we call a meeting, let the whole town know what’s happening, and start training volunteers. By the time the snows melt, and the pass clears, we’ll be ready.”