Page 6 of Traitor Witch

I nod, hoping she didn’t call me all the way up those stairs just to say that.

“Are you looking forward to going home?”

“It’ll be easier,” I admit, then shut my mouth quickly.

She just chuckles, eyes sparkling with mirth. “I understand. Would you fly with me before you leave us?”

I know I’m gaping at her as she stretches out her arm and summons her broom. It’s a thing of springtime beauty, thegolden handle engraved with flowers and ornamented with colourful gems.

A long time ago, when covens were poorer, witches flew on actual brooms, but metals take to enchantments better than wood. Modern brooms are shaped like a single twig as a nod to the past, but they’re much more comfortable than they once were. Most brooms have a saddle for sitting on and hooks for baskets or bags to be fitted just behind and spindly ‘branches’ flaring out from the back.

My broom isn’t anything like Felicity’s. I hold out my hand and borrow some magic from Opal to summon it from the Lunar temple. It’s plain, black, and more than a little dented, but it works. As an orphan ward of the coven, I’ve never had anything but hand-me-down equipment, but I’ve never felt like I was lacking until I see the two brooms side by side.

The Mother Solar doesn’t let me wallow for long; she mounts hers and kicks into the sky the moment I’m in the saddle. She keeps a leisurely pace, which is the only reason my broom can stay close as we soar over the town. In the streets below, mortals and immortals mingle, chatting as they head towards the market on the seafront.

For a few minutes, we fly aimlessly over it all, enjoying the cool breeze and the feeling of freedom that comes with flight.

I’m not expecting Felicity to speak so, when she does, I almost miss her first words.

“I’ve struggled with how to broach this for a long time," she begins, brushing a windswept tendril of hair out of her face and revealing the furrow in her brow. “I know you’ll probably turn me down and I won’t take it personally if you do, but I want to offer you the chance to stay at the Solar Temple.”

I open my mouth. Close it. Open it again.

Nothing comes out. But that’s okay, because Felicity isn’t done speaking.

“I know you have a home at the Lunar Temple, and your work for Glenna takes up a lot of your time. But you have the option to take vows and remain with us if you want to. There’s no harem waiting for you and perhaps, in time they’ll be born, and the Goddess will direct Glenna’s sight to them, but I think we both know that she benefits more from having you alone.”

“You sound like my familiar,” I mutter, before I can help myself.

“Our familiars are often right when we are too blind to see the truth for ourselves. You’re a bright and loyal witch, you have a gift with spells and potions, and I can offer you a future with less death where you can help people.”

I sigh, long and loud. Felicity is coming from a place of kindness, but I’m no Solar. I don’t even have to consider her words to know what my answer will be.

“I’m a Lunar witch.”

It’s the only truth I have. The upturned crescent mark at my hairline and the Lunar pendant I was wearing when I washed up on Coveton beach as a child are the only remaining links I have to my mother and fathers. If I give that up and take vows to the Sun Goddess, then who am I?

The Mother Solar just nods. “I understand. The invitation is an open one. It doesn’t matter if it’s now, or a hundred years in the future, there will always be a place for you among us if you want it.”

We don’t say anything more as our brooms drift away from the rich houses by the bay and over to the ramshackle buildings by the wall. Felicity pulls potions and charms from her bag as we fly, dropping them towards different homes. They float down as if they’re feathers rather than glass bottles and I stay quiet as I watch her work.

People leave their homes, waving and yelling blessings up to her. Their faces light up when they see whatever gifts she’s given them.

It’s a far cry from the response Lunar witches get and it’s easy to see the appeal of being a Solar. Life as a bringer of peace and healing must be fulfilling, and they’re almost universally loved.

But I’ve seen Glenna and other Lunars channel a loved one’s last goodbye to a grieving family. I’ve been there when my coven sisters exorcised tormented spirits which were making the living’s lives unbearable. We grant painless death to the suffering who ask for it and send on the souls of those who are trapped.

Solar witches might be beloved, but Lunar witches are just as necessary.

Then there are the cultural differences. I may not be the most active Lunar, but I have the option of taking a lover if I want to. The Solars’ quiet, stuffy rooms filled with dusty scrolls and disapproving glares are a great deal less appealing than the crazy parties and tactile ways of the Lunars.

Goddess, the number of times I’ve gone insane during my fostering, just needing a hug, a touch, any kind of intimacy to stave off the loneliness.

No, despite the kindness of Felicity’s offer, I can’t wait to go home.

We keep going towards the wall until we can see the skeletons of civilisation beyond it. Whole villages lie burnt out, destroyed and reclaimed by nature; their past occupants killed by the wraiths. Their eerie white mist lies across the ground, constantly reaching for the salt wall, only to be rebuffed. The wall stands ten men tall, the solid barrier the only thing between the farmers whose homes abut it and the death on the other side.

Every town and village that survived the wraiths' appearancehas a similar wall. The salt is the only thing that keeps them at bay, which is why everyone who survived the awakening of the ghostly mist lived along the coast with its salty air.