The Witch of Thornvale Chapter 14: Chain Beneath the Skin
The Witch of Thornvale is a literary portal fantasy featuring two distinct characters. It allegorizes Ludwig von Mises’ Six Lessons.
If you haven’t read the first 13 chapters of The Witch of Thornvale, catch the entire backlist below, starting right from Chapter 1. See how Drake Ridgeback navigates Eirwyn Starweaver’s dark world that’s not much different from his own. Find out what led to his and Eirwyn’s current predicament in Cinderglen, a hidden community outside King Malcor’s reach. Supposedly, anyway. Cinderglen may wind up as the “Birthplace of Liberty” in Eirwyn’s world if its people are drawn to the idea, and if Drake and Eirwyn can survive this next encounter.
The Witch of Thornvale Chapter 14: Chain Beneath the Skin
The first crystal shattered before anyone shouted another accusation. A sharp crack split the air, and blue light burst outward like a snapped vein, then died all at once.
Every head turned.
The blacksmith stood at the edge of the circle, chest heaving, the base of the quartz crystal still clutched in his hand. Its upper half lay in the dirt, dimming to nothing. “No more,” he said, his voice carrying.
Drake felt it. Not just the sound, but the shift. The moment something crossed from tension into fracture.
Around them, the network flickered.
Threads of blue light stretched between the remaining crystals—thin, and trembling. One blinked out, then another.
Eirwyn tightened beside him, her fingers digging into his forearm hard enough to hurt.
Drake turned. “Eirwyn, talk to me.”
Her head dipped, shoulders locking like her body braced for something it couldn’t stop. Then she gasped, her face screwing up in more pain than Drake had seen from anyone. Her jaw clenched and her breath ran short. Eirwyn’s eyes unfocused like that brand on her side just caught fire. Her hand—still glowing—jerked back toward her ribs.
“Eirwyn. Say something.”
She doubled slightly, one knee threatening to give. “I—” Her voice broke. “They’re—close. W-we can’t run…”
Drake’s stomach dropped. “Who?”
Her answer came through clenched teeth. “Castors. H-he’s sending…”
Drake’s hand found Eirwyn’s shoulder as her voice again broke.
Another crystal flickered, then went dark. A ripple moved through the crowd and they started murmuring again. Whatever these castors were doing to make this happen, Drake didn’t know. Did they have their own crystal quartz? Was there another batch of them somewhere in the tree line that he didn’t know about?
But Drake knew one thing: These castors did the same thing the people in power back home did. They used leverage to spread fear, outrage, distrust, and suffering among the masses.
“You see what this does?” someone shouted. “This puts our village’s safety at risk!”
“It was working!”
“Working until it wasn’t!”
“You don’t smash the whole thing because of one failure!”
“Failure?” The blacksmith took a step forward, raising the broken crystal. “You call this genius? We just lit ourselves up for the Crown!”
It was as though the blacksmith knew a thing or two about who lurked within the trees.
Drake scanned the edges of the clearing, narrowing his eyes as he looked as far into the forest before the trees thickened and he could see no farther.
These castors were masters of stealth, that was certain. Of course, they were. Eirwyn all but snuck up on and caught Drake off guard when they first met. The feeling these castors brought was no different from what Drake felt in that cave. Like pressure was building behind the world itself. That overabundance of energy wreaking havoc on this village.
Eirwyn staggered, and this time she could no longer hide her agony. Her hand clawed at her side, fingernails brushing hard over the place where the brand sat beneath her skin.
The glow changed. It was no longer the clean blue of her magic, but jagged and uneven. Something thick and black leaked through her fingers. It looked like blood, but the substance was darker. Almost like grime.
Drake grabbed her shoulders. “Talk to me. What’s happening?”
“They’re near,” she said, barely above a whisper. “Too near.” Her breath hitched again, “It burns when they’re close but… apart.”
Drake blinked. “Apart from the castors.”
“Yeah.” Her eyes snapped up to his. Another pulse hit Eirwyn and she sucked in air before breaking into a cough. “Th-the closer they g-g-get… the worse i-i-it gets.”
Behind them, a child cried out as another crystal dimmed. The network wasn’t collapsing cleanly. It was unraveling, and something told Drake that the castors sought to instill panic. Destroy the system quickly, and they wouldn’t get enough of that fear, outrage, and distrust. Let it die slowly, and the panic in front of Drake crept in and neared a crescendo.
One node near Drake stayed bright while another faded and died. A third flared too strong, and the light snapped between posts in uneven bursts.
A man stumbled back as a thread of blue energy sparked too close to his arm and missed him by mere inches.
“This is wrong!” someone shouted. “It’s unstable!”
“It was stable before you broke it!”
“I didn’t break it—he did!”
Voices collided as the man pointed an accusatory finger at Drake. One group backed away from the collapsing network, but another group stepped closer, as though seeking to save it.
Yet another group stood watching and waiting, as though torn between approaching the network, retreating, or joining the shouting mob that all but wanted to toss Drake out of this village.
Eirwyn dropped to one knee, her hand tearing over her ribs like she could rip the pain out. The jagged branding pulsed more violently, still spewing that strange liquid.
Drake knelt with her. “Stay with me.”
“I can’t—” She twitched and fell to her side, her head resting on the cool earth. “It’s unbearable.”
“How close are they?”
Her lips parted, but the answer didn’t come as Eirwyn rolled onto her back, eyes half-closed as she sputtered and choked.
Shimmering and a low hum came from the trees and the entire clearing went still. Those arguing with one another and shouting obscenities at Drake whipped around, facing the tree line.
One of the elders turned toward the forest, eyes narrowing. “Did you hear—?”
A figure stepped between the trees. Then another. Before Drake knew it, he counted six castors. They were witches, given the familiar glow emitting from their hands. Each wore long, black cloaks instead of blue, like Eirwyn’s. Also unlike Eirwyn, they wore boots, all of which took deliberate steps toward the village. The air grew stale as they drew nearer. Like a drop in pressure before a storm.
Eirwyn’s back arched, and a raw, involuntary cry tore out of her as the brand burned hotter.
The first witch stopped at the edge of the clearing. Even from this distance, Drake made out the mark at her side pulsing beneath the fabric. The same exact brand torturing Eirwyn as she lay, dry heaving.
The witch’s eyes swept the village, recognition crossing her gaunt features as her eyes landed on Eirwyn. The other half-dozen witches emerged behind her.
The blacksmith lowered his arm. For the first time, uncertainty broke through his anger.
One of the villagers whispered, “They found us.”
“No,” another said. “They were led. I’d bet you anything it was that peddler.”
Drake’s jaw tightened as he pieced everything together. He and Eirwyn all but disappeared. Malcor must’ve swapped out his huntsmen and usual conscripts, bounty hunters, or whatever, and deployed teams of castors to find Eirwyn. When they crossed that vector, someone who’d been to every village including Cinderglen, they had a lead-in.
The vector was their key, even if Malcor only conscripted people from here when they went on hunts away from the village. Nobody from here revealed Cinderglen’s location. But the vector, a peddler by trade, led the witches to it. Most likely when the price was right.
The lead witch took one step forward.
Eirwyn cried out again before she went still, lying spread-eagled as the hand pressing against her brand unclenched.
Drake took her limp hand to make sure the pain hadn’t killed her and she returned a faint squeeze. “I’m gonna get us out of this, okay?”
He had no plan or leverage, but he’d die before he’d let them take her or harm anyone in this village.
The witch’s cold gaze shifted to him and then back to Eirwyn. “She’s been running a long time.”
Eirwyn shook her head weakly as a small sob escaped her.
Drake glanced back at her, then forward again. Behind him, most of the villagers broke, running for their homes, slamming their doors and shuttering their windows. As if they thought their homes could protect them from a half-dozen witches and who knew who else? Technically, this village harbored a fugitive.
The remaining quartz in network flickered one last time, then went dark. casting darkness across a village that was no longer unified.
Catch Chapter 15 and see if Eirwyn survives this ruthless onslaught
