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Chapter 2: The Witch
Part 2
It was as if Bettine was daring someone to speak. Junelight wondered if this was some kind of custom.
Then the strange little woman twisted her head around and caught June’s gaze in full, smiled, stepped forward and said, “We all met like this one month ago. That doesn’t happen very often, does it?”
June blinked and looked out at the gathering. They had all noticed her now. She fought back a large, uncomfortable gulp.
“Does it?” Bettine said again, louder.
A murmur of agreement broke out as everyone returned their attention to the stage.
“Indeed not… in fact before last month, the triadic heads hadn’t gathered in this number for what? How long was it?”
Bettine leaned back and looked sidelong at one of the two men who stood near her. Junelight recognized the hairy fellow as one of the other heads of the All-bit-tel triad; Dug or Dig or something from the Tel family. Their colour seemed to be red, based on the beads in his filthy hair.
“Humph, uh, a camp or two ago, something like that?” he ventured.
“Something like that Drigg, yes.” She looked back at the crowd, then a stormy look crossed her face. She turned back to the man. “But how long precisely?”
Drigg was an imposing beast of a man. A pair of woodcutters hung at each hip, and another pair of lengthy blades crossed at his back. He was tall, broad and beardy. His regalia was all blackened armour and spikes. He looked like he could fight a bearling and win, but right now he looked like he suddenly had to use the bathroom.
“It…” he began, squinting. “It was right before the last Seedwind pickings… and… so…”
The torches crackled.
“...So it was sixteen months ago,” he said, visibly exhausted.
Bettine spun back to the crowd, hands on her hips. As she did, her cape swung wide and hooked onto her elbow. It revealed a steel contraption holstered at her hip. Junelight resisted the urge to enhance her vision—it was almost certainly one of the blasting devices she’d heard about. The Falsesparkers considered them quite sacred, and only the elite were permitted to use them.
“Sixteen months, and a half, if memory serves,” Bettine said. “A long time. Admittedly, there’s been little need. But I had news, yes? Some of you didn’t like it.”
A ripple went through the crowd.
“No, some of you were worried. You especially, Tanggo.” She gestured out into the crowd, and a sea of eyes skewered one individual. He was a slight fellow, with thinning black hair that stuck out at all angles. June thought the patchwork colours on his clothing might be blue and white, but it was hard to tell in the low light.
“Speak, speak. Are you still concerned?” asked Bettine.
With hesitant care, the man climbed atop his stump, looking none too pleased. “Head of Spark,” he acknowledged, placing a fist to his sternum. Despite his skeletal disposition, his voice was strong.
Bettine nodded, and copied the gesture. She said, “Tanggo of Bon Hel-hos-bon, Head of Root Hel-hos-bon. Go ahead.”
“You came to us with news of weapons. Weapons that had been perverted.”
This time, the ripple of agreement rose to a pitch. It seemed to energize Tanggo, who looked around and stood taller.
“Weapons that had been laid to with witchlight!” he continued. “Things like… glowing cudgels and slings that let forth stones that melt the eyes. You even... you even claimed rumour of enchanted sparkers.”
The rabble redoubled. Some of the people on stage shifted and swayed, casting each other weighty looks. But Bettine stood stoic, calm eyes leveled at Tanggo.
“And if what you say is true,” Tanggo went on, “the families of of Hel-hos-bon want naught to do with these abominations. It is ill fated to dance with witchlight, you know this!”
“Hear hear!”
“Aye!”
Another man, this one pale and blonde, leapt up on his stump, wearing a belt almost anywhere he could manage to strap one around. “Hear Tanggo! Triad Vel-par—”
There was a thundering crash and a scream. Junelight flinched backwards. A bodyguard caught her shoulder and her crystals fuzzed, ready to cycle all the way up. But he said, “Wait wait, see, look,” and there were no more screams, no more explosions.
She took a breath, and mentally worked on keeping her eyes from lighting up. Her heart battered, thumping in time with her crystals. She pulled away from the guard’s grasp, and tried to see what had happened.
The tent was still. Bettine, her expression quiet and uninterested, stood with one arm outstretched, her weight shifted to her back leg. In her hand, the steel blaster. A curl of smoke unwound from its end.
“Sweet depths of Culdur…” Junelight murmured. She’d researched what the blasters might look like, what they might do. None of the records had mentioned the sound.
Tanggo was still on his stump, silent, chest heaving, and staring up at the Head of Spark. The blonde man was gone.
Bettine lowered her arm and stuffed the device back in her hostler with practiced precision. “You may remove Japper, I’d like to see him once he recovers,” she said. “I’ll remind the rest of you not to speak out of turn.”
There was some shuffling in the crowd, and now Junelight heard groaning and whimpering. She strained to see what had happened to the unfortunate Japper. People carried him away, and she caught a glimpse of a pale shoulder, smeared with blood.
“Tanggo, you were saying?”
Tanggo looked like he’d prefer to de-stump. “I was finished, Head of Spark.”
“Very well, does anyone else wish to speak?”
No one volunteered as Tanggo returned to the safety of the group.
“I understand your concern about weapons that have been… altered,” said Bettine. “I understand the wish to leave them be, if they even exist at all. However, I do not believe it is wise to embrace ignorance entirely. If there are enlightened tools out there, and if one or more of them are of sparking heritage,”—she patted her hip—“then isn’t it our duty to rid this world of them?”
There were some nods at this, many from those on stage. Others in the crowd looked less agreeable, arms crossed.
“Before, there were only rumours. I gathered you all here today because it has become more than just a rumour. The issue is real. But enough from me. I have a guest that can tell you better than I.” Bettine beckoned to June.
Showtime.
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