PROLOGUE.
The heavy clouds that covered the night sky seemed luminous, the lustrous glow of the moon behind them striking silver through grey, casting the wilted grass below with an eerie light. Against this pearlescent backdrop two figures flew one behind the other, perched on brooms so fine and ornate that no one would dare use one to sweep a floor. The first figure stayed low to the stick, wind whipping the filthy black hair from her face as she flew single-mindedly forward, her eyes scanning the ground below, yet constantly glancing back to a strange instrument strapped to the handle of the broom before her. The instrument, resembling a hollowed out compass, gave off ever-brighter flashes of deep red light that cast a bloody glow upon her haggard features with every pulse.
The second figure flew more slowly, her eyes continually drawn to the great black storm at their backs. It seemed distant in the east now, yet it was still close enough for Alethia to see the forks of lightning that cut through the roiling mass of black clouds. The storm was always following, and no matter how hard she might try, Alethia could not forget the constant threat it posed them.
Alethia was exhausted beyond anything she had experienced in her long life. Days turned into weeks and yet they continued to fly, with barely time to stop for rest. Even if Islandra had still needed sleep- Alethia suspected she no longer did- they could not stop for longer than an hour or two at the most before that cursed storm found them again.
Alethia turned her eyes west once more to see that her sister had put some distance between them during her distraction. The pulses of the blood-tracker were coming faster and brighter now, and even with the wind roaring in her face, distracting her senses, Alethia could feel her sister’s rising excitement. She frowned and braced herself internally for the rage that would follow when her sister realised that this hope was a fool’s one.
The tracker gave a pulse so bright that Alethia had to close her eyes for a moment. The sense of finality in that single flash was powerful indeed, and when it faded the world seemed darker than ever. Alethia felt her breath catch in her throat as Islandra gave a shriek of mad ecstasy and began hurtling toward the ground.
“Isla!” Alethia shouted, but the wind stole her cry and threw it back, towards the approaching storm. She tilted her broom earthward and began to fly after her, long white hands clenched around the broom handle, thin silvery blond hair flicking her face, flying into her eyes and mouth.
She was almost surprised when Islandra did not hit the ground with a sickening crunch, so swift was her descent. The mad woman leapt from her broom almost ten metres from the ground, landing like a cat as the stick went careering away, forgotten without a Witch to bring life to it.
Alethia landed beside her sister mere moments later, dismounting with contained grace only to dodge a clump of dirt and grass as it hurtled towards her, flung by an errant hand. Islandra was on her hands and knees, digging into the dry earth with desperate energy. Her sister’s efforts sent handfuls of dirt flying all around, forcing Alethia to step back so as not to sully her white dress.
“Stop this Islandra.” Alethia had not given up on the power of reason quite yet “You can see as well as I that she is not here. No one has been here for hundreds of years.” She yelled over Islandra’s growls of effort, extending her arms to indicate the flat world of nothing on which they stood. Around them for leagues were the Starving Plains, a place for grass to subsist and ghosts to wander. They would not find their quarry here. If Islandra could not see that then perhaps Alethia would be forced to admit that her sister’s wits were beyond recovery.
Warily Islandra stopped, her breathing tense and laboured. She stood with a slow, almost disconcerting grace that recalled a wild animal and turned to her sister, those hollow black eyes meeting Alethia’s cool grey ones without flinching.
“He said that my blood would be enough. That rat-faced merchant played me for a fool.” Islandra spoke slowly, her distinctive low tones full of menace.
Islandra’s eyes darted to where her broom lay as Alethia’s mind turned back to the unfortunate man who had sold that blood-tracker to her sister. Had he known what manner of creature he dealt with perhaps he would not have been so eager to trade with Witches.
Her footsteps heavy, Islandra walked to her stick and snatched it up, ripping the blood tracker from the handle without bothering to detach it, tearing the strap.
Alethia had to resist the urge to roll her eyes as her sister prepared to mount her broom once more.
“What are you going to do now?” She asked, unable to quite cover the exasperation in her voice, a fact that might have mattered had Islandra cared to notice.
“We are going to pay the man a visit.” Islandra growled before pocketing the tracker somewhere in the filthy rag that was all that remained of her once white travelling shift and taking off in a spray of dirt.
Alethia suppressed a sigh as she climbed onto her broom, casting one last rueful glance at the approaching storm.
“He will be so pleased.” She mumbled to no one in particular, and with a kick at the ground she followed her sister, back into the night sky.
