A council has been called. I fear that, so soon in my stay, I may already be kicked out. Martorius writes. No changes in the North, but he continues to seek. He believes there is something to find, and I believe he shall. I didn’t burden him with my troubles here, for he would only worry.

  1st day, 4th week, 2nd month of winter

  Taiza, Southern Network

  The council called me.

  I stood before them—all the Watchers in Taiza, gathered in a snowy meadow on a cold winter day—and answered questions at their behest.

  Most of the questions were typical—what is my goal? How did I find them? (To that, I had no answer. It appeared they didn’t, either. No one has yet been able to explain under what magic this place is protected, though some whisper about Hulu. I digress.) Who did I know? Would I tell anyone?

  Fortunately, they seemed to accept my desire to advance science and understand the fear of Watchers. They seemed genuinely upset at my brother’s horrific fate, although not surprised.

  In the midst of all this, I did something I never imagined myself able to do. I delivered a speech.

  When needed, I certainly can speak in front of an audience, but I don’t prefer it. Today, however, I could hardly stop myself. In the back of my mind, I knew that if I were kicked out, this opportunity might never present itself again. I could lose a chance I’d never be able to duplicate. I requested an opportunity to say something, then stood up and spoke.

  My voice trembled in a dramatic fashion at first—I felt I could hardly contain it within my throat. Alas, the words continued to come.

  Much of it is still a blur, something I attribute to my heightened sense of stress in the moment, which Father always saw in his patients. I shall try to recount it here.

  “I am here to save all Watchers. To find answers to keep them from succumbing to a horrific fate. There are unanswered questions, and there is magic. Where there is magic, there is logic. Reason. Rules. Never, in the history of Alkarra, has a magic existed without some sort of structure. You need more than just protection from your aggressors, you need understanding. You need someone who can find the edges of the magic, learn every rule—and exception, for a law is only as good as the parts that don’t work—and discover what isn’t known. What you need is a scholar.”

  More was said, of course, but I kept myself fairly brief. The dramatic last line rang all the way into my bones. Rodan was always the eloquent one of the two of us. Still, I feel he would be proud.

  Silence resounded until I finally sat down, incredibly self-conscious and feeling like I was on fire. Were they able to, flames would have consumed me from the inside out. My cheeks burned. Someone from the crowd called out, “But how could you know? You’re no Watcher.”

  “An advantage,” I said immediately, straightening. Although I glanced over the amassed crowd, the speaker did not reveal themselves. “Such deep magic, so intricately a part of you and so deeply feared by cultures of Alkarra, requires an outside perspective. Without your cooperation, that may never be gained. You may hide in fear forever.”

  Another silence.

  Then Ima stood.

  “I give him my support and extend him my place to stay.”

  Although benign to someone of my island background, her words had far deeper implications in this culture than even I knew at that moment. It’s one thing to give another witch support, but to extend the hospitality of your house is firm commitment to the other witch, on a level just shy of a handfasting. We are not handfasted—nor ever shall be—but her belief in me runs deep.

  One witch at a time, their stoic uncertainty fell away, until eventually (with some grumbling assent), all the Watchers in Taiza agreed to have me there.

  Even retelling it makes me feel a bit shaky, and I’m not sure why. Would my quest have ended here? Would I have given it up? I still cannot ascertain the answer and feel some shame that I cannot, for it feels as if I am not able to commit to my brother’s memory. That feels like the deepest level of cowardice.

  1st day, 1st week, 3rd month of winter

  Taiza, Southern Network

  I have started my interviews.

  Luckily, the winter days are long and dull, which means many Watchers have been motivated to entertain even my deepest questions, something for which I am grateful.

  I’ve been asking the same questions, gathering directly—or indirectly—several points of data, such as where they were born, how many siblings they have, what number they were in birth order, date of the week born, and eye color. (I may not have mentioned it before, but it seems as if every Watcher has differently colored eyes. Most are quite subtle; some are not. I cannot tell if it’s a reflection of the depths of their abilities, for it’s not appropriate to ask—although some offer.)

  So far, there is no correlation.

  I find no common ground amongst them, and I include Rodan in all of my data. It doesn’t seem dependent on anything that I can see. There are, of course, hundreds of factors I haven’t asked about, such as weight at birth, time of gestation, first use of magic, age of parents when they were born or conceived. These seem trivial, but science is always in the details.

  Still, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m missing something. So far, I’ve focused mostly on the witches themselves, but this may be an error. The cause could be entirely environmental—or purely random. There may be no governing laws for this magic. Something that, in my estimation, is unlikely. By all observations, it appears to have deliberate rules and mechanisms and isn’t a wild thing, like some of the ancient magics, like those of the Western Network during the Reign of Oppression.

  1st day, 2nd week, 3rd month of winter

  Taiza, Southern Network

  A month has passed since my arrival. Much has happened.

  I have devoted most of my time to recording all that I glean in my research. I rarely believe that personal details can contribute to the cause of science (for they tend to muddy clear, logical waters), but I feel I must provide some here. For the most part, I consider these cultural observations, which contribute to scientific methods in various ways.

  The feeling in Taiza is quite strange, almost ethereal. I long to capture it in words but find them failing me. For me, I believe the trees are the cause, but again, have no proof.

  The food has been different. They lead an extraordinarily simple lifestyle. Frozen fish—uncooked—various forms of meat, bunches of greens that have an aroma of spearmint but taste like apple, and onions that grow above ground, even in the snow. Moonlight, they say. They grow by moonlight.

  This seems impossible, but then, so does a collection of Watchers who foresee the future. Not to mention that I sleep on silken sheets—silk is ever abundant here, like linen was in the East. Everyone wears it. They make their coats from it, then line them with furs from feral boars.

  Ima admitted to me yesterday that she saw me with her magical powers hours before I appeared to be close to Taiza. Before I could ask, she explained that the paths that could have happened to me if she didn’t open Taiza were quite grisly. I suspect it has something to do with the timber wolves I’ve heard howling in the night. They stalk the perimeter of Taiza often, and the tribes revere them as messengers from their kind god, Hulu. If a witch harms such a creature, the tribes require instant death.

  Ima also explained that Taiza is protected by magic, but her explanation stopped there. I stumbled into the wall because, according to her, I could never have seen it. I asked more about this, but she simply gestured to the trees, threaded a needle, and set to work on a silken dress.

  As much as I can ascertain, the constant, daily struggle of life in the South necessitated Taiza as a safe haven for Watchers. The villagers’ fear of gespara makes life even more dangerous here than in the East. Some of the most remote tribes, that inhabit the snowy plains near the ocean that never melt, would sacrifice Watchers. Others have been torn limb from limb. As a result, all Southern Network Watchers live here. They all seek the “paths” frequently to see if any new Watchers can be anticipated. They also said that Taiza just appeared to them.

  “We don’t question the good god, Hulu,” the leader said, warning me into silence. “Do not ask and stir him up.”

  I believe them bored. They are, in number, about one hundred and fifty. Not all are strictly Watchers—some have brought their families. They have little variation in routine and no guests, but that’s only half the story.

  I digress.

  It’s also unnerving, really, to be around so many witches with the ability to see into the future. Several of them have just shown up before I could seek them out. I’m quite overwhelmed with information, and it will take me time to sort through my many interviews (and I’ve only just arrived). Discussing the power so openly has granted me insights that would require an entire week shut in my room to process. Inasmuch as I can tell, the powers have a twofold nature.

  They allow the prediction of possible future events—although these do not always come to pass. This explains many things—but also gives me a greater basis for formulating a hypothesis on what this means about the opposing power. Now that I can confirm this magic, I’m also able to nearly confirm the counter. This is something many scholars dream of, I would imagine. As I did with Watchers, I will have to name the counter magic.

  They allow for the understanding of the nature of a witch. On this, I have little information, but I feel it must have something to do with the counter magic. Seeing future possibilities is powerful, indeed. But to see the past would give one a unique glimpse into the life of a witch. Just by virtue of the things a witch did not choose, one could understand almost everything about them. The past is more concrete, the future more flexible. A sobering thought.

  The second variation of Watcher is new to me. I feel that many Watchers may not have cultivated their powers and may not know of this second line of sight. Perhaps it is the lesser of the two. At any rate, I’m eager to learn more.

  My stay here in the Southern Network will extend through the winter. They’re eager for my company, and I require their knowledge. I shall update with more details as I find time, and as I am not required by the interviews themselves.

  As a note: Several here have told me that Watchers are known as illumanati in the lower regions of the West, and are revered. They, apparently, have extensive historical texts on illumanati, but most of them are housed in the Great Library of Burke in the Central Network.

  Also, some of the Watchers say this sanctuary of trees found them, but I have no way of confirming this, for I have yet to work on, or prove, sentience of trees or their ability to handle magic.

  Finally, a witch with a beard was seen roaming the nearby forest. He transports in and out of the forest, we believe. Several Watchers see him come and go in various paths, which they say happens when witches are lost or, on a rare occasion, searching for Taiza.

  I don’t know what to discern from this.

  3rd day, 2nd week, 3rd month of winter

  Taiza, Southern Network

  They have no scrolls here. No library. No books. “No need for books,” the village elder said with a shrug. “Books don’t kill boars.”

  My shock exceeds my ability to speak. Even so, the roots of Taiza go farther back than I expected. Perhaps as long as two hundred years. The Watchers here just aren’t sure. “That,” I want to tell them, “is where books can help you.”

  As a social commentary, our underestimation of written history deeply interests me. We feel as if we have much written or oral history recorded, but considering all the lives that have gone before us, we have a few grains of sand out of an entire beach. Consider that we have accounts from handfuls of witches—but millions have gone before us, haven’t they? We think we understand entire cultures based on a few accounts. This has never felt more real to me than now.

  The days when I used to wrap myself in a problem, seek the solace of a library, and never leave except to find food—I often slept under tables, as all the librarians knew I’d never do anything to harm history—are past me.

  Indeed, I find Ima’s presence pleasant, but I long for Martorius (who fares well and has found two Watchers in the North now. Under my distant tutelage, he records facts, names, dates, and data, and sends them to me. Even his penmanship is improving).

  The Watchers seem to know when I want solitude. Living amongst so many who can predict future events is odd. I nearly tripped, for example, but Ima pointed out the wrinkle in the rug seconds before. Another time, a branch nearly fell on my head, but didn’t, because another Watcher snatched it from the air.

  I can’t help but wonder if their lifespans are greater for this.

  Perhaps not. Perhaps there’s a nefarious side to the magic—it could drain them of life and vitality early, leaving mere husks. Questions abound. I feel I may never find satisfactory answers, nor time to seek them all, regardless of the lack of written history.

  Despite all their care (and eventual acceptance), I cannot shake the thought that I have been fortunate to find a group of Watchers that, for all appearances, are kind, gentle witches focused on the greater good.

  But suppose they weren’t.

  What would the future be in the hands of those who could see possibilities? The Watchers here are disinclined to think about anything outside of their immediate circumstances. For their sake, I hope they stop downplaying their enemy.

  Overall, the isolation of the Southern Network would be enjoyable if it wasn’t for all this blasted snow and frigid wind. Last night I dreamed of Father and woke up to find that a message had arrived from him in the night. He fares well. His wife fares well. He continues to see patients and mix his beloved potions. My heart longs for the ocean. The beach. The quiet, gentle pulse of the water in my ears.

  Ima has proven to be a convenient companion. I told her that I do my best work when forced into a quiet space, away from others. Even better if I am barred in, which is what Rodan did for me once when I was studying the effects of temperature on wild mushrooms. This morning, I found a tray of food on the floor just inside my room, and discovered I was locked in from the outside.

  Meanwhile, snow continues to fall, and I am content to review my notes from a recent interview while sipping bone broth and listening to Ima hum below.

  My data organization today has been most efficient.

  4th day, 2nd week, 3rd month of winter

  Taiza, Southern Network

  Interviewing the Watchers and extrapolating their data has been an utter delight. What fun data is when laid out, ready for me to assess! I haven’t enjoyed myself this much since … well … that’s not important here.

  Of course, I haven’t been skilled in the art of working one-on-one with other witches—not like Rodan. I’ve never had Rodan’s ability to talk to everyone. He could engage the sourest of witches. I admit, I never thought the cause of science would move forward on one’s ability to relate to other witches, but I see the necessity now. The interviews proceed slower than planned because of lacking skill, but continue on.

  I never expected to conduct interviews in such extraordinary ways, such as while scrubbing dishes with a Watcher mother of two children while the boys ran in rambunctious circles. Another interview occurred while cleaning fat off a boar carcass. Yet another while learning how to knit. My fingers were all caught up in yarn. The mental exercise of knitting while directing the quill to write very specific things taxed my brain. The Watcher was so distracted by my use of magic, I ceased both knitting and the spell and eventually wrote by hand. Most witches down here only use a specific type of magic that varies by tribe, which means they haven’t seen (and often fear) my use of common magic.

  Not all interviews are so interesting, of course. Some have been quite straightforward. Several Watcher couples live here, having met here. One of them has a child, but the child shows no gift yet, though general consensus is that Watchers gain their ability somewhere around the onset of puberty, which could be anywhere from age ten to fifteen. I plan to follow up in ten years to see if the child develops any such gift.

  The interviews reveal to me the depths I will have to plunge to gain the knowledge I require. Inasmuch as I can tell, I am the only witch who has attempted to do this. I’ve asked myself (and Ima) why that would be. Ima thinks being a Watcher is more of a curse than a gift—and who wants to devote their life to studying a curse?

  For my sake, I think that being a Watcher is simply their reality. Why must we apply labels to everything? There is more than good and bad in this world. By insisting on labeling everything, we inadvertently create entire cultures on supposition and change the course of history.

  I digress.

  It seems not even the Watchers want to know the truth. A form of denial, my father would say. A protective mechanism against … something. Though what that would be, I cannot tell. The power of deniable is incomparable. That is a witch trait—not a magical one.

  Which naturally leads to the question—why am I undertaking this task?

  It will not bring back my brother, for that is impossible, though I would gladly give my life for him to come back. Can I atone for my callousness toward him? For the things I said that drove him to leave our island, putting himself in the hands of those who feared him most? No. One cannot atone for killing another, particularly their twin.

  Perhaps I am feeling my grief over Rodan more keenly. Unlike other witches, in the silence, I find the most solace. I am able to better bury my thoughts and feelings toward him in the piles of science.

  Perhaps, like Father, I am running from something that feels too great to bear alone.

  There isn’t much wine or ipsum in Taiza. It seems to affect their powers in uncomfortable ways. Still, I have been given some by the non-Watcher spouse of the mother I interviewed, and have partaken too much.

 

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