Olen tossed the potatoes up the open hatchway and pulled herself out of the Scape and back into the Ward. The dank basement air was only a mild relief from the Lowtown sewers, but they were both better than that rotting skull. She had not known wolves could grow that large. Not wolves, scions, she corrected as she closed the heavy lid. That was what waited for her outside the Millthrace walls, scions and Raiders. She could not let fear stop her from escaping this place and finding her parents. She had to be bold. She scooped up the potatoes and walked to the stairs.
A rough hand reached out of the shadows and snatched Olen’s wrist. She pulled back but was no match for the strong arms of Philippa Cree. “A thief in the night!” the older sister cried out as the potatoes fell to the floor. “Is this how you earn your stay? Slinking about in black like the stray cat you are, all to thieve a couple potatoes?”
“Let me go,” the smaller one twisted and fought. Sneaking out was hardly a concern, and stealing potatoes was only slightly worse, but Philippa had seen her dark clothing and if she told Haggart, that was something she would not be able to barter away with a couple pennies.
“All day your sisters bust their knuckles on river rocks, but where is Olen Marine? Is she on dinner duty? No. Is she tending the newborns? Never! Instead, she’s gladding about the sewers and thieving! You think you are better than your sisters, but you are just another orphan!”
“That’s not true!” Olen cried, as Philippa dragged her to the stairs.
“Haggart has let this go on long enough,” she said, wrestling with the wiry girl. “And she rewards your mischief with pastry!” She hoisted Olen up the stairway and dropped her to the foyer floor, still clutching her wrist. “If one sister is caught thieving, then the entire Ward will be looked upon suspiciously. Who then will bring us clothes to mend? Who then will offer us a real home? I should take you to Koertig myself and tell him your crimes!”
This was a common threat from Philippa, daring the disobedient girls to have her take them to Koertig herself. It was also something the girls giggled about in their rooms at night, because even the youngest saw this as a feeble attempt for the bigger sister to impress and fawn over the hated sergeant.
Philippa kicked aside the parlor doors with her bare foot. Haggart startled awake in her chair and jumped to her feet. One of the younger sisters, Icha, awoke from the couch.
“Mistress,” Philippa said, “I’ve captured a black-clad rat in the sewers!”
Haggart eased Icha to her feet and sent her upstairs, saying something about not fearing her dreams. She then turned to Philippa, “Black clad? What are you talking about?”
“This!” Philippa said and jerked Olen forward by the arm. “I found this rat—” Philippa stopped cold and saw the child dangling from her grip. Olen knew Philippa’s disbelieving look, and knew why. She had felt the change moments ago and could not stop it. Philippa had snatched up a girl wearing the midnight clothes of a common thief, but she was no longer in black. She wore the same old faded-white nightshirt she had worn to bed every evening for the past three years. She was barefoot, and her hair was in disarray as if she was just pulled out of bed.
Philippa stared at her, much like Olen had stared at the wolf head. Disbelief. Wonder. Fear. “How?” she asked, her confused tone a weak cousin of her normal roar. “I never let go of your wrist.” For the first time she saw a helpless fragility in Philippa. She thought she had nabbed a simple thieving child, but instead held the wrist of something much more horrific. She threw down Olen’s arm and backed over to Mistress Haggart. “She’s a witch! A witch, a devil, or worse, I don’t know. But I do know that a moment ago, I pulled this rat out of the sewers, and she was dressed neck to toe in the garb of a black prowler.”
Olen pulled herself off the ground and stood up, straightening her nightshirt.
“Philippa, please,” Haggart said in a warmer tone. “Must you sisters always accuse? Olen was wrong to miss work today, but she paid in kind with copper. She is not a witch,” she said, and ran her fingers through Olen’s tangled locks. “Would a witch have suffered so long,” and she laid a hand on Philippa’s shoulders, “as all of my girls have?” Philippa pulled away, but Haggart continued, “My girls are neither witches nor rats. They are sisters. And sisters sometimes argue and sometimes fight, but not in this home.” She then spoke directly to Olen and scolded her for sneaking out at night and disrupting the home. “No more adventures, sister Olen. Tomorrow you will work the stand.”
Olen fought off the urge to smile for she loved working the stand.
“Mistress, you don’t understand,” Philippa demanded, still staring in frightened wonder at Olen. “The stories that have been going around town! The ghosts of Nerikan! I am no longer concerned about her sneaking and thieving now that I have seen her true self.”
“And I am no longer concerned with sisters who fight under my roof,” she said and urged Philippa to go off to bed. She reminded the older sister she was assisting the physician at the dispensary tomorrow and she must be well rested.
Philippa ran up to the bed hall, certain to wake the three other older sisters and tell them there was a witch in their midst, and to be honest, Olen could not say that Philippa wasn’t right. By morning, all twelve girls would know. They wouldn’t believe Philippa of course, which was good Olen thought, because witches belong in Nerikan.
Haggart moved back over to her chair and sat, telling Olen to take her bedroom for the night. Then with a flick of her hand she sent Olen down the hall. Olen curtsied as best she could and walked away, tugging at her nightshirt and cursing herself for being so careless.
***
Philippa did not return to her cot in the older sisters’ hall, but instead turned left atop the stairs and entered the room where the youngest, suddenly precious, girls slept. She cursed herself for not trusting her instincts earlier. There was something different about Olen; she had always sensed that. But she had not searched out why the child had always disturbed her so. Philippa walked past the sleeping girls, their breaths soft and even. A Nerikan witch, she thought, living amongst her sleeping sisters, the only family she had ever truly known.
A small fire ignited in her belly as she watched the helpless children sleep. It was for now just embers, but of a flame she never knew existed. For the teenaged girl who had been abandoned by her family, passed over for adoption, and disregarded by the local men; Philippa had believed her life was a mistake. The sky and stars had spun in perfect harmony since the beginning of it all, turning the seasons and cycling the fits and fervors of man, until high above far beyond anyone’s reckoning, a cog cracked, a wheel slipped, and out popped Philippa Cree. Cold, alone, and accidental.
But now that rising flame. The fire grew as heavenly gears shifted back into line and moonlight shone in on Olen’s empty cot. A witch lived here, and her sisters were in danger. This was why she was made strong; this was why she was left behind. This empty cot, a demon’s crib, was why her sorrowful journey had led her here.
The Ward needed a protector, someone who would give her life for those she loved, and her name was Philippa Cree.