ã€ŠThe Book of Newtsã€‹


 Season 1: Starwitch, Episode 1: Prejudice, Chapter 1: Lonely

    Amelia Blackwell was on her knees beside her sisters, Iris and Marta. The zombie soldiers of the pirate queen had forcefully lined them up in a row. Each of them was in the grip of no less than three zombies, which were far too close for comfort and the stink of death was unavoidable.

    Amelia couldn¡¯t see her sisters, since one of the zombies was blocking her view to the left, but Marta, the oldest, muttered, ¡°Don¡¯t give up! If we combine our magic-¡± her words were suddenly cut off as she screamed in agony and it went on for close to a full minute!

    Extremely wasteful magic filled the air, as if someone with incredible power had cast a spell without the slightest clue how to use their magic with any kind of efficiency. Amelia felt dwarfed by the intensity of it, which reminded her of the first time she¡¯d experienced it, less than an hour before.

    Meanwhile, Iris, the middle sister, struggled and growled, ¡°Get your hands off my sis-¡± like Marta, the same unseen torture was applied, but instead of screaming, Iris merely grunted, because she had a high threshold for pain.

    Once again, the same kind of wasteful magic washed through the room, leaving Amelia feeling almost numb on the inside.

    She looked down from the granite wall that occupied the majority of her view and instead looked at a polished floor of the same stone. She was disgusted by her own weakness, but there was nothing her magic could do if her sisters had failed; all three of them had fought back with everything they had to hand, but it hadn¡¯t been enough.

    As the weakest witch of the sisters, Amelia felt utterly hopeless and didn¡¯t even struggle, because the zombies were far stronger. Likewise, magic had proved equally futile and they¡¯d been out-matched at every turn. Tears dripped from Amelia¡¯s eyes, running down her cheeks.

    ¡°What say you, little one?¡± The rasping voice of the Dead Queen taunted Amelia, the breath of the undead witch gently touching Amelia¡¯s left ear as the woman¡¯s fetid, rotting breath passed Amelia¡¯s nostrils, ¡°Have you no fight, child?¡±

    Amelia remained silent, because she just wanted the monstrous woman to get on with things, since arguing wouldn¡¯t accomplish anything of value and could only make things worse, but the tears rolling down Amelia¡¯s cheeks finally reached the point at which they could cling to her no longer, falling to the floor. The resulting cruel laughter from the undead witch made Amelia feel smaller than ever.

    Finally, the witch shuffled away, the fabric of her dress swishing on the floor. Everything was silent for a time, aside from a little whimpering from Marta.

    ¡°Fire and earth, such a lovely combination of magic.¡± The Queen seemed to quietly revel in the sensation of Marta¡¯s magic for a time, before she instructed, ¡°Take this one away. Her soul is ideal for consumption.¡±

    As low as Amelia had been feeling, it got worse as Marta managed to beg, despite her obvious pain, ¡°Please, no! Anything but that!¡± Her pleading grew quieter with distance, as the zombie soldiers dragged her away, their armored feet clanking as they walked.

    ¡°This little doggy also, but I want her interrogated first.¡± The Queen ordered, after another long moment, ¡°I want to know what she was doing to the spell-core.¡±

    Iris somehow found the strength to be defiant as she was likewise dragged away, ¡°You won¡¯t find that so easy with me! I¡¯ll fight back with everything I¡¯ve-¡± her words ended in another agony-induced grunt, accompanied by that overwhelming sensation of uncontrolled magic!

    The dress of the awful witch swished across the floor again, until the sound came to a halt directly behind Amelia.

    ¡°What to do, what to do?¡± The pirate witch muttered, ¡°I¡¯ve never seen such a weak witch before. I could consume her soul, but I would probably waste more magic in the act than I would gain¡­¡± The swish of the dead witch¡¯s dress as it trailed back and forth across the floor marked the fact she was pacing, but after a time, she stopped and muttered, ¡°The other two will enrich my magic for centuries to come, but this fish? Throw her back, because she¡¯s too weak!¡± As Amelia was dragged away, the Queen called out, ¡°Oh, and drain the water tanks of her little vessel before you release it, but leave just enough to force her to choose between maneuvering and drinking water!¡± The old witch cackled!

    Amelia didn¡¯t bother to resist as the zombies dragged her away, though her tears continued to fall.

    <hr>

    From the outside, the main body of Starwitch appeared as an elongated, gleaming, metallic tube, approximately sixty meters long, the whole of it somewhat resembling an arrow, with a set of aerodynamic control fins at the tail, for precision control in an atmosphere. However, the arrow-like qualities only went so far, because while the nose of the craft was indeed shaped like a flat variation of arrowhead, the body widened behind it and the leading edge continued along the sides, which were peaked, for an aerodynamic profile. Two heavy, steel masts stuck out from pocket-like cavities in the sides, which they could be folded into for minimal drag, while a third jutted up from the flat surface of the top of it. There was a broken stub of a fourth on the bottom, which was almost six feet long, while the others extended the full length of the vessel.

    Blue starlight gathered around the masts, streaming back and forth between them, shaping itself into a translucent mesh of half-solid matter so thin, the only thing it could truly interact with was sunlight. However, that was sufficient, because the trick was to diffract the light of the sun to change its angle and provide a small measure of thrust, functionally very similar to the way a cloth sail caught the wind. Even the broken mast served its purpose, though it was obvious the vessel listed through space at an odd angle, to make up for the damage. The sails split the light of the sun into its component parts, producing a colorful rainbow-like pattern of scattering light.

    The two side masts were at full extension, as was the broken one, while the top mast lay very nearly flat against the hull, almost making up for the difference, at the cost of lower acceleration, though Starwitch still listed at a funny angle. Every once in a while, a nearly-hidden side port spewed a spray of gas, a more powerful form of thrust that put the light sails back into alignment to catch the light.

    The weak light sail spell that moved the vessel required little magic, but was extremely efficient. It wasn¡¯t any good for high-G maneuvers, but shined at providing constant acceleration over a long period of time, something a more powerful spell could never accomplish.

    There were a few windows in the hull, but most appeared black, because they¡¯d been enchanted to darken when exposed to intense light and Starwitch was currently in direct sun, with no atmosphere outside, conditions that could be dangerous to the naked eye.

    Inside the control room of the ship, which was called the ¡®witchpit¡¯, Amelia adjusted a set of four control winches to control the angle of the masts. Two were set at either side of the witchpit, while the other two were at the top and bottom. The room lined up with the exterior hull, though there was a thin, structural gap between, providing an extra layer of protection from the vacuum of space, in case of a meteorite. The space between served as one of many water tanks, incidentally providing additional shielding against cosmic rays, at least when they were full. There were glass windows on the top and sides, some giving a view of the stars, while the others were so dark, the only thing that could be made out was the light of the local sun.

    Below the front windows, a series of carefully cut and shaped quartz crystals had been mounted in a console with a surface sloped at an angle that was ideal for the pilot to view them. They were flat and rectangular, each six inches square, half an inch thick, polished and mounted flush with the surface of the console. Amelia and Iris had enchanted them with scrying magic to give unfettered views of space and the exterior of Starwitch.Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

    One provided a forward view, displaying a slab-like, floating, rectangular mountain of granite some distance away, beyond which was a white sphere covered in cracks, an icy moon. Another gave a rear view, showing the sun and stars. Four others allowed views of space above, below and to either side, most of which displayed stars. The last showed a view to the right side that included the swirled atmosphere of Junas, the gas giant the moon orbited, where a permanent storm lurked as a great red spot against bands of orange, brown, white and red. Six more crystals displayed exterior views of Starwitch that could be quite handy for assessing damage.

    Tucked between the crystals were a few gauges, including one for exterior atmospheric pressure, which read as zero, and a series of others, which indicated how full the various water tanks were, each with two needles for different methods of measuring.

    At the very center of it all was a little clock with brass hands set under glass, with a little handle to open it for the sake of setting the time, which ceaselessly ticked away. The face of it resembled a classic mechanical alarm clock, because that was exactly what it had once been, though the bells had been removed, to be used elsewhere.

    Below the gauges and crystals was an array of small levers and buttons for various tasks, the largest of which was the throttle for the engines.

    Set into the floor a bit back from the scrying crystals was a chair with very little padding for a pilot to sit, including a control stick on each armrest, one that controlled both the atmospheric flight control surfaces and the direction the rocket nozzles pointed, while the other stick allowed precise control of the gas thrusters, for low-energy orientation of Starwitch in a vacuum.

    At the back of the room was a metal doorway leading to the rest of the ship, which was mostly living spaces and water storage, both for drinking and to serve as propellant for high-G acceleration.

    The soft, background vibrations in the rigging went up from a C-sharp to a D, a higher pitch for increased light pressure as the sails turned to catch a little more of the solar wind. There was also a noticeable creak from the damaged masts and their hidden rigging, but they held.

    Amelia¡¯s smile of satisfaction was grim and her eyes bloodshot. She was short and athletic, with arms that bore more muscle than average, though it wasn¡¯t all that apparent. There was grease smeared on her cheek, because no one was around to tell her she was filthy from working too hard. She wore a dirty one-piece bodysuit that she¡¯d designed specifically for work, a no-frills affair with many pockets and loops for holding tools securely against her waist, which currently included a sheathed knife, a set of screwdrivers, pliers and largest of all, a hammer for those times when finesse wasn¡¯t quite enough, which had become noticeably more frequent in recent days.

    Amelia was in her mid twenties and her sisters sometimes teased her about being an old maid, because she¡¯d been so busy working, she¡¯d accidentally rejected nearly every man that came along, though her sisters were no better in that regard; Marta was a widow and Iris was too broken-hearted over a fiance that had been murdered under mysterious circumstances, to prevent him from marrying a witch.

    The long, dirty blond hair Amelia had once prided herself on had been unevenly hacked off with a knife, because it had been flailing all over the place in the microgravity of the space between worlds and she hadn¡¯t been able to spare time to braid it. That left her with only a few inches of hair, enough to wick away sweat, but not enough to get in her way.

    She would normally have spared a little magic to cast a gravity-manipulation spell for the sake of comfort, but the mythril spell-core of Starwitch had been stolen, leaving Amelia with only her own magic, which wasn¡¯t suited to such an energetic task. Her oldest sister, Marta, would have been able to make that work. Even Iris, the middle sister, might have managed it, but Amelia was the only source of magic left on board that could manage any form of movement spell and she had no magic to spare for other things.

    She was dehydrated and she¡¯d only slept two hours in three days, because Starwitch needed constant attention: it hadn¡¯t been designed to be flown by a lone witch without the spell-core, though the Dead Queen hadn¡¯t allowed any better option. Needs must, when evil, dead witches drive¡­

    Like a miracle, the house Brownies had fully repaired three of the masts, and Amelia was grateful she¡¯d coaxed them into accepting life aboard Starwitch,. because if she¡¯d been left to her own devices, she¡¯d never have been able to follow the Dead Queen¡¯s monolith. It was strange, but comforting, living with creatures she¡¯d never seen, who lived entirely on dairy products, like cheese, in exchange for their miraculous skill at repairs. Amelia had originally considered the three masts that had been badly bent unrepairable, but when she¡¯d woken from a short nap after some work on the stub of the fourth, she¡¯d been startled to find them in working order, without a single sign of damage. She had no idea how the Brownies pulled it off, since the masts were outside, where they couldn¡¯t reach, but had sensed magic flowing through the hull for just a few seconds after she woke. She¡¯d hoped for a similar miracle with the fourth, but the shy creatures seemed unable to do the same with it, since most of it was missing.

    Even now, as Amelia clung to the pilot¡¯s seat with her legs and peered through the forward scrying crystal at the image of the great, rectangular slab of granite floating in space, she knew what she planned to do was both insane and suicidal, but again, the Dead Queen had left no other choice.

    Amelia was a dead woman without either the spell-core, one of her sisters, or enough water to run the main engines, all of which were on the monolith. If she¡¯d been left with even one of the four, Starwitch could have limped her way to a friendly port, but without? Not a chance, and the Queen had done it on purpose.

    Knowing it was the only way, Amelia had erected a light sail spell between the three functional masts and what remained of the fourth, until she¡¯d been able to coax Starwitch into the monolith¡¯s wake, the waste energy field left behind by the gravity-manipulation spells the massive structure used for thrust and maneuvering. That magic enriched Amelia¡¯s light sail spell, allowing an extra kick of thrust, but only so long as she followed the ship that had taken everything from her. The evil, old bat¡¯s calculations had been perfect in that regard.

    The Queen could have had Amelia killed, but she¡¯d intentionally left only one option for survival: a direct confrontation between Starwitch and the Dead Queen¡¯s monolith, which was suicide. Never let it be said the old witch didn¡¯t have a sense of humor, sick though it was. It was like the game of catch-and-release a cat might play with a mouse. Amelia knew she¡¯d been released purely for entertainment value.

    The dead witch¡¯s rotting, stinking stench was a scent Amelia would never forget, nor would she forget the way she¡¯d been dismissed, out of hand. The words still echoed in her mind: ¡°The other two will enrich my magic for centuries to come, but this fish? Throw her back, because she¡¯s too weak!¡±

    It was true, Amelia¡¯s magic had always been weak, but she excelled in other areas. She was best at small and delicate spells, with extreme precision. She was also an enchanter and engineer, talents she considered part of her true calling in life.

    Too weak to be consumed by the Dead Queen, eh? Well, Amelia was going to show the old bat what a weak witch could do! She¡¯d waited and watched for the perfect opportunity. Observing the distant hulk of the monolith beginning a control burn to move into orbit of the moon, probably in preparation to extract water for a multitude of purposes, Amelia adjusted her course very slightly, leaving the monolith¡¯s wake behind, that Starwitch might enter orbit from another angle. The pitch of the rigging dropped back to a C, then down to a B as the waste magic subsided and the light pressure decreased.

    Amelia knew she was supposed to be the mouse, that she was meant to be a little sport for the monolith¡¯s captain, but she also knew something else: the last thing a cat ever expected was for the mouse to attack in a fury. She wasn¡¯t going to attack from behind, because the Dead Queen expected stealth. Instead, she was going to hit the monolith from the front. It was going to take precision flying, delicate magical control and perfect mathematics, but all three were what Amelia was known for.

    The Dead Queen was going to regret touching Starwitch, because the little vessel still had a few hidden surprises, but that conflict was at least two days away.

    Amelia watched the monolith slowly grow more distant, while her own course took her toward a polar orbit. Having witnessed the monolith maneuver like a humming bird as it employed massive steam rockets the way smaller ships used gas thrusters, she knew the mountain of granite required massive amounts of water. That meant the Queen was likely stopping to refuel at Kryenna, the icy moon, which had an orbiting port that served mostly as a fuel station.

    Amelia hoped her assumptions were correct, because if they weren¡¯t, she might end up in an unwanted slingshot maneuver that would throw her into deep space, while her enemy moved on. It was a gamble, but uncertain death was a slight improvement over all other options.

    As she performed the calculations for orbital insertion in her head, Amelia couldn¡¯t help but regret dragging her sisters into the biggest mess she could have. Tears pooled around her eyes, blurring her vision, until she wiped them away, leaving little droplets floating through the witchpit.

    It had started so innocently, with a book.

 Chapter 2: The Book of Newts

    Amelia was ten years old and practically vibrated with excitement as an elderly wagon was driven exceptionally slowly down the road to her family¡¯s cottage, pulled by a single horse. It was a strange one, in that it was for all intents and purposes, both a means of transportation and someone¡¯s home, while most were simple affairs used for hauling cargo. It had walls, a roof and even a door, all of weather-beaten wood. Toward the back, a stove pipe stuck out to one side, with a right-angle in it and a little cone to keep rain out.

    Old Mr. Pinewater was on the broad, flat board that served as the wagon¡¯s driver¡¯s seat, occasionally muttering words of encouragement to his horse, which looked just as tired and old. Mr. Pinewater had a long, white beard with leaves and twigs stuck in it, as if he¡¯d never tried combing it. He perpetually wore a broad-brimmed straw hat, to block the sun, which didn¡¯t seem to help, because what little of his face was visible was always red.

    Amelia stood on the porch of the cottage as she shouted, ¡°He¡¯s here! He¡¯s here! Mr. Pinewater is here!¡±

    The modest, stone-walled, straw-roofed home was too small for the family of five that lived inside, with only two modest bedrooms, one of which was shared by Amelia and her sisters, while the other was shared by their parents. Mostly, the place was used for meals and sleeping, with everyone working or playing outside the rest of the time, with the exception of Mama, who spent her days inside, preparing potions for sale.

    Amelia wore a plain dress of undyed cloth that her mother had made for her sister, Marta, when she¡¯d been smaller. It was still in good condition, because their mother had excellent sewing skills and had chosen some rather durable cloth to make it from. Amelia¡¯s hair was almost the same color as the faded straw of the cottage roof, though it continually got darker as she got older and had once been totally colorless. She was small and slender for a girl her age, but healthy enough.

    Mama stepped outside. She was a woman of average height, with an uncanny ability to silence people with a mere look, a powerful aura of command that even Father was subject to. Her hair was a strawberry blond shade and she was in her late thirties. Around her neck was a copper necklace with little, purple stones set into a series of plates, a favorite item of jewelry she never took off. She wore a larger variation of the simple dress Amelia wore, though she¡¯d also put an apron on over it, which was stained in many colors from the herbal ingredients of the healing potions she was perpetually making, which was part of how the family made what little money they got by on. Unlike her apron, however, her sleeves were clean. As Mama always said: ¡°The mark of a true witch is a messy apron, but clean sleeves.¡±

    Mama smiled at Amelia and nodded, ¡°I see. I suppose you want to pick out a book, like I promised you could?¡±

    ¡°Yes, Mama!¡± Amelia bounced up and down at the mere thought of a new book.

    She¡¯d read everything in the house at least five times, ranging from cookbooks to alchemical manuals and journals from witch ancestors. Amelia had little talent for magic, though she put more detail into what little she could do than even her mother was capable of, despite her mother¡¯s lifetime of experience. What Amelia always craved was a new book and some new knowledge. She had no idea what she wanted to do with it all, but craved to learn everything she could.

    Mr. Pinewater arrived and slowly climbed down from his perch, complaining about the way his joints ached. When he was finally on the ground, he stooped and rubbed his lower back with one hand.

    Mama stepped over and whispered with the man for a time, until they arrived at some kind of agreement. She handed Pinewater a small, glazed ceramic bottle from her apron pocket, which the old man unstopped and took a swig from. All traces of pain left his face in that moment and he straightened his back as he smiled, revealing a mouth filled with brown teeth.

    ¡°Ah, me should have come here a week earlier!¡± He declared, ¡°Ye have no idea how much me needed that!¡±

    Mother smiled, wryly, ¡°Actually, I do, since you¡¯re the only customer that comes to me over such terrible back and joint pain. Very few live as long as you have.¡±

    ¡°Aye, that¡¯s true enough.¡± The old man nodded and turned to Amelia, ¡°Yer mother says ye wants a book. Did ye have anything in mind?¡±

    Amelia shrugged. She didn¡¯t know what she wanted to read most, because she wanted to read everything. She knew it would frustrate her to see Mr. Pinewater¡¯s collection, only to be forced to pick one, though she was hoping something would seem more interesting than the other books.

    ¡°Well, shall we see what piques yer interest?¡±

    ¡°Yes, please!¡± Amelia spoke with barely-contained excitement!

    Pinewater led the way to his wagon and opened the door, with a little, brass key. Amelia followed him in, though the step into the wagon was a little high, so the old man gave her a hand.

    Amelia looked around the interior, utterly shocked by what she saw: there were hundreds of books lining the walls, in wooden shelves that had been very securely mounted, each with removable guard rails to keep the books from falling out while the wagon was on the move. As expected, it frustrated Amelia to know she would only be allowed to read one of them!

    Toward the back was a small cooking area centered around a wood stove, which was mounted on a set of firebricks. Pots, pans and even large utensils hung from little hooks on the wall. To one side was a small, narrow bed with a heavy blanket, which surely wasn¡¯t large enough for the old man, though it was obvious he¡¯d been making do, for years.

    ¡°What do ye want to learn?¡± Pinewater asked, gesturing at his collection of books, ¡°Me has something on most every subject ye could imagine, ranging from clockwork to cooking and everything between. Me also has books that could take ye on adventures in your imagination.¡± He winked as he gestured to a particular section, which had smaller books.Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    Amelia had no interest in fiction, because the real world was far more fascinating. Why make things up, when there was real magic to learn about?

    ¡°Not fiction.¡± She decided.

    Pinewater smiled, once more displaying his brown teeth as he asked, ¡°What, then? Do ye want to learn to build things? Do ye want something on magic or witchcraft? Me might have an old grimoire or two, though ye must promise me ye won¡¯t tell anyone me has such books.¡±

    ¡°I promise.¡± Amelia nodded.

    She was well-aware the villagers of Daleshade feared witches and wizards. She¡¯d been coached, accordingly, to always hide her magic and plead ignorance of the subject, lest unspecified ¡°bad things¡± happen. Mr. Pinewater was an exception, however, because he was aware of and comfortable with magic, though Amelia had never seen him use it.

    Ironically, the villagers thought Mama was merely an herbalist and they bought her potions on a regular basis. It was true enough, though she gave everything a measure of magic, to subtly improve their lives, despite their ignorant prejudice. Mother had grown up in Daleshade and cared for the people that lived there, despite the fact they¡¯d do ¡°bad things¡± to her if they knew she was a witch.

    Pinewater dug through a chest in the corner, searching for his books on magic, while Amelia idly read the spines of some others: Rodents and How to Catch Them, One-Thousand and One Uses for Herbs, All About Steam Engines and On the Nature of Light all caught her attention, but none of them called to her.

    ¡°Hold onto this a moment, while I get to me hidden things.¡± Mr. Pinewater thrust a heavy, leather-bound book with a little lock in the cover into Amelia¡¯s hands, which was so thick and heavy, it surprised her! She just about dropped it, but managed to catch it before it struck the floor, because she didn¡¯t want to disrespect it, even if it wasn¡¯t the one she wanted. The book was four inches thick and two feet square. The locking mechanism was some gleaming, silvery metal, from which dangled the book¡¯s key, on a bit of string.

    Lifting it back up, she noted something like the shape of a lizard had been carefully hammered into the cover. Above that was the title, also hammered, to form letters from dents. It was titled, The Book of Newts.

    Amelia had the most bizarre experience as she looked on the lizard and the letters, because they both swam before her eyes, reshaping themselves into new letters and an image: Newton¡¯s Mechanics and a hammered circle surrounded by lines for other circles, each of which bore a single bump hammered into them, at irregular, seemingly-random locations. Amelia blinked in surprise and immediately wondered if she¡¯d imagined that, because when she opened her eyes again, it was back to being The Book of Newts.

    In the background, Mr. Pinewater finally emptied his chest and removed a false bottom, revealing a few small, dusty tomes, which he hauled out.

    Amelia laid the book she was holding on the bed, unlocked it with the key and carefully opened it, discovering the pages to be made of rice paper so thin, there had to be thousands of them! Inside, she was surprised to see pictures! She¡¯d never seen pictures in a book, but each was a hand-drawn sketch of some kind of lizard, just like the markings on the cover. In fact, the entire book was hand-written, despite the fact that printing presses existed.

    Mr. Pinewater smiled in a way that made it obvious he was being mugged in memory lane, ¡°Ah, me bought that for the pictures when me was a lad. Me always liked the look of them, though me never did find out why so many herbal recipes call for ¡®eye of newt¡¯. It¡¯s all about the little wriggling things.¡±

    ¡°What are you talking about?¡±

    ¡°Have ye never heard of newts?¡± Pinewater was surprised, ¡°They¡¯re like little water lizards, though they don¡¯t have scales. Nothing interesting about them, at least to me, though someone obviously thought enough about them to write a book. I¡¯m surprised ye don¡¯t know about them, since yer mother probably uses them in potions.¡±

    Amelia shook her head, ¡°Mama uses herbs to make her potions, not animals. She¡¯s opposed to unnecessary cruelty, except when it comes to Mayor Rumblecleaver, then she prefers necessary cruelty. That¡¯s why her potions don¡¯t work on people that hate witches. She made sure of that.¡±

    Pinewater chuckled, ¡°Aye, he needs more than a dollop of that. Someone ought to¡­¡± He paused for a moment, then shook his head, ¡°Never ye mind that.¡±

    He laid his books of magic on the bed, as if to entice Amelia away from The Book of Newts, but she ignored them, because she sensed something strange from the big and heavy book. While the others were definitely books on the subject of magic, based on their titles, The Book of Newts practically screamed to her that it was a magical book, while she sensed nothing of the like from the grimoires. It was an interesting difference. It was also a mystery she wanted to solve.

    ¡°I want this one.¡± Amelia declared and closed the book, holding it to her chest.

    ¡°Are ye sure?¡± Pinewater gave her an incredulous look, ¡°Me has better books than that one. These books on magic-¡±

    ¡°I want this one.¡± Amelia tried to mimic her mother¡¯s tone of command, leaving no room for argument.

    Seeing the intensity of her glare, Pinewater nodded, ¡°Very well, me¡¯s sure ye knows yer own mind best.¡±

    ¡°Thank you.¡± Amelia bowed her head to the old man and stepped outside, with her new book held in her arms.

    She was happy to have a book of her very own, for the first time. She was also looking forward to unlocking the mysteries of it, because she¡¯d never seen a magic book before.

    <hr>

    Mr. Pinewater sat on his bed and smiled, quite amused his subterfuge had finally worked, after decades of working as a book peddler. His illusory disguise as a bumbling fool faded, revealing a clean, elderly gentleman in the fine, black velvet robes of a wizard. All traces of brown faded from his teeth and his beard untangled itself, the leaves and twigs stuck in it vanishing, while his hat became a pointed, black one that marked his status as a wizard of great power.

    He¡¯d been looking for someone The Book of Newts would respond to for quite a few years, most of his life, in fact. He¡¯d long ago given up traveling the stars, because he¡¯d crash-landed on the big moon that had become his home as a young man, which had been his escape from a sure death sentence. He¡¯d made a great and powerful enemy up there, but looking on Amelia, knowing the book had chosen her, Pinewater knew she was destined for great things. After all, The Book of Newts was one of the oldest books in existence, absolutely filled with knowledge, all hand-written in tiny text, despite the sheer size of the thing, making efficient use of every bit of space available.

    He¡¯d only grasped perhaps a tenth of it, but Amelia? She was far more intelligent than he¡¯d ever been, and she was only ten years old.

    Worry struck him for a moment, because Amelia¡¯s life would soon take a twist for the strange and marvelous. If she was as thirsty for knowledge as she appeared, then the book would surely raise her to the stars and that would draw the eye of that awful and powerful enemy. He briefly considered taking the book away, to spare the girl her fate, but ultimately, he decided to trust the book. If anyone could out-fox the old pirate witch that blasted Pinewater from the sky, it was Amelia.

    She was a prodigy that needed encouragement and taking that book from her would stifle her potential, dooming her to be a mere fraction of her truest self. It would be a far more cruel fate to resign her to life as a mere housewife to some dullard of a man, as she made potions for a people that didn¡¯t value her true talents. She didn¡¯t deserve to become a reflection of her mother, who toiled long hours to help people that would gladly burn her at the stake if they only knew the truth, all because she had no better option.

 Chapter 3: Steam Without Flame

    Amelia was fourteen years old and hard at work in a small shed her father had built to house her experiments and projects, since there wasn¡¯t room for them in the house. It was just large enough for a small wagon and the walls were covered in tools Amelia had made, all hanging from nails, some of which came from the book, while others were of her own design.

    There was a workbench to one side, on which the book lay on a lectern, open to a page displaying a newt with an exceptionally fat tail, which had obviously been designed for swimming, because it was so much like that of an eel. The text described it as darkly colored, with mottled skin somewhat resembling sand or dirt.

    The opposite side of the shack was dominated by a small forge and smelter of Amelia¡¯s own design, which looked nothing like that used by the village smith, because she needed far higher temperatures for her work. They were based on heating with magic, rather than burning coal, though Amelia didn¡¯t have the raw magical power to handle that task, so her mother or one of her sisters did it, while she worked the metal. Currently, both the forge and smelter were idle and cool.

    Ironically, the local smith had been begging to see Amelia¡¯s custom equipment for ages, because the steel she sold him was far superior to anything he knew how to make, but she¡¯d always referred to her methods as a trade secret, which no smith would ever violate, because crafting secrets passed from master to apprentice were their livelihood.

    That sad excuse for a smith had often begged to become her apprentice, but Amelia had always rejected his requests by saying, ¡°You¡¯re far better at metalworking than I am. I should become your apprentice.¡±

    By Daleshade law, which Amelia knew by heart, it was illegal for a smith to take a girl for their apprentice, which was the very reason she¡¯d said it. Ironically, the same law book said nothing about a girl becoming a self-taught smith, which was the loophole she¡¯d found to get Mayor Rumblecleaver to leave her alone when she first tried to sell steel.

    That particular argument had ended when Amelia smiled and sweetly asked, ¡°On which page does your law book say I can¡¯t make and sell steel? If you¡¯re going to enforce the law, you can at least tell me the page number, so I can look it up and fully understand your reasoning.¡±

    Amelia would never forget watching the mayor flip back and forth through the book while she waited, because no one had ever demanded he justify his actions based on the law book, even though it was available for everyone to read. That was such an old law that it was carved into a faded wooden sign outside the village courthouse, reading as: The law must be free to read by all. It was the first law the village founder had made and he¡¯d felt so strongly about it, he¡¯d made a sign.

    Eventually, the mayor gave up and walked away in disgust, saying, ¡°You can sell your steel.¡±

    It was the first occasion in living memory in which someone from Daleshade had won an argument with Mayor Rumblecleaver on the basis of law. After that, other villagers tried to read the law book, but nothing came of it, because most everyone was so poorly-educated, they could barely read in the first place.

    Amelia wore a plain, button shirt and a pair of trousers. She¡¯d recently given up on dresses as work clothes, after a horrible incident involving her skirt and a steam engine, which would have taken her leg off, if Father hadn¡¯t been watching from a distance. Sadly, the wearing of trousers had led to another argument with the mayor, also settled via Amelia¡¯s encyclopedic knowledge of the law, though she¡¯d eventually backed down, after her mother had a word with her, because making trouble in the village could have consequences for the whole family. So, Amelia wore trousers for work and a dress in the village.

    Beside The Book of Newts was half a steam engine with a belt wheel on one side, complete with a little water tank, which was currently empty. The main steam chamber was wide open. It was far smaller than average, because Amelia had removed the firebox. Currently, no belt was connected to the wheel.

    Amelia leaned over eight heavy, steel plates, which were each eight centimeters wide and nearly square, aside from round notches that had been cut from the corners of six of them, while the last two really were square, with small holes in the corners, for mounting. In her hands were a hammer and chisel, which she used for hammering markings into the plates. Six of them bore runes from some ancient language that read as ¡®metal¡¯, ¡®boil¡¯ and ¡®water¡¯, which combined to form the idea of steam resulting from water touching the metal. Amelia worked to add them to the seventh, while she had no intention of doing the same with the eighth, which was one of the two mounting plates. To one side were a set of four steel rods with notches about the thickness of the plates.

    When she finished the last plate, Amelia smiled and fixed two of the rods between the pair of plates with holes, then arranged the rest of the plates in the notches, before adding the final pair of rods, using screws to fix the rods to the pair of end plates. The final result was all eight plates mounted parallel to each other, at four centimeter intervals, for a total length of about 28 centimeters, which was roughly eleven inches long, held together with only four screws.

    Amelia was still getting used to the ¡®metric¡¯ measuring system from The Book of Newts, which had led to a few amusing accidents, including the explosion of her first steam engine a year earlier, but since then, she¡¯d stopped mixing the book¡¯s units and the ones she was used to. Overall, she liked the elegant, decimalized length and weight system, because it made more sense than feet, inches and pounds, though she was still working with ounces, pints, quarts and gallons, because that was a harder adjustment she¡¯d been putting off, until she learned to work glass.

    She reached for a ceramic jug and poured a few drops on the device, smiling when the water vaporized, as if the metal was hot. She gingerly touched it, finding it cool to the touch. She poured more water from the jug, producing a big cloud of steam!

    Amelia giggled, because it worked exactly the way she¡¯d planned.

    ¡°Well, what have you built this time?¡±

    Amelia turned to look at her sister, who¡¯d eclipsed the light. Marta was tall and very womanly, despite a build like a lumberjack, a mature woman of twenty-six years. She wore a black dress, which had been her choice of style since her husband died and she¡¯d come back to the family home, around the time Amelia had been six years old. Her blue eyes bore a sadness that no woman should bear and her golden blond hair hung just past her shoulders, though she found joy in spending time with Amelia.

    ¡°I¡¯m making a steam engine that doesn¡¯t need fire, instead using a runic enchantment to boil water.¡± Amelia explained.

    Marta stepped over to the book and looked at it with doubt, because it only showed its true nature to Amelia, ¡°Did you get that from your book?¡±

    The girl shook her head, ¡°No, one of Granny Starla¡¯s journals. Mama tried to make it work a long time ago, but I figured out why she failed. The runes only seem to work on stone or metal and you have to use at least two, to form a sentence. Mama only used one.¡±

    ¡°I remember that.¡± Marta nodded, ¡°She spent weeks trying to make a wooden spoon that would make water boil. Why doesn¡¯t wood work?¡±

    ¡°Stone and metal slowly absorb a little magic over time, but living things use it up to stay alive, since life is a form of magic. Things that were once alive use the magic in an attempt to live again. That¡¯s why wood doesn¡¯t work, even if it¡¯s dead.¡±

    Marta chuckled, ¡°So, you¡¯re telling me that dead wood is always very slightly zombie?¡±

    ¡°Uh, maybe?¡± Amelia shrugged as she picked up her new creation, ¡°It¡¯s more dead than zombie, though.¡±

    She placed the enchanted metal device inside the little engine¡¯s steam chamber and Marta gave her a hand as she worked to reseal the contraption. When they were done, Amelia poured water from her jug into the reservoir of the engine, watching as steam pressure built inside and the belt wheel turned!

    Marta clapped, ¡°Amazing! Steam power without a fire!¡±

    ¡°Since this worked out so well, now I just need a carriage¡­¡± Amelia grinned.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    Marta¡¯s brow furrowed, ¡°Why? It¡¯s not like we have a horse.¡±

    ¡°Who said anything about a horse?¡± Amelia grinned, knowingly, ¡°I just need a carriage.¡±

    <hr>

    Months had passed and the carriage Marta purchased on Amelia¡¯s behalf had been modified so much, it barely resembled its original form. The whole front end had been rebuilt and Amelia had been so busy tinkering with it, she¡¯d actually sent Marta off with drawn plans for parts, to have the village smith forge them.

    The shafts for the horse were gone and the fifth wheel, which allowed the front wheels to turn as the horse did, had been replaced by a rather large gear, which had been linked via a complex gearing system to a small wheel mounted at hand height for the driver, allowing them to turn the entire cart as it rolled along.

    Likewise, the rear end was totally different, mechanically speaking. The back wheels were now mounted on a spinning shaft, instead of spinning freely, while the shaft was linked via a gear box to a belt wheel, which stood ready to receive the belt that would drive it from the steam engine¡¯s output shaft. The gear box was also connected, via a set of long rods, to the driver¡¯s area, where a small pedal had been installed for the clutch, and a handle for shifting between a few options for gears had been installed on the front plate that kept mud from splashing on the driver. There was also a handle for adjusting the throttle on the engine, which controlled how deeply the steam-generating rune box was plunged into the water of the steam chamber.

    After an awful experiment involving a hill, Amelia had overhauled the braking system to apply equal pressure to both wheels, as well as a backup brake for stopping the drive shaft from spinning.

    Really, the only thing that hadn¡¯t been changed was the seating area, which was open to the front and sides, with room for four, conveniently enough space for the whole family, if one of them was driving, which was something Amelia had specifically asked for. It bore a little awning to keep the weather off the passengers and the cushions of the seats were decent, including the driver¡¯s seat. The frame of everything was painted black, aside from the custom parts. The cushions were red.

    The back end of the carriage had been raised on wooden blocks to make room for installing the steam engine and the three sisters were working together to mount it, since it was so heavy and their father was too busy cutting wood to sell to the villagers. Marta and Iris both wore some trousers they¡¯d borrowed from Father, because the work wasn¡¯t the cleanest sort.

    Iris had blue eyes and ash-blond hair, which was up on her head in french braids. She was nineteen years old and considered a spinster, because she¡¯d only ever had eyes for the mayor¡¯s son, Conrad, and he¡¯d been dead for three years. The two had been engaged to marry, but he¡¯d been attacked by wolves under strange circumstances, just days after the coming event had been announced to the whole village. After Conrad¡¯s death, no other boy had taken an interest, despite the fact Iris was exceptionally beautiful.

    Amelia had rather liked Conrad, because he was nice, polite and always amusingly nervous around Iris. Amelia had found the way he stuttered around Iris to be rather funny, because he didn¡¯t do that with anyone else. One smile from Iris could leave the boy in stunned silence for days after. It had been quite surprising when he asked Father¡¯s permission to seek the hand of Iris, though it had taken him a full six months after that to pluck up the courage to ask her.

    After Father had one drink too many, a few nights after Conrad died, Amelia overheard him speaking in the night, ¡°¡­weren¡¯t no accident! I was with the woodcutters that found him and I saw the rope burns on what was left of his wrists and the marks on the bark of that bloody tree! I¡¯d stake my life on the idea he was tied to it when the wolves got him.¡±

    ¡°Let it go.¡± Mama had spoken a little too loudly, ¡°You know there¡¯s nothing more¡­¡±

    After that, they¡¯d been too quiet to overhear. Conrad had been murdered, but Amelia had no clue who would do such an unimaginably awful thing, let alone why.

    Since the death of Conrad, Iris had thrown herself into studying magic and potions, as their mother¡¯s apprentice. Iris wasn¡¯t as good at energetic magic as Marta, but she excelled at long-range magic and scrying via any reflective surface, such as the water in a bowl. Iris always had a knowing look in her eyes, as if she knew everyone¡¯s secrets, though the joy of that had gone from her life in the past three years.

    Amelia¡¯s sisters held the engine in place, while Amelia went around with a wrench, bolting it to the mounting bracket she¡¯d installed for it. When the engine was secure, Amelia installed and tightened the drive belt linking the engine to the gear box.

    ¡°Who gets to drive first?¡± Iris asked with a hopeful expression on her face.

    It was the first time since the death of Conrad that Iris had something other than grief on her face.

    Marta also seemed to notice, because she smiled and asked, ¡°Amelia, why don¡¯t we let Iris drive first? After all, she has such a steady hand.¡± Marta winked.

    ¡°I¡¯ll do a quick test run, first,¡± Amelia smiled, ¡°then Iris can take us for a drive around our land.¡±

    Within ten minutes, they¡¯d gotten it off the blocks and Amelia drove their new horseless carriage around the house a few times, to make sure everything worked the way she¡¯d planned, followed by some small adjustments.

    <hr>

    Half an hour after that initial test, they emerged from the family house in dresses, since it was just possible they could be spotted driving around and the horseless carriage was likely to cause enough stir on its own, without an argument over trousers. Iris wore something in a dark green shade, with a white apron for the sake of some pockets, and Marta was back in black. Amelia was in one of her old, undyed hand-me-downs. Marta held a basket that contained a picnic-style lunch their mother had packed them, so they could make a day of it. Iris climbed into the driver¡¯s seat, while Marta and Amelia got comfortable in the back.

    Amelia looked ahead as Iris turned to face them and asked, with a grin, ¡°Are we all secure, ladies?¡±

    ¡°Yes, ma''am.¡± Marta grinned back.

    Amelia eagerly nodded, ¡°Let¡¯s go!¡±

    Iris reached into the pocket of her apron and produced a pair of goggles. Tying them at the back of her head fully pinned down her hair and resulted in a sleek, speedy look that made Amelia slightly nervous. With a mildly-crazed look that Amelia would soon come to dislike, she turned ahead and shoved the throttle handle all the way forward!

    There was a loud bubbling sound from the steam engine, which was mounted just under Amelia¡¯s seat, and the carriage lurched ahead! As they careened away from the house and onto one of the paths leading to the dirt road circling their family¡¯s land, Amelia and Marta screamed!

    Iris, on the other hand, howled and whooped with delight, ¡°Woo-hoo!¡±

    <hr>

    Rolf Mossflaw, the only smith in Daleshade, had been resisting the urge to spy on Amelia, but in recent months, after all the work he¡¯d done for her, he could stand the curiosity no more. He¡¯d vowed to himself that he would not violate the sanctity of her craft secrets, but she was obviously working on something related to her new carriage and getting a peek at that could hardly be considered a violation? After all, he¡¯d built half the new parts for it, so it was only fair that he at least get to see the result.

    Rolf was a large man, with rock-hard muscles built up from childhood, when he¡¯d been his father¡¯s apprentice. He¡¯d been working a forge since he¡¯d been big enough to hold a hammer, more than twenty years. His hair was short and neatly-trimmed to avoid burning it off through an errant spark. Likewise, he was also clean-shaven.

    He was sneaking through the woods, accompanied by his son, who shared his given name. Rolf Junior was a short boy, though he had muscles nearly as large as his father¡¯s and a face full of pimples, because the moment he¡¯d hit puberty, it turned into a festering mess, complete with a few boils. Rolf hoped his son would grow out of that, because it might make finding a wife difficult.

    Rolf¡¯s professional pride had been wounded by Amelia¡¯s superior steel, but she¡¯d made him feel better by paying him to make parts for her carriage. In a strange way, it was gratifying to know the girl didn¡¯t have the strength and stamina to do all her own metalwork, despite the fact she¡¯d supplied Rolf with the steel ingots for the parts.

    In short, he no longer had any ill-will toward the girl, but curiosity had gotten the better of Rolf, which was why he was headed for the Blackwell family¡¯s little cottage, which was at the center of many disused and overgrown farm fields, because their ancestors had been farmers, despite the fact they weren¡¯t.

    ¡°Woo-hoo!¡± The cry of a young woman caught the attention of Rolf and his son, forcing them to dive for cover, just as Amelia¡¯s new carriage zipped past, without a horse!

    Junior asked, ¡°Dad, is¡­is that¡­witchcraft?¡±

    Rumors of magic and witchcraft had swirled around the Blackwell family for decades and clearly, Junior had also heard them.

    Rolf stared at the strange, heavily-modified contraption with horror and a terrible certainty settled on him. He didn¡¯t like it at all, because he¡¯d wanted to take up Amelia on her offer to be his apprentice, despite the law saying he couldn¡¯t teach her. He tried to let go of his suspicions by reasoning Amelia might have built one of her steam engines into the thing, but that wasn¡¯t enough for Rolf to let it go.

    He understood how those engines worked, because Amelia had spent an afternoon excitedly talking with him about it when she learned how to build her first, after they haggled on a price for steel. The girl¡¯s first engine had almost gotten her in trouble with the mayor, but steam engines were hardly unique to her, because people from other villages used them and ultimately, the mayor never raised much fuss about it.

    However, between the engine itself and the firebox to run it, there would be too much weight for the carriage to be so fast. On the other hand, Amelia was extremely clever, so maybe it was possible, but the worst piece of evidence occurred to Rolf, forcing him to accept it, whether he liked it or not: there was no smoke from the engine¡¯s fire, though there was a tiny bit of waste steam. There was no way to make a steam engine without a firebox and smoke.

    He wished he hadn¡¯t seen it, but Amelia had finally demonstrated the fact she was using witchcraft. Witchcraft was illegal and punishable by death, as was failing to report a witch to the mayor.

    ¡°I¡¯m afraid it is, son.¡± Rolf hung his head for a moment, worried about the consequences of what he knew he had to do, ¡°We should get back to the village.¡±

    With a heavy heart, Rolf turned to head home, walking slowly. He had no desire to see any harm done to the Blackwell family, but the law was the law, whether he agreed with it or not, and his father had raised him to respect the rule of law, lest he get the beating of his life.

 Chapter 4: No Good Option

    Erika Blackwell, the mother of Marta, Iris and Amelia, was busy grinding ingredients for future potions with a mortar and pestle. One of her books on magic was open on the dinner table, but to the uninitiated, it appeared as a book of herbal remedies. Amusingly enough, it actually was both a book of herbal remedies and a book on magic, because the bits on magic were written in code, taking the form of recipes with ingredients that were fictional, but sounded normal enough to someone that knew nothing of magic. It was currently open to one of the pages for a real recipe.

    She was forty-two years of age, as was her husband, Tim. They¡¯d met as children and their parents had arranged for them to marry, because in those days, witch families looked out for each other and made sure their children married another of the ancient bloodline. Erika had been grateful that Tim was a good man and even her friend, but it had been awkward to be suddenly told at the age of sixteen that they¡¯d been engaged since birth. She hadn¡¯t liked the surprise, and hadn¡¯t done the same to her girls, who¡¯d found and lost their loves on their own. She just hoped Amelia would have better luck than her sisters.

    Erika still wasn¡¯t happy about what Tim had discovered regarding the death of Conrad and where all the evidence pointed-

    There was a thunderous knock on the door, which was far too familiar to Erika, causing her to sigh with frustration. She¡¯d been accused of witchcraft by Mayor Rumblecleaver on no less than fifteen occasions, though all of that had been settled before Amelia was born. She¡¯d successfully given everyone the wrong impression all her life, aside from a teenage slip-up, in which the young man that became Mayor witnessed some minor magic, though he¡¯d been in such a drunken stupor at the time, it was surprising he¡¯d been able to see straight, let alone remember.

    Nothing had stuck, but that never stopped the old fool from using every opportunity to harass the Blackwell family. Nonetheless, the mayor always knocked as hard as humanly possible when he thought he¡¯d finally obtained sure-fire evidence.

    Tim rose from his rocking chair by the fire, where he¡¯d been taking a rare, weekend nap. He was rather tall and broad of shoulder, with a physique built from chopping and hauling firewood for most of the village. He was nearly as strong as the smith, but in contrast to the gentle and quiet nature of the latter, Tim had always been easily riled, ever ready for a fight. Fortunately, when Erika was around, he deferred to her more measured judgment, which was normally finely-calibrated.

    Tim growled, ¡°I¡¯m not putting up with this even one more time! I¡¯ll thrash him myself and-¡±

    ¡°Calm down and leave it to me.¡± Erika spoke with the practiced authority of a professional healer with the confidence to supervise a triage situation, ¡°The more angry you are, the more likely the mayor will be back.¡±

    Tim nodded and sat down, though he added, ¡°Fine, but say the word and I¡¯ll beat him senseless.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll keep that in mind, dear.¡± Erika looked at her husband and gave him a disarming wink, causing him to smile.

    After wiping her hands clean on a rag, Erika stepped over to the door and swung it inward.

    <hr>

    The Blackwell sisters were finally on their way home, after a pleasant day spent driving through the hills surrounding their land. They¡¯d had an enjoyable picnic lunch along the way and after that, Amelia drove for a while, because Iris had been a little too enthusiastic for comfort.

    Around mid-afternoon, Marta finally got her chance to drive and of the three of them, she was the most relaxed, taking the time to do everything with care, though she did enjoy the sensation of her hair streaming backwards in the wind.

    As evening approached, Marta slowed down, because her sisters had fallen asleep in the back, and she didn¡¯t want to disturb them.

    <hr>

    As expected, Mayor Godfrey Rumblecleaver stood on Erika¡¯s porch. He was a tall and imposing man, at least in the heavily-furred official robe he wore as Daleshade¡¯s mayor, sheriff and judge, a series of titles Erika was certain should belong to three separate individuals, though a stupid and ignorant tradition had made them one and the same. He was a year older than Erika and his dark hair was starting to gray.

    Behind him stood a number of men from the village, with pitchforks and yes, torches, since evening was soon to arrive. There was a certain tradition to the proper running of a lynch mob, after all, and to the stupid and ignorant mindset of the locals, if they were going to do a thing, they may as well go the whole nine yards. To that end, a horse and wagon had been brought, which was loaded with wood for the pyre, topped off with a rather large log, which surely was intended to be the stake at which Erika was to burn.

    Deputy Nicklebender stood to one side with a rather heavy and lethal-looking crossbow in hand, which was loaded and ready to go. He wore some slightly rusty chain mail, which was effectively his badge of office. He was sixteen years old, just old enough to be an adult, according to Daleshade law. He was also as impressionable as wet clay, the perfect patsy to serve as the mayor¡¯s right-hand man.

    Erika smiled and spoke with words alone, because her expression and tone screamed other things, ¡°Mayor Rumblecleaver, it¡¯s always a pleasure. What gives us the joy of your company this afternoon?¡± Sarcasm dripped from her every word.

    As expected, the mayor pointed the accusatory finger, ¡°She¡¯s a witch! I¡¯ve seen it with my own eyes! This woman, Erika Blackwell, has had congress with the devil! I saw her dance in the forest, naked, alongside a demon!¡±

    Erika remembered the incident well, though not quite the same way the mayor did. It had been the night of a harvest festival, when strong drink had been freely given. Erika hadn¡¯t been old enough to drink, but she¡¯d been out in the forest, dancing in time to the singing coming from the village outskirts. She¡¯d been caught up in the moment and cast a little spell that attracted some fireflies to join her for a dance, just as Rumblecleaver drunkenly stumbled along, probably looking for a place to relieve himself.

    He got bolder and his imagination went a little more wild with the details of his accusation, every time. On the occasion of his first public denouncement, he¡¯d said she danced in the moonlight and cast a sparkly spell, which had been true in the broadest sense. Four or five times later, his mind had twisted the details until she¡¯d been naked, probably a little wishful thinking on his part. Apparently, now the devil was involved! There was a murmur of agreement from the crowd, though with a lynch mob, that meant next to nothing, since they¡¯d agree to most any statement, just to avoid being the next victim.

    ¡°Is this the same old accusation or a fresh one?¡± Erika asked, ¡°I need details, so I can mount a proper defense. Also, ¡®In the mouth of two or three witnesses shall every word be established.¡¯ According to my youngest daughter, who has read the laws of this land, your word alone, is not enough.¡±

    By the mayor¡¯s own past admission, because he was very persistent about outwardly portraying himself as an honest and upstanding man of law, an accused witch could be set at liberty if she could disprove the accusations or there wasn¡¯t enough evidence. In that regard, Erika had been running mental circles around her old nemesis for decades. With extra details of the law provided by Amelia, Erika had no fear.

    ¡°I seen her, too!¡± Another man stepped out of the crowd, ¡°It was just last week! She was dancing nekkid in the woods, with a goat-horned demon!¡±

    There was another murmur from the mob.

    Erika looked the man up and down, not quite recognizing him for a moment, because he was actually sober for once. He was stick thin, probably because he drank his dinner most days, and wore an ugly, brown, leather skullcap that made him look like a twerp. His jacket was several sizes too large for him, because it had been purchased by a much younger and more muscular man that barely resembled the one wearing it, though they were technically the same individual.

    Watkyn Hawkbender was the local distiller of booze and the town drunkard. He sold cheap moonshine to most anyone that would pay and was well-known for his habit of sampling everything that came out of his still, even if it was likely to poison him. Erika had saved his life on no less than four occasions, because he¡¯d gotten the mix wrong. As it was, he was half blind, due to an incident in which he¡¯d accidentally brewed some wood alcohol.

    In truth, Erika had gone to visit the man just last week, because she used alcohol during the purification process for her potions, though she intentionally boiled off the alcohol, once she was done with it.

    Erika shook her head, ¡°Watkyn, with how drunk you were on moonshine when I showed up, it¡¯s no surprise you hallucinated my clothes away and imagined a wandering mountain goat as a demon. I turned around and left, because you were obviously far too inebriated to make a sane bargain and I didn¡¯t want you to regret the sale. Besides, you were leering at me and giggling in a way I wasn¡¯t comfortable with.¡± She looked past her accusers, to the crowd, ¡°Am I the only one that¡¯s witnessed this kind of behavior? Can I have a show of hands from anyone that considers our dear Mr. Hawkbender to be a reliable witness while he¡¯s drunk, which we all know is the majority of the time he¡¯s awake?¡± Since not one hand went up, Erika turned her attention back to the mayor, ¡°So, is your claim new or the same old one from when I was a teen? Honestly, if it¡¯s the same, I¡¯m surprised you¡¯d bring it up with Watkyn as your second witness, considering how many witnesses I found to go on record about how drunk you were that night, so long ago. It¡¯s no surprise you were hallucinating, since I gather that was the first time you ever touched alcohol and by all accounts, you treated moonshine like it was water.¡±

    The mayor looked at his shoes, ¡°It¡¯s the same.¡±

    ¡°Okay.¡± Erika sighed, ¡°Are we done here?¡±

    Rolf Mossflaw stepped up, towering over even the rather tall mayor, ¡°Sorry, ma''am, but my father would come back from the dead and tan my hide until next Thursday if I didn¡¯t speak the truth. I saw your daughters using witchcraft, all three of them. They made a carriage work without a horse.¡±If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

    This produced a series of astonished gasps from the mob.

    ¡°So what? Amelia has been working on a horseless carriage for months. It¡¯s powered by a steam engine, from what I gather, though I hardly understand. It¡¯s science, not magic.¡± Erika explained.

    The mob went dead silent for a time and she realized she¡¯d repeated something Amelia would have said. Science was nearly as bad as magic, at least as far as the ignorant, stupid locals were concerned. Building machines was okay, but going around talking about science was suspicious. Still, there was nothing illegal about science, thank the gods.

    In truth, it wasn¡¯t magic or science that everyone feared and hated, but people being smarter than they were. Erika had always tried to avoid drawing attention to herself and she¡¯d been fairly successful in that regard. After all, due to the magic of her potions, they absolutely failed on anyone that hated witches, a fact that had been extremely useful during the last round of accusations, just before Amelia was born, because every attempt the mayor made to prove they were magic caused them to publicly fail, embarrassing him. It had hurt sales for a couple years, but put the matter to bed for more than a decade, which had been worth the trouble.

    ¡°Sorry, Erika,¡± Rolf shook his head, ¡°but I know how her steam engines work, because Amelia explained it to me. There¡¯s always a firebox, so there¡¯s no way to avoid smoke from a real steam engine and I¡¯ve seen plenty of them in my travels. I saw no smoke from her carriage, only steam.¡±

    The crowd went back to murmuring.

    Erika sighed, ¡°Have you got a second witness?¡±

    Rolf¡¯s son stepped out of the crowd and reluctantly nodded, ¡°I saw it, too. We were in the woods near your home, on our way to¡­to¡­¡± The boy trailed off, nervously.

    ¡°Go on.¡± Rolf prompted.

    The boy finished, ¡°We wanted to see Amelia¡¯s carriage. That¡¯s all we wanted.¡±

    The mayor finally spoke again, ¡°There you have it: two witnesses of witchcraft. Your daughters are guilty, but there¡¯s an old law that¡¯s rarely used, because it¡¯s so terrible,¡± the sick smile on his face was unsettling and the gleam in his eye was one of pure hatred, based on decades of embarrassing defeats handed to him by Erika¡¯s superior intellect, ¡°but a parent can pay for the crimes of a child, as their substitute. I¡¯ll overlook the actions of your daughters, this time, but only if you offer yourself in their place.¡±

    Rolf and his son hung their heads in obvious shame.

    Erika¡¯s mind ran light lightning, but all roads led to death! She couldn¡¯t see a way out! Never before had she felt so helpless!

    In the background, there was a creak from Tim¡¯s chair as he sat up, in preparation for violence.

    ¡°Sit down, Tim.¡± Erika spoke so softly, she was barely heard.

    Tim obeyed, though his face remained full of lethal intent.

    ¡°You or your daughters? One life for three is a good bargain.¡± The mayor¡¯s expression was an obscene mask of mixed pleasure and hatred, because he was enjoying Erika¡¯s discomfort, ¡°Why don¡¯t you do your children a kindness and finally admit you¡¯re a witch! Do that and I¡¯ll leave them be! Alternatively, I can burn three witches!¡±

    Erika openly wept, because she was caught in the worst kind of trap, one she¡¯d made for herself by being careless with magic. She¡¯d endangered her family, through one little misstep that had never stopped following her around, all because a small-minded, stupid and ignorant man refused to let it go.

    With tears rolling down her cheeks in a torrent, Erika spoke even more softly than last time, ¡°I¡¯m a witch.¡±

    ¡°No!¡± Tim screamed and leaped to his feet, rushing toward the mayor, only to be struck in the shoulder by a crossbow bolt!

    He fell to the floor, bleeding heavily! Erika immediately got to work, tearing strips of cloth from her dress to bandage his wound, followed by placing his other hand around the bolt.

    ¡°Hold your hand there!¡± She commanded and put pressure on it, until he cried out in pain, though the bleeding significantly slowed.

    In the background, the deputy cocked his crossbow, using a built-in foot stirrup to apply far more strength than his arms could manage.

    Erika looked around the room for supplies, which were always near to hand, selecting a needle, thread and a bottle of moonshine she¡¯d been using for purifying potion ingredients. She ran the thread through the eye of the needle with a practiced, expert hand. Next, she poured a measure of the alcohol over her hands, then everything else.

    She stepped back over to Tim, pulled back the bandage and asked, ¡°You ready?¡±

    He nodded and Erika yanked the bolt out. Next, she poured some of the alcohol into the wound, which caused Tim to scream, because it stung so badly! After that, it took only a momentary glance to satisfy Erika that an artery hadn¡¯t been hit, and she got to sewing, eventually cutting the left-over remnant of thread with her teeth. When she was done, Tim was bleeding only a tiny bit, though he¡¯d passed out. She re-wrapped his wound and looked up.

    The mayor clapped three times, very slowly, ¡°Bravo, but I didn¡¯t hear what you said.¡± Once again, his face was an awful rictus of evil pleasure.

    ¡°I¡¯m a witch.¡± Erika openly sobbed, her tears soaking her dress, while her husband¡¯s blood dripped from her hands.

    ¡°You¡¯ve got to say it louder, because I still haven¡¯t heard you.¡± The mayor leaned close, until their noses nearly touched.

    ¡°I¡¯m a witch.¡± Erika spoke normally, aside from how emotionally distraught she was.

    The mayor¡¯s sick grin spoke volumes about the way he reveled in the moment, while Rolf and his son looked away, so very ashamed of themselves, though they did nothing to intervene.

    The mayor growled, ¡°Louder!¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m a witch!¡± Erika spoke with greater volume.

    ¡°So everyone can hear you, whore!¡± The man growled.

    ¡°I¡¯m a witch, you stupid, ignorant fool!¡± Erika screamed in the mayor¡¯s face, ¡°I¡¯m proud of what I am! I¡¯ve spent a lifetime tending the wounds of Daleshade, healing you with magic! Nearly all of you owe me your life, because I was there when you were born! I spent my life in service, because that¡¯s what my mother and grandmother taught me to do! Magic isn¡¯t evil,¡± she nearly put a bloody finger in the mayor¡¯s eye, to accuse him, ¡°but you are! I never did anything to hurt you, but ever since I was fifteen years old, you¡¯ve been looking for any excuse to call me a witch!¡± She finished, breathing heavily, because she¡¯d finally shouted her hidden truth.

    The deputy stepped forward, using a length of rope to bind her hands behind her back.

    Erika wanted to use the magic she¡¯d hidden all her life, knowing full-well that she could call on powerful flames to burn her accusers to ash. It was so very tempting and would be so easy to do!

    Never, ever use magic to harm another! The memory of a scolding Erika had received from her grandmother, Starla, echoed in her mind, after she¡¯d used a spell to trip a boy for the sake of mischief, That power exists to help others, not to entertain you!

    Starla had been an exceptionally powerful witch, who¡¯d made healing potions that were only slightly more powerful than herbs. She¡¯d quietly set and knit bones with magic, but only when no one could prove it had been done that way. She¡¯d quietly served Daleshade to the day she died, for which she¡¯d gotten little thanks, only for her funeral to be full of gossip about witches, because everyone suspected, but wasn¡¯t certain.

    Erika made up her mind that she wouldn¡¯t violate the vow she¡¯d made to Granny Starla, not even to save her own life. She waited patiently as the pile of firewood was assembled in one of the disused farm fields, with the big log in the center, held up by the pile, though some attempt had been made to dig a hole and plant it inside.

    By the time they were done, the sun was setting.

    <hr>

    Marta was eager to get home, but also felt there was no reason to rush, especially since it was getting dark and they hadn¡¯t brought a lantern. It would probably also be better to let her sisters rest while they could, because Mother and Father were sure to have questions, which might keep everyone up half the night, since the carriage was such an exciting and new thing.

    <hr>

    Erika was dragged to her place of ignominy on the pile of wood and another rope was used to tightly secure her arms and waist to the stake, while others poured some of Mr. Hawkbender¡¯s moonshine over the logs, to ensure they¡¯d easily light, leaving her eyes and nose stung by the touch of powerful vapors.

    When all was ready, the mayor stepped over, spat in Erika¡¯s face, then whispered, ¡°I had to kill my own son, because one of your whore-of-the-devil daughters bewitched him, just like I did with that poor fool that married your oldest! I¡¯m glad I finally get to see you burn for what you¡¯ve taken from me and this village!¡±

    Erika shook her head and muttered words of power in an ancient language known only to witches and wizards, mouthing the words of a spell that would amplify her voice and create an aura of fear around her. The spell was harmless, but after what she¡¯d just heard, something had to be done to rattle the real monster of Daleshade.

    She was tempted to repeat what he¡¯d just said, but knew no one present would accept the word of a confessed witch. Instead, she decided to go with something a little more traditional and witchy.

    She spoke at a volume comparable to a megaphone, her voice magically enhanced to ensure all ears present would take notice, ¡°Know this day, Mayor Godfrey Rumblecleaver, that your sins will follow you to your very last day, while the gates of the infernal realm gape open and ready to take your soul!

    ¡°I declare to all: if any of you ever harms so much as one hair on the heads of my daughters, I will return as a vengeful spirit, with bloody intention to wipe out this entire village, guilty and innocent alike, because evil triumphs when good men do nothing!¡± Erika gave Rolf and his son a particularly scathing glare, before she looked once more at the now cowering mayor, to speak so softly only he should have heard her final words, though the magic still took them far and wide, ¡°With my last, dying breath, I curse you to never know peace!¡±

    Unwilling to give Rumblecleaver and his mob the satisfaction of taking her life, Erika screamed the word for ¡®fire¡¯ in the ancient language of magic, producing a whumph as the alcohol lit and flame engulfed her body!

    <hr>

    Marta was surprised to see some kind of huge bonfire in the distance, near the old cottage, which wasn¡¯t at all normal. With how much work went into chopping wood, Father hated to waste it and would never have approved such a large fire for anything other than a festival.

    Marta set aside caution and pushed the throttle forward, shouting, ¡°Wake up! We¡¯ve got trouble!¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± Amelia asked as she rubbed her eyes.

    Iris lifted her goggles and stared at the distant fire with shock.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know, but something¡¯s very wrong!¡±

    Marta drove the carriage into the yard around the house, while a wagon full of men was hauled away by galloping horses, though Marta paid them little heed! Instead, she looked into the bonfire, barely able to make out a scorched, human form tied to the upright central log!

    As she cut the throttle and set the brake, a cold certainty settled on her mind that the mayor had finally done what he¡¯d been promising as far back as Marta could remember and she stared into the flame with frozen disbelief!

    Amelia stepped down from the carriage and sputtered, ¡°Who¡­what¡­why?¡±

    <hr>

    Acting without much thought, because she was too shocked to feel a thing or even reason, Iris ran until she was right beside the bonfire, intent on saving a life!

    She held her hands out in front of her body, shouted the ancient word of power for ¡®extinguish¡¯, then separated her hands, effectively parting the flame like Moses parted the Red Sea, creating a path to the woman on the stake!

    With another word of power, namely that for ¡®loosen¡¯, the ropes dropped and the body fell free! Despite the heat of the wood scorching her through her shoes, Iris caught the body and dragged it free of the blaze, which was hot enough to singe her hair and char the sleeves of her dress as she worked!

    When they were both clear, she allowed her magic to lapse and the bonfire sprung back to a full blaze.

    An evaluation of the victim brought the conclusion the woman wasn¡¯t breathing and there were third-degree burns over her whole body! Iris gingerly checked the neck for a pulse and found none. As her hand came away, it brushed a copper necklace, with little smoke-blackened stones, which looked awfully familiar.

    With a terrible feeling of horror, on top of that which already filled her frame, Iris hesitated for a time, before she wiped one of the stones with her sleeve, revealing the purple of those set in Mother¡¯s favorite necklace!

    Iris screamed and howled as tears dripped from her eyes, brought on by more grief than she could bear!

 Episode 2: Homeless, Chapter 5: Salt in the Wound

    Three days had passed and Amelia stood at the threshold of her workshop, staring at the pile of ash in the field, still unable to process her feelings. She avoided looking at the mound of dirt that marked the spot where they¡¯d buried Mother, which was fairly close to the ash.

    ¡°You okay?¡± Father asked.

    He stood beside her, because neither one of them could bear the reminders of the woman they¡¯d lost, which were everywhere in the little house.

    Amelia turned to look at him and shook her head.

    Her jaw quivered for a time as she tried to speak her mind, though she wasn¡¯t able to get the words out, for fear of what Father might say. She was absolutely terrified what his reaction might be, because everyone in Daleshade knew how fiery his temper could be, especially without Mother around to temper it with a little wisdom. He¡¯d never raised a hand to Amelia, but she worried he might, because¡­

    He stepped over and wrapped Amelia in his great and muscular arms, saying, ¡°I love you and I always will. I know you¡¯ve got something on your mind, something that worries you, something you want to say to me, specifically. I promise, no matter what it is, I¡¯ll still love you, because you¡¯re my daughter.¡±

    Amelia relaxed and started, ¡°I¡¯m sorry! I¡¯m so sorry!¡±

    Father whispered, ¡°You blame yourself for your mother¡¯s death?¡±

    Amelia was so terrified, all she could manage was a quiet nod of her head as she trembled. Father kissed Amelia¡¯s forehead and the trembles ended.

    ¡°Not your fault. You were just being you and this was something your mother has been dodging for decades. She made one tiny mistake with her magic and there was one witness, who refused to ever let it go.¡± Father looked at the pile of ash as his tone filled with a fiery rage, ¡°I know exactly who to blame,¡± his tone softened again, ¡°and it definitely isn¡¯t you.¡±

    Amelia wrapped her arms around Father¡¯s torso, though she wasn¡¯t quite able to reach all the way, since she was so small and he so large.

    Someone cleared their throat and the two of them let go of each other, startled by the intrusion.

    Amelia looked on a boy she knew fairly well. Henry Hillwind was the village crier and messenger. He was thirteen years old, but he was a quick runner and could read well, though he wasn¡¯t much of a thinker, a quality the mayor sought in all village employees. Both his hair and eyes were about the same shade of brown and his skin was a little darker than average.

    Henry¡¯s expression was one of fear as he unrolled a scroll and read, ¡°By order of Mayor Godfrey Rumblecleaver, protector of the village of Daleshade, all property of the confessed witch, Erika Blackwell, shall be forfeit one week from her death, to be sold at auction to pay for the cost of the firewood. The auction takes place tomorrow, at dawn.¡± Seeing the thunderous expression of Father, the boy stammered, ¡°I¡¯m sorry! I¡¯m just doing my job!¡±

    Father was tense for a long, quiet moment, while Henry backed away, cautiously. After the moment was over, the tension left the woodcutter¡¯s body and tears rolled down his cheeks.

    When he finally spoke, his quiet tone was more terrifying to Amelia than anything she¡¯d seen before, because grief poured from him in nearly-tangible waves, displaying a level of bewilderment and loss she¡¯d never seen in him, ¡°Hasn¡¯t the mayor taken enough from this family? Must he also take everything we own?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry!¡± Henry turned and ran away, rather than meeting Father¡¯s gaze.

    Amelia¡¯s mind raced, pouring over the many laws she¡¯d memorized. She had to conclude the mayor was following the law, but not everything on their land belonged to mother. In point of fact, Amelia¡¯s workshop and the contents of it belonged to her, as well as the horseless carriage.

    They would be required to forfeit the land, but Amelia saw a potential way to protect most of their property.

    ¡°Father, were the things Mother inherited from Grandmother specifically given to her or were they simply inherited the usual way?¡± She asked.

    Father shrugged, ¡°Her mother and grandmother both left written wills, just the same as your Mother has. I don¡¯t know the actual wording, but I know she kept them.¡±

    ¡°Show me.¡±

    Ten minutes later, after digging through an old chest that had always been off-limits to the Blackwell girls, Father produced an old pile of yellowing papers, which he handed over.

    Amelia sat on the old bed her parents had shared and pored over the documents, each of which was a last will and testament of Blackwell women, going back centuries. Amelia read for close to an hour, starting with the oldest, a grim smile forming on her face as she worked, getting larger with each.

    Along the way, Amelia learned something she¡¯d never quite understood before, since she¡¯d never asked: the Blackwell name had been passed from mother to daughter and men had been marrying into the family in a strangely matriarchal way for centuries, taking their wife¡¯s surname for themselves. It wasn¡¯t the usual custom, but the marriage forms the village used had lines to specify who¡¯s name was changing as a result of the ceremony, which had puzzled Amelia when she saw an example of the form in the law book.

    When she was halfway through, Father asked, ¡°What have you learned?¡±

    ¡°If the pattern I¡¯m seeing holds true, then the only thing Mother actually inherited were the house and land. The law requires such to be assigned to a specific individual, to minimize arguments about shared property. On the other hand, Blackwell women have been specifically leaving the rest of their property to all of their female descendants for the past fifteen generations, with every will using the same language. Based on the way it reads, I think it was originally written by a lawyer. It¡¯s ironclad and the Mayor can¡¯t take anything from us, other than the land and house, but that won¡¯t happen for another four days. Until then, my sisters and I are free to do with it as we please.¡±

    Father frowned, ¡°The mayor has had his eye on your mother¡¯s land for decades, so I¡¯m certain he¡¯ll be bidding on it at the auction and he¡¯ll certainly be able to out-bid anyone else, since he¡¯s the richest man around.¡±

    ¡°Find my sisters!¡± Amelia commanded, ¡°We need to discuss strategy and decide on a course of action together, but in the mean time, I have a few more wills to read, to make absolutely certain.¡±

    ¡°Okay.¡± Father nodded and rushed out of the room, while Amelia got back to reading.

    <hr>

    Amelia had seen a few auctions over the years, but had never really taken an interest.

    Ironically, the courthouse was a place Amelia was very familiar with, because it was also the local chapel, at least on Sundays, when a series of traveling priests and priestesses showed up to perform services and listen to people confessing their sins. The hard, uncomfortable benches were technically also pews and there were little trays built into the backs of them, which held hymnals. Currently, the little altar and podium used for Sunday worship were off to one side, while the judge¡¯s bench was front and center.

    The mayor normally served as auctioneer, but since he was planning to bid, a clear conflict of interest, the job had fallen on the shoulders of Deputy Nicklebender, who sat in the judge¡¯s seat, holding the mayor¡¯s gavel. He looked horribly nervous and performed his work awkwardly, but did his duty and brought the meeting to order, selling off a few items of property the village had seized as a result of crimes committed by villagers.

    The room was fairly empty, because only a few villagers hoping to get some land had shown up, who¡¯d quickly been out-bid by the mayor, but once that minor skirmish was over and the mayor thought he¡¯d won with a bid of ten silver pieces, Amelia shouted, ¡°Ten silver and one copper!¡±

    ¡°Eleven silver!¡± The mayor immediately countered, launching into another bidding war.

    Amelia spoke with measured calm, ¡°Eleven silver, one copper.¡±

    Hours passed with Amelia intentionally driving the price up, always bidding one copper piece higher than the mayor, just to infuriate him. The price rose in small increments from silver and into gold, of which Amelia only had the equivalent of five, from a combination of steel sales and the contribution of all the money her family possessed, while she was certain the mayor had much more than that.

    After the mayor¡¯s most recent bid of four gold, Amelia countered, ¡°Four gold, one copper!¡±

    Finally, the mayor lost his temper and significantly raised his bid, ¡°Twenty gold!¡±

    With a feigned look of defeat, Amelia met the gaze of the Deputy and shrugged, ¡°I can¡¯t beat that.¡±The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    ¡°Going once¡­going twice¡­sold to Mayor Rumblecleaver for twenty gold!¡±

    Amelia intentionally allowed the grief of losing her mother to surface, bringing tears to her eyes, that she might more fully portray the look of defeat she wanted the mayor to see on her face.

    The mayor grinned evilly, ¡°Better luck next time, witch!¡±

    Amelia stepped outside, into the light of late morning. She¡¯d delayed as long as she could to frustrate the mayor and was quite surprised she¡¯d managed to drive the price so high, since the family farm was only worth ten gold. That gave her a particularly warm feeling on the inside, because she¡¯d only intended to drive the price up, but hadn¡¯t counted on the man¡¯s pigheaded nature and desire to win at any cost.

    She smiled through her tears, certain her mother would love her plan and that ironic twist.

    <hr>

    The day after the auction, the Blackwell sisters watched from the porch, sipping from ceramic cups as men from distant villages arrived with wagon loads of unusual supplies, while Father shouted instructions to the workmen that arrived with them.

    The first was a wagon brimming with salt, which was liberally dumped all over the disused farm field in which their mother was buried, then evenly raked into the dirt and weeds.

    The second bore large, ceramic jugs full of alchemic waste, which was sprinkled all over another field. Amelia was quite amused to watch as the weeds and flowers visibly smoked and wilted, because the stuff was so toxic. The men doing the dumping work were forced to wear masks soaked in some alchemic agent that kept them safe from the vapors, in addition to goggles protecting their eyes.

    The third cart brought whole bags of lye, which were slit open and distributed over yet another field.

    When night fell, the sisters held hands and chanted ancient words of power that summoned a rain storm, to soak the salt, waste and lye into the soil, making it impossible to remove.

    The next day, the rest of the fields were contaminated in a similar fashion, followed by another magical storm.

    The last day they were on the property, a wagon with two horses was delivered, which Father had purchased. It held some supplies for the road, including tents and rations. They spent the day loading everything they cared to take with them into it, which wasn¡¯t very much. Amelia was very careful about how their books were packed, making sure they were stored in a pair of oilcloth sacks.

    When evening came, they drove both the wagon and Amelia¡¯s carriage about a hundred yards down the road and setup a tent, before returning to the house.

    ¡°Are you sure this is what you want?¡± Father asked as he looked at his daughters.

    All three of them nodded and Amelia asked, ¡°Would you rather Rumblecleaver got the house?¡±

    Father shook his head and looked back at the family home with sadness, while Iris stepped past him, raising her hands as she mouthed the words of a spell. She cupped her hands, spoke the word ¡®fire¡¯ in the ancient witch¡¯s tongue and blew into them, causing a flame to spring up from nothing more than burning air.

    She blew on it as if it were an ember, until the flame was too big to hold, hurling it at the straw roof of the family home. There was a fiery explosion, which set the thatch ablaze! Not one of them could look away as their much-loved home burned until the thatch collapsed inward. That resulted in an explosion as Mother¡¯s alchemical supplies ignited and the flames briefly turned blue, then pink and green!

    After an hour, the blaze was done and Marta stepped up, because the stones of the structure were still intact. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she spoke ancient words of power for ¡®earth¡¯, ¡®stone¡¯ and ¡®crumble¡¯.

    Mortar cracked and stones split, sending fragments of rock flying in all directions! The walls fell inward as the stone became as brittle as thin ice, crumbling to dust. When the magic was done, all that was left was a pile of dust and ash.

    Amelia stepped over to her workshop with a small steam engine. She spent a little time wedging all of the pressure relief valves closed, then adjusted a little knob on the side to drop the steam generating plates into the water inside, cranking it all that way to maximum throttle. The shaft for the belt wheel on the side started spinning and she ran outside.

    ¡°Let¡¯s go!¡± She shouted, running past the rest of her family.

    It took about a minute for the little engine to build enough pressure to explode, but they were far away when that happened, though the sound echoed like thunder.

    They climbed into their tent and tried to sleep, but not one of them could.

    Eventually, Father got up, muttering, ¡°There¡¯s something I need to do, or I¡¯ll never be able to move on.¡±

    ¡°You need a hand with anything?¡± Iris asked, ¡°I can¡¯t sleep, either.¡±

    ¡°No. It¡¯s just something I let fall by the wayside, nothing too big.¡±

    ¡°Be careful out there in the dark.¡± Marta cautioned.

    ¡°I always am.¡± Father nodded.

    ¡°Make sure you¡¯re back by dawn. We still have to hand over the deed for the land.¡± Amelia reminded him, ¡°I¡¯m sure the mayor will personally come for it and I¡¯d rather you were with us.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯ll be back on time.¡±

    <hr>

    Rolf woke to a heavy pounding on the door of his house in the middle of the night. Fearing something awful had happened, he rushed to the door and opened it, transforming his fear into pants-wetting terror, because it was Tim Blackwell.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry! I had no choice! It¡¯s the law!¡± Rolf stepped backwards, tripped and fell against a wall as Tim towered over him.

    Tim¡¯s voice was full of menace, ¡°There¡¯s always a choice, but that¡¯s not why I¡¯m here.¡±

    ¡°Then¡­then what is it?¡±

    ¡°Tonight, you¡¯re going to do as I say, regardless of what I ask, both you and your son. It¡¯s the least you owe me.¡± Tim¡¯s eyes smoldered in the dim light and it became clear he was only barely controlling his temper.

    Rolf gulped and asked, ¡°Is this going to be legal?¡±

    Tim put a fist through the lumber of the wall beside Rolf¡¯s head and growled a curse word that referred to procreation, finishing with, ¡°-legal, though it will be morally right and just.¡±

    Rolf nodded and gulped, but agreed, ¡°Okay! Whatever you say!¡±

    After seeing the results of the law, Rolf was actually intrigued to see a little moral justice, because legal justice had been awful, though above all, he was more terrified of Tim than he¡¯d ever been of any living thing.

    After a moment¡¯s silence, Tim asked, ¡°Does the mayor have any enemies I¡¯m not aware of?

    <hr>

    Godfrey lay in bed, unable to sleep, despite having gotten everything he wanted. He lay alone, because his wife had passed shortly after the death of their son and his mansion was quiet, because he was the only one living in it; the servants had an old, leaky little shack of their own, at the opposite corner of the property.

    Erika was finally dead and her land would be his in the morning, a fact he was quite eager about. He¡¯d paid most of his fortune into Daleshade¡¯s coffers for it, but that hardly mattered, since the Blackwell farm had historically been extremely fertile. He was sure to make the money back in only a year or two and he already had plans for what he¡¯d put into the village coffers, which would go toward renovations the courthouse and village offices badly needed.

    He should have been feeling wonderful, but Erika¡¯s parting words bothered him. He lay staring at the ceiling, unable to enjoy his success, wondering if her curse had been more than the mere words he¡¯d shrugged off after a couple drinks. It didn¡¯t help that he was feeling itchy, worried that was part of the curse.

    He would have to consult the doctor, just to make sure-

    His thoughts were interrupted by a heavy blanket being thrown over his head, while strong and rough hands wrapped him up in it! His feet and the blanket were carefully bound with what could only have been rope, despite his struggles!

    He commanded, ¡°I¡¯m the mayor and I order you to release me!¡±

    Several people laughed at the same time, while someone grabbed his foot! Godfrey¡¯s head smacked on the stairs as they dragged him from the house! One little sliver of moonlight reached through a hole in the blanket, but he wasn¡¯t able to twist his body to see out of it!

    ¡°What are you going to do to me?¡± He wailed as the terror of a potentially less than peaceful fate gripped him!

    The answer was intentionally deep, to disguise the voice of the speaker as they answered, ¡°Mayor Godfrey Rumblecleaver, you stand accused of violating the laws of the Gods, which are higher than the laws of Man. You¡¯ve twisted the law until it no longer serves its purpose, leaving the people of Daleshade with no choice but to discard it, in favor of a more pure and true justice.

    ¡°Additionally, it¡¯s a well-established fact you persecuted Erika Blackwell for an antiquated crime that no longer matters, despite her lifetime of service to this village. You also stand accused of three counts of murder, because while scheming to legally murder Mrs. Blackwell, you killed two young men, simply for loving her daughters, namely Conrad Rumblecleaver and Zayne Blackwell, who¡¯s surname before marriage was Witfire.¡±

    ¡°You can¡¯t prove any of that!¡± Godfrey shouted, though he trembled with fear.

    His accusers laughed again and their speaker asked, ¡°Proof? After the way you¡¯ve treated others, accusation should be proof enough! You persecuted Mrs. Blackwell for more than twenty years, all because she cast a harmless spell, but you? You murdered your own son and the only son of the Witfires, even though you know for a fact that Mrs. Witfire can bear no more children!

    ¡°You took a child from those that had but one, all to satisfy your own selfish pride! For your crimes, you deserve death!¡±

    ¡°Please, don¡¯t kill me!¡± Godfrey begged, ¡°I¡¯ll change my ways! I¡¯ll do better!¡±

    ¡°Hark at the way the man begs and pleads, the coward! Were he a true man, he would stand and face us with his head held high!¡± Another voice cried out.

    There was a murmur of agreement, not unlike the lynch mob Godfrey had whipped together, to see the witch burn.

    Godfrey asked, ¡°What are you going to do with me?¡±

    The first voice answered, ¡°Less than you deserve, but hopefully enough to see a measure of justice. This time, it will be a beating, but if you ever twist the law again, we won¡¯t stop until we¡¯ve avenged the fallen!¡±

    With that, the mob was clearly done talking. One of them kicked him in the ribs of his right side, followed by a stomp to the gut! After that, something with the weight of a brick struck his other side, audibly cracking a rib! Godfrey howled, but the next kick knocked the wind out of him!

    <hr>

    ¡°He¡¯s actually late.¡± Amelia commented in the light of dawn.

    Father shrugged, ¡°Let¡¯s give him another half hour. I gather the mayor had a busy night.¡±

    ¡°What did you do last night?¡± Marta gave Father a quizzical look.

    Father feigned ignorance and laid a hand on his chest, saying, ¡°Why would you think I¡¯d done something? I just went for a walk to clear my head, that¡¯s all.¡±

    ¡°Yes, but you were gone for hours and when you got back,¡± Iris narrowed her eyes, ¡°you seemed almost cheerful.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know what you¡¯re talking about.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s still alive, right?¡± Amelia asked.

    Father sighed and nodded, ¡°I promise, though¡­he might wish he wasn¡¯t.¡±

    Amelia nodded, ¡°Good.¡±

    ¡°I can live with that.¡± Iris grinned a little.

    ¡°On those cold, winter nights, I imagine his knee will really ache,¡± Father smiled and looked to the horizon, wistfully, ¡°and I hope he¡¯ll be reminded of all the bad things he¡¯s done.¡±

    Marta chuckled, ¡°That makes me feel slightly better, actually.¡±

    ¡°Me, too.¡± Amelia agreed and they were silent for a time, before she asked, ¡°Do we really need to stick around to hand over the deed?¡±

    Father shrugged, ¡°Probably not. Just put a heavy rock on it, near the house foundation. That should be enough.¡±

    Amelia nodded and ran toward the remains of their house, carrying the yellowed piece of paper. When she returned, Marta was in the driver¡¯s seat of the carriage, while Iris was in the back and their Father was at the reigns of the wagon¡¯s horses. Amelia climbed into the carriage.

    They had a long journey ahead of them, which all of them hoped would lead to a life without persecution and prejudice.

 Chapter 6: The Stuff of Dreams

    Amelia was depressed and trying to cope by working, but it wasn¡¯t helping, because she craved something she¡¯d had all her life in Daleshade, which had been missing in the past two years: home. She had no desire to return to the backward village she¡¯d grown up in, but she wanted somewhere to settle down.

    Her family had originally set out to find a place they¡¯d be accepted, but in general, no one trusted outsiders enough to sell them land. In the few places they¡¯d stayed long-term, in the hopes of someday being allowed to buy land, rumor caught up with them and the sisters were outed as witches, leading to a quick retreat, before a lynch mob could be gathered. It was frustrating that the legacy of the awful village they¡¯d come from could reach so very far, but gossip seemed to travel faster than any wagon could manage.

    Two years of wandering the roads of the world, two years of losing every friend made along the way, two years of wanting a place to put down some roots, only to be denied at every opportunity, due to the same old stupid ignorance.

    That time had seen Amelia through a lot of physical growth, though she was still shorter than Iris, who was slightly taller than Mother and Amelia would forever remain much shorter than Marta. In fact, Amelia was beginning to wonder how a huge man and a woman of average height had produced such a small girl, but that was just one of those things that happened from time to time.

    Despite darkening significantly, Amelia¡¯s hair was still blond and she was glad it no longer resembled straw. In combination with the way her bust-line had filled out, young men had begun to stare at her with interest, something that had encouraged her to grow her hair until it reached mid-back. Long hair could be dangerous around machines, however, so Marta and Iris helped her out by braiding it to stay on her backside and out of the way.

    Amelia sat on a stool in a wagon she¡¯d turned into a mobile workshop, which had previously been owned by a traveling salesman that retired and sold it to her. It had originally been very similar to old Mr. Pinewater¡¯s wagon, with wood walls, a round roof, a door at the back and a small wood stove, though Amelia had replaced that with an enchanted, rune-powered forge and smelter. She¡¯d also retrofit the stove pipe with an enchanted bellows that kept the air of the workshop clean, by drawing out the smoke produced by smelting and metalwork.

    She¡¯d also modified the wagon to work similar to her old carriage, though with many improvements, including the ability to disengage the steam engine from the wagon¡¯s rear shaft, so she could use it for tasks inside the workshop, such as running the lathe, her new favorite tool.

    The lathe was something described in The Book of Newts, which used an engine to rotate a bit of wood or metal at high speed, while she braced a chisel or other tool to shave the working material down. She was currently working a bit of wood into a round table leg for a wealthy woman of the village they¡¯d stopped at for a time, because the whole family was tired of traveling. Wood wasn¡¯t Amelia¡¯s favorite material to work with, but no one in the sleepy little city had ever seen turned wood and Amelia had lots of orders for table legs.

    It was easy money, but wasn¡¯t satisfying, because she felt drawn to the sky. She¡¯d been reading in The Book of Newts about flying machines, which made her hands practically itch to try out the designs, but all she could build were little models that soared through the air. Those were fun as toys and another money maker, but she just didn¡¯t have the space to work on a full-scale version.

    Amelia wanted a real brick and mortar workshop, where such wondrous machines might be possible, but was beginning to really doubt she¡¯d ever find a place to call home.

    Her mind wandered as she varnished the current order of table legs, thinking about all the wealthy women that had been buying them. As they dried over the course of the morning and afternoon, it occurred to her that women with wealth often also had influence. Influence and wealth had always been the tools of choice for Mayor Rumblecleaver, because they could be quite powerful. Amelia had plenty of wealth and the means to get more, but influence was something she¡¯d never had, nor tried to wield. Perhaps it was time to acquire some.

    Surely, if she had friends in high places that owed her a small favor, they would be inclined to grease the wheels of politics on her behalf, to allow her to purchase some land. It was worth trying.

    She might still have to solve the issue of the rumors of witchcraft, but she dared hope that was already take care of. After all, it had been eight months since she¡¯d even heard the rumor. Perhaps they were finally beyond the reach of Daleshade¡¯s awful legacy?

    Feeling strangely energized by a glimmer of hope, Amelia stepped down from her workshop wagon.

    Father was busy working on the other wagon, using wood he¡¯d cut from a nearby forest to give it a roof and walls, because he seemed to have finally accepted the idea they¡¯d never have a home. Every day, the man looked a little older and more tired. He needed a real home just as badly as Amelia, or perhaps even more.

    To one side, Marta was cooking their evening meal over the campfire in a big, cast-iron skillet, while Iris did laundry in the shallow stream they¡¯d been camping beside. The family tent was beyond Marta, a blue affair made of oilskin, which had a little open circle in one side for the pipe of the small wood stove that had originally been part of Amelia¡¯s workshop. Their two horses had been tied to a tree on the opposite bank, near some lush grass they were doing their best to terminally trim. Beyond them was the forest Father had been cutting wood from for their projects and campfire.

    In the other direction was the little city Amelia hoped would soon accept them, with a little help. Macclesfield was rural, primarily a farming community, but it was on a major trade route and featured a rather prosperous market. It was surrounded by farm fields that went nearly as far as the eye could see, interrupted by only an occasional barn, but no houses, which was different from most places. The city itself had a strong defensive wall of local stone mortared together that kept the homes of locals safe and protected their stored farm produce, because there were occasional roving bandits in the area.

    Ironically, when it came to bandits, the rumor mill worked in a witch¡¯s favor. Bandits didn¡¯t share gossip with the communities they robbed, but they did share it with each other and the Blackwell sisters were well known to them, because every time they came near, Marta used magic to start an earthquake, an effective deterrent that harmed no one.

    Amelia loaded several dozen table legs into a small hand cart she¡¯d purchased for making deliveries. Each set of four was different by design, with varying choices of wood and varnish, because the tables they were intended for had differing motifs.

    She vanished into the family tent for a few minutes, emerging in the yellow dress she used for deliveries, which included a white apron, because she always needed pockets. She lifted the handles of the cart and headed for the city.

    <hr>

    Mrs. Maccle smiled at Amelia¡¯s work, obviously quite pleased. She was middle-aged, with wrinkles creeping into her face from every side, but that only made her look wise and distinguished, rather than old. Her black hair had been tied back with a red ribbon that matched the expensive dress she wore.

    ¡°It¡¯s excellent work, dear. You really are a wonderful crafts¡­¡± The older woman trailed off in deep thought for a few seconds, before finishing her compliment, ¡°You really are a top-notch craftswoman.¡± She smiled and turned the table leg over in her hand, feeling how smooth the surface was, ¡°I really don¡¯t know how you make them so perfectly round.¡±

    Amelia smiled, ¡°I¡¯m afraid that¡¯s a trade secret.¡±

    ¡°Of course, I would never dare intrude upon your right to keep that to yourself.¡± The woman handed the leg back.If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    They stepped beside an overturned table the new legs were destined to become a part of. Ironically, Amelia thought the existing legs were better, because they had a curvature to them that was impressive, though they followed a very rectangular basis from top to bottom, but since no one had round legs on their tables, Amelia¡¯s work was all the rage.

    Amelia carefully released the fastenings that kept the old legs on, slotted the new ones into place, then replaced the fastenings that kept it all secure. When she was done, the two of them flipped the table back over and Mrs. Maccle grinned from ear to ear.

    ¡°I¡¯ll be the envy of all my friends, dear.¡± She took Amelia¡¯s hand in both of hers, asking, ¡°How much do I owe you? I¡¯ve forgotten the details since we agreed on the amount.¡±

    Amelia smiled, because the moment she¡¯d been waiting for had come.

    She started, ¡°Actually, since then I¡¯ve decided I¡¯d like something other than money, if you¡¯ll hear me out.¡±

    ¡°Go on, dear.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d like to buy some land, but I haven¡¯t been able to, because local law forbids an outsider from owning property in the city. I want to live here, because it¡¯s a nice place. I want to be a local. I¡¯d be happy to give you the table legs in exchange for some aid in that matter.¡±

    Mrs. Maccle gave Amelia¡¯s hand a friendly little squeeze, ¡°I¡¯d be happy to. After all, with skills like yours, you would be a most welcome upset to the local craftsmen. The old boys are so protective of the ancient crafting secrets, but with your new techniques and being a woman, no less, I think you¡¯ll be making just the right kind of waves, in no time!

    ¡°However, while I¡¯m all for the idea, I must say, you¡¯re going to need more than just my approval. I have the ear of my husband, the mayor, but you¡¯re going to need other leading men to weigh in on the matter.¡±

    Amelia chuckled, ¡°That¡¯s more or less what Mrs. Keenmark and Mrs. Flatbrand said. Both suggested I get you on my side.¡±

    ¡°Ah, you little schemer!¡± Mrs. Maccle laughed, ¡°You had me thinking you¡¯d asked me first. You can rest assured that my husband will vote in your favor to make an exception for you and your family. With their wives on your side, the other two members of the town council will surely follow suit, lest they never hear the end of it.¡±

    ¡°Thank you.¡± Amelia bowed her head to her benefactor, ¡°Then please, accept the table legs as a gift, to show my appreciation for this little favor.¡±

    Mrs. Maccle let go of Amelia¡¯s hand and bowed her head, in turn, ¡°I accept your gift with thanks and I hope that we can be friends, dear.¡±

    Amelia was taken aback, because she hadn¡¯t expected that, but it was a happy outcome.

    ¡°Nothing could possibly make me happier.¡± Amelia nodded, with a tear rolling down her cheek, because she meant every word.

    <hr>

    Amelia stepped into a dim, empty warehouse that was irregularly lit by windows, most of which were so dirty, no light made it through. Wooden columns with peeling paint kept the roof up, which was at ceiling height of the second story of most houses in town. The space was nearly a hundred yards wide, but only half that in width. To one side of the entrance was a little, elevated office with a set of stairs leading up to it, another office sandwiched beneath it. Both had actual glass windows to look out at the warehouse. Both the front and back had huge doors that swung inward, large enough to drive fully loaded wagons inside, plus a smaller set of doors for people.

    ¡°I think this is far too large for your needs, dear,¡± Mrs. Maccle waved a hand toward the massive room, her voice echoing, ¡°but it is available and you said money was no object¡­¡±

    ¡°Why is it empty? Why is your husband looking to sell it?¡± Amelia asked.

    ¡°It¡¯s inconveniently located.¡±

    ¡°Really?¡±

    Mrs. Maccle answered, ¡°It was once used for storing produce, to keep it out of bandit hands, just like the other warehouses. The outer walls were closer then, but the city has grown quite a bit in the intervening years. The place is too close to the city center now and was replaced by a newer building, to keep the main street clear during harvest, an important safety concern.¡±

    Amelia looked out at the empty space, certain it was far more than she would ever need, but it was wonderfully close to the market, the office space was larger than the old family home, and best of all, her imagination was running wild with possibilities of fantastic new projects that would be open to her, with such a luxuriously large space to work! She¡¯d been thinking of a few small flying machines, but with such a ridiculously large work area, there was no reason she couldn¡¯t build whole airships, with plenty of room to spare.

    In short, Amelia was falling in love with the possibilities.

    She didn¡¯t even notice Mrs. Maccle talking about the history of it, because her mind was running faster than ever, as still-greater images formed in her mind: a great, gleaming tower of steel rose from the ground in her imagination, carried aloft on a column of superheated steam!

    The vision continued and she watched as the tower turned in the sky at the apogee of its flight, until it was parallel with the ground, at which point it used another burst of steam to accelerate until it was moving so fast, it circled the world, forever falling, but never reaching the ground!

    It was possible and Amelia was going to do it! She just needed time and a proper workshop!

    Her imagination filled the warehouse with custom equipment and workers, all of them reaching for the same goal, all of them looking to the sky. It wasn¡¯t enough space, after all, but it was good enough for a start.

    Mrs. Maccle stepped between Amelia and the visions produced by a free-running imagination under the influence of magic so subtle, Amelia didn¡¯t even notice.

    The older woman asked, ¡°Amelia? Are you still with me, dear?¡±

    Amelia blinked a few times, surprised by the sheer power of what she¡¯d seen. She didn¡¯t remember reading about any such thing in The Book of Newts, because she¡¯d been so busy working, she¡¯d never finished it, but with a strange certainty, she knew everything she needed to reach ¡®orbit¡¯ was in there.

    That word was slightly worrying, because she didn¡¯t recall ever hearing it before, but how else could one describe the circular path of an object flying around another, caught in the gravity of the larger mass, just like astronomers claimed their world and others like it circled Junas, the giant world the Gods lived on?

    Something strange was happening and it was somehow related to The Book of Newts, but she needed to deal with the present.

    Mrs. Maccle grinned, ¡°Do you want this place, dear?¡±

    ¡°Yes, please.¡± Amelia nodded.

    They spent a while discussing the price and Amelia haggled the woman down a bit, until they were both satisfied. Mrs. Maccle gave her the key, promising to bring the others her husband had, once Amelia had given them the money.

    Amelia looked on the warehouse and paid close attention to magic as she did so. The visions came again, but this time, she knew them for what they were: the dream of someone else. She enjoyed the feeling of it, but knew the dream wasn¡¯t her own, because it was too grand and ambitious.

    She locked the building and headed back to camp in a thoughtful state.

    <hr>

    Amelia sat in her little wagon workshop and opened the book. She closed the door, shut the little window in the wall and lit a candle.

    She looked down at the book where it sat in its usual place, seeing both the image of a newt that filled a whole page, surrounded by text describing every detail about the creature, and also a page full of crabby, tiny text so small, it could only have been done with a printing press, though it was hard to imagine more than one copy of The Book of Newts.

    ¡°What are you?¡± Amelia asked.

    She wasn¡¯t expecting an answer, because books don¡¯t talk, but the pages of the book began flipping themselves. Eventually, the last page with text on it was turned, leading to the only blank page in it.

    ¡°There¡¯s nothing here.¡± She grumbled, ¡°What are you trying to tell me?¡±

    The book flipped backwards, until a full-page diagram of the solar system was visible, along with a drawing and detailed description of yet another species of newt, depending on how she looked at it.

    She ignored the newt and asked, ¡°The heavenly spheres?¡±

    One page flipped over, displaying an map-like collection of dots, each of them with a tiny, meticulous label, though there was no land or water depicted, only dots. Amelia¡¯s eye was irresistibly drawn to a particular one. She read the name, shocked and surprised by what she saw there.

    It read as ¡®Solus¡¯, the very name of the fiery orb Junas orbited. Other points near Solus were labeled Apreo, Uthec and Drues. They were the brightest stars in the sky, names everyone knew, because they were used for navigation at night, depending on which side of Junas the world was on.

    She was even more shocked by the realization that the universe was much larger than she¡¯d been taught, because the map had thousands of points on it, all named.

    The page slowly flipped a dozen times or more, through star maps just like the first, hinting to Amelia at an even grander universe than she was currently capable of comprehending.

    ¡°I asked what you are and you show me nothing, then everything? I don¡¯t understand!¡± She grumbled.

    Her head ached and she felt exhausted, just the same as she did when she tried to do the energetic magic her sisters were capable of. She didn¡¯t have the answer to her question, but she did have an answer she hadn¡¯t expected: the magic turning the pages of the book had come from her, though she hadn¡¯t been the one directing it. She was too tired to continue and that meant the answers the book could give for the day had come to an end, unless she wanted to read on her own.

    For a time, she wondered if the book could be trusted, but soon discarded her worries. It had been teaching her things she could learn nowhere else and it had never before asked for anything, though in some strange way, it seemed to have a dream of its own.

    Perhaps she owed something for the knowledge it had given. Perhaps the book¡¯s dream was worth considering. After all, it was fascinating, a dream of travel to the stars and possibly even further.

 Chapter 7: Wings

    Winter had come and Macclesfield appeared to have been blanketed in a layer of powdered sugar. Everything sparkled in the light of late morning. It was also bitterly cold, but snow was absolutely essential for the safety of Amelia¡¯s current project.

    Marta was in a heavy coat and driving the newest iteration of Amelia¡¯s horseless carriage, which was a little, four-wheeled affair with a driver¡¯s seat at the front, a steam engine at the back and the bare minimum of weight, because it was designed for hauling heavy loads. To that end, it had a hitching mechanism at the back to attach and pull loads. It used one of the biggest steam engines Amelia had ever made and was geared down between the engine and the drive shaft, giving it significant power.

    The carriage was all custom parts, most of it in a new formulation of steel that was extremely resistant to rust, which Amelia had named ¡®adamant steel¡¯. The outer shell Amelia added to keep internal mechanisms out of the weather had been painted a red shade, because she was very proud of her work. Since it was intended purely for hauling heavy loads, Amelia had named it a ¡®tractor¡¯, which was derived from an old, dead language, literally meaning, ¡®to pull¡¯. The tractor was extremely loud, but incredibly useful.

    However, that was nothing compared to what it was pulling: Amelia¡¯s newest project, which she¡¯d named Blackbird. It was a lightweight, all-wood affair that slightly resembled its namesake, though it had fixed wings mounted to the sides, instead of wings that flapped, and the tail was nothing like that of a bird, with fins more akin to those of a fish, though there were three of them. One fin went straight up, while two others went out to either side. Each fin had a small, movable flap along the trailing edge, which Amelia was confident would allow her to control the craft¡¯s direction in flight. In contrast to the tractor, Blackbird had ski-like runners in place of wheels, because Amelia didn¡¯t like the idea of landing on hard wheels. At the front of it was a steam engine with a lot of power, though Amelia had made it as small and light as possible and just beyond that, mounted on the engine¡¯s drive shaft, was a device described in The book of Newts, a propellor. The propellor was a shaft of wood with angled edges, which was designed to force air to flow backwards, over and under Blackbird¡¯s wings. In deference to the name, Amelia had painted the whole thing black.

    Amelia and Iris crunched through the snow, moving at a brisk walking pace to keep up, on either side of Blackbird, to keep an eye out for potential collisions, because the flying machine was relatively fragile. Both sisters wore heavy coats and trousers, with heavy scarves around their necks, as well as thick, woolen hats, because they were expecting things to get even colder once they were in the air.

    Townsfolk stared with wonder and did their best to get out of the way. Some few made gestures designed to ward off evil, but did nothing more. Persistent rumors of witchcraft surrounded the sisters, as it had their whole lives, but Mrs. Maccle and her husband had mostly squashed them, because they were always very keen to see what Amelia would build next. Several of her inventions had been huge successes in the city, including a steam-powered washing machine Amelia had come up with to save Iris from the drudge work of laundry.

    Amelia reflected on recent history. They¡¯d been in Macclesfield for six months and it was really starting to feel like home. The people there mostly liked them and Amelia had become famous in cities along the trade route that passed through the city, which had only brought more customers. She¡¯d been so busy with work, she¡¯d been forced to pick and choose which jobs she wanted, which had only driven demand and her pay through the roof.

    Still, all the while, she¡¯d been working through the mathematics of flight, while she scaled up her models, because small and large examples of the same thing never behaved identically.

    When they left the city behind, Amelia and Iris climbed into the pair of in-line seats set inside the fuselage of Blackbird, which Amelia jokingly called the ¡®witchpit¡¯. Amelia was in front and Iris in the second seat, largely because Amelia was short enough for Iris to see over her head. Once they were aboard, Marta picked up the speed, until they reached a particular field, which was owned by Mayor Maccle, who¡¯d eagerly agreed to let them do their tests on it.

    With the tractor¡¯s engine idling away, Marta slowed it to a stop and set the brake, before hopping down.

    She went around the wing and approached the witchpit from the left side, shouting over the sound of the tractor¡¯s engine, ¡°You ready?¡±

    Amelia shouted back, ¡°Ready!¡±

    ¡°And eager!¡± Iris grinned like a maniac.

    Iris loved fast vehicles, a fact Amelia didn¡¯t care for, but the middle sister was also the best horseless carriage driver they had, and Amelia had reluctantly accepted her sister as co-pilot. In addition, Iris was a quick thinker and rather good at keeping her mind calm when things went wrong.

    On the other hand, Marta seemed to have no interest in the actual flying, though she¡¯d assisted with every other aspect of the project.

    She shouted, ¡°You know, I think this is crazy! If witches were meant to fly, I¡¯m certain it would involve a broomstick!¡±

    She went back around the wing and unhitched the tractor, then spent a moment with a wrench, removing the mechanism from Blackbird that had linked the two vehicles, because it wasn¡¯t aerodynamic. She carried the arrangement of steel parts back to the tractor, which she drove away.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

    Inside the witchpit, there were two controls, a stick designed to adjust the flaps on the tail and a throttle handle to control the power of the engine. The stick was mounted between the legs, near Amelia¡¯s knees. There were identical controls in the back seat, with both sets linked to the same, steel rods that ran back to the tail and forward to the engine.

    ¡°Starting engine.¡± Amelia declared and pushed the throttle forward.

    The propellor spun slowly at first, but the engine soon had it up to speed and Amelia cautiously pushed it forward. After a moment, Blackbird inched ahead.

    Iris shouted with excitement, ¡°We¡¯re moving!¡±

    Knowing they needed maximum power for takeoff, Amelia pushed the throttle all the way forward and the engine got much louder! Beneath the engine, occasional puffs of steam were released via an aerodynamic pipe attached to the pressure relief valve, which kept the engine from exploding. It wasn¡¯t the most efficient way to run it, but the extra power was hypothetically required for takeoff.

    They were soon sliding along at a fair clip and there was a moment of sheer exhilaration as they reached the speed required for the wings to lift them from the ground!

    ¡°We¡¯re flying!¡± Iris screamed, ¡°Woo-hoo!¡±

    Amelia glanced sideways, confirming that fact!

    ¡°Yes!¡± She punched the air with a fist!

    Putting both hands on the control stick, Amelia very gently pulled back and they rose higher into the air, soaring like a massive raven!

    ¡°Woo-hoo!¡± Iris whooped with even greater delight!

    As they rose above the height of the frosted trees of the nearby forest, Amelia gently pulled the stick sideways, putting them into a broad turn, to circle the city, rather than flying away from it. The last thing Amelia wanted was to end up a long distance away from home, with only minimal emergency supplies, because they couldn¡¯t spare the weight.

    They continued to climb, because Amelia knew the velocity at which they were flying could be lethal and she was planning to deal with the major issue of landing, once they¡¯d had their fill of flight.

    When they were at an altitude Amelia considered safe, she reduced the throttle and reluctantly called out, ¡°You want to give it a try?¡±

    Iris giggled in a mildly crazed way and Amelia felt a little tremor in the stick as Iris took hold of her own, since they were linked.

    As expected, Iris was more rough with Blackbird than Amelia cared for, performing a few swooping dives that had Amelia¡¯s stomach trying to climb up her throat, followed by some sharp turns! After a while, Amelia was feeling a little sick, despite the fact she¡¯d kept her hands on the stick the entire time, to reduce the effects of her sister¡¯s crazy choice of maneuvers.

    ¡°Enough!¡± Amelia cried out, ¡°I¡¯m getting sick!¡±

    ¡°Okay!¡± Iris grumbled and let go, leaving control in the hands of Amelia.

    She reduced engine power and slowly brought them back down, in a wide circle.

    She scanned the terrain for the red color of the tractor until she spotted it, then mentally planned a path to get them down. After two more circles, she reduced power even more, lined up on the field, aiming to the side of Marta, and tipped the stick forward, taking them down.

    The landing was the only part that Amelia was nervous about, because she had no idea what she was doing. The Book of Newts had described the process in broad terms, but most of the details had been left to the imagination, because it depended on the method of landing. Hypothetically, Amelia knew what to do, but theory and practice were two different things and she expected to crash, at least the first time.

    She gently brought them down, flying just a bit above the ground with the engine at minimal power, then completely shut it off for the last few moments, while she slightly tipped the stick back, hoping to land on the back end of the skis, rather than jamming the tips into the ground.

    There was a shudder as Blackbird cut through the snow to the packed ice beneath and they were on the ground!

    Amelia punched the air again and shouted, ¡°Yes!¡±

    They were skiing along, properly landed, and all that was left was waiting to slow down!

    Unfortunately, the entire landscape was white and from her elevated position, she couldn¡¯t tell the difference between the flat land and the boulder at the edge of the field, because it blended right in.

    There was a cracking sound as the still-spinning propellor hit the boulder and shattered, sending high-velocity fragments flying upward and to the sides! That was followed by the metallic thump of the steam engine hitting rock, then a spray of hot water and steam as it cracked open! The body of Blackbird was next, the wooden fuselage ripped from nose to tail by the jagged edge of the boulder, very nearly taking Amelia¡¯s foot off, leaving her boot sliced open! Along the way, it caught the left ski, tearing it right off!

    The sisters screamed in terror as the sundered aircraft briefly lurched back into the air, forced upward by the boulder! They flew a short distance, before landing on the remaining ski, only to lurch sideways as the weight of Blackbird dragged the left down, into the snow, at which point the entire vehicle spun on the ground, until the strain ripped the wing off! There was a whiplash-inducing twist the other direction when the other wing dug into the snow and soil, which slammed Iris and Amelia into the side of the witchpit! With another lurch, the remaining ski snapped and they dropped to the ground, snow, ice and dirt spraying all over the both of them, from the open bottom of the craft!

    They finally came to a stop beside the main road and Amelia hung herself over the side, retching.

    Iris, on the other hand, seemed hysterical, because she started laughing in a terribly manic fashion.

    When Amelia was able to stop puking, she looked back at Iris, who was starting to cry as the shock wore off.

    After a few minutes, Marta finally caught up in the tractor and walked over, asking, ¡°Are you two okay?¡±

    Iris finally stopped laughing and shook her head, ¡°Not really, but I will be.¡±

    ¡°I feel sick and I¡¯m aching all over.¡± Amelia admitted.

    ¡°So, it wasn¡¯t any fun?¡± Marta¡¯s face twisted into a wry grin.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t say that.¡± Amelia grumbled, ¡°I just need to get better at landing. Clearly, the snow was a bad idea, after all, because I couldn¡¯t see that boulder. I need to find a way to give the next version wheels, but wood or metal will be too stiff and rough. I need to cushion them, somehow.¡±

    Marta offered a hand to each of them and they were grateful for the aid with climbing out, because both pilots had rather awful bruises, though they were fortunate to have no broken bones.