Willow heard Hunter suggest she not watch and now she was determined to. She wanted to understand him, as a grimwalker, and his magic: magic Belos stole and called artificial.
Hunter had taken her to a blind spot around the backside of the mansion's bone walls where no windows or doors could see. Mere feet away boiling seawater flowed around the invisible glyph barrier. It was dark. Dim ripples managed to leak through the layers of water above, and that was enough to see the spell Hunter cast to summon an item.
A dagger dropped into his hand. He pressed the blade's edge to his upper forearm before Willow could blink.
"Hunter!" she barked.
"I'm used to it. Don't worry," he said. He'd already lifted the dagger. A line of blood welled along a shallow scratch.
"Don't worry?! You just stabbed yourself!"
"Correction: it's a scratch. If it were a stab wound I'd be bleeding out all over Kikimora's office."
"Well gee that's not weirdly specific at all." Thrown off by the shock of what Hunter had just said, Willow watched blood bead. Sure it was a scratch but she had a right to the worry digging into her brow. "How often do you have to do this?"
"Rarely. Sorry I scared you. It uh, might get worse. Just—" He flicked his arm, hard. Droplets splattered over the ground. "—this is the only way I can get item storage to work."
Fleshy clawed hands burst from the rock. Veins bulbed across raw red meat and shards of bone could be seen underneath. Each malformed arm was different; one lay broken in so many places it slagged softly against the ground yet still managed to clench a hunk of knotted palistrom wood in its grip.
Every hand held an item.
Zombie Powers, imaginary Luz whispered in Willow's mind.
While Willow looked over the grotesque garden of about fifteen arms, Hunter placed the dagger in the single open palm of the bunch. Its fingers curled around the weapon. "The ones that have their own magic can send me items through a regular spell circle. The ones that don't have magic need grimwalker blood." He pressed a cloth to the cut on his forearm.
"It has to be yours?"
"I'm the only grimwalker left. So, yes. They won't answer to any other kind of magic."
"Not even Belos?"
"Belos had all the grimwalker blood he wanted and knew how to use it," Hunter said matter-of-factly. He gathered four finished palismen from the hands. As the last one's fingers gently uncurled from a carved meerkat Willow saw a flash of gold. It was a signet ring. The metal had partially melted into the fleshless finger. The damaged symbol on it was still readable.
Willow did not want to know what was on that ring. It could be a simple abomination decoration. As long as she didn't get close enough to make out the signet, the ring could be anything, and the flesh could be red abomination goo.
Someday she'd look. Someday she'd ask. For now witnessing it was enough.
The arms sank back into the rock, taking Hunter's inventory with them. Sea floor closed over as if they'd never been.
Hunter brought her the palismen. Each of the uniquely carved creatures was going to be in her care. Willow drew a circle to dump her pocket space onto the barren sea rock. She caught her scroll and a healing potion. Clover's brush, a couple of snacks, prepared glyphs, and a book heaped together. A witch's pocket couldn't hold much but it was convenient and safe.
One at a time Hunter passed her the statued palismen so she could cast a spell to send them to her pocket dimension. The wood was smooth in her hands, or bumpy with sections of careful detail. These were brand new palismen. They wouldn't wake up until they bonded with someone, which meant they lived at the total mercy of whoever carried them. Weight of that responsibility landed on Willow's shoulders with each palisman she took.
They were defenseless so she'd protect them. She had to.
Worry strained Hunter's expression when he gave the last one up. "There's only four. You'll be careful with them, won't you?"
"You know I will." She gave him a kiss.
x x x
Travel bags packed once again, this time with things she couldn't fit in her pocket dimension and a pouch of snails from Raine, Willow made goodbyes before heading out of the mansion with Eberwolf. Hunter trailed after them looking bittersweet. He'd promised to rest and Flapjack sat on his shoulder prepared to remind him if necessary. Hunter would be here waiting when she got back in a few days.
Eberwolf raced across the rock to sit on all fours beneath the glyph dome. They glanced up and drew a gold circle. Four wings exploded from their back. They soared to the top of the wood cage, slapped a glyph on the underside, and waters above parted. Willow lifted up on Clover. She saw Hunter standing vigil while the group hurried out of HQ, his face turned to the sky as he watched them go. Ice holding back boiling water melted and waves crashed over the hideout.
Eberwolf took off, heading toward the hopeful direction of the lumbering Owl Titan. Willow followed feeling like she'd left a piece of her heart beneath the sea. If a witch told her an oracle spell connected lovers she would have believed it, since she could feel its invisible force spooling tighter the further she flew. Any distance from Hunter drew heartache.
Sometimes Eber's four wings slowed and they scented the air and scanned the horizon before jetting in a new direction. It wasn't too long before the speck of a skeletal winged walking island emerged from flat ocean blues.
Willow and Eberwolf made it in time to sleep in a hidden den on the Titan's lower coast, Eberwolf sitting guard most of the night. From there they headed deeper into the Titan's guts on foot. Rather than becoming a dark cave, the upper portion of the torso was spotted with huge holes that gushed sunlight. Combined with moisture from the boiling sea the atmosphere turned tropical. Plants and colorful pieces of shattered stars tangled like ruins of a god child's playground.
Willow wasn't too familiar with the environment on this part of the Titan. The wet air held a visible milky mist. Foreign beast demons called singsong tunes through thick canopies of spined vines and giant purple leaves. Wasn't this where vargs lived? Their eyes were supposed to be good for healing potions. Like chicken noodle soup, but, uh, monster parts.
Eber scooted to a halt. They stared at a hole in the rib sky for a few minutes, sniffed, looked Willow in the eye, then darted into the undergrowth. Leaves rustled before going silent.
Willow was supposed to wait here.
She listened for large creatures moving around. There weren't any. She imagined explaining a varg to Luz. Something like a giant panther with leopard spots and six legs. Carnivorous. Didn't usually attack witches.
Usually.
After a while Willow looked for a flatter rock and called a plant to cover it up to make the seat dry. A broad leaf popped from the soil and rolled over the dewy stone. Nice. It might've been good if Eber had mentioned how long they might be gone.
She scroll-texted her dads. She sent a few messages to Gus for the heck of it. Stuck in the human realm he might never see them. Then she sent one to Luz. Amity. In the middle of typing Clover bumped her leg.
Something moved in the forest. Eber's four-footed rustling trailed through the plants. Willow pocketed her scroll and the sound grew larger than Eber's calm walk. Eber wasn't alone. They were bringing the palisman-seeker here.
What sort of witch was Willow about to meet? Would any of the palismen be the right fit? What if none of them were, or what if there wasn't a strong enough emotion to connect to? After coming all this way only to leave alone, a witch would be crushed. Luz had been devastated.
Willow nervously etched her shoe through the dirt.
Eber hopped into the clearing, checked for danger, and blinked at Willow before murring towards the clump of dense undergrowth. Fronds parted. First a tiny nose emerged, then eyes, and a fuzzy face. A young biped demon came shyly out of the plants. It was a smaller Eberwolf. Different colors, hair that cascaded down instead of Eber's energetic poof, but the resemblance was unmistakable.
Eberwolf had a kid.
Eber patted the space above their heart and raced around the new witch. This was their daughter, Sabre, and she needed a palisman. Eber wasn't saying Sabre "wanted" a palisman. Needed. Was ready for one now. Hunter had the right friend. Willow brought the right friend.
Sabre lowered herself to a cautious catlike sit, less certain, something almost sad in how her mane of hair cast over bright irises and cocoa dark fur.
"Want to meet the palisman? They're not awake yet," Willow said.
Sabre nodded quietly. If it weren't for all the small cues Willow would have thought her a mellow character, but Sabre inched closer and leaned forward ever so slightly, eyes betraying reserved hope. Willow knew that look, the fragile belief that maybe this time something would go right: her abomination magic would work, Boscha would pick a different target, Amity would apologize.
Sabre knew failure. If these palismen rejected her it wouldn't be the first time.
Oh Hunter, I hope I brought the right one. Willow summoned a line of four vines that sprouted leaf platforms. She placed a palisman on each. Sabre didn't try to touch. She observed the mythical earth creatures with open curiosity: the meerkat where scarred palistrom made up its stripes, a little sunflower creature carved from an oddly shaped branch, a split piece of wood where frayed breakage turned into wild fangs of an anglerfish. While Sabre marveled at the strange beasts Eber prompted her to draw a spell. Eber cast a practice circle, gold magic hovering in the air.
Sabre's eyes darted to Willow and away. Fur blushed. The curl of Sabre's w mouth pursed into a flattened squish. She hurriedly flung a circle with near perfect form.
Nothing happened. No magic appeared. Not so much as a sparkle.
Former coven head Eberwolf's daughter was a powerless witch.
Half-A-Witch, the slur Willow had been battered with because of her weak blooming magic, and the insult Hunter had labeled himself with. Unlike the two of them Sabre wasn't going to grow into surprise powers. She didn't have a bile sac. She wasn't a grimwalker. Her life would never be as easy as a typical witch, even with glyphs and wands. Her palisman would be her only source of magic.
Any other person might feel pity or fear, but all Willow could think about was Luz's shine when Stringbean hatched in the human realm. And she remembered Hunter when all he had was Flapjack.
"Palismen don't look for magic," Willow told Sabre. "They want to know who you are. Go ahead, let them hear your wishes."
Sabre's fur ruffled with conviction. Slitted eyes focused on the palismen, and as Sabre tuned out Willow and Eberwolf, strength emerged from behind her shyness. She swirled a larger spell circle in the air. It was just as empty as the first.
I wish I was different from how I am. I wish I had magic.
The sleeping palismen did not react. Sabre seemed to expect this. She nodded and swiftly took a knee to trace a light glyph in the soil, quick and efficient. Witchlight blossomed. It's not going to change. I won't ever have my own magic. But I'm tired of people treating me like I'm five. She caught the light in her teeth and leapt over the fading glyph art in one smooth motion, landing in front of the palismen without making a sound.
I AM a witch. What I actually want is respect.
Cosmic colors burst from Hunter's twin wolves and swirled into the wood. One dark wolf, one light, and Willow caught traces of a different magical ability inside each. The two canines leapt from the leaf and ran puppy circles around Sabre as her eyes widened. She held out her hands and the wolves clambered aboard, one in each palm, licking Sabre's face like crazy. She squeaked with love. Me? You picked me? I can't believe it! was a sentiment Willow remembered well.
Then the twin palismen and their witch demon were on the ground play-wrestling, growls and fur and fluff, their audience totally forgotten. Eberwolf scratched an ear with their back foot, shook their mane of hair, and puffed up with pride. Willow petted Clover. They both remembered the early days, finding each other and learning together. Bonding with a palisman changed your life.
"Hunter should really be here for this," Willow said, which made Eber flick a hand out to summon their scroll. Eber got Sabre to gather her new palismen together for a picture and waved wildly for Willow to take some too.
Willow imagined Hunter was about to get photos and video from both of them as she snapped pics, fitting the twin wolves in the frame. They were beautiful. A line of shimmering color ran through their designs similar to Jewel's iridescent feathers. Of course Willow was biased but she thought there was something special about Hunter's carvings.
She missed him. She wanted him to see the impact he'd made on the future of someone who'd been like him. She worried about the blackened mark growing on his arm.
Sabre hugged her palismen close, a blooming smile spread across her face like a sunbeam in the dark. Willow looked to Eberwolf. What must it have been like to live under the emperor's rule every day knowing you could be discovered and your entire family branded as traitors and petrified? Having a young witchlet at home while seeing the same powerlessness in Hunter, watching Belos corrupt and control the Golden Guard through dependency? Belos gave artificial magic and he could take it away. Without it Hunter was nothing. That's what he'd been taught.
Sabre had been taught glyphs and lived free of any sigil.
Willow watched the wolf family play and the seedling of certainty she'd been harboring spread its leaves. There was something she wanted to do for Hunter. But, until she could think of a way to accomplish it safely, it was better not to try.
Until then she'd watch and wait.