The sorceress’s insides fluttered as the traveling machine picked up speed, roaring across the countryside toward the next city. When it began, the push-pull motion, the rattle and sway, had been an intriguing novelty. The sensation of movement was disturbingly unsubstantiated by her other senses within the enclosed, lavishly-decorated compartment. 

Zygo Mycota scowled. The dull vibration through the plush mauve carpet was enough to make her uneasy and a sour taste was beginning to gather on her tongue. One mottled green hand gripped a pink upholstered armchair, the subtle swirling pattern edged in bronze beading. The narrow compartment was lined with tasteful lounge furniture and side tables. Soft illumination from several glowing orb lights created a cozy ambiance.

Her escort finished his inspection and leaned against an elegant four-seater. Sir Carrick Stone palmed a glowing orb, giving it a quick perusal before setting it back down. 

“You should have insisted on watching her perform the enchantment.”

Zygo’s eyes had drifted shut. She tried to determine whether the tumbling sensation in her stomach would resolve itself peacefully or raise hell. At the knight’s words, she leveled her scarlet stare at him.

“Madam Adreline invited us to evaluate this machine powered by her spellwork. Riding in it is the demonstration,” Zygo replied. “It is impolite for a witch to pry into another’s methods.”

Carrick frowned. “Discas Adreline is being evaluated for licensure to practice the magic required to power her machine. Prying into her methods is exactly what you must do.”

“I am the King’s Royal Sorceress, overseeing negotiations with magic workers,” Zygo drawled. “You are here to hit things with a sword if the need arises.”

Carrick shrugged, unaffected by her scorn. “A role you have held for…three weeks. Before that, weren’t you trapped in a cursed helm for several decades? Don’t be shocked, but official procedures for interviewing witches have changed.”

Zygo scowled, resuming her furious stare at the unfortunately-colored carpet. 

“Yes, I’ve heard,” the witch muttered. “Now Barracks Knights break down a witch’s door over the simplest unsanctioned spell.” Zygo’s other hand grasped the back of another chair, feet braced, as she exhaled slowly.

“I’ve no plans to break down doors, Mycota,” Carrick replied, his steady gaze scanning the doors at each end of the compartment before resting on his charge. “Are you well?”

The aggravated retort on Zygo’s lips was interrupted when the door at the front of the compartment opened. With a roar of wind and clatter of metal, Discas Adreline entered. 

The witch was tall, broad-shouldered, and leanly muscled; unusual for most spellcasters. Although, the witch’s source likely factored into her proportions and proclivity for fast-moving machines. 

Discas beamed at them, her eyes bright with thrill as she hefted the heavy compartment door closed, buffering some of the noise.

“We’re underway. Amazing, isn’t it?” Discas enthused. 

“Who’s steering?” Carrick asked, his tone a study in mild unconcern.

“No one. The rails lead directly to town and the spellcasts slow the machine as we approach.”  

Zygo relished the slight tensing of the knight’s jaw. She would have enjoyed his unease more if not for a sudden roiling in her stomach.

“Your source is kinetic?” Zygo inquired, trying to quash the building sensation as saliva pooled under her tongue. As the machine rattled and swayed gently beneath them, a buzzing began at the base of Zygo’s skull. Her scarlet eyes glazed and her ebony lips felt waxen

Discas nodded, tilting her head at the Royal Sorceress, a crease forming between her brows. “Madam Mycota?”

“Is there some hatch or door that can be opened?” Zygo mumbled, pressing her lips tightly closed as the urge to vomit swelled.

“Yes, of course!” Discas took the Royal Sorceress’s limp hand and drew her up from where she’d sagged against the armchairs. 

As Zygo stumbled to her feet, a hard steel grip caught her other elbow. Shame coupled with bile, choking her as Sir Carrick guided her forward. 

Discas pressed open the rear compartment door and the three ventured out into fresh air.

It was worse…so much worse. The track below whizzed by at incredible speed, the racket rising to deafening volume.

Zygo lurched for the railing that enclosed the small outdoor platform jutting from the back of the compartment. Gripping it tightly, she leaned over as a wave of unstoppable sickness rose within her.

Sir Carrick nimbly stepped between the two sorceresses, blocking what occurred behind him.

“What you have built is most impressive!” the knight bellowed. “You must have a generous investor. How did you pass approval through the local aldermen?”

“My family is the wealthiest in this region,” Discas shouted back. “Unlike many of my kind, I kept close ties with my descendants. They sponsored the project. One of the aldermen is my great grandson. He has a vision for the region and pushed through negotiations with the neighboring cities. He co-signed my petition to the King.” Carrick nodded and glanced over his shoulder at the miserable sorceress. She was no longer expelling the contents of her stomach, but remained doubled-over.

“This isn’t helping,” Carrick cried. 

“I’m fine,” Zygo insisted, reeling upright. She teetered backward into the knight before steadying herself. “If I focus on the horizon—”

A sudden, brutal cacophony screamed over the steady chugging of the machine. The compartment lurched, causing the three passengers to fall against the door. 

“What was that?” Sir Carrick barked, glaring at Discas. Shock and horror filled the witch’s features, as she flung open the door, diving inside. Sir Carrick cursed and followed with Zygo stumbling in after.

The passenger compartment was in disarray: furniture lay scattered, cracked orb lights flickered pathetically, and shattered wood and torn upholstery were strewn about. The front of the compartment had been blown apart—the far door was simply gone and the walls to either side peeled back as though split by an angry giant’s hands. Beyond the scorched edges of the gaping hole, a second compartment was visible, untouched by the destruction.

A hot, metallic odor stung Zygo’s nose and the taste of ash coated her tongue. Her insides coiled restlessly, but adrenaline was holding the worst at bay. “Who else is on this machine?” 

Discas’ brow furrowed. “My assistant. She was in the front compartment, fine-tuning the casting.”

“You said there was no driver,” Carrick shouted ruefully, drawing his sword. The knight started forward, bracing against the whipping wind as he reached the sheared-off portion of the compartment.

“Another Kinetic?” Zygo asked. Discas shook her head.

“A Thermal. The machine gets very hot…”

Zygo’s teeth clenched. The blast had likely been intended for her and her escort, if not Discas herself.

“The casting is delicate!” Discas warned frantically as the Royal Sorceress braced against her rising nausea and followed Sir Carrick. Zygo’s progress was slow. By the time she crossed the hitch connecting the two compartments, the knight was inside. 

Zygo pulled the compartment door open, and gasped. Within, set against the walls of the compartment was a towering iron mechanism, covered from floor to ceiling in glowing runes that oscillated brightly as they activated in a complex, glittering sequence. Given hours, she might begin to unravel the meaning of each symbol and how they worked in concert. Her heart thundered, nausea forgotten as her eyes darted hungrily across the intricate spellwork. 

“Mycota!” Carrick shouted, his desperate voice cutting through her marvel. “Some assistance, please!” Punctuating the knight’s request, a woman pressed against the mechanism opened her mouth, spitting a plume of fire that forced Carrick to retreat.

“I’m a Repurposer!” Zygo snapped, drawing herself reluctantly from the lure of unfamiliar magic. “There is nothing organic for me to source on this machine!” That was not precisely true. But a living body’s natural defenses posed strong resistance to repurposing, unless one of its natural barriers was compromised.

Carrick made a furious sound as the thermal witch blew another tongue of fire at him. The knight threw up an armored arm to protect his head and lunged low, sweeping his sword in a blind arc. The strike landed and the witch shrieked as blood seeped into her trousers from a shallow slice across her thigh. 

Perfect. 

The thermal witch grunted, her attention drawn to the cut in her thigh.

“Sir Carrick, stand down,” the Royal Sorceress commanded. At once, the knight took a knee, the point of his sword touching the floor. Carrick’s hands gripped the hilt, his breath heavy and his gaze steady upon their adversary. 

The thermal witch stood with one hand poised toward them like a claw, while the other palm pressed into the machine at her back. Fever-bright eyes darted between the knight and the sorceress as labored breaths rasped in her chest.

The dazzling array of runes quieted until only one remained, throbbing gently as the machine slowed for its approach into town. A pang of disappointment seared through Zygo at the missed opportunity to explore its design. The swaying motion grew more pronounced, becoming a susurrous undulation. Nausea threatened the back of Zygo’s throat, and she gripped the compartment door, holding herself steady.

“Soon you won’t be able to stand,” Zygo warned. The trickle of power the advancing infection provided somewhat soothed her stomach. “Yield, girl. Before you lose the leg…or your life.”

Slow understanding laced with fury grew across the thermal witch’s pale countenance as a fetid bloom of decay festered in the wound Sir Carrick had dealt. 

“Traitor,” she hissed. “Discas, too. Pandering to the unjust laws of a realm that should grovel at our feet. You especially, King’s Sorceress. A queen in your own right, poisoning your sisters.”

The witch’s words cut deep, rending a fissure between contracted loyalty and a bond built on centuries of sisterhood. But the future beckoned and Zygo would not dwell on what once was.

“It isn’t poison,” Zygo replied, but did not elaborate. “If you wish to carry on, Sir Carrick will oblige you. Otherwise, lift your hands from the machine.” Fury tightened the witch’s features as grim calculation roiled behind her eyes. A violent shiver passed through her as the infection worsened, buckling her legs. She released the machine as she sank to the floor.

~

“I don’t ever want to ride your machine again, Discas,” Zygo said, wobbly legs stumbling down the compartment’s steps onto the street. “But I see its potential. And the spellwork was impressive. I will advise the King to grant your petition for licensure. An official will arrive with the contract in the next few weeks.”

Discas’ jaw dropped. “You’re granting my petition?” 

Zygo paused, then leaned closer, murmuring, “Many of our kind are struggling to adapt to the Realm’s ordinance for spellcasters. Some may not think so, but approval of new magic is vital to assimilating our way of life into the new status quo.” The Royal Sorceress cleared her throat, continuing at regular volume. “When new magic paves the way for the Realm’s economic advancement, I’m certain the King will agree. Thank you for your service, Madam Adreline.” 

The kinetic witch’s lips pulled into a beaming smile. Grasping Zygo’s hands in hers, Discas shook them enthusiastically. 

“Thank you, Sorceress.” Discas managed to give a dignified inclination of her head. But when she looked past Zygo’s shoulder, the smile broke loose again. Taking her cue, Zygo wished Discas the best and departed before a gaggle of self-congratulating aldermen could overtake them.

Sir Carrick was a few moments behind, having submitted the thermal witch to the local constabulary. The knight caught up at a vending cart where the stallkeeper was heating water in a kettle. Zygo crushed dried ginger into a tin cup, popping an additional piece into her mouth. 

“Quite an adventure,” Sir Carrick said, clearly amused. “Tell me, do you suffer the same in a covered wagon?” 

A tiny sneer wrinkled Zygo’s nose, but she merely shrugged. “Will you need to be saved every time we review one of these petitions?” 

Carrick threw back his head with a barking laugh. 

Zygo almost smiled. Almost.