8 The Witch's Apprentice Chapter 8

Elspeth exhaled through her nose, slow and deliberate. She rose and crossed to the desk, where she gathered her thoughts with the same care she might use to mix a volatile potion.

“There’s a coven that lives deep beneath the city,” she said. “Older than any house, any council. They’ve been here as long as Dûrnarn has been carved into the stone.”

Bell stood slowly, wrapping her arms around herself as she listened.

“They don’t call often,” Elspeth continued, “and when they do, they don’t waste their time on the wrong people. If they’ve shown themselves to you, if they’ve let you hear their songs…”

She trailed off, then looked Bell in the eyes.

“…they’ve chosen you.”

Bell’s mouth was dry. “You knew them?”

Elspeth’s expression shifted—somewhere between longing and regret. “A long time ago.”

Bell stepped closer, lowering her voice. “You left them, didn’t you?”

A pause. Then, quietly: “Yes.”

“Why?”

Elspeth looked toward the window, where the lanterns outside flickered in a deepening fog.

“Because the lake offers peace… but peace has a cost,” she said. “And I chose the noise of the world instead.”

Fog in Dûrnarn was nothing unusual. Rainwater from the upper city often seeped down through the cracks in the layers, where it met the heat of forges, furnace vents, and overworked machinery. The resulting mist usually rose warm and thick, curling lazily through the mining corridors like smoke from a dying fire.

But tonight, the fog was different.

It was cold.

It clung to Bell’s skin like damp cloth and soaked into her bones. Each breath she drew felt sharper than the last, laced with the mineral tang of wet stone and rust. The air smelled faintly of oil and soot, as always—but beneath it lingered something more elusive. Something mossy. Ancient.

Bell shivered, pulling Elspeth’s heavy cloak tighter around her shoulders. It smelled of dried herbs and old parchment—comforting, familiar. The sound of their boots echoed dully as they moved through the city’s lesser-known veins, far from the clamor of the central corridors.

Here, the streets were strange.

Unfamiliar buildings rose on either side, their stone facades worn smooth by time, their windows shuttered or dark. They leaned inward toward the cavern roof above, forming jagged silhouettes that reached like crooked teeth into the unseen sky. No lamps lit their way. No voices called. Even the air seemed to hold its breath.

Elspeth said nothing as they walked, and Bell didn’t ask where they were going. The silence felt too fragile to break.

Eventually, they slipped into a narrow tunnel—so plain and unmarked that Bell would have passed it by without notice. The moment they crossed its threshold, the city behind them vanished. No flickering lanterns. No golden windows. Just darkness, thick and total, swallowing everything whole.

Only the glow from their enchanted jewelry remained—Elspeth’s pendant casting a soft amber halo, Bell’s ring flickering like a dying star. The light illuminated slick, uneven stone beneath their feet and glinted off broken glass scattered in the gutter. Trash clung to the corners: torn fabric, rusted metal scraps, something unidentifiable that pulsed when the light touched it.

The walls were streaked with paint—symbols smeared in ash and ochre, drawn in jagged spirals and cryptic runes. Some had been scrubbed away, others half-formed, like the artist had been interrupted. A few looked fresh.

Warnings. Or wards.

Bell paused at one, reaching out with a tentative hand before Elspeth caught her wrist.

“Don’t touch them,” she murmured.

The tunnel deepened. The air grew damper. And then, from somewhere ahead, came the sound of water—low and steady, like static wrapped in breath. A soft roar trapped behind stone.

It grew louder with each step.

Bell didn’t speak. Her heart thudded harder in her chest, as if it recognized something her mind hadn’t yet named. Her fingers curled tightly into her cloak. Her footsteps slowed.

Ahead of them, the tunnel widened into a cavern where the roar of water swallowed every sound. A river surged through it, dark and fast-moving, the current so wild it frothed white at the edges like the mouth of a beast. The water was black—so black it reflected no light, only the shimmer of their enchanted jewelry—and though Bell strained to see the bottom, it remained hidden beneath the chaos.

Jagged rocks jutted from the riverbed, their points slick with spray. Above, long, crooked stalactites hung like fangs from the ceiling, glistening with condensation. The air was damp and cold, filled with the scent of wet stone, and moss. The sound of the river filled the space, a constant, seething rush.

Surely, this was a path no one was meant to take. A death trap. A mistake.

And yet…

Tied to a post at the bank ahead was a boat.

Small, black, barely more than a shell—just big enough for one person. It rocked against the current, jerking at its tether like a restless thing. The wood was slick with mist and shadow, curved low like a cradle—or a coffin. It waited, patient, silent, expectant.

Bell froze.

Elspeth stood beside her, face grave, eyes shadowed.

“I can go no further,” she said, voice low and unwavering. “You must take the rest of the journey alone.”

Bell’s heart sank. Her mouth opened, but no words came at first. Then, trembling, “No.” She shook her head, tears beginning to sting her eyes. “I can’t do this. I don’t even know how to steer a boat.”

Elspeth turned to her, her gaze sharp and cutting—not unkind, but forged in fire.

“There will be no steering,” she said. “The token will guide you. You’ve already made your choice, Bell. Whether you speak it or not. If you turn back now, this moment will haunt you for the rest of your life.”

Bell stared at her, wide-eyed, breathing hard. The cavern stretched ahead like a throat, swallowing the river, the light, the path behind her. She took a step forward on unsteady feet, peering into the gaping black that lay ahead.

“This can’t be safe, I—”

But Elspeth cut her off, voice firm as iron. “You already have everything you need to survive this. The magic is in you, Bell—it always has been. And if it were easy, anyone could do it.”

Without another word, she stepped down onto the riverbank and knelt beside the boat. With practiced hands, she pulled it in close, the hull scraping softly against the stone. It rocked beneath her touch, eager.

Bell stood frozen, the roar of the water thundering in her ears.

Elspeth looked up at her, eyes calm, steady. “Get in.”

Bell hesitated. Then, with her heart hammering like a drum, she stepped forward and lowered herself into the boat. The wood was cold beneath her hands, slick with river mist. It shifted under her weight, unstable and light—ready to go the moment she let it.

Elspeth pressed a hand to the side of the vessel, steadying it one last time.

“You’ll want to lie down,” Elspeth instructed, her voice low and urgent.

Bell blinked at her, wide-eyed and trembling, her breath catching in her throat. “Wait—what do you mean, lie down—”

But before she could finish, Elspeth gave the boat a sudden, decisive shove.