Webs and witches

[Sorcha o Naur]

Venom nail tapped against the table, golden hair sleek against her scalp and Sorcha waited. Waited for the woman she did not like but needed far more than she cared to admit. Nahammë could do things with a web and frame that Sorcha could only wish at, her talents lay more in her queen craft than her black widow. Her grandmother had tried but the queen in her was stronger, more deadly than anything else she might have.

She hated not knowing and there were things happening she did not know. Things she only suspected. She could not get her webs to tell her fully and had been forced to call for Nahammë. It was enough to think her name for a snarl to grow on her lips, pointed ears reddening with irritation. It was jealousy that caused such a rift between Sorcha and her seer though she would never admit it. She would never give Nahammë the pleasure of knowing Sorcha hated that the woman was better at something than she was.

Sighing she forced her lips to stillness, forced her body to relax. Mustn't give Nahammë any ammo. Face schooled to blankness Sorcha waited and waited.

Finally the thorn in her side made her appearance, Sorcha refusing to stand as she sat behind the large hardwood desk that had belonged to her grandmother. "What have your webs told you?" she demanded not bothering to sugar coat or pet the woman, "Have they told of a jewel dark enough to cause worry?" She could admit without admitting that her own webs, murky as they were, had spoken of a jewel so dark she should fear it but the Red Queen did not fear it. She wanted to exploit it and everything that it could accomplish for her.


@dergon

[Nahammë]

A web could not be left half finished. Nahamme had the skill to return to the work and finish the tangle without losing the meaning. It was the leaving she could not stomach. Body and mind too much focused. Bent to the task of the web until the outside world lost meaning and interest for her. Anything less than the threat of real and imminent danger dismissed. Even a summons from her queen.

”Coming.” She mumbled to the servant, bending farther over the frame. Long nails plucking threads and twisting them around each other. Twisting and plucking. Time fell away. There was only the web until it was finished. Stretched across the frame, nearly two feet across at its widest point. Frame a perfectly crafted hexagon. Stretching, Nahamme stood, bones popping from the long time spent bent over her work.

Late now, for her meeting with the queen. Vanishing the frame, she strode down the corridors of the residence without rushing. She would not run through them like an errant child. Webs took time, as Sorcha should understand, being a black widow herself. Forgiven or not, there was nothing she could do to change it now. She was late. The past not something Nahamme could alter. Erect and unashamed, she entered Sorcha’s presence, making her obeisance as protocol dictated.

”My apologies for my tardiness, lady.” Lashes veiling the flash of anger in her eyes, Nahamme called in her webs and set them on Sorcha’s desk. ”Would you care to read them yourself?” She would not be able to, even with all her Red might. The webs too complicated, and the weaving too much Nahamme’s own. ”Either way, I gift them to you.” Spiteful woman! Nahamme served her well and yet here she was, snarling at Nahamme as if she were a petty apprentice.

”Yes my lady, I am afraid so.” Nahamme could not quite name it. ”Grey, at least.” Black at worst, but she would name that wicked Jewel. Let is stay in the mists of yesteryear. These mortals too young to remember its terror and reach, living under the after effects without true understanding. ”It breaks like a great storm,” she explained, tracing a line in the larger thread. ”But I cannot say if it sweeps everything away with it. Rain does make crops grow. Perhaps we can benefit from this new darkness.”

It was an enemy. But not to Sorcha. Only to Nahamme herself. But she had learned long ago how to live with her enemies. Solace was one such. So obvious with his prey-horns. Nahamme kept herself more secret than that. There were things no one needed to know.

[Sorcha o Naur]

Sorcha grit her teeth as Nahamme entered. The woman was everything Sorcha was not. Talented with the webs. More Dea al Mon in appearance than she was. The only thing Sorcha had that Nahamme didn't was jewel strength and a queen caste. She was certain Nahamme would be better at that too! Jaw clenched and fingers curled to stop the slap Sorcha wanted to lay across Nahamme's smooth cheek when the other woman called in her webs. She knew damn well Sorcha couldn't read them. It was like reading the knots and snarls of tree roots in a churning river when Sorcha tried. She never could make heads or tails of the woman's webs.

She inclined her chin, knowing full well the insult it was, and accepted the webs from Nahamme. She couldn't quite name her emotion when the other woman was present. Anger certainly. Resentment definitely but there was an underlying thing, a wiggle of something she couldn't pin down. Like a serpent, it slithered beneath the anger and bitterness. She'd spin her own webs for it. Find her answers in her dim webs, She needed more practice, needed more refinement of talent for her other caste that should have came easily to her but hadn't.

Fingers uncurled, tapping again and against the armrest beneath it. "Grey and darker still mine say," she said quietly. She would deny the potential for a Black jewel with her dying breath, never would she name it much the same as Nahamme. Black to darken, Black to murder. Black had never been kind to Dea al Mon. "A storm can bring potential," she agreed, "We must find who and what this jewel is Nahamme." Sorcha could accept the help Nahamme could give, her grandmother would slap her silly for denying the use of a power Black Widow. The seer chosen for her court. But what was done was done.

"I mean to use this darkness," she went on, "To benefit from it as you say, but I'm going to need your help." She hated giving away her weakness. Hated showing her throat to the woman standing in front of her. Hated it. "What say you Seer? Shall we find this darkness and use it?" Already the plans were formulating, churning and turning in her mind, she wondered how many she would need to destroy before she could properly use what was coming. Use it to take the wall that held back the tide. The wall that kept them sheltered and coddled, weakened in their fear? Sorcha would bring it down and she would stop at nothing to do so. 

[Nahammë]

”That would probably be wise, my lady.” Better than standing by and waiting. Who knew what this creature might intend or what it might manage should they allow. Patience had its place. Many a spider waited in its web for prey to arrive. But first they wove the trap to hold it. Dipping her head, Nahamme agreed with Sorcha’s thoughts. She was not so foolish, if young. But they all seemed young to Nahamme, these wolfless Blood.

”I am ever at your service.” She was the court seer. Sorcha’s seer. Nahamme worked to make sure that neither queen nor pack came at odd ends. Wove webs to direct her queen in a direction that benefited all. But Nahamme especially. One day she would rule her pack, but working beneath Sorcha, for Sorcha, gave Nahamme power too. Power great than just her pack, because she could have an effect on the territory as a whole and all the people inside it.

Prey and predator alike.

”It is always good to be prepared for a storm.” She drifted closer, standing nearer but not too close. Sorcha was angry with her. It seemed at times the queen was often angry with her. Useful as she was, Nahamme was wary of the Red fang. She watched Sorcha’s face, looking for clues as to the woman’s thoughts. ”What would you use this one for, my lady?” Nahamme could suffer to work with her enemies. She had done so for some time now.

But it was not pleasant. Solace made her temper keen edged. To have an even darker member of the cervini race at hand would like as not make her prickle. There would be questions from the pack as well. Nahamme wondered what shape the darkness would take. The caste had been more elusive than a shadow at noon. She turned her eyes to the queen sitting above her. Would she say? Would she allow Nahamme to know what they searched for and the ends they worked toward?

[Sorcha o Naur]

"I have not always been wise," she admitted without the bite her voice usually had, "But in this I will be." To use this darkness to bring about the fall of the shield would bring about the fall of her cousin. This was something that she wanted to happen, what she needed to happen. If her cousin failed to fall then everything Sorcha did would be for naught. Bringing her people into the light of the world, opening routes and ways would benefit more than harm but those who followed her cousin did not see it the same way.

"Are you?" she mused quietly and soft-voiced as she watched the woman shift and drift closer and closer. Her palms itched to trace those sharp cheekbones and slap her at the same time. She never felt the same reverence from Nahamme that she did from others and it annoyed her. And made her proud of the witch. She hated those who kowtowed to her even as it irritated her when they didn't. "Sometimes I have my doubts."

Come closer, she wanted to say and bit her cheek to keep the words inside, bright eyes tracking and weighing. Why could Nahamme not be male and heartbound to her? Easier to deal with, leashed and petted, but no. Nahamme was exactly what she needed. "This storm may break over us with the force of Witch," she said quietly and tapped a finger, "But we will not allow it." Could not and would not allow the webs to speak of danger and failure for Dea al Mon and the rule of the Red Queen. Sorcha could not allow it.

"Isolde's webs tell me to trust and use this storm yours and mine speak of," she continued, "We will use them to tear the shield free. Use it to take down what blocks us from the rest of Kaeleer." She stood and leaned forward, her angular face draw tight with determination, "Spin your webs Nahamme, find this storm and when you do, we'll tear the wall apart."

[Nahammë]

"None of us is infallible, lady." Blood had less time to learn wisdom. Their lives passing swiftly, compared to the an corithe. Sometimes Nahamme felt strange and embittered serving a woman who had not lived even half her years. She had centuries of knowledge and living to Sorcha's decades. But the queen was not without her own wisdom and capabilities. Their ages similar despite the differences.

"Have I failed you in some way?" She returned question for question. If Nahamme steered Sorcha a way opposite than one she might take on her own, it was never to harm the queen. Only to make what happened benefit more people. To help keep the pack secret. To help keep Nahamme strong. She could not be strong if her queen was disgraced or dead. She made her eyes round and soft, threading a little hurt through her expression.

"Of course you won't." Nahamme was not interested in being washed away or killed. She had plans that still had not come to fruition. She had to let it seem like Sorcha's idea however. Sorcha's will and power that would keep them safe. And in part it would be. She had the Red to fuel her work.

Licking her lips, Nahamme considered her words carefully. She did not want to appear at odds with Isolde, but she had thoughts and concerns of her own. Knowledge unknown to others. "I would caution against trust, lady." Cervini were filth. She didn't care how well Solace served. "But levees often turn waters to better channels." Her smile was fierce, face tipped up toward her queen. "It will be your crowning glory, to return Dea al Mon to the world again."