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III. DISPOSITION OF PROPERTY
I devise and bequeath my property, both real and personal and wherever situated, as follows:
OLRUGGIO —, AGOTT ARKLAUM, TETIA —, RICHELETTE —, COCO —.
There was no scuffle to be had over the inheritance of the atelier. Qifrey had written all five of them down for equal ownership, though of course Coco was soon forcibly disclaimed from his will due to the nature of her erased memory, and the trouble that would occur if an Outsider were to be notified of her partway ownership of a witch's home.
Olruggio gave in to the Knights Moralis's demands easily and Agott screamed at him. It was his fault this scrap of Coco was being effaced, his fault Qifrey's will was not being fulfilled, and as she ripped the paper from his loose hands he stared at the grain lines on the wooden table, sorrow dragging his eyes down. But neither of them could dispute the law, especially now with the Knights Moralis refraining from any further forgiveness. She nearly ripped the document in half had Tetia not held her back, but there were no words of comfort. What was left to say? The Coco penned on the document no longer existed and thus could not inherit any share of the will. She was at home with her mother, back where she was always meant to be, ignorant to any loss that had once befallen her and any other girl she had been. There was no point in Agott clinging to a piece of paper.
The remaining year of their apprenticeships passed; Agott thought if she was there and Coco was not then none of them deserved it, but Qifrey would have wanted them to continue, and so she stayed anyways. Olruggio managed the teaching affairs until they graduated, then Tetia found work in a western city of the Peninsula, and Richeh moved to Kalhn with her brother. Agott stayed at the atelier with Olruggio.
He made no comment about it. They were both tethered to the steppes, the long miles of wheatgrass and rocky fields, the heavy rainstorms that drowned the eastern heath until the distant sea gave up its crying. Agott mostly feared leaving. That the roots she had once planted here would tear from the earth, and if she tried returning, the earth would have already filled the gaps of her absence; and where else had she to go beyond this place? The bitter flame that once licked at the walls of her soul, the urge to seek any upward advancement, repentance, reclamation of the Librarian's approval, had weakened into embers. Whatever urge to stoke them alive she once clung to had left her.
Olruggio began taking extensive care of the atelier so it never aged nor gave way to neglect, more than he ever had when Qifrey was still around; he tended to the gardens, cleaning inside and outside frequently, replenished the shelves so there was never a question of food, though he rarely cooked anymore. He worked long hours when he was not preserving the atelier, his mind never left wanting for occupation.
They had not spoken about Coco, or Qifrey, or the future dragging them further away from memory. She helped where she could and kept to herself, staring every night from her side of the room to where Coco's unmade bed sat, shifting the blame off of her mentor and onto herself. She never believed it to be his fault anyway. If Agott had done things differently, perhaps Coco would still be there. Winter rolled over into spring and she thought someday she would break the quiet and apologize, but she could not find the words for it.
It was afternoon and storming. Rain battered relentlessly against the atelier's roof, shook the windows, awakened its aged structure. Olruggio did not leave to his tower after eating. Instead he hugged Agott.
She was taller now, old enough to find her own line of work when she finally decided to leave, mature as any girl her age that she did not need for any comforting, but in his arms she felt like a child.
"I'm sorry," Agott mumbled. His robes enveloped her like the night sky and for the first time since Coco had left she cried. "I'm sorry."
"There's nothing to apologize for. I should've said something, but I..." he trailed off, sadness clinging to his hunched back as he held her. "Let's not be strangers anymore, okay? It's not right."
"Okay," whispered Agott.
"Nothing's your fault."
The next morning Olruggio decided to take her on a field trip out of the atelier, and they went to a nearby town to help with repairs after the storm had flooded their farmland. Olruggio asked her to dry the soaked wood while he repaired waterlogged fences; the Outsiders thanked them endlessly. Agott did not speak with them, but one child trailed her, fascinated despite her ghostliness.
They looked at her as though she had descended from another planet. If she dared speaking, she thought the knowledge of her complacency with the systems surrounding her would be vomitted out.
A young farmer's boy had helped keep the animals out of the way from their work, and Olruggio was crouched on one knee handing him a small magic toy as thanks. It was the contraption he had sold at the Silver Eve festival: a flame that could be held but not touched. The boy immediately clutched it to his chest like he had caught a firefly and then held it out again in awe. Agott watched some life glimmer in Olruggio's eyes.
Beneath her a hand tugged at her robe. She looked down to see the expectant stare of the young Outsider girl and stiffened.
"Can I have a toy like that, too?"
Agott stepped back and her boot squelched into mud. "Uh..."
"Why does he get one, but I don't?" she insisted. "I want one. Can't I have one?"
"I—" Agott looked over to Olruggio for saving but he was busy chatting with the farmers. "I don't—I don't have any toys on me right now. Go ask the other witch instead."
"But I want a toy from you." Her youthful eyes bore into Agott's. She was reminded of Coco when she had first arrived at the atelier and felt momentarily sick. "Please?"
For every child that was granted a present from a witch, another went without. Yet granting them magic which they could pretend to harness felt like a cruel entertainment of their hopes regardless of which child was rewarded. Agott wanted desperately to get away, and perhaps if she had grown into a different witch, perhaps if she had never met Coco, she would have swiftly turned the child down, but instead she promised to return with a toy on her next visit.
They settled in the woods to sleep on the trip home. Olruggio started a fire for them and she curled up beside it, holding her palms up to the flame.
"You alright?"
Agott listened to the humming of cicadas and brisk eddies swirling through leaves. The path was long and between the atelier and the town the resting landscape went undisturbed for miles. Loneliness strung up the stars in the sky, but there was no rule to how they twinkled, and they did so freely.
She let out a breath and watched the fire's smoke billow in response. "Isn't it a bit taboo to just give things to Outsiders like that?"
Olruggio made a disgruntled sound, stretching his back and producing an awful cracking noise. "I can't help it," he said. "No matter how many times I do this and tell myself, this time, I'll just do my job and leave, I can't help it."
"Well, now you've got me wrapped up in it too."
In a week's time she returned with a contraption for the girl, and she did not return to the town again in fear of entering a neverending cycle of indebtedness to puppy-eyed children. It then became difficult to linger at home, time passing, staring at the desk with unfinished spells and doodles and half-empty inkwells on Coco's side of the room. Agott joined Olruggio on his other field trips until eventually she began going on her own. Townsfolk of all different likeness thanked her kindly. Once she realized the emptiness could be expelled into the world, not upkept, not paid any mind to regardless of how quickly it distended through her body if she was alone with herself too long, the rhythm of servitude became addicting. More often than not she was out of the atelier on her own, thinking only of ways to give herself to others, until the path to Coco's village was ahead without her realizing.
The sun was draining its warmth in a last burst of red along the horizon. Agott was nearly done refreshing the stonebricks of a house before making her way home when an older woman with a thick brunette braid approached her, asking for help.
"Please, if it isn't too much trouble. It rains too often out here, and if the wall isn't repaired, I worry all of our purchases will be soaked by tomorrow. We have little to offer, but we would be forever in your debt."
"There is no debt to be had—show me to your house and I will take a look at it. I'm certain something can be done."
"Oh, please. I can't begin to tell you how much of a help it would be. It's down just this way."
Only when they reached the end of the road and stood at the door of a round-roofed home did Agott recognize the scenery. The arrangement of it all was out of order, but at last she could see it; the lapping hills behind that gave way to rocky mountains in the distance, the winding road with scattered homes beyond, animals grazing just over yonder; the soft yellow light she had glimpsed only once from this house. Sounds of life inside. Out of reach. Agott should not have been there—she was not allowed to be there—each and every rule prohibiting contact was meant to protect Coco, and Agott felt nauseous knowing she was just on the other side of the door.
"Miss Witch? The collapsed wall is over here, if I could show it to you."
"Of course," she choked out and followed, eyes trailing the window. Someone was humming inside. The melody sweet as honey scraped from a jar.
See: the disposition of her being, of what she has loved and what she will love, of what choices she has made, of what experiences she has been granted, and what shall be removed of her person. For each mark she has blighted upon this world and memory she has formed are but consequences of one choice, and its erasure will mean the collapse of all else. We invite her to say her good-byes, not only to those who have met this version of her, but to herself as well. Without these memories she will never become such a girl again. The world has its rules for good reason.
"I'm not sure what happened, but these buildings are old. Dandy on the outside but their insides aren't too hardy. Repairs are costly out in these parts—if there's any way you can fix this up, well, it'd be a miracle."
The wall gaped open. Inside stood a girl. Her back was turned to where her home was exposed; she was singing to herself and basked in warm light as she stirred a pot in the kitchen that smelled of savoury bliss. An angel from a faraway star, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, the same way as a girl Agott once knew.
"Oh! Mum! Has the witch come to help? Oh, it's been ages since I've seen one."
See: the disposition of her side of the bedroom. Her sheets are left wrinkled to the shape of her person staying up late into the night, practicing spell after spell; droplets of ink have dried and stained the white fabric; the pillow hangs lopsidedly from the bed frame's edge as if she could not bear to get up yet. The desk is untouched and will remain so long as the atelier stands, and the spell illuminating it in lowlight is refreshed each night as if she had never gone to bed. A small corner where an ink-hungry critter curls up to sleep. The blanket once draped upon her shoulders.
Agott could not move. The girl ducked under the hole and smiled up at her like the morning sun.
"What good timing you have! My mum was worried sick about the state of our house, but it seems we've been blessed today. Is there anything I could do to help? Or would you like to stay for dinner after? I'm nearly done cooking and we would have plenty leftover for an extra guest tonight, but really, it's no trouble—even just your help alone is—"
"Coco. Would you leave the poor witch alone so she can focus?"
Her eyebrows shot up and as she reeled back, flushed with embarrassment, she hit her head on the agape wall. Dust tumbled from the loose cobblestone. "Ouch! Sorry, sorry, I'll be out of your way. But you're more than welcome for dinner!"
"Coco!"
"I'm only being hospitable!"
Agott turned to her mother but could not even bear to look elsewhere from the grass laid gently at their feet. "Please leave while I work." Her voice was hoarse.
"Dear, are you alright?"
"A witch's work must be done in private. I will call for you after." She would soon cry in front of them and make things worse for herself. "Please go."
See: the disposition of her person to those who love her.
— So you've made up your mind?
— I have.
— Then I think it's best if we don't speak at all. It's better if you leave now, without a word, or I won't be able to let you to go.
— Would you at least walk with me?
— Why should I?
— Because I think you will be sad forever if you don't. There are no clouds tonight, and the stars are clear. I would like to say goodbye to Qifrey and I would like to do it with you.
— It sounds like you're giving up to me.
— I have to go home eventually, she said, smiling faintly at Agott.
Under the starlit night they walked down the road, through the steppes, past the hilltops and over exposed patches of limestone, their worn shoes splashing through puddles reflected with spools of the heavens. Agott held tightly onto Coco's hand and let herself be led forward; there was no denying it now, that wherever Coco went, she would always and inevitably follow; that whatever Coco wished for she would grant; that the magic she made was for the intent of seeing her smile. Her memory would be removed by morning. The Knights had given her this measly night to say good-bye to her witch friends before returning her back home on the southeastern Peninsula with her mother. It was always to be this way. Each fallen star must return to the sky before long.
When they happened upon Qifrey his roots had grown further toward the ocean and the moon had reached its highest bed in the sky. Flowers were gifted at his feet. They placed their own bouquet and sat by his twisting body where budding leaves and branches ached toward the stars.
— Do you think it's worse? To choose between two terrible options or have no choice at all?
Agott turned to her but realized she was speaking to Qifrey, and remained quiet at her side.
— I think if you were here, you wouldn't really want to be planted by the ocean at all. I don't think you would be at the atelier and hurting yourself either. If you were here, you would still be alive to hope that maybe some other choice might arise, and you would hold onto that hope until it killed you of its own accord. That's why I don't understand it, she bit out, clutching Agott's hand. If you chose this then does that mean you found nothing? Is this your way of telling me there is nothing? Why hadn't you said so before leaving? What am I to choose, when no matter what I do, someone will be hurt? Oh, Master...
Agott ripped her hand away and stood up, clenching her fist to her side as if scalded.
— Agott?
— You are giving up. Why?
— I'm not giving up.
— I should never have joined you. I should have stayed home and let you go with a shorter good-bye. How can you say there's nothing else? It's not like you. It's nothing like you.
Coco would not look at her, transfixed on the grooves and mottled grain of the Silverwood tree. She picked at the grass with the hand Agott had discarded.
— If I run away I will be alone, and my mum will be alone. Regardless they will capture me. Then they'll return me home anyway.
— You wouldn't be alone if you ran. I would go with you. So long as you are alive there is hope for change.
— And if they captured us? They found Euini and erased his memory, alongside Alaira's as punishment for aiding and abetting. They would do the same to you. And what good would that do anyone?
— Stop it. You aren't listening to yourself.
— I'm not giving up, despite what you believe.
— You're giving up or you aren't, what difference does it make? I will never see you again and you will never remember me. You will never have a chance to speak again. You would rather let them kill you than fight any longer.
— Agott.
— There has to be some other way. Don't look at me like that, as if I'm something to pity.
Coco stood, smiling sadly, and she took Agott's hands into her own gently as a duck's feathers would graze upon the ripples of its pond. The moon silhouetted her hair in a soft halo and clouds tumbled beyond the beach into the nameless horizon where all things eventually went. Ocean waves lapped and gulped upon the sand. Where the grains had come from none could remember; not the sediment, nor the animals that once walked upon their hills, nor the waters, nor anyone who walked their shores. All returned.
— We tried and it failed.
—Then we try again.
— They will erase me. Whether it is when the sun rises at dawn, or years from now when I am least expecting it, when we are alone and I have isolated you from this complicated world you have fallen in love with, it will hurt then as much as it does now. In the meanwhile my mother will be without her daughter for longer and longer until she thinks she must be alone after all, and who will take care of her when she grows old? I love you, Agott. I am glad to have lived this life with you in it, for however short it was. There is hope within you and it makes you stubborn. When I am gone, do not forget it.
— You can't leave. Please.
— You remember when I had given you the flower after my first apprentice test. I wanted so badly to be friends with you then.
— Please.
— Plenty of young witches will take the test, and they will each pluck a flower from the peak of the Heights, and they will hold them with pride and excitement for their futures. But you and only you will be able to look at them and see the proof that anyone can be a witch, Outsider or not! You had no question about it after. You have no question about it now.
— I was angry at you then because I didn't know how to make sense of it, Agott mumbled, hands trembling. But I held onto that flower long after you had given it to me. The petals wilted so I saved them in my journal and kept them a secret. Please, Coco, why do you have to go?
— When you see this flower again you will remember. Should you have an apprentice of your own who presents it to you then you will remember. Your hope should not end with me, nor yourself, nor those before us.
— And still you have given up.
"Will you stay for dinner?"
"It's late and I must be going home as soon as possible. Thank you, though, for the offer," Agott said quietly.
"I understand. Can I say though, I think what you've done here is incredible, Miss. It's as though the wall had never collapsed in the first place! I've never seen much of magic, since witches often forget us out here in the country and the journey to the city is long, but it really is a miracle." Coco folded her hands behind her back and smiled with her eyes closed as if she were imagining some far away place. "It must be nice being a witch. For everything complicated in this world, it makes me hope that things can be better."
Agott shoved her.
She stepped back, eyes wide, heart hammering in her chest. Coco yelped as her head hit the ground.
Agott stepped further back and she knew Coco's mother could see everything. She should have ran yet she couldn't move her feet, couldn't look away from the girl before her wearing the skin of the only person she had loved so freely, speaking of hope as if Agott knew the answer to fixing the world and undoing what cannot be undone.
I can't bear this alone anymore. I don't want to be strangers with you. Please don't forget me.
—
Sail sleeping skies, the stars like silver ships; till rapt in branches, set course for world adrowse; to pass the gift of night to Silverwood lips; and sink as fingers in her tousled boughs.