Chapter 4.1

Castle Gramarye’s audience chamber opened.

Miyuki and Fujiko entered the hall lit by a chandelier, where candles waxed and waned on each candelabrum. They saw the black robed woman painted on the ceiling and the stars that stretched towards the expanse.

The phantasm, the Taboo, the thing.

Whatever its name, it crossed the center of the room towards a vacant alabaster throne. It hovered over it, ran a cold finger down the back, then turned away, choosing to stand at the center of the chamber, awash beneath the chandelier.

“If this is Castle Gramarye,” Fujiko muttered. “What’s that thing doing here? And where are the other witches?”

“An astute question, Miss Kazama. I’m sure you both are wondering why you were brought here as well.”

A raspy voice answered. Director Tanaka Arataki slinked out of the shadow of a nearby column. He took center stage and stood with the phantasm in the light. All of a sudden, the walls enveloping the chamber didn’t seem so empty.

“I’d love to show you the rest of the castle, but you’ll have an opportunity to marvel at it later,” Arataki smiled. “Right now, we have work to do.”

“Where are the others?” Fujiko demanded. “Why’d you separate us?”

“I haven’t harmed them,” Arataki replied. “As for separating you, you have a special responsibility to this country. That’s why you are here.”

“Special responsibility?” Miyuki repeated.

The director approached the empty throne behind him. Like the specter before him, he slid his fingers down the alabaster stone. This time, however, the walls of the audience chamber shook with a loud murmur. A thin seam cut into the back wall, and the folds of the audience chamber came apart to reveal a hidden passageway.

“Come,” Arataki gestured. “The witches are waiting.”

“What makes you think we’ll simply just follow you?” Fujiko glared.

“You do know that you’re still under arrest by the NPSC,” Arataki eyed their wrists, “and you’ve removed your handcuffs. Do you all just learn from her?”

“I’m not sure if kidnapping us to Castle Gramarye is proper procedure after an arrest,” Fujiko replied. “What’ll you do if we just run for it?”

“Run?”

Arataki glanced at the phantasm. Its face snapped to Fujiko the moment she made her threat.

“You think you can outrun her?” Arataki grinned. “You will follow us if you know what’s good for you.”

“Her?” Miyuki murmured. “Special responsibility…”

“Hey. Kobayashi,” Fujiko hissed. “Snap out of it!”

“Sorry,” Miyuki replied. “I was lost in thought.”

“Well get it together. We’ve got to figure out how to get out of here, or at least figure out what's going on. Why’s that thing listening to the director? How’s he controlling it?”

They followed Arataki into the passageway. Behind them, the Commission’s mages crept off the walls and closed in behind them. The hallway was thin, allowing Miyuki and Fujiko to barely walk side by side. It was lit by floating orbs of dense imaginarium trapped in antique lanterns hung off wooden knobs.

“It’s my first time in Castle Gramarye,” Arataki admitted. “It’s a bit more drab than I expected. Miss Kobayashi. The reports tell me you’re quite the Egregore enthusiast, but you don’t seem so enthused to be here.”

Miyuki’s eyes remained glued to the floor. She bit her nails and muttered to herself.

“What about you? Miss Kazama?” Arataki said. “How does the witch hunter feel walking into a den of her enemies?”

“Witch hunter?”

“Let’s not do this dance,” Arataki chuckled. “The Commission is aware of your connection to the late Natsuko Ichinose. You were, after all, one of the few individuals who saw her shortly before her death.”

“How come you’re telling me this now and not back then?” Fujiko scowled.

“Why would we?” Arataki shrugged. “You weren’t one of the suspects, and you were a child back then. But we’ve kept close tabs on you, Miss Kazama. There’s a lot we can learn from each other, I’m sure.”

“Weird way of telling me you spied on me for ten years.”

“Consider it a complement, please,” Arataki smiled. “We don’t keep our eyes on those without potential.”

The passageway expanded. Moonlight flowed in at the end of the hall, and Miyuki and Fujiko stepped onto a wide field. Soil and dried wheatgrass stretched as far as they could see, running until they reached the base of the castle’s tallest tower.

“What a lovely sight,” Arataki breathed.

A transparent glass floor floated near the tower, gleaming beneath the moon. Upon it, a glass table had been set along with glass teacups and glass chairs.

The five remaining Egregore were seated there, watching Miyuki and Fujiko leave the audience chamber and enter the field.

Miyuki gasped. Her terror stricken eyes moved from the Egregore, to the phantasm walking besides the director, to the zenith of Castle Gramarye’s clocktower, to Fujiko and herself.

“It can’t be,” she muttered.

“Kobayashi, what are you on about?” Fujiko snapped. “I swear–”

“That special responsibility,” Miyuki glared. “You intend to ascend one of us, don’t you, Director Arataki?”

“Ascend?” Fujiko said.

Tanaka Arataki clapped.

“I had hoped one of you would hazard a guess,” he replied. “Yes, Miss Kobayashi. Tonight, one of you will ascend as Japan’s first ever Egregore. The stage has already been set, the tale written. There is no going back. That you are here is the cost and intersection of ten years of labor, planning, and blood.”

The phantasm left Arataki’s side. It stepped with resolute purpose across the field toward the floating glass tea party.

“You’re crazy,” Fujiko muttered. “I don’t know the first thing about ascension.”

“That’s the beauty of it all!” Arataki cackled. “Everything required for your ascension is right here in front of your eyes. You should feel honored. Happy. To become Egregore is to harness a power unlike any other on this earth.”

“An Egregore prepares a Question when they first ascend,” Miyuki said.

“A mere formality, Miss Kobayashi,” Arataki waved her off. “I’ve been told to tell you to simply ‘wing it,’ whatever that means.”

“Told?” Fujiko asked. “Told by who?”

Arataki lifted a finger and pointed it at the phantasm standing across the field.

“By the person who set these events in motion,” he said.

The robed figure stood beneath the tea party. It rose into the air then landed on the glass platform. It took a seat beside the other witches, who all recognized its presence at the party with no more than a nod.

Fang Fang poured out a cup of bergamot. Her eyes looked at Miyuki and lingered on Fujiko.

“You’ve started a very dangerous game,” she said.

The phantasm’s porcelain hand touched the steaming glass cup. Its tattered rags burned away. A midnight wind scattered the ashes of its clothes, while the moon revealed beneath the rags a slender indigo dress.

The phantasm’s hood and mask transformed into a lopsided pointy hat, and its third grotesque arm fell and regained its original form: a bumpy wooden staff of no particular use or purpose.

It raised the tea and brought it to its lips.

Lisa Everest’s eyes opened, and she drank her tea.