Witch Born Page 8

  Coyel raised a single eyebrow. “A good many of the Witches don’t look to Arianis. They look to you.”

  Some of the Witchlings, perhaps a few others. But that didn’t mean anything. Not really. They looked to Senna because she’d freed them. They didn’t see that she had been defeated by Espen, just as they all had. The only thing that had saved her was the Creator’s interference.

  “I’m not what they think I am.” The words fluttered out of Senna’s mouth like wounded butterflies.

  Coyel gave a sad smile. “We are never as bad or as good as others believe. We just are.”

  Senna couldn’t understand the sudden swelling of emotion inside her. Maybe she should stay here. In a few years, she’d have enough power to really change things. She could make sure an entire nation was never cursed again.

  Coyel opened her mouth and spoke, but Senna couldn’t hear her. There was a discordant screech. Senna clapped her hands over her ears, trying to block out the awful sound.

  Coyel leaned in, her lips moved, but Senna couldn’t make out the words over the shrieking. Judging by the confusion and concern on Coyel’s face, Senna was the only one who could hear it.

  The sound faded away.

  “Senna? Senna, what is it?”

  Before Senna could answer, Witch song rang from the clearing.

  An earth tremor comes.

  “Why didn’t Drenelle send a runner?” Coyel shot to her feet and pulled Senna up. “Come! To the Ring of Power!”

  They hustled over roots and around the tree. Senna burst out of the foliage and nearly ran into Arianis. The girl was breathing hard and gripping her cloak so hard her knuckles had bleached white. Her face looked open, vulnerable.

  She stared at Coyel with such a look of betrayal Senna had to look away. “Drenelle sent me to warn you, about the tremor, but…” She trailed off when she seemed to realize they already knew about the tremor. Turning, she ran in the opposite direction of the clearing.

  “Arianis,” Senna called.

  Coyel’s voice went oddly breathless. “I never wanted her to find out like that.”

  Senna took a step to go after Arianis.

  “Leave her,” Coyel commanded.

  Feeling a little sick, Senna turned to follow the Head.

  Before she’d gone a dozen steps, the earth bucked violently beneath her. Senna fell, a scream on her lips, but the sound was lost in the deafening noise as everything shuddered and shook. With a crystalline shattering, all the windows broke. Tree branches and glass rained down on her. She curled into a ball with her arms over her head.

  Slowly, the thundering settled to a rumble before stopping altogether. When it was over, Senna found herself on the path, her lip stinging. She tasted blood. Feeling something hard with her probing tongue, she found a splinter and pulled it from her lip. She was lucky it hadn’t stabbed her in the eye.

  She surveyed the damage. One of the largest trees had split down the middle, leaving the rooms inside exposed—incredibly, the table still held an unspilled jar of milk. Nearly every window in sight was broken. Tree branches and sparkling bits of glass littered the ground. Doors hung ajar. Everywhere, Witches were getting to their feet.

  In seconds, Joshen was there, pulling Senna upright. “You all right?”

  She nodded dumbly. The world shook again, but not nearly as violently. Gripping his shirt, she watched as the milk sloshed in the jar, spilling over the sides. She vowed to never complain about her Guardian detail again.

  The world finally stilled.

  “You’re bleeding.”

  She licked blood from her upper lip. “Just a little.”

  Coyel was already up again and running toward the Ring of Power.

  Hurrying after her, Senna scrambled over a fallen branch the size of a small horse. Just past it, a basket of wet laundry was partially crushed. A Witch dress created a ring of damp dirt around it. At first, Senna didn’t notice the limp hand still curled around it.

  Joshen knelt beside the tree and peered down. He closed his eyes and turned away. “She’s gone.”

  Senna didn’t want more memories to seed her nightmares. She kept running.

  The Witches were singing. That meant the barrier was up. Nothing and no one could cross until the singing stopped. Drenelle was in the center, singing in her rich alto, which sounded much better than her speaking voice. Other Witches gathered outside the circle, waiting like Senna and Coyel.

  Senna searched their faces until she found her mother. Relief coursed through her as her mother’s worried gaze met her own. Sacra held her hand over her heart and breathed out in relief. Senna nodded that she was all right.

  That relief was shattered when someone cried, “Smoke!”

  Senna pivoted and saw a black plume cutting through the bright blue sky.

  “One of the trees is burning!” someone out of sight shouted.

  “Joshen!” Coyel said. “Round up some Guardians and deal with it.”

  After sparing a glance at Senna, he sprinted toward the smoke, crying, “Guardians, to me!”

  “Steady, girls. The Guardians will control the fire until we can take care of it,” Coyel said.

  Still, Senna kept an eye on the smoke. The whole island was covered in trees that butted up against each other. She imagined how quickly a fire might spread. How they would all become trapped like a nest of baby birds in a chimney that had sat idle all summer—trapped by the very walls that protected them.

  When the song finally ended, the Witches stepped back. Senna gripped the forearms of the nearest Witches, one of whom happened to be Chavis. The barrier rose with a clap of wind that flattened everything beyond it and dragged the smoke outward.

  Immediately, Senna felt the connection with all the other Witches. Her sense of the Four Sisters sharpened to a razor edge. She felt the enormous shock wave of water rushing toward the Nafalien coast. Toward them.

  Coyel was right. Dangerous as the fire was, it could wait.

  Seconds later the singing started again.

  Waters, calm the sea.

  Settle and smooth, not angry be.

  The wind twirled Drenelle skyward. The Witches repeated the song until she had all she could hold. Then the woman released it with her own song. Senna felt it rolling toward the waters, felt the song settle the sea like a hand smoothing a rumpled blanket. But their song dissipated long before it reached the end of the wave.

  Already drifting downward, Drenelle shook her head in frustration. “Another one!”

  Wind, beat against the wave

  Before the coast her waters raze.

  But Drenelle didn’t wait until she could hold no more; she released it when the wave was dangerously close to shore—to the nearby city of Corrieth. Senna felt the wind gusting before the city and cutting into the water like scissors through fabric.

  The Witches were silent for a moment, Senna knew all of them felt the waters crash against the shore, and the shock of the plants. The wind had deflected the worst of it from the city. But not the docks. An aching hollow opened up inside Senna. People had just died. Many of them. And worst of all, she had friends among the sailors.

  The witches sang for the waters to retreat. After more than an hour of continuous singing, they turned their attention to the fire. They sang in a storm. They didn’t need a big one, just large enough to cover their island. Still, Senna watched the smoke thicken, watched the first tongues of flames hungrily lick the darkening sky.

  A light patter of rain bounced off the barrier. The Witches kept singing as it increased to a downpour. The smoke and flames were lost to the haze of rain.

  Finally, Guardians appeared. Sooty streaks ran down their grim faces. Grateful for their assistance fighting the fire, Senna wondered how the island had ever survived without the Guardians. They worked better together, each side shoring up the other’s weaknesses.

  If Senna were in charge, it could always be like this. She really could change things.

  Overcoming h
er natural reticence would be a small price. Someday, she could become the Head of Sunlight, and then things would finally become better.

  But what about the danger looming just beyond her sight? What about the dying land and people of Tarten?

  The last of the Witch song cut off, and the barrier dissipated. Almost immediately, the rain let up.

  Prenny spoke to Coyel. “How bad do you think Corrieth was hit?”

  Coyel pursed her lips. “Our winds and their wall would have deflected the brunt of the wave. But the docks and anyone on them would’ve only had half that protection.”

  “By the Creators, Drenelle, why didn’t you alert us sooner?” Chavis cried.

  Drenelle backed away. “As soon as I sensed the tremor, I warned everyone.”

  Other Witches grumbled, no doubt wondering how badly their homes were damaged by fire and tremors.

  Drenelle lifted her hands in supplication. “I usually sense an earth tremor building for days, weeks even. But this one just happened.”

  Senna remembered the unholy shriek she’d heard just before Drenelle’s warning. There was something unnatural about it. Something forced. She was so horrified she barely registered Joshen’s warm presence beside her.

  “What is it?”

  “It might have just been the sound of the earth tremor. But what if it wasn’t? What if it was the foreign Witches’ song?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Wet and shivering, Senna met his probing gaze. “They sent the earth tremor, Joshen.” The more she thought about it, the more sure she became.

  “How do you know?”

  Using her sleeve, she mopped water off her face. “If they really are the danger coming for Haven, they would want to weaken us first. Weaken us without revealing their presence.”

  Coyel stepped forward and began issuing commands—something about every Witch checking her Apprentices and Witchlings, and everyone fanning out to look for injured and help with the clean up.

  Senna hurried over to Coyel. “Head, what if the tremor wasn’t natural? What if those other Witches sent it?”

  Coyel pursed her lips. “Perhaps for retribution for you weakening their barrier?”

  Senna blanched. She hadn’t thought of it that way. Was she somehow responsible for all this devastation?

  “Go help the others Senna. There’s nothing we can do right now.”

  9. Secrets

  At a loss, Senna watched as dispirited Witches fanned out to search the island for any injured. And then she remembered Arianis. She wove through the other Witches, searching for the girl’s beautiful face. “Have you seen Arianis?” she called back to Joshen.

  “No. Isn’t she here?”

  Trying to generate some warmth, Senna rubbed her arms. “I don’t think so. She was upset.”

  Joshen studied her with a knowing look. “Upset about what?”

  Senna winced. “Coyel offered me the position as her Apprentice.”

  Joshen’s eyes widened. “Arianis’ position?”

  Senna nodded. “I’m pretty sure she overheard Coyel offer it to me.”

  Anger flashed in his eyes. “Coyel should know better than to treat people so poorly.”

  Senna glanced around. “Let’s check the Ring. If she’s not here, we’ll search the island.”

  “I can’t. Reden gave me permission to check on you, but then I was to report back to the other Guardians.”

  Senna steeled herself. “All right. Go.”

  Joshen didn’t move. “This chaos would be a perfect chance for someone to attack you.”

  Senna shivered. “You can’t be with me every moment.”

  “Did you bring your knife?”

  Hesitantly, she shook her head. “I forgot.”

  Grumbling under his breath, Joshen reached down and pulled a knife from his boot. He slapped the hilt against her hand. He checked the powder in her pistol’s pan and cursed. “Damp. I’ll have to dig the ball out and clean it before you can use it again.” He blew out in frustration. “But you still have the knife. Will you use it?”

  She stared at it grimly. “Yes.”

  “Don’t go off by yourself—stay in the Ring of Power and let someone else find her.”

  After tucking the knife in the loop in her seed belt, Senna started asking other Witches if anyone had seen Arianis. No one had. Joshen had told her to stay with the others, to keep safe. But the look on Arianis’ face haunted her.

  Knowing Joshen wouldn’t be pleased, she lifted her skirts and hurried in the direction she’d seen Arianis go. She passed many Witches and Guardians, all of them helping injured Witches or clearing broken trees and debris from the path.

  Senna asked every Witch she passed. Called out to Guardians. No one had seen Arianis.

  If the girl was hurt, Senna would never forgive herself.

  Just when she’d truly started to panic, she heard someone sniffling. She tipped her ear toward the sound, trying to figure out where it came from. Behind her was the onion-shaped tree house. The noise came from inside. Afraid of what she might find, Senna started up the steps. Arianis was inside, her arms wrapped around her knees.

  Senna glanced behind her, looking for another Witch who could help. There were none to be seen. Cautiously, she stepped into the room. “Are you hurt?”

  Arianis’ head jerked up. Her eyes were swollen from crying. She wiped her nose with the back of her hand and looked away. “No.”

  Stopping in the center of the room, Senna swallowed. “Arianis…I’m sorry.”

  Arianis chuckled bitterly. “I have always been the best singer, the fastest learner. Trained from childhood to defeat Espen. And then you came along.” She pulled her sleeve over her palm and wiped her cheeks. “And now I’m the one thing I’ve always been afraid of—average.”

  Senna was rooted to the spot. She wanted to be anywhere but here. “You’ll never be average.”

  “Average, above average. It’s still not the best.” Arianis pushed herself up and strode toward the door, but she stopped when she drew level with Senna. “Just remember it’s harder to stay at the top than it is to get there.”

  Senna listened as the other girl’s footsteps slowly faded behind her. She closed her eyes. She didn’t want the responsibility, the attention. But somehow it wanted her. Shaking her head, she stumbled backwards. Something cracked beneath her weight. She’d stepped on a framed map that had tipped over during the earth tremor.

  Absently, she picked it up. It was the desert nation they’d been learning about, Harshen. The frame had broken in the fall. The corner was crushed and part of the canvas ripped. Rain had stolen through the smashed windows and made the parchment swell and the ink run. It was ruined. Discarding the frame, Senna carefully picked up the board the canvas was attached to and set it on the table to keep anyone else from stepping on it.

  As she turned to leave, a bit of color caught her eye. Peeking behind the dirty brown of the desert was a splash of faded blue. Carefully, she peeled back the map. There was another canvas beneath this one.

  Curiosity suddenly seizing her, Senna tugged back the corner of the top canvas. Sepia had stained the canvas below with age, and the ink had faded. The shores were bound in what must have once been emerald green. Lakes and rivers dotted the land. Senna studied the coastline—one that looked hauntingly familiar.

  Horror clutched her throat in an icy fist as Senna laid the newer map over the older one. She folded the desert canvas back to follow the outline of the newer coast. They were the same shoreline. But the rivers, lakes, and green were gone.

  Her breathing came fast and hard. With Witch song to control nature, this kind of destruction didn’t happen unless Haven made it happen.

  Suddenly not caring, Senna ripped the newer canvas off and threw it. It spun before settling on the floor. She stared at the map before her. Rolling hills of green, with high mountain peaks capped in white. Rivers and lakes. Cities and rich fields. And in the far right corner, “Harshen
” was written in fine calligraphy. Senna reached toward the ornate lettering, but stopped as if touching it might burn her.

  Cities dotted the canvas, their buildings enlarged to show strange architecture—roofs with turned up corners and wide porches. She scanned the names of cities written in smaller script. Pennil, Upton, Webick…she froze. In the center of the snow-capped mountains was a city with the most ornate buildings yet, Rinnish—the Sacred City.

  “Tarten was not the first.” Her gaze darted around the walls of the room, at all the other maps, all the other nations. And she wondered what horrors were hidden beneath fresh canvas—how many dead the Witches had heaped upon the world. “No wonder they hate us.”

  Filled with a sudden rage, she pulled down another map. Ignoring the pain in her hand, she dug her fingers into the gap between wood backing and frame. It pulled apart with a screech of protesting nails. She peeled back the top canvas. There was nothing behind it.

  Senna pulled down another and separated the frame. Nothing. She took down a third map—another desert. The frame gave with a crack, leaving a jagged edge of wood that left splinters in her fingers. Blood dripped onto the maps, leaving garish rivers of red.

  She barely felt the pain. There was another map beneath, a verdant land bustling with cities that had been transformed into a desert. Her bloody fingerprints left tracks across it.

  Skipping the lands with rich green fields and plenteous water, she pulled down every map featuring a desert. Each had a map of green beneath. Her fingers were raw and her healing hand burned by the time she was done.

  There were six of them. Six times the Witches had annihilated an entire region.

  Senna leaned against one of the scattered desks, her mind numb with horror. This destruction was not common knowledge. Of that, Senna was sure. The Heads would know the truth, but she had a gut feeling they’d never admit it.

  But there was one woman who might. With a deep breath, Senna gathered herself and ran from the tree house. Outside, it was already past midday. The path she’d chosen was completely blocked by a felled tree. Flying past Witches and Guardians alike, she cut straight through the foliage to another path. Some called after her, wondering if she was all right, if she needed help.