by Teri Harman
The tree snapped back into place, pulling her with it, free of the cyclone.
“Thank you,” she whispered to the tree, just before her arms gave out and she tumbled the long fall to the ground. She hit with a painful thud, knocking the breath out of her lungs. Her vision went black around the edges and bile rose in her throat. Her chest stuttered, trying to pull in air; and for a terrifying second she wondered if it would. Then, with a strangled gasp, the air rushed in. Choking on it, she rolled to her side, coughing and sputtering.
Then the pain hit. Her body felt like a piece of paper, crushed, wadded up, and set on fire. Tears welled in the corners of her eyes.
Simon arrived, his hurried footsteps crunching the grass. His strong arms caught and held her, one hand resting gently on her head.
In a wave of heat, all the pain pulled away. She blinked up at him. He had her cradled in his arms, his hand still on her head. The position brought a flash of the nightmare of the girl being burned, the witch holding her. She flinched at its sudden, powerful invasion.
“Are you still in pain?”
She shook her head, tried to smile, but was too exhausted. She pushed the image from her mind. “I fell out of the tree.”
Simon laughed and hugged her tight. “I knew you were tough, my Willa, but that . . . amazing doesn’t even come close.” He kissed her forehead.
Then Rowan was there, kneeling in front of her, his face alive with a smile. “Willa, lass, well done. So well done.” He leaned in, kissed her cheek. “Can you give me your hand?”
She raised it weakly, and he cupped it in his own.“Powers of the Earth, mighty above all. Earth, Air, Fire, and Water now we call. A True Witch at your command, against the Dark she will stand.”
Willa’s pendant, tucked inside her shirt, flared hot, and where it touched her skin a glorious rush of power and energy moved outward until it had filled her. She gasped and sat up, no longer exhausted. The cheers of the rest of the Covenant made her smile.
The Covenant gathered around Willa, offering congratulations and praise. Rain stepped forward, her black hair tipped with fushia, and held out her fist. “Wicked-good job, Willa.”
Willa bumped her fist into Rain’s. “Thanks. Those were some serious water walls. I thought I was gonna drown.” Rain smiled and moved aside for Darby.
Darby kissed Willa’s head. “I don’t appreciate being all wet, but I’ll give you credit.” She grinned. “So proud of ya, ya little peach.”
“Thanks, Darby.”
Wynter pushed through and took Willa into her arms, giving her a crushing hug. She pulled back, and the two exchanged a tender look.
Willa turned to Hazel and Toby. “So whose handy work was that tornado?”
Hazel smiled, her gray hair bright in the morning sun. “Both of us, actually.” She gestured to Toby who also smiled and adjusted his glasses. “We had to give you something hard.” The group laughed. Hazel hugged Willa.
Finally, Charlotte threw herself at Willa. “That. Was. Incredible!”
Willa laughed. “Thanks, Char.”
“Really incredible,” Elliot added. “I’m pretty sure none of the rest of us did that well.”
Willa blushed. “Oh, I doubt that. And anyway, Simon still has to go. He’ll show us all up.”
“I doubt that,” Simon said, embarrassed and more worried than he let on. If all he did was show everyone up, then it’d be a good day. He took Willa’s hand and kissed it.
Watching her fight had been thrilling and awful all at once. Each time she got in trouble, every part of him screamed to run out and help. But seeing her triumph—that made him warm with pride and a comfort he didn’t quite understand.
Rowan cleared his throat. “Okay, now. It’s Simon’s turn. Charlotte and Elliot, please take Simon and Willa back to the fence while we reset. I’ll meet you when we’re ready.”
The four walked back to the outskirts of the field, talking excitedly about Willa’s challenge. Simon only half-heard the chatter, his mind drifting through a maze of worry, anticipation, and fear. After seeing the extreme tests they’d thrown at Willa, he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d be able to control his powers or the urge to experiment with them; because there could be no pretending, no taking it easy this round. He needed to keep his healing gift suppressed while he used the elemental magic—they had to be separate.
“Simon?”
He turned to see all three staring at him. “Huh? What?”
Willa put a hand on his arm. “You okay?” Her ocean eyes communicated sympathy and understanding, touched with concern.
He smiled weakly. “Just nervous.”
She nodded.
Simon looked passed her; Elliot and Charlotte offered sympathetic smiles. He appreciated their encouragement, but the first thought that came to mind was they don’t understand.
Rowan came running from the field. “Okay, we are ready. Are you, Simon?”
Simon swallowed. “I think so.” Willa squeezed his hand as she lifted to her toes to kiss his cheek. She caught his eyes, held them. He felt her warmth move into him. She released his hand, and he joined Rowan to walk out into the field.
Rowan cut him a glance. “What are you thinking?”
He scoffed. “Too many things.”
His mentor nodded. “I wish I could tell you that it’ll be fine, it’ll be easy, but that would be lying.”
“Thank you. I appreciate that.”
They stopped in the middle of the field. Rowan faced him. “We’re not going to make it easy on you. This is a test of control for you, as well as the elements. We know your magic skills are superior; now you must prove yourself master of them.” Rowan stepped a little closer and held Simon’s eyes. “I do not expect you to be perfect at it yet. Don’t put too much pressure on yourself. You need to be calm first, before you can be in control. We are prepared. Don’t worry about us.”
Simon swallowed a sudden knot in his throat; his heart thudded hard against his ribs. He nodded. Rowan clapped him on the back and then moved away.
Calm. Stay calm. This is just about the elements; no Mind games; no healing.
“Ready!” Rowan yelled. Simon clenched his fists. The first trickles of sweat popped on his forehead. “EARTH!”
Corbin walked out from behind a tree, his hands spewing water, directing it at the ground. The flood raced toward Simon at neck-breaking speed. He turned to run, dodge the current, but the water already grabbed at his ankles. He went down, the flood rolling over him, carrying him along.
Focus. Call to the earth. Calm.
He turned his body against the current and spotted a large rock to his right. He swam for it and maneuvered himself in front of it to brace himself. Legs out, wedged into the ground, body pressed against the rock, Simon lifted his hand. The water beat against him, a thousand angry punches.
Earth . . .
Heat flared on his palm. A moment later the grass around Corbin’s legs grew tall, wrapping around his legs. Corbin flicked his eyes to the slithering fingers of grass, but kept the water coming strong. Simon tugged his hand backwards, like pulling a rope, and the grass jerked Corbin off his feet. The Water witch fell flat on his back, stopping the flow of water.
Simon exhaled. One down.
“FIRE!”
He braced himself, face and clothes dripping. Before he could take a full breath, a whistling sound came from behind. Simon spun to see the sky full of logs, branches, and sticks of every size. The first few hit his body. He grunted with their impact, putting his arms up to save his head. The wood battered him to the ground. A large, heavy log fell on top of his legs. The crunch of one of his lower leg bones filled the air. He cried out in pain.
Fire! Find the fire. NOW!
Simon pushed his hands out, summoned mighty fire. Flowers of flame burst out from his palms, spreading wide in front of him like a shield. The logs and sticks hit the fire, instantly hissing to ash. Simon’s leg roared, and his body ached, but only for a moment. By the t
ime the last log hit his flames, his leg and bruises were healed.
He dropped his arms, sucking air, exhausted; but there would be no rest.
“AIR!”
With a grunt, Simon rolled to his side and pushed himself to his feet, his leg a little tender, but sturdy. A sound like rushing water came at him from all directions. He expected another flood, but instead, four powerful blasts of icy air hit him at once: front, back, right, left. He stumbled under the force, his cheeks instantly red from the cold, and his hair flying in all directions as if the wind might pull it from his head.
He dropped to his knees, trying to keep air in his lungs, but every breath was ripped away before he could pull it in. Panic erupted inside him, and with it the terrible feeling of his powers boiling up to take control.
No, no, no. Calm it. Push it down. Just find the air.
His thoughts reached outward, searching for the source of his struggle. In his mind, he could clearly see Hazel and Toby standing on the other side of the assault. And then he felt it. How easy it would be to push his powers outward and command them to stop. One little word with the force of his odd skill behind it. Easy.
I won’t. I can’t.
Simon had been without a full breath for a couple minutes now, and the edges of his vision faded, his body slumped in weakness. But he lifted a hand. Swift and effectual power of air . . . A fierce tingle and then his own air exploded from his hand, pushing back the opposing winds. Simon leaned into his hand, forcing the air out, while trying with all his might to suppress the desire to use his other powers, the strength of the temptation nearly as debilitating as the air assault.
With one final push, a surge of hot magic flew out of his hand and completely dispersed the four winds. He collapsed to the ground once again, pulling in long drags of steady, warm air. Rowan didn’t wait.
“WATER!”
The call of the water sparked energy in his blood. Somewhere deep down, his Water gift, the one he’d actually been born with, responded. He’d only felt it a few times recently, a weak tremor of this long hidden blue spark inside him; but now it was unmistakable, powerful. He jumped to his feet, snapped his head from side to side, ready. The water flowing in the irrigation ditch sang out to him, as did the water in the ground, inside the grass and trees. He could feel every drop of water in the field.
Use it!
The ground under his feet rumbled and fell away. He went with it, tumbling with the dirt and rocks into a deep pit, too deep to climb back out of, and too much like another pit from a few months ago. But he didn’t have time to think about it. Fire came in a torrential downpour of white flame, hotter than anything he’d ever felt. He barely had time to lift his hands to draw the water out of the soil around him to fight it.
Steam filled the pit as he continued to pull water from all around to fight the extra-hot flames. The fire didn’t stop. Soon the irrigation ditch ran dry, the dirt dust, and the grass as brittle as spun glass.
Simon fell to his knees, fighting, but losing. White, painful blisters bubbled up on his hands and arms. The never-ending flames were too much, too strong; and he was running out of energy and water. The urge came again, that raging hot desire to reach out and control. Cal and Darby appeared in his mind, standing at the edge of the pit, supplying the fire, propelling it down on him.
I can’t . . .
He rolled his eyes around the pit. There was no way out, as long as the fire rained down.
Just use it. Use the power.
The flames came hotter, harder; and Simon struggled to push them away.
More water . . . All I need is more water.
His Water instincts reached out, but his head was foggy; his body near collapse.
There! There’s some more.
He pulled hard. The fire sputtered. He pulled even harder.
Screams echoed down into the pit. Something scratched at his mind. Was someone calling his name?
He kept pulling, and the fire stopped.
Who’s screaming?
SIMON!
“Willa?” Lowering his hands, Simon listened. Moans drifted down into the hole. “Willa?!” Simon struggled to his feet and stared at the edges of the pit, the blue sky above. No one came to the lip of the pit. “Rowan? Wynter? What’s going on?”
Panic raced in his veins. Using his quickly recovering strength, he summoned the power of Earth. The edges of the pit rumbled and then shifted to form a few ledges. He climbed from ledge to ledge, scrambling over the top of the pit.
The field was a dry, barren wasteland.
Simon gasped, frozen in terror.
The entire Covenant lay on the ground like broken dolls, sprawled out, faces pale, ashen.
Willa’s unmoving body lay crumpled at the edge of the pit, her hand fallen over the side as if she had been reaching down.
Chapter 36
Waning Crescent
July—Present Day
“Willa!” Simon dropped to the ground and lifted her limp body into his arms. Her skin was pale and drawn, her lips cracked. “What the hell?” He lifted her hand into his, sending a wave of healing energy into her body. A few seconds later her eyes fluttered.
“Simon?” she said hoarsely.
“Yeah. Are you okay? What happened?”
Willa sat bolt up, her eyes frantic. “Go help them!” She moved away from him. He hurried over to each member of the Covenant, taking their hands and healing them as fast as he could. Everyone out of danger, Simon stopped near the pit, arms limp at his sides.
Holy mother moon! Did I do this to them? How?!
All around him the field had been sucked dry of moisture: the leaves on the trees shriveled and brown, the grass gray and the ditch empty. Simon ran all the details of the fight in the pit back through his mind, but he couldn’t find where he’d gone wrong. He’d fought so hard to make sure he didn’t cross the line into powers he couldn’t control.
Did I do ALL of this?
His body began to tremble; his heart couldn’t find a steady rhythm. His head pounded, and the earth was spinning.
A hand on his arm. “Simon?”
He focused in on Willa’s face. Things steadied slightly. He grabbed her shoulders. “What happened? Did I do this?”
Her brows furrowed in sympathy, with her lips pressed thin. “Oh, Simon. Yes, you did.”
“But . . .” his eyes flashed to the wretched scene around him. The other Covenant members had gathered together, hanging back. “But I don’t understand. How?”
Willa put her hands on his chest and bit her lip. “When you were fighting the fire, you pulled water from everywhere, everything. At the end . . .” She moved her palms to his cheeks and held his face, “you even pulled it from us.”
Simon’s heart went cold. “What?!” He jerked away from her hold. “No, I didn’t. I didn’t do that.”
Willa’s face broke and her shoulders slumped forward. “Simon . . .”
“No!” Simon stepped back, haltingly, stiffly. “No, I didn’t want to hurt anybody. I tried so hard not to,” he yelled.
“I know,” she whispered. “But look—we are fine. We’re fine.” She pointed to herself and the group. Simon turned to them but then flinched away from their fearful stares. Rowan stepped forward.
“No.” Simon said, holding up a hand to him. Rowan stopped. “This is why I didn’t want to train. It made me drop my guard. I thought I was in control! I shouldn’t have listened. I should have just stopped! There is no way to keep my gifts separate. This proves it!”
“Simon, please . . .” Rowan asked, taking one more step forward before stopping, the look on Simon’s face enough to stop the fall of rain.
Simon’s chest heaved and his head pounded. How could this happen? I didn’t even know I’d hurt them.
Willa was there again, a warm hand on his arm, her pretty eyes pleading. “Simon.”
He pulled back, looked at her in desperation. Both hands at his head, he pulled at his hair, pushed against the pou
nding at his temples. His stomach grew sour.
How could he stand here, knowing he’d almost killed all the people in the world that mattered to him? How could he live, knowing he’d done it without even realizing—again? These weren’t Dark witches ready to kill him. This was his family.
Bile crept up his throat, stung his tongue. There was so much noise in his head.
So he ran.
Simon had never run so far before.
His legs pumped out mile after mile, barely noticing the strain. His feet pounded the ground until they were numb. Heart pumping, lungs sucking air, muscles flexing. But no matter how long he ran, his head remained a mess of noise. It wouldn’t stop.
Simon didn’t see the scenery he passed; didn’t notice the turned heads of the people he passed. He cut through two towns before it occurred to him to stop.
Where are you going?!
He stopped, looked around, and found himself on a dirt road. The overgrown grass along each side told him it was a forgotten dirt road, rarely traveled. Nothing offered any stable orientation; the slumped roof of an old house a little way down the road was the only thing he could see to ground him.
He walked, his body heavy, and his spirit in the dirt. The road curved, and soon the little house stood before him. More a shack than a house, almost too small to be called a proper dwelling, the sight of it somehow fit his mood. The steeply pitched roof sagged, and the porch cover drooped in a kind of sad smile above the weathered front door and single window. It reminded Simon of a childhood story he couldn’t quite recall.
The threadbare porch steps called to his aching body. Simon sat carefully, the wood groaning under his weight but holding. He exhaled, resting elbows on knees. A hot summer wind tossed the high grasses around him, teasing the weeds to his left in what once must have been a nice little kitchen garden.
Willa asked me not to run.
Simon looked back over his shoulder at the unhinged screen door, hanging to the side like a dead limb, and wallowed in his guilt. The sound of Willa’s desperate, angry cries for him to stop, to come back, echoed in his head. Below the window was a child’s scooter, constructed of wood and what looked like roller skate wheels, obviously homemade. Seeing it there, rotten and forgotten, made him suddenly sad. How could I do that to her? I need to go back.