by Amber Argyle
For the longest time, the two women stared at each other. The charge between them made the tiny hairs on Brusenna’s arms stand on end. Coyel stepped into their home. To Brusenna’s knowledge, she was the first outsider to do so.
“It’s been a long time, Sacra,” Coyel said.
Brusenna’s gaze flitted back and forth between her mother and Coyel. That they knew each other went beyond her comprehension. In her fourteen years, Brusenna had never seen her mother converse with anyone other than an occasional trouble-making villager—usually one of the adolescent boys who had taken on the challenge to kill one of their animals as a dare.
Sacra stepped out of the cellar and lowered the door as gently as if it were glass. Slowly, she straightened her slender back. “Brusenna, leave the things on the table and go check the corn.”
Brusenna’s disbelief rose in her throat, nearly choking her. “But, Mother—” At her mother’s glower, she swallowed her words, dropped her purchases on the table and ducked out the door. Bruke followed. Careful to keep her stride even, she waited until she had rounded the corner of the house before peeking back. The way was clear.
“Bruke, stay,” she whispered. With a disappointed whine, the dog sat on his haunches.
Hunched over, Brusenna retraced her steps. The soft grass felt cool under her hands and the sun was hot on her back as she crouched on one side of the doorway. There were no sounds from within. She waited until her knees were practically numb. She’d almost determined to chance a peek through the window when their voices halted her.
“What brings you, Coyel?” her mother asked warily.
“The Keepers need you, Sacra. There are precious few of us left and signs of the Dark Witch increase daily. The Circle of Keepers must be complete if we are to recapture her and stop the drought.”
Brusenna’s eyebrows flew up in wonder. It had never occurred to her that Sacra could have been a different person before she became her mother. Mustering every ounce of bravery, she peeked through the corner of the window.
“Calling Espen the Dark Witch only increases her power over us.” Sacra’s gaze remained fixed on the floor. “Find another Eighth.”
Coyel pressed her lips in a tight line. “The others are gone.”
Her mother’s head came up slowly; she blinked in surprise … and fear. “I have a daughter. You have only yourself.”
Coyel pointed toward Gonstower. “They call us Witches. But long before that, the Creators named us Keepers. It’s what we are. Keepers of the Four Sisters—Earth, Plants, Water and Sunlight. And as a Keeper, you can’t deny that all are floundering. If we don’t act now, it’ll be too late.”
Sacra stood rigid and immovable. “No.”
Coyel’s voice flared, “You know what the Dark Witch will do if she succeeds? Your daughter is Witchborn; even worse, she’s the child of a former Head of Earth.” She shook her head in disbelief. “She doesn’t even know our signs.”
Her mother turned away and stared blankly at the trees behind the house. “The less Brusenna knows, the safer she is.”
“Safer?” Coyel spat. “You haven’t taught her to protect herself. She’s terrified of those villagers.” The last word sounded like her mother’s voice after she’d found rats in their oats. “What chance do you think the girl will stand when Espen finds her?”
Her head in her palms, a moan escaped her mother’s lips. Coyel stepped forward and rested her hand on Sacra’s shoulder. “I’ve heard her. When she’s fully come into her own, I wouldn’t doubt she’ll be at least a Level Four. But right now, she’s … immature. And not just her song. Keeping her isolated will only make it worse. She needs to be around other Keepers her own age. Learn.”
Brusenna’s cheeks flamed with shame, partly because she suspected Coyel was right about her immaturity. Whenever she was around strangers, her tongue dried up in her mouth and her stomach felt full of writhing snakes.
Her mother jerked away as if Coyel’s touch had burned her. “Coyel, no. Espen won’t find her. I’ve been careful. Gonstower is isolated. No one knows I’m here. And we’re not completely without friends.”
Friends? Brusenna mentally flipped through the faces of the villagers who would have gladly seen her in the stocks. What friends?
Coyel’s gentleness vanished, replaced by disbelief and anger. “I found you. And if you think those villagers will protect her identity, you’re deceiving yourself. The ignorant fools would gladly turn her over. Never understanding the very Keepers they hate are all that stand between them and—”
“I said no!” Sacra shouted. Brusenna jumped. She’d never heard her mother shout before. “Get out!”
Coyel backed away, her jaw working as if she might chew through Sacra’s resistance and then her head dropped. “We’re gathering at Haven. I’ll wait in the village for three days.” Her fervent gaze met Sacra’s smoldering one. “Please, Sacra. We can’t do it without you.”
Not daring to linger another moment, Brusenna scampered away from the door and pressed herself flat against the smooth boards on the other side of the house.
“Please, Sacra,” Coyel asked again. And then all Brusenna could hear was the sound of footsteps that grew fainter within moments.
She barely felt Bruke nudge her with his wet nose. Her chest rose and fell as her mind reeled with unfamiliar names. Circle of Keepers, Level Four, the Dark Witch? Surely her mother had no understanding of such things. Surely she’d lived here for generations.
Hadn’t she?
2. OF SILVER AND SHADOW
The stairs creaked. A moment later, the kitchen door groaned and slapped against the frame. Having been unable to sleep, Brusenna padded to her window.
Sacra trailed through the waist-high corn as if wading through water, her palms skimming the tops of the plants. Witch song drifted in the air as the moonlight cast everything in silver and shadow. Brusenna watched until her mother disappeared into the dense forest. Before she could change her mind, she snatched her wrap from its hook and flung it around her narrow shoulders.
Telling her dog to stay, Brusenna scanned for her mother before bursting free of the house. Darting from one shadow to the next, she halted at the sound of her mother’s song. Pure, beautiful, enchanting. Closing her eyes, she concentrated on the words only a Witchborn could understand—words sung by a Witch in the Creator’s language, the language of authority, with the correct melding of melody and rhythm.
Following the sound, Brusenna paused at the edge of the forest and peered into the dappled darkness. The wind played with her cotton shift, pressing it against her body before billowing it out then twisting it around her. She shivered as the wind’s fingers painted her skin silver with moonlight.
Gritting her teeth, she gathered the hem of her shift in her fist and plunged into the ever-deepening shadows. She’d lost count of how many scratches she’d accumulated and how often she’d stumbled, when the path before her suddenly cleared. Startled, she found herself in the shadows that edged a perfectly formed circle. One she hadn’t known existed. Scrambling, she ducked behind an enormous tree and peered inward with awe.
Her mother stood, arms outspread and her Witch song commanding and sure.
Wind, lift me high,
That my words reach to’rds the sky.
All around Sacra, the trees swirled as if caught inside a slow whirlwind. Her face upturned, she repeated the song one last, heart-stopping time.
A current of air snatched her off the ground, twisting her hair as it caught her next words.
Oh, Wind, to Haven carry my song,
For the ears of the Keepers must hear it for long.
Of the Keepers, how many remain?
Upon how many has the Dark Witch laid her claim?
With a roar, a gust swirled the song into a tight cocoon and hurtled it away. Sacra’s song faded, even as the wind lowered her to the ground. She continued staring into the night sky, as if waiting for a response.
Her entire life, Brusenna
had witnessed her mother singing. But never like this, with so much power. Shivering, Brusenna sat down and hugged her wrap around her legs. She considered confronting her mother, but anger stopped her. There were secrets here. Secrets Brusenna had been ignorant of her entire life. Secrets she was determined to find the answers to. Time passed. She’d grown so accustomed to the quiet that she started at the sound of another song—one that wasn’t from her mother, but distant, as if little more than an eerie echo.
Eight Witches remain.
The rest are in chains.
Sacra bowed her head. “Coyel spoke true,” she whispered.
Brusenna stretched out her stiff, cold legs and rubbed her numb hip. She waited a long time to see if anything more would happen. But her mother showed no signs of leaving. No signs of anything.
Afraid she’d already stayed too long, Brusenna eased to her feet and backed up a step. Something cracked beneath her weight. She froze. Her mother’s gaze snapped to the tree Brusenna hid behind. Holding her breath, she stood perfectly still, her blood pounding in her ears. For what seemed an eternity, her mother stared in her direction before she turned her gaze back to the night sky.
Brusenna exhaled in a rush and slunk away from the clearing. She stepped into the bright light of their corn field. The moon’s position revealed how long she’d spent in the forest. She turned as another faint song brushed her ears. But she didn’t want to trek through the woods again. Nor did she think a new song would provide more answers than the last had.
Besides, her eyes burned with weariness and her whole body felt numb. She stumbled up the stairs to her room and into her bed.
The next thing she knew, dawn teased her through her curtains. Throwing back her quilt, she thundered down the wooden steps. There was her mother, mixing breakfast as always, her customary smile in place. Brusenna wondered what else hid behind that smile.
“You’ll need to start bringing the vegetables in. It’s going to freeze early this year,” her mother said as she dished up Brusenna’s oatmeal.
Brusenna plopped into her chair. In the morning glare, she could almost believe last night had been a dream. But the stinging scratches on her shins didn’t lie. The certainty of it made Brusenna feel even more unsettled. Normally, she’d have come right out and asked her mother. They didn’t keep secrets from each other … or at least, Brusenna hadn’t thought they did. Coyel’s arrival seemed to have shattered that assumption.
Coyel’s arrival seemed to have shattered many assumptions. Brusenna glanced up to see her mother staring into the oatmeal as if it might hold the answers to all of their problems. “Mother?”
Her mother’s head snapped up, a dark glower in her eyes.
Brusenna shrank back. Things were happening. Things she didn’t understand. “Mother, what’s going on?”
Sacra looked away. “Why did you follow me last night?”
Brusenna’s chest tightened. She scuffed her calloused feet against the worn wood floor. “You knew?”
Her mother chuckled dryly. “Yes, Brusenna. I knew you were watching me.”
She clenched the sides of her chair. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
Sacra shrugged. “In your place, I would’ve done the same.” She pressed her lips in a thin line. “It’s called the Calling Song. It must be performed in the Ring of Power—a circular clearing, ringed with tall trees. At least eight Witches are required to perform the most powerful of songs … the kind of songs that could end the drought. There aren’t enough of them at Haven.”
“To fight the Dark Witch?” Brusenna blurted before clamping her hand over her mouth.
Sacra inhaled sharply. “How could you …” Her eyes narrowed. “You listened to Coyel and me, didn’t you?” The tiny lines around her eyes deepened as she pressed them shut. “I’d hoped you’d never have to hear of Espen.” She clutched the sides of the table as if it was the only thing keeping her upright, yet her voice remained surprisingly calm, “Yes, Brusenna. We’re going to fight her. But there are eight of us and only one of her. So you shouldn’t worry.”
“What’s she done?” Brusenna asked cautiously.
The sinews in her mother’s hands stood out against her clenched knuckles. “She’s a murderer! One who should’ve been stopped long ago.”
“Who—”
“I’ll speak no more of Espen!”
Brusenna drew back as if she’d been slapped. She’d never seen her mother so angry. The realization dawned on her that whatever existed between the Dark Witch and her mother was personal.
Sacra pinched the bridge of her nose. “Maybe Coyel was right. Maybe I should’ve taught you, but I never thought it would come to this. Perhaps … well, perhaps I should’ve done things differently. But after your sister and your father died … I had to keep you safe. Nothing else was more important than that.” She took a deep breath. “There are a few things I need to tell you before I leave.”
Brusenna’s entire body went as rigid as a tree stump. “Leave?”
Her mother didn’t seem to hear her. Standing, she withdrew a large tin of beans from the shelf and poured them into an empty container. They sounded like hail as they bounced and settled. When they were nearly gone, she reached inside and withdrew a worn blue book. “I wrote this in case …” She sighed. “Everything I should’ve taught you, I wrote in this journal. Read it. Study it. Keep it with you. And don’t forget your voice practice. A Witch with a weak song is barely a Witch at all.”
Brusenna reached out to steady herself against the table. “When are you leaving?”
Her mother’s gaze seemed to search for something inside Brusenna’s eyes. “The day after tomorrow.”
Brusenna’s hand went to her mouth. “When will you return?” Sacra half-shook her head. “I don’t know.”
3. CHANTER
Brusenna woke to a cold hand against her cheek. Her mother was fully dressed in heavy winter clothing and she smelled like the wind. She held out a folded piece of paper. “If something … bad happens, I want you to read this letter and do as it says. Do you understand?”
Brusenna nodded. The chill seeped through her clothes as soon as she left the warmth of the quilts to follow her mother into her room. She watched as her mother tucked the letter away in the money box; the same box that contained her dead father’s wedding ring. A sense of foreboding filled Brusenna, leaving her body numb with dread.
“I know you think I’m abandoning you, but I’m not. I’ve asked Sheriff Tomack to look out for you. He’s a good man. I’ve known him for many years.”
Tomack’s help in the marketplace suddenly made sense. “Is he one of the friends you told Coyel about?”
“One of the few.” Sacra started down the stairs, “There’s something else I need to show you.” Kneeling before the kitchen stove, she wiggled one of the corner bricks. It gave way easily.
Brusenna gasped at the gold glinting beneath it. Dropping beside her mother, she picked up a warm coin and brushed off the soot with her thumbs. In all her life, she’d never held a gold piece before, only the cheaper metal upice. “Where’d you get this?” Betrayal and hurt mingled inside her. How many lies had her mother told her?
Sacra took the piece and replaced it under the brick. “There’s gold under the hearth bricks and buried under the hay in the barn, too.” She met Brusenna’s accusing stare. “I had my reasons for keeping this from you. I’m trusting you not to use these coins—”
“Why not?” Brusenna burst out. “I could wear shoes all year, new clothes, so many of the things I’ve always wanted!”
“What do you think the villagers would do if they thought we had anything worth stealing?” Sacra’s eyes clouded over and she looked away. “There are other reasons. Reasons I’ll not tell you. Know this, Brusenna: everything I did was to protect you. Only take the gold if you must leave. Then and only then. Do you understand?”
Brusenna refused to meet her mother’s gaze.
“Brusenna?” Sacra chided.
“I understand,” she answered coldly.
The log in the fire snapped and Brusenna jumped. Sacra stood quickly. “I have to go. When I return, I’ll tell you everything.” She pulled a knit cap over her chestnut hair and kissed Brusenna’s cheek. “Be safe.” She turned quickly, but not before Brusenna saw the tears glistening in her eyes.
Brusenna wanted to cry out, “No! Stop! Don’t leave me!” But the words wouldn’t come.
Her cheek still tingling from her mother’s kiss, Brusenna watched Sacra jog across the field, leaving dark footprints in the frost. She stepped into the forest. The trees swallowed her whole.
Brusenna stood in the doorway until her skin was blotched with cold, but she couldn’t seem to shut the door. If she did, her mother would truly be gone and she’d really be alone.
But she couldn’t leave the door open forever. With a shiver that shook her to her bones, she pushed it shut as warm tears streamed down her cold cheeks.
Taking the tin of salt from the shelf, Brusenna pulled back the cover and stared at the light dusting that remained. Her heart fell. She had to have salt. And the only way to get it was to go into town. Swallowing the bile that rose in her throat, she looked down at Bruke. “There’s nothing to help it. I have to go.”
Changing into her best shin-length dress, she went into her mother’s room. It was hard to believe Sacra had already been gone three weeks. It felt longer. Much longer. She’d spent her fifteenth birthday alone. All day, every day, Brusenna had spent canning and drying their harvest—an overwhelming task without help.
Opening the lid to the money box, she couldn’t help but run her finger over her father’s wedding ring. How might her life have been different if her father Rend had lived? If her sister Arel had? She studied the crisp outline of the letter her mother had left her. She had a sudden urge to throw it in the fire.
Trembling from the effort of restraining herself, she withdrew the money pouch and poured some of the upices into her palm. Silently, she stared at the dull, worn pieces.