by Amber Argyle
Senna felt her mother’s shocked gaze on her. Coyel squatted in front of her mother. “Why didn’t you tell me this?” she whispered.
“I saw no signs of a Level Seven.”
“What’s her affinity?”
Sacra shrugged. “Plants.”
Senna leaned toward them. “I don’t understand.”
Coyel shot Sacra one final look of exasperation. Then she whispered to Senna, “Only one other Level Seven was born in the last century.” Her lips were pressed in a grim line.
Senna’s eyes widened. “You mean … Espen?”
Sacra looked away. Coyel nodded. “Your song is the strongest one here. It makes the others nervous.”
For the first time, Senna wondered if the Creators had given her a gift or a burden.
“Well, then,” Chavis said with a shrug, “let the girl. She’s certainly earned the right,”
“I’m with her mother,” Prenny said. “She’s not ready.”
Coyel turned to Senna. “The vote is split. That leaves it in my hands.” A murmur of protest rose from Drenelle and Prenny. Coyel silenced it with a wave of her hand. “She entered her apprenticeship when she defeated Espen.” The two pressed their lips together but offered no further protest. Senna sensed the other Witches in the circle exchanging uneasy glances.
Seeing her supporters go silent, Sacra’s raised hand fell.
Coyel stood before her. “But I know so little,” Senna whispered.
“All are naïve before knowledge finds them,” Coyel whispered back. Taking her hand, she pulled Senna to her feet and claimed the patch of grass she’d vacated. Settling her damp skirt, Coyel looked up expectantly.
Senna searched for signs of disapproval from the other Witches as she made her way to the center. Most held no expression aside from intense concentration. The moment Senna reached the center, the Witches gripped each other’s forearms. With a boom, the ground beneath her surged. The shockwave whipped the trees, nearly laying them flat. A great cylindrical barrier rose into the night sky. Shimmering like an aurora, it stretched to the highest levels of the atmosphere. Senna felt the strength of the barrier, pulsing with power as unyielding and tough as the strongest fortress walls.
A tendril of thought brushed her mind. Surprised, she concentrated on the strange presence. Coyel’s voice vibrated in her head, When the time comes, I’ll supply the songs you must sing. For now, remain silent. Senna realized the joining of the Sisters’ arms connected more than their bodies. Their minds were now linked.
Coyel provided the song they should sing. As a single voice, the Witches sang softly.
Espen’s betrayed us and plotted our demise,
Filled the Earth with her enclave of lies,
And so we release from her previous calling,
Espen the Witch, her authority falling.
A feeling like a string being plucked from a tapestry twisted inside Senna. Espen had been cut off. But it was more than being blotted out. It felt more like the Dark Witch had never existed.
As the echo of their songs faded, another song rose.
Brusenna risked her all
So the Witches would not fall.
For her courage, we seal her birthright,
A Keeper after the Discipline of her choosing this night.
The vibrations of the Witches’ voices rolled toward Senna in waves. The waves condensed within her, filling her with song until her whole aura glowed and her body tingled.
The songs burned to be set free. The knowledge of what she needed to do came as naturally as breath to a newborn. She had to hold them. Tightly. She waited, knowing she didn’t have enough song, not yet. The Witches’ cadence increased, as did their volume until Senna couldn’t bear it another moment. Her body went rigid and her face flung upward. The other Witches abruptly stopped singing as Senna’s own song began. Even to her own ears, the sound was sweeter than any she’d ever heard.
I am a Witch. Mark me.
With the power of a dam breaking, Senna’s consciousness expanded through the other Witches to include the Four Sisters—Earth, Water, Sunlight and Plants. With minimal effort, she felt her connection to them as naturally as her fleshy appendages. For their part, the Four Sisters accepted her dominion naturally—the Earth like a shovel in its flesh, the waters like a net cast into their depths, the plants like a fruit plucked from their boughs and the sun like another creature to shine upon.
A tingling began on the side of Senna’s navel. Without seeing it, she knew a crescent moon now adorned the right side of her navel. Knowledge of what it was grew within her. The crescent moon—one piece of the whole. Senna was now part of the Witches.
The mark of an Apprenticed Keeper.
She finally belonged somewhere.
The power of the first song grew cold, a feeling like the warm sun setting on a chilly day. But the Witches weren’t finished. Another song began, one with a much different purpose than the first. This time, Senna felt the Witches gathering power from their songs—directing that power to right the wrongs Espen had committed. It was similar to the songs Senna had sung many times, but now she had the strength to see it was done.
Four Sisters—Earth, Water, Plants and Sunlight,
Our order and control upon thee’s been scant.
But now with authority and power irrefutable,
We command thee to return to order most suitable.
Seasons stay in place,
Winds blow in pace.
Weather hold to thy climes,
Plants keep thy times.
Chaos and disorder cease,
All settle and return to peace.
The song continued, growing stronger. As before, Senna sang its release. As her last note settled, she felt the song travel across the Earth through her newfound connection—a connection that also told her the Witches could never undo all the damage Espen had inflicted. Many, many of the creeping, crawling things had died, or would in the coming months. And more would fail before the song could take full effect. A crushing sadness shrouded her. Never again would those animals and plants be found upon the land.
Only two songs and already Senna felt exhausted. Still, more work remained. Smaller matters that needed attention. The singing wore on long into the day and Senna sensed a wholeness beginning to return to the Earth. Their work here was done—at least until spring, when their powers would reach their apex and they could finish the work they’d started in Tarten.
She waited for the circle to break. Her Keepers were tired; she could feel their exhaustion through their connection. Everyone was wet and hungry. But they didn’t release their grips. Not understanding, Senna’s gaze rested on her mother. Finally, Tiena, Desni’s middle-aged daughter, broke the silence with her heavily accented voice, “Tell us of the Creators.”
Ah, that was it. Tipping her head to the side, Senna concentrated on the heat from the sun warming her neck. “There were four of them—Earth, Water, Plants and Sunlight. Each was a living, breathing emblem of their respective domains. Earth appeared as a woman of ebony, Water had the slanted blue eyes and russet skin of the north, Sunlight was as fair and blonde as the rays of the sun and Plants was covered in freckles. From their long sinuous dresses, to the shade of their hair, to the tint of their eyes, the colors varied by the moment.”
All the Witches were silent. Senna’s mind was so full of the memory, she couldn’t have spoken anyway.
“How much pain could they have stopped?” Sacra’s words held a bitter edge.
“Don’t, Sacra,” Coyel said. “This life is not one to be without heartache.”
“No,” Prenny agreed. “That is for the next.”
Coyel turned back toward the city of Zaen. Worry lines creased her face. “For now, we have finished our songs, but we still face Tarten. If only they’ll let us pass unmolested.”
In response, Prenny snorted.
30. WITCH WAR
Alongside the Discipline Heads and her mother, Senna was in the firs
t line of Witches to flow from Espen’s jungle toward the city of Zaen. She flinched when the soldiers atop the wall shouted a warning. On either side, her mother and Coyel packed a little tighter. Senna glanced behind her and saw the other Witches do the same—their grim faces looking steadily forward. All of them were barefoot to better feel the Earth, the first Sister.
The Witches were at war.
Senna felt the plants trembling in anticipation of a Witch song. As they neared the main road, the people of Tarten shrank from them, calling for the soldiers as they ran for safety behind the city wall. She wished she could be closer to Joshen, but that would sever her connection with the others. Instead, he walked unarmed beside them.
As Head of Water, Chavis led in battle, which also meant she served as their channeler. She struck up a song. Senna and the others joined her.
Take in light, take in air;
Spread thy roots, thy leaves grow fair.
All the plants within the sound of their voices stretched upward and flaunted their leaves; behind them, the land grew more lush.
Without pause, they marched to the guard house where Senna had been pummeled by Wardof. There, the Witches’ progress halted with their voices. She felt the gaze of the soldiers and she couldn’t help but remember her trips to Gonstower market as a girl. She yearned to shrink deeper into the protective lines of bodies behind her. But she’d accepted when Coyel had offered her a place in the first line. She wouldn’t shame herself by backing away now. I’ve faced worse, she told herself as she planted her feet. And I was alone then.
Chavis spoke while Tiena translated for the Witches who didn’t speak Tarten, “I’m Chavis, Head of Water and War General. I come seeking Desni. Release her and you have nothing to fear.”
The main door cracked open and a commander came out—the same commander who had caused Senna so much pain. “I’m Methen, Commander of Zaen,” Tiena translated. The commander’s eyes flicked to the Witches flanking Chavis on every side. Recognition touched his eyes when he saw Senna.
Unconsciously, her hand wandered to her temple. Anger swelled within her like a bruise. Her throat burned with a song that could hurt him as badly as he and Wardof had hurt her. Methen was gauging them. And he was afraid. She longed to justify his fears.
He signaled toward the building. Soldiers rushed out, forming ranks beside him. He spoke and once again, Tiena translated, “There are warrants for the arrest of all Witches, so see her you shall.” He strode forward, his soldiers behind him.
Chavis threw a barrier seed. The Witches packed tight and gripped forearms. The connection of their bodies also intertwined their minds. With one voice, they sang.
Barrier tree, strengthen thyself and fresh courage take;
Our warrior thou art and our enemy, thy enemy make.
Fuelled by their collective power, the tree shot up like a lightning bolt, wider than a horse is long and deeply in tune with Chavis. Groaning, it stretched forward and gripped the building. With a sharp crack, the mud walls fractured and slowly arched forward. With eyes full of horror, the soldiers ran for their lives as the entire side of the building crashed down on them.
Dust and debris rushed toward Senna like a tidal wave.
Don’t let go! Chavis’ words echoed in her head.
Clenching her eyes, Senna turned away as the cloud overtook them. Her mother and Coyel gripped her arms tighter. Senna gripped them back. Something sharp stung her cheek. She felt warm blood trickle down her face. As the dust cleared, she searched for Joshen and was relieved to see him covered with dirt, but unhurt. Soldiers lay at the foot of the tree. Methen rose to his knees. With a sharp command, he grabbed his musket.
“He’s ordered them to open fire!” Tiena warned.
She’d no more than said it than Senna felt Chavis channeling the Witches’ energy toward the tree. It snatched muskets the moment the soldiers lifted them, breaking them as easily as if they were brittle pine needles. Hefty branches encircled the soldier’s waists and hauled them aloft. But the tree didn’t throw them. Not yet.
Senna pressed her lips together in frustration when she saw the same look of hate and anger in Methen’s eyes that had so long been present in Wardof’s. She shook her head, dust from her hair pluming around her like a veil. Chavis’ dark hair appeared to have been combed with an ash-coated brush. “Tell him if he, or any other soldier, chooses us for an enemy, we will kill them. Complete surrender and an oath to let us pass in peace. No pursuit.”
In response, Methen drew his knife and stabbed at the branch. Some of the other soldiers followed his example, while others struggled to set themselves free.
Chavis simply thought and the tree tightened its grip around the soldiers’ middles. Sharp cries of surprise and grunts of pain pierced the air. “Drop them,” she ordered the soldiers.
After a brief hesitation and another squeeze, knives clattered to the ground. Methen took a deep breath as his shoulders slumped. “I’m not your enemy,” Tiena finally translated.
The Witches sang and the tree dropped them. Rising to their feet, the soldiers cast furtive glances at the branches. As if the Witches very nearness might burn them, they shied toward the ruined building. Methen backed away with the rest of them. “We surrender.”
Chavis nodded.
The Witches had taken the entire city without shedding a single drop of enemy blood. Senna signaled to Joshen, who ran toward the ruined building. When he emerged, he held Desni’s blue-veined hand in one hand and in the other, a musket. He had a smug smile on his face.
A cry erupted from the Witches. Tiena rushed forward and wrapped her arms around her mother’s withered frame. Both had heads of gray, both were bent with age, one more so than the other. The two women cried and hugged each other. Desni pulled back and faced Senna, “Thank you. Now I can pass on in peace.”
Senna inclined her head toward the old woman.
“I’ll stay here with my mother and heal my own lands,” Tiena stated.
Coyel exchanged a concerned glance with Chavis, who touched Tiena’s shoulder. “Methen’s loyalty is to the government. You know this.”
Tiena glared at the commander. When she spoke, Desni translated, “Your loyalty should be to your people. I can help.”
Methen squared his shoulders, obviously drawing courage. “If my superiors order me to apprehend Witches, I’ll do so.”
“Cowards hide behind orders,” Coyel murmured. With a shake of her head, she spoke to Tiena, “It won’t be safe for you here. Perhaps the best weapon we can wield against Tarten is our absence. Espen has kept these lands in fair order; let us see how long Tarten lasts when that is gone.”
Chavis turned back to the Captain. “The Witches will be in Nefalie when your government is ready for us.”
Desni stood rooted to the spot, staring at the city. Finally, she shouted something in Tarten. Softly, her daughter translated, “These are our lands. We must fight for them; the Witches cannot do it for us.” Without a backward glance, she walked away from her home.
As Senna turned to follow the departing Witches, she saw Boors lining the city walls, despair obvious by their slumped posture. Senna searched the faces, hoping she might recognize some who had helped her. But there were too many and she dared not fall behind.
Senna looked up as Joshen burst through the trees and ran toward them. “Tarten has sent its army this way!” he cried.
Chavis rose from beside the flames, her face bathed in firelight. “How many?”
“It was hard to tell, it’s so dark, but I’d say at least a thousand,” he replied, his face white.
Senna looked at her mother. There were less than two hundred and fifty Witches. A formidable opponent to be sure, but a thousand soldiers armed with muskets pitted against the Witches and their plants?
Prenny’s gaze swept the gathered Witches. “If we fight, some will be lost.”
“And so soon after regaining their freedom,” Coyel said.
Senna dropped her head.
It was miles upon miles to the coastline. Was Captain Parknel still there, or had he long ago repaired his ship and retreated? “What can we do?”
Chavis fingered the seeds in her belt. “There are moments when you act and there are moments when you react. I’m afraid this is the latter. If the Tartens attack, what choice have we but to fight? If however, they allow us passage out of their lands, we’ll take it gladly.”
“What chance do you stand against so many?” Joshen asked.
Chavis’s smoldering eyes studied him. “A Witch war is not a pleasant thing to see, Joshen. But be assured, we hold our own very well.”
Coyel must have seen the uncertainty in Senna’s eyes. “Don’t worry. Just as you did in the Ring of Power, you will know the songs when the time comes for you to sing them.”
Senna stood on the clear ground on the slope of the rounded mountains. Before them waited vast fields of red coats. Joshen had only counted the first battalion before running back. There were not a thousand, but ten thousand. All were armed, their muskets gleaming in the sun. Joshen stood beside her, their sole firearm resting across his forearms. A look to the left and right revealed women of all ages and races—all clad in the traditional green. I have only just found them, Senna wanted to cry.
“Could you call upon the Creators again?” Coyel whispered.
She felt the answer ringing in her breast. The Creators wouldn’t interfere if man chose to damn themselves; only welcome their Keepers with open arms as the world slowly died. “No.”
A small company of mounted soldiers separated from the main group. One of them held a white flag attached to a pole. The sickness twisting inside Senna expanded as the company grew larger and took shape. Four men—the decorated one in the center was obviously the commander. Coyel, Chavis, Drenelle and Prenny strode out to meet them.
Unable to bear it, Senna hurried after them. Her mother snatched her hand. “No Brusenna. You haven’t a place there.”