Witch Born

by Amber Argyle

  When she didn’t answer, he tipped her face up. “Senna?”

  She met his gaze as the rain splashed off his hood onto her face. “I don’t know. Maybe.” She told him everything—well, almost. She glossed over the part where she’d overheard the Heads saying she would die. Joshen was unbearable when he was worried. “All my life I’ve been surrounded by secrets, forced to hide while the world falls apart around me.”

  When he didn’t respond, she pulled back. Lightning lit up the sky, illuminating his face. His brow was drawn. “What secrets?”

  She wiped away a rivulet of rainwater dripping from her nose. “All I know is the Heads are hiding something from me. I plan to unearth those secrets, and then I’m going to save Tarten.”

  Joshen closed his eyes as if he were in pain. “How?”

  The enormity of the task nearly crushed her. “I don’t know yet.”

  He was silent for a time. “It’s late. I need to get you home. Come on, I’ll see you there safely.”

  He walked with her toward the inhabited quarter.

  From off to the side, Senna saw a flash of movement between the trees. “Joshen, did you see that?”

  He glanced up sharply and stepped in front of her. “What?”

  She studied the shadows. Joshen couldn’t have been the one watching her earlier, because he’d been chasing after her. “Just before you came, I thought someone was watching me.”

  He cursed softly. “Powder’s damp. Worthless.”

  He pushed her in front of him and pulled his knife free. They crossed the barren Ring of Power. She only stopped long enough to grab her abandoned boots. She hesitated when she saw the lantern light in her parlor. A lecture was surely waiting for her inside.

  Joshen squeezed her hand. “You want me to go in with you?”

  Senna shook her head. “It’s probably better if you don’t.”

  His broad shoulders drooped a little. He had to know Senna’s mother didn’t like him.

  “Don’t worry. She doesn’t like anyone. Me included.”

  “I or one of the other Guardians will be here in the morning. Bolt the door and stay inside until then.” He kissed her piously and stepped back, then waited while she mounted the steps. She knew he wouldn’t leave until she’d locked the door.

  Through the window, she watched him go, but her gaze was drawn back to the darkness. She felt someone out there. She stepped back and pulled the drapes closed.

  Behind her, Senna’s mother used a dried leaf to mark her place in her book. “Why are you barefoot?” She found a towel and tossed it to her daughter.

  Senna dropped her boots by the door and started cleaning her feet.

  “The rest of Drenelle’s class came home long ago.”

  The words that hung unsaid made the air hard to breathe. Senna considered telling her mother everything, but she didn’t want to relive that conversation again. Besides the Heads had asked her not to tell anyone; she’d already broken that promise by telling her Guardian, but that was Joshen. “I spoke to Joshen for a moment afterward.”

  “Guardians aren’t to have contact with Apprentices.”

  Senna said the one thing she knew her mother wouldn’t argue with. “Reden and Joshen feel I’m still in danger. They plan on watching over me.”

  Obviously flustered, Sacra took one look at Senna’s wet bandages and hauled out her healing kit. “That doesn’t explain why you’re late.”

  Senna sat at the table, her cheeks burning as her mother cut away the soiled, damp wrapping. She knew what her mother thought—that she’d sneaked away to meet Joshen—but she couldn’t tell her the truth.

  Sacra inspected her daughter’s wound. “There’s a very good reason Guardians were not allowed on the island before now. Your studies come first.”

  “They do.” Senna’s palm was wrinkled and waxy. The stitches stuck out, black against her pale skin. The puckered wounds almost looked like the pursed lips of an old man.

  Sacra applied a strong-smelling salve and started rewrapping the hand. “See that it stays that way. Because if that changes, so will your privileges.”

  “I’m sixteen, Mother. Old enough to be married.”

  Her mother tied off the bandage. “Senna, I don’t think you’re ready for this. The only man you’ve ever known is Joshen. And you’re so very young. How can you know what you want when you’re still discovering who you are?”

  Senna cradled her hand against her chest. “He’s a good man, Mother. Why won’t you give him a chance?”

  Sacra repacked her kit, each item in its place. “This isn’t about Joshen. This is about you. If you’re not strong enough without him, you’ll never be strong enough with him.” Leaning forward, she rested her hand on Senna’s arm. “You owe it to him, to yourself, to become the woman you’re meant to be.”

  “Just because you failed doesn’t mean I will,” Senna said coldly.

  Sacra’s gaze went distant, it was like she wasn’t here at all. “Failed? Yes, I failed. Your father. Your sister. You.” Her pain was almost visible, as if grief had been etched on her skin. “So you should learn from my mistakes instead of repeating them.”

  As though some unseen weight bore down on her, Sacra took a labored breath. “It’s healing nicely. Try to keep it dry this time.” She trudged up the stairs.

  Senna watched her go, regret building in her chest. Long ago, someone had told her she should pray that she would never experience the hurts her mother had, that she shouldn’t judge her mother without knowing those hurts. “Mother, I’m sorry. I just…have you ever heard the music that wasn’t really there? Have you ever danced with that music and found yourself somewhere else entirely?”

  Sacra half turned, tears shining bright in her eyes. “Traveling? No. Such a thing is of legend.”

  Traveling…Senna straightened. “What legend?” Legends were sometimes based on fact, after all.

  Sacra shook her head. “The legends of women long dead.” She started back up the stairs with a set in her shoulders that indicated she would speak of it no more.

  The open, loving relationship Senna had once had with her mother seemed far away and long ago. All Senna felt now was the hollow ache where once light and warmth had been.

  After hanging up her sodden cloak by the stove, Senna went to her own room. Traveling. If her mother knew the name for what Senna had done, then so did the Heads. Why hadn’t they told her? Why were they keeping things from her?

  Perhaps because by Traveling, she could unearth the truth they were hiding. Which meant she had to try it again. She had to go back to that hidden land.

  She changed out of her damp clothes one-handed, put on a fresh shift, and crawled under her blankets for warmth. She imagined herself as a grain of sand at the mercy of the Four Sisters. It came easier this time. No sooner had she let her mind relax than her soul left her body again.

  The wind caressed her skin and wrapped around her with the sound of high strings and the tinkling of hundreds of raindrops. Her senses wanted to dance with the music, to sing and be sung to. Though she’d only experienced this once before, her soul seemed to crave it.

  She danced across the waters, her feet kicking up drops that sparkled with captured moonlight. She flew with birds, the wind tickling hair and feathers, like she was simply one of them in a different form.

  But her joy ground to a halt when the barrier shimmered to life before her. She didn’t want to cross it. Not just because it couldn’t exist, but because she somehow knew they would be waiting for her. But she had committed herself to finding answers, and this was the only way she knew how.

  Going through the barrier felt a little like crossing a curtain of honey, but it didn’t seem as thick this time. It was as if it was somehow diminished.

  The wind set her down in water up to her ankles. The rocky shore bruised her feet and the chill water splashed the hem of her shift. Trying to discover where she was, she cast her senses of the Earth Sister outward.

 
An island. Westward, beyond the ocean, was more land—a desert, mountains. Just as she drew upon the Plant Sister, the ground vibrated beneath her feet, and she heard Witch song again. The rocks and dirt stirred beneath her. No, not stirring—shifting. Shifting away from her, as if she’d grown so heavy the ground couldn’t bear her up.

  All at once she realized her danger. She bolted out of the water, but with every step she took, the ground only sucked her in faster. Faster and faster she sank until she was buried up to her waist. She called for the wind to carry her away. It surged around her, whipping her hair around her like something alive.

  But the wind wasn’t strong enough to lift her out of the mud. All at once, rain pelted her, making the ground softer beneath her feet. Plants and vines reached out to snag her arms, immobilizing her as the dirt swallowed her up to her breasts, then up to her neck.

  She was going to die.

  She screamed, her mouth filling with dirt. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. Using the last air in her lungs, Senna sang.

  Stop.

  The trembling ceased, and the plants loosened their grip. Senna clawed her way out of the rough hole and staggered to her feet. Her injured hand ached fiercely, and she was covered in welts and scratches. Breathless, she sang for the wind to take her home. She was lifted from the mud and hurtled across the skies into her own bed, into her own body.

  Gasping, Senna tried to sit up, but blankets tangled her limbs. She fell to the floor with a thud and kicked her way free. Her shift was spotless. Lifting her shaking hands, she stared at her clean skin, her pristine bandages.

  But her fingernails were torn and bleeding, and she was covered in scratches and welts. Her hand throbbed.

  She hadn’t actually been there. It was just her soul. What had her mother called it—Traveling?

  But if her soul had died, what would have happened to her body? Suddenly dizzy, she rested her head against her drawn-up knees. A sharp ache stabbed her chest. She felt so out of control. So helpless. It was as if the Four Sisters—the source of her power—had turned against her. Was it some kind of punishment from the Creators, for failing to convince the Discipline Heads to save Tarten?

  One thing Senna knew—she needed answers. That required help, and the only person she trusted was Joshen.

  What if her attacker was still watching? But there had been only two of them, and one was either dead or badly injured. One person couldn’t watch her all the time, could he?

  She fumbled to dress, found her damp cloak, and wrapped it around her shoulders. Then she slipped from her tree house. She ghosted down the path at a jog, breaking all the brand-new rules the Discipline Heads had put in place—rules about Apprentices and Guardians, rules about going out alone after dark.

  Twice she had to dart off the trail and wait for other Witches to pass. When she reached Joshen’s tree in the Guardian quarter, she tapped on the window. Nothing. She tapped louder. After her fifth try, he stumbled to the window and stood looking down at her, his chest bare. At the sight, a warm tingle spread from the top of Senna’s head to the tips of her toes.

  Moments later, he opened the door. After she’d slipped inside, he locked it behind her. “Senna?” he said, alarm in his voice. “I told you not to go out by yourself. What if your attackers had been waiting? You’re not even supposed to be here.” He pulled the drapes shut but then peeked out the window. “I don’t think anyone saw.”

  “I heard the other Witches again.” Senna wrapped her arms around herself. “Maybe I shouldn’t have risked it, but I’m tired of feeling helpless. I need to figure out what’s happening to me.”

  Joshen took her hand and led her into his bedroom. His tree was short and rather fat, so everything was on the same level. “What did you see this time?”

  Feeling awkward, she sat on his rumpled bed and told him of her second experience Traveling.

  Joshen took a deep breath. “Senna, I want to help you, but I don’t know how. I’m not a Witch.”

  “Were you watching me the whole time I was in the Ring of Power earlier?” she asked carefully.

  He nodded.

  “And I was there the entire time? I never…disappeared?”

  He blinked a few times. “No. You just looked like you were asleep. After a while, you stood up, all graceful, like a dance. I didn’t realize at first you were even singing, it was so soft. When you were loud enough to understand, Drenelle started to panic. She shouted for you to stop, but it was like you couldn’t hear her. I almost left cover to see what was wrong, but Drenelle is one of the Heads, and they made it very clear we’re to stay away from the Apprentices. Besides, you didn’t look like you were in danger.”

  He said the last bit apologetically. She bumped his shoulder with hers. “I only asked because I wanted to know how much of me really Travels.”

  “Isn’t there someone you could ask?”

  Senna studied her hands fiercely. “I tried with my mother—she won’t tell me. The Heads are already keeping the truth from me. It’s almost like they’re afraid of something—afraid of me.” She knew that was ridiculous. “If they were going to tell me anything, they’d have done it by now.”

  Joshen rested his palm against her back. “Is there no one else?”

  She grunted. “There’s always Espen…” She’d meant it as a joke, but as soon as she’d said the words, she straightened.

  He shook his head. “Oh, no, Senna. We can’t trust her!”

  She took his hands in hers. “But if I really can Travel…what harm comes in trying?”

  He shot to his feet. “What harm? The woman would’ve had me kill you!”

  “Joshen, I’m in danger now. Can’t you see that? The other Witches sang for the earth to swallow me whole.”

  He trembled with rage. “What if these other Witches find you again?”

  “I refuse to live in ignorance and helplessness.”

  He started pacing back and forth across the room. Senna waited for his anger to fade. Eventually, he thumped down beside her. After a while, he rubbed the stubble on his face thoughtfully, and she knew she’d won.

  “You’re not really with her, are you?” he asked. “I mean, she can’t hurt you, right?”

  She tried to quell her fear. “Joshen, I turned her into a tree.”

  “I thought it was over,” he muttered.

  Senna was grateful he didn’t seem to notice she hadn’t really answered his question. She rested her head on his shoulder. “So did I.” She was beginning to understand that her power came with a price—a burden every Witch born bore, especially one as strong as her.

  He kissed her hair. “When do you want to try?”

  “Now.”

  Joshen winced. “She’ll ask for some sort of payment—just don’t give her anything that would put yourself or anyone else at risk.” His hold on Senna tightened. “It’s going to be all right.”

  By the Creators, she’d missed him. “How do you know?”

  “Because I’ll make sure of it.”

  She smiled and tipped her face back for a kiss. He brushed his lips across hers. His lips were so soft. He leaned his forehead against hers. “You can do this.”

  Senna scooted back until she sat in the center of the bed. “You won’t leave me?”

  Joshen took her hand. “No.”

  She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and listened for the music she knew was there, just under the surface. Leaving her body came even faster and clearer this time, almost as if the Four Sisters had been waiting for her. Waiting to take her back.

  But she shifted her destination away from the mysterious island, speeding across the ocean in a blur. Within the space of a few dozen heartbeats, she was in Tarten again, in a clearing now bereft of trees. Save one, a kind of weeping willow whose leaves formed a faultless circle. Without ever having to touch it, Senna knew the bark was as soft as flesh.

  The branches shifted aimlessly in the breeze. The once-glossy leaves were now covered in a crusty blig
ht. Half of them seemed to litter the base of the tree. Wetting her lips, Senna stepped forward, leaves crunching underfoot. “Espen?”

  The tree heaved a little as if stirring in its sleep before going still again.

  “Espen,” Senna tried again.

  This time the tree seemed to rouse itself. Senna almost felt it looking at her. The leaves quivered as if in recognition. The branches snapped toward her.

  Senna had prepared for this reaction. After all, she was the one who’d forced Espen into this form and stolen her song.

  Stop.

  The branches struggled as if against an invisible current, but Espen was in essence a plant, and plants obeyed Witch song. Though the Dark Witch trembled with anger, she couldn’t move.

  Espen retreated into herself. A clump of bark dropped from her trunk. With a start, Senna realized the Dark Witch was dying. The drought wasn’t just killing the Tartens.

  Suddenly, Senna didn’t feel frightened anymore. She could still feel Joshen’s hand in her own. And for once, she was in control of the situation. “I have questions the Discipline Heads refuse to answer. As payment, I can ease your suffering. Water. A song to take away the blight.”

  Her eyes never straying from the tree, Senna crouched down and brushed the ground free of leaves, revealing dark, dry earth.

  Espen slowly stretched a branch forward and wrote in the dirt. “Free me.”

  Anger flashed through Senna. “I can’t free you. And even if I could, I wouldn’t. The Creators took your song, remember? You have no fruit and therefore no seed.”

  The leaves rustled as she wrote, “Not save from life.”

  Senna opened her mouth, closed it again.

  “Free me!” Espen wrote in deep gouges.

  Senna stared at what remained of the Dark Witch until the tree stained her after vision. “It’s no more than you deserve.”

  Espen didn’t respond.