Witch Born

by Amber Argyle

  She ignored them until she reached her tree house. She glanced inside. There were a dozen Witches lying on blankets in the parlor. It was well known that Sacra was a former Head of Plants—not because she excelled at potions or plants, but because of her propensity for healing.

  Taking a steadying breath, Senna stepped inside. The Witches waiting for treatment didn’t look serious. Most were just banged up. A few were bleeding.

  She knelt next to her mother. “Mother, I need to speak with you.”

  Sacra glanced up, her eyes bleary. “Hand me the garku, will you?”

  Feeling guilty, Senna studied the injured. She didn’t think the foreign Witches would risk attacking Haven again so soon. Whatever was going on with the desert countries could wait, at least a little while. She set about helping her mother with the Healing.

  Before they’d finished, the Guardians had brought in another dozen Witches, and the day was tentatively approaching twilight.

  Senna washed up and changed her dress before going back downstairs to speak with her mother. Another Witch had come in—this one with a twisted ankle.

  Senna handed over the ointment without thought. “I need to speak with you in private.”

  Sacra’s hands slowed. “Now’s not the time, Brusenna.” Her mother applied a salve for swelling.

  Senna fished out the strips of cotton from her mother’s satchel. “I know they turned Harshen into a desert, just like Tarten.”

  The strips of cotton stilled in her mother’s hands. “How do you know that?”

  The Witch with the twisted ankle watched them with wide eyes.

  Senna folded her arms across her chest. “I know of six for sure. Are there any more?”

  “I’ll be right back,” her mother said to the Witch. She grabbed Senna’s arm and hauled her outside, beyond earshot. “Tarten is the first in a long time.”

  “How many?” Senna whispered.

  Sacra gestured back to her tree house. “She’s hurt, Senna. I think that’s a bit more important than your silly questions!”

  Senna clenched her jaw. “This is important, too.”

  Her mother turned to go back. Senna watched her walk away and knew she’d never give up the answers. Some impulse made her blurt, “What of Lilette and Calden?”

  Sacra froze mid-stride. She whirled back and grabbed Senna’s arm, her chest heaving. “Where did you hear those names?” she said in a harsh whisper.

  Her fingernails dug into Senna’s skin. She jerked free. “I want the truth, Mother.”

  Sacra slowly opened her clenched hands. They were shaking. “Where did you hear those names?”

  “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

  Her mother squeezed her eyes shut. “Before I ever became the Head of Plants, I was sworn to never reveal the secrets of the Discipline Heads. I can’t tell you.”

  Senna folded her hands across her chest. “Can’t or won’t?”

  Her mother met her glare with one of her own. “Knowledge is a powerful thing. For once learned, certain things cannot be unlearned, no matter how much you might wish it.”

  Senna stiffened. “You kept me in the dark before and it nearly cost me my life.”

  Her mother sucked air through her teeth. “Lilette…Lilette and Calden were centuries ago, when all of Haven bustled with Witches. Before we were reduced to this” —she gestured toward the abandoned quarter— “pitiful existence.”

  Senna waited for her mother to go on, but she didn’t. “So you would have me remain ignorant?”

  Sacra shook her head. “Not ignorant—innocent.”

  Senna threw her arms out. “Innocence won’t save me from what’s coming for me—what’s coming for all of Haven.”

  “But it might save you from yourself,” her mother whispered. “You would have knowledge, Daughter, but what if the knowledge destroys you?”

  A cold knot of fear wormed its way into Senna’s stomach. Was this what the Heads were talking about the first time she’d eavesdropped? Something beginning and Senna dying. “You’ll have to trust me to make that choice.”

  Sacra’s eyes were over-bright. “Being Creator-touched isn’t a blessing—it’s a curse. You are a catalyst, Brusenna. And the change you wreak will use you up.” Her mother tipped her face up to study the sky as if it might hold the answers. “I might be able to keep you safe, if only you’ll come with me.”

  Senna was in danger because she was Creator-touched? Her heart pounded with fear. She tried to imagine spending the rest of her life hiding what she was, and running every time the truth was found out. “I can’t, Mother.”

  Sacra let out a shaky breath. “And I can’t force you.”

  Senna shook her head. “I don’t understand the connection between me and something that happened centuries ago.”

  Her mother opened her mouth then closed it again. “Tell me how you heard of Lilette, and I’ll tell you what happened between Haven and Calden.”

  Senna wanted to tell her mother, wanted to share the burden all secrets become. That death and dying lands haunted her dreams. That something dark hunted Haven, something deadly. But her mother would only try harder to force her to leave. She shook her head as she backed away. “I can’t.”

  “The great irony is you berate me for my secrets, Daughter, and yet you keep your own.”

  Senna glanced up at the sky visible between the leaves. It would be fully dark in a couple hours. She’d wasted enough time. She marched away, feeling her mother’s gaze boring into her back. There were so many secrets swirling between them. But Senna had a good idea where to find their answers. And how to get to them.

  One thing she knew for certain—secrets were sometimes necessary, but they were always dangerous.

  10. Witch Wars

  Stumbling over broken branches, Senna checked the barracks, the sparring field, the shooting range. But Joshen was nowhere to be found. Although it seemed everyone she asked had seen him somewhere, by the time she arrived, he’d already left.

  When she did finally find him, she was shocked. She heard the unmistakable sound of Joshen’s voice, followed by tinkling laughter. Heat built on her skin. She stepped slowly into Arianis’ kitchen. The smells of frying fish and lemons filled the air. He sat at the table, laughing about something. They both looked up when Senna came in.

  Joshen smiled at her. “Senna, you’ve got to try this cod. Best I’ve ever had.”

  Senna didn’t take her eyes from Arianis. Her rich brown hair fell in fetching waves around her shoulders. Her large eyes were the color of cinnamon. Her skin was impossibly smooth, with natural rose hues. She was a soft beauty. The more you looked at her, the more striking she became.

  “Senna?”

  “I’m sure it is,” Senna replied. She knew what Arianis saw in Joshen. He was handsome—tall, with broad shoulders that tapered to a narrow waist. In the lantern’s wavering light, his normally dark brown hair appeared black.

  But Senna knew things Arianis didn’t. He always talked with his mouth full, stole from her plate, and often ate the best bits first. Normally, he was easygoing, but when her safety was concerned, he grew stubborn and bossy. His ears stuck out a bit, and his chin was a little soft, though his neatly trimmed beard and longer hair hid both rather nicely.

  Despite knowing all his faults, she still thought he was beautiful.

  He smiled and took another bite. “You want some? I’m sure there’s enough.”

  Senna grunted. With Joshen, one could never be sure of enough food. “No. I’m really not hungry.”

  With a disbelieving shrug, he turned back to eating.

  Senna looked Arianis up and down. “Joshen, I need to speak with you.”

  “I need to report back to Leader Reden anyway.” He deftly shoved the rest of his meal in his mouth, tipped back the mug, and nodded to Arianis. “Thanks again.”

  Senna followed Joshen into the open. He held out her pistol. “I unloaded and cleaned it before loading it again. Try to keep
it out of the rain.”

  She took it silently. “Joshen, why were you at Arianis’ house?”

  He looked down at her as if she were daft. “You said she was upset, so I came to check on her. She offered me dinner. I’ve hardly eaten anything all day.”

  That meant he hadn’t finished off a school of fish by himself. Senna tried to cool her anger. After all, Joshen’s intentions were good, and he was oblivious to any form of subtlety. Things were what they appeared to be. Nothing more. She took a deep breath. “Joshen, Arianis is using you to hurt me.”

  He was silent for a moment. “She should be angry with Coyel, not you.”

  Senna shrugged. “Coyel is well beyond Arianis’ reach. I’m not. So you see why she might come after you?”

  Joshen chuckled. “Never figured you for the jealous type, Senna.”

  She blushed. “Joshen—”

  He laid a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “You’re reading more into it than there is. But if it makes you feel any better, I’ll stay away from her.”

  Senna wanted to make him understand this wasn’t just jealousy, but she didn’t think it would do any good. Besides they were almost to her tree house, and she still had so much to tell him. “I didn’t come looking for you to talk about Arianis, I came to tell you what I found.” She explained about the maps.

  Joshen slowed to a stop. “By the Creators.”

  She held her aching hand—she’d overused it today. She’d have to be more careful. “But there were no maps of Lilette and Calden. I’m going to check their personal library.”

  He met her gaze and his face hardened. “Why take all these risks for something that happened centuries ago?” He suddenly stiffened. “You’re still trying to find a way to lift the curse on your own, aren’t you? You’re planning to go back to Tarten?”

  Her gaze snapped to his. He knew her so well, perhaps too well. “Maybe.”

  “Senna, we’ve talked about this!” Joshen pinched the bridge of his nose. “Tarten has a standing order to shoot any witch on sight. It’s too dangerous. I want you to swear you’ll give this insanity up.”

  She slowly shook her head. “I can’t.”

  “At least promise you’ll tell me before you do anything foolish.”

  So he could try to stop her? Not really meaning it, she nodded.

  He took a step closer. “Say it, Senna.”

  She stood her ground. “What about your promises? The ones you made as my Guardian—to always protect me and support me? What about those promises?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to do! You’re my Witch, and—”

  Anger flushed through Senna. “I’m not anyone’s Witch but my own!”

  He took a deep breath. “Sometimes you need to trust me, trust I’m only looking after you.”

  She stood completely still. “And I’m looking after the world.”

  His face was hard. “I won’t let you walk into that kind of danger again. You wouldn’t make it out alive.”

  Guilt warred with the anger charring her insides. “Something’s coming, Joshen, and we all have a part to play. It’s taken me a long time to accept that, but I have. Now you have to accept your part—accept it or reject it. Because supporting me and protecting me are not always the same thing.”

  “Accept it? I don’t accept it! I won’t.” He started pacing back and forth, his hands buried in his hair.

  Senna backed away. Joshen had been through so much for her, but that didn’t give him the right to demand she obey him. She turned and pulled open the door to her house, then stepped in and shut it firmly behind her.

  Breathing hard, Senna stood with her back to the wall and peeked out at him. He stood considering her closed door, frustration creasing his brow.

  Maybe if Joshen hadn’t been so tired, he would have come inside and insisted on personally keeping her out of trouble. But he didn’t.

  Senna waited until he was long gone before making sure her pistol was loaded. She slipped back out again.

  She crossed the island and marched up to the Guardian standing at the elaborately arched cave entrance. It was the man Joshen had been sparring with the day before—Collum. On closer inspection, she saw he wasn’t much older than her. His skin was the color of rich earth, his hair divided into little, beaded braids. She found she couldn’t look at him. He reminded her too much of Leary—of the fact that she’d gotten Joshen’s best friend killed.

  Collum raised an eyebrow at the sight of her. “Apprentice Senna, you know you can’t come inside unless you’ve permission.”

  His soft, rolling accent was like Leary’s, too. She tried to swallow around the stone lodged in her throat. “I’m looking for Pogg. Has he finished fishing yet?”

  The man’s beads clinked as he nodded. “He went to sun himself on the rocks. You might try there.”

  Senna glanced up at the sky. They still had a few hours before dark. “Thank you.”

  “Apprentice Senna?”

  She stopped but couldn’t bring herself to face him.

  “My name is Collum. Has Joshen told you that you sailed with my cousin, Leary?”

  The world seemed to expand, pressing in on her and robbing her of her air. Collum reached out to steady her. She closed her eyes and concentrated on breathing. “Leary saved my life,” she said, shaking her head. She would not cry. “I’m sorry.”

  She pulled away from Collum and stumbled in the direction the Guardian had indicated. Here, part of the cliff had collapsed, taking a good portion of the staircase with it. She scrambled up the rock-fall until she found Pogg. The mottled green creature reminded her of a frog. He had a wide face with even wider cheeks. Instead of a nose, there were only dark slits that closed when he was swimming.

  She collapsed beside him. “I need your help.”

  Pogg turned slowly toward her. There was no white around his irises, only the cloudy blue-brown that reminded her of the ambiguous color of an infant’s eyes. “Seennnaaa?”

  He was always slow when he grew overcold. “Do you still have keys to the island’s tree houses?” Pogg was a bit like a raccoon in collecting discarded and lost things. His fascination with keys was why Senna had been able to move so freely from one tree house to another during her time alone on the island.

  Pogg’s clear inner lids slid over his eyes. It took him a long time to answer. “Pogg gets Senna fresh fishes?”

  Senna pressed her lips together to keep from shouting. “No. Pogg, do you still have the keys?”

  Pogg pushed up so he was sitting like her—he often tried to imitate the actions of humans. He was the last-known Mettlemot, and Senna had seen how much he wanted somewhere to belong. “Fresh fishes betters.”

  He made a strange sound halfway between a choke and a gargle. He lifted his face skyward and jerked it up and down, almost as if he were…swallowing. He turned to her, his inner lids sliding back. “Sometimes fishes comes back up.”

  Senna swallowed the bile rising in her throat. “Pogg, do you still have the keys?”

  He turned stiffly toward his small tree house. “Yes. Pogg has keys.”

  She followed him to his tree house and waited at the door. Oily dirt grimed every surface. Useless bits and discarded items were lumped together in groups on the floor or arranged inside broken baskets and wooden boxes. Blankets curled over a nest of leaves were the only indicator someone actually lived in the mess.

  Once, Pogg had stayed with her in a tree house, slept in a bed. He’d been untidy, but he’d always smelled like the ocean, not fish grease. But since the Witches had returned, he’d taken to living like this. It was almost like he’d given up now that everyone was safe.

  Pogg held up two cups filled with dark- and light-colored stones. “Want to play?”

  Senna felt a stab of guilt. She hadn’t come to visit Pogg since her attack nearly two weeks ago. He probably didn’t even know it had happened. “Not today. I don’t have time.”

  He set the cups down with a sad clank. Then h
e pulled back some of the leaves that made up his bed to reveal a mess of keys on a ring. Holding them in his mouth, he crept on all fours toward her. He gave her a strange look—well, even stranger than normal. Senna crouched before him. “Which one goes to the Council Tree?”

  He sat on his haunches and clutched the keys to his chest. “Why Senna wants them?”

  “Because I think someone wants to hurt the Witches.”

  Pogg made a gurgle that was half warning, half disapproval. He pushed the keys around on his hand, the webbed skin between his fingers crumpled like wet parchment. “This key fors Prenny houses. This keys fors library. This keys fors Witchling house.” He went over a dozen keys, while Senna sat in rapt attention. “Ah…” He held up a large, ornate key. “This key fors Council rooms.”

  Senna took the entire ring from him.

  “Why needs all?” He leapt for them. “Gives back keys.”

  Senna stood and held them out of his reach. “I will as soon as I’m done.”

  He jumped, nearly bowling her over.

  She stiff-armed him. His skin was cold and rubbery. Despite the hours she’d spent with him, the touch repulsed her. Ashamed of her reaction, she forced herself to hold him more firmly. “The Dark Witch, Pogg, she’s up to something. I have to stop her.”

  “Dark Witch,” he hissed through pointy teeth.

  Guilt twinged her insides for using the creature’s hate of the Dark Witch against him—for lying to him. But she didn’t think he’d understand that the danger was the same, just from a different source.

  Pogg let out a low keening sound. It made her ears hurt.

  He was silent a time before he started rocking back and forth. “Pogg finds starfishes in ocean. But Pogg not brings them back.”

  A wave of loneliness washed over Senna. Pogg had often brought her dog starfish. “Bruke would have liked them.”

  His movements slow and stiff, Pogg went past her, back to the sun-drenched rocks. She couldn’t help but notice how…ragged he looked. “Pogg, why don’t you ask for a fire? A bed? There’s plenty of room.”