by Amber Argyle
She stripped her hair from her face and searched the ship. Had Joshen made it back? Had Mistin? There wasn’t time to wait for them. “Captain Parknel, we leave now!”
He shook his head. “We can’t risk the open seas.”
“I can keep us safe!” Senna cried. If they didn’t beat the storm, she would be trapped in Corrieth. The Heads would come for them.
Parknel studied her, obviously debating. Someone shouted that Joshen had been sighted. The captain growled low in his throat. “All right. But we go now.”
Joshen and a stable boy struggled towards them, but the horses they led were fighting their leads, no doubt sensing the ferocity of the building storm and startled by the sound of their hooves on the planking.
“Leave them!” she shouted to be heard over the wind.
“We need them!” Joshen shouted back.
Sailors were still bringing hay on deck, where others waited to haul it below.
Senna stared at the sky as lightning stabbed across the sooty clouds. “We aren’t going to make it.”
Just then Joshen started up the plank. One of the horses, gold in color with a white mane and tail, reared, terror showing in his eyes. Joshen expertly dodged his hooves. When the horse came back down, Joshen put him in a headlock. “Get me a blindfold!”
A sailor stripped off his shirt. Three men struggled to cover the horse’s eyes. Blind, he froze, his muscles quivering.
And then Mistin was there with another man. Locking arms behind the horse’s rump, they forced him onboard. The other horses came with only half as much effort.
Thunder shook the world. Horses whinnied. Sailors shouted. The ship rolled with a wave.
“Parknel!” Senna cried. “Please.”
The captain pursed his lips, clearly unhappy. “Sailors on board. Shove off!”
18. Wind Song
Sailors hustled to untie the ropes and pushed from the pier with long poles. The sails unrolled from the masts, and the ship took to the open water.
“Watch out!” a man cried from the crow’s nest.
A wave crashed into them. Senna gasped as freezing cold water battered her. The ship rolled, swinging back towards the piers. They were going to smash into another ship. Parknel spun the wheel.
Senna’s song burst forth, calling the wind to propel them forward.
Slowly, ever so slowly, the sails caught the wind and they began to turn. Another wave hit the ship, tipping sailors from the rigging. They fell, screaming, to the deck. The bales of hay slid, pinning men against the rails. They pushed at the bales, shouting for help until more sailors appeared and freed them.
“No time to haul it below decks,” Captain Parknel shouted. “Tie it down before someone else is crushed!”
A solid wall of rain moved towards them.
Mistin struggled to the upper deck. “Can I help?”
Senna pointed to the bow. “You sing there. It’ll increase our range.”
Dodging sailors, Mistin crossed the deck.
“Tie yourselves in!” Parknel shouted again and again as he and another man strained to hold the wheel.
They cut into the curtain of rain, and Senna was immediately drenched. Joshen snatched a rope and tied it around her waist before doing the same for himself and the men at the wheel.
Senna belted out another song. The ship shot through the hole she created in the storm, rolling down another mountainous wave of what looked like broken glass. Sailors clung to whatever they could hold onto and muttered oaths or prayers or both. Lightning split the sky.
A sailor called out, “Just over eight knots, sir!”
“She’ll not take more speed,” Parknel called from the wheel.
Halting her song, Senna wiped salt spray and rain from her eyes.
Parknel groaned against the strain of holding the wheel. In two steps, Joshen had the spokes in his big hands. “Senna!”
“How many knots?” Parknel grunted, his face cherry red.
The sailor watched the rope disappearing over the side. “They’re moving too fast for me to count, sir.”
The wind blew harder, until Parknel’s orders were snatched from his mouth so fast Senna couldn’t understand him from a few spans away. The waves grew higher, colliding with the ship and slamming Senna onto the deck. The breath was knocked from her.
Water streaming down her face, she watched men rolling across the deck. Some were thrown over the side, and the ropes that held them to the ship strained with their weight. No one moved to help them. No one could.
Rain slashed down from the sky, and Senna realized what Parknel and the other sailors must have known for a while now. They weren’t just trying to escape before the storm locked them into port—they were running for their lives. The Heads hadn’t just called in any storm. This was a hurricane.
Warm hands gripped her icy ones. Joshen shouted at her, water running down his face in sheets.
She shook her head, unable to hear him over the raging music of the storm.
He brought his mouth to her ear. “Call on that power you had before! When we were on Haven!”
She shook her head again. “I already tried. It’s gone.”
But she’d promised Parknel she’d get them through safely. She meant to keep that promise. Holding onto Joshen for stability, she sang a soft, gentle lullaby.
Seas, thy troubles to cease,
Calm thyself and return to peace.
Winds rest, for weary ye be.
Gently, gently blow for me.
She listened for the music to calm, for something to change. After a half dozen repetitions, something did. She could hear herself over the gale. Blinking, she looked up at the sky. It was still raining, but the winds had slowed. The seas were troubled, but not raging.
“Keep singing, Senna,” Joshen said. “That’s it.”
Trembling, she staggered to her feet. As she sang, the seas settled like the scruff on a dog’s neck. Soon, sharp sunlight warmed her face. A rainbow glowed before them like an archway to safety. Senna looked back towards Nefalie, where the storm still raged.
Joshen inspected her. “Are you all right?”
Slowly, she lifted her hands. They almost looked translucent, but she thought it was just the cold. “I think so. You?”
Joshen brushed water from his face. His eyes were red from the salt. “Well, I’m not dead, which is better than I expected.”
“Master Carver, see to the ship.” Leaving the wheel in the care of his second, Parknel approached them, his pipe still clenched between his teeth. He tipped it over, and watery ashes spilled out. He shook it at Senna. “You and I, we have business to discuss.”
He turned his back on her and strode down the steps. She cast a nervous glance at Joshen before following. She pulled her heavy hair over her shoulder and wrung water from it, then shook droplets from her hands. Parknel opened his door and squared himself on the other side of his desk, his hands behind his back.
Everything that could be bolted down was, but there were still books, maps, and linens scattered across the floor. Shivering, Senna stepped carefully over them. Joshen came in behind her and stood to her right. Reden closed the door and stepped up to her left, his face pale.
The steady patter of dripping was everywhere. Senna was getting Parknel’s floor wet, but there wasn’t anything she could do about it.
“Do you know what that was, Senna?” Parknel asked softly.
Joshen angled himself a step in front of her. “A storm.”
Parknel’s gaze never left Senna’s face. “Do you know?”
Senna didn’t need Joshen’s protection. Not right now. She stepped up beside him. “It was a hurricane.”
Parknel leaned forward, his hands splayed across his desk. “I was a boy during the Second Witch Wars. Two groups of Witches were trying to destroy each other, and we were caught in the middle. The ship sank. Most of the crew was lost, including my father. Only myself and a handful of others survived.” He paused. “So tell me, S
enna, why did the Heads send a hurricane after you? Why do they want you dead?”
Dead? Senna waited for the devastation to hit, but she only felt a strange sort of numbness, like the time she sang until she lost her voice.
Reden answered, “I don’t think they counted on her being able to set sail that quickly. They only meant to trap her in Corrieth.”
Parknel’s gaze swung to Reden. “Don’t take me for a fool, Leader. That storm was meant to kill someone. I almost lost the ship. My entire crew. Everything. You had better have a good reason for risking my men like that.”
Joshen’s hand tightened on Senna’s shoulder. “You didn’t hesitate when you helped us before.”
Parknel sank into the chair behind his desk. “Before, the world was at stake and Senna was our only hope.” He steepled his hands and looked at Reden. “You want my help, then I need to know what I’m getting myself into.”
Reden looked at the captain for several long seconds before responding. “There’s a traitor on the island. I believe it’s one of the Heads. My guess is they somehow manipulated the Circle into sending the hurricane instead of just a storm. Even if they were that desperate to stop Senna, they wouldn’t risk damaging Corrieth. They rely too much on trade with the city, and they need the people’s goodwill. Even more so after the earth tremor.”
Parknel seemed to collapse in on himself. He gestured to the chairs bolted to the floor. “You’d better tell me what this is really about.”
Senna remained upright—she didn’t want to sit in her own puddle. “The Witches believe they are untouchable on Haven. They’re wrong.” She took a deep breath and told Parknel the truth. All of it, even about seeking out Espen.
He scratched at his beard. “Why do you think Espen would reveal any secrets to you?”
“I promised to cut her down.”
Parknel’s gaze held steady. “And will you?”
“I don’t know,” Senna said quietly. Killing someone who threatened your life was one thing. Killing someone in the name of justice or mercy was another.
“And you’re sure these other Witches are a danger to Haven? That they created the earth tremor and sent these men to kidnap you?”
Senna let out a breath in exasperation. How could she explain something so foreign to these men? They’d never heard the music of the Four Sisters, felt her song meld with theirs until she wasn’t sure if she was a Witch at all, or simply a force of nature contained in a body of flesh and blood.
She pried her water-slicked hair away from her face. “Have you ever looked into a clear sky and knew a storm was coming? You weren’t sure how you knew, but you somehow felt it.”
Parknel picked up a cup that rolled towards him with the motion of the ship. “You’re saying we’re going to have to trust you. Trust you when the Discipline Heads wouldn’t. ”
She winced. “Yes.”
“Very well, Senna,” he said with a grunt. “I believed in you when few others did. Wouldn’t make much sense to stop now that you’ve finally begun to believe in yourself.”
She smiled to herself.
Parknel tossed the broken cup back onto the floor. “What’s my Heading?”
“Kaen’s farm.”
Parknel rubbed his jaw. “Not far from where we made landfall last time?”
She nodded.
He pulled a chart down. He cleared the debris off his desk with one swipe, then weighted down the corners and started muttering to himself. “No idea where we are.” He opened his compass. “Have to head west until the stars come out.” He tapped a symbol of rough water and a cloud. “The storm couldn’t have forced us to the Darkwell Squalls.”
“The what?” Senna asked in alarm.
The captain glanced up. “Hmm. Bah, nothing to worry about. We couldn’t have been pushed that far south.”
A knock sounded at the door. “Captain, we’ve a crack in the foremast.”
“You’ve always been rather hard on my ship,” Parknel grumbled.
“I’ll pay for the damages,” Senna said. Somehow.
“Yes. You will. I plan to be the fastest ship on the sea for the foreseeable future.” Hurrying out, Parknel called over his shoulder, “You’ll take my cabin again. Get some rest.”
Rest? Everyone was running around in a near panic, and he wanted her to rest. “How long until we reach Tarten?” she shouted after him.
“If we are where I think and we keep up this speed, perhaps four days. If the Sea Witch can handle the strain.” The last bit was nearly lost in the clamor.
The realization hit her that their journey had finally started. Now Senna could start planning in earnest. She and Reden leaned over the map on the table, studying Tarten. This was the second time she’d had to cross the Darkwell Sea to confront Espen.
Joshen pulled off his cloak and hung it over the back of a chair. “Senna, the Discipline Heads weren’t exaggerating. There’s a price on every Witch’s head. Especially yours. If we really have to find these foreign Witches, fine. But two landings in Tarten are an unnecessary risk.”
Anger prickled up Senna’s spine. She wondered if her mother and father had these same arguments. The safety of the world balanced against personal safety. She wondered if things had been different in Lilette’s day, when the world had reverenced Witches.
Reden frowned at Joshen. “We’re going to Espen because Senna knows where these foreign Witches are. We’re going to Kaen’s because she needs to be inland for the song to be the most effective, and Espen’s realm is too risky. Plus we can check on her friends.”
Senna was impressed with Reden’s knowledge of how Witch song worked.
Joshen pressed his palms into the back of the chair, clearly unhappy. “And then?”
Senna took a deep breath to calm herself. “We discover what we can and warn the Heads.”
Reden looked between the two and then headed for the door. “Well, now that’s settled, I’m going to see if I can round up some dry clothes. Then I have to test this brother Mistin brought along, see if he’ll be of any use to us.”
Senna shivered as the wind snaked through the closing door and cut through her damp clothes. She curled her arms around herself. Even her bones felt cold.
Joshen started rummaging around in her satchel. “You’re shivering. We need to get you out of those wet clothes.”
He found her spare shift and dress and turned around. She pulled her clothes off. They landed with a wet plop on the floor. Hauling on the dry ones, she marveled at how warm they felt over her chilled skin. She sighed and twisted her wet hair up, wrapping a cord around it to hold it off her neck.
Already, the salt was irritating her skin, but a bath would have to wait.
She heard him going through his own bag, pulling out clothes. She looked up in time to see him pull his shirt off. Despite everything that had happened between them, her insides went warm and soft at the sight of his broad shoulders, the cut of his muscles.
To distract herself, she went to the window and watched the purple-black storm receding in the distance—the wind and waves lashing out at each other as if in a pitched battle. She felt Joshen’s gaze on her.
“You should rest. I know how much singing like that drains you, and we’re going to need you at full strength when we land in Tarten.”
Why did everyone want her to rest? Senna sought out her reflection in the window. Her eyes were bloodshot and lined with dark circles. She looked too thin. Her hair was a disaster. She tried to smooth it with her fingers. “I’m fine. I should sing to the wind now so we can cross faster.”
“I don’t think the ship is ready to handle more speed.” He settled his shirt over his broad chest. “Well, if you refuse to rest, will you come below decks with me? I’ve got to check on the horses, and there’s something I want to show you.”
She followed Joshen out of Parknel’s cabin and into mayhem. Sailors were scurrying back and forth, tying ropes, hauling down ripped sails, and doing other things she didn’t reall
y understand.
Senna and Joshen wound their way into the bowels of the ship. It wasn’t hard to find the horses—they just had to follow the barn smell and the furious hammering sound.
Joshen trotted forward. Inside the middle stall, the palomino furiously kicked the boards. “Easy, boy. Easy,” Joshen opened the stall and stepped up beside the animal’s shoulder.
Senna held her breath, her throat constricting with worry. The horse eyed Joshen, his ears flat in warning.
“Joshen,” Senna warned.
The animal bared his teeth and lunged. Joshen shoved the horse’s face away. Deftly, he threaded two lead ropes through the halter. He tied them to two rings on opposite sides of the stall, trapping the horse in the middle. All the while, he spoke softly. “I’m going to have to take you above deck and work you every day to take the edge off.”
“I have a potion that could help,” Senna offered, glad she wasn’t the one in there with that horse.
“Maybe if exercise isn’t enough and the potion is the kind that wears off within a day or two.” Joshen brushed his hands on his pants. “Senna, this is Sunny.”
She held her hand out for the horse to sniff. He snorted disdainfully. Senna’s nose wrinkled in disgust, as she wiped horse mucus off her palm with a handful of straw. “I don’t think he likes me.”
Joshen took a cloth from the stall and rubbed the horse’s already polished coat. “He’s from racing stock—one of the fastest horses my father’s ever bred, and he has the stamina to match it.”
“He’s beautiful.” Any woman in love with Joshen had to love horses by default.
“Sunny can outrun anything on four legs,” Joshen said, pride obvious in his voice.
Senna didn’t doubt it. A fire seemed to burn inside the horse, making it impossible for him to hold still. Joshen was studying her, as if waiting for her to make a connection. A sense of foreboding welled inside her. Surely he knew this was way too much horse for her. “I’m sure he’s perfect for you.”
Joshen’s gray eyes locked on hers. “He’s not for me. I bought him for you.”