The Nature of Witches

by Rachel Griffin

  I’ve been at Eastern for twelve years, and this is the first time I’ve ever heard the emergency system go off outside of scheduled drills for earthquake or fire. The room is dark, the large glass windows showing the ominous sky.

  “Everyone in the basement, now!” Mr. Donovan shouts from the back of the room. Students flood down the staircase as the sirens blare. The wind is building outside. Ms. Suntile and Mrs. Temperly, our guidance counselor, talk in low, hushed voices, but I’m able to pick up bits of what they’re saying.

  They’re wondering what we’re all wondering: What are the witches in charge of this region doing?

  The storm is so unexpected that the staff has no time to coordinate with the other witches in the area. It would be too dangerous for them to try and help; too much conflicting energy directed at one storm cell can make things worse. If any faculty member tries to step in, they could lose their job.

  But it doesn’t matter. None of them is strong enough to stop a storm of this magnitude on their own.

  We have to trust the witches in charge of this region. But looking out the windows at the darkening sky, it’s hard to trust.

  I’m rushing down the stairs to the basement when I freeze. Dread moves through my body like lava from a volcano, hot and slow and heavy. Nox is outside, exploring this massive campus.

  I drop my bag and turn, running back up the stairs, pushing and fighting against the flow of bodies. Someone behind me calls my name, but I don’t stop.

  I run out of the assembly hall and toward the trees.

  “Nox!” I yell, frantically scanning the ground. “Nox!” I shout again, running farther away from the assembly hall.

  A huge crack sounds in the sky, and rain pours from the clouds. Large, thick drops drench me in seconds. I wipe the water from my face and rush into the trees.

  “Nox!” I’m deep in the woods now, searching for any sign of him. Keep running, keep looking. My ankle rolls off a large root, and I crash into the dirt, a jolt of pain shooting up my leg. I ignore it and force myself back up.

  A second thunderstorm follows closely behind the first, making it difficult to see. It’s so dark.

  I have to find Nox. My ankle throbs, and when I put weight on it, I almost fall back down.

  The entire sky flashes as lightning tears through the clouds.

  One.

  Two.

  Boom!

  The thunder is so loud it reverberates in my chest. Settles in my stomach.

  Then I see him, I finally see him, in the arms of someone I don’t know.

  I rush toward them and grab Nox. He’s shaking, and his fur is soaked, but he’s here. He’s safe.

  “He was hiding next to the shed when I locked up,” the guy says. “Is he yours?”

  I nod. Nox’s rescuer is Asian, tall and lean with golden-bronze skin and thick black hair that’s soaked through with rain. His long-sleeved thermal shirt clings to his skin, and his hands are caked with dirt.

  “Thank you.” My face is shoved into Nox’s fur, muffling my words. “I’m Clara, and this is Equinox,” I say above the rain. “Nox for short.”

  “Sang,” he returns.

  The rain beats down on us. Another flash of lightning illuminates the dark clouds.

  A loud crack tears the sky open. I jump back in time to see lightning strike a nearby tree. The ground shakes.

  “We have to get out of here,” Sang yells.

  We rush toward the assembly hall. I clutch Nox to my chest and run through the wind and rain and searing pain in my ankle. But when Sang and I round the corner, something in the distance catches my eye. I squint through the water pouring down my face and see three boys standing in the field. Their hands are tense and held open in front of them. A horrible feeling settles in my chest.

  “What’s wrong?” Sang shouts over the wind.

  I point to the students in the field. “We can’t leave them.”

  Sang looks back toward the assembly hall and then up at the sky. Another bolt of lightning rips through the clouds, and thunder claps a second later. The sky stirs. It won’t be long before the two thunderstorms join together and a tornado hits our campus.

  “Shit,” Sang says, but he runs toward the field.

  “What are you doing?” I yell when we reach the boys. All three are freshman in intermediate weather control, but they aren’t strong enough to stop this.

  None of them answers me. Their arms are tense, their faces strained. And every single one of them is about to be depleted.

  I can feel it. When there’s too much energy in one weather system, you create an unending feedback loop with the sun, using more and more magic trying to stop a storm that’s only getting stronger. You can never get on top of it. If you stay stuck in the loop for too long, your magic burns out, almost like a short circuit.

  I hand Nox to Sang and jump in front of the boys.

  “You’re all being depleted!” I yell. “If you don’t stop, you’ll be stripped.”

  But they’re too caught up in what they’re doing; they don’t even hear me. I grab one boy by the shoulders and shake. He looks dazed, but he stops pouring energy into the storm.

  “Stop your friends before they’re both depleted,” I yell.

  He grabs the other boys by the arms and pulls. They stumble forward, and it’s enough to break their concentration and dissipate the energy.

  “Kevin, right?” I ask, looking at the first boy.

  He nods. “We just—we thought we could help,” he says. He looks like he might cry.

  All of us are drenched, and the wind whips around us, unrelenting.

  “It’s too strong,” I say. “There’s nothing you can do, especially since you aren’t autumns.”

  But then I understand: they’re springs, and that’s why they want to help. They’re best at dealing with tornadoes, because most tornadoes happen in spring. But they’re too weak now, too far outside their season to do much.

  It’s up to the autumns, but tornadoes are difficult for them.

  “We have to go. Now,” Sang says. Nox squirms in his arms.

  But something is keeping me planted here. I don’t want to move.

  “Clara,” Sang says.

  I’m no longer certain I should run away. The storm is calling to me, reaching for me as if it wants to be held. The boys would’ve been depleted—too much energy, and not enough magic. But I’m stronger than they are, and if the storm calls and I answer, if I work with it, maybe I can stop this.

  Ms. Suntile and Paige and Mr. Hart all believe I’m powerful, believe I can make a difference. I’ve never let myself think that way, because this isn’t the life I want for myself. But right now, as the sky churns and darkens above me, I wonder if they’re right.

  Sang sees me gazing at the sky, head tilted in consideration.

  “Clara, the storm is too powerful. Even if it’s your season, this is too much for any one of us.”

  “She’s an Everwitch,” one of the boys says. I wait for some kind of reaction from Sang—wide eyes or hurried words or infinite questions. But his only reaction is the faintest pull of his lips, as if he wants to smile.

  It’s irresponsible of me to try to intervene without first talking to the witches in charge of this area, but there’s no time for that. I wait for Sang to say as much, but instead, he just looks at me.

  “It’s your call,” he says. “What do you want to do?”

  I know it’s dangerous. I know I could get in a lot of trouble. But the storm beckons to me, reaches for me.

  “I want to try.”

  I grab Nox from Sang and hand him to Kevin. “Please keep him safe. Get to the assembly hall, and I’ll do everything I can out here. And don’t tell anyone you saw us.” Kevin holds Nox close to his chest, and the boys rush off the field.

  Another strik
e of lightning brightens the sky. My clothes are soaked through, and my ankle is throbbing, sending shots of pain up my leg.

  “You should get out of here,” I yell to Sang.

  “It’s too risky,” he says. “You need someone here in case things get out of hand. I’ll watch and make sure you’re never at risk of depletion.”

  If I get stuck in the same feedback loop as the boys, feeding magic into a storm I have no hope of stopping, I could be depleted and stripped. And I’m not ready for that. Not yet.

  I nod and tilt my head upward. Lightning splits the sky in two, followed by a deafening thunderclap when the air crashes back together.

  “Where the hell are you?” I whisper to the witches who are supposed to be handling this. But all I get in response is another bolt of lightning.

  Chapter Six

  “The tornado does not care where it touches down, only that it does.”

  —A Season for Everything

  Two thunderstorms hang above me, absorbing the daylight, casting darkness over campus. Rain pelts down, and I wipe my eyes. I raise my hands, and my body responds, energy coursing through me like a river rushing toward the ocean.

  The first cumulonimbus cloud shifts and settles directly over me. The thunderstorm in the distance rages on, getting closer.

  I close my eyes and focus on the storm right above me. Wind tears through my hair, wet strands of red slapping across my face. Blood rushes in my ears, mixing with the sound of the moving air. I sense every part of the thunderstorm. The updrafts and downdrafts. The hail forming high above us. The rain and the electricity.

  The downdraft is what I want.

  I single it out and push with all my strength. My muscles burn, and my arms shake. But the cloud responds. I keep my left hand outstretched, guiding the downward air toward the ground, and move my right hand in circles, faster and faster.

  All at once, the air understands what I’m asking of it and dives toward the earth.

  “It’s working!” Sang yells from behind me.

  With all my might, I pull my magic away from the downward air and throw it toward the upward current. I hold my hands steady, making a slow, constant motion that keeps the air from rising.

  And when the air can no longer rise, the cloud fades.

  The second thunderstorm lurches toward me, trying to grab hold of the cloud I’m working on, but it’s too late.

  The rain turns light, only a drizzle, and very slowly, the thunderstorm vanishes from bottom to top.

  The second storm cannot meet it, cannot dance with it, cannot form a tornado.

  I breathe out, long and heavy. I’m exhausted, every inch of me begging to sleep, to rest my weary muscles. My ankle is so swollen that the edge of my shoe cuts into my skin.

  But the first storm is gone.

  The remaining thunderstorm gets angry. It’s heavier, darker, and pelts us with hailstones.

  “Clara?”

  I turn to Sang, but he isn’t looking at me. He’s looking into the distance, beyond the remaining storm. He points, and my eyes follow his finger.

  I see it at the same time the thunderstorm senses it. The storm turns away from us and reaches for a new storm behind it.

  A storm I hadn’t noticed.

  I shoot my arms out in front of me, try to pull the thunderstorm back, away from the other. But I can’t. It’s too large. Too severe. And it wants nothing to do with me.

  I keep trying.

  I pull and shake and pull some more. The storm gives a little, drifts back toward me, and I relax my hold for one second.

  It’s a second too long, and the storm drives forward with renewed force. I can’t pull it back.

  Maybe if I’d let Eastern train me the way Ms. Suntile wants to, let them push my power to the limit, I’d have the strength to fight this storm. But I don’t know how to use all the magic inside me, and I’m terrified of letting it loose and causing more damage.

  And now I’m paying for it. Our entire campus is.

  I’m not strong enough.

  Sang sucks in a sharp breath as we watch the two storms meet.

  Their collision causes instability in the atmosphere. I feel it in the tightness of my chest, in the twisting of my stomach. My magic begs for release, but the storm is too powerful.

  Then a change happens. The winds begin to move in a different direction.

  They get faster.

  A horizontal spinning motion takes over, and the rising updraft crashes into the spinning air, tilting it.

  It tilts.

  And tilts.

  And tilts.

  Until it is vertical.

  A funnel forms and stretches toward the earth. I should be scared, should run and seek shelter, but I’m stuck to the ground beneath me.

  Amazed.

  The tornado touches down, a tall, dark, violent tunnel of wind that roars in the distance.

  I reach for the cloud above it, try to form a connection, try to break it up. I’m shocked when the cloud responds, a tangible weight in my hands, inviting me in.

  “We have to go!” Sang yells.

  The tornado barrels toward us, but the cloud is letting me control it, and I have to try.

  I’m dripping wet. My muscles are so tense I’m sure they’ll snap from the bones they cling to. But the cloud wavers, the edges fading into sky the way day fades to night. It’s so close to dissipating, so close to taking the tornado with it.

  But a sudden surge in updraft is too much for me, and I can no longer hold on to it.

  The cloud strengthens, its edges sharpen, and its tornado heads straight for us.

  I reach for it again, begging it to stop, but it drives on. In one final push, I throw as much magic as I can at it, trying to send it away from us. It lurches backward, out toward the farm, giving us just enough time to find cover.

  But we stay put, mesmerized by the spinning column of air. The tornado hangs back for one second, two, three. Then it charges toward us.

  “Run!” Sang yells.

  But I don’t want to run. I’m amazed by the force, the absolute power of the wind rushing toward me. I want to touch it.

  I’m not scared anymore. I’m exhausted and have nothing left to give, nothing left to try and stop what’s right in front of me, and for a single moment, I understand the tornado.

  All it wants is to touch the earth.

  “Clara, now!” Sang grabs my arm, and the moment is broken.

  A tall pine tree lurches sideways, crashes to the ground.

  We will die if we don’t run.

  I turn toward the assembly hall, but the tornado is blocking our path. Spring House is in the distance, the closest building to us, and we sprint toward it. My ankle screams. It takes all my energy to keep running, to stay upright.

  The tornado chases us as we burst through the front doors of Spring House. The first floor is a greenhouse, tall glass windows encircling the room, the only thing shielding us from the storm. We get as far away from the windows as possible and hit the floor.

  We’re out of time.

  The tornado slams into the building.

  Windows shake, then blow out, sending glass shards sailing toward us. I cover my head, vaguely aware that I’m bleeding. Plants fly across the room, flowers in every color swirling in the air as if they have wings. I look up through the broken glass ceiling.

  I want to see the storm.

  Warm blood trickles down my forehead. Sang presses his hand against the cut.

  “You’re okay,” he says, his tone calm and even, as if we’re taking a stroll on the beach, as if a violent cyclone isn’t reaching for us.

  Blood seeps through Sang’s fingers, crawls down my face, and drips onto my chest. Clay pots shatter on the floor around us, mounds of dirt fall on the cement ground, and debris flies throu
gh the room.

  The tornado sounds like a freight train. We’re in the worst of it. I see the narrow base out of the corner of my eye, see how it twists and turns and picks things up before tossing them aside.

  “Look out!” I yell as an arbor is torn from its base and crashes down.

  Sang keeps the pressure on my forehead firm and tucks my head into his chest, covering me.

  The corner of the arbor falls on him, but he remains steady.

  More glass clatters to the floor, and a rock sails over our heads before hitting the wall behind us. Branches slam into the side of the building. The entire room shakes when a massive tree plummets to the earth.

  Hanging plants swing wildly back and forth. A large table full of sprouts collapses when a tree trunk rams through a broken window and slams into it.

  Then nothing else falls.

  Nothing else breaks.

  The howling gets fainter, and silence fills the room. The darkness retreats from the sky, and tentative sunlight streams through thin clouds.

  It’s over.

  Chapter Seven

  “Autumn is the Earth just before it falls asleep.”

  —A Season for Everything

  I push myself up. Sang and I are both quiet. The floor is covered with dirt and broken clay. Sunlight reaches through the fractured windows and reflects off shards of glass. I wipe my forehead, and the back of my hand comes away red. The same color as Sang’s palm.

  “We need to get that cleaned up,” he says, looking at the gash. He finds a yarrow plant and grabs a handful of leaves on our way out. A deep-blue bruise is forming around his right eye.

  My ankle throbs, and I bite my lip, forcing myself to walk. The campus is in disarray. There are toppled trees and cracked cement, hanging gutters and shrubs torn up by the roots. A large pine rests against the top of Avery Hall, the roof caved in beneath it.

  But the campus survived. It’s still here.

  It needs a lot of cleanup and a lot of repairs, but it will be okay.

  Students slowly emerge from the assembly hall across campus. I want to find Nox, make sure he’s safe, but I can barely walk. I limp toward my cabin in a trance, taking in the odd contrast between the debris-covered walkways and the pure sunshine warming my skin.