The Nature of Witches

by Rachel Griffin

  I breathe deep.

  Wind starts to build around us, Sang’s scarf dancing in the current, brushing against my skin.

  My heart slows.

  “There’s a moment,” Sang says, his voice even, “when your magic waits for you to make a choice. It pulls you along like the current of a river, your back in the water, eyes closed, arms stretched out, palms toward the sky. The current gets faster and stronger as it rushes toward a waterfall. And there’s a moment when the river stills, gives you control, and asks, ‘Are we going back the way we came, swimming against the current? Or are we falling over the edge, trusting the water below to catch us?’”

  My eyes stay closed. I nod along with his words, understanding exactly what he’s saying; the image is so vivid I can almost feel it. His calm, the absolute control he has over the power inside him, hangs in the space between us. It hovers in the air like a mist of perfume.

  “How do you make yourself fall over the edge?” I ask, my voice so quiet I’m not sure he hears me.

  “You inhale all your fear, all your worries, all your hesitation,” he says, breathing in so deeply I can hear it despite the wind. The calming magic that flows from him pauses at the top of his breath, waiting for his answer.

  I take in a deep breath with him.

  “On your exhale, you let it all go—all the fear, all the tension you’re carrying in your body—until all that’s left is you and your magic. You surrender to the current and drop over the waterfall, knowing you’re safe. It’s so much harder to swim against the current, to try to go back. Falling is the only way forward.”

  Sang exhales, and I do the same. His entire body relaxes as magic rushes through him, pours into the air, wraps itself around me.

  The column of wind he’s summoned takes off for the trees. I open my eyes and watch. It doesn’t go far, only into the first few rows, but we’re in winter; come spring, Sang will be able to drop a windstorm over this entire field if he wants to. The trees sway side to side, and then the wind dies out and they rest, motionless.

  My fingers are still laced with Sang’s. I pull my hand back, ignoring the way the cold air invades the space previously kept warm by his skin on mine.

  Ignoring the way I want his warmth back.

  “Your turn,” he says, bringing me back to the field.

  I look at the evergreens in the distance and keep the image in my mind when I close my eyes. I take a deep breath and exhale slowly.

  I can do this. It’s just a little wind.

  Magic rises up inside me, and instead of focusing on holding it back, I focus on the task. I picture the evergreens swaying in a breeze. I imagine myself floating down the river, water at my back and sky above me.

  I picture myself in total control.

  The wind gets stronger and stronger around me, then pauses. My magic waits. I’m at the waterfall.

  I inhale, and as my chest rises, I acknowledge my fear. I see it. There’s so much of it, so much pain. I see my parents lying motionless on the ground, Nikki as she slams into a tree, Mr. Hart as he’s hit by a plow, Paige as she’s struck by lightning. It’s an insurmountable barrier I can’t get through, and my hands begin to shake as my magic retreats.

  I can’t hold on to it.

  “There is no one here to hurt. It’s just you, me, and this field.”

  I nod and try to slow my breathing.

  “You deserve to rest. Release your breath, release all the tension you’re carrying, and let go. You’re safe here.”

  I can’t get the images out of my head. “I can’t do it,” I say, my voice shaking. I’m scared.

  “Yes, you can. We’re going to take a deep breath together, and when we exhale, you’re going to let go. Deep breath in,” he says.

  I inhale again, and my magic waits.

  “Let your body get heavy, release the tension, and exhale.”

  I see myself at the top of the waterfall. Afraid, worried, hurt. And then I see myself giving in to the current, flowing over the edge, eyes closed, water roaring. I’m falling.

  Power rushes out of me in an unrestrained surge. It’s so strong, it feels as if all my insides are going with it, my muscles and organs and bones. I gasp from the force of it, but I don’t seize up. I don’t hold back.

  I let it all go.

  Wind barrels toward the evergreens, the aggressive, cold magic of winter fueling it as it charges on. I give it everything I have.

  Then I open my eyes and watch.

  Wind slams into the woods, toppling the first tree it hits. But it doesn’t stop there. Tree after tree crashes to the ground like a row of dominoes, making the earth beneath me shake. Plumes of dust rise from the woods, but I can’t look away. The wind roars as it barrels into the last row of evergreens, tossing them aside as if they’re twigs used to play fetch. It happens so fast.

  The ground vibrates. Silence takes over after the final thuds echo off the mountainside.

  My breathing is shallow, and my heart pounds.

  I stare at the path of fallen trees. My whole body shakes as I take in the destruction.

  Then a rumbling sound starts in the distance, and I watch in horror as snow rushes down the side of the mountain. It starts gradually, as if it’s happening in slow motion, and then all at once, it picks up speed and tears down the mountainside.

  There’s nothing I can do but watch as the avalanche takes out hundreds more trees before finally coming to a stop.

  Clouds of snow rise into the air like smoke, mixing with the dust the fallen evergreens kicked up.

  The world gets quiet again, except for my quick, ragged breaths. A sound escapes my lips, something between a groan and a sob.

  Sang stands beside me, staring at the ravaged mountainside.

  “There’s nothing between us and the mountains other than trees?”

  I shake my head. Eastern sits on thousands of acres, nestled in the valleys of the Poconos. Plenty of room for error, as Mr. Hart used to say.

  My eyes are stuck on the damage I caused. I can’t move. Can’t think. Can’t breathe.

  “Hey, you’re okay,” Sang says, moving in front of me. He locks his eyes with mine. “Just breathe.”

  I take in a deep, shaky breath.

  “Good, that’s good. Keep your eyes on me. Right here,” he says. “Good. Keep breathing.”

  I take several more breaths. Slowly, my body stops shaking. My mind stops spiraling, and I can think again.

  “That was bad,” I say.

  “Well, you did blow past your baseline, so technically this is the best run you’ve had.”

  “You did not just make a pun.”

  “I did,” he says solemnly.

  I want to yell at him, tell him this isn’t funny. Remind him how inordinately out of control I am.

  But when I open my mouth, I don’t yell.

  I laugh.

  It’s a nervous, frantic kind of laughter, but laughter all the same. Then Sang is laughing too, and we’re both bent over at the waist, tears streaming down our faces.

  It’s the first time I’ve laughed, truly laughed, since Nikki died.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Be wary of those who will let you apologize for who you are.”

  —A Season for Everything

  Ms. Suntile does not laugh when we tell her what happened. She even goes so far as to tell me I’ve been irresponsible, but Sang defends me. He tells her it’s the most power I’ve been able to summon yet, which is precisely what she wanted from me in the first place. And now that I’ve done it, I can start the hard work of learning to control it.

  She doesn’t have much to say to that, and so we leave with the understanding that we will replant as many trees as we can come spring.

  Mr. Burrows, to his credit, agrees with us, and I’m relieved to know he won’t be takin
g over my training anytime soon.

  “Thanks for your help in there,” I say to Sang as we leave the administration building. I zip my jacket up and shove my hands into my pockets.

  “She’s hard on you,” he says.

  “I think she just expects a lot from me. Eastern, and Ms. Suntile in particular, took a risk by allowing me to stay here after Nikki died, and I’m sure she just wants it to be worth it.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “What is?”

  Sang stops walking and gives me an incredulous look. “Clara, you’re the first Ever in over a hundred years. You seriously think Ms. Suntile did you a favor by keeping you here?”

  “Yeah,” I say, but my voice rises at the end like I’m asking a question.

  “I won’t pretend to know what happened after Nikki died, but there is no way Ms. Suntile would have let you leave this school. You’re the most powerful witch alive. Having you here makes her powerful too.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I’m not saying the school is bad or ill-intentioned or anything. I’m just saying that you’re doing them a favor by being here, not the other way around. You should never feel like you have to make excuses or apologize for who you are.”

  “But I—”

  Sang holds his hand to my mouth, so close his fingers almost brush my lips. “Never,” he says.

  Heat rises up my neck, and I take a step back. “I’m going to be late for class.”

  I rush to Avery Hall, where Mr. Donovan is prepping us for the upcoming blizzard. But Sang’s words repeat in my mind over and over again. My hand absentmindedly drifts to my mouth, the memory of his fingers close enough to feel my breath.

  All I’ve done for the past several years is apologize for who I am, act as if I’m fortunate that Ms. Suntile let me stay. And I am fortunate. But something nags at me, a tiny thought I can’t let go. All these years that I’ve been apologizing for who I am, for having the gall to exist in the first place, I’ve been giving Ms. Suntile all the power.

  And she has let me.

  I’m overwhelmed that there is someone who won’t accept my apologies, who doesn’t want me to apologize in the first place. Who doesn’t even think I have anything to apologize for.

  Sang doesn’t want any power over me, and every time I try to hand it over, he refuses to accept it.

  Maybe he deserves a little trust after all.

  “Clara, are you with us?” Mr. Donovan, along with the rest of the class, looks in my direction.

  “I’m with you,” I say.

  “Good. Now, I know you’re all waiting for your assignments for the blizzard, but that’s not why we’re here today.” A few murmurs make their way through the class, but Mr. Donovan silences them. “I’m sure you’ve all seen the news. Witches are dying of depletion at a higher rate than ever before, and we think we finally know why.”

  It used to be rare that a witch would demand so much of their magic that they died from exhaustion. It was practically unheard of. Our bodies let us know when we’re running out of energy long before we’re at risk. But depletion deaths have risen so much lately that we’re struggling to fill the gaps. We can’t keep up.

  “A report was just released by the Solar Magic Association. Every witch we’ve lost to depletion in the past three years has been in their off-season.”

  Thomas raises his hand. “What does this have to do with the blizzard?”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Black, are you bored by the unprecedented death rate that’s been devastating our community?”

  Thomas shakes his head and slumps in his seat.

  “The reason I will not be handing out your assignments for the blizzard is because there will no longer be a blizzard next week.”

  “But there’s always a blizzard this time of year,” Jay says.

  He’s right. Every winter, we work on storm cells in the area to create a blizzard that lands on our campus. It’s a massive storm that enables the winters to train under extreme conditions. Training was supposed to begin next week.

  “This year, there will be a heat wave instead. Not of our making, of course. This has never happened before, and the witches in the region are doing everything they can to prepare for it, but it’s going to be a grueling week for them.” The way he says it, the worry in his voice, reminds me that there is so much going on outside our campus. We’ll all graduate soon and be left to deal with the consequences of an atmosphere that’s falling into chaos.

  It makes guilt prick at my stomach, knowing the eclipse is still looming, knowing I plan to render myself useless to my fellow witches.

  “We’ve talked with the witches controlling the area, and they’re going to do the best they can to minimize the damage, but it won’t be enough to get us anywhere near a typical weather system for this time of year. We’ll have to wait until it’s over before we can plan any sort of winter training.”

  The room erupts as students begin to talk over one another and lob questions at Mr. Donovan.

  “Quiet,” he yells. “The next person to interrupt me gets detention for a month.”

  The room falls silent.

  Mr. Donovan rubs his temples and lets out a heavy breath. “We let things get too far out of control. We should have demanded action from the shaders years ago, when we first realized there was a problem.” He shakes his head. His tone is far away, as if he’s talking to himself, as if he’s somewhere other than this classroom. “We’re starting to see extreme atypical weather, like this heat wave, in every season. The aurora borealis and the tornado we saw in autumn were both part of this pattern, and it’s why our witches are dying from depletion. Winters obviously aren’t effective at dealing with heat, so summers are trying to handle the weather in winter, when they’re at their weakest. It’s too much for them, and it’s not doing enough to restore stability, even as it’s killing our witches.”

  The room is quiet for a long time. If Mr. Donovan is right and we continue getting severe atypical weather, witches will become completely ineffectual, and the atmosphere will collapse.

  “And if we can’t slow the death rate of our witches…” He trails off, but we all know enough to fill in the blank.

  Paige raises her hand, and Mr. Donovan nods at her. “What can we do about it?”

  “We’re working with the shaders to curb the damage, but it’s a long process. It’ll take years. And while that’s ultimately the best thing we can do to restore stability in the atmosphere long-term, we have to find an immediate solution for the problems we’re facing today. Our best bet is training witches in off-season magic. Winters can’t deal with heat waves because they’ve never had to; we need to find a way to teach them. Winters must learn about summer conditions. Springs must learn about autumn, summers about winter. Basically, we need to be able to access seasonal magic year-round without our witches dying of depletion.”

  “But that’s impossible,” Paige says. “You can’t train the hottest magic to deal with ice. It isn’t a matter of training; the four magics are fundamentally different.”

  Mr. Donovan nods. “That’s what we’re up against,” he says. “There’s always going to be typical seasonal weather, not to mention harvest and botany. There is no shortage of work or need for us. But that need is growing, and we have to figure out how to meet it. For now, we will continue controlling what we can and training you to be the strongest witches you can be.”

  I think back to the wildfire training, how I couldn’t hold the magic of so many summers. In my training with Sang, I’m working toward being able to confidently hold the power of the witches around me. But even if I master that, it won’t help with this. I’ll still be holding summer magic in summer and winter magic in winter.

  What Mr. Donovan proposed is impossible, just like Paige said.

  “So, what should we do about the heat wave next
week?” Jay asks.

  “Our summers will try to teach you how to manage it. That’s all we can do.” Mr. Donovan offers a smile, but it’s unconvincing. “Once the heat passes, we’ll get back to our normal training. Are there any other questions?”

  No one says anything, even though there are dozens of questions written on all of our faces.

  Class doesn’t end for another twenty minutes, but Mr. Donovan walks around his desk, grabs his things, and says, “Class dismissed.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Work on your relationship with your magic now, because it’s going to be the longest relationship you have.”

  —A Season for Everything

  “Well, Clara, I’m impressed with your progress thus far. You’ve got a long way to go, but this is definitely an improvement.” Mr. Burrows sounds surprised, and it reinforces my dislike of him.

  Knowing my progress is what allows me to keep training with Sang instead of him is the only reason I smile and say, “Thank you.”

  “Give me just a moment with Ms. Suntile and Sang, won’t you?”

  I nod and walk to the edge of the control field. There should be snow on the ground and ice covering the pathways around campus. But the ground is bare, and the pathways are dry. The heat will arrive tomorrow, bringing worry and anxiety with it.

  And it’s not just any heat. We’re expecting a four-day stretch of temperatures in the one-tens, unheard of even during summers in Pennsylvania and supposedly impossible in the winter months. It’s terrifying, this intense heat we had nothing to do with creating.

  I can’t help the dread that rises in my stomach, knowing this is a harbinger of what’s to come if we can’t get things under control.

  Mr. Burrows is doing most of the talking as Ms. Suntile and Sang nod along. Every time I start to think Sang and I are building some kind of trust between us, something happens to tear it back down.

  It’s not his fault, of course. I know Mr. Burrows is his mentor, and they have a lot of history together. A lot of trust between them. But the way he smiles so easily with him and laughs at his jokes and nods his head… It makes me question everything again.