Witch Born (2 page)

“Good. I’ll be glad to go home and stop pretending.”

The other man chuckled. “Easy for you to say.”

A sigh left the tenor’s lips. Senna saw movement and thought he must have stood. “We’ll meet again tomorrow after sunset.”

A vague shape started toward the door.

The music grew louder, pounding a warning.

Senna gathered herself and rushed down the stairs. She heard the door behind her swing open, followed by a startled cry. “We have to stop her!”

Hauling her skirt above her knees, Senna ran. Her cowl slipped off her head. She glanced back. Her hair swept over her face and partially blocked her view, but she could see two hooded figures chasing her.

The smaller of the two stopped and swung something around above his head. A rhythmic, whooshing sounded around her. Before she could understand what was happening, something solid smacked into the back of her head.

Lights exploded behind her eyes. She pitched forward and hit the gravel hard. And then he was on top of her. Senna didn’t have time to think. Acting on reflex, her mouth opened and a song poured forth.

Plants, stop the man who’d halt my flight.

Bind him, though he flails and fights.

A rustling slither filled the air as the plants responded. The man yanked her into his chest, into his arms. His breath washed over her face—he smelled of something dark and sweet, like licorice. Repeating the same verse, she tried to kick free, but his grip was too tight.

A vine shot past her and snatched his arm away. More plants responded, twisting around him and pinning his other arm. Still singing, Senna kicked her way out from under him. One more song, and he’d be wrapped up completely.

Something snapped behind him. She had forgotten about the tenor! She clambered to her feet, a song on her lips. Before the first syllable fell, he barreled into her. She slammed back into the dirt.

Plants, stop—

He shoved a gag into her mouth. Knowing how vulnerable she was without her song, Senna drove her elbow back, catching his wiry frame in the gut. The attacker grunted in pain. His grip loosened enough for her to spit the gag out. But she didn’t have enough breath to sing. She twisted until she was chest to chest with him. All she saw was a face wrapped in shadows, dark eyes glinting. She punched as Joshen had shown her, putting all her strength into it.

An explosion of pain spider-webbed through her hand. Her attacker tottered. She shoved him. The man tried to hold on, but his movements were slow and clumsy. Senna kicked her way free and started running. She panted out a song.

Plants of the forest, hide my trail,

For an enemy, I must quell.

She was too winded for the song to be very effective, but it was the best she could manage. At the sound of a sawing knife, she knew the smaller attacker was freeing the larger. They’d be after her soon.

Even with her song weaving the plants behind her, Senna didn’t think she could outrun two men. She needed some kind of weapon. Her head whipped from side to side as she searched for something.

All she saw were enormous plants, broken doors, and
windows!
She darted into the dense foliage. Plants whipped her face, stinging her eyes. She erupted onto another of the hundreds of Witch-sung paths that wound between Haven’s trees. She followed it for half a dozen steps before darting back the way she’d come.

Beneath a tree’s broken window she flattened herself against the ground, her face pressed into the damp soil. Her movements slow and even, her fingers searched for a piece of glass to use as a weapon. All she could find were worthless bits.

She froze as footsteps pounded past her. The men paused uncertainly, but they were good at this game, better than her. Without a word, they split up. Senna could hear them hunting for her.

She tried to slow her breathing. Sweat soaked through the back of her dark green dress. She started searching again. Something sliced her finger—a shard of glass about the size of a knife blade.

Keeping her movements smooth, Senna wrapped the edge of her cloak around her hand and picked it up. She chanced lifting her head. Sweat rolling down her temples, she listened for any sign of the men before she scooted backward. When she bumped into the tree house, she eased to her feet and edged to the other side.

Now she was near where they’d first attacked her, hopefully the last place they would think to look for her. Her heart pounding in her throat, she waited. Nothing. She moved away from the tree, toward home, her senses straining for any sign she’d been spotted.

Some instinct made her turn around. By then it was too late. The gag bit into her mouth and the knot pulled tight. But the attacker had underestimated the rest of Senna. She whirled and struck with the glass shard.

A gasp slipped from his lips. Under his hood, the bass’s eyes went wide with shock. A gush of warm blood soaked Senna’s hand, and she stumbled back in horror.

The attacker fell to his knees, his large hand on his stomach. Senna retreated, fear clawing her insides.

He watched her, the skin around his eyes creased with pain. “You’re not safe, Brusenna. Soon, all the Witches will be dead.”

The attacker’s threat made Senna’s heart thump painfully in her chest. Who was this man? How had he known her name? She stepped closer and squinted at his face, trying to make out something besides his dark outline.

Somewhere out of sight, the plants rustled as if someone was running through them. The tenor!

Senna turned and fled, not daring to look back. Three times she fell, once so hard she feared she’d broken her wrist. She yanked on the gag, her lips cracking, before finally managing to pull it off.

Ahead, the warm lights of Haven came into view. She caught glimpses of lanterns gleaming inside the trees like distant stars. Had she really gone so far?

When she finally reached her tree house on the outskirts of the inhabited quarter, her breathing came in ragged gasps. She ran inside the tree, up the spiraling central staircase, and wrenched open her mother’s bedroom door.

Her mother sat up. “Brusenna?” Her voice was heavy with sleep.

“We’re not safe!” Senna snatched her mother’s hand and dragged her outside and deeper into Haven.

“What happened? Why are you covered in blood? What happened to your face?”

Senna ignored her. She had to warn the others. Were there more attackers? Was anyone safe? She didn’t stop until she reached the Ring of Power—a circular clearing ringed by tall, ancient trees. She darted to the center. Tipping back her head, she sang.

Wind, carry my song through all of Haven.

An enemy with purpose craven

Has breached our everlasting border,

Wreaking havoc and disorder.

The wind whipped around her song, carrying its message all over the island. It reverberated off the impassable cliffs. Within moments, Witches were pouring into the Ring of Power, most wearing little more than their shifts.

Prenny, her short gray hair sticking up like the scruff of an aggravated dog, marched straight up to Senna. “What’s the meaning of this, Sprout?”

Senna held up her hand to shield her eyes from the lantern Prenny held. The older woman seized her by the wrist.

Her mother gasped and turned Senna’s palm toward the lantern light spilling through the clearing.

Exhaustion crashed down on Senna as the two studied her hand. “It’s not my blood.”

“Some of it is,” her mother said.

Her mouth forming a small “O” of surprise, Senna stared at the cuts in her palm, her blood mixing with that of her attacker to run in garish streaks down her sleeves. The glass must have sliced her when she’d stabbed the deep-voiced man. She hadn’t even felt it, but now she did. It stung, more by the moment.

Her mother lifted her skirt. “I’ll get my kit.”

Prenny clicked her tongue as she examined the wounds. “It’ll keep for now, Sacra.” The older woman smelled of herbs and dirt, but it was not unpleasant.

When her mother didn’t pause, Senna reached for her with her good hand. “No! They’re still out there!”

“Who’s out there?” Coyel, Head of Sunlight, asked as she arrived with Drenelle half a step behind.

Senna winced. “Two men attacked me.”

“What?” her mother cried.

More Witches gathered around Senna. All of them gaped at her, fear in their eyes. Senna felt their stares like a mantle of lead and wanted to disappear.

Coyel clapped her hands. “To the middle of the Ring, all of you.”

Drenelle grabbed Senna’s arm and dragged her away from listening ears. “By the Creators, why would two men attack a sixteen-year-old girl?”

“That’s impossible,” Prenny growled. “There are no men on the island. And no one can get inside without our permission.”

Senna’s mother met the old woman’s gaze. “Like they didn’t get on the island before?”

Prenny stepped back as if she’d been slapped. “The traitor is dead. All the other Witches are accounted for.”

Senna shook her head. “I heard them. They’re part of a plan to attack Haven. And they’re working with a Witch here.”

Prenny opened her mouth, but no words came out.

Coyel held herself very still. “You’re sure?”

Senna met the woman’s blue eyes. “They were guaranteed egress from the island for themselves and a captive.”

The three Heads exchanged glances. Senna could see they didn’t want to believe her. But the blood on her hands and the bruise swelling on the back of her skull were proof.

Chavis marched toward them. The Witch was Head of Water and therefore their leader in battle. She was dressed in men’s clothes. Strapped across her chest was a crisscross harness for her pistols, with a water-emblem coin where the leather straps met. Her long gray hair hung in a braid down the center of her back. “How many? Where?”

Senna pointed a shaking finger back the way she’d come. “Two of them. On the west side of the island.”

Chavis whirled around. “Witchlings and Apprentices in the circle. Arianis is in charge.”

“But if there’s a traitor in our midst—” Drenelle started.

Chavis turned toward her. “Have you a better idea?”

Drenelle slowly shook her head.

Chavis went on, her tone commanding, “Keepers assume battle formation—one Witch from each of the Four Disciplines, with a Water in charge. Search the island. Senna with me.”

“I’m coming with my daughter,” her mother declared.

Chavis tightened her lips but nodded. “Fine.”

Drenelle blanched. “Shouldn’t we wait till morning?”

Chavis didn’t bother responding.

Arianis glanced at the Witchlings and Apprentices before jogging forward. “Head Coyel, I can help search the island.”

Coyel answered without looking at her. “You’re still an Apprentice.”

Arianis glowered at Senna. “So is
she
.”

Senna had to stop herself from rolling her eyes. This really wasn’t the time for Arianis’ petty jealousies.

Chavis shouldered past Arianis. “Yes, but she knows where she was attacked and you do not. Now move!”

Arianis clenched her jaw and started shouting for the Apprentices and Witchlings to form up. The Apprentices locked forearms and started singing.

The area around them surged with a blast of wind. Shimmering like an aurora, a cylindrical barrier rose into the night sky. Nothing and no one could cross until the Witches released each other.

As long as the circle held, the young Witches would be safe. Unless the traitor…Senna pushed the worry away.

Chavis handed a musket to Prenny and one of the pistols to Coyel. The three women loaded the gunpowder, wad, and ball before tapping the powder into the frizzen.

Senna had just stabbed a man. Watching them load the guns made her stomach hurt. “We have our songs,” she said.

“Sometimes a musket works better than Witch song,” Chavis said.

Drenelle grabbed her lantern off the ground. “This is a bad idea. We should stay where it’s safe.”

“Douse the lantern. It will only make us targets and blind us to the night.” Chavis started forward without another word.

Drenelle pursed her lips before blowing out the light, but she didn’t put the lantern down.

Senna stared at the pistol in Coyel’s hands, her whole body loath to go back into the darkness. She listened for the music again, somehow doubting she’d ever heard it in the first place. Hollow silence echoed back to her.

When Senna made no move to follow them, Chavis turned. “Senna, you may need to show us where to go.”

The memory of being shot burned through her, and her long- since-healed arm ached anew. She could taste the gunpowder on her tongue from the night her dog, Bruke, had died saving her. She couldn’t seem to move.

Gently, her mother took her arm. “Chavis won’t shoot anyone unless she has to.”

Going back into danger went against Senna’s every instinct. Fear seemed to lift her stomach into her throat. Steeling herself, she left the lantern-lit clearing behind.

Her mother pressed herself against Senna’s side, and Senna had to admit she was grateful for her presence.

Passing other groups of searching Witches, the five Keepers hustled as fast as they dared, their hands outstretched to feel their way forward, towards the only way in or out of Haven—the underwater cave. If Senna’s attackers wanted to flee, it was the only place to go.

Etched in the side of one of the cliffs was a stone archway. Briars and thistle guarded the entrance and grew thick over the cave’s name: Velveten.

“No one’s been here,” Coyel said, her voice heavy with relief.

“Unless a Witch sang them inside.” Chavis checked the powder in her pan and half cocked her gun. “Drenelle, light your lamp.”

Senna heard the scrape of a rare match. A flame burst to life, burning afterimages into her vision—the sight of Drenelle in a chemise that practically vomited lace. The air was filled with the smell of burning sulfur. Drenelle lit the wick and twisted up the lever on her small, ridiculously ornate lamp.

As light flooded the area, Senna sighed in relief. For the first time since leaving the clearing, she could make out the other Witches’ faces instead of amorphous shapes.