Witch Born (37 page)

Terror tore through Senna, caging her voice inside her throat. Not that it mattered—Chavis’ bullet would stop her heart long before any song took effect.

Chavis must have seen the understanding dawn on Senna’s face. “It’s not what you think. When I first read the records, I realized what monsters we had become. Espen had the power to control us—to rein us in. So I worked for her, helping her from the inside.”

“Why are you telling me this? Why not just shoot me?”

Something in Senna’s gaze must have betrayed her disgust, for Chavis’ face tightened. “I want you to know that I wouldn’t kill you unless I had no other choice. I was out looking for you when you found Espen. She thought she could out-sing you. Pride always was her downfall.”

“My mother and the others always claimed the traitor had been killed. Did you murder her, Chavis? Did you kill an innocent woman?”

Chavis’ face registered no emotion. “No. I just made her look guilty after she was already dead.”

“And what about Caldash?”

She shrugged as if it didn’t matter anymore. “They found me, but you had to ruin that, too.”

Senna shook her head, desperate now in a way she hadn’t been just moments ago. “Traitor.” She put all the venom she could in the word.

Chavis grunted. “Caldash will do a better job of controlling the world—you know it as well as I. Besides, they’re stronger than us, especially with Tarten behind them. There was no way we could win this war. But if we surrender quickly, with few casualties, and are grafted to Caldash, we can overthrow the Tartens. It is better this way.”

Senna hated that Chavis’ words made a sick kind of sense. Caldash would do a better job. They were more cohesive, less corrupted. They didn’t discriminate against Wastrels, instead making a place for them. The power of ruling was spread between the Heads, the Orders, and the Composer, each group checking the others. And they had learned to live in cohesion with the rest of the world, something Haven hadn’t managed in centuries.

“There won’t be any prisoners,” Senna said. “Grendi doesn’t care if every soldier she has dies. She’s bent on revenge.”

Chavis frowned. “That can’t be true.”

“You underestimated Tarten.”

It was obvious Chavis didn’t believe her. “I really hate to do this, but as I’ve told you many times before, casualties are a part of war.”

Senna kept her eyes wide open. She wanted Chavis to see the life draining from them, wanted the image to haunt her for the rest of her life.

Chavis took careful aim. Musket fire cracked. Senna held her breath, waiting for the pain to envelop her, for the world to go dark. Instead, Chavis’ face contorted and she pitched forward.

Bewildered, Senna released her pent-up breath. Then she looked past the Head and saw Arianis a little way off, black powder smoke drifting from her pistol as she watched Chavis die. “That ball wasn’t meant for her. It was for the Tartens.”

Senna struggled to her feet, wanting to shield Arianis from the curse she’d wished for Chavis. Using her shoulder, she propelled Arianis away from the sight of Chavis in her death throes.

Arianis was white-faced and eerily calm. She looked at Senna, pulled a knife from her seed belt, and began cutting the rope from her hands. “I hated you, Senna. You had everything I ever wanted, everything that was always meant to be mine. And you didn’t even want it—I think I loathed you the most for that.” Arianis stared unseeing at the knife gripped in her wet hand. “I wanted you to know how it felt, so I tried to take Joshen.”

Senna turned at the sound of Witches calling the wind down on the cliffs. It had begun, and she had her own part to play. “For what it’s worth, thank you for saving my life.” She started back toward the Ring of Power.

Arianis reached out and gripped her hand. “Just so you know, it didn’t work. No matter how hard I tried, he only wanted you.”

Senna stiffened. “It doesn’t matter. Joshen is dead.”

Arianis covered her mouth with her hand. Unwilling to hear any words of pity, Senna fled, stumbling through the landscape that was seared into her pupils every time lightning shot to the ground.

Her borrowed cloak was so heavy with water it tripped up her feet, so she tore it off. She was drenched anyway. Lightning stabbed at the edge of the cliff, and Witches fell screaming from the rim.

Senna reached the Ring of Power, her heart pounding as if it was trying to escape death by beating out of her chest. Lightning flashed so bright that the world went dark. She screamed in terror, but the sound of the bolt was so loud she couldn’t hear her own voice.

When she opened her eyes, a black spot singed the ground not far from her. It smelled of wet and burning. Shaking, she stumbled to the center of the Ring. She tipped back her head and sang.

Wind lift me high,

That my words reach to’rds the sky.

The wind grew stronger than she’d ever felt it before. It snatched her so swiftly it knocked the breath from her. She shot upward, rain dripping from her body, into the turmoil of clouds and lightning. The crackle of electricity lifted the tiny hairs on her arms. She sent a prayer for the Creators to keep the lightning at bay.

Still singing, she looked below. Behind the Guardians, the Witches were using the wind to drive the invaders back. The Guardians in the front line fought with bayonets. No one used muskets—the rain must have rendered the powder useless. But they were losing ground instead of gaining it.

Senna took a deep breath, and her song grabbed a current of wind. She hurtled it like a spear. It struck the Tartens with such force it threw them back, but it also hit Haven’s Witches. They stumbled and collapsed to keep from being driven off the cliff’s edge.

Senna used all her concentration to try to shrink the wind to a precise stream, but it was like channeling a river through a funnel. The wind lost nearly all of its power. The Tartens struggled to their feet and started forward again.

Haven’s Witches rallied, calling forth their own protective barrier of wind. Without the worry of harming her own Witches, Senna redoubled her efforts, and the gale slammed into the Tartens with enough force to drive them from the cliff, plunging them into the churning waters.

The songs around her shifted. The lightning gathered into a tremendous strike against her. She wrestled control from the Caldash Witches and twisted the bolt down onto them, hitting a ship square on. Though soaked, it erupted into flames. Their bodies alight, men dove into the water.

And in that moment, the tide of the battle shifted into Senna’s hands. The truth of it was undeniable to Tarten, Caldashan, and Haven alike. It made Senna sick.

Looking away from the battle, she reminded the wind to keep her afloat and redirected her song at the last of the Tartens clinging to the edge of the cliffs.

She listened to the storm and changed the song slightly, enough so hail rained down in white sheets upon the ships and Tartens. Men ran for cover or fell screaming into the sea. Not a single hailstone fell upon the island.

Haven’s Witches spread out with the Guardians behind them. Below Senna’s dangling feet, the barrier swelled between the Witches’ outstretched hands like ice freezing across a pond, until it encompassed the island.

The Witches started their song. Power poured into Senna until her fingertips tingled. Closing her eyes, she drew upon the strength of the Four Sisters. The might of the sea, the richness of the earth, the blinding brightness of the sun, the force of the winds. Before, that much energy would have overwhelmed her after a few songs, but now she soaked it in like cracked earth soaks in rain.

Songs rose up from the Caldash Witches as they tried to wrest the control of the songs away from Senna. But they were like raindrops attacking the sea—she just absorbed their power into her vast reservoirs. She waited as it filled her, listening to the songs around her. When the time came, she needed to know the exact melody and words to shift Haven.

She could hold more song, but she sensed she had enough to move the island and more. There had been enough violence, enough death, for one day. With a few soothing words, she calmed the sea and the storm. Hesitantly, those on the ships left shelter and stepped onto the decks. A few more moments, and sailors and soldiers poured from the holds. Senna pressed a gentle wind against the ships, pushing them back to safety.

But the Tartens and Caldashans stubbornly tied up their sails and threw anchor.

So be it.

Her voice rang across the island and sea like the clearest bells. Sailors on the ships dropped to their knees. Some threw down their weapons.

Senna’s heart sang with hope. But then the men’s commanders started shooting those who resisted. Senna cried out in horror. More men dropped to their knees or threw their weapons into the sea. And more of them died. The cannons started firing modified anchors again.

Tears streaming down her face at what she was about to do, she sang.

Haven, raise thy stakes.

Winds, a path to make.

Earth, compact thy soil.

Plants, thy roots uncoil.

Waters, thy waves divide.

Take us to a home we can abide.

The barrier began to twist around the island, slowly at first, then faster and faster until everything was a blur of color and motion. Senna pulled the barrier in until it fit snugly against the cliffs, sheering off some of the rough edges, making them smooth as glass. Senna finally understood why the island had always been such an unnaturally perfect circle.

But she was not within it. The song to move the island only worked from the outside. And when it was gone, she would remain behind with nothing waiting below her but chaos.

She sang again, and the world grew brighter. She blinked against the blinding light coming from below. Confused, she held out her hands to shield her eyes, only to find they were the source.

She gaped as strange filigrees of light, like honey with glittering bits of sugar, swirled from her skin. As the song within her grew, so did the lights—almost as if the songs were spilling from her. She looked out. Witches and Tartens alike had paused in their fighting. All of them were turned toward her.

The ships stopped firing at the cliffs. The commanders stopped shouting orders. The world held its breath.

“Brusenna!”

In the stillness, someone called her name from the ships. She searched among them until she saw a knot of Tartens. Grendi stood in the front, her beautiful dress torn and her hair hanging in limp knots. In her stance, Senna saw defeat. Grendi had lost, and she knew it. Knew she was going to die.

“I’ve won.” Senna’s words came out as a song.

At a gesture from Grendi, the soldiers behind her thrust two men forward. Senna squinted at them.

Grendi grabbed handfuls of their hair and pulled their heads back. They were bloody and beaten, so bruised and swollen they were nearly unrecognizable as men.

But then one of them locked gazes with Senna. He was too far away to make out details like the gray color of his eyes, or the way his skin wrinkled when he smiled. But she knew the way he moved like she knew the melody of the wind.

Joshen. And beside him must be Reden. They were alive!

Grendi had to scream to be heard. “You move the island and they’ll die with us.”

Senna shook her head. When she’d faced Espen so long ago, she’d declared that if she had to choose between the world and Joshen, she would choose Joshen.

She looked down at Haven, at the Witches who were still singing to keep the barrier intact. They would all die if she let it go.

Her gaze found Joshen again.

“They’ll kill me anyway!” he shouted.

One of the Tartens cuffed him.

Senna cried out. Either way she chose, people she loved would die. Joshen had all of her courage and none of her powers. He’d risked everything, suffered so much. He had more heart, more bravery than she did.

She searched for a familiar face on the ships, but she couldn’t find Krissin. Her heart wringing inside her, she cried out, “This is what your Composer has aligned herself with? This is the choice you force upon me?”

A shudder convulsed through her. The wind grew weaker. She sang softly, strengthening it. When she looked up, she knew what she had to do. She had to have as much courage as Joshen.

In the space of a blink, angry gray clouds boiled in the sky. Senna hurled down a barrage of lightning, striking Grendi’s ship and the soldiers on it.

Joshen and Reden rolled away from their captors. Reden swept up a sword from a fallen soldier. They limped to the other side of the ship, where Joshen worked at their bonds. The ship exploded beneath them as the fire reached the gunpowder. A wave swept them off the burning ship.

Senna bit her knuckle as she watched them, so small and helpless against the might of the freezing waters. And then she saw a boat moving toward them. Inside was a small girl with dark hair. Mistin.

Perhaps she was Senna’s friend after all. But even as Mistin reached out an arm to the Guardians, Senna knew it was futile. When the island disappeared, a wave would rise up. All the ships would be swallowed by the raging sea. She hadn’t saved them. She’d only delayed their deaths.

Always serve the higher law. Reden had told her that. Choose what is hardest now, but better in the long run. Closing her eyes tight, Senna turned away.
As brave as Joshen,
she mouthed to herself.
As brave as Reden.
She concentrated on the barrier. The Haven Witches hadn’t stopped singing since they’d created it. It was strong enough now. Her song changed.

Haven, raise thy stakes.

Winds, a path to make.

Earth, compact thy soil.

Plants, thy roots uncoil.

Waters, thy waves divide.

Take us to a home we can abide.

The light that had gathered under her skin shot out, striking the barrier, which flashed with such brilliance she had to shield her eyes. When she looked back down, there was only a gaping, concave hole. Her skin no longer glowed. Her voice felt broken.

A great wall of water trembled, hesitating as if feeling for the walls that were no longer there. Then it rushed forward with a roar, dragging the unfortunate ships with it. And she was in the epicenter. She realized the water would reach the heart and explode upward, toward her.