When she’d reached the apex, the wind carried her voice over the world.
Though Espen’s curse that nature break,
I beg of thee hold thy stake.
Seasons stay in thy place,
Winds blow in pace.
Weather hold thy climes,
Plants keep thy times.
Not to break but bend.
Until at end, I bring thee mend.
She repeated the song until her throat was raw and her voice broke.
When she could sing no more, the wind hesitated, as if it loathed to part with her. She hung suspended, watching the boiling seas and raging storm settle. She looked for any sign of a struggling ship, some proof she wasn’t completely alone, but the sea was empty.
She wished she could stop the storm. Although the strength of her songs had grown, Espen was much stronger. But as long as the other Witches resisted, Espen couldn’t have total control.
The wind set Senna gently down.
Thank thee wind, for heading my call.
For holding strong so I did not fall.
She waited as it faded, caressing her face one last time before retreating and leaving her alone with the ever-constant thunder and rain.
She pursed her lips. She’d fought this battle many times over the past year. She always lost, but for the little good she managed.
She walked back to her tree house slowly, the weight of the decision that had pressed upon her for the last few months feeling oppressively heavy. She’d skimmed nearly every book in the library. She hadn’t found the solution. But if the answer wasn’t there, then where?
As she walked, she felt a presence behind her. But that was impossible. Nothing and no one could enter the island unless they could sing the Dawn Song. Still, Senna paused at the door of her tree. Unable to help herself, she turned around.
The clouds were slowly being blotted out. Like a shroud being pulled by an unnatural hand, a fog scuttled over the cliffs that surrounded her home and crawled steadily forward. Though she wanted to, she didn’t flinch as it encased her, clinging to her like scum on a pond’s surface. She cringed as she took her first breath of it.
“Dark Witch sends vapors. Chokes out light, kills plants and then animals,” Pogg said darkly from behind her.
Senna looked at him and then at Bruke, who was standing at the bottom of the stairs. He snuffed the air with his sensitive nose. A low growl rumbled in his chest.
Senna shut the door and rested her head against the solid frame. “It appears Espen has made my decision for me.”
14. REUNION
Joshen squinted at the lifeless sails. Rivulets of moisture ran down the sides of his face, stinging his eyes. He wiped them with a damp sleeve. When the fog first rolled in, he’d simply been grateful the storm had left them all alive. But after three days of no wind, he’d come to realize the endless grayness might simply be a slower death.
A voice out of the fog startled him. “Makes me right uneasy.” Joshen turned as Lery, the one with the crooked teeth, settled next to him on the rail. “You hear that?”
Joshen walked to his side. “Hear what?”
Lery shook his dark head; scattering water from his braided, beaded hair like a dog shaking after a bath. “Nothing. Not even the splash of waves against the ship.”
He was right. The ship was as still as if she were moored. Not a breath of wind stirred the surface of the water.
“I’ve never seen it so still,” Joshen admitted. They might have sailed by compass and found their way out, but not without wind. A look over the edge of the ship revealed glasslike water. Joshen mustered as much confidence in his voice as he could manage. “Cap’n Parknel says he’s had bad fogs. And they always break.”
Lery spit into the void. “Not like this, we ain’t. Came rollin’ in like thunderheads. Somethin’ pushed that fog in. Mark my words.”
Joshen saw the hunted look plain in the other man’s dark-skinned face. The same look the other sailors had—hardened sailors who had been about the sea far longer than Joshen. And he’d never known them to show fear that wasn’t warranted.
Lery shifted his pipe. What with the fog, the tobacco was too damp to light, so he’d simply been chewing on the stem.
Joshen glared into the blasted fog. He liked the sea alright, but he missed his horses. He missed his family. He leaned into the rail. Could he tell Senna goodbye? Give up and go home when he knew how much she would face alone. Almost, he could hear her sweet voice again.
Today, the song in his mind sounded clearer than ever. As he always did, Joshen strained to understand the foreign words. His head jerked up. He could swear he actually heard a Witch song. He leaned as far as he dared over the rails. “Do you hear that?”
A burst of cold air hit him solidly in the face.
“Get this ship tacked into that wind!” Captain Parknel shouted.
Lery ran toward the pulleys. Still straining to listen, Joshen hesitated, but he couldn’t hear anything over the sailors’ shouts.
“Joshen!” Lery yelled.
Running to the other men, Joshen tugged at the pulleys.
The fog thinned. Light filtered in. As he worked, he listened for snatches of song. Then, over the shouts on deck and the hiss of the wind in his ears, Joshen heard it again—clear enough he could make out distinct words. He straightened, his eyes wide.
“Joshen! Don’t just stand there! Move!”
“Witch song,” he whispered, but somehow, every sailor on the ship seemed to hear it. They froze in place, fear obvious in their rigidness.
“It’s Espen. Has to be,” Lery cursed under his breath.
“To arms!” Parknel whispered fiercely as he ran to his quarters. Quick as a spark, he started handing out muskets.
A weapon was thrust into Joshen’s arms. He stared dumbly at it. “No,” he said to Captain Parknel. “It might be Senna.”
The Captain didn’t even pause. “Senna wouldn’t bring in this fog, boy. It’s Espen. Here to see the last of the sea rider’s corpses coating the bottom of the ocean. Now move!”
The Captain had to be right. It was too much of a coincidence for another Witch to show up within days of this fog. Half numb, Joshen followed the others to the poop deck. Ripping open the wadding with his teeth, he punched his ball down, filled the pan and slapped the frizzen shut. He could only hope the powder hadn’t become too damp. All around him, men aimed their muskets toward the beautiful sound.
“But what if it is her?” Joshen asked Captain Parknel.
The Captain pressed his lips together. “Only on my mark,” he commanded and the order rippled down the line of sailors.
Joshen held his fire, the weight of the musket straining his shoulders. Beads of sweat joined the moisture rolling down his face.
“The fog’s thinning,” Lery warned from his left side. “If Espen sees us, we’re as good as dead.”
Suddenly, the slight breeze gusted to life, shifting Joshen’s hair back from his forehead. Gooseflesh pricked under his clothes. He shivered.
“There!” Lery whispered.
Joshen squinted. An outline. Someone standing in a small boat. He felt the tension of the men beside him. Ready to fire, but all hesitated, unwilling to move without the Captain’s order. For a split second, Joshen wondered if he could end a song of such beauty. Even if it was Espen’s.
He saw a face set against a dark cloak. Wisps of blonde hair, wavy from the moist air, fell across her breast. Her lips were full. She was dressed like the Witches, dark green cloak with a lighter green dress. An enormous wolfhound stood at her feet. His eyes widened. It had to be her! It must be her! “Stand down!” he shouted as he leaped to his feet. He glared at the other men, daring them to challenge him. “Stand down!”
Captain Parknel lowered his musket. “You sure, Joshen?”
“It’s not Espen! It’s Senna! Lower your weapons!”
In an instant, all the muskets lowered. As the last song faded away, Joshen gulped at
what he’d almost done.
“Come up, lady,” Captain Parknel called down to her. As Senna climbed the rungs, the Captain turned to the sailors. “Pull up her boat.”
“How’d she move the boat?” Lery cried.
Senna took the Captain’s hand and hopped onto the ship. A thrill ran through Joshen at the sight of her. “She’s a Witch,” he said automatically.
Senna’s eyes widened at the sound of his voice. The color draining from her face, she slowly turned her gaze to him. “Joshen?” she said, as if not quite believing it. “You didn’t leave?”
He could barely breathe. “No.”
They stared at each other a long time. He wanted to pull her into his arms. He wanted to push her overboard. But like a fool, he stood frozen with indecision.
Senna blinked a few times, took a deep breath and turned to Captain Parknel. “I need passage on a ship.”
Captain Parknel stroked his beard. “And the destination?”
Joshen wanted to shout at the man, “It doesn’t matter where she wants to go. We have to take her!”
She squared her shoulders. “Southeast. Into Tarten.”
Except, there, Joshen thought. “Into Tarten? Their Chancellors worship war, Senna. It’s not safe.” He clenched his fist, starting to wish he’d thrown her overboard.
She completely ignored him. “I know it’s a dangerous passage, but you could put me ashore far from any towns. I can pay you and keep this ship safe from the storms. Will you help me?”
Captain Parknel smiled. “Even without the money or the offer of safety, we’d help you.”
She cocked her head in disbelief, but eventually nodded. “Good. I’ll sing for another wind. Ready the ship.”
Without waiting for the Captain’s order, the sailors scurried into action, their sullen mood forgotten. Some even mumbled old sea chanteys about fish jumping after drawn nets and mermaids dancing on the waves.
Senna smiled tentatively at Joshen. “The mermaids of legend were actually Mettlemots and I doubt any of these men would care to see them dance on the waves.”
Even when she wasn’t singing, her voice was musical. It sent shivers down his shoulders. Joshen grunted at the thought of Pogg dancing—his greenish skin, pointed teeth and webbed fingers. “Where is he, anyway?”
The smile faded from her like a wilted flower. She turned her back to him. “He consented to accompany me until this ship agreed to help. Then he turned back.”
Joshen was surprised by her obvious fondness for the creature. “I’m sorry.”
Senna wiped a tear that had strayed down her cheek. “It’s for the best. Where we’re going, he’d be of no use.” She nodded to herself, as if that were the end of it. “I’ll clear the way.” She headed for the bow, Bruke glued protectively to her side. As Joshen hurried to help the others, she sang again, the mystifying words making him smell and hear the wind long before it actually filled the sails. It came in strong, clearing the fog before their eyes.
When they reached the harbor, many worried townspeople met the ship. Had they seen any other ships? Was it this bad farther in?
From a distance, Joshen watched as Senna stumbled toward Captain Parknel. “If I had my Keepers with me, we could banish this fog—help the other ships come in. As it is, I can barely thin it. I’m sorry.”
The Captain’s brow creased. “It drains you. Singing, I mean. I can see it.”
She turned away. When she saw Joshen watching her, she stiffened and quickly turned back to Captain Parknel. “Singing for hours on end would drain anyone. It weakens my voice. And the weaker my voice, the weaker my songs.”
“You should sleep.”
She shrugged.
Captain Parknel pursed his lips. “I’ll be out most of the night getting us outfitted. You can take my quarters.” The Captain looked around, saw Joshen staring at them and nodded toward him. “Joshen’ll go get your horses.”
Senna turned to him, her eyes lighting up. “You kept Knight?”
Warmth spread through Joshen. He tried to force it down. “And Stretch.”
“Thank you.”
Refusing to look at her, he shrugged. “Thanks for the tailwinds.”
She tipped her head in tired acknowledgement. “The least I could do.”
15. SEA WITCH
Gradually, the scent from Joshen’s borrowed blanket overpowered Senna’s exhaustion. Opening her eyes, she breathed deep. She thought of the things she’d wanted to say last night. But he’d refused to look at her and his face had remained hard and uncaring. She couldn’t help but wonder if her decision over a year ago had cost her only friend.
With a sigh, Senna took in the room. Nearly every available inch was packed with map scrolls or cases. She threw Joshen’s blanket over her cotton shift and went to the window. Sure enough, she could see Pogg, just below the water, watching her forlornly.
It wasn’t until leaving Haven that she realized how fond the creature had grown of her. The last of the Witches. As he was the last of the Mettlemots. She pressed her hand against the glass. “Go back,” she mouthed. The thought of Haven completely abandoned made her stomach feel hollow.
A knock sounded behind Senna. Without thought, she said, “Enter.” When no one said anything, she turned to see Joshen’s surprised face.
He blushed and quickly looked away. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” Senna looked back over the water, but Pogg was gone. She stepped away from the glass, watching as the moist outline of her hand faded. She tried to see past the impenetrable fog. “Did you need something, Joshen?” If he could be cold, so could she.
“I, uh—I just came to get some of Cap’n’s things.”
Setting down his blanket, she turned, searching for her pack. “That’s not necessary. I don’t expect the Captain to give up his cabin for me.”
Joshen stuck his hands in his pockets. “No. Cap’n says you stay here. He’ll sleep below decks with the rest of us.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “No. I couldn’t—”
“Would you rather sleep with a bunch of men?” Joshen interrupted. “You’d have no privacy and neither would they. Come on, Senna, they’d be as uncomfortable with the situation as you would.”
He was right. Looking out the window, she rubbed her forehead. Espen unraveling centuries of songs felt like abrasive on her already frayed nerves. “I can feel her influence stronger here. Like the aftertaste of a bad meal. Something about Haven must resist her songs more than most places.” When he didn’t respond, she felt the need to fill in the silence—an urge she’d never experienced around Joshen before. “I hope I’m as ready as I need to be.”
“You will be.”
He said it with such simplicity. A fact—not yet fulfilled. He had faith in her and he’d stayed. She suddenly felt ashamed. He deserved so much more than she’d given him. “Do you still wish to be a Guardian?”
“Yes,” he breathed.
“And you understand the mark can be turned to a poison, should you betray your trust?”
“My father said as much in one of his letters.”
She heard him coming closer. She felt his breath on her bare neck and shivered. “Yet still you wish it?”
“Yes.”
She wondered if his firm answer came from of a need to protect her or his own ambition … and why the answer mattered so much. She shook her head. He’d earned the right, regardless.
Turning around, she found his proximity disarming. Close enough she could feel the heat from his body, smell him … Even after all this time, he still smelled like horses.
Hurriedly, she reached for her bag and held a glass bottle filled with a pale, waxy substance between them. “A Witch’s lips gather power from her songs, amplifying the strength of her potions.”
She applied the substance to her lips, which had the added bonus of making them shine and rubbed it in. Pulling at his arm, she sang.
Guardian of Keepers and Witch friend decree,
> But if thou betrayest, a poison be.
While she slowly rolled his sleeve, she repeated the song softly. Her lips tingled with energy as her song activated the potion. Before he could ask what she was doing, she pressed them against the skin of his forearm, leaving a perfect green imprint.
“It tingles,” he breathed heavily.
Senna nodded. “It’s going to feel cold. Hold still.” She blew on the mark. It coalesced until it formed a perfect sphere. Senna leaned back and smiled. “There, now you’re a Guardian.”
Joshen fingered the raised ridges of the mark. “Thank you.”
Why wouldn’t he meet her gaze? After all, she’d given him what he wanted. She shrugged as she released his arm. “You deserve it.”
He glanced at her before turning away, his knuckles bleached white as he gripped the empty leather bag in his hands. “Senna, could you put your dress on?”
She quickly looked away. Was that what bothered him? Her exposed skin? Humiliated, she dropped her dress over her head and secured it.
He immediately relaxed.
If Joshen couldn’t even stand to look at her bare arms … Searching for something, anything, to take her mind off her shame, she unpacked the other things she’d brought from Haven. A dagger with markings of the Witches—sun rays, mountains, waves and leaves—etched on the ivory hilt and steel blade.
“It’s beautiful,” Joshen said as he shoved Captain Parknel’s things in the bag.
If he was making conversation, maybe that meant he’d eventually forgive her. Senna ran her hands along the dagger’s markings. “One thing I quickly learned is that all Witches are rich. Unless, like my mother, they choose not to be.”
She felt his gaze on her. “You know we’re going to find them, right, Senna?”
Tears sprang into her eyes. “If I’m strong enough.” She could see by his expression he didn’t understand. But she didn’t feel like elaborating. She didn’t feel like telling him that their entire journey would end with Senna pitted against a much wiser and more powerful Witch—a Witch who had toppled every other Witch in existence. The odds were as overwhelming as a guppy pitted against a shark. But she had to try. She couldn’t hide on the island forever.