“Quite true,” a heavily accented voice cracked the stillness.
Pulling Senna behind him, Joshen whirled. From the doorway, a haggard woman peered at them from under the great sag of her eyelids. Senna felt Joshen’s muscles tense, ready to flee or fight.
“Settle down, young one. No need to fear old Desni.” Her teeth were as brown as aged wood and her hair was matted with bits of leaves. Her sallow flesh seemed as transparent as onion skin. What little Senna could see of the old woman’s eyes settled on her. She moved with surprising agility to the woven mat. “Lay the little one down.”
Joshen hesitated.
The old woman didn’t look up. “Don’t let my appearance deceive you. I may be old and ugly, but I wasn’t always.”
Senna rested her hand on Joshen’s chest. “It’s alright, Joshen. This woman knows something of Witches. I recognize her plants.” One who embraced a Witch’s plants embraced the Witch. Or so she hoped.
He lingered, his body tense, before moving. His arms trembled with exhaustion as he helped her to the old woman’s bed.
Senna clenched her jaw, her whole body tight with pain as she lay down. The woman kneeled over her and pulled open her bruised eye.
“Ow!” Senna groaned.
Desni merely grunted and probed at the swollen spot on her temple. Senna forced herself to hold still, though she felt like there were shards of glass under her skin.
“Not broken. How do you feel?” Desni asked.
“Dizzy and nauseous,” Senna managed.
Desni leaned back on her haunches. “Hit her pretty hard, he did. To mess up her balance like that.”
“Her balance?” Joshen clearly didn’t understand.
Desni handed Ciara a little pail. “Get some water out back and be careful no one sees you.”
The woman grabbed a handful of leaves from the plants and disappeared outside with an armload of sticks. The whole room whirled. Senna groaned and shut her eyes again. “It’s worse when my eyes are open.”
Sloshing water announced Ciara’s return. Senna heard them working over the fire outside. She started to sweat amid the strong smell of herbs and smoke. Someone slurped.
“More itnot,” the old woman announced.
The next loud sip brought a satisfied smack of lips. “There we are!” Liquid splashed into another container. “See she drinks every drop.”
Easing her up, Joshen rested her head on his legs. “Kinda reminds me of when you nursed me back to health at Haven.”
“Hmm,” Senna managed. She smelled the tea, hot and strong. Her lips met smooth glass. She managed a small sip. The bitter liquid burned her lips. “Itnot, tabber, honey.” She sipped again. “And a few others I’m not familiar with.”
The old woman’s scratchy voice answered, “That’s because you can’t grow them in Nefalie. Too cold. But they’re used for the same thing. Just like your eye, your brain is swelling. If we can’t get the swelling down, you’ll be dead in a few hours.” Senna choked on tea then took a big gulp. The old woman went on, oblivious, “Bessil tames the hurt. Candor helps with dizziness and nausea—give that to all my expecting mothers, I do.”
Senna’s stomach suddenly rebelled at the liquid. She pushed the glass away and laid back, her face hot and sticky. She felt Joshen leaned worriedly over her. “Senna—”
She held up her index finger. “Just give me a minute.”
He sat back on his haunches. Eventually, the queasiness faded. She tried again. This time, the tea settled her stomach. Before long, she’d downed the whole glass. In barely discernible increments, the jerking of her vision steadied. The tension in her body eased. “Mush be’er,” she slurred, her tongue thick with fatigue.
“You won’t think so when the Under wears off.” She was barely cognizant of the old woman arranging boiled leaves over her eye and temple. “That will help with the swelling and bruising. Now all of you, get some rest.”
When Senna woke, it was because her dizziness had returned. Though not as bad as before, it was bad enough that a moan escaped her.
“You’ll be wantin’ some more of this,” Desni held out another jar of tea. With a whimper, Senna sat up. The soggy leaves slipped down her cheek. It was raining again. Drips fell through the tattered roof, splashing her. She gulped, not really caring that the liquid scorched her mouth.
First, her stomach eased away from the nausea. Then the room stopped whirling. Exhaustion pulled at her. She lay back, enjoying the feel of Joshen’s back pressed against hers. The last thing she remembered was Desni’s soft chuckle. “You’ll sleep the rest of the day away with as much Under as I gave you.”
When Senna woke again, she blinked and waited for the room to swirl. It held still. Tentatively, she eased to a sitting position. Desni handed her more tea. Senna looked at it suspiciously. The old woman smiled. “Don’t worry. No Under in this one.”
Senna sipped slowly, enjoying a room that held still and a stomach that didn’t revolt at the merest provocation. She swallowed the last and pulled the remnants of the mushy leaves from her face. She could see through her eye again.
Joshen came in with a load of water. “The swelling looks a lot better and the bruise is already starting to fade.”
“How long have I been asleep?” she asked.
Desni leaned in and toweled away the remaining leaves. “This is the evening of your second day.” Senna swallowed at her suddenly dry mouth. Desni took the glass from her. “If you’re well enough, it’ll be best to leave tonight.”
Senna tentatively probed the puffiness with her fingers. It certainly felt better. She looked around and sighed with relief when the room stayed put. The light filtering through the slats had softened to a grainy gray.
Desni handed her Tarten flat bread. “I’m sure you’re hungry.”
Suddenly, Senna was. She took a bite. Other than tough and hard to chew, it wasn’t bad. Better than the stuff Ciara had given them. Holding fresh leaves to her face, Senna sucked on the bread until it dissolved before she carefully swallowed. “Where will you take us now?” she asked around a mouthful.
“Well, for Ciara, it’s off to live with her brother. I’ll take you two to the edge of my land. Then, I’m afraid you’re on your own.”
“Your land!” Ciara huffed. Senna hadn’t noticed her in the corner, her knees tucked into her chest.
Desni turned slowly. “All of Espen’s forest was once mine. Mine and my daughter’s. She was Espen’s first captive. She took my home as her own.”
Ciara’s gaze fixed on the roof. “I’m sorry.”
Desni turned back to Joshen and Senna. “Nefalie wasn’t the only land blessed with Witches and it hasn’t been the only land to lose them.”
A hush crept over Senna. “So …you’re a Witch too?”
Desni harrumphed. “I’m a Wastrel. Though if anyone said it to my face, they’d find I’m meaner than a cornered constrictor.”
Senna’s brow furrowed. “I-I don’t understand.”
Desni rubbed her forehead. “I can’t sing, Senna.” Tears stood out in the old woman’s eyes. “Can’t carry a tune, tone deaf, helpless when it comes to understanding a score and a voice even the plants cringe away from.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t even know—”
“That such a thing as a Wastrel existed? Well, Senna, there’s all different levels of Witches. If you manage to free the others, you’ll find out how strong your song is soon enough.”
Absently, Senna tore off pieces of bread and stacked them in a neat little pile. Years of struggle drawing to an end. What if the end meant the last of the Keepers—of Senna. And she no longer had her seed belt … her dueling seeds. She took a deep breath and forced herself to focus on something else. “How is it you came to speak Nefalien?”
Desni smiled. “All Tarten Witches learn Nefalien so they can communicate with the Witches at Haven. I learned from my daughter. She was one of the best singers.”
“What was her name?” Ciara asked so
ftly.
“Tiena. The Dark Witch took her ten years ago.” She tossed them two packs.
Senna gaped at the pack—the same one she’d had taken from her home so long ago. Eyes wide in wonder, she pulled out her green dress, cloak and golden seed belt. Reaching into a pocket, she sifted tiny Yidd seeds through her fingers. “How … How did you get these from the soldiers?”
Desni smiled as she handed Senna a damp towel and a basin of water. “One of the maids recovered them for me.”
Senna immediately set about scrubbing off the brown paste. When she had her own skin back, she cast a look of disgust at the gaudy tunic Ciara had given her. If it was possible, it looked even worse now—ripped in numerous places and stained with blood and dirt. With a knowing smile, Joshen closed his eyes and turned his back. Senna stripped the ridiculous tunic and dropped the familiar green over her head. She sighed as the sturdy fabric settled into the curves of her body.
Desni handed Ciara a scarred tunic and a pair of practical shoes. With a look of mortification, Ciara pulled it on.
With a pleased grunt, Desni handed Senna a small bag. She pulled open the strings to find a mixture of leaves. “Drink a handful with every meal. In between, if you really need it. Gradually, you should be able to reduce your body’s demand for it.”
Taking the bag, she glanced up to see that Ciara’s face had paled her eyes fixed on something behind them. Whirling, Senna saw a man at the doorway. Joshen pulled her behind him.
Her hand up, Desni put herself between Joshen and the stranger. “This is Tren. He’ll be seeing Ciara home safely.”
Ciara stepped in front of Joshen and Senna, her eyes sad. “I’m sorry I could not do better for you both.”
“You aren’t the only one who failed her,” Joshen said softly.
Senna’s gaze darted from Joshen’s downcast face to Ciara’s. “We made it out alright, didn’t we?”
Ciara nodded a little too quickly. Tren looked her over, as if gauging her. Then he turned and disappeared. Ciara cast one last look at them before hurrying to follow.
Desni shook her head. “About time that girl fell in love.” She winked at Senna. “And Tren’s the kind of man to show her how.”
Senna felt her face flush, but the old woman had already headed for the door. She paused at the threshold. A man dressed in rags leaned in and spoke to her in Tarten.
Gently, Joshen lifted Senna’s hood over her head. “Tartens don’t have golden hair,” he said softly. Reaching down, he clasped her hand in his. Senna studied their intertwined fingers—his flesh melding with hers. Warmth spread from their touch. Despite the danger all around them, she felt safe.
The Tarten man’s gaze met Senna’s. In his eyes, she saw a mixture of sadness and hope. He nodded once before moving past the doorway. Desni motioned for the two of them to follow. “Gilden will lead us. Come. Now.”
Joshen led Senna to the door, peered both ways and eased out. Halting between the shadows of the withered huts, they followed Desni with Gilden leading a little farther on, his head swaying from side to side as he searched for danger. Another man darted out of the shadows. Senna started and gripped Joshen’s hand tight. The man merely whispered to Gilden and shot away again.
“They’re tracking the soldiers for us,” Desni whispered.
“They?” Senna wondered how many people were helping them.
A woman wandered past with a basket of linens on her head. She peered into Senna’s hood. A soft sound of surprise escaped. She bowed to Senna and rattled off something to Desni before dropping the linens and taking off at a run.
“What did she say?” Joshen demanded.
Desni didn’t pause. “That she’d follow and warn us if soldiers started trailing us.”
Senna looked back to see the woman round the bend and vanish. “I don’t understand. Why would they help us?”
Desni shook her head. “Since the Witches have gone, most of the Middlings have become Boors. Hungry people are angry people.”
Another man darted in to speak with Gilden. Senna noted the clothing hanging limply from his lean frame. So … it was the Boors who helped them. Those who had suffered the most without the Witches’ protection. Coming back to them at a run, Gilden rushed them down a side street. Senna and Joshen waited in the shadows while he checked for soldiers. After what seemed forever, he eased forward. “Cheche.”
Senna let out a tense breath and hurried after Joshen. But they hadn’t passed three houses before she recognized another of their guides darting from the shadows. He spoke in low, frantic tones and then ran off again. Gilden shoved them into the closest hut. He shut the reed door behind him and leaned against it.
Senna stared into the room. A young man stood with eyes wide, an angry crease between his brows. Behind him, a woman sat on a reed mat, her breast bare, a suckling child in her arms.
Desni whispered to the man. His gaze shot to Senna—a gaze filled with fear. He shook his head and pointed to the door.
Gilden spoke softly from behind Senna.
She wanted to scream with frustration. What was happening? What were they saying? Was he going to hand them over? At the sound of shouts, she turned to see flashes of red tunics between the reeds.
What if they found her? Wardof would kill her! And Joshen! Her head pounded and her arm ached. The Creators protect them. With a soft whimper, she gripped Joshen’s shirt in her fists and clenched her jaw to keep from sobbing.
Before any of them could react, the young father strode past them toward the door. She read the determination on his face as plain as if he’d uttered the words. She felt Joshen preparing to lunge for him. Gilden spread himself to block the door. But a soft voice from behind Senna stopped him.
The young mother stood, her back stooped in the cramped hut. She stared into Senna’s eyes and though her gaze was wild with fear, it was calm, too. Shifting her child, she spoke low.
In the same low tone, her husband argued with her, but his voice lacked the determination Senna had seen earlier.
Someone whispered through the reeds. Gilden eased the door open and peeked outside. “Cheche.”
Senna cast a look of gratitude at the mother, wishing she could give her something in return for saving them—to somehow repay her for the danger she’d willingly shouldered.
There wasn’t time. With the sounds of the soldiers fading behind them, Gilden ran.
Senna struggled to keep up. Desni’s tea had tamed her dizziness and nausea, but her head pounded with the effort. When they finally reached the last house before the city wall, she wanted nothing more than a place to lie down. With a grim nod, Gilden left them to walk toward the empty space before the wall. More men filtered from the streets to join him.
With a jolt, Senna noted the slings in their hands. She realized what they were doing. What if one of them died? Bruke’s and Lery’s deaths flashed in her mind. “No.” She started toward them.
Joshen pulled her into his chest, crushing her against him. “Don’t,” he whispered. “Not again.”
His arms engulfed her. She buried her face into his chest. Though she tried to block it out, she heard the insults thrown out. The clatter of stones from the slings. More shouts and pounding feet as the soldiers gave chase. What if they were caught? She tried not to think of it, to remember that it had been their choice. “I could’ve done it with the plants,” she whispered.
“But that would’ve brought the entire garrison down on us instead of drawing them away,” Desni said. Moving cautiously into the moonlight, the old woman searched for any sign of remaining guards. With a satisfied nod, she hurried forward and pulled aside some low brush. On the other side was a tiny hole.
Casting worried glances at the high wall, Senna and Joshen hurried to follow. Desni wiggled in and disappeared. Senna didn’t hesitate to hit her knees. Using her feet and hands, she wormed her way under the wall. One rock hung down lower than the others. She managed to get her head under it. But halfway through, it dug into he
r back, pinning her. She squirmed. It seemed to push back. She was stuck. The air left her lungs. Sweat coated her skin. The ground seemed to rise up, compressing her. She stopped, unable to catch her breath. “Senna?” Joshen whispered.
She began backing out. “I can’t, I—”
“Hurry, Senna,” he urged. “An enormous spider just crawled in after you.”
How close was it? How far had she come? Her fingernails dug into the ground as she scrambled forward. At last, she saw Desni. The old woman gripped her hands and pulled. Scrambling a safe distance from the hole, Senna lay on the ground, staring into the night sky and wishing she could go home.
She turned at a vicious grunt. Joshen’s head poked out of the hole. “My shoulders are stuck.”
“Back in and come out one arm at a time,” Desni said.
Joshen wiggled back. One arm appeared. Keeping a careful eye out for the spider, Senna took his hand and pulled while Desni pushed his broad shoulders in. The rough wall tore his shirt. Senna gasped at the sight of his blood. “Give me a minute to catch my breath,” he rasped.
Desni shook her head. “No time.” Grabbing his wrist, she heaved. He broke free, his face white.
Desni dusted off her hands. “Just like having a baby.”
Ignoring the old woman, Senna leaned over him, carefully inspecting the cuts on his shoulders. “Joshen?”
“I’m alright.” He grinned sheepishly. “Sorry about the spider.”
She rocked back on her haunches. “You lied to me?”
He pushed himself up heavily and gripped her hand. “Come on. Let’s go before those soldiers get back.”
She gave him a dirty look but kept her retort behind her teeth. She had a feeling she’d need the energy before they were through. Once inside the jungle, the three of them ran for what felt like hours. Her breath whistled through her lungs. Her lips tingled. She felt her heart pounding in her hands. Without asking, Joshen hoisted her on his back and gripped her legs around his middle.
Too tired to complain, she rested her head against his neck. “I can’t even run.”