Grendi’s pinched expression transferred to Senna; the woman was obviously unused to anyone questioning her authority. “I am a leader, a protector. You are a meddler.”
“Your words are a justification for your cruelty,” Coyel said.
Senna saw it now. Grendi was mad. Her thoughts were a poison spreading like dye leeching into white cloth. The realization came upon her suddenly and the other Witches felt it, too: Espen was not their greatest enemy. She was merely a pawn.
Coyel’s voice was solemn, pierced with sorrow and strength, “Then the Witches declare war upon the land of Tarten! Let all who oppose us shudder in fear and beg forgiveness before the end.” She transferred control of the circle to Chavis. With the speed of their desperateness, the Witches quickly formed a circle. Grendi and the Chancellors beckoned to more than two dozen soldiers who ran to break them up.
Senna’s bonds wouldn’t allow her to grasp the others’ forearms, but she was able to huddle next to Tiena and Coyel, their shoulders touching. Even as her lips opened, Senna felt strong arms around her, hauling her back. Bracing herself, she sang all the more desperately and the shield responded, springing to life and hurling the soldiers back.
Chavis was right. The room was wrong, stone instead of plants and square instead of circular. It diminished the circle’s power. But the Witches’ numbers made up for the faulty design—besides, utter desolation and near destruction were kin enough.
The Witches’ song began—a song Senna was surprised had ever been written down. The melody was beautiful, intoxicating—like a poisonous flower. But the words—more chant than song—raised goose flesh on her arms and sent her whole body shuddering,
We, Keepers of the Earth, withdraw.
We speak to the First Sister:
Soil harden thy crusts,
Let no sickle or seedling enter thus.
We speak to the Second Sister:
Water seal thy clouds and hide thy rain,
Let not a drop fall upon the plains.
We speak to the Third Sister:
Plants hide up thy fruit,
Seeds to wither and refuse to root.
We speak to the Fourth Sister:
Sun, bake the mud, scorch the lands,
Death to follow at every hand.
Only one check we ask of thee,
Not forever, but until we revoke our curse decree.
The song ended and four ribbons of color—blue, green, brown and gold—arched upward like an oddly hued rainbow. They were beautiful, surreal and more deadly than a bolt of lightning. The bands segregated, each leaping from a high, slanted window.
Slowly the power of the song faded and the barrier began to shimmer, but the Witches shored it up again. Their song fell into humming; keeping the shield took far less song than creating it.
Senna hung her head in shame. She wasn’t the only one. How many had they condemned to death? Certainly far more Boors than Class. She searched the circle and found her mother to her left, about twenty Witches down. Senna read her expression as easily as the printed words on her journal. Would this act seal their fate and the fate of an entire nation?
Chavis began another song and the other Witches joined in.
Oh wind, to Nefalie carry our song,
For the ears of her people must hear for long.
The vibrations from the Witches’ throats swirled, gathering strength and power as it twisted in a slow moving whirlwind. Had there been a channeler, the wind would have carried her up. As it was, it did little more than tug at all of them like the wind trying to rouse a bird from its roost.
“We must be in perfect harmony,” Drenelle warned. “If not, the message will be garbled beyond recognition.” When the wind had the required velocity, the Witches’ song changed into their message.
Tarten holds the Witches captive,
Forbidden to sing or leave or live!
Awake Nefalie and for the Witches fight,
Or all the goodness of the Earth turns to blight.
Senna felt sure it worked. Even to her own sensitive ears, their song was so harmonious she could have sworn it came from one voice.
The wind snatched the last of their words and barreled from the room like the gale of a hurricane. The Witches began again, this time sending their cry to the people of Tarten. But a good many of the Witches didn’t speak Tarten; only half as many voices joined in that song. It would have to be enough.
The barrier shimmered. Senna looked outside of the circle for the first time since they’d begun. A soldier’s broken body lay atop one of the Chancellor’s chairs. Beneath him, Chancellor Netis lay dead, his head badly misshapen. The soldier must have been hurled with enough force to shatter his skull.
“As long as we keep the circle, none can touch us,” Drenelle said.
Yes, but how long can we hold on, Senna wondered. If even one Witch broke contact, the barrier would dissipate. The move had bought them time, but how much?
Grendi’s face was deathly pale. As she met Senna’s gaze, her face blotched red with rage. Her voice cracked like brittle leaves, “Shoot them all!”
Reden stepped between the Chancellor and the Witches. “Chancellor, you don’t know what firing into that thing will do.”
She held up her hand to silence him.
He ignored it. “Let one man try it first. There’s no need to risk more. Those Witches aren’t going anywhere.”
She shoved him aside. “Not another word or I’ll have your tongue cut out!”
With a shake of his head, Reden stepped behind the dead Chancellor’s chair.
A grim line of soldiers formed before Grendi. Senna watched as a soldier across from her loaded his musket. Sweat trickled down her face. She felt stiflingly hot—as if the air were too thick to breathe. The man seemed to move in slow motion as he rammed the ball home. He filled the pan, shut the frizzen and trained the barrel on her. She looked into the dark abyss of the barrel.
Do not break contact! Chavis warned. If anyone moves, the balls will break through and we’ll die.
But had the shield’s strength been tested against musket fire?
Oh, Joshen! her mind cried. I don’t want to die! Unable to watch death come for her, she clenched her eyes shut.
“Fire,” Grendi shouted.
Even with the warning, Senna couldn’t help but jump as the report sounded.
A repercussion. Screams of pain. But Senna felt nothing. The man must have missed her. Tensed to run, she opened her eyes. What she saw stopped her cold. The soldiers lay on the ground, blood gushing from their wounds.
The barrier had more than held. It had sent back all the balls.
A nearly uncontrollable urge to help overwhelmed her, but she knew she couldn’t. Knew to do so would only lead to her death. Senna felt dizzy and realized she’d been holding her breath. She forced the air from her lungs and inhaled quickly. Using her shoulder, she wiped the sweat from her brow, being careful not to break contact with Tiena or Coyel.
Reden seized Grendi’s arm. “Why didn’t you listen?”
She jerked from his grip. “I’ve given you enough soldiers to spare a dozen.” She glanced around in disgust and shouted to a nearby servant, “I want this mess cleaned up before my return.”
His fists clenched at his sides, Reden watched her storm from the room, the other Chancellors in tow.
“Perhaps the sight of so much blood bothers her,” Prenny said darkly. “Especially since she caused it.”
Reden started shouting orders. Senna felt a surge of pity for him. “Reden,” she called. His eyes flicked to her. “If you bring us our seeds and some dirt, we’ll grow healing herbs for them.”
He froze and stared at her in bewilderment.
“We will?” Chavis asked.
Prenny kicked her. “Of course we will!”
Coyel looked at Drenelle, who had gone deathly pale. “Do what you wish,” she said.
Coyel nodded with finality. “Yes. We’ll help.”
“They just tried to kill you,” he said cautiously. “How do I know you won’t poison them?”
Senna rolled her eyes heavenward in exasperation—Reden seemed to have that affect on her. “Because we aren’t murderers!” She made no attempt to keep the accusation from her voice.
He debated before grabbing a soldier by the collar and speaking softly. The man shot the Witches a dubious glance before moving to obey. After women healers bound the wounds, other soldiers began moving them out on long stretchers. Still, Reden didn’t approach the circle. Servants came after them, wiping up blood, vomit and feces.
Senna refused to watch. Her head felt light and her stomach on the verge of rebellion. It could have been her, her mother, any of them … but the thought did little to ease her abhorrence.
When the last soldier had left, Reden ordered all the remaining servants out, though a few protested about leaving before their jobs were finished. When the room was empty, he placed an enormous, soil-filled pot beside the circle. “If you try anything, I’ll see you regret it.” He held a couple seed belts. She breathed a sigh of relief. He’d listened.
Prenny told him which seeds to use. Senna began to sing. The song was as gentle as a lullaby, the sound itself a healing balm. The pot blossomed green. When she stopped, she looked at Reden. Something monumental had changed. He stared at her as if he finally understood something profound. “Our foe cares more for my men than our own Chancellor. You’ve never been the enemy. All this time, it’s been Grendi.”
“Will you help us?” Senna asked.
He stroked his musket with his thumb. “What would you have me do?”
“What can you do?”
He looked away. “My officers wouldn’t support me if I tried to usurp Grendi. They’re too afraid.”
She exchanged glances with Coyel. Go on. He seems to have an affinity for you.
Senna inwardly cringed. Everyone was looking at her. Listening to her. Wouldn’t someone else be better?
He trusts you.
She had to repress a sigh. Her Keepers still needed her. And as long as they did, she’d help them. “Can you get us out of here?”
The muscles of his jaw bulged. “Perhaps two, at the most three. But certainly not all of you.”
“It’s all or none,” Senna replied.
“I’m sorry, but the whole army is guarding the State Building.”
Chavis shrugged helplessly. “Then we must destroy the city.”
The Witches set their mouths in tight lines.
“We are not killers!” Prenny cried.
Senna tried to force her tired mind to think. How could they destroy the city without killing? And then she knew. “Can you clear the city? Get everyone out?”
He mulled it over. “The civilians, yes. But not the soldiers.”
Chavis nodded. “See it’s done. By morning, there won’t be one stone sitting atop another.”
Reden shook his head. “I’m not letting you kill my men.”
Senna bit her lip. “Reden, you don’t understand. If we die, there will be nothing to break the curse. Nothing to change the seasons, call in the storms … It’s not just your soldiers who will die—your entire country, the whole world—will die.”
Reden did not gape. Senna didn’t think he ever would. But he’d automatically moved into a defensive stance. Slowly, he deflated.
“Our capitol, our beautiful city.” But he departed at a jog.
After he left, Senna and the others began another Calling Song. There were others they needed to speak to—Joshen and Captain Parknel.
33. MESSAGE
Stretch leaped over a fallen tree and hit the ground at a dead run. Foaming sweat ran down his shoulders and dripped from his belly. Judging by his breathing, his lungs were burning. By the time they finally left the trail and hit the sand, the animal’s legs trembled like they might collapse at any moment. Joshen knew if he did, the horse would likely never get up again.
His heart wrenched with every stride he pushed from the horse. He would die running if Joshen asked him to, because the animal loved him. But Joshen felt Senna’s danger. He had to hurry. Even if he had to run Stretch to death to save her.
Joshen rounded a patch of trees and his whole body sighed in relief. Parknel’s ship was anchored not far from shore; fresh patches of new wood stood out against the black paint of the old. Barren stumps lined the shore, where swirling sawdust mixed with loose sand. It appeared all the fruit-bearing trees had been lightened of their load; Joshen suspected the reason the ship was still here was so the sailors could gather more food for the return journey.
He pulled Stretch to a stop. The horse trembled and shook beneath him. Joshen cupped his hands over his mouth, “Parknel! Captain Parknel!” He waved his hands over his head. But at this distance, the sailors appeared to be little more than bugs crawling atop a toy ship. It was a long way to swim. “Parknel!”
To his relief, a boat was finally lowered into the water. As it grew closer, he saw Parknel’s grim face standing at the front of the boat. He cupped his hands over his mouth, “Senna?”
Joshen shook his head emphatically. “Captured!”
“The other Witches?” Parknel shouted back.
“Captured!” he said as he dismounted.
Parknel jumped from the boat and waded toward Joshen. “So she freed ’em?”
“Yes sir, but the Tarten soldiers caught them. We have to go back to Carpel and get her out of there.”
Parknel rubbed his red beard. “How?”
Joshen looked away. He simply didn’t know the answer.
Parknel surveyed Stretch. “You’ve abused your animal.”
The horse’s ears hung limply and his head dropped as if it were too heavy to lift. Joshen stroked his neck. “It couldn’t be helped.”
Parknel grunted. “Well, I suppose we’d better find some fodder before we make for Carpel.”
Before they could step into the water, the wind picked up, gushing past him, even though only moments before the day had been as calm as morning. It blew straight toward him, flattening the trees in a line—a line that came straight from Carpel. Witch song drifted down. Joshen thought he heard the inflection of Senna’s voice and some of the tension seeped from his muscles.
Joshen, to Carpel thee must come,
For our destruction cannot be undone.
The wind faded and picked up again.
Captain Parknel, from Tarten we must flee.
In Carpel, we have need of thee.
“They didn’t know we’d be together,” Joshen murmured.
“If I take our ship to Carpel, we’ll be captured.” Parknel set his jaw. “You’d better let that horse go, son. We haven’t enough hay to feed him over the journey and no time to gather any.”
Joshen’s face lost all color. After all he’d been through with Stretch, could he just abandon him? His mouth set in a grim line, Joshen loosened the cinch, pulled it from the horse’s back and set it gently in the sand. His hand trailed along Stretch’s neck and then rested on his poll. He hesitated and then tugged the bridle over his ears. Stretch opened his mouth and shook his head as the bit came out and then stood chewing tiredly.
He’ll survive, he told himself. Joshen rested his forehead against his horse’s neck, knowing he’d probably never see him again. “Goodbye, old friend.” Draping the bridle and stirrups over the saddle horn, he hefted its sweat-soaked weight on his shoulder. He sloshed through the water, handed the tack to one of the sailors and looked back. Stretch still stood at the shore, looking at him. Joshen couldn’t help but notice the horse looked confused, lost. He didn’t understand why his master was abandoning him. Why he was being left in a strange land, alone.
Quickly wiping his cheeks with his sleeve, Joshen pulled himself into the boat and watched as Stretch’s features grew increasingly indistinguishable. He stood at the ship’s banister until he couldn’t see the horse at all. Stretch never moved.
34. RING OF POWER
> Grendi paced the barrier, her gaze raking across each and every Witch, as if searching for the weakest among them. “You cannot hold it forever. Eventually, one of you will break and then I’ll see to it you are all executed. I’ll burn your bodies and bury your ashes in the deserts of the south. None will mourn your passing.”
She paused. “But for one of you, I’ll grant a pardon. I’ll give you a small allowance and a home of your own, with the condition that your tongue be removed and any spawn drowned.”
Senna’s fists clenched until her nails pressed half moon circles into her palms. What kind of monster thought that was generous?
“Your offer isn’t freedom,” Prenny said, “but isolation in some run-down shack with songs stripped and children murdered.”
Senna felt like cheering the woman on.
“Each of us has already faced imprisonment, many for years.” Coyel said. “A half life isn’t much of a life.”
“Nor would we betray our Keepers,” Drenelle added. “We saw what Espen did.”
Chavis glared at the woman. Tiena leaned against Senna.
Grendi moved to the edge of the barrier. Senna found herself hoping the woman would take one more step, just one, so the barrier would send her careening into the far wall.
Unfortunately, Grendi could see the barrier’s boundaries. “Some of you are considering it. And why not? You’re all bound to die. Why not allow one to survive? Someone will bow before the end, why not you?”
“Your words are poison” Senna said. “And we all know it. You aren’t talking to common women, Grendi. We’re Keepers.”
An evil smile spread across Grendi’s face. “Everyone has a vice, Brusenna, daughter of Sacra. For your mother, it’s you and for you, her. The woman to your left, Coyel, she’d not break. But the woman four down, her aging mother fled into the woods when you were captured. I’ve had my men looking for her. Would she not break the circle to save the old woman’s life?”
“No,” Tiena replied. “You don’t understand, Grendi. But in time, when you are starving like the Boors, you will see what Witches do for you.”