WITCH RISING
A Witch Fall Prequel
By Amber Argyle
Copyright 2013 Amber Argyle
Kindle Edition
Kindle Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Also by Amber Argyle
Witch Song Series
Witch Song
Witch Born
Witch Rising
Witch Fall
Fairy Queens Series
Winter Queen
Summer Queen
Daughter of Winter
Dedication
To you, my readers,
For reading
WITCH RISING
A Witch Fall Prequel
Chapter 1
Perched on the edge of her bed, Lilette stared into the darkness beyond the porthole. Starlight pricked the night sky before falling across the water, where it was stretched and shattered into gleaming bits. Though she was only eight, she knew how impossibly broken that starlight must feel.
Her mother smacked her lips. “Found one.” Lellan waved the hairbrush through the air like a standard for troops to rally behind. Lilette’s father didn’t answer. He hadn’t said much since yesterday—the day when everything had changed.
Hiking up her dress, her mother maneuvered herself onto the bed behind Lilette. At first, the brush found only snags, but it wasn’t long before it slipped through her pale hair like songs through wind. Her mother began humming a lullaby—Lilette’s favorite, about a boy and a river and a dancing frog, though her mother always changed it to a girl and a dancing frog for her and her older sister.
Lilette’s chest tightened. She never thought she’d miss her cranky older sister so much. Sash had been away at school when they’d left, but she would be waiting for them at home.
Through Lilette’s tattered nightdress, the soft vibrations of her mother’s gentle humming and the stroke of the brush made it nearly impossible to stay awake. Still, Lilette tried not to drift off, for when she slept the nightmares came, and she had to relive the choking smoke, the screams, and the endless running. But with each sway of the ship, she tipped closer and closer to the warm blankets. She cast a glare at the pillow before her eyelids closed, and she flopped onto the soft bed.
A shout made her eyes shoot back open. She braced her weight on her skinny arms, her heart banging like little fists against her ribcage. “Mama?”
With a frustrated growl, her mother paused, the brush hovering over Lilette’s hair. “Jex, what is it?”
Her father was already on his feet, grabbing his sword belt.
Rushing footsteps and barked orders were followed by the unmistakable ring of clashing swords. Lilette knew that sound. The sound of battle. It had haunted her since their escape.
Lilette’s mother dropped the brush and slid out the long knife she’d tucked under the bed. “It can’t be the emperor. There’s no way he could catch up to my witch wind.”
Lilette sat frozen in terror. Her father buckled his sword belt around his waist. Just before he reached the door, it slammed against the opposite wall so hard the Guardian opening it had to hold out his hand to keep from being impaled by the recoiling doorknob. Blood was running down Griz’s weathered face. “We’ve been betrayed.”
“Who?” Lilette’s father asked.
The Guardian tossed him a spear. “They’re already in the passageway.”
Her mother gripped her dress. “It isn’t possible. They couldn’t have caught up to us. It isn’t possible.” But Lilette’s father was already gone, swallowed by the clang of steel and the shouts of men.
With the door open, the sounds came in unimpeded and thrust Lilette into a waking nightmare. Ash had fallen from the sky like dirty feathers, making it impossible to breathe. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t . . . breathe . . .
Her mother was suddenly before her, her turquoise eyes mirroring Lilette’s as the memory of smoke circled in. “Breathe, Lilette. Breathe!”
She stared into her mother’s eyes and sucked in a breath. Her parents had tried to shield her from what was happening, but young as she was, she’d known they were running for their lives—and killing those who’d tried to stop them. They’d promised her she was safe now. They had lied.
Her mother nodded encouragingly. “Good. Stay here.” She moved to the doorway. The fear of being left behind—left alone—unstuck Lilette from the bed. She darted to her mother’s side and grasped her hand, trying to shield herself behind the safety of her mother’s body. She was relieved when her mother didn’t insist she go back.
Lilette peeked around her mother’s skirt. A dozen doors down, Guardians held the entrance to the passageway, their spears striking with a deadly precision and their shields forming a wall. At the back of the formation, her father used his spear to stab at the imperial soldiers from above. With a scream, one of the shield-bearing Guardians went down, giving Lilette a clear view of an unending wave of imperial soldiers swarming the ship. The line of Guardians buckled, but Griz picked up the man’s shield and took his place. The line pushed the soldiers back.
“Lellan!” her father shouted without looking back. “The ship is overrun!”
“We’ve been betrayed,” her mother murmured.
Lilette didn’t understand. Hadn’t Griz already said that?
Her mother knelt before her. The disbelief was gone from her mother’s face, replaced with a terrible knowing. “You have to help Mama sing. We’re going to call down lightning.”
Lilette opened her mouth in protest. “I can’t.” She’d only sung simple songs to grow flowers and tickly vines, but this—this horrified her.
Her mother tightened her grip. “Yes, you can. Just mind your notes.” She began singing.
Heat and light and wind and power,
Strike the ships beyond our bower.
Lightning bolts turn ships aside,
Waters quell the enemy tide.
Lilette’s thin, thready voice joined her mother’s strong, determined one. Something primal stirred around the young girl, as if she’d awakened a beast. Thunder roared and a hot breath of wind blasted through the open door.
A shaft of lightning slammed into the deck. Soldiers screamed as they died. The smell of burning hair filled Lilette’s nose. She knew it was she who had awakened the beast that had killed them. Her voice shifted to a wail before she closed herself off—closed her eyes and her body and her soul.
Her mother gripped her arms and shook her. “You have to help me, Lilette! Your song is stronger than mine!”
Lilette curled into a tighter ball. If she could just make herself small enough, perhaps the beast would go away. The burning and the screams would stop. Already she could feel it backing into its lair. The roaring, growling, hot breath slowly settled as the creature went back to sleep.
“No! Lilette, you must!”
“There aren’t enough of us,” Griz shouted. “Fordel! Hold them as long as you can.”
Lilette heard running footsteps and felt strong hands snatch her up. She opened her eyes to see Griz, one hand pinning her against his chest, the other gripping his sword. “Follow me!”
Her mother came after them, her father bringing up the rear. Griz careened down the hallway and into the captain’s cabin. But instead of following them, her father paused at the mess room and hurried inside. When he reappeared, a barrel of pickles was perched on his shoulder—Lilette recognized i
t because she had raided it at every opportunity.
Griz set her down in the center of the cabin. “They’re coming for you, Keepers. Our Guardians won’t hold them long.” He gripped a sea chest and tossed it out the window, which shattered in a hail of glass.
He tightened his grip on his sword, his gaze falling to Lilette. He’d been the Guardian assigned to keep her safe, and he’d always had sweets in his pockets and a riddle on his lips. “Goodbye, little Keeper. It was an honor to serve you.”
Tears welled in Lilette’s eyes. She reached for Griz—to hold him back, to seek the comfort of his touch. But her fingers grasped only emptiness. He was gone.
His face red with exertion, her father twisted the lid off the barrel and upended it, splashing pickles and vinegar all over the deck. “Jex, what are you doing?” her mother demanded.
Her father tipped the barrel back up. He jerked out his knife, then plunged it into the side of the barrel and twisted it until he’d made a neat hole. He strode across the room, yanked a cork out of one of the many bottles of liquor, and shoved it into the hole from the inside of the barrel. “Get Lilette in here,” he told her mother. “Tie yourself to the barrel so you’re not separated. When it’s safe, sing yourself a current to an island.”
Lilette gaped at the small barrel, which was no higher than her father’s knee, and wondered how she’d ever fit inside.
Her mother was crying, great drops of tears chasing each other down her face. “I won’t leave you.”
Her father cupped Lellan’s cheek in his hand. “It’s too late for that.”
Her mother’s voice caught. “No! Jex, please.”
He pulled her into his arms and spoke against her forehead. “Lellan, he won’t let me live. He won’t let any of us men live. This is the only chance you’ll have.”
Lilette stared at her father. She’d seen him in the practice field, his sword quick as a striking snake. Seen the cords of muscle in his back bulge as he’d wrestled other men to the ground, rendering them helpless. Felt the power of his arms as he’d tossed her into the sky. But in this moment, she realized something profound. He wasn’t strong enough to keep her safe. Neither of her parents were—no matter how much they might try.
“Some must die that others may live. Every soldier knows this.” Her father kissed her mother before backing away. Her mother held her hands out imploringly, a hollow space carved out where her father had always fit, but he refused to look back at her. Instead he crouched before Lilette. Reaching out, he brushed her cheek with the crook of his finger. “Grow up strong, my little Keeper.”
She saw her father’s fear stamped into the planes of his face. “Daddy?”
“I’m sorry I won’t be there to see it.” He handed her his knife. She took it solemnly.
Griz gave a shout of warning, calling for her father.
Spear in hand, he stood, his smoldering gaze on Lilette’s mother. “Burn the ship. It’s the only way you’ll escape.” And then he was gone.
Lilette knew she’d never see him again. “Mama?”
There were more shouts as the battle grew closer. Tears streaming down her face, Lellan barred the door, effectively cutting off Lilette’s father. In that moment, Lilette hated her—and hated herself for not trying to stop her.
Her mother grabbed a limp mattress and dragged it across the floor. “Help me.” Lilette grabbed a corner of the stuffed mattress and pulled it against the door. “Start it on fire,” her mother ordered.
Lilette had always been very good at starting fires. Using her father’s knife, she ripped the cloth covering open and fluffed the fibers. Then she took flint from her pocket and struck a shower of sparks across the top. One caught. She blew gently. Smoke billowed up in her face.
She could hear the battle just outside the door now—clangs and grunts and groans. Her mother rushed about the room gathering dark bottles of liquor while Lilette fed the baby flames into a cheery blaze.
A muffled groan sounded outside the door, followed by a thud as something hit the wood. For half a moment there was silence. Lilette’s mother froze, biting her knuckle as a cry of anguish sounded in her throat.
Someone banged against the door, making them both jump. A man shouted in the Harshens’ disjointed language, “Keepers, open the door. You will not be harmed!”
Lellan pushed her daughter toward the barrel. “Get inside!”
As Lilette scrambled to obey, her mother hurled the bottles of spirits against the wall, where they shattered. Liquor dripped down the walls, soaking into the loose fibers at the edge of the mattress, but not quite touching the fire. Not yet.
The banging changed to spears stabbing at the door. Clutching the last bottle to her chest, Lellan growled, “You have to help me with the song this time. I need you.”
Lilette’s eyes widened. Her mother meant to kill the soldiers, and she wanted Lilette to help her. “Mama?” It came out in little more than a whisper.
Lellan held out a hand to silence her. “If they survive, they’ll tell the Emperor we escaped. He’ll find us.”
Lilette couldn’t process the thought. Her mother’s soft hands seemed incapable of killing. “But . . .” It came out in a gasp.
Her mother’s face hardened. “They killed your father, little Keeper.” She began to sing.
Wind, tear the sails and flare the fire,
Make this ship a funeral pyre.
Her voice choked, Lilette joined her. Once again, the beast stirred. Wind curled into the room, growing in strength and power with each note of the melody. The gusts caught the fragile flame and spread it across the mattress. Smoke filled the room, making Lilette and her mother cough. Ashes and burning—again.
A spear broke through the door, which shuddered and splintered. Bruised and bleeding, one of the soldiers forced his way through. Her mother threw the bottle of liquor at him and sang harder. If Lellan was hoping that last bottle would connect the burning mattress to the alcohol soaked walls, she failed, for the bottle did not break.
Trapped behind the burning mattress, the soldier’s gaze locked onto Lellan. He pulled out his sword and began hacking the mattress to pieces, scattering the flaming barrier. He was almost through. Then he would stop their singing. The soldiers would put the fire out and catch them.
Lilette narrowed her gaze. If she’d awakened the beast, she could control it. These soldiers would not touch her or her mother. Her voice found its strength. The sound joined with her mother’s, and wind surged into the room.
The fire finally caught the alcohol-soaked walls and exploded with a whoosh, the heat instantly pounding against Lilette’s skin. From behind the wall of flame, the screaming started. Her hair singed, Lellan stumbled toward the barrel as Lilette kept singing. The wind fanned the fire into an inferno. The ceiling was half eaten, and flames spread under her mother’s feet.
“Stop, Lilette! Stop!”
Lilette’s voice cut off and the wind slowed, but the fire had already engulfed most of the room.
Coughing, Lellan snatched the lid from the ground. She paused long enough to press her lips to Lilette’s forehead. “I love you.” Before she could respond, her mother shoved her into the barrel and twisted the lid shut. Lilette was plunged into steaming dark where vinegar burned her eyes and her knees were crammed against her chin.
The barrel was picked up, and her mother’s steps crunched across broken glass. There was a ripping sound—as if the very fabric of the world had been torn asunder. Suddenly, Lilette felt her stomach dropping away from her as the barrel careened through the air and slammed into the water. Her father’s knife bit into her thigh. She let out a wail of pain.
Her momentum slowed, and the sounds grew warped and hollow before she bobbed back to the surface. She pressed the sides of her hands against the barrel to keep herself steady as it rolled. Her leg was bleeding. “Mama?” She waited for a response—anything—but there were only distant screams and the roar of flames.
“Mama!” Lilette p
ounded her fists against the barrel before she remembered the lid. She shifted and wiggled until she could get both hands on it. She’d just started to twist it when she heard voices. She froze, the sweat on her skin turning cold.
“There!” The voice was followed by a rhythmic splashing sound, the kind oars make.
Lilette went very still, barely daring to breathe. Slowly, she reached up and pulled the cork free. Fresh air flowed into the barrel. She peeked out and caught glimpses of her ship burning and sinking, and soldiers in boats rowing in the distance, but she couldn’t see the boat closest to her.
More splashes, and the voice again. “Turn her over.” There was silence for a moment. “The Emperor will be most displeased.”
A man grunted. “Are you sure it’s her? It’s hard to tell with all the burns.”
They had found someone. It was not her mother. It could not be her mother. Lilette stared up at the distant stars, their light nearly obscured by the soldier’s torches.
“Look at the hair—pale as white wine. It’s her.”
Lilette grasped her own white hair in her fist. They were wrong. Her mother was pretending, waiting for them to go so she could get Lilette out of this barrel.
“Shall we take the body, sir?”
No. No, no, no, no, no.
“Yes. The Emperor will want to see it as proof.”
“And the girl?”
A sigh. “We’ll keep looking, but how could she survive this when even her Witch mother couldn’t?”
“Yes, sir.”
More water sounds followed by a dull thud. Lilette had awakened the beast that had awakened the fire. She’d killed her mother.
One by one, she locked up every song she’d ever sung. Buried the language of the Creators deep inside her breast, where she’d never ever find them again.
She was no longer a witch. She would never be a witch again.