Witch Born

  Her mother opened her mouth as if to say more, then seemed to change her mind. “I’ll see you for supper tonight.” With a reassuring squeeze and a soft goodbye, she left.

  Moments later, Coyel, Prenny, Krissin, Millay, and Reden crossed one of the bridges surrounding the balcony on four sides. The four women were the new Discipline Heads. It had taken two months of haggling, but Krissin had finally agreed to take over the position as Head of Earth. She was actually better at it than Drenelle had been.

  “Composer,” they murmured.

  Krissin and Millay stood a little apart from Coyel and Prenny. But they’d arrived together, which was an improvement over last week. Senna hoped that someday, the two factions of Witches would become one.

  Reden’s hard gaze met hers. He and Mistin had turned up in Tarten not long after Senna. Since their boat had flipped in the ensuing chaos of Haven’s disappearance, they hadn’t seen Joshen. No one had.

  Senna tore her gaze from Reden and looked at the others. She had seen into their hearts, and sometimes she felt like she knew them better than they knew themselves. “Your reports?”

  They shifted. All but Reden still seemed in awe of her. That awe led them to obey her unquestioningly, which frightened her. Senna had seen people with the best of intentions make mistakes. Even simple misjudgments could be rectified if they were made by a group, which is why she’d kept Caldash’s structure intact. The Orders, Guardian Leader, and Heads held equal power with her.

  Though Reden wasn’t awed by her, he still treated her like glass—as if he were afraid anything but the gentlest handling would shatter her. “Some animal life has been seen,” he said. “Judging by their condition, a few have survived the curse. Others are coming in from beyond Tarten’s borders. We have put the call out for soldiers to outfit our army, and many of the Tarten soldiers have answered. I’m still looking for a general to lead them.”

  Senna nodded. Reden hadn’t wanted the army to be a separate entity from the Guardians. But when given the choice of running the army or the Guardians, he’d chosen to remain the Guardians’ Leader if she let him pick the general. “Did you ask Mistin?” Senna asked Reden.

  “I did, Composer. She does not want the position. Instead, she prefers to remain with her Order.” Reden actually blushed.

  Senna had to suppress a smile. It seemed he had finally found a woman willing to accept his soldiering ways.

  He cleared his throat. “You still need to choose a personal Guardian, Composer Brusenna.”

  Senna held her hand out to forestall any arguments. “I will choose a Guardian when I’m ready for one.”

  He pursed his lips and nodded, clearly unhappy with her refusal to replace Joshen, but knowing better than to press the issue further. That was wise. Senna wouldn’t allow more speculation on the subject. “Coyel?”

  The Head came to stand beside her and stared out over the city. “Composer, it’s been done as you directed. The adult Witches have been relocated to Ashfall. All the students, both Witchling and Apprentice, have been moved to Haven and the school has been expanded. The call has been made that every Witch, regardless of level, is welcome. Already many of the empty tree houses have been filled.”

  Krissin spoke up. “And the administration of our government has been successfully moved to Ashfall.”

  Millay spoke for the first time. “Are you sure we should put a price on our songs?”

  Senna smiled to herself. Finally, one was willing to voice the question all of them must have. After all, the Second Witch War was fought over the subject, and Espen was the biggest proponent for monetary gain for songs. “We must put a value onto our songs for people to respect them. I wish it were not so, but people value that which they must struggle for, and put little value upon that which they receive for free.

  “We will make ourselves the world’s most valuable commodity.” She saw the Heads uncertainty and braced herself for bad news. “Speaking of, have any more come for our cures, songs, or services?”

  Prenny and Coyel exchanged a glance before Coyel answered, “A few for Witch healing plants and potions. They leave as quickly as they come. But just this morning, Nefalie asked that we destroy a pestilence in the Urway City State.”

  Senna rubbed her palms together, considering. “While they may not like us, Nefalie has had centuries to get used to us, I think. The rest of the world still fears and mistrusts us. As they should. It will take decades to earn their trust.”

  Krissin licked her lips. “Our coin goes fast—building an empire does not come cheap. I don’t see how we can keep offering our services as Witches to the entire world when no one is paying.”

  Senna smiled to herself. “It’s impossible for a Witch to starve. We’ll be fine.”

  The sound of shouts made Senna peer down to the courtyard. There was a bit of a struggle, but she was too far away to see what was going on. Still, she trusted the Guardians to deal with it. “When the world begins to trust us, they’ll pay for our services. Until then, no one is to be turned away. They pay with coin if they can. If they cannot, they pay with their labor. City streets need cleaned. Refuse needs to be hauled out and buried. Gardens need to be kept.”

  The commotion moved beyond her sight. She furrowed her brow, wondering what was going on. She turned to see Prenny staring hard at her. “Yes?”

  Prenny glanced quickly at Coyel before meeting Senna’s gaze. “Well, Composer Brusenna, things have been going smoothly, but…”

  Senna sighed. “But?” When Prenny didn’t answer, Senna leaned back into her chair and rubbed her aching hip. “Prenny, I think I liked you better when you thought I was some upstart Sprout.”

  Prenny snorted. “All right then. Some Witches aren’t happy about us taking on Wastrels. They think it’s beneath us.”

  Senna dropped her head so they wouldn’t see the rage burning up her face. “I’ll not have them called Wastrels. They can still connect to the Four Sisters, even if they cannot control them. That makes them Witches. Desni couldn’t recognize a note, yet her innate sense of plants and potions and her skill as a healer rivaled anything a Witch with a strong song could claim. If Drenelle cannot see the worth in that, she doesn’t deserve her position as an instructor at the school.”

  Senna still felt guilty for falsely accusing the Head of treachery, and later for practically ordering her to stand down as Head of Earth. Just as she felt guilty for sentencing Grendi to be hanged and Ellesh to remain imprisoned on Caldash for the remainder of her days.

  Senna’s thoughts turned to Desni. Under torture, the old woman had revealed the secret behind Senna’s pendant, allowing Grendi to locate her. But Senna couldn’t find anger for the old woman in her heart. She’d made too many of her own blunders to blame Desni for the secrets she revealed in her darkest hours. Instead, Senna felt sorry for her. The task of teaching Witchlings might be just what the old woman needed to pull her out of her grief.

  Coyel spoke softly. “You know some of the lower-level girls will be ridiculed.”

  Senna traced the grain of her chair’s wooden arms. “It will not be tolerated. Every woman deserves the right to prove herself, to live up to the fullness of her potential. No one has the right to deny them.” She turned to face the Heads. “Bring Desni in. And find others like her. The students need examples of teachers who are strong in other ways, especially those from the Caldash Orders.”

  Prenny crossed her arms over her chest, a calculating look in her eyes. “I’ll make sure it’s done.”

  “See that you do,” Senna said with a smile to soften the command. Prenny might be ornerier than a gut-shot bear, but Senna was starting to like her.

  The oppressive silence was suddenly interrupted by a faraway echo of music. More than anything, Senna ached for the lost songs. She tipped her ear toward the sound, listening. With a sigh, she motioned for one of them to pull the bell.

  Her mother came up a moment later.

  “A hurricane is building off the coast of Me
nette,” Senna said. “Assemble the Witches on duty.”

  Sacra nodded. Within moments, Witch song drifted from the inner courtyard. Senna listened absently. “If that is all?”

  The Heads made their goodbyes, but not Reden.

  “What of Pogg?” she asked.

  Reden made a sound low in his throat. “He’s not adjusting well to Caldash.”

  She took a deep breath. Pogg had spent so much time trying to be a human, he didn’t know how to be a Mettlemot. “Does he still want to come here?”

  “Yes.”

  “I suppose we’d better let him, then.” Senna traced the scars on her palm. “Have you found Kaen and Ciara?”

  “I received a missive this morning. They’re being brought here, and they still have your horses. Kaen said having the animals saved their lives when they fled.”

  “Joshen will be glad.”

  Reden stood beside her for a long time, his hand on the pistols strapped to his waist. He had many more scars than before. And he seemed infinitely older and quieter, but his heart was still strong and loyal as ever.

  Knowing what he wanted, she sighed. “I can’t, Reden.” She forced herself to face him. “I can’t give up hope that Joshen will find me. Not yet.”

  She saw the phantoms of remembered agony play across Reden’s face. He and Joshen had been tortured nearly to death. “When our boat sank, I came up right on top of a barrel. I saw Mistin and Joshen. They were both in trouble. I had to make a choice.” His voice caught. “I chose Mistin.” He’d never told her this before. “When I turned back, Joshen was gone. Senna, he drowned.”

  She clenched her hands into fists. “No. Lilette said he was alive.”

  Reden was silent a long time. “It’s been four months.”

  Senna shook her head. “I know.”

  “I’m sorry, Senna, but someone has to say it. What if he died after you left Lilette?”

  She clutched the Creator’s promise that Joshen was alive. She just had to wait for him to come to her. She rubbed the pendant at the base of her throat. Please, Joshen, be alive. Find your way to me.

  “I wish it would have been me,” Reden said softly. “Joshen was the better man.”

  Senna spoke in a whisper. “He wasn’t perfect, Reden. None of us were. We all made mistakes.”

  Reden stood there for a moment, as if hoping she might change her mind, admit Joshen was dead and take on a new Guardian.

  Senna closed her eyes and listened. The music floating around her was so beautiful, it made her heart ache, but it was a lonely, sad kind of beautiful. Or perhaps it simply reflected her mood. But as the Witches’ singing continued, the hurricane settled and the music faded to nothing.

  Finally, Reden sighed. “Have you walked today?”

  She shook her head. “Not yet.” She held out her hands for him to help her up. She gritted her teeth and slowly let her bad leg take some of her weight. He helped her a few steps, until her hip had warmed up.

  “Do you want me to make a round with you?”

  She shook her head. “No. I’ll be all right.”

  He made no move to leave. After taking her cane from him, she started out on her own. “Go.” She hated that he still didn’t leave, but stood watching her.

  With the limp, drag, and tap of her cane, Senna started down the bridge that led to her favorite room in the tree houses. Her hip ached and sweat broke out across her face.

  Finally, she reached the room. Bright murals were being painted on the walls. All of them reflected pivotal moments in Witch history, and Senna was in a good deal of them. She tried not to mind. After all, the Witches needed to remember the brink of destruction they’d played with.

  As if of their own accord, her feet took her to her favorite wall. Smelling strongly of paint, the newly finished section depicted her standing at the pool with Lilette. Though Senna had done her best to describe the scene and the painter was brilliant, it was only a shadow of reality. She’d come back to save the Witches. Well, now they were saved, but she still didn’t have Joshen.

  Moving a little farther down, she peered past the painters as they worked on the next wall, which depicted Joshen carrying her through Haven the night they’d escaped. His expression was fierce and protective. Her body ached with the need to be held by him.

  She startled at a yip. A flustered Guardian she half recognized crossed a bridge toward her—she thought his name was Chan. In his arms was a squirming puppy. A wolfhound puppy. She froze, remembering Bruke.

  The Guardian stopped before her and bowed. “Composer Brusenna, there’s a man at the gates who claims to know you. He insisted we let him up. Of course we couldn’t. He begged that this gift be brought to you. He said you would understand.”

  Senna felt herself soften. She reached out and took the squirming puppy from the Guardian’s arms, her mind barely recognizing what her body was doing. It looked so much like Bruke that she caught his wiry fur in her hands and inhaled the warm smell of him. The puppy whined and struggled in her arms. She bent to set him down, wincing as her hip caught. He immediately squatted and piddled on the floor.

  An inexplicable smile spread across her face.

  The Guardian went cherry red. “Composer Brusenna, I’m so sorry.” He picked up the dog.

  She took the puppy from him. The dog’s hot little body immediately settled in her arms. Handing her cane to the Guardian, she took his arm and let him help her back the way they’d come. “This man, what did he look like?”

  The Guardian opened his mouth to answer, but Reden’s voice overrode him. “Senna?” He stepped onto the bridge, obviously looking for her.

  “Yes?”

  “Senna?”

  That was another man’s voice, one she recognized. Her head feeling light, she leaned heavily against the Guardian. As if sensing her distress, the puppy licked her, his tongue leaving a cool spot on her skin.

  Joshen stepped around Reden and started across the bridge toward her.

  Her mouth came open, a small cry drifting from her like the last leaves of autumn. She was so overwhelmed she couldn’t move.

  Obviously misinterpreting her cry, Chan moved between them and leveled his musket.

  Joshen stopped, desperation on his beautiful face.

  Reden rolled his eyes. “Stand down, Chan. This is Senna’s lost Guardian. He’s come back to her.”

  Chan shot her an uneasy glance before lowering his musket and backing away.

  Joshen took a hesitant step toward her, his face unsure. He was thinner. A livid scar cut across his cheek, and he walked with a limp. “I figured I’d already given you a ring and a horse. The next best thing was another protector in case you sent me away again.”

  Leaning against the railing for support, Senna released the puppy before her unresponsive arms dropped him. “Joshen.” It was the only word she could manage. It was the only word that mattered. She shook her head. “I was starting to think you were dead.”

  “I came as fast as I could.” He ran his hand through his hair. “After our boat flipped, I lost Reden and Mistin. The waves were so high and I was hurt. It was impossible to swim. I was drowning. Something slammed into me and I grabbed on. It was a chunk of shattered mast.

  “Still, the water was so cold I should have died of exposure in moments, but I managed to sit on the mast with only my legs dangling in the water. I found a flat of wood and used it to paddle and push away most of the dangerous flotsam.

  “I found an island with this hidden bay and nothing but seals. I had to abandon the mast and swim for it. I barely made it before my muscles cramped up. I built my own boat out of the wreckage that washed ashore.”

  She shook her head in disbelief. “That’s the same island Wardof was trapped on.”

  Joshen grunted.

  She closed her eyes. “I saved the Witches and left you to die. Can you ever forgive me?” And that wasn’t even all of it. She’d practically forced him into harm’s way, and for his service, he’d been tortu
red and nearly killed.

  He brushed away her tears with his thumb. They weren’t gold anymore, just salty. “It was the right thing to do.”

  She leaned forward until her head rested against his chest. His arms came around her. She inhaled deeply the smell of him—horses and the sea—and reveled in his closeness.

  And once again she had the sense that this was where she fit, where she would always fit. She was finally home.

  “I’ve heard so many things. Are they true?” he whispered into her hair.

  She tipped her head back to look at him. “Most likely. But I’m just me again.”

  He grunted as he cupped her cheek in his hand. “Senna, you’ve never been ‘just’ anything.”

  She stretched up and kissed him softly. “I love you.”

  He took her hand in his. “I know.”

  Suddenly aware of the numerous eyes watching them, she glanced back to see the painters staring at them as if memorizing the scene. One of them was furiously drawing with a piece of charcoal.

  Somehow she knew there would be a new mural soon, and she and Joshen would feature in it.

  The End

  # # #

  Glossary

  Apprentice: A Witch with a fair amount of training/schooling who has also chosen one of the Disciplines to study and belong to. Traditionally sponsored by a full-fledged Witch.

  Creators: A God who, like the Discipline Heads, rules over one of the Four Sisters, but on a much larger scale.

  Discipline Heads: Leaders of the Witches and representative of their order or Discipline. By name: Head of Plants, Head of Sunlight, Head of Water, and Head of Earth.

  Disciplines: An order, of which there are four, specializing in one of the Four Sisters.

  Four Sisters: The elements the Witches use to manipulate nature. Namely: Wind, Water, Earth, and Sunlight.

  Keeper: An adult Witch trained in all the Witch arts and belonging to one of the Disciplines. Called a Keeper because of their special duty as “keepers of the earth.”

  Wastrel: A wasted Witch, or a witch who has little or no power to manipulate the Four Sisters.