Witch Born (40 page)

The last of a Creator’s power slipped from Senna. She was a Witch now, as before, one exhausted beyond any mortal’s endurance. The pain in her body was a dark pit of fire and burning.

Burning.

Blackness invaded her vision. The symphony she’d sung slowly faded to echoing silence. The wind lost its direction. She was falling.

Falling.

Falling.

Hundreds of Witches joined together in song.

The wind roared to life under Senna, catching the edges of the dress that had gone out like a spent coal, and cradling her as she drifted down.

Down.

Down.

Down

Only partially conscious, she was aware of the dozens of hands that reached out to bear her gently to the ground. Then she remembered no more.

Golden sunlight drenched the city. A playful breeze lifted Senna’s hair and sent gooseflesh down her back as she looked out over Ashfall. Her memory of her time spent with the Creators was dreamlike and distant. It was hard to imagine that she’d created self-contained orchestras of sound in so little time, that it had been four months since she’d fallen from the sky.

She sat in the garden balcony at the center of the tree palace that rested at the top of one of the domed mountains. The Witches had connected the trees with branch bridges. Vines and flowers ran along every border. At each corner of the magnificent grove were four enormous single trees—one for each Discipline—built to honor either Plants, Water, Sunlight, or Earth.

Perhaps it was a poor copy of Lilette’s palace of living stone, but it was still the most beautiful this world had ever seen.

From there, the yet-to-be-built city was divided into quarters dedicated to one of the Disciplines. Each would someday be paved with mosaics—some of sunbursts, some of trees, some of gusting winds, and some of great mountains. Even now, Guardians were laying patterns of stones to form the streets.

Everywhere was the sound of Witch song as the Keepers grew tree houses for shops and homes. All their songs also happened to nourish the rest of the plant life.

Trees and flowers burst to life everywhere, filling the air with their sweet fragrances.

Senna rested at the pinnacle, in a tree that was the highest part of the city. The balcony opened to all four directions, letting the wind through as she strained to hear the slightest hint of music from the four corners of the world. But the world echoed with a resounding silence.

“They’re here to see you. Do you wish me to show them in?”

Senna shifted to see her mother watching her. “Yes, thank you.”

Instead of summoning them, her mother came forward to take Senna’s hand. “Don’t look so sad.”

Senna stared at their intertwined fingers. So much to forgive, by both of them. But they were trying, and they had something neither had felt in a long time: hope that they could begin again.

“It’s just hard to adjust,” Senna replied. To being mortal again, to losing most of her precious connection to the music, to living in a world that was a mere shadow of the one beyond. One where, even surrounded by people, she was alone. And then there was the constant pain. It was bearable now, but the damage was permanent. She would never walk without a cane.

Her mother’s eyes softened with understanding. “You made a great sacrifice coming back for the Witches, coming back for me.” When Senna didn’t answer, her mother whispered, “Don’t give up on him yet.”

For four months, Senna had been left to wonder what had happened to Joshen. The price was so high that she still questioned whether it had been worth it, whether she should have stayed with the Creators. “I haven’t. Not yet.”

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 Menette,” 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.