Witch Born (41 page)

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 tortured 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

# # #

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.

Witchling:
A very young and/or untrained Witch. Sometimes called a Sprout, which is derogatory.

Novels are a journey of two parts: the author who writes them, and the reader who reads them. Without both, the process fails. And so I must thank all the many readers who have begun this journey with me. I’m grateful for the kind messages, reviews, hugs, and support (and yes, for buying the books).

Big thanks to my alpha and beta readers for their invaluable insights and even the occasional disparaging sarcasm: Julie Slezak, Carrie Knudson, Michelle Argyle, JoLynne Lyon, Cami Checketts, Steve Diamond, Cathy Nielson, Rachel Newswander, and Andrea Winkler. Witch Born is better because of you.

For all the bloggers and reviewers who have taken a little time to write a review, share the love, or spread the word: thank you.

Thanks to Eve Ventrue, Linda Prince, Robert Defendi, and Kathy Beutler for making Witch Born shiny.

Thanks to Derek for being superdad during deadline crunch time, and to Corbin, Connor, and Lily for not caring one bit.

To my biggest fans: Gayle and Gordon Stuart and Donna Cornia, everyone who’s ever met you knows you have a granddaughter and niece who writes the best books ever written. It makes me smile every time I meet one of them.

Amber Argyle grew up with three brothers on a cattle ranch in the Rocky Mountains. She spent hours riding horses, roaming the mountains, and playing in her family’s creepy barn. This environment fueled her imagination for writing high fantasy.

She has worked as a short order cook, janitor, and staff member in a mental institution. All of which have given her great insight into the human condition and have made for some unique characters.

She received her bachelor’s degree in English and Physical Education from Utah State University.

She currently resides in Utah with her husband and three small children.

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