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Witch Born(110)

By:Amber Argyle


Senna struggled to her feet, wanting to shield Arianis from the curse she’d wished for Chavis. Using her shoulder, she propelled Arianis away from the sight of Chavis in her death throes.

Arianis was white-faced and eerily calm. She looked at Senna, pulled a knife from her seed belt, and began cutting the rope from her hands. “I hated you, Senna. You had everything I ever wanted, everything that was always meant to be mine. And you didn’t even want it—I think I loathed you the most for that.” Arianis stared unseeing at the knife gripped in her wet hand. “I wanted you to know how it felt, so I tried to take Joshen.”

Senna turned at the sound of Witches calling the wind down on the cliffs. It had begun, and she had her own part to play. “For what it’s worth, thank you for saving my life.” She started back toward the Ring of Power.

Arianis reached out and gripped her hand. “Just so you know, it didn’t work. No matter how hard I tried, he only wanted you.”

Senna stiffened. “It doesn’t matter. Joshen is dead.”

Arianis covered her mouth with her hand. Unwilling to hear any words of pity, Senna fled, stumbling through the landscape that was seared into her pupils every time lightning shot to the ground.

Her borrowed cloak was so heavy with water it tripped up her feet, so she tore it off. She was drenched anyway. Lightning stabbed at the edge of the cliff, and Witches fell screaming from the rim.

Senna reached the Ring of Power, her heart pounding as if it was trying to escape death by beating out of her chest. Lightning flashed so bright that the world went dark. She screamed in terror, but the sound of the bolt was so loud she couldn’t hear her own voice.

When she opened her eyes, a black spot singed the ground not far from her. It smelled of wet and burning. Shaking, she stumbled to the center of the Ring. She tipped back her head and sang.

Wind lift me high,

That my words reach to’rds the sky.

The wind grew stronger than she’d ever felt it before. It snatched her so swiftly it knocked the breath from her. She shot upward, rain dripping from her body, into the turmoil of clouds and lightning. The crackle of electricity lifted the tiny hairs on her arms. She sent a prayer for the Creators to keep the lightning at bay.

Still singing, she looked below. Behind the Guardians, the Witches were using the wind to drive the invaders back. The Guardians in the front line fought with bayonets. No one used muskets—the rain must have rendered the powder useless. But they were losing ground instead of gaining it.

Senna took a deep breath, and her song grabbed a current of wind. She hurtled it like a spear. It struck the Tartens with such force it threw them back, but it also hit Haven’s Witches. They stumbled and collapsed to keep from being driven off the cliff’s edge.

Senna used all her concentration to try to shrink the wind to a precise stream, but it was like channeling a river through a funnel. The wind lost nearly all of its power. The Tartens struggled to their feet and started forward again.

Haven’s Witches rallied, calling forth their own protective barrier of wind. Without the worry of harming her own Witches, Senna redoubled her efforts, and the gale slammed into the Tartens with enough force to drive them from the cliff, plunging them into the churning waters.

The songs around her shifted. The lightning gathered into a tremendous strike against her. She wrestled control from the Caldash Witches and twisted the bolt down onto them, hitting a ship square on. Though soaked, it erupted into flames. Their bodies alight, men dove into the water.

And in that moment, the tide of the battle shifted into Senna’s hands. The truth of it was undeniable to Tarten, Caldashan, and Haven alike. It made Senna sick.

Looking away from the battle, she reminded the wind to keep her afloat and redirected her song at the last of the Tartens clinging to the edge of the cliffs.

She listened to the storm and changed the song slightly, enough so hail rained down in white sheets upon the ships and Tartens. Men ran for cover or fell screaming into the sea. Not a single hailstone fell upon the island.

Haven’s Witches spread out with the Guardians behind them. Below Senna’s dangling feet, the barrier swelled between the Witches’ outstretched hands like ice freezing across a pond, until it encompassed the island.

The Witches started their song. Power poured into Senna until her fingertips tingled. Closing her eyes, she drew upon the strength of the Four Sisters. The might of the sea, the richness of the earth, the blinding brightness of the sun, the force of the winds. Before, that much energy would have overwhelmed her after a few songs, but now she soaked it in like cracked earth soaks in rain.

Songs rose up from the Caldash Witches as they tried to wrest the control of the songs away from Senna. But they were like raindrops attacking the sea—she just absorbed their power into her vast reservoirs. She waited as it filled her, listening to the songs around her. When the time came, she needed to know the exact melody and words to shift Haven.