Witch Born(118)
“You will never stop, no matter the cost.” Senna loathed the words she knew must come. “The world cannot survive your hatred.”
She sent Grendi back to the ground, where she sang Bindweed around her. Swathed inside a cocoon prison, the woman would be unable to escape or be freed by anyone but Senna.
The power Senna had left was so little—a drop in the vast ocean she’d once held. All that remained was the agony. Blood dripped down her leg. She felt the fever robbing her of health and strength, the infection poisoning her blood.
Perhaps she would be returning to the Creators sooner than she thought.
Steeling herself, she dedicated the land to the Witches.
City of Witches—Ashfall
To all who need healing, we call
Potions or plants to end a drought,
Purchase wind to secure a trade route.
Then she directed her power at Haven.
Wastrel or power abounding
All have a place, all bear power resounding.
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.
36. Ashfall
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.