Witch Born(13)

She cast her senses wider, her heart full of wonder and her voice eager to find something else. She explored, dancing with the Four Sisters as the music swirled around her, teasing her with its beauty.

And then she slammed to a stop against some kind of block or barrier. She held out her hand. Colors rippled outward where she touched the barrier. The music hummed beneath her fingertips. This was Witch made. And if a Witch made it, another Witch could unmake it.

She tipped her head, listening to the faint tinkling song until she had it memorized. She sang again and the song changed to match hers. The barrier faded a little, like darkness before the dawn.

Best not to completely destroy it. After all, she only wanted to see what was beyond it. Smiling, she passed through the weakened barrier. She cast about, looking for landmarks as Drenelle had taught her. An island surrounded by briny water. A shore in the distance with mountains. Change the mountains out for hills and it was eerily similar to Haven bordering Nefalie. But Senna’s body was so far away, an ocean away from where she sat in the pouring rain and—

She froze as the sound of the music changed. Earth song squeezed and pressed against her. She gasped and listened hard. And then she understood. Witch song was all around her like pelting hail. And not just one Witch. Hundreds of them. They were singing against her.

But that was impossible. There couldn’t be hundreds of Witches outside of Haven.

Was it because she’d damaged their barrier? Confused and frightened, Senna fled back the way she’d come. She opened her eyes to find herself standing in the center of the Ring of Power with no memory of having moved there. Her hood was thrown back, rain streaming down her face. Whatever she’d experienced had stirred up a savage fear, awakening instincts that overrode rational thought. She tipped her face into the rain and sang.

Haven lift up thy stakes,

Winds a path to make—

A stinging pain spread across her face. Her hand to her cheek, Senna stumbled back in shock. The earth trembled all around her.

Hand raised for another slap, Drenelle stood before her, chest heaving. “Who taught you that song?”

Senna suddenly grew conscious of the mud squelching between her bare toes. Bewildered, she searched for some kind of explanation. The Witchlings were on their feet, their expressions stunned. Feeling the perfect imprint of the woman’s hand, Senna dropped her head. “I— What song, Head?”

Drenelle scrutinized Senna like a dead spider in her tea cup. “Don’t lie to me!”

Senna opened her mouth, but the right answer refused to fill it. “Head?”

Drenelle seemed to remember where they were. She pointed to three Witchlings. “Go find the other Heads. Tell them to meet me at the Council Tree.” They pivoted and started away. “Run!” Drenelle shouted. The girls sprinted through the storm.

Drenelle gripped Senna’s arm and hauled her through the Ring and towards the largest tree on the island. Its buttressed roots were so wide and tall it would take a rope to climb them. The Council Tree.

Senna’s heart seized in her chest. “What have I done wrong, Head?”

Drenelle squeezed her arm so tight Senna winced. “Inside.”

The Discipline Head swung open the ponderous door between the two widest roots. Before them was a wooden desk set just in front of a set of spiraling stairs so smooth they appeared to be made of liquid frozen in place.

Mistin started out of her chair. Her eyes widened, and she shot Senna a concerned glance. The small Apprentice was the closest thing to a friend Senna had on the island.

Drenelle hauled her up the stairs, her footsteps heavy. At the top was a circular hallway with five doors. Drenelle marched for the largest door, directly opposite them. Inside was a crescent-shaped room with warped windows fitted between rifts in the tree. Bookshelves lined the walls.

Coyel sat beside the well-bricked-in parlor stove, a book in her lap. She looked younger with her blonde hair hanging loose down her back. “Brusenna? Drenelle, what’s this about?”

Drenelle started pacing from one side of the room to the other. “I don’t want to explain it three different times. We’ll wait for the others.”

Chavis came in moments later. She swung off her cloak and set it on a hook beside the fire. Today, her graying hair hung in twin braids. Senna nervously eyed the pistols Chavis never took off.

Drenelle shucked off her dripping cloak and threw it on a hook by the fire. Her wine-colored skirts were damp around the edges. “Where’s—”

Another voice overrode hers. “This better not be more idiocy about mining deposits in the middle of the Darkwell Sea.”

“There’s enough precious stones there to buy a whole fleet of ships!” Drenelle tried to growl, but it sounded more like a spitting cat.