Witch Born(3)

An explosion of pain spider-webbed through her hand. Her attacker tottered. She shoved him. The man tried to hold on, but his movements were slow and clumsy. Senna kicked her way free and started running. She panted out a song.

Plants of the forest, hide my trail,

For an enemy, I must quell.

She was too winded for the song to be very effective, but it was the best she could manage. At the sound of a sawing knife, she knew the smaller attacker was freeing the larger. They’d be after her soon.

Even with her song weaving the plants behind her, Senna didn’t think she could outrun two men. She needed some kind of weapon. Her head whipped from side to side as she searched for something.

All she saw were enormous plants, broken doors, and windows! She darted into the dense foliage. Plants whipped her face, stinging her eyes. She erupted onto another of the hundreds of Witch-sung paths that wound between Haven’s trees. She followed it for half a dozen steps before darting back the way she’d come.

Beneath a tree’s broken window she flattened herself against the ground, her face pressed into the damp soil. Her movements slow and even, her fingers searched for a piece of glass to use as a weapon. All she could find were worthless bits.

She froze as footsteps pounded past her. The men paused uncertainly, but they were good at this game, better than her. Without a word, they split up. Senna could hear them hunting for her.

She tried to slow her breathing. Sweat soaked through the back of her dark green dress. She started searching again. Something sliced her finger—a shard of glass about the size of a knife blade.

Keeping her movements smooth, Senna wrapped the edge of her cloak around her hand and picked it up. She chanced lifting her head. Sweat rolling down her temples, she listened for any sign of the men before she scooted backward. When she bumped into the tree house, she eased to her feet and edged to the other side.

Now she was near where they’d first attacked her, hopefully the last place they would think to look for her. Her heart pounding in her throat, she waited. Nothing. She moved away from the tree, toward home, her senses straining for any sign she’d been spotted.

Some instinct made her turn around. By then it was too late. The gag bit into her mouth and the knot pulled tight. But the attacker had underestimated the rest of Senna. She whirled and struck with the glass shard.

A gasp slipped from his lips. Under his hood, the bass’s eyes went wide with shock. A gush of warm blood soaked Senna’s hand, and she stumbled back in horror.

The attacker fell to his knees, his large hand on his stomach. Senna retreated, fear clawing her insides.

He watched her, the skin around his eyes creased with pain. “You’re not safe, Brusenna. Soon, all the Witches will be dead.”





2. Nips





The attacker’s threat made Senna’s heart thump painfully in her chest. Who was this man? How had he known her name? She stepped closer and squinted at his face, trying to make out something besides his dark outline.

Somewhere out of sight, the plants rustled as if someone was running through them. The tenor!

Senna turned and fled, not daring to look back. Three times she fell, once so hard she feared she’d broken her wrist. She yanked on the gag, her lips cracking, before finally managing to pull it off.

Ahead, the warm lights of Haven came into view. She caught glimpses of lanterns gleaming inside the trees like distant stars. Had she really gone so far?

When she finally reached her tree house on the outskirts of the inhabited quarter, her breathing came in ragged gasps. She ran inside the tree, up the spiraling central staircase, and wrenched open her mother’s bedroom door.

Her mother sat up. “Brusenna?” Her voice was heavy with sleep.

“We’re not safe!” Senna snatched her mother’s hand and dragged her outside and deeper into Haven.

“What happened? Why are you covered in blood? What happened to your face?”

Senna ignored her. She had to warn the others. Were there more attackers? Was anyone safe? She didn’t stop until she reached the Ring of Power—a circular clearing ringed by tall, ancient trees. She darted to the center. Tipping back her head, she sang.

Wind, carry my song through all of Haven.

An enemy with purpose craven

Has breached our everlasting border,

Wreaking havoc and disorder.

The wind whipped around her song, carrying its message all over the island. It reverberated off the impassable cliffs. Within moments, Witches were pouring into the Ring of Power, most wearing little more than their shifts.

Prenny, her short gray hair sticking up like the scruff of an aggravated dog, marched straight up to Senna. “What’s the meaning of this, Sprout?”

Senna held up her hand to shield her eyes from the lantern Prenny held. The older woman seized her by the wrist.