I revoke from this land the Witches’ decree,
That all storms and plants shall cease to be.
Come to me, storms, gently dampen the earth.
Seeds swell with water to rekindle rebirth.
She sang the song over and over, hoping the Witches in Haven wouldn’t notice the decree had been partially lifted. If they did, even from across the ocean, their songs would countermand her own.
When the wind had set her down and left her, she closed her eyes and probed the Four Sisters—Earth, Water, Plants, and Sunlight—with her mind. To her relief, the land no longer felt hollow. She felt a breeze on her skin and the presence of water and plants again. Not as strong as it should be—more like a sluggish resurrection than a full revival. But where there had been only a void, there was now something.
The decree had been partially removed. “It’s not right that so much depends on something as fickle as mankind,” Senna commented.
“You were able to tap into that power again,” Reden said.
All of them stared at her in wonder—staring at her as if she were something more. She sighed. “Not as strong as when I was on the island though. If it had been, I could have restored the land instead of just lifting the curse.”
“It was a hundred times more powerful than it should have been,” Mistin said.
“Senna,” Joshen called as he jogged towards her.
Glad for the change of subject, she looked at him. “Was there a note?”
Nodding, he stopped to catch his breath. “They’ve gone. We can only hope they’re still alive.”
Senna let him steer her towards her butter-colored gelding. “What did it say?”
Joshen handed her the brittle parchment. She carefully unfolded it and read Kaen’s scratchy handwriting.
My network spies say the Witches have cursed Tarten. That the rains will not come nor the seeds take root. From the way everything is dying, I believe them. We are taking what we can—including the two horses you left—and heading seaward. If nothing else, the ocean should provide fish. From there, we travel north. I’ll try to convince the Witch Friends and any I meet to come with us.
Be warned. My spies say the Tarten government is angrier than ever. They are planning retribution. I wish I knew more.
There’s nothing for us here. Nothing for anyone.
May the Creators protect us.
The note wasn’t signed.
Senna opened her fingers, letting it drift down to decay with everything else. The Creators wouldn’t be protecting anyone. They’d given mankind the Witches. If mankind rejected that gift, the Creators wouldn’t believe them worth saving.
“Our old horses are alive.” Joshen met her gaze, and she knew they were sharing the same memory. All those months ago, when Senna had arrived at Joshen’s horse ranch with the Witch Hunters on her heels. He’d sold her the first horse she’d ever owned—Knight. And then he’d followed her across two continents and an ocean to confront the Witch who had defeated all others.
He was still following her.
Senna gave him a small smile. Holding onto those bright memories in this wasted land, she swung onto Sunny’s back.
Mistin and Cord galloped out. She wanted to shout for them to stay—she wasn’t ready to go yet. But they couldn’t linger.
“Come on, Senna,” Joshen said. “Any Tarten within a league and a half heard that song. Let’s go.”
Sunny pranced beneath her. He was an obstinate horse, always looking for ways to outsmart his rider. It made her miss the careful mount Knight had been. She released the tension on the reins. Sunny’s muscles bunched beneath her as he galloped after the others.
Reden turned back to make sure they were coming. She didn’t meet his gaze again. She didn’t think she could.
When they reached the road running parallel to the ocean, Senna saw a dark smudge of clouds in the distance. The rains were finally coming.
“This road will be a mud trap if we don’t beat that storm,” Reden warned them.
Senna was so focused on the storm coming over the ocean that she nearly fell off when Sunny slid to a stop. Fortunately, horsemanship was another skill she’d improved on.
Reden had pulled up short. Cord and Mistin were pounding back to them. “Soldiers!”
Eating up the distance behind them were at least a dozen red-coated Tartens.
Joshen’s horse bumped into Senna’s. He cursed.
“They’re between us and our ship.” Reden seemed to take the fact as a personal insult.
Senna reached inside her seed belt.
Reden backed his sorrel into Sunny. “No, Senna. We have to run.”
She looked at him incredulously. “There aren’t that many of them. I can keep them at bay.”