He nodded, but she got the feeling he didn’t quite believe her.
She and Joshen trotted down the pier, towards Reden and the horses.
By the time their group finally reached the stone streets, Cord was waiting for them. “Mistin has scouted out a half league ahead, just like last time,” he said. “She’ll relay to me, and I to her. That way we can cover twice the distance. If you hear gunshots, you’ll know there’s trouble.”
Regretting her breakfast of travel bread and salt pork, Senna swallowed several times. “And if there’s trouble? What are we going to do?”
“We get out,” Reden said.
Circumventing the city wall, they bypassed homes built on the rounded mountain. Even though it had only been a few months since the curse, hovels were already falling in on themselves. Sunny limped slightly, especially when they traversed rocky ground.
The small group crossed into forest bleached white by the unrelenting sun. Suddenly, Sunny shied. Senna held tight to the reins as he reared, his eyes rolling in fright. She gripped his mane so hard her fingers ached. Reden leveled his musket at something behind her. Smoke and burning powder shot from the barrel.
An inhuman scream split the night. Joshen swore.
Sunny bolted, his body bunching and then lengthening beneath her. It took all Senna’s skill to pull him to a halt. Still he fought, shaking his head like a fish fighting to be free of a line. She looked back at the others. A great black jaguar staggered from the trees, a yowl passing its lips. Hip bones pushed sharply against its dull coat. Its chest was bloody, but still it came on.
Joshen lowered his musket and fired. The cat fell soundlessly. It seemed smaller just lying there—pitiful, even. How desperate must it have been for food to come after them?
“Anyone within a league heard those shots,” Reden growled, as the men reloaded swiftly.
Senna watched the dark shape of the cat until it was out of sight.
Not long after, Cord came galloping back. When he learned the shots were for a jaguar, he grunted. “I’ll let Mistin know not to worry. Not much farther now.”
They passed through two great mountains as morning gave way to midday. They caught up with Cord and Mistin at the Tangles Trees—a nearly impenetrable barrier of bush-like trees that surrounded Espen’s domain. They were mostly dead now, so Senna’s song couldn’t help them past it. Instead, they had to hack their way through. Senna was covered in welts and scrapes by the time they emerged into the sunlight.
Not long after that, they entered a clearing now devoid of trees. Reden, Cord, and Mistin spread out to check the area. The air was thick and heavy to breathe—another storm was coming; Senna could taste it. When she caught sight of Espen’s tree, dread filled her all the way to her fingertips.
Joshen reached over and took her hand. Their eyes met and wordless understanding passed between them. They’d both faced death here.
After dismounting, Senna led her horse forward. Side by side, she and Joshen walked through the clearing and came to stand before the great tree.
It was worse than her last dream. Flakes of bark had fallen off, leaving bald spots. Most of the leaves were gone now. Those that did remain had rusty edges and crusty boils across their surface.
Senna found the bare patch of ground—the same one Espen had written in before—and waited. But the branches trailed listlessly in the wind, and silence filled the air. Were they too late?
“Espen?”
The tree shifted sluggishly before straightening. Leaves fell like scales shed from a lizard as Espen reached forward to scratch in the dirt, “Too late.”
Senna clenched her fists to her side. “Too late for what? Stop your foolish games and tell me!”
Espen brushed it smooth again. “Too late save Haven. Calden comes.”
All blood drained from Senna’s face and pooled in her feet. She steadied herself against Joshen. “Calden? But they were destroyed when the Haven Witches fought them. Surely only a few survived.”
The branch Espen wrote with snapped. She continued with the broken tip as if she hadn’t noticed or didn’t care. “Calden not destroyed.”
How could this be? All anyone had found were a few pollywogs where Calden had been. “What do you mean?”
“Haven not only island that moves.”
Calden was an island? “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”
“You know.”
Senna did know. The Four Sisters were singing their song, and it was one of foreboding. “When?” she asked.
“Soon.”
If the entire island of Calden had survived, how many thousands of Witches must there be centuries later? Senna shook down to her bones. “Where are they?”