Krissin caught her studying the irrigation system. “Though the Tarten jungle is less than a hundred leagues away, our weather is vastly different. Another gift from your Witches. As you can see, we have adapted.”
“So this is Calden.” The nation the Witches had burned to a crisp and then denied the rains had found a way to survive. Relief swelled in Senna. Even through all the damage the Keepers had repeatedly caused, people found a way to survive. They always did.
“No longer. We renamed ourselves Caldash when we rose from Calden’s ashes.”
A dozen questions formed in Senna’s mind, questions about the Witches’ numbers, the barrier, or the songs they sang. “We’ve been traveling by river for hours now. How could anyone move an island this big? It would have taken thousands of Witches.”
Krissin stared across the fields. “Logic would agree with you.”
What kind of answer was that? But Senna didn’t ask any more questions because asking felt too close to defeat.
With the sun came heat that sapped the moisture from her body. Feeling her skin start to burn, she pulled her cloak over her head. Though it was made of dark material, the shade it offered more than compensated for the added insulation.
Krissin handed out some food—a nutty bread and some sheep cheese that made Senna thirsty. Exhaustion taking hold, she slept.
When she awoke, the air was decidedly cooler. Her muscles were stiff from sleeping on the hard boat. Rubbing her numb shoulder, she sat up and froze. The arid hills were gone. Instead, great mountains towered over her like wizened old men with crops of snow ringing their bald heads.
Shivering, Senna pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders and looked beyond the press of Guardians partially blocking her view of what lay ahead. What she saw shocked her far more than the sudden change in landscape. A city bloomed between two peaks. A city made of tree houses.
“Where are we?” Senna asked in a daze.
“The city of Lilette—our sacred city,” Krissin said softly. She pointed to enormous sentry trees flanking the river. “The only way in is by river, which is heavily guarded by the younger Guardians. If you don’t have one of our boats, you don’t get in. If you aren’t recognized at the city docks, you are promptly taken captive. Most are never allowed to leave.”
Never allowed to leave. Senna wet her lips. “Why have you brought me here? What do you want?”
“That isn’t for me to decide.”
Senna shook her head. “I don’t understand. You’re the Head of Sunlight.”
Krissin grunted. “We run things a little differently here. As Discipline Heads, we control Caldash’s weather and preside over our Disciplines, but the Composer presides over the law.”
The Witches stopped singing and the boat coasted forward before bumping gently into the dock. Some of the Guardians leapt out to tie it off, while others helped the Witches from the craft.
A man from the city met with Krissin. As they spoke, he peered down at Senna, curiosity and wonder plain on his face, before he turned on his heel and trotted back the way he’d come.
A flock of women were coming down the dock. They wore a less ornate version of the same tunic and loose trousers as Krissin. Senna slowly realized these women were waiting for her. Had been waiting for her. As if they’d known she was coming and had been prepared for it. “What do you want from me?”
Krissin nodded toward the city. “The Composer wishes to speak with you.”
Senna was ushered out of the boat, down the pier, and into the city. People bustled in and out of tree houses. Guardians, children, Witches—lots and lots of Witches. “There are so many Keepers.”
“This isn’t even half our number. We live among our people.”
“I thought no one could leave the city of Lilette?”
Krissin chuckled. “Only Witches and Guardians. If anyone else comes, they are obliged to stay.”
Senna studied the Witches all around her. None of them wore fear on their faces—in fact, they looked peaceful, happy, and prosperous All things Haven scrambled for and fell short.
This was how Haven had been once. Before its numbers were decimated by war and fear. Before Espen had smashed through glass and doors, shattering the fragile remnants of the Witches’ already faltering society. Senna wanted to weep for everything they had lost.
The air smelled of savory herbs, sweet flowers, and dry mountain air. Krissin and the rest of the group wove through a forest of tree houses toward the center of the city, where a massive tree rose high above the others. They passed through a vicious-looking hedge, the entrance of which was watched by sharp-eyed Guardians. “We’ve just passed into the inner courtyard—some men have castle spires, we have our trees,” Krissin explained. “Each tree is like a room in a castle.”