Witch Fall(77)

Lilette made a mental note to progress through her classes as quickly as possible.

The girl deposited Lilette at her last class, which, of course, was full of young girls. She was given a book and a slate board for her notes. Feeling a little humiliated, she found an empty seat, but of course the chair and desk were too small for her. Still, she tried to listen to the lecture. The other witchlings seemed a little intimidated, whether by the age difference, the strength of Lilette’s song, or her brief stint as an empress, Lilette wasn’t sure. Perhaps all three.

When she returned to the house, Jolin was bent over her pestle and mortar, grinding something that smelled like a weed that grew around the chicken huts on Lilette’s island. Doranna was busily scratching away at some parchment.

“Discover anything?” Lilette asked Jolin.

Jolin rubbed her neck. “Lots of things. Doranna’s been recording our findings all day.”

Lilette moved to the table and picked up a wooden cup, then filled it with water from a pitcher and took a drink. “They have me . . .” Her voice trailed to nothing as the world seemed to wrench to the side and pulse like an animal in its death throes. The cup slipped from her fingers, landing with a clatter on the floor.

“Lilette?” Doranna’s voice sounded far away.

Lilette braced herself against the table, eyes closed as something oily and dark seemed to pool in her gut.

Suddenly, Doranna stood beside her. “Jolin, something’s wrong with her.”

Opening her eyes let in too much stimulation, so Lilette kept them closed as Jolin and Doranna guided her to a chair.

“What is it?” Jolin asked.

Lilette cradled her head in her hands. “It’s like I’m dying, only I’m not.” But that wasn’t quite right. “No, it’s more like a part of me is dying, or being tortured.”

Jolin inhaled sharply. “You can feel it, can’t you?”

“Feel what?”

“There are very few witches who are so tightly bound to the elements that they can sense their discord.” Doranna sounded sad.

“It’s your witch sense,” Jolin explained. “You’re feeling the manipulation of elements. It feels wrong, because it is.”

“I’ve felt this before.” Lilette wet her lips. “When Sash and the others were singing their curse. But it wasn’t this bad.”

“More witches are singing now. It’s stronger,” Jolin said.

Lilette finally dared open her eyes. “That’s what this is, isn’t it? Grove City is singing a curse.” Her thoughts ran from her sister to her island to all the people she had met, even for a moment, while in Rinnish. She pushed back from the table and started toward the door.

“Where are you going?” Jolin asked.

“I can’t just sit here.” She shoved her feet into her boots.

“You can’t stop them!” Doranna moved to follow her. “No one can.”

Lilette didn’t look back. “No. I want to be alone.”

Doranna grabbed a cloak hanging on the wall. “At least take this. If you’re out after nightfall, you’ll be in the rain.”

Lilette slung it over her shoulder. Ignoring the paths, she tromped right through Haven’s mud. By now, the sky had darkened, the once-brilliant blue covered by a film of shadows. Eventually she found herself at the base of the cliffs, her heart racing. She prowled around, desperate for a way up. At last, she found it. Next to one of the waterfalls, stairs zigzagged toward the top of the cliffs. Hiking up her confounded dress, she started climbing.

By the time she reached the top, she was breathless and her legs ached. A sea breeze swept her hair behind her. The sky hard darkened to the deepest turquoise, leaving an orange smudge where the sun had turned to embers. Another woman stood at the cliff’s edge.

She recognized the woman’s stance, her long gray hair. Lilette moved to stand beside her, watching the waves below batter the cliffs as if trying to find a way in. “Bethel.”

“I wondered if you’d come.”

“What is the curse?” It wasn’t one to sink the island. It couldn’t be.

Bethel closed her eyes and murmured in time with the twisted rhythm, “Rains to cease, winds to still, soil to harden, seeds to kill.” She’d spoken in Kalari instead of the Creators’ language, her words eerily echoing the discord.

Though they weren’t sinking the island of Harshen, Lilette thought of the gardens and orchards curling up and couldn’t catch her breath. With some of the men dead, her village would be hard pressed to survive off the sea. And Sash would suffer from this curse along with everyone else.