“You used my first name.”
Garg shrugged. “So? Not like it made any difference. The horseman would’a still pounded you raw.”
“You didn’t do any better with that gangly kid,” Wardof shot back.
“You’re supposed to be the Hunter. You should’a had that Witch at the house. Then we wouldn’t be searchin’ the whole city state lookin’ for her!”
Wardof shook his head in disgust. “I told you, there’s only two ways to capture a Witch—catch them in their sleep or manage to cover their mouths before they can start singing. How was I supposed to know she’d have a dog to wake her?”
“You should’a watched the house longer,” Garg replied.
“How’d a half-wit like you come to be over Perchance district anyway?”
“No one else wanted to live in Gonstower,” Garg grumbled.
“That explains it,” Wardof sneered.
Garg shot him a look of hate. “Don’t call me no more names.”
Bringing his bruised face closer, Wardof beckoned Garg toward him. “You wanna do something to stop me, you dull, fat, laughable excuse for Espen’s Servant!”
Garg lunged at him. The tray and its contents went flying, covering both men with split pea soup. Wardof had just managed to twist Garg into a headlock when the door creaked open. Flowing black folds swept into the room.
“Stand up, you two incompetents!”
Wardof knew that voice. Releasing his grip, he and Garg clambered to their feet. Wardof took in her wavy hair and green eyes. If he didn’t know her, he would have thought her beautiful. “Espen,” he began. “I know I told you I’d have her by now, but—”
“I told you to find her,” Espen interrupted. “A simple girl. Untrained even.” She began pacing, eyeing them like a hawk circling its prey. “And yet you have failed me. Twice. Both times, I’ve had to save you from the law. Both times, I’ve had to leave my charges.” Her eyes flashed as she stepped toward them. “I’d find her myself, but the new captives are still fighting me and I can’t leave them until they are more complacent.” Whipping around, she pinched their noses and yanked hard.
Awkward as it was, Wardof didn’t fight her grip as she dragged them from the cell. He saw enough of the guardroom to know both of their guards were wrapped in poison barbus. Gorgeous orange blooms filled the whole room with a heady scent that made Wardof’s eyes heavy. Only his nose being pinched shut and his fear kept him moving as the vines coiled around the sheriff’s men like fat snakes. Within hours, the barbus would dissolve their flesh.
When they reached fresh air, Espen released them and glided forward. Rubbing his nose, Wardof and Garg took their places ten paces behind her. As they walked past a tavern, Wardof groaned inwardly. Inebriated men rarely missed Espen’s beauty.
He certainly hadn’t. And now look where he was.
Sure enough, an appreciative patron stepped out and called, “Hey, lovely! Care to come take a drink with Tomund?”
Espen keep walking.
Garg shot the man a warning look. Not surprisingly, the man didn’t catch it.
Tomund took off, jogging to catch up with her. “Come on now, I’ll buy you some ale.”
Espen whirled on him. Wardof and Garg instantly backpedaled. “If I had any desire for a …” she looked him over and spat, “man, I would’ve responded the first time. But seeing you are persistently foolish, I’ll give you a taste of foolishness.” Taking a small container from her belt, she coated her mouth with a waxy substance and, singing softly, brought her full lips toward his.
Delighted, the man leaned down, but the moment their lips met, he backed up and looked about in confusion. “Who am I? Who are you?”
She smiled. “I’m your mother and I’m telling you that you must jump. Jump all day and all night. Forever and ever.”
With an expression of grim determination, the man started jumping as high and as hard as he could.
Wardof exchanged an ominous look with Garg. Had her mood been as foul when she’d “recruited” him, that could have been his fate. They both knew the power Espen held over them.
At the edge of the forest, Espen sang a Ring of Power into existence—the trees groaned as they obediently circled. She called upon the wind. She’d leeched enough power from her captives that the wind lifted her up and away. In less than an hour, she’d be back in her domain.
Wardof fingered his own crescent moon pendant, almost wishing he could break it off and throw it in the sea, bury it deep within the Earth, or melt it in a blacksmith’s fire so Espen could never find him again. But that was foolishness. She’d find him. And she’d make him pay.
Besides, a little Witch was out there. Somewhere.
He mustn’t keep her waiting.
8. THE DAWN SONG
For the next few days, the Dawn Song directed Senna northeast. She moved quickly, choosing roads far from towns and people. At some point, she seemed to pass an invisible barrier that turned back all the storms Perchance should have had—doubly dousing Urway and causing endless flood damage.
Everything Senna had was soaked through. And even when it wasn’t raining, she felt damp and cold. A few days ago, she’d moved into a constant fog and that she liked even less than the rain. It darkened the world like a sodden blanket, smothering her while denying the warmth and comfort of the sun.
To keep her mind occupied, she practiced her scales, paying special attention to her range, tone and control. Bruke’s warning bark brought her out of her miserable slump to sit up straight in the saddle. Lifting her rain-soaked hood, she squinted at his hazy form through the fog. “What, boy?”
He barked again. With a whine, he took off.
“Come!” She urged Knight to a faster walk. She stood up in her stirrups, straining to see through the fog. “Bruke, you silly kitty cat, come!” What if he didn’t come back? He always came back. She felt a flash of heat course through her. She started sweating. “Bruke! Come!” She nudged Knight into a teeth-clattering trot. What if he left her? Like her father and her sister … and her mother. The void inside her swelled until it threatened to swallow her whole.
She buried her heels into Knight’s sides. He shot forward. The sudden motion threw her back. Desperately fumbling for the horn, she barely managed to pull herself upright. With every wrenching stride, Senna was jerked back and forth like a rag doll. Finally, she managed to gather a fistful of reins and pull Knight to a stop.
Without thought, she abandoned the saddle. But her foot caught in the stirrup. Off balance, she lurched forward. Her hands shot out to break her fall. Grit dug into her palms. The impact jarred her wrists. Afraid Knight would take off, dragging her to her death, she scrambled to a sitting position.
But he just sniffed her leg and looked at her with his liquid eyes. Senna got to her feet and finally managed to untangle her foot. Before Knight could wander off, she looped the reins over her arm. With a groan of frustration, she cradled her hands into her chest.
And then Bruke was there. Kneeling, she wrapped her arms around his neck. The sobs came. “Don’t you ever run away from me again. When I say come, you come!”
Bruke whined and licked her face.
He was all wet and smelled funny. She pushed him back. She looked up at the saddle and spoke to Knight, “Thank you for taking care of me, but we are never going that fast again. Ever.”
Senna dug dirt out of her skinned palms and brushed off her dress. The wind combed its fingers through her hair. She heard a rhythmic, scraping sound. She couldn’t see anything through the detestable fog. Taking the reins, she led Knight forward.
The wind picked up, blowing hard enough to whip back her cloak. The sound grew louder. Suddenly, she stepped through the last of the fog. Then she caught sight of the ocean. “The sea,” she said breathlessly. The black-green waters stretched so far she could decipher the gentle curve of the Earth. Bruke was already trotting down the slope to the water.
Carefully, she came closer. The rounded ston
es felt hard through her boots. Senna cautiously watched the water rushing toward her feet before retreating back in on itself. Bending down, she let the waves splash over her hand. By the Creators, it was cold! Tentatively, she brought her dripping fingers to her mouth. “Salty!” So the stories were true.
Shaking off the droplets, Senna stood. Night was coming on. She needed to find a place to camp and there wasn’t much for Knight to eat here. She walked down the beach until she found a place where the sheer face retreated to form a little alcove. A few trees and some grass padded the rocky ground.
Thanks to the rain, the driftwood was too wet to burn. Eating a cold, dry meal from her pack, she watched as the fog slowly rolled back in. The cold Earth leeched heat from her already-shivering body. Tipping her head back, she sang a song from her mother’s journal.
Oh kind Ash tree,
Wilt thou make a nest for me?
By the time she’d repeated the song a dozen times, the tree above her had woven its branches into a concave bed. Pleased it had worked so well, she turned to Bruke. “You want to join me?”
He looked at the tree, then at her and back again. He pasted himself to her side. She sang another song. With a stiff groan, the tree eased a branch around them and set them gently on the makeshift bed. “Well, that should keep us off the wet ground, at least.” She spread out her bedroll and curled up next to Bruke’s warmth as the cold air brushed across her exposed cheek.
But she couldn’t sleep. She was too saddle sore and wet. And while the tree was dry, the knobby branches weren’t exactly comfortable. She’d just rolled over for the tenth time when she heard the unmistakable sound of hooves clipping stones. Propping herself up on her elbow, she squinted into the darkness.
She could just make out a darker shadow. She felt Bruke’s inaudible growl vibrate against her arm. Pressing herself flat, she peered over the rim of the tree, hoping whoever it was wouldn’t choose this alcove.
She could make out the form of a man leading a horse. What little light the moon gave was behind him, casting his face in shadow. He was staring at the ground, moving forward deliberately. He stopped when Knight’s sharp whinny of greeting rang out. Senna held her breath. Whoever it was, he’d know she was here now. If it was Wardof, she was in for a fight. But someone else could be just as dangerous. What if he tried to take her horse?
The man slowly started backing away. But when he turned, the light caught his face. Before Senna could stop herself, she blurted, “Joshen?”
He whipped around, his head swinging from side to side—he obviously didn’t know to look up. “Senna?”
Though she’d only met him once, she knew that voice. “Joshen?”
He came closer. His brow creased when he didn’t see her. “I’m up here.” Startled, he glanced up at her. She blinked. But he was still there. “What are you doing here?”
“I-I …” He took a deep breath. “I’ve been following you.”
She sat bolt upright. “Following me?”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m your Guardian—or I will be. It’s my job to keep you safe.”
She opened her mouth to argue, but he spoke before she could. “Wardof came to the barn after you left. We managed to tie them both up. The sheriff took them to jail. But they’ve probably escaped by now.”
Her heart pounding, she threw off her blankets. “Wardof,” she squeaked. He’d escaped already? She’d thought she had a few more days at least.
Joshen nodded. “Still want to be alone?”
Senna looked at Bruke’s intelligent eyes. Somehow, the dog seemed to know friend from a foe and Joshen didn’t even merit lifting his head off his paws. She looked back at Joshen. “No.”
Joshen nodded and glanced around the cove. His eyes landed on Knight. Eagerly licking his lips, he ran his hands over the horse’s coat. Eventually, he grunted. “He looks good.” Turning to his own horse, the one he called Stretch, his practiced hands undid the saddle and laid it on the ground. Senna watched as he pulled a crumbled mass from his pack and began devouring it.
She tried to keep her lip from curling in distaste. “I have some supplies in my pack.”
Joshen shrugged as he stuffed the last handful in his mouth. “This’ll work for tonight.” Brushing his hands on his trousers, he looked up at her. “Where’d you get that dog anyway? He’s huge.”
Senna rested her chin on her fist. “Mother bought him as a puppy after some boys shot our plow horse.” Unconsciously, she began stroking his shaggy coat. “He looks after me.”
“Anybody said anything about him?”
“A few funny looks, but no one’s said anything.” She shrugged. “I’d like to see any of them try to hurt him.”
A strange look passed over Joshen’s face, but he quickly covered it. Grabbing blankets from his packs, he started arranging them on the ground.
Feeling guilty, she said, “You could sleep in the tree, too.” Joshen’s brows wrinkled as he studied her bed. “No. I prefer the ground to a bird’s nest. Thank you.”
“Suit yourself.” Senna replied as she squirmed inside her nest.
At dawn, Senna sat up and wrapped her arms around her legs. The rain had started again. She sang softly, so as not to wake her slumbering companion. Again the mist gathered. Only this time, it pointed directly north. She sang a different song and the tree set her gently on the ground and unwound itself.
She shook Joshen’s arm. “Come on.” One bleary eye peeked out at her. “Let’s get going.”
Taking a lungful of air, Joshen yawned and stretched. Neither of them spoke as they ate breakfast. Senna was overly conscious of his presence. It made her uncomfortable to have him there, but at the same time, his companionship was like the rays of spring after a long, desolate winter.
She wasn’t alone anymore.
“How did you find me?” she asked.
“Knight is shod. It wasn’t too hard to follow his tracks.”
Wardof’s hateful words dribbled over her. “I’ll escape and then I’ll kill you.” She closed her eyes. “If you found me, so will he.”
Joshen heaved his saddle on Stretch. “Until he manages to buy another horse, he’ll be afoot and the rain will eventually wash away our tracks. We should be able to keep ahead of him.”
He swung into the saddle and looked at her. “Where are we going?”
Stretching to put her foot in the stirrup, she swung up and started north. Excited to finally get moving, Bruke bound ahead. “Northward to Haven.”
He eyed her dubiously. “Never heard of it. How do you know where to go?”
Senna turned a wary eye toward him. “I just do,” she finally answered. She could tell he wanted to press the issue, but he seemed to know better. He didn’t seem to mind the silence either, which was a relief, because Senna wasn’t good at making conversation. Eventually, she started her voice exercises. She was so wrapped up in stretching her range, it was a while before she noticed Joshen gaping at her.
Her voice cut off.
He blinked. “Don’t—don’t stop.”
She blushed.
He looked awkwardly out over the water. “I didn’t know it was possible for something to be that … intense.”
She ducked her head in her hood so he wouldn’t see her smile. Then, instead of practicing, she sang a Nefalien ballad. She sang song after song until both of them spotted the dark outline of a town through the fog. After her singing, the silence seemed heavier. “Do you know the name?” she finally asked.
Joshen squinted into the vapors. “Probably Corrieth. It’s a trading port”
“And how do the people of Corrieth feel about Witches?” she asked cautiously.
Joshen turned to her, his eyes seeming to understand much more than Senna meant to reveal. “I don’t know, Senna.”
She felt her stomach growing cold. After the warmth and kindness of a few, the chill of many stung more.
9. SIGN OF THE WITCHES
Senna gaped at the si
ze of Corrieth’s walls looming over her. She knew they were meant to keep those inside safe, but it felt more like a cage.
“It’s easily ten times the size of Perchance,” Joshen said.
Senna gulped and cast a worried glance at Bruke. “What do you say, Bruke?”
His tail twitched anxiously back and forth, but he lowered his head and moved cautiously forward. That was enough for Senna.
She was relieved when the gate’s guards barely looked up as they rode by. Within moments of crossing into the city, foreign spices assaulted her. Her mouth watered at the thought of a hot meal.
Joshen smacked his tongue, his eyes forming a question.
With a half-smile, Senna dismounted and moved toward the smell. It didn’t take them long to find the marketplace. As they entered from a side street, she froze in amazement. Foreigners. Lots of them. The subdued hues of her people’s clothing seemed bland compared to the colors and fabrics she thought only possible in flowers.
And the people! Senna hadn’t known humans came in such a wide range of colors and adornments. People with charcoal skin that contrasted with the whites of their eyes and teeth. Golden skin with slanted eyes and thick black hair. More people with frightening blue marks on their flesh, their heads shorn. Others with jewels in their noses, glinting rings in their ears and blankets draped over their bodies like robes instead of trousers and shirts.
Senna squirmed. People pressed in on her from all sides and the smell of food mixed sickeningly with the odor of animal feces and unwashed bodies. From all directions, sounds and colors inundated her remaining senses.
She found herself clinging to Joshen’s side like a frightened toddler. He bought the three of them a small feast. Either Joshen noticed her discomfort, or he was feeling some of it himself, for he led her away from the market and toward the ocean. They managed to find a quiet spot on one of the piers, not far from a small group of sailors who sat idly next to a boarding plank.
She’d forgotten how hot food warmed hands. How it steamed when exposed to cold air. How it filled her stomach with warmth and pleasure instead of simply filling her. She devoured three steaming stuffed rolls before starting on the honeycakes. She’d become so engrossed in her meal that Joshen’s solid elbow to her ribs startled her. Her mouth still open in anticipation of her next bite, she looked at him.