Water. I need to find water.
Witches can’t be burned by the sun, but we can still suffer from exhaustion and heatstroke. In this kind of heat, without any shelter, I could survive without water for three days, if I was lucky. But the shaders don’t have that kind of time.
Mr. Burrows will come back before the risk to them is too great. He has to.
When the only thing left is your magic, when that’s all you have to rely on, you’ll learn to respect it.
That’s when I fully understand the test. Mr. Burrows purposely put shaders at risk to force me to use my magic, knowing they won’t survive without it.
Part of me wants to die out here just so Mr. Burrows has to deal with the consequences, but he’s not worth it. And I refuse to let this family suffer.
I turn back and see Angela hurrying toward her kids with a long stick. She pounds it into the dirt and gets her sweatshirt stretched out between the rocks and the stick. She carries her kids under the makeshift tent.
I walk farther away, listening for anything that sounds like water. But there’s nothing.
I reach for my magic. It’s faint and weak, but at least there’s something. Maybe I just need to sit down again.
I lower myself to the ground and shove my hands into the dirt. I take a few deep breaths and send my magic into the earth, the icy feeling cooling my insides. It makes my thoughts just a little sharper. But it doesn’t have the aggressive rush I’m used to during winter. It’s slow and heavy, reacting to the heat. My body is so busy trying to cool itself down that there’s hardly any energy left for magic. It crawls out of me and along the dirt as if in slow motion.
But it’s enough to sense water. I thank the Sun for the recent rain, keeping the earth full of moisture. All I have to do is extract it from the ground and form a small rain cloud.
I try not to think about the sweat lining my neck and forehead, dripping down my chest. All the water I’m losing that isn’t being replenished.
I sit back on my heels and close my eyes. My magic is a shadow of itself. In this heat, it’s inefficient at best, completely useless at worst.
But still, I focus everything I have on the moisture in the ground. I pull and pull and pull, and finally, a small rain cloud appears. My arms are shaking, and my jaw is clenched, the overwhelming heat threatening to abolish the cloud before I can make it rain. I move it over the water bottle, and as gently as possible, I drain the cloud.
It’s barely enough water for a single person, let alone four of us. But it’s something.
I look back at Angela. She’s far in the distance, but I can see her kids under the tent, can see her sitting next to them.
The sun dips below the horizon, the last rays of sunlight illuminating the sky in oranges and pinks. Then it’s gone. Everything is so quiet.
Twilight moves over the field, and soon I’m enveloped in darkness.
I take my phone out and turn on the flashlight. The low battery warning pops up on the screen. I make my way toward Angela and her kids.
“That’s all there is?” she asks, her voice trembling, taking in the half-full water bottle.
“For now,” I say. “The temperature will go down overnight, and hopefully my body will regulate. I’ll try for more in the morning, before the sun is up.”
I look at her kids. They’re asleep, but their breathing is shallow.
“Wake them up. They need to drink,” I say, handing her the bottle. “You too.” I try to ignore her excessive sweating, the way she rubs the muscles in her calf.
Once the kids have their water and I make sure their temperatures are under control, they fall back asleep. Angela takes a small sip and hands the remainder to me.
“No,” I say. “Drink it.”
She nods, then lies down next to her children. I watch them for several seconds. Another day out here will be catastrophic for them—organ failure, brain damage, death; it’s all a risk. The reality barrels down on me like a rockslide.
My heart races as I walk farther down the rock edge, close enough to hear them if they need me. I finally lie down. My clothes are still wet from earlier, and goose bumps form all over my body.
My stomach rolls with hunger, and my mouth is dry.
Tomorrow is a fresh start. If I can just sleep, I can regain some strength and try again. The night air is still hot, still clammy, but without the sun shining, there’s a respite from the intense heat.
I shift on the grass and curl into myself. Stars shine overhead, and a crescent moon hangs in the night sky. It’s clear enough to see the Milky Way.
It’s peaceful here, and I think how much I’d love it if I weren’t so scared. So angry. So weak.
I think Sang would love it too.
The thought pops into my mind unbidden, and I try to force it back out.
I wrap my arms around my chest and roll onto my side. Eventually, my breathing slows, and my eyelids fall closed.
It is very still and very dark.
Chapter Eighteen
“Discovery is a gift: discovering ourselves, and discovering others.”
—A Season for Everything
I dream that I’m not alone. Sang is with me. He sleeps beside me with his arm draped over my side, and I am not scared.
I am content beneath the sparkling starlight.
When I wake, I slowly sit up. My skin is sticky with sweat. My head is throbbing, and I push my fingers against my temples, trying to rub the pain away.
It’s still dark out.
I’m covered in dirt, and several pieces of grass are stuck in my curly hair.
I stand up and brace myself for the inevitable dizziness. Nausea roils my stomach. I take a steadying breath, but it’s no use.
I drop to the earth and dry heave. With my stomach already empty, it doesn’t last long. I push my hands into the dirt and spit. When I’m sure it’s over, I slowly stand.
The spinning isn’t as bad this time, and I manage to stay upright until it stops completely. My heart thumps rapidly.
Even in the dark, it’s so hot.
But sleeping was good for me. Magic pulses beneath my skin, stronger than yesterday. It’s nowhere near its usual strength—most of my energy is still going toward keeping my body cool—but it’s there.
And it might be enough.
Dawn begins to stretch across the field. I rush to where Angela and her kids are sleeping, and when I’m sure they’re stable, I grab the empty water bottle. Once I get far enough away so as not to disturb them, I build small rain clouds over and over until I’ve filled the bottle to the top.
Rays of sunlight appear from the east, painting the field in golden streaks. But everything is quiet. Animals are asleep, burrowed underground. Most of the birds have migrated south, and the world is still in a way only winter can orchestrate.
I walk back to Angela. She’s awake now, watching her kids sleep. Their little chests rise rapidly, and sweat lines their faces. But that’s good. Once the body loses the ability to cool itself, sweat can no longer form, and heat exhaustion turns into heatstroke.
I hand Angela the bottle of water, and she takes a small sip.
“Mommy, my head hurts,” her little girl says, starting to cry.
“I know, baby, I know,” Angela says, giving her some water. “This will make you feel better.”
We have to get them out of here.
I look at the sunbar in the distance, the way the light glitters and moves across the field. I won’t be able to dismantle it, not when it’s so big. Not when I’d have to fight against the witches who are keeping it there.
“We need to talk,” I say to Angela. She nods and follows me out of earshot of her children. She sways on her feet, steadying herself against the rock face.
“You all have heat exhaustion,” I say. “Once it turns into heatstroke, you won
’t have a lot of time before medical attention becomes necessary.”
“But we’re stuck,” Angela says, looking at the sunbar, then back at me. Her voice wobbles.
“I have to go for help,” I say.
“No, you can’t leave us—”
“I have to,” I say, looking her in the eye, making sure she understands what I’m saying.
“Can you get through the sunbar?” she asks.
I look back at it and nod. “It’ll take a lot of my energy, but yes. It won’t burn me the way it would you.” What I don’t tell her is that it’ll likely send me right into heatstroke, and I won’t have much time before I pass out from it.
But it’s the only way.
“I’m going to try and make you some hailstones. They won’t last all day, but they’ll help.”
“Thank you,” she says, her voice small and scared.
I walk to the other side of the field, a safe distance away, and get to work.
Magic rises inside me. I take a long, deep breath and hope the freezing current gives me enough energy for what I need to do. On my exhale, I close my eyes. The cold flow of winter pours through my fingers and into the earth, searching out every drop of water it can find.
When the flow of magic is heavy with moisture, almost too much to carry, I pull. I pull as hard as I can, with every bit of energy I have. My pulse is racing, and I’m dizzy, but still I pull. The cold magic stings against the sweltering heat, but still I pull.
I’m sweating, and my breathing is so shallow and so fast. But still I pull.
In one swift motion, I send the droplets of water into an updraft of air, freezing them as they rise. Once they get heavy enough, they begin to fall, amassing more water. I shoot them back into the updraft, refreezing them. I do it over and over and over again. They have to get large enough that they don’t melt right away.
But it’s so hard. I’m breathless. My skin is clammy. I’m light-headed, and the ground seems to tilt beneath me. I struggle to stay upright.
I struggle against the 113 degrees of heat.
I struggle to remember why I’m doing this, why I’m here.
I keep going, but my magic falters. I’m not strong enough to hold the updraft needed for the hailstones to keep freezing. They begin to drop.
They’ll all melt if I can’t get them high enough, vanishing before they can do any good.
“Clara!” Angela calls in the distance. “He isn’t responding to me. He just passed out!”
I can do this. I have to do this. My hands shake, and my face is tense, eyes squeezed shut and jaw clenched tight.
Then I remember Sang and the waterfall. I’m in the current, rushing toward it. I have to choose to fall.
I take a long, deep breath. I inhale my fear—fear that I won’t succeed, fear that Angela and her children will die out here. Fear that the Earth has been hurt so badly that we can never make it whole again. Fear that I will never be enough.
Then I let it all go. I release all the tension in my body, tilt my head back, let the current push me over the edge.
I’m in a free fall of magic, power bursting from my fingers and into the air, tossing the hail higher and higher as if it’s weightless. I create as much hail as possible, stones dropping out of the sky in rapid succession.
When I open my eyes, I’m stunned. The field is covered in them, hailstones the size of peony blooms.
My head is pounding. All I want to do is sleep.
I gather as many as I can and rush them to Angela. I hand her a hailstone. “Hold this to his mouth,” I say. Angela takes it, hands shaking. “Come on, baby,” she whispers over and over.
I grab more hailstones and pack them all around the boy, against his neck and armpits and legs. His eyes slowly open, and I breathe out in relief.
But he isn’t sweating, and when I put my hand to his forehead, I can feel the heat rolling inside him. Angela and her daughter aren’t far behind.
I have to get them out of here.
I gather more hailstones and pile them up around both kids. “Stay with them. Keep putting ice around them, and yourself too. I’m going to get help.”
“Clara,” Angela whispers, touching my arm. “You don’t look well.”
“I’m okay,” I say.
She grabs my hand and looks into my eyes, worried and scared and red with tears. “Thank you.”
I nod and walk toward the sunbar, keeping my steps as steady as possible so Angela doesn’t see how drained I am.
My cell phone is dead, but if I can get to the road, I have a chance of seeing another person. All I have to do is walk.
The sunbar warps the space in front of me, and nausea coats my stomach.
I take a running start, close my eyes, and jump through it.
I gasp when pure sunlight pierces my skin and cradles my organs. My temperature rises like a balloon that’s slipped through my fingers, going up and up and up.
I collapse when I get to the other side.
I choke on the air and claw at the earth.
Maybe I could sleep right here. I want to sleep.
My head throbs.
I force myself to stand.
I step over rocks and through underbrush, following the path I came up yesterday. I’m careful with each step I take.
I’m not sure how much time has passed when I finally see the tire marks left by Mr. Burrows’s car. We were on the dirt road for a long time, but a road is easier to follow than a narrow path.
I keep going.
My shoes kick up dust, and my legs are caked in dirt. My shallow breathing is the only sound disrupting the perfect silence of the mountainside. The day gets hotter.
My legs get heavier and heavier until I’m sure each step will be my last.
I have to cool down. With everything I have, I pull just enough magic to the surface of my skin that it produces a cooling effect throughout my body. The bite, the perfect cold of winter, settles in my skin, and I breathe out in relief. It feels as if I drank enough ice water to permeate my whole body. I walk faster.
A slight breeze moves through the air, and I kick up my magic enough to get a stronger current going.
I close my eyes and breathe some more.
My heart is pounding fast and hard. I wish I could slow it down. It’s taking everything I have just to stay awake, just to keep breathing.
I follow a bend in the road, and in the distance is sharp, blinding sunlight.
I trip and stumble toward it. I’m not sweating anymore, and my lungs hiss from the effort it takes to breathe.
With shaking hands, I release some magic to the earth and form one more rain cloud. It’s small, barely enough for a full drink. It will have to do for now.
I stare at the main road, at the sunlight hitting the pavement, and I steady myself. I can do this.
With one shaky step after another, I walk to the end of the dirt road.
Everything looks distorted, as if there’s an Earth-sized sunbar between me and the rest of the world.
The temperature ticks up now that I’ve lost the elevation of the mountain.
One hundred and twenty-one degrees slam into me, and for a moment I think I will ignite upon impact.
But I don’t. So I keep walking.
One foot in front of the other.
Left.
Right.
Breathe.
Chapter Nineteen
“I’ve had moments of despair and deep resentment. But then I stand outside and touch the earth, feel the magic in my fingertips, and understand that this is how it’s meant to be. The sun and stars conspired for me, and I am filled with gratitude.”
—A Season for Everything
I have been walking for hours. I think it’s been hours. Maybe it’s been minutes. I don’t know. The heat wave must be
keeping people indoors, because only a handful of cars have passed me. I waved at them all, but none of them stopped.
Then again, maybe I’m delirious. Maybe I didn’t wave at all.
My vision is blurry, and the road stretches out so far in front of me that it fades into the horizon.
My magic is the only reason I’ve been able to make it this far. It moves underneath my skin, keeping my body as cool as it can. But even magic is finite, and when it runs out, so will I.
Headlights appear in the distance, blurry white orbs moving toward me.
“Help.” I try to yell the word, but it’s inaudible. I clear my throat. “Help,” I say again. This time, the word is a whisper.
I can’t think straight.
I have to wave, get the driver’s attention somehow. My brain tries to send the signal to my arms, but they don’t move.
“Help,” I say again, and with every ounce of strength I can gather, I lift my arms above my head. It feels as if I’m lifting the weight of the whole world.
But it works.
The truck slows and pulls over.
Sang jumps out, and now I’m sure I’m imagining things. He’s running toward me.
I want to yell at him. I want to scream and push him away for not warning me about this test, for not trying to stop it.
I want to collapse in his arms. I want to cry and cling to him because I’m so relieved he’s here.
He rushes to my side and wraps an arm around my waist. He is searching my face, and his lips are moving, but I can’t hear what he’s saying.
He’s so blurry.
“Family. Mountain,” I manage to get out.
I can’t support my head anymore, can’t support anything. All at once, my strength is gone, and my legs give out.
My magic is the last thing I feel, still working when everything else has stopped.
Then darkness.
***
When I open my eyes, I’m in a truck. It’s moving quickly, trees passing by the window in a blur. There are cold, damp cloths on my forehead and chest.
I roll my head away from the window. Sang is focusing on the road, squeezing the wheel so tightly his knuckles are white. The edge of his hand is covered in faint pink paint.
The Nature of Witches Page 12
