The Broken Circle: Yarns of the Knitting Witches

by Cheryl Potter

  “We allow no boys,” Ratta had explained, not unkindly. “Besides, fire-tending is the kitchen maid’s chore.”

  The humid air was suffused with the aroma of fleece freshly scoured with lavender soap. Beeswax candles flickered around the gathering, providing the only light other than an oil lamp that glowed on a small stand near the door.

  As the others joined her, Aubergine gazed intently into the pot that bubbled over the fire pit, her back to the broken lock on the storage room door. Draped across her shoulders was the ceremonial shawl, its patterned purples and blacks so dark that they seemed to melt into the surrounding shadows. As the iron pot steamed, Smokey climbed onto her stepstool she had used to peer into the cauldron earlier and counted the figures in the dim light of the broken circle. “We are but nine,” she announced. “Aubergine, nothing works with nine.”

  “Never mind that now.” Aubergine turned her violet eyes toward Ratta. “Are you ready?”

  “First the crystals,” Ratta countered. “Then we wait for Sierra.” Aubergine sighed. “The storeroom is as bare as Wheat reported. There are no more crystals to speak of.”

  “No crystals?” Smokey Jo asked, in a worried voice. “Aubergine, surely you haven’t used them all. We haven’t had a simmer in years.”

  “No, I have not used them all.” Aubergine’s voice sounded weary.

  “Did you take some to your room, maybe?” Smokey asked. “Are they out of reach, perchance? What about that high, high shelf?” Aubergine shook her head. “I did not misplace them.”

  “Does Teal have them, then?” Smokey said. “Has she hidden them, along with my sweater?”

  When Aubergine just pursed her lips, Ratta let loose. “Don’t tell us you have squandered our crystals,” she lashed out. “We didn’t travel all this way to find that you wasted them on foolish visions or ground them into dye for whimsy.”

  Aubergine’s eyes grew dark and thunderous. “You seem to have forgotten that the magic crystals were mine,” she reminded them all. “They came with me from the shores of the Crystal Lakes when I migrated to Bordertown more than forty years ago. I carried an entire sack of them here, and I gleaned a few more over the years from fossickers who frequent a certain rock shop in Artisan’s Hand. But for the most part, the crystals were never replenished.” She held her head high. “They were mine unchallenged, and I used them as I wished.”

  “Is that where all our Northland coins came from?” Smokey Jo whispered. “Have you been trading crystals for silver?”

  “You can’t sell crystals,” Skye said. “Crystals harbor magic, and buying or selling them is against the law.”

  “Then we all belong in jail,” Indigo said.

  “Magic is forbidden by those who desire it most,” Aubergine replied. “Only those who do not understand how to use crystals fear them.”

  “Such as men,” Ratta added with a firm nod.

  “I did sell some of the crystals,” Aubergine admitted. “Shards and slivers, lesser bits.”

  “To whom?” Wheat demanded.

  “The Northland Guard,” Smokey Jo guessed. “That’s why you’ve been retiring to your room to nap. You’ve been frequenting the garrison at night.”

  Indigo turned to Esmeralde. “You see, I knew there was an interloper.”

  “You are our intruder?” Esmeralde stared at Aubergine. “You are the one who has spread rumors of the Twelve along the main track?”

  Aubergine shook her head. “No, the Guard has done all of that. I just made them a little more aware of you, I’m afraid.”

  “Well, whatever you did,” Indigo said, “it tipped them off nicely. We were sought at every checkpoint.”

  “There were even soldiers watching for us at the fair,” Esmeralde said. “At least most of us knew better than to show our faces there. Only Sierra got caught.”

  “For that I am sorry,” Aubergine said. “The garrison commander and his council saw you briefly in a passing vision. It could not be helped.”

  “You sold the last of our crystals to the men who outlawed them?” Indigo asked, incredulous. “And then revealed us in a vision?”

  “You knew the Guard would seek us out!” Ratta raged, her face growing red. Her hair came loose from its bun and fell around her shoulders. “You knew we might get caught! Why in cracked crystal would you do that to people you call your own?”

  When Aubergine remained mute, Ratta whirled on Lily. “Why?” she demanded.

  “The question has been asked,” Lily warned Aubergine. “It will be answered.”

  Aubergine met her eyes steadfastly. “As you must.”

  Lily stepped forward into a beam of candlelight and faced them all. “Aubergine did trade the last of the crystals to the Northland Guard for newly minted silver.”

  “Enough silver to live out her days, I am sure,” Ratta spat.

  Lily held up a hand to silence her. “Enough silver to mount an expedition to the Crystal Caves,” she replied sternly. “War is expensive, and without the lost gem we are defenseless. But that is not the reason she offered the Guard crystals.” She paused to exchange looks with Aubergine. “As you all are aware, magic stones are useless to the Guard without our guidance and interpretation.”

  “A simmer without the Twelve? True, it can’t be done,” Smokey said.

  “Exactly,” Aubergine agreed, with a satisfied look. “I’ll continue,” she told Lily.

  With a nod, Lily stepped back into the shadows.

  “The garrison commander and his council wanted to experience a vision, so I created one for them,” Aubergine said, her eyes flickering in the light. “Over a false pot simmering in their chambers, I showed those men of war a future they wanted so badly that they could not help but believe it.”

  “What did you reveal to them?” Trader asked.

  A crafty look came over Esmeralde’s face. “Tell us,” she said.

  Aubergine smiled, remembering. “The commander and his war council saw the Twelve detained within the Burnt Holes, and the Dark Queen imprisoned in a rolling cage while they went about their war. They witnessed a Northland Army tens of thousands strong, taking the Lowland forces by surprise in the icy Out Crops of the Far North. They saw their captains subduing the South by brute force and marching the remains of the Lowland Army back to the garrison in surrender. It pleased them that they appeared to have no need of any witches or magic or crystals. Finally, I showed them the secret entrance to the famed Crystal Caves. Once inside, they all saw that the caverns were just pretty rooms of ice fit for tourists. The crystals sparkled in the light, but none of them exuded magic.” Aubergine paused. “Everything I showed them was a lie.”

  “You used our crystals to spread lies among the Guard?” Ratta asked, warming to the idea.

  “I aimed to busy them with their war, so that we would have an opportunity to secure the Crystal Caves against the Dark Queen without interference,” Aubergine said. Her brow furrowed and she looked troubled. “I sought to make us look harmless. Little did I realize that the council would take the part about detaining the Twelve so seriously.” Her face cleared and she continued. “They will soon be mounting an expedition to the Out Crops of the Far North, because that is where they think the Dark Queen’s armies are massing. That should keep them occupied. The going is slow around the top of the glacier, and there is nothing up there but windswept ice.”

  “Fine and dandy,” Ratta said. “But how can we to have a simmer without crystals?”

  Aubergine frowned. “I thought Mae would have heeded the call by now. I can’t imagine what delays her. She has plenty of crystals. The last I knew, she kept a pouch of them strung around her neck.”

  “Is it possible that she has found the lost crystal?” Indigo asked. “Sadly, no,” Aubergine shook her head. “She has gathered many fine crystals, but I don’t believe she has that one.”

  “What about the answering fire?” Wh
eat brought up. “Since none of us ever cast the cold-fire crystals skyward, we must assume they are intact. Could we use them in a simmer?”

  “Certainly.” Aubergine studied the faces around the dye pot. “Who had the tinderbox last?”

  Ratta shook her head. “Neither Mamie nor I.”

  “Don’t look at us,” Indigo said, indicating herself and Esmeralde. “If we had answering fire, we would have used it. Do you think we like getting pulled around like puppets?”

  “The last anyone knew, Sierra had that box.” Aubergine glanced toward Skye.

  “Sierra is not here,” Wheat remarked. “What would you have us do now?”

  “Is that why you said my mother might come, but would be too late?” Skye asked Lily.

  “Sierra had the answering fire,” Lily confirmed. “She had the duty of releasing the crystals skyward at the first sign of Aubergine’s summons. Then those here would know that we had seen the fire and would answer its call.”

  Aubergine rose and reached into the shelves of dyestuffs behind her chair. She pulled down the empty tinderbox that had housed the crystals she had thrown into the sky to create the summons. She held out the silver box toward Skye. “It was a seamless container, the match to this one.”

  Trader looked at Skye. “That is your box,” she whispered. “The one you have hidden in your mother’s knits.”

  “I have it,” Skye said eagerly. “It’s in a rucksack upstairs in my room. My mother sheltered it in a bundle of crystal-dyed garments she had a friend hide for me when she was arrested at the fairgrounds.”

  Indigo turned on her. “You had the answering fire this entire time and you didn’t let us use it? Do you realize the bother you could have saved us on the road?”

  “I didn’t even know what it was,” Skye answered. “I slept on it once by mistake and the hard edges gave me a crick in the neck.”

  “Fetch the box,” Aubergine said.

  Skye hurried toward the dye shed door, which burst open before her so quickly that she ran straight into a young man in a Northland Guard uniform.

  From her vantage point at the cauldron Winter Wheat noticed the military intruder first. “Soldiers!” She warned, reaching for her staff.

  The cabochons hit and sparked, chittering like squirrels as they illuminated the doorway. Wheat deftly dipped the crook of her staff, focusing the light from the amber crystals into a blinding beam and aimed at the emblem sewn on the breast of the Guardsman’s tunic.

  Smokey Jo, fascinated, crowed, “Fall back!”

  “Keep out,” Ratta raged, whirling to bar the soldier’s entrance. “Men are not allowed here.”

  “What a surprise!” Skye gave the young man a joyful hug, and then turned to the others. “I know he looks like a grown man and a Guardsman, but he’s just my brother.”

  “He’s still a boy,” Ratta glowered, as Skye tried to pull Warren past her. “He can’t come in.”

  Suddenly the lamp on the stand by the door began to wobble, before spilling a trail of oil across the worn planks. The burning wick ignited the oil, which erupted in a curtain of flame across the doorway.

  “What in cracked crystal?” Warren shrank back from the fire.

  “The magic of men is not welcome here, now or ever!” Ratta snarled.

  “Ratta, the boy could not have known,” Lily said.

  Warren looked from his sister to Lily. “I swear I did not knock it.” As he bent to steady the hissing lamp, green flames burst anew from its chimney and singed his fingers.

  Warren leapt back, shaking his hands. “Shards!” he swore.

  “Leave it be! You’ve caused enough damage,” Ratta shouted, coughing. Scowling at him, she reached for the blazing lamp. Almost immediately the fire subsided. She surveyed the doorframe, which continued to smolder and choke the room with smoke. “Look what he’s done!”

  Smokey Jo jumped down from her stool. “Stand aside! I can put it out.” Armed with a remnant of damp carpet she saved for such occasions, Smokey Jo scurried to the doorway and beat out the remaining flames.

  Before she was quite done, they heard more commotion in the hall, the sound like a cornered cat, spitting and fighting. The noise grew louder. A cloaked figure stepped through the hovering smoke, dragging a small form dressed in an oversized army jacket. The scraggly thing shrieked terribly.

  “Noooooo,” it yowled, struggling like a trapped animal. “No, no, no.”

  A tall Northland woman yanked the creature unceremoniously into the room. “It was all I could do to coax her back here again,” she said to the youth.

  “You should have used the rope,” he replied, loosening the coil from his climbing belt.

  The feisty thing kicked at him. “No!” she spit. “No!”

  Shrinking away from the braided hemp, she turned with a baleful stare, noticing the others. The group of witches stood in a semicircle to each side of Aubergine, struck silent by the scene before them.

  “Mae?” the old crone said.

  From the far side of the bubbling pot, Aubergine’s eyes rested on the heavy pouch hanging from a cord around the scrawny neck. “Greetings, Lavender Mae. You are just in time for the simmer.” She smiled and held out her arms. “Welcome, Sierra Blue.”

  Sierra bowed her head. “We apologize to the Twelve for our tardiness.” She stroked the top of Mae’s head to calm her. “We had an unavoidable delay.”

  “Mae,” the crone agreed, clinging to Sierra with her eyes shut tight.

  Sierra shot Aubergine a troubled glance. “I could not answer your call. I no longer carried the fire.”

  “Mother?” Skye whispered. “I have the box.”

  “That’s your mother?” Trader asked.

  “Yes.” Skye went to embrace Sierra, but stopped short because the creature by her mother’s side looked like she might bite. “I barely recognized you,” she confessed.

  “Nor I you,” Sierra said. “You look like a woman grown. Are you well?”

  Skye nodded solemnly. “Garth is in the kitchen. We never found father.” She dropped her eyes. “I have your place in the circle now.”

  “That is as it should be,” Sierra said gently.

  “How have you fared?” Esmeralde asked, taking in Sierra’s lined face, her soiled cloak, and the addled crone clinging to her. “When we learned you went to the fair, we feared the worst.”

  “As well as could be expected, given the circumstances. I escaped imprisonment in the Burnt Holes only to find my son, deserted from the army and wandering the lower caves of the glacier with Lavender Mae.”

  Lily shook her head sadly at the wizened witch whose face was buried in the folds of Sierra’s traveling cloak. “It’s hard to believe she is our Mae.”

  “It’s more difficult to believe that the two of them arrived without being covered with bites and scratches,” Indigo said.

  “She bit.” Warren pulled up his sleeve to reveal a small crescent on his wrist above angry red claw marks. “And scratched. She ran off twice.”

  “We’ve had a trying time,” Sierra said. “I eluded my captors only because they feared a dervish that flew north past us. They decided to retreat to the safety of the garrison. In the fray, I was able to slip deep into the ice caves.” She gave Warren a curious glance. “There I discovered my son, whom I have not seen in months, leading one of our own like a pet on a leash.”

  “That’s no stranger than Wheat’s antics.” Ratta snorted. “In her room, she harbors a sheep that she mistakes for a lap dog.”

  Wheat glared at her. “You find that peculiar? Really?” She looked back at Sierra. “When I met Ratta on the road, she was carrying Mamie’s body around in a shawl, like a baby.”

  “Enough,” Lily warned.

  Not to be outdone, Smokey Jo raised her hand and waved it wildly. “I toyed with Wheat’s staff until it turned me into smoke,” she blurted. “I stole Teal’s jac
ket unchallenged and that made her mad.”

  “We all have tales to tell,” Aubergine said, with a sharp glance at Ratta. “One of us in particular.”

  Sierra surveyed the room. “Does anyone know anything about a dervish?”

  Wheat raised her staff. “A few days ago, I freed a dervish from a block of ice some Lowlanders hauled out of the glacier.”

  Sierra smiled. “You will be glad to know that he made it back safely.”

  “Excuse me, but should I still get the box of answering fire?” Skye asked in a timid voice.

  “There is no need now,” Aubergine said. “I trust Mae has more powerful crystals.” Her eyes rested on the outlandish witch. “Can you behave as one of the Twelve? You are still one of us, after all.”

  The crone raised her head to peek at Aubergine. “Mae,” she agreed in a small voice.

  “Then come.” Aubergine clapped her hands. “Come to the circle.”

  Mae picked her way meekly toward the empty space to Skye’s right. Sierra hesitated. Only two vacancies remained; the one to between Skye and Trader that had been Tasman’s and the other, between Ratta and Indigo, which was Mamie’s. Ratta shifted from foot to foot, defending her territory like a protective dog.

  Aubergine stood before the steaming cauldron. Her mantle fluttered around her shoulders as she raised her hands high. “I name Sierra Blue Keeper of the Tales, and bequeath to her all the duties that position entails,” she announced.

  As Sierra tried to pass, Ratta barred her way. “That legacy was Mamie’s to bestow.” She shot Sierra a hateful glare. “As her ward, I stand to inherit.”

  “Keep your place,” Aubergine warned.

  “I speak the tongue of the ancients,” Ratta argued. “I’m the only one who has that skill.” She turned to Lily. “I cared for Mamie twenty-five years. Her heritage is mine by rights.”

  “You are here in your own stead, remember?” Lily shook her head in regret. “Bar Sierra’s path and you will share the fate of Tracery Teal.”