The Spell of Rosette

by Kim Falconer

  Everyone raised their hands over their heads and cheered their greeting, Rosette joining them. Drayco sprang up to rest his front paws on the edge of the wide stage, whiskers twitching as he took in the scents.

  ‘I have one thing to impress on you today,’ she continued. ‘It’s a simple thing. It takes only a moment to say. You’ll spend the rest of your life considering it.’ Makee’s voice boomed out into the crowd. Her head turned slowly, scanning each face.

  ‘There is no turning back.’ There was no other sound in the entire valley. ‘When you enter Treeon Temple for training, you make a binding commitment to this coven and to the gods. It will not always be an easy bond. There will be times when the growth and development of your skills will be arduous. You may question if there is any progress at all. These are the times that test your will, your power to become who you are meant to be. The path is not simple or straightforward. It is not one to choose lightly. Make certain you understand this without question, before you commit.’

  She paused and drew her sword, raising it above her head. ‘I say it again, one last time: there is no turning back.’ She looked down at Rosette then, her eyes boring into the girl.

  Rosette broke out in a sweat. No-one spoke. The valley seemed to echo with La Makee’s voice, though she had stopped speaking. The sun shone directly overhead, making her sword tip flare, lighting it like a beacon. Far off towards the cider barn, a dog barked.

  Then a cloud passed over the sun, dimming the light and breaking the spell. Cheers welled up and the crowd became animated. The High Priestess spoke in detail about commitment and intention. She talked of the mentors and tutors, of the masters and how they chose their apprentices. Rosette was riveted, her senses catching every word and nuance.

  Directions were given. Her name was called, along with a dozen others for the dormitory of Mistress Savine. She hoped all her dorm-mates would cope with Drayco. She didn’t notice any other familiars in the crowd and Dray had spoken of only one other—apparently bonded to the Sword Master. Rosette didn’t imagine she would be coming into contact with him again, or his familiar, at least for a while. She flushed at the thought of her casual manner only moments before. Did he assess all his potential students in such a covert way?

  The clash of steel on steel grabbed her attention. Two apprentices were giving a demonstration, the arc of their swords slicing through the air with choreographed grace. It was the beginning of the forms, the prescribed movements exhibiting calmness, strength, dexterity and precision. She watched, transfixed, as the two apprentices, a tall man and a woman nearly his height, danced with the swords to the pounding of wooden drums. Their focus was amazing.

  Whoops and hollers burst out around her as the apprentices finally froze, sword hands thrust forward, bodies facing each other in a deep lunge. Then they stood back, briefly lowered their eyes in an almost imperceptible bow and sheathed their weapons in perfect synchronicity. As they backed away two more students stepped up, executing progressively more complex forms, their movements astonishing. The drum-beat increased, sending chills up her spine.

  Each demonstration proved more intricate and hazardous than the one before. Rosette took a deep breath when the High Priestess and Sword Master An’ Lawrence walked to the centre of the stage, squared off, and drew their swords. The ring of steel sang over the assembly.

  La Makee had dropped her robe, her hair a tail of fire behind her. Both she and the Sword Master were barefoot, and they moved at precisely the same instant. Rosette watched wide-eyed, the complexity mesmerising. Maka’ra hadn’t taught the forms like this. He had said, I teach you island-style. It is not as they do in the temples. It will save your life if you trust it. He’d talked of the sword forms as living things, and sparring as a chance to let the soul of the sword speak. Rosette smiled. Their souls were certainly speaking now.

  With the speed of a striking snake the High Priestess lunged towards the Sword Master, her shield arm blocking a blow. The cut was repelled by An’ Lawrence, and the warrior-priestess did a backflip towards the row of apprentices who stood to the side of the stage, drawing one of their swords with her free hand before she landed. Facing her opponent, she dropped to a forward roll and rose, blades inches away from the Sword Master’s face.

  The sound of the drums reverberated up Rosette’s legs as she gasped. The blocks and attacks were so quick that she couldn’t follow the blur of movement. La Makee pressed him back, but An’ Lawrence dropped down with a spinning kick and rolled to the other side of the stage. Squaring off again they faced each other for an instant, bowed slightly and resumed.

  After another series of full attacks and counterattacks, fast and fluid, An’ Lawrence and La Makee were in a deadlock, face to face, hilt to hilt, swords pointed to the sky. No-one in the crowd seemed to breathe.

  In a feat of sizable strength the High Priestess suddenly did a standing backflip away from her attacker, her bare feet aiming to kick his hilt away as she landed. Not quick enough. The Sword Master had dropped to his knees, dodging the kick. He sprang back up, pointing the tip of his blade straight at the High Priestess’s throat as she landed. Rosette swallowed hard. There was no way out of this one.

  As Rosette brought her knuckle to her mouth, a shock wave blasted her face. The outline of the High Priestess darkened and blurred. In a blink, the Sword Master’s blade no longer held the witch captive. He stood there, guarding thin air. His eyes shot upwards, and so did Rosette’s.

  Above them a Lemur Raven, the size of an eagle, spiralled towards the sky, shrieking a fierce challenge, or was that laughter? The crowd burst out with resounding cheers, waving and pointing at the bird. The Sword Master sheathed his sword and held out his bare arm while the raven coursed above the stage then back-winged to a graceful landing, talons lightly circling his wrist. The image of the bird darkened and blurred. In a swirl of energy La Makee manifested, standing in its place and bowing to her opponent, her hands clasped in front of her in the traditional gesture of respect. Rosette had never seen such a demonstration of shape-shifting and she cheered wildly along with the rest.

  When the applause died down, La Makee spoke. ‘Fight them with all the skills you have,’ she roared, ‘and if it looks like you have no more to fight with, flee!’

  A wave of laughter rolled through the gathering. Makee picked up her abandoned sword, raising it to An’ Lawrence before sheathing it. The Sword Master blew her a kiss. He took her hand and they bowed to the students, dismissing them. When they straightened, he did not let go of her hand.

  Rosette grinned widely. What an amazing experience, especially the shape-shifting. She knew that Nell could do it, but it wasn’t something she had taught Rosette or even allowed her to see. La Makee was unbelievable! While Rosette stood staring in awe, the crowd began to disperse; some went to the stage to talk with the masters, others moved off to get on with their day. She touched Drayco’s head as he dropped his front legs to the ground and they both slipped quietly out of the crowd.

  ‘What did you think of that, Dray?’

  Not bad, for two legs.

  ‘I agree. Let’s find Clay.’

  He’s finding us.

  Clay’s face was red and he seemed out of breath. ‘I had to fight my way through the crowd. How’d you get up so close?’

  ‘I had help.’ She glanced up at the stage and caught the Sword Master’s eye. He waved and she raised her hand, palm towards him, fingers spread.

  ‘From high places, it seems.’

  ‘It was a chance meeting,’ she shrugged. ‘Did you see all the demonstration? Did you see La Makee shift?’

  ‘I sat halfway up that tree.’ Clay pointed to a tall, twisting oak at the edge of the oval. ‘I saw everything, including you.’

  ‘Wasn’t it amazing?’ She folded her hands on top of her head, looking at the empty stage.

  He smiled, fishing deep in his pockets. ‘This is what’s amazing.’ He handed her a green apple and took a bite from his own, talking aro
und his mouthful. ‘There are bins full of them behind the stables.’

  She laughed, polishing the fruit on her sleeve until it shone like hard candy. She took a big chomp and closed her eyes. Juice trickled out the corners of her mouth.

  She beamed. ‘Delicious!’ The sweet nectar washed over her tongue and down her throat. She wiped her mouth with her fingers and sucked them clean, the crisp white fruit tantalising her with its heady fragrance and sugary taste, the scent of apple blossoms lingering on her breath. ‘Thank you, Clay. That’s magic.’

  ‘My pleasure,’ he said, taking a little bow. They walked on. ‘The demo was impressive, but I enjoyed the syncopated drumming as much as the sword work.’

  She laughed and took his hand. ‘That doesn’t surprise me, my bard.’

  Rosette was feeling better about coming to Treeon. It seemed the right place to be, even though the sheer numbers would take some getting used to. All she had to do was stay focused, advance through the preparatory training, and before she knew it, she’d be sparring with the sword apprentices. It’d be like peaches and cream, or make that baked apples and cream. She took another bite.

  What do we do now? Drayco’s question cut into her thoughts. The temple cat was yawning.

  ‘We have to find our dorm and report to Mistress Savine,’ Rosette said. ‘Clay, I need to get my pack.’

  The young bard looked away, his eyes focusing on the distant winding road that led out of the valley. ‘Sure,’ he answered, staring at the horizon.

  Drayco twitched his tail. Then what, Maudi?

  ‘Then, it begins.’

  CHAPTER 7

  An’ Lawrence watched them head for the barn. They were friends already, hand in hand, companionably munching apples, smiling like the summer days were already here. He frowned uneasily and turned away. Part of him felt disappointed in Rosette for not sensing trouble, and another part of him was pleased that the bard could pull it off. It meant he could tell Makee that all was in place. Of course, Clay wasn’t really working a deception. That’s why it was so effective. The lad was taken by her, clear as crystal waters. He didn’t have to pretend to be interested or enthused, or aroused. Good. Yet, oddly, An’ Lawrence felt uncomfortable. Something wasn’t sitting right.

  Of course it isn’t sitting right. His familiar’s voice floated into his mind. When did it ever, with mulengro about?

  You’re right, Scylla.

  What’s setting it off? Guilt? Envy? Assumption?…Deceit?

  Deceit mainly, and perhaps some Envy.

  That’s honest.

  I know, and it hurts.

  He didn’t want to begin the training of Nell’s student with deception and he told the other members of the high council so. He wanted to take the direct approach, everyone open and upfront. She was their initiate now, for the goddesses’ sake. But the council disagreed. La Makee disagreed. Too much was at stake and he had been overruled. An’ Lawrence fingered the hilt of his sword and shook his head at the memory.

  ‘If she’s anything like her mentor,’ La Makee had said, ‘she doesn’t deserve our trust.’

  ‘Rosette has potential, or Nell wouldn’t have bothered.’

  ‘I’m not referring to Nellion’s mentorship skills, Sword Master. I am referring to her stubborn will and subversive intentions.’

  An’ Lawrence had glared at her, the corner of his mouth turning into a half smile. ‘You seem familiar with those attributes.’

  ‘The witch stole from me!’

  ‘She could say the same of you.’

  Makee had looked him up and down. ‘Old feelings, Sword Master?’

  ‘Not at all.’

  ‘Then why the resistance?’

  ‘You underestimated Nellion Paree and I fear you may be underestimating Rosette as well.’

  ‘Really? And you feel that being—how did you put it—“open and upfront” is going to resolve this problem?’

  ‘I’m just saying it’s worth a shot.’ An’ Lawrence had paced as he spoke, his face red, forehead perspiring. ‘There is nothing that directly implicates her, nor her mentor.’ He had said the last few words to himself.

  ‘Isn’t there?’

  ‘What do we know for sure about Rosette de Santo?’ he’d countered.

  ‘Why don’t you tell me?’

  ‘It wouldn’t take long. Let’s consider instead what we don’t know. We don’t know if she has any links to the Matosh murders. She may not have even met the family.’

  ‘That’s the point, An’ Lawrence. We don’t know. I charge you with remedying that lack.’

  ‘It could be done in a clear instant if we simply asked her.’

  ‘Are you convinced she wouldn’t lie so well that we couldn’t pick it?’

  He’d stopped in front of La Makee and crossed his arms. ‘I am. What’s more, I’m convinced she would tell the truth. We’re encouraging mulengro with this dishonesty.’

  ‘Mulengro? Is that what you’re worried about?’

  ‘It will bring nothing good.’

  ‘Mulengro’s a state of mind, Sword Master. It brings what you expect.’

  ‘You talk like you can control it.’

  ‘Because I can. Of course you feel its presence, the prickle at the back of your neck, the tension in the air, the twist in your guts. You’re weaving a deception, manipulating others for your own ends. Get used to it. Mulengro isn’t the enemy here. It’s energy, like anything else.’

  ‘An energy you’re feeding. It will grow.’

  ‘Assumption! Have you forgotten who started the whole thing a quarter of a century ago?’

  The Sword Master had pressed his lips together and looked away.

  ‘Then don’t give your trust to this girl just because she trained with a woman you once knew and…admired. Think back, An’ Lawrence. Nell left, and she left with more than what was rightfully hers. I want it back. Rosette may be the key to our puzzle and I’ll not have you scattering the pieces in the wind again. We’re running out of time. Mind you don’t fall under her spell as well.’

  None of the other council members had spoken. Some shuffled in their seats, others looked away.

  ‘La Makee, this path is one you’ll regret.’

  ‘That may be, Sword Master, though the path is mine to choose.’

  ‘What are you waiting for?’

  The question startled Rosette, bringing the room back into focus. All the tables in front of her were empty and wiped clean, chairs tucked under them in even rows. All except hers. She puckered her lips, remembering her optimism when she’d first arrived.

  Like peaches and cream? What was I thinking?

  So far, she had danced at two solstices here at Treeon and revelled in the bonfires of as many sabbats, and still had not sparred once on the training grounds. The preparations for the Samhain sabbat were now well underway. Nights were colder and winter was coming, and still she wasn’t called to join the sword and staff classes. The only practice she got was in her free time when she and Clay would slip away to work on forms and spar. It was fun, though it wasn’t like training with a master. She caught her reflection in the dark window and wondered how the naive girl of last winter could have thought her apprenticeship at Treeon Temple would be such a breeze.

  It had been anything but.

  Rosette felt the eyes of her tutor, Mistress Mara, focused on her. She tried not to cringe.

  Mistress is livid, and who would blame her?

  Mistress Mara seldom lost her patience though she had came close more than once with Rosette. Tonight was promising to be yet another battle for them both—for Rosette to perfect the spell and for Mara to hold her temper. Her instructor was really a gentle soul, placid, intuitive and sensitive. Tonight she was like a storm at sea, looking for a ship to wreck.

  Mara didn’t travel at all, not in her physical body, and she never seemed to take a break. She devoted her life to meditation and the teaching of the ritual arts—spells, dream-walking and evocations. Age had barely t
ouched her, though she had to be in her seventies. Born with the sign of the Aurochs rising, the qualities and temperament of the ancient bull infused her with strength, endurance, sensuality and tenacity. As usual, she showed no indication of tiring and they’d been at it since noon.

  Rosette closed her eyes and tried not to think of her stomach rumbling.

  Of course, Mara had reserves. She was plump, in a voluptuous way, and was not shy about displaying it. She wore robes that showed off her ample bosom, draping herself with large pendants and coloured gemstones. Her grey hair was swirled into a loose mound atop her head, curls escaping about her face. She usually had a just-ravished look, but lines of tension were etched about her mouth and eyes tonight. Her brow was deeply furrowed. Rosette also thought she could see horns sprouting from her forehead.

  The candles spluttered, and so did Rosette.

  The chamber was cloistered, with the doors and windows closed. There were no chinks or gaps in the stone walls, yet suddenly wisps of Rosette’s hair escaped their braids, tickling her cheeks. At least the Elemental Air had not ignored her. Why would it? That was her ruler, linked to her Sun and Mercury in the sign of the Twins.

  ‘Pardon, Mistress?’ Rosette answered. She realised that Mistress Mara was still staring at her while she had daydreamed.

  ‘I asked, young witch, what are you waiting for?’

  Rosette brushed the back of her hand across her forehead, sweeping away stray hairs and stifling a yawn. Good question. She wasn’t actually waiting for anything. Procrastinating, seeking distractions, evading, yes. But waiting? No. Not really.

  ‘Answer the question, please,’ Mara commanded.

  ‘I was just…just…’ She stopped mid-sentence. It wouldn’t do to lie.

  A nighthawk whistled in the distance, shrill and eerie. Rosette resisted the impulse to look in its direction or answer back. What could she see out an opaque window in the moonless black?