An Average Curse (The Chronicles of Hawthorn, Book 1)

by Rue

  Kahu placed her hand on little Flynn’s and moved it in a circle over the pile of feathers. “Can you make a circle without Mama’s help?”

  “Yes!” shouted little Flynn. She swirled her pudgy hand around and around.

  “Good.” Kahu repeated the motion and whispered, “Angi.” The feathers gently floated up and moved in a circle above the well-worn floorboards.

  Little Flynn clapped her hands. “Again, again.”

  “This time Mama wants you to make the feathers dance.” Kahu placed her hand over Flynn’s tiny fingers and showed her the motion one more time. “Now you try, Flynn. Move your hand and say ‘angi’, and make the feathers swirl like Mama did, all right?”

  “Yes. My turn.” Little Flynn swirled her hand and spoke the word, “Angi.”

  Kahu waited. She looked at Kapowai.

  The feathers did not move.

  “Kahu, an infant could perform that spell. You coddle the girl and she hasn’t learned any discipline.” The High Priestess shook her head in dismay and walked out of the room.

  “Nana? Nana? Where’s Nana?” Little Flynn cried.

  “Oh, she’ll be right back, sweet baby. Right now Mama needs you to concentrate real hard and make those feathers dance. Can you do that for Mama?” Kahu pleaded. Hope saturated her wide agate-colored eyes.

  Little Flynn turned and kissed her mother’s cheek. “I love you, Mama.”

  “I know, sweet baby, but you have to move these feathers. Try again.”

  Little Flynn moved her hand like her mother had taught her and she said the word in her most serious voice, “Angi.”

  The feathers did not budge.

  Kahu pushed the child off her lap and choked back a sob. “Flynn, this is important. Don’t you understand? Mama is going to become the High Priestess tonight.” Kahu covered her face with her hands and ran from the room crying.

  Flynn hadn’t understood.

  One of many painful failures from Flynn’s childhood. Year after year she heard the disappointment in her mother’s voice when she failed to complete even the simplest of magickal tasks. Flynn longed to display a whisper of magickal talent and emerge from the cloud of exclusion that surrounded her. If she could manage some small thing, like this assignment with the talismans, she would be given a meaningful role in the Winter Solstice ceremony and take a place of honor next to her mother, the High Priestess of the Coven of the Sacred Wood.

  The elders and the coven’s inner circle had subjected her to innumerable tests over the years. Born the daughter of prophecy—the ninth daughter of the ninth daughter—the savior of Aotearoa, but all her efforts proved her no more witch than the giant moa who currently carried her bundle of mistletoe and small oak sticks.

  Average. Unremarkable. An utterly non-magickal girl—a Watcher.

  She turned and halted her moa with a quick hand signal, before climbing up onto the teetering platform next to the broad feathery back of her two-legged beast of burden. The huge bird stood easily twice the height of the girl, its back level with her head and its powerful neck stretching high into the air. Moa are gentle, loyal birds and many families trained the great flightless birds to assist with chores. Flynn carefully untied the knots holding the bundles and eased them, one at a time, to the ground. She pulled a strip of dried mango from her bag and offered it to the moa. She patted the red-brown neck feathers and gave her the signal to roam.

  The pounding scrapes of a fast-approaching moa interrupted the work of staring at the heavy bales and dreading the rest of her chores.

  “Flynn! Flynn, look, we’re practically flying,” Hazel squealed.

  Her heart leapt at the sound of her best friend’s voice. Flynn turned in time to see Hazel, bouncing along on the back of an unusually large red-brown male moa.

  Hazel’s wild golden curls whipped out behind her, tangling in the fringe of her thick grey woolen cloak. She managed to bring the beast under control and tumbled off her mount in a cloud of dust and feathers. “Thank you, Mr. Mango,” she said, as she jumped up and smoothed out his ruffled hair-like plumes.

  “Mr. Mango? That’s not too original, Hazel,” said Flynn.

  “What did you name yours?”

  Flynn shrugged her rounded shoulders and shook her head. When she first touched the bird a name, “Tuauri,” had popped into her head, like the beast had introduced itself. It sounded crazy in her mind and saying it out loud to Hazel would make it insane.

  “No name? You haven’t even given yours a name?” Hazel scrunched up her freckled nose and shook her head. “My dearest Flynn, how do you expect to bond with him if you don’t give him a name?”

  “Her,” Flynn replied. “Mine is a ‘her’.”

  “Oh, by Rona’s eyes! Has she laid an egg yet? I have to see an egg. Everyone I know has males and I’ve never seen an egg, but I heard from Lania that they weigh more than a greenstone boulder, and—

  “Hazel! Breathe.” Flynn loved the way her friend could turn the most mundane thing into the event of the century. “Can you help me with the mistletoe and the oak? I have to sort all of this before midday and I’m supposed to make all the talismans by sunset.”

  Hazel gave Mr. Mango the signal to roam and her pale blue eyes gazed in wonder at Flynn. “I saw the ivory-skinned envoys from The Hagathorn this morning. I guess I didn’t realize that they were delivering the sacred mistletoe and oak. I can’t believe they harvested all of this under the last full moon, wow.” She looked up and down the rows of bundles. “You get to make all the talismans for Winter Solstice?”

  “Get to? It’s more like have to. My mother is so upset with my repeated failures preparing for the initiation tests that she gave me these utu, consequences, to keep me out of her sight for a while. She said ‘it’s the least I can do’, but we both know she meant it’s the only thing I can do.” Flynn picked up one side of the thick rope wrapped around the last stack of oak pieces and motioned for Hazel to grab the other. “Help me move this closer to the others, over by the fire pit. I’ll light a fire to keep us from freezing, and we can talk while we work.”

  The girls were small for their thirteen years and they struggled to drag the uncooperative bundle into position. Flynn tripped over her own feet—twice. Once their burden rested close enough to the pit she walked into the hut to find the fire starter.

  Hazel rubbed her sun-browned hands above the dry wood stacked in the fire pit and whispered “papahu.” The logs burst into flame.

  Before Flynn took two steps, the scent of burning wood filled the air and she saw the rising smoke. “Show off,” she mumbled.

  Hazel’s face went red with shame. “I’m sorry, Flynn. I forgot, I mean it’s—”

  “Second nature.” Flynn sunk down onto an old stump next to the fire pit. “Every kid in this village has some kind of magick. I’m supposed to be the ‘savior’ and I can’t even light a fire. I mean, I’m the girl of prophecy and I have to use the stupid fire starter, like a Watcher.”

  Watchers were once rare in Aotearoa. Magick had run in the heart of the land and its people for thousands of years, however, in recent years there had been a disturbing rise in children born with no ability to be trained in the magickal ways. These people were called Watchers, for the simple reason that they could observe the magick around them, but never learn its mysteries. Flynn’s mother, Kahu, had often shared her fear that somehow the Shadow Coven of Southeil had cursed Flynn and altered her destiny from savior of her people to simply the observer of their destruction.

  Every day Flynn struggled against this fear and doubt.

  Hazel felt terrible for using her magick in front of her friend. She had carefully suppressed it for years and had already planned to fail her initiation tests so she could stay behind with Flynn. She busied herself separating the mistletoe into small bundles.

  Looking at the mountain of oak branches, Flynn chose to procrastinate. “I’m too hungry to think. Let’s eat our lunch down by the river.”

  Hazel smiled
eagerly and slipped the strap of her leather satchel over her head.

  The sound of water rushing over rocks guided the girls through the tangle of snow-covered branches and crunchy frozen earth. Flynn slipped on an icy boulder, but Hazel grabbed her arm and halted the crash. They found a shallow cave along the rocky banks and tucked themselves in out of the wind. Winter teetered on the verge of succumbing to the returning sun, but today the breeze still preferred the touch of snowflakes.

  “I’ve got hinau bread, cheese, and dried papaya. What do you have?” Hazel asked, her breath hanging in the air as the warm exhaled words collided with the frigid atmosphere.

  “For some reason my grandmother keeps forcing me to eat blue mushrooms soaked in tutu juice.”

  “Tutu is poisonous!” Hazel shouted.

  Flynn chuckled. “Sort of—my grandmother swears that the juice is magickal. Everything else is poisonous, the leaves, the stems, the seeds, even the skin of the berry—but the juice will somehow lift the curse. She read it in the Book of Light.”

  Hazel almost dropped her chunk of cheese. “The Book of Light? Have you seen it?”

  “No, of course not. My mother won’t even tell me where it’s kept. Only the High Priestess can read from it—something she’s sure I’ll never be.”

  The girls trudged back up the riverbank and returned to their work.

  Hazel tied lovely bundles of mistletoe, each with a tiny bow made from a strip of flax.

  Piece by piece, Flynn picked up the thin lengths of oak and used her short sharp knife to carve a simple sun symbol into the bark. Each piece would be blessed by the High Priestess and passed out to the attendees. Villagers and visitors would pass by the huge ceremonial need fire and light their sticks. In this way they could take the promise of light and warmth back to their own hearth and home. At this moment in time she didn’t think about the symbolism, she simply worried that her mother would find something to criticize in her work.

  Time flowed unchecked and the sun sank low in the indigo sky.

  Hazel interrupted Flynn’s daydream. “Are you already done?”

  “What?” Flynn looked at the pile of oak limbs and crinkled up her nose. She could see her clumsily carved sun symbols on each log. “I guess I lost track of time. Good thing I didn’t cut myself,” she joked. She sorted through a few more stacks of wood and found the sun symbol on each and every one. “Wow, I am done, but I’m sure my mother will find something wrong with these.” She wanted to put this day behind her as quickly as possible. “Wanna race back?”

  “Don’t we need to take these all back to the coven?”

  Flynn groaned. “Nope. Kahu said the real witches will come and get all of this tomorrow so they can cleanse it and imbue the proper blessings and intentions.”

  “Oh, sorry,” Hazel hesitated and added, “Wait, I almost forgot! I have your solar return present.” She ran to her satchel and dug feverishly through its contents.

  “I don’t know what I’d do without you. You’re the only person on this island who ever remembers my birthday.” Flynn walked toward Hazel in hopes of sneaking a peek. “My own mother would rather plan a solstice ceremony for everyone on Aotearoa than a simple solar return feast for me.”

  Hazel spun around and nearly knocked Flynn over in excitement. “Here, I hope you like it.” She handed her friend a small bundle wrapped in white cloth made from the inner bark of the mulberry tree and dyed with symbols for good luck.

  “You know you don’t have to give me a birthday present. It’s not really a day worth celebrating.” Flynn tugged at one end of the tiny flax bow.

  “You’re my best friend. Your birthday is way more important to me than stupid old Winter Solstice.”

  They both laughed at the terribly irreverent comment.

  The small package revealed a koru necklace, a delicately carved spiral of sacred greenstone, suspended from a finely woven hemp cord. Flynn gasped in awe. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever been given. Did you make this?”

  Hazel blushed profusely. “I did, I mean I had some help, but do you really like it?”

  She slipped the cord over her head as she replied, “I do. I mean it, Hazel. It’s amazing.” When the cool pounamu stone touched Flynn’s skin she felt a shiver—followed by a warm tingle deep in her chest. “It feels powerful. Did you enchant it?”

  Her eyes slipped away from Flynn’s questioning gaze as Hazel replied, “Oh, no. I could never do magick like that.”

  Flynn suspected that Hazel had somehow charged the koru necklace with the power to help her pass the initiation tests, but gratitude quickly replaced her concern. She hugged her friend in thanks and they covered their day’s work with tightly woven flax mats, anchored with large stones to protect the items from moonlight, wind, and possible snow.

  The girls climbed up on the ramshackle platform and whistled for their mounts. They raced back to the village in the chilly twilight and Flynn cheered as her nameless moa dashed past Hazel at the last minute to steal the victory.

  Flynn and Hazel managed to stay out of chores’ way for the remainder of the solstice preparations. They found a cozy hiding place in the loft of the moa nursery. From this vantage point they observed all of the arriving delegations.

  “Look!” Hazel squealed. “The Priestess from Aura Falls and her daughters.”

  She peered down at the procession. The Priestess wore a large blue sapphire amulet, had jet-black hair, like Flynn’s own, and her seven daughters looked like increasingly miniature versions of their mother. Each dressed in a deep purple woolen cloak trimmed with moa feathers. The oldest glanced up and scowled. Flynn ducked down and reddened with shame.

  Hazel giggled and whispered, “I’ll bet that one will make a glow-worm out of her husband before he can say Rehua!”

  Flynn laughed, in spite of her embarrassment. She really wasn’t interested in fancy cloaks and perfectly combed hair. She liked the feel of her old woolen cloak with the strip of fabric missing from the edge. She cherished every grubby inch of the time-softened garment once worn by her mother. Still, she didn’t care for the way that Aura Falls girl had looked at her. If she had magick…

  “Come back up here,” Hazel called from the window. “Those snotty girls are gone and the strange men from Vigna Narrows are coming with their falcons.”

  The girls gazed in awe at the large hooded birds perched on the muscular arms of the Vignan falconers. One of the birds would surely be given to Flynn’s mother as a solstice token.

  The men all wore black, brown, or red hoods similar to their birds and Flynn could see how the intricate symbol stitched on each man’s hood matched the symbol carved into the leather of his bird’s hood. The men tucked their hair up under their hoods, but most of the boys and girls that marched behind the falconers had slightly wavy brown hair, golden eyes, and thick black cloaks lined with sheep’s wool.

  The procession finished with the sea folk of Nanea Port. Most of these small statured people, including their Priestess, sported bright red heads of hair. As a child Flynn had heard the story told of their lineage being greatly affected by five fire-haired brothers from a faraway land who had abandoned their ship for the love of Nanean women—back in the time before the Rift, before the cloud of mist rose up from the sea and hid their island from the world. Their Priestess wore an ancient whale tooth necklace, a rei puta, handed down from one to the next for untold generations.

  The men and women of Moa Bend were known throughout the island for their kindness and generosity, despite the hard winter and the waning food stores. They helped the travelers put up their thick canvas tents and stoke up their fires. The young men of the village carried large casks of water to each tent’s entrance, while the young girls enquired if anyone needed medicinal herbs or tinctures.

  Snippets of music and song drifted up to the loft, but in spite of all of the pomp and circumstance below Hazel intended to keep Flynn focused on the upcoming initiation tests. “Let’s practice a bit more bef
ore the welcome feast, all right?”

  Flynn puffed her cheeks with air, slowly blew it out, and hung her head. “I feel like you’re wasting your time. I have no business participating in the initiation.”

  “Come on, I’ll help you. I know you can get a few of the basics—enough to squeak through.”

  “Fine, what’s the easiest one?” Flynn’s mind wandered. She wondered if she would get to take care of the falcon—if her mother received one as a gift.

  Hazel wove some bits of straw into a star shape while she stared up at the rafters, lost in thought. She tucked the star in her satchel next to a twig pentacle and a mistletoe bracelet she had made earlier. “My mom started me with Water manipulations as soon as I could speak. So, let’s start with a little water ripple.”

  “This never works,” Flynn protested, remembering all of her own mother’s failed attempts at tutoring.

  Hazel took a small wooden bowl out of her bag and poured a little puddle from her waterskin.

  “Don’t I need a wand or something?”

  “Oh, no. Don’t be silly. Wands are for desperately complicated karakia. This little spell is only a couple words and a fluttering of your fingers. Ready?”

  “As ever,” Flynn mumbled.

  Hazel held her hand above the bowl and spoke the melodic phrase, “Wiki ana.” The surface of the water rippled instantly. “Now you try.”

  Flynn’s hand shook above the bowl. She couldn’t remember the words.

  Raised voices replaced the songs from the encampments and interrupted her lack of concentration.

  Hazel raced to the window.

  “What is it? What’s happening?” Flynn asked.

  Hazel looked from Flynn to the bowl of water and back out the window. She ducked down and crawled toward Flynn as she whispered, “Your mother and one of the elders from The Hagathorn are having a heated discussion. A crowd is gathering.” Hazel chewed her lip.

  “What?” Flynn asked.

  “They mentioned your name,” she mumbled.

  Flynn flung the bowl of water across the loft and moved toward the ladder.