by Rue
Flynn imitated Mistress Tamsin’s thin grating voice, “Did you not hear the supper gong?”
Po and Hazel were chuckling.
“How do you even answer that question? Hazel asked. “Yes, I did not? No, I did not? I mean it’s insane, right?”
They were giggling and playfully shoving at each other when someone stepped out of the shadows and brought them all to a bumbling halt.
Po stepped between the girls and the shadow in a foolishly brave move.
“Where are you headed?”
“Lania, is that you?” Hazel inquired.
“Of course, who else would it be?” Lania replied. Her thick black hair blended with the night, her features unclear in the dusky light.
Hazel removed her fingers from their clutching position on Flynn’s arm and put a hand on Po’s shoulder. “It’s all right, Po. Lania is an old friend.”
“Yes, I am, aren’t I?”
“Yes, I just said that,” Hazel replied. “Why are you wandering around after the supper gong?”
“Looking for you,” Lania said.
“And you found us,” Flynn replied.
“I guess I did,” Lania giggled, somewhat maniacally. “Where are you all headed?”
“To supper,” Flynn said, very slowly. She wondered if Lania had eaten some strange mushrooms or perhaps snuck a few sips of ceremonial wine.
“Oh, right, because of the gong,” Lania mumbled.
“Lania, are you sure you’re all right?” Hazel asked. “You’re acting very strange and you’re not making any sense.”
“Am I? I mean, I’m not? What I mean is, I’m perfectly fine—simply out for a walk.” Lania clutched at a lump under her tunic and blinked too many times.
Po looked at the girls and shook his head. “I don’t understand girls. See you later, I need some food, eh?” He looked back once, still shaking his head as he walked away.
“So where are you going?” Lania repeated.
Flynn grabbed Hazel’s arm and tugged. “Bye, Lania. We’ll see you at Divination tomorrow.”
Lania stood perfectly still, gazing blankly into the night, her gangly arms hanging at her side.
“Well, that is the weirdest thing that happened today,” said Hazel.
“And that’s saying something,” said Flynn.
They walked to Hazel’s house for dinner. A plate had already been set at the table for Flynn. Vida, Hazel’s mother, treated Flynn like a member of the family.
“Something smells good, Mom.” Hazel went and helped her mother bring the bowls to the table. “Is that meat in the stew?”
Vida brushed a wild grey curl from her eyes and smiled. Her only child, Hazel, had come to her rather late in life, but she treasured every moment with her special girl. “You are the most observant daughter in all of Aotearoa! Sorrel’s moa had reached, well, that age, and he generously shared some of the meat with us.”
The villagers had taken one of two positions when Hazel’s nearly dead father had been returned to Moa Bend. Either they pitied the family and gave them what assistance they could, or they scorned the family and believed the Goddess had punished Delcourt.
Flynn helped Vida bring Hazel’s father to the table and braced his elbows on either side of his plate. “Good evening, Delcourt, thank you for allowing me to share your supper, sir.”
Tonight Delcourt remembered Flynn and he honored their nightly tradition with a nod and a slurring sound.
Vida wiped a bit of drool from his chin and sat down to feed him some broth from the stew.
Hazel and Flynn talked as they ate and no one paid any mind to the bits of gravy on the front of Delcourt’s tunic.
Vida fed herself last and rubbed her partner’s crippled hand while she ate. Her deep affection for the man at her side never wavered, not even when he wept uncontrollably for the first three moons after his accident. They had eventually fallen into a comfortable routine and he could walk with her several times a day with the help of his rowan-wood staff.
The girls cleaned up the supper dishes and asked to go for a walk. Hazel’s mother trusted in the magick wielded by her daughter and despite the unofficial rule about wandering after dark, she often allowed the girls a stroll once they finished supper.
They had barely made it two steps outside the door when they ran into Po.
“I was on my way to get you,” he said.
“Why?” Hazel asked.
“My ma is gone up to The Hagathorn to collect downed oak branches for wands and athamé handles. She’ll be gone for a few days and it’s boring sitting in our cottage alone, eh?”
“Maybe you should be studying about herbs,” Flynn teased.
“Flynn!” Hazel swatted her friend into silence.
Po leaned in and whispered, “Actually, I wondered if you want to check out the House of Magickal Items?”
“Would I!” Flynn shouted.
Hazel clamped a hand over Flynn’s mouth and said, “Do you want my mother to come out here?” she hissed.
Po grinned and whispered, “Follow me.”
The trio cautiously approached the lavish building. The House of Magickal Items, with its red ochre shutters, paua shell-inlaid corner posts, and hand-carved door, rated as the second most ornate building in the village. The Meeting House where the Grand Coven held their private gatherings held first place.
“I thought the wards on this building could only be opened by a member of the coven,” Hazel said.
“And the carvers who have to repair the tools and add to the ancestral carvings,” Po replied. He slipped a wand from his cloak and pointed it toward to door.
“You’re not supposed to have a wand. How did you get a wand?” Hazel twitched nervously and her left eyelid spasmed.
“I been helping my ma make wands since my fifth summer. Made this one for myself last year, eh?” Po flourished it left and right. “See the moa stone at the tip? They’re especially good for opening locks.” He grinned as he circled the wand counterclockwise and intoned, “Toia.”
“It can’t be that easy, “Hazel announced.
“Oh, it’s not,” Po replied. “That part releases the spell that protects the tumblers. You have to know the right way to position each one or the warning spell will be triggered and it will sound like a hundred angry Vignan falcons out here.”
“Please tell me you know the positions,” Flynn begged.
Po’s nimble fingers danced over the carvings on the door. A twist here, a push there, and finally the rewarding creak of the massive kauri door easing inward.
Flynn and Hazel sucked in an awestruck breath.
They hurried inside and Po pushed the door closed behind.
Outside, the sky hung black and moonless, but in this room each object gave off a glimmer or glow all its own—a place for whispering and reverence.
The girls walked forward slowly.
The wand tucked inside the secret pocket of Flynn’s cloak began to vibrate and she felt it pulling her through the room.
Hazel stopped to admire a paua shell-encrusted chalice, while Po looked over her shoulder and explained its history.
Flynn moved toward the back of the room. As she turned a corner around a huge carving of a sea turtle, she stuttered to a stop. There, right in front of her, stood the wall from the vision at Pounamu’s cottage. This wall did not glow and it looked completely solid, but the wand pulled her closer.
Hazel and Po continued to wander around the items and Po explained the meaning of some of the carving patterns. “This is the symbol for water. It means that the ancestor crossed water to come to Aotearoa.”
“That must have been before the Rift and the mist, back when we used to trade with passing ships out of Nanea Port,” Hazel commented.
“Oh sure, this is one of the oldest carvings here, eh?”
Flynn could no longer hear the voices of her friends; the wand had pulled her close enough to reach out and touch the wall, and still it urged her onward. She looked back and
forth, puzzled by the tugging. She saw nowhere to go. No door. No archway.
The wand wiggled and hopped—like it wanted to get out.
She extended her hand toward the rough-hewn wall. Her hand did not stop when it reached the wooden surface—it disappeared into the depths beyond. She pulled her hand back and looked to see if she still had all her fingers. They were unharmed. She moved her whole body toward the wall.
One moment she stood in the room with Hazel and Po.
The next moment she stood in another world. A damp stone cave filled with silence and something more…
The wand fluttered against her chest like a trapped butterfly.
Flynn noticed a pulsing glow coming from the center of the granite cave. She walked toward it like a moth to the flame.
Inside of the glowing orb, she saw a book. The book.
The Book of Light.
Po and Hazel walked all the way to the back of the room before they missed Flynn.
“Did you see her leave?” Hazel asked.
“There’s no way to leave, without setting off the alarm. I have to change all the tumblers for the exit and I was with you the whole time,” he replied.
“Flynn. Flynn,” Hazel called in whispery desperation. “Where could she be?”
“Maybe she touched something and disappeared,” Po offered.
“What?” Hazel shouted.
“Shhhh! If they find us here I think we could be banished from the island, or worse,” he said.
Hazel grabbed Po by the shoulders and shook him as violently as her tiny arms would allow. “We have to find Flynn. Now!” she hissed.
On the other side of the magick wall Flynn had lost all track of time. She reached through the orb and opened the book.
She read the first spell that caught her eye, part of the naming ceremony for newborns. She studied the preparations, the proper moon phase, and the complicated karakia that must be spoken nine times without error to bond the child with its name.
She thought about her own name and imagined her mother and grandmother chanting these words over her infant self.
She read the results of the spell gone wrong and her heart ached. She understood why some children ran away, or fought with others. The effects of a misspoken spell could be devastating to the child and his or her family.
Her heart nearly burst with compassion. The wand hummed near her chest.
A muffled shout interrupted her bliss.
She looked around. “Where am I?”
She gazed at the open tome in front of her and the sparks of light reflecting off the bits of mica in the rock around her.
The sound came again. It almost sounded like—
“Hazel!” Flynn closed the Book of Light, dragging her hand wistfully over the ancient leather cover and letting her fingers trace the deep grooves of the carved letters. She walked back toward the wall she thought she came through.
From this side, the cool grey stone all looked similar, and she hadn’t been paying attention to what lay behind her when she passed through the wall.
The muffled sound of voices got louder as she walked toward the stone wall. When she got quite close to the cold moist rock she could hear Hazel’s panicked voice growing louder.
Flynn put a hand toward the wall and saw her fingertips vanish. She pulled back her hand and waited.
The voices got quieter.
She didn’t want to share her secret with anyone. If Hazel and Po saw her fall through a wall, there would be too many questions.
The voices were gone. Flynn pressed into the stone and popped out in the House of Magickal Items. She straightened her cloak and acted naturally. She slipped in between a stone pillar and a huge turtle shell and called out quietly to her friends, “I’m over here. Sorry, I must’ve zoned out.”
Hazel raced to the sound of Flynn’s voice and hugged her tightly. “I thought something terrible happened. Po only just remembered to tell me that if you touch some of these things you can get transported or some nonsense. Are you all right?”
“Breathe, Hazel. I’m fine.”
Po looked earnestly at the two girls. “We need to get out of here, eh? It’s getting late.”
“I’m not letting you out of my sight.” Hazel grabbed firmly onto Flynn’s arm and pulled her along behind Po.
They reached the door and Po’s adept fingers slid over the carvings and slipped the tumblers into place for a silent exit.
The door creaked open, he looked both ways, and the three friends crept out into the night. Po turned and repositioned everything for the locking spell. He slipped out his wand and whispered, “Rakaina.”
The girls silently waved good night to Po and hurried back to Hazel’s cottage.
On the other side of the Ceremonial Lawn, deep in the shadows between the Meeting House and the outbuildings, a lone figure silently observed the clandestine events.
A few weeks of training had slipped away and once again, Hazel and Flynn sat in the back of the classroom straining to hear Master Sorrel, with Lania hovering nearby.
Flynn noticed a sharp-featured wisp of a boy carefully following all of the instructions. She poked Hazel and pointed.
Hazel scooted over and leaned in to whisper to the boy. She had scarcely uttered a syllable when the boy jumped straight into the air.
Master Sorrel paused and asked the boy something, to which he replied, “No, Master Sorrel, everything is fine. I must’ve gotten a splinter.” The boy sat back down and held up a finger toward Hazel, indicating she should wait. He circled his hands around his ears before motioning for Hazel to proceed.
“Sorry about earlier,” she said, “but how can you hear anything he’s saying?”
The boy smiled at Hazel and replied, “Vignan bird magick, it’s a spell that gives you the hearing of a morepork owl.”
She nodded, “Can you teach me?”
“I guess,” he said. “Circle your hands over your ears and say, ‘columella te ruru’ and you should hear every sound.”
Hazel followed his instructions and her eyes widened to saucers when she heard Master Sorrel’s actual words. She opened her mouth to thank the boy, but stopped herself and mouthed the words instead. The cavernous sound of air entering her open mouth echoed loud enough to remind her to keep silent.
Flynn tapped Hazel on the shoulder and leaned in to whisper.
Hazel clapped her hand over Flynn’s mouth and shook her head. She turned back to the boy, tapped him lightly and mouthed, “Stop,” while she pointed at her ears.
He nodded vigorously and circled his hands on either side of Hazel’s head while he barely whispered, “Mutu.”
Hazel exhaled and nodded her thanks. She scooted closer to Flynn and whispered the information.
“That’s great, Hazel, but I can’t actually do magick.” Even though she had kept her whisper as low as possible the Vignan boy turned and gazed at Flynn with confusion on his face. “Oh, perfect,” she muttered.
Lania kept her dull brown eyes focused straight ahead and pretended to concentrate on Master Sorrel, but she too heard every word.
Hazel quickly cast the spell on Flynn and herself, so they could at least get part of the day’s lesson.
“Now, I cannot emphasize this enough, initiates,” Sorrel said.
Flynn looked at Hazel and raised her hands to her ears in amazement. The inaudible mumblings of the aged Master became clear distinct phrases.
“Magickal energy cannot be contained in the human body for protracted periods of time without undesirous results,” he continued.
The girls listened carefully.
“Once you progress to ceremonial magick you will learn how to raise power for the purpose of your distinct ritual work. The skills you acquire here will help you prepare for that ceremony and properly release the energy at the conclusion of your work.” Sorrel walked out from behind his small table and stood before the class. “Please stand.”
Hazel and Flynn got to their feet, both making fac
es at the incredible roaring sound of the people rising up around them.
“Close your eyes and envision a connection between your feet and Mother Earth beneath you.” He paused a moment and gave the initiates time to follow his instructions. “Now feel the difference in the vibration of your energy and Hers.” Again, he paused briefly. “Now pull Her energy up through your feet and feel it flowing from your fingertips.”
She heard a gasp here and a yelp there.
Flynn could only imagine the success some of the others enjoyed.
Master Sorrel walked with a slight limp and the girls could hear his uneven footsteps growing closer.
Hazel pulled a little more energy and she could feel her fingers tingle.
Flynn felt nothing. She imagined the island of Aotearoa beneath her feet, the Sky Father above her, and the Earth Mother below. She wished she could connect their energy and levitate everyone in the classroom.
Yelps turned to screams and Flynn covered her ears in pain. “It’s so loud,” she whispered.
She looked around to see initiates dropping to the mat from various heights above and as soon as Hazel hit the floor, Flynn crawled to her and pointed to her ears.
“Mutu,” Hazel said.
They didn’t need the owl-hearing spell to hear Master Sorrel’s warning. “No games, younglings.”
Everyone shuffled out of the training room. Clearly, their session had ended for the day.
Lania immediately appeared at Flynn’s side. “So, what did you think about today’s lesson?”
“It was fine, Lania.” Flynn tossed an exasperated gaze toward Hazel.
“What do you think happened in there? Do you think someone drew up too much power? I mean, who could do that, right?” Lania’s eyes were darting back and forth between Hazel and Flynn while she pressed one hand against her own chest.
“I don’t know what happened,” Flynn said. “I kept busy trying to hear Master Sorrel. The man is a mouse.”
Hazel covered her mouth with her hand, but the shock in her eyes flashed fully exposed.
A curved finger tapped Flynn’s shoulder. “Flynn Hawthorn, a moment?”
