by James Nicol
‘I may have suggested that he would be short-sighted if he didn’t ensure you were given a position, given the demand for witches we currently have.’
‘Oh, Gran . . . you didn’t. Tell me you didn’t!’ She clenched her fists. ‘Everyone will know that it was you – that I only got a position because of you!’ Boiling with rage, she pulled at the moon brooch until it ripped free from her coat and she hurled it across the room. It skittered across the floor and came to a halt against Grandmother’s shoe.
Grandmother turned away and noisily lined up a stack of books that were close to hand. ‘I know you’ve had a hard day but you are starting to behave like one of those spoilt Highbridge brats,’ she said angrily. ‘Like that Alverston girl!’
Arianwyn considered retaliating but instead she sank into a large battered armchair and buried her head in her hands.
‘I’m sorry . . .’ Arianwyn mumbled eventually, through her fingers.
‘I beg your pardon?’ Grandmother asked. Her voice was lighter now.
‘I’m . . . sorry, Grandma.’
There was a long silence, just Grandmother’s foot-steps moving across the store. When Arianwyn peeked from behind her hands she saw her grandmother standing in the middle of the shop, her coat and scarf removed, her long dark dress sweeping the dusty floorboards. Grandmother smiled.
‘Do you remember the first time you selected a book?’ she asked.
The memory was as crisp as if it had been only moments ago. It was the day her father had headed off to rejoin the army, leaving her behind with Grandmother.
‘I couldn’t sleep . . .’ Arianwyn muttered. ‘I was scared. You brought me down into the shop. I was wrapped in a thick blanket and you told me to close my eyes and select a book. I didn’t know what you meant.’ All the walls had been lined with books; books were tucked under windows and over door-ways, piled and stacked on chairs, tables and the floor. Just like today.
Arianwyn remembered almost everything: standing still, her eyes closed so tight! Thinking of the most wonderful thing she could imagine. And then the magic had happened.
‘Why don’t you try it now?’ Grandmother suggested gently.
She closed her eyes once more and tried to let the memories of the day slip away. The evaluation, Miss Newam, Gimma, the moon brooch. Instead she conjured up her parents, young and carefree. The beautiful young witch and the handsome soldier; their arms wrapped gently around each other. It was the image from the wedding photograph that sat beside Arianwyn’s bed. It was still her wonderful thought.
The image melted away slowly, her mind blank and dark. And then there was a faint glow. She reached out for it, stepping forwards blindly. Blobs and smudges of colour floated behind her eyelids, dancing and flickering.
‘Don’t rush,’ Grandmother’s voice cautioned.
She waited and allowed her breathing to slow. After a few moments there was a flash of light; it pulsed like a heartbeat. She reached out her hands towards the light and made another step forwards. Another pulse of light and another step, and so on.
She could feel the closeness of the shelves. The musty smell of the books filled her nose, warm and familiar. She stopped. Her hands reached out. There was a rush of air; her skin fizzed and then she felt something solid and cool slide into her waiting hands. She grasped the book tightly. It was thick and heavy, not fairy stories this time, she guessed.
She opened her eyes and looked down.
The Apprentice Witch’s Handbook
It was a rather unremarkable book really. A faded green cover displaying a symbol that looked like a star, a broom and a glyph, twined together. It wasn’t a book Arianwyn had ever seen, it wasn’t on the set reading lists for apprentice witches, certainly not one approved by the C. W. A. Was it some sort of cruel joke meant to teach her one last lesson? She was suddenly hot and angry all over again.
She lifted the book to show her grandmother. ‘Well that’s a clear message, I think.’ Her eyes swam with tears; she didn’t want to be standing in the bookshop with this stupid book a second longer. She let it slip from her hands and ran.
All she heard was the thud of the book hitting the floorboards.
Arianwyn lay curled up on her bed, her shoes kicked off on to the floor. Street lamps outside the window threw a sickly yellow light into the room. grandmother pushed the door open and carried a tray to Arianwyn’s bedside table. There was hot soup, thick sliced bread covered in butter and a cup of strong tea. She pulled the curtains closed and turned on one of the small lamps.
‘Was it all a dream . . . or a nightmare?’ Arianwyn asked, shifting on her bed. She spotted the green book on the tea tray. ‘I guess not!’
Grandmother took her hands and said firmly but gently, ‘Arianwyn Gribble, you are my grand -daughter . . .’
‘Please, Gran, I’m not sure I can take a motivational speech right now. I feel like I’ve let you down. All I ever wanted was to be a witch like you. Like Mum. I thought it was the only thing I was any good at and I’m not. I failed!’ For a brief second she thought about telling her Grandmother about the strange glyph. She had tried to tell her so many times before and always backed down at the last second. Grandmother would, no doubt, only take it as another sign that Arianwyn wasn’t truly ready for the responsibilities of a fully fledged witch.
‘Sometimes we appreciate something more when we’ve struggled for it.’ Grandmother said. ‘Do you think all the other witches who have had assignments handed to them on a plate will be better than you, just because a machine said so? No. They will not, because they won’t try to be better. They won’t push themselves or work hard, and you will. I know you will, because you always have.’ She paused. ‘We must never shy away from where fate has brought us. If you are to remain an apprentice witch for a while longer, then so be it. But you’ll be the best you possibly can be, as you have always been.’
‘But haven’t I had my assignment handed to me on a plate?’
‘Oh, it’s not like that, I promise you!’ grandmother folded her into a hug. She smelt of summery perfume and dusty books.
‘Everyone will be judging me now, more than ever,’ Arianwyn mumbled.
‘Ridiculous! I know more than that daft woman from the C. W. A. I don’t care how many gadgets say otherwise. You will be a great witch one day, I have no doubt. But the road is going to be less straightforward for you than for most. And don’t think, just because I had words with that silly little man, that your job will be any easier for it!’
‘And what about that?’ Arianwyn asked, moving her head in the direction of the book.
Grandmother glanced at it again. ‘That is a very old training manual. It hasn’t been used for years. Not since the Civil Witchcraft Authority was set up. They no doubt thought it was too “arcane”.’ She wafted her hands around her head and rolled her eyes theatrically.
Arianwyn gave a half-smile and then flicked the book open.
The pages were thick and brown, marked with small, careful illustrations. There were chapters on brooms, herb gardens, use of the cardinal glyphs and many other things that Arianwyn already knew. Some pages folded out to double or triple the original size, revealing complex diagrams of spell combinations. She flicked back through, about to close it, but paused. On the title page in small tidy handwriting was her grandmother’s name.
‘It was yours?’
Grandmother gave a little chuckle. ‘It was required reading back in my day, a hundred years ago. I haven’t seen it in decades. But it came to you for a reason. Called to you and you alone in all the years it’s been on the shelves here. So keep it handy if you know what’s good for you!’ She winked and Arianwyn was sure they were friends once more and the worst of the day was behind them. She pulled the book close to her chest. Knowing it was grandmother’s made it feel different, special.
‘And what about this?’ Grandmother asked, passing the brown envelope to Arianwyn. ‘Don’t you want to find out about your new position?’
&nbs
p; ‘I don’t think I do. Don’t you know already, though?’ Arianwyn said. She shivered as though an icy draught had filled the room. Was it excitement or fear?
‘I have no idea. Honestly!’ Grandmother smiled.
Taking a deep breath, Arianwyn ripped the envelope open, spilling the contents on to the bright eiderdown. The first was a certificate, signed by August Coot. It stated her ‘grade’ and continuing status as ‘Apprentice Witch’.
The next item was the form for requesting a re-evaluation. A note was clipped to it from Colin. It simply said ‘good luck’. Arianwyn felt another pang of regret as she thought of how unkind she had been.
The last item was a brief, typed letter:
Dear Miss Gribble,
Following your recent evaluation and in light of national developments the Civil Witchcraft Authority will be placing you as an Apprentice Witch for the town of Lull and the surrounding area.
You will take up your post on 8 March and should report to the mayor of Lull, the Honourable Josiah Belcher, on that date.
We wish you every success in your new position.
Yours sincerely,
C. J. Alberias
Assignments & Placements Dpt
Civil Witchcraft Authority, Kingsport
She handed all this to her Grandmother and went over to her bookcase. She scanned the spines, searching for the atlas her father had given her on her eleventh birthday. She had never heard of Lull before, which wasn’t a promising sign.
‘I think it’s south of Undle somewhere,’ grandmother offered, ‘near the Great Wood.’
Arianwyn laid the atlas on the bed, opening it to the pages that displayed the island nation of Hylund. It rested in an expanse of blue, safe and solitary, cocooned in a ring of seas and oceans. Arianwyn’s fingers traced the mainland kingdoms, Dannis, Grunnea and Veersland that framed the page to the top and right. The Uris lay beyond this page, north of Veersland, where her father was fighting. It was as though her father and the war were happening in some made-up fairytale country.
Her eyes skimmed down the island, taking in rivers, towns and cities she knew or had visited. And there, almost at the bottom of Hylund, right at the very edge of the Great Wood, was a small dot next to the word ‘Lull’. Arianwyn let her finger rest there. She wondered what sort of a place it might be. The Great Wood itself was a shaded, foggy expanse reaching to the south coast – a dangerous and remote place, full of seams of magic. There were legends about the Great Wood, about ancient spirits that retreated there to escape the intrusion of the human world. A few expeditions had been launched to chart the wood, but none had been successful and the Great Wood clung tightly still to all its secrets.
Despite everything, she felt a little thrill at the idea of being so close to so much magic.
Grandmother came to stand beside her, wrapping a reassuring arm around Arianwyn’s shoulders. They both gazed down at the map.
Those who are born with the ability to control the natural flow of magic around them are commonly known within the Four Kingdoms as witches. A witch’s training begins from the age of four, with basic glyph craft. Between the ages of twelve and seventeen a witch usually takes up his or her apprenticeship, under the guidance of an elder witch. Apprenticeships last for up to three years, at the end of which the apprentice would undergo the three trials, although more modern methods of gauging a witch’s skill are becoming increasingly commonplace.
THE APPRENTICE WITCH’S HANDBOOK
Chapter 5
THE BUS RIDE
laxsham station was rainswept and empty. Arianwyn stood alone, surrounded by luggage, her broom lashed to the top of her largest trunk. The hooting call of a train sounded in the distance. The smell of coal dust and hot metal lingered in the air.
It was late afternoon. She had been on the train since sunrise, crammed in amongst men, women and children travelling to the four corners of Hylund. She stretched her aching muscles and checked the station clock; her connecting train was due any minute. For the tenth time that day she pulled out the letter from her satchel and read it just once more, checking all the details.
Dear Miss Gribble,
On behalf of the Town Council of Lull, may I congratulate you on your appointment.
We have been without a witch for many years and are so glad to have at last been allocated one.
The south of Hylund, as you are no doubt aware, is rich in natural magic though we are generally untroubled by dark spirits. Despite our proximity to the Great Wood, Lull has always been a quiet and pleasant town to live in.
Despite my reluctance regarding your continuing apprenticeship status, the C. W. A. has persuaded me that you are ready to face the challenge, and that with support from the C. W. A. district supervisor, Miss Jucasta Delafield, you will be able to fulfil you role without incident.
We hope you will be a useful addition to our community.
Yours sincerely,
Josiah Belcher,
Mayor of Lull
The minutes passed, but no train arrived.
‘Excuse me?’Arianwyn called to the stationmaster as he appeared from his office carrying a huge steaming mug, ‘Is the train for Lull late?’
‘Cancelled, I’m afraid, miss – all the Lull trains have been. Damage to the lines over the winter.’ He was merrily dunking biscuits into his tea and swallowing them in one go. ‘There’s a bus on, be parked up round the corner.’
Arianwyn smiled and was about to thank the man when she realized he was staring straight at her stupid badge. She quickly pulled her scarf to cover it, and went in search of the bus.
Thankfully she found it just in time and, with lots of help from the driver, Mr Thorn, was able to get all her luggage into or on top of the bus. Mr Thorn was a tiny man, with a snow-white moustache and glinting cheerful eyes. ‘Whole town’s been waiting for you, miss.’ He smiled. ‘Be my honour to take you the rest of the way in old Beryl.’ He patted the bus and grinned.
‘Beryl’ was clearly Mr Thorn’s pride and joy. She was green and silver and polished till she shone like a rare jewel. Arianwyn made sure she said several times what a beautiful bus Beryl was and Mr Thorn beamed like a proud father.
But sadly Beryl was about as comfortable as a tea tray, and Arianwyn soon discovered that each small bump – and there were lots and lots – turned into a sheer drop and Beryl crashed down with all the elegance of an avalanche. As long as she kept concentrating on the road ahead she probably wouldn’t be sick. She felt her stomach flip-flop.
The one blessing was that her two fellow passengers had so far ignored her. One, an older gentleman, whom Mr Thorn had called Grimms, climbed on, took his seat and fell immediately into a deep, snore-filled, sleep.
The other was a young girl about Arianwyn’s age, dressed in an impossibly glamorous but old and faded red coat and hat. She had only just got on the bus when it pulled away from the station; she greeted Mr Thorn kindly, asking after his wife. Then she glanced briefly at Arianwyn, took her seat and burst into tears. She had been quietly sobbing into her handkerchief for the last fifteen miles or so.
The bus jolted over another pothole, throwing Arianwyn forwards in her seat, queasiness washing over her again.
‘How much further is it, Mr Thorn?’ Arianwyn shouted over Beryl’s roar. But Mr Thorn was absorbed in his driving, peering over the steering wheel, and didn’t hear.
The sobbing girl looked up from her soggy handkerchief. ‘Another half-hour,’ she said, ‘it’ll probably be dark before we get to Lull.’ The girl looked at Arianwyn carefully, as though she was studying her, and then she burst out with, ‘Oh. You’re the new witch! Miss . . . Gravel? No, Grapple? No . . .’
Arianwyn gave a small laugh. She smiled warmly and extended her hand. ‘Gribble. Arianwyn Gribble.’
‘Oh my! Everyone will be so jealous that I met you first. You’re all anyone’s been able to talk about for weeks and weeks – Miss Gribble this and Miss Gribble that.’
‘Really?’ Aria
nwyn blushed.
‘Oh don’t feel bad, there’s not usually that much going on in Lull. You’ve given us all something to talk about. I’m Salle Bowen.’
‘Very pleased to meet you. Do you live in Lull?’
‘Yes.’ Salle smiled. ‘But I’ve just been to an audition at the Palace Theatre this afternoon. I’m an actress . . . well, I want to be one but I don’t seem to be able to get any of the parts . . . except for the town pantomime, and that really doesn’t count.’ She suddenly fell quiet and then she blew her nose into the already soaked handkerchief. Tears welled in her eyes and then tumbled down her cheeks.
Seeing Salle so obviously heartbroken took Arianwyn back to her evaluation and how wretched she had felt after that. ‘It’s awful when things don’t quite go according to plan, isn’t it?’ Arianwyn said, and she gestured to her badge. ‘You could sort of say I failed my audition too!’ She grinned at Salle, who seemed to brighten for a moment. Before she knew what she was doing, Arianwyn was pouring out the whole story as the bus rattled along and the darkening world whistled past the windows.
‘Your parents must be so proud of you, though,’ Salle said.
Arianwyn fell silent; she reached into her satchel and pulled out the photograph of her parents, offering it to Salle. ‘My dad’s in the army. He’s stationed up in the north of Veersland, helping the Veerish guard against the Urisian attacks.’ Salle nodded knowingly. Arianwyn carried on, ‘I wrote to him weeks ago, but I don’t know if he even got the letter. We don’t hear from him very often these days. And my mum, well . . . she died when I was little. My grandma is the one who raised me.’
Salle’s hand reached out tentatively and rested on Arianwyn’s. ‘Both my parents died when I was a baby. It was the ruby fever,’ she said, quietly. ‘I don’t even remember them. Aunt Grace and Uncle Mathieu have been my parents, really. They run the inn in Lull, the Blue Ox. What happened to your mum? Was she a witch too?’ Salle didn’t seem to dwell at all on the tragedy of not having even one parent.
Arianwyn nodded. She didn’t like to think about it, but the memory was as fresh and raw as though it had only been that morning. ‘She was hit by a delivery van in Kingsport,’ Arianwyn said quietly. ‘We’d been to the bakery to get fresh bread and some cakes for tea.’ She gazed past Salle, out across the darkening countryside. ‘We’d just crossed the street. Someone shouted for help. A little boy had wandered in to the road and the van was coming at him, so fast. Mum just ran straight into the road. She didn’t think twice about it. She must have known they wouldn’t both get clear. She hurled a spell at the boy, threw him clear but . . .’
