As he flipped through its chapters searching for anything about an amulet with a tear-shaped stone, he thought about Lily.
Nothing.
He slid the book back into its place, and felt a buzz on his thigh. Her amulet in his pocket began to pulse.
Quickly, he pulled it out and held it, flat, in his palm. It grew warmer, and just when it was getting to the burning point, it spun. Then stopped. Angled toward a book on the third shelf.
The binding was glowing.
Wary that it could be hot, too, he took off his shirt and used it like a potholder, to slide the book out.
The pages flipped open on their own, gold-edged and glowing.
And stopped at an illustration of a wizened old woman he could only guess was a witch, standing in the center of a ring of stones. She was pointing a glowing sword into the sky, lightning striking its tip.
So witches hadn’t always had the gift of eternal youth that they possessed now? Interesting. How did they obtain it? And how could the warlocks get the same benefit? Could it be earned in the Gleaning? Was that why this year was so much more important to Father? Because his aging was now so accelerated, this was his last chance to reverse the process?
Logan leaned in for a closer look; the woman in the picture was wearing an amulet.
Identical to the one flashing in his hand.
He ripped the page out of the book, folded it carefully, and tucked it into his pocket. After ensuring all the books were exactly where they belonged, he headed out to confide in Chance, both about meeting Lily last week, looking for her in the clearing every evening since, and what he’d found here.
The Roghnaithe
Lily
After school I headed straight for the Melas Public Library.
Maybe it was just an offhand comment, but what Orchid had said about our being an “endangered species” had freaked me out for some reason.
“Good afternoon, Lily,” Mrs. Glumberg said, as soon as I stepped through the automatic doors.
“Hi. How are you?” I asked.
“My gout is better! Thanks for the tip about the cherries,” she said.
“Anytime. So glad to hear it.”
“So what are you looking for today?”
“Can I have the key to the fifth floor?” I asked quietly.
“Hmm, that’s for students normally.”
“I promise, I’ll be like, five minutes. Max,” I reached into my bag and pulled out a glass bottle of special cherry elixir I whipped up for her in case she needed some extra encouragement to hand over the key, and set it on the counter. “Oh, here. We made this especially for you.”
“How very sweet!” She glanced around to make sure no one was watching before she pulled her private set of keys out of her purse, and used one to open a drawer behind the counter.
The golden key flashed in my palm.
“Thanks a lot,” I said, closing my fingers around it before she noticed its magical response.
“I hope you find what you’re looking for,” she said, innocently.
She and Iris were old friends, and I wasn’t sure how much she knew about the Fifth Floor. So I just said, “Thanks, me too.”
The elevator only went to the fourth floor. I got off there and took a hidden flight of stairs to a locked door that said ARCHIVED BOOKS: NO PATRONS ALLOWED BEYOND THIS POINT WITHOUT SPECIAL PERMISSION. When I slipped the golden key into the lock, the doorknob magically twisted and opened for me.
The fifth floor was a large, dusty archive that patrons were only allowed to use with permission from Mrs. Glumberg.
To public knowledge, the archive’s many antique books were protected for their fragility and uniqueness—some were the only copies still in print. What the public didn’t know was that the Melas witches always had a representative on the library’s board, so we’d always have access to the precious collection we kept in here, glamoured, so only we could read it.
Our books were mixed in with human books. When I ran my fingers down their leather spines, their true titles appeared. With a pounding heart, I read:
DARK PROPHECY: ON THE ENDANGERMENT OF SPELLSPINNERS
If the Hundred Year Curse—placed on the witches and the warlocks by the Seven Sisters in the year of 1912—is not broken within a full century, modern Spellspinners will face the Deireadh na N-Amanna.
I pulled out my phone and typed the phrase into the translator:
Deireadh na N-Amanna: Irish: Gaelic.
End of Times.
End of Times?
Automatically, the enchanted book turned the page:
As their magic begins to fade from existence, modern Spellspinners will be left with only basic human bodies, impotent of the vast powers granted through practicing magic.
My back scratched against the hard bindings as I slid to the floor. Heavy in my lap, the book flipped to a new page:
Hundred Year Curse
In the year of 1911, after centuries of living in peace, the stable family unions of male & female witches found themselves in deep-seeded philosophical conflict: Male/female opinions split between an eagerness to live amongst humans (female) and lust for power to rule over them (male). * Wives accused their male counterparts of succumbing to the temptations of dark magic. (Why else would they want to rule over less powerful beings?) Husbands accused wives of not tapping their potential. (Why waste healing energies on human children when they could be increasing their own powers?) After individual families fell, coven communities succumbed to aggression. When the warring covens couldn’t come to terms, violence ensued. The Seven Sisters were forced to intervene and create a new order.
* Abridged Council ruling, translated from oracle on the Isle of the Seven Sisters
Ord Nua
Ruling that Spellspinners were unequipped to control the great surge of energy that came from binding the dark and light powers coursing between them, the Sisters were left with no choice but to sever their union, ordering female witches to continue to live among humans, but practice their light magic (i.e., healing, Breathing) in secret. Male witches were branded with a new name: Warlock*, and, as such, they were banished from witch communities and the human world, and stricken from harming or ruling over human or witch kind. They could practice their dark magic (i.e., levitation, mind reading) in secret.
*Origin: before 900; Middle English warloghe, -lach, Old English waerloga oathbreaker, devil, equivalent to waer covenant + -loga betrayer (derivative of leogan to lie)
The Congression
To maintain the new order, the Seven Sisters created a fair council of Spellspinners to govern over the witches and warlocks in the form of the Congression, a body comprised of seven wise Spinners (three warlocks and four witches, alternating quarterly to four warlocks and three witches for balance), all of whom were approved by the Sisters.
The Gleaning
Stripping the Spellspinners of half their energy proved problematic, and both female and male complained to the Congression of failing magic beyond the powers stricken from them. Because the fe/male Spellspinners were not allowed to interact, they created a process called “The Gleaning,” where fe/male Spellspinners would exchange dark and light energy through a magically governed battle, to ensure their powers remain balanced. At the first Gleaning, in June 1912, on the Isle of the Sisters, a tragedy occurred. A warlock murdered the opposing witch he was meant to glean light magic from, and in retaliation, a warlock was murdered by a witch. The Congression intervened, and the Seven Sisters cursed the Spellspinning community as a whole, banishing them from the sacred isle to America. Further, they cursed the warlock community with premature aging as punishment for their greed; likewise, witches, for retaliating without permission, inherited the curse of never falling in love. They could marry only humans, and would never again know the passionate joy of loving their magical equal.
Warlocks would only marry humans, and only give birth to male progeny, Sons of Darkness, while witches would spawn only Daughters of L
ight.
To punish the community further, the Sisters gifted their female counterparts with eternal youth and indescribable beauty, forcing the warlocks to desire what they could never have, while witches would be forced to watch their magical equals deteriorate before their eyes, without ever knowing their love.
Modern Spellspinners continue to perform the same ritual as their ancestors every summer, fall, winter and spring solstice in an effort to preserve their powers (witches) and slow down their rapid aging (warlocks). The witches and warlocks were granted a hundred year window to amend past mistakes and break the curse, or abort their powers forevermore.
When I finished reading, I felt the same way I had on Black Mountain when I woke up on that rock after the spell. Just…spent. I knew that witches and warlocks were separated by the Seven Sisters, but I never understood the details. How brutally harsh it all sounded written so definitively.
Murder? And the part about forcing us to live forever without true love? Condemning us to want them, for them to desire us, but with no chance of fulfilling those desires? It seemed so…cruel.
At least my experience with Logan on Black Mountain made more sense now. The last sentence rang through my ears like a rogue spell:
“Witches and warlocks were granted a hundred year window to amend past mistakes and break the curse, or abort their powers forevermore.”
Make peace?
With the warlocks?
But how?
One thing was clear. I needed answers immediately. Quickly, I memorized the pages and placed the book back on the shelf.
But when I reached the door to the staircase, it wouldn’t budge.
Frantically, I yanked on the knob, desperate to get home and talk to Iris, feeling so betrayed that she hadn’t told me about this before. So I wasn’t screwing up my magic after all? My magic was screwed up because of this curse! And now, without a peace treaty, we’d lose it forever?
I took a deep breath. Calm down.
A tinkling sound, like wind chimes, made me turn to face the stacks again. A lone volume hovered between two aisles. It flew toward me, fast, and I held out my hands just as it smacked into my palms. I lowered them and let the book settle itself in my arms; then I watched as the pages flipped desperately to a glowing page in the middle.
BREAKING THE CURSE: THE ROGHNAITHE
Before the hundred year cycle is complete, A male spellspinner who claims the powers of both light and darkness, and all the magic that title possesses, will appear in the spellspinner community. This chosen spellspinner— the roghnaithe—is the sole key to unlocking the curse before the great syzygy*.
* Syzygy may refer to:
Syzygy (astronomy), a straight line configuration of three celestial bodies
Syzygy (Gnosticism), male-female pairings of the emanations known as aeons
The Oracle
The Oracle offered only this clue (loosely translated from Gaelic to English)
Under a broken rose moon
Lies a broken magic man
With the art of a broken rose moon.
The page ripped itself out and folded itself into a glittery origami rose. I blinked, and tucked it into my backpack. The door opened for me, and I ran down all five flights of stairs, practically flying out the emergency exit.
I didn’t know what the riddle meant—but I could do simple math.
The Hundred Year Curse began in 1911.
We were living in June 2011, weeks away from the Summer Solstice.
The Year of The Curse was about to begin.
Lily
“Lily, there you are! Omigod, finally, I’ve been waiting, like forever,” Daisy whined when I walked through the door. She uncrossed her legs on the patchwork quilt. Was she meditating? She crossed, then uncrossed, and then crossed them again. Daisy had a hard time sitting still.
Even though I was reeling from what I’d just learned, I had to act normal. The last thing I wanted was to freak out Daisy too. “You hungry? I’m going to make a peanut butter bagel, and then go find Mom.”
“Sure. Can you put strawberry jelly on mine? Mom just jarred some fresh ones and they are delici-o-so.”
“Got it.”
Instead of heading straight for the kitchen, I watched my sister squirm around on the quilt she was using as a half-baked yoga mat. Messing with her fingers, she was clearly trying to achieve a Lotus pose, but looked like she was trying to pick up slippery noodles with invisible chopsticks. I couldn’t resist asking what the heck she was up to. She sighed melodramatically. “I’m trying to levitate. Unsuccessfully, I might add.”
I sucked in a laugh. “Levitate? We can’t levitate, sweetie—and even then it’s only the truly exceptional who can achieve that skill.”
Her eyes popped open and a slow, mocking smile spread across her face. “It’s only the best of us who can achieve that skill,” she said in her best Yoda impression.
My sincere laugh came easily now. “You know what I mean. No mocking your sister. Rule #1.”
“Blah. As your sister, I’m exempt from treating you like royalty.”
“Which is why you fail, young Jedi.” I meant it as a joke. I was just quoting the movie, but she was very sensitive about her skills. I had to tell her I was just kidding three times.
“Fine, you’re forgiven. Where’s my bagel?”
“Where are your legs?”
She pointed to the pretzels she was resting her laurels on. “Come on, I’m busy. Plus, you offered.”
“I swear if it weren’t for me, no one in this family would eat.”
“Unfair. I make milkshakes.”
“Correction, I make milkshakes for you, and I’m not even allowed to have one.”
She beamed. “See? That’s helping. I am here to make milkshakes for. I’m like your walking, talking chef sampler.”
I leaped behind her and lifted her off the blanket. Giggling she kicked her legs in the air. “Levitation, ladies and gentlemen! The first to achieve it without attending even one coven practice!”
She followed me into the kitchen and hopped up on the counter to munch on a banana while I toasted our bagels.
“Why don’t witches fly on broomsticks like we used to in the good old days? Way more fuel efficient if you ask me.”
I handed her a gooey bagel sandwich on a blue ceramic plate. “Then the Powers That Be couldn’t have an oil monopoly, sister of mine.”
She crinkled her nose. “I’d love to fly.”
“Well, stick with your training and maybe you’ll eventually be able to.”
“Have you ever flown?”
“Once, I sort of did. On my bike.”
“Actually lifted off the ground?”
“I think so. A couple inches anyway.”
“Wow.” Her eyes shone like disco balls. “So Lil,” she said, wiping peanut butter off her lip, “You promised you’d run those spells with me after practice, and”—she checked the cat-shaped clock with its wagging-tail second hand—“and yep! It’s after practice. So…?”
“Okay. Just let me talk to Mom really quick…”
“Really quick? Nothing with Mom is ever really quick. First you’ll have to get her attention, and unless you ‘Shape of an atom bomb! Form of a meteorite!’”—Daisy bumped her two fists together like the Wonder Twins cartoon characters—“then good luck doing that! Besides, she’s been ranting around all afternoon slamming in and out of here yelling about her broken fountain. I can’t deal. She won’t help me memorize those beginning chants AT ALL. Lily. I need you.”
Daisy’s eyes shone with frustration. “My initiation is right after the solstice, and Clover’s mom’s been helping her all the time. It’s not like I don’t want her to do well, I do, but I also don’t want to look like a total loser in comparison, you know? Help me, Lily.”
“Okay. I promise. I promise. Give me fifteen minutes.”
Daisy’s still-entirely human green eyes were magic enough as it was.
I didn’t want t
o see them change. Even the luminous gold of amber would pale in comparison to what came natural to my Daisy. She needed no magic to highlight her beauty. I was torn about her joining the witches in the first place. She was dead-set on it, and yes, the magic was in our blood (passed on from our mother to us), but going through the training was our personal choice. It was a huge commitment to go the witch track compared to the human track.
It was a life choice.
Sure, a Spellspinner’s life was more exciting, but it was also more dangerous. And I didn’t want Daisy worrying about the same things I did. Fighting in the Gleaning, what would happen after.
The idea of her… of anyone hurting her, stabbed my heart like the sharpest of blades.
But if Daisy opted not to be initiated, then Iris would have to erase all knowledge of us being witches. She would think she had a normal family. That Iris was just a silly hippie. She would only see what we let her see.
That part bothered me. If she weren’t a witch, I’d lose my confidant, my partner in making-fun-of-Iris crime.
Truth was, none of my thoughts on this mattered now. If we didn’t break this curse, the deireadh na n-amanna would begin, and the choice would be ripped right from under her.
“Go practice your spells then. I’ll be up to quiz you.”
I watched my sister skip up the stairs, then I dashed out back to Iris’ garden. To the untrained eye, our backyard was more Zen than anything else. Chubby Buddha statues lined the tidy stone walkways, and glass mosaics lay in patterns only Iris understood.
When I was a little girl and still played with human girls, our yard was only a funky hippie garden, and Iris just an eccentric mom who loved to tend to it.
Iris didn’t turn around from the magic window, guised as a birdbath’s water, she was staring into. She swirled the water in slow circles with her long, dainty finger. Her never-aging blond hair, which she highlighted with streaks of grey for the sake of appearances, tumbled past her chest in a messy braided knot.
Witch's Brew - Spellspinners 1 (Spellspinners of Melas County) Page 5
