The Witch’s Daughter

by Paula Brackston

  We sat down and I passed Tegan warm cheese scones and cold ginger beer from our picnic. Her face glowed as much from the uplifting nature of the small ceremony as from the heat and light of the fire.

  ‘That was so cool,’ she said, biting into the scone. ‘Weird but bloody cool. I really felt something, as if someone was listening. Is that daft?’

  ‘Not at all. It is a sign that you are beginning to let down your guard and be open to the craft. It is no small step to accept that we are not alone on this earth. And that we are not the all-powerful creatures most people believe themselves to be. You are learning to still that frantic mind of yours at last.’

  ‘When can I try a spell? Nothing major, just a little one. Will you let me have a go?’

  Her overflowing eagerness made me laugh.

  ‘All in good time, Tegan. You can’t rush these things.’

  ‘There must be something you think I wouldn’t screw up.’ She swigged on her bottle and stared grumpily into the fire. I knew she was a long way from being ready, but it was hard to refuse her.

  ‘After Beltane,’ I said. ‘If you finish the reading I gave you.’

  ‘I will! I will. Wow, that’s gonna be ace. I can’t wait. What will it be? Can I choose something?’

  ‘Wait and see, and no, you can’t choose. Leave that up to me.’

  We ate in silence for a moment, reminding me that she had indeed begun to temper her youthful restlessness and learn to listen and to think. There was something wonderfully companionable about sharing a small moment such as this with someone new, someone open and without cynicism who was willing to learn. I was quite moved by the closeness I feel exists between us. It is such a very long time since I have allowed myself to care about another living soul. I relish the luxury of such a friendship. I treasure it, acutely aware of how precious and rare such a thing is.

  Tegan finished her food and lay back on her elbows, prodding the edge of the fire with her foot.

  ‘Tell me again about Beltane,’ she said. ‘Tell me what we’re going to do.’

  ‘Beltane is the festival of the sun and of fire. It heralds the coming of summer and fertility.’

  ‘Do we have to get naked?’

  I shot her a look, ‘That’s up to you,’ I said. ‘Personally I prefer to keep my clothes on at this time of year. As I was saying, Bel is the god of light and fire. We celebrate the fact that the sun has at last come to free us from the bondage of winter. We will collect the nine sacred woods for our fire and smudge our faces with the ashes. We keep vigil all night. Some believe the dawn dew at Beltane carries blessings of health and happiness. I suppose you could take your clothes off for that bit if you must.’

  Tegan laughed. ‘All night, wow. Never mind getting naked—think I’ll bring a sleeping bag.’

  ‘The fire will keep you warm. And I’ll make us some mead; that always keeps out the cold.’ I threw another log on the fire. Sparks danced up into the evening sky. A bat swooped daringly close, no doubt attracted by the moths hell-bent on self-destruction in the flames. I watched Tegan’s reaction and was pleased to see her simply observe the creature. Only a few weeks before its arrival would have brought shrieks from her and flippant comments about vampires. ‘Beltane will be an important night for you, Tegan. It is one of the most magical events on the witch’s calendar. At such a time, the veil between the otherworld and our own terrestrial existence is gossamer thin. Spirits of all natures and persuasions may visit. You must be open to what happens, but do not allow yourself to give way to an overexcited imagination.’

  ‘Is it dangerous?’ she asked, almost hopefully I thought.

  ‘No. But we must not be complacent. There are dark forces abroad as well as light. We will dress the doors and windows of the cottage with rowan branches, and I will ask for the Goddess’s protection.’

  APRIL 28—MOON ENTERS LIBRA

  Tegan did not come today. I admit I am surprised. She is so keen to be a part of the preparations for Beltane, and today she was to help me decant the mead and then collect wood to stack for the Bel fire. Still, no matter. I am, after all, accustomed to working alone. I am getting to know the little woods well now and am enjoying watching them shake off their winter drabness. The first of the bluebells have nudged above the soil and are already beginning to flower. Was there ever a plant more suited to fairies? I look forward to wandering among them as soon as they are in bloom.

  APRIL 29—SECOND QUARTER

  Tegan showed up after school today full of apologies. She was unable to stand still for a moment, hopping from one foot to the other, tripping over her words as she babbled on about meeting someone the day before and not noticing the time slip by, and she hoped I didn’t mind but she couldn’t stay today either. She proudly showed me a mobile phone her new friend had given her. She was evasive about the identity of whomever it is she is rushing off to see, but I suspect a boy. Who else could engender such a feverish state? I suppose it was to be expected, but I confess to being disappointed. If she becomes attached to a boyfriend at this point in her instruction, she will most likely give up her studies. All the knowledge and wonder on this earth cannot compete with the frenzy of young love. We shall have to wait and see what happens. I reminded her that if she misses Beltane, she will regret it later. Perhaps her new friend would be prepared to forego seeing her for just this one evening? She reassured me, but I have my doubts. I shall make provisions for two but expect to be alone.

  MAY 1—MOON ENTERS SCORPIO

  I write this as the glow of my Bel fire is replaced by a glorious sunrise. The crimson slashes pulsate with healing power. I sit on a mossy log, my bare feet bathed by the dew. This should be a moment of exquisite joy and hope for the future, yet I cannot rid myself of a sadness. As I predicted, Tegan was absent last night. I am sorry for her, sorry that she missed such a magical and moving experience. I am sorry for myself, too. I should never have allowed myself to become so fond of the girl. What am I to her? A passing interest, that is all. A whim. Someone to help build her confidence so that she might engage with the wider world. So that she might build important friendships of her own. It is ridiculous to see myself in competition with some raw youth. I have no romantic interest in Tegan, after all. It is only right that she pursue the desires and needs of all girls her age. But I wish it could have been a little later. Just a little.

  MAY 5—THIRD QUARTER

  Another successful day at market. I have, it appears, garnered good reports among the shoppers of Pasbury. The number of customers at my stall has grown steadily, and some have become regular faces. The young woman from my first Saturday of trading returned today. Her bruises were gone and her toddler trotted in front of her on reins this time. She fingered objects set out on the stall until there were no other people within earshot.

  ‘It worked,’ she said quietly, ‘that stuff you gave me. Sorted him out. Hasn’t been out since, not without me. Wanted to, he did. Got as far as the front door last Friday night, but he came over all funny. Turned pale as you like and said he felt sick. I sat him down and made him something to eat. He cheered up. Thanked me. Thanked me! No cursing and shouting and getting handy with his fists. Just thanked me. Next day we all went to the beach.’

  ‘I’m glad,’ I said.

  ‘So, how much do I owe you?’

  ‘Call it a free sample. And you might like a bottle of my birch sap wine. Five pounds a liter.’

  She took the bottle I held out to her. ‘Is it…?’ She left the question unformed.

  ‘It’s quite strong,’ I told her, ‘but nothing more. Just wine.’

  After she had gone, an elderly couple from the retirement flats pitched up for the third week running. I was wrapping a collection of treatments for arthritis, plus a little something of my own devising to aid memory, when I noticed Tegan, hovering by the cake stall opposite.

  She approached slowly, her body language eloquently telling of a guilty conscience. I felt my spirits lift at the sight of her but rem
inded myself to keep a distance between us.

  ‘You’re really busy today,’ she said.

  ‘I’ve been running the stall for a few weeks now. Word has got round.’

  ‘People like coming here.’

  ‘My wares do seem popular, yes.’

  ‘It’s not your stuff, not really. It’s you. It’s you they come to see.’

  I ceased fidgeting with the lavender bags and looked at Tegan. The gauche girl was fading, and a newly confident woman was taking her place. Only love could lend such instant confidence and bring about such a rapid transformation. I had been right in my assumption. She was lost to me, then. Her study of the craft was surely not far enough advanced to hold her attention when faced with the distraction of youthful lust.

  ‘Thought I might call round tomorrow, if that’s okay,’ she said.

  ‘Won’t you be busy with your new friend?’

  Surprise altered her features. ‘How did you know?’

  ‘It doesn’t take magical powers of divination to see when a person is in love.’

  She blushed and grinned.

  ‘He’s performing in Batchcombe tomorrow.’

  I flinched at the unexpected mention of the town of my origins. Tegan noticed my reaction and I turned away, anxious she should not think the disconcertment written on my face was connected with her romance. There was a pause where she waited for me to respond. Fortunately, two new customers presented themselves, and I gave them my attention. Tegan lingered for a while longer and then slipped away. I felt a painful tugging in my chest. I knew I had snubbed her and she had felt that rejection. What choice did I have? Better that I give up the idea of her as my pupil, of ever sharing with her the beauty and the blessing of my magic. She is just a girl, and I must let her be one.

  MAY 6—THIRD QUARTER

  I must say I admire Tegan’s thick skin. She arrived at my front door a little after twelve this morning.

  ‘I would have come earlier, but, well, me and Ian had a late night. He’s gone to Bournemouth now. He’s got this cool motorbike. Says he can make shed loads of cash on a Sunday lunchtime this time of year. He plays the guitar brilliantly.’ She ventured a coy smile, ‘I think he loves me.’

  ‘I’m happy for you.’

  ‘You’ve gotta meet him. I know you’ll love him. He’s … special.’

  ‘Of course he is.’

  She shifted from one foot to the other. A blackbird in the garden behind her began to sing.

  ‘Well, are you going to invite me in or what?’

  I stood aside and she brushed past me. In the kitchen, she fell to idle chatter, clearly trying to regain some of the ground she had lost. It is not in my nature to be sullen, but I did my best at least to be uninteresting in the hope that she would get bored and give up. She did not. Eventually she got cross.

  ‘Look, what did I do that’s so wrong?’

  ‘Do you need to ask?’

  ‘So I missed some stuff. I’m sorry. I’ll do it next time.’

  ‘Stuff!’ Now it was my turn to be angry. ‘You missed Beltane. You passed up on the opportunity to experience one of the most exciting and spellbinding Sabbats of the wiccan year. One of the most important rights of passage any apprentice witch can take.’

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I said Beltane is of huge significance, not to be treated as a casual event…’

  ‘No, witch. You said apprentice witch.’

  The air in the pause fizzed.

  ‘I might have.’

  ‘You did! You really mean you are going to show me how, to train me up to be like you. Me! A witch! It’s not just a few bits of New Age larking about and some smelly oils, is it? This is so mad.’ She sat down heavily in my chair by the unlit stove, not taking her eyes from me for an instant.

  ‘I don’t think you even know what the word means,’ I said, embarrassed by my own petulance.

  ‘I do. I’ve been reading the books you gave me.’

  ‘When you thought it was all just, what did you call it, “larking about”—I’m surprised you bothered.’

  ‘I did. I am. Look, never mind what I thought before. It was always cool, I mean, I wanted to learn. And d’you know what? I think that’s because I always knew. You tried to pretend. Admit it, you tried to make out it was just, like, a lifestyle choice or something. Hippy values. Natural way of living. Grow your own veg. Make your own herb oils. Culture your own yogurt. I knew that stuff you gave me fixed Sarah Howard. I told you then I’d sussed what you are, but you were having none of it. Told me about your ancestors and all that but wriggled out of it, didn’t you? Tried to get me to believe it was all just a bit of fun, just old remedies and fairy tales and superstition.’ She narrowed her eyes at me. ‘But it’s more than that, isn’t it? Much more.’

  I had been so determined to push her away, but I felt my resolve weakening in the face of such fascination. The ego is a dangerous thing.

  ‘To be brutally truthful with you, Tegan, I no longer believe you have what it takes to be my pupil.’

  ‘Bullshit!’

  ‘Must you use that language?’

  ‘If you didn’t think I could hack it, you wouldn’t have started showing me stuff in the first place.’

  ‘To learn the ways of the craft demands dedication. Commitment. Sacrifices have to be made.’

  ‘You’re saying I can’t have a boyfriend?’

  ‘I’m saying you have to prioritize.’

  ‘Choose, you mean?’

  ‘Not necessarily, no.’

  ‘What then?’ She sprang up from the chair and strode over to me. To my surprise, she took my hands in hers. ‘Tell me what I have to do to prove myself. I want to do it. I want to learn. I want to be like you. What do I have to do?’

  I wondered: If I had asked her to give him up, would she have done so? Was she daring me? Challenging me? Or did she know me better? Know me well enough to be certain I would not, could not, ask that of her. How could I? The child had barely known love her whole life, who was I to take it from her now that she had found it?

  ‘You would have to devote far more time to your studies.’

  ‘I will.’

  ‘Serious study, not simply leafing through books and treating the whole matter as a pleasant diversion from your schoolwork.’

  ‘Serious. I can do serious.’

  ‘Why do I doubt it?’

  ‘Test me, go on.’ She hurried to the sideboard and fetched my Grimoire. ‘Ask me something. Anything. I have been reading.’

  ‘Your commitment cannot be so easily tested.’

  ‘Let me show you what I know.’ She shoved the heavy book into my hands. ‘Go on.’

  ‘Very well.’ I put the Grimoire down on the kitchen table and folded my arms. ‘Tell me the difference between a wand and an athame.’

  ‘Easy. A wand is for moving energy and directing it; an athame is for sacred rituals and ceremonies and for banishing negative energy. Ask me another.’

  I pursed my lips. ‘Which tree is sometimes called the Lady Tree and must never be cut down.’

  ‘The elder! Come on, ask me something harder than that.’

  ‘List the Sabbats in the order they occur in thirteen moons.’

  She did so. She also listed the Esbats, the Equinoxes, the festivals of the pagan deities, and wiccan lore. She went on to explain the plants associated with each Sabbat ceremony, as well as the colors and foods that should be used. When she had finished, she sat back down, a triumphant smile on her face.

  ‘Go on, you’re impressed, admit it.’

  ‘Learning things by rote is hardly a sophisticated skill.’

  Temper flashed in her eyes, but she mastered it well. Taking a breath, she said, ‘I am serious, Elizabeth, really.’

  I sighed. I so wanted her to be in earnest.

  ‘We shall see,’ I said. ‘You can start by making me lunch while I consider what is to be done.’

  ‘No problem.’ She jumped up again and wre
nched open the door of the stove. She peered into its cold interior. ‘We’ll have to get this thing lit first,’ she said.

  I focused, then blew gently in the direction of the kindling I had laid earlier.

  Tegan leaped backward as the fire burst into life. Despite myself, I was unable to conceal my amusement. Tegan slammed the firedoor shut and turned to frown at me. ‘Serious, you said. I’m lucky I’ve got any eyebrows left.’

  Tegan busied herself and cooked a dhal for us. As we ate, she continued to try to impress me with the knowledge she had so far amassed of the ways of a hedge witch. I was pleasantly surprised, both by what she had learned and by the quality of our lunch.

  ‘Your cooking has improved,’ I told her, when at last she fell quiet.

  ‘Wow, Elizabeth, don’t go wild with the praise, will you!’ She wiped her bowl with a piece of bread and pushed back her chair, stretching out her legs. ‘I’m stuffed,’ she said. I sensed her hesitation before asking me. ‘Will you tell me more? About what it’s like. Being a witch, I mean. What it’s really like.’

  ‘What do you want to know, specifically?’

  ‘You know, do you ever curse people? Put hexes on them? Has anyone ever done it to you? Do you know lots of other witches? I mean, they could be everywhere, couldn’t they? All around us and we just don’t know it. Do you belong to a coven? That sounds seriously scary. And what about men, can they be witches or are they wizards, or what was that bastard in Bess’s story? Warlocks, are they always warlocks? And can you really heal people? I mean, I know you have your potions and oils and you don’t have to persuade me they work, but what about bigger stuff? Real illness. Can you mend people? Can you?’

  ‘Healing is the reason for being a witch, Tegan. If you are truly of the craft, of the sisterhood, you cannot but heal. Sometimes with more success than others.’

  ‘So, you could cure cancer, that sort of thing? Wow, you could go into a hospice or a hospital and just … make people better! Couldn’t you? Could you?’