by Kate Forsyth
On an open patch of earth near the edge of the cliff, the tremulous surface of the waterfall’s edge only a few feet away, a large circle had been scratched deeply into the dirt. Within the circle, a five-pointed star had been traced, its shape barely discernible in the dim light.
At four of the five points of the star sat a witch; their staffs stood upright in the soil behind them, marking the point where star and circle met. The witches were naked, their hair unbound, and they sat cross-legged, their eyes closed. They had sat that way all night, each enduring the Ordeal in silence. Isabeau bowed to all four witches, then sat at the fifth point of the pentagram. To her right was Meghan of the Beasts; to her left Seychella, whose powers were strongest in the elements of air. Opposite sat Jorge the Seer, who saw what others could not. At the fourth point sat a witch Isabeau had never seen before. Like Jorge, she was very frail, and she sat wreathed in pale hair that floated about her, long as a banrìgh’s wedding train. As Isabeau stared at her wonderingly, she opened her eyes and they were a bright and brilliant blue, and wet with tears.
‘Let us celebrate the rites o’ Candlemas,’ she said, in a melancholy voice, very soft.
Isabeau bowed her head, and fell into the familiar chant, the rites which she and Meghan had performed at the dawn of the Season of Flowers every year of her life. ‘In the name o’ Eà, our mother and our father, thee who is Spinner and Weaver and Cutter o’ the Thread; thee who sows the seed, nurtures the crop, and reaps the harvest; by the virtue o’ the four elements, wind, stone, flame and rain; by virtue o’ clear skies and storm, rainbows and hailstones …’
Deprived of food and rest for a full night, and shivering in her nakedness, Isabeau fell into a light trance, so that the sound of the chanting, the thick scent of the incense and woodsmoke, the gleam of light on the water, came and went in rushing billows. When they rose to dance, she felt as though her body was twisting and stamping her feet into the earth without any prompting or control from her—she was apart, separate, away.
Afterwards Seychella said, ‘Isabeau the Foundling, ye come to the junction o’ earth, air, water and fire, do ye bring the spirit?’
‘May my heart be kind, my mind fierce, my spirit brave.’
‘Isabeau, ye come to the pentagram and circle with a request. What is your request?’
‘To learn to wield the One Power in wisdom and in strength. To ask for admittance to the Coven o’ Witches so I may learn from them the laws and responsibilities o’ the magic. May my heart be kind enough, my mind fierce enough, my spirit brave enough.’
All four witches made a circle with the fingers of their left hand and crossed it with one finger of their right. ‘Meghan, your guide and guardian, says ye have passed the First Test o’ Power.’ Isabeau looked at Meghan in surprise. ‘She tested ye on your eighth birthday, as the auld laws decree.’
Isabeau remembered her eighth birthday clearly. Meghan had tested her all morning on her witchcraft skills, but she had thought those tests had been to punish her for carelessness, not the First Test of Power.
‘As the Second Test o’ Power decrees, ye must first pass the First Test again.’ Isabeau looked to Meghan for reassurance but there was none in her grim face. Suddenly a stone was thrown at her by Jorge, a hard throw and directly at her face. Automatically Isabeau deflected the pebble and it spun into the stones.
‘Isabeau the Foundling has passed the Trial o’ Air—to move that which is already moving,’ the unknown witch said. Her voice was very faint. ‘Breathe deeply o’ the good air, my bairn, and goodwish the winds o’ the world, for without air we should die.’ On the last words, her voice was tremulous with tears.
Obediently Isabeau breathed deeply of the forest-scented air and felt exhilaration fill her. She had passed the first Trial, and it had been easy!
Seychella then got to her feet and, carrying a deep bowl of water between her two hands, crossed the pentagram to where Isabeau sat, careful not to step outside the lines. She placed the bowl on the ground before her. Isabeau was surprised to see the witch’s hands were now laden with rings.
It was always possible to judge a witch’s strengths by the number of rings, and the order in which they were worn, Meghan had once explained. On the middle finger of Seychella’s right hand was the moonstone that was the reward for passing the Second Test of Power. On her heart finger was a blue topaz, showing her strongest element was air, and on her second finger a garnet, showing she had also mastered the Element of Fire. On her left hand, Seychella wore a sapphire on her heart finger, indicating she had passed the Sorceress Test of Air.
Seychella was therefore a powerful sorceress—many witches never earnt more than one or two rings. Only rarely was a witch powerful enough to earn all ten rings, and even Tabithas had only won seven.
Meghan and the silver-haired witch also rose and came to where they could see the bucket of water. Isabeau had time to notice their hands were also laden with rings before Seychella intoned, ‘The Trial o’ Water.’ Immediately Isabeau focused all her energies on the bowl, trying not to move a finger. It was somehow easier to use the One Power if you could use gestures, but Meghan said that was the sign of a novice: real witches could exert the One Power even if their hands and feet were bound. Isabeau had never found the element of water very easy, and though she strained, there was no response from the bowl. Exerting every ounce of her strength she willed the water to move. At last it began to lurch about in the bowl, slopping from side to side, splashing over the rim.
‘Control,’ Meghan said, and gradually the water quietened until it was gently lapping the sides of the bowl.
‘Isabeau the Foundling has passed the Trial o’ Water—the ebb and flow o’ water contained,’ Seychella said. ‘Drink deeply o’ the good water, lassie, and goodwish the rivers and seas o’ the world, for without water we should die.’
Isabeau gratefully drank from the bowl before her, for she was very thirsty. The water tasted clear and fresh and rushed through her like rain through the dry bed of a burn. Meghan went back to her position where she picked up a pot of soil and three twists of bark. Isabeau sat back confidently, and when her guardian brought over the clay pot, looked carefully at her hands. She could hardly contain a gasp when she saw that Meghan wore seven rings—a moonstone, garnet, jade, turquoise and blue topaz on her right hand that proclaimed her as a master of all five of the elements, and on her left hand, an emerald, the highest level in the Element of Earth, and an opal, sorceress ring of the Element of Spirit.
‘Meghan, are ye … ye must be … Meghan, are ye a sorceress?’
‘How can ye no’ ken!’ Seychella scolded. ‘Ye live for sixteen years with a Sorceress o’ the first order, and ye do no’ guess?’
‘Peace, Seychella. The lass has known no witch but me, how was she to ken? All her learning has come from books and from mimicking me—she has never seen the rings afore, they are too precious for bairns to play with and too dangerous for me to wear. How was she to ken?’
‘But—’ Isabeau began.
‘No’ now, lass. I will answer your questions later. Now I want ye to undertake the Trial o’ Earth.’
With shaking hands, Isabeau undid the first twist of bark. She could hardly believe Meghan was a sorceress—and of seven rings! Her dear old grumbly guardian, who limped about the steep meadows as nimbly as Isabeau herself, and knew more about the creatures of the field and forest than anyone Isabeau had ever met. It made everything Isabeau knew suddenly shift out of place, and she shivered a little.
Inside the twist of bark was a collection of seeds, all different shapes and sizes. One by one she held the seeds aloft and named them. ‘Nightshade, madder, sweet balm, hound’s tongue, periwinkle, ragwort,’ she chanted, while her mind continued to grapple with the revelation that her guardian was no common wood witch. ‘Elder, silverweed, juniper, hazel-nut, bryony, lady’s smock, loosestrife, blackberry, bellfruit, apple …’
When she had finished, the four witches did not indicat
e by word or gesture whether she was correct, but merely told her to choose three of the seeds and plant them in the pot. This was difficult. Isabeau was given no clue as to what the witches wanted from her and each of the seeds had different properties, some healing, some nourishing, some poisonous. After giving the matter due consideration, Isabeau carefully selected three seeds—angelica, oats and hazel—and planted them in the soil. Angelica was sometimes called heart’s ease, for its healing and strengthening properties. Every part of the plant from the root to the flower to the seed could be utilised, and it could reduce any fever or inflammation, whether internal or external. Oats was an obvious choice—if food was scarce, a body could live on porridge alone for months. The third seed had been harder, but Isabeau at last settled on hazel, for like angelica it had strong medicinal powers but, like oats, it could also be eaten and was rich in protein and vital minerals. Most importantly, it was one of the sacred woods, the timber from which witches’ staffs were often made, and the handles of witch daggers. After she had planted the seeds, she watered them and passed her hand over the soil, concentrating, as she had often seen her guardian do.
Inside the next twist were pieces of fragrant bark, leafy twigs, dried flowers and berries. Again Isabeau named each one and its properties, and again there was no reaction from the witches. With a sigh, Isabeau opened the third twist. It was now fully light, which helped her in naming the powdered ores and minerals contained within. Isabeau had a little more trouble here, for the powders were not ones she came across in her daily life, as the seeds and herbs had been. As she named them, Isabeau scattered some into the pot of soil and watered the minerals in carefully. Next she was asked to recite the first seven languages of beasts, the common speech of birds, fish, insects, reptiles, amphibians, mammals and those other myriad creatures, named by some faery and by others uile-bheistean. Isabeau not only knew the common languages, but many of the dialects, particularly the languages of the birds and mammals, so this was an easy challenge for her. Out of a sudden sense of mischief, she recited a full fourteen, but the witches did not seem to notice.
All the while Isabeau had been talking, she continued to concentrate on the seeds in the pot, warming them with her mind, feeding them with her own energy. As she recited the last few languages, she saw the soil begin to stir and blessed the many times she had seen Meghan perform this trick.
A hiss of satisfaction escaped Jorge for his blind eyes had seen what the witches had not. Seychella was on her feet in an instant, and when she saw the first seedlings feeling for the sun she called, ‘Bravo!’
‘Isabeau the Foundling has passed the Trial o’ Earth—the challenge o’ knowing,’ Meghan said, and there was satisfaction in her voice. She brought Isabeau a plate of bread and cheese and apples and a cup of mint tea. ‘Eat deeply o’ the good earth, my bairn, and goodwish the fruits and beasts o’ the world, for without them we should die.’
Isabeau, who liked her tea hot, heated it with her finger before drinking, and ate some of the bread and cheese. She felt strength returning to her, and jubilation, for she had passed the first three Trials.
The blind warlock now rose to his feet and carried a candle over to Isabeau, who smiled at him and lit the wick without even a twitch. Bored, she decided to give them a demonstration of what she really could do. She lifted her hand so the flame leapt from the candle to the tip of her finger, and then played with the flame, until she was juggling three tiny balls of fire. Before she could do anything more, Meghan said sternly, ‘Ye have shown us the flame, now show us the void.’
Obediently, Isabeau winked the candle flame out, feeling a little resentful. The challenge o’ the flame and the void’s an elementary exercise—any novice could do it, she thought. Nonetheless she waited for the praise she thought inevitable.
‘Humility and self-control are necessary attributes o’ any witch,’ the Sorceress Seychella said sternly. ‘If a witch misuses the One Power, or grows to enjoy the use o’ it too much, only evil can follow.’ Isabeau felt her heart sink. She had heard the same words many times from Meghan, but had never paid much heed, being too eager to exercise her will upon the One Power. ‘Nonetheless, she has succeeded in the challenge o’ the flame and the void and so passes the Trial o’ Fire. Draw close to the good fire, lassie, warm yourself and bask in its light. Goodwish the fire o’ the world, for without warmth and light in the darkness we should die.’
Isabeau crouched by the fire until her cheeks were red and her limbs warm, before returning expectantly to her spot.
‘Now for the final challenge, the Trial o’ Spirit,’ Jorge said.
Isabeau waited but nothing happened, no-one moved or spoke. She glanced at them all, meeting the silver-haired witch’s sad blue gaze, Jorge’s glazed eyeballs, Seychella’s impatient glance. Only Meghan did not meet her eyes, staring sullenly at the ground.
‘Tell us what ye see,’ Seychella said, and Isabeau looked about in some perplexity. She saw nothing that she had not seen for the past four hours—loch, waterfall, forest, sky.
‘In your mind’s eye, lassie,’ the unknown witch prompted.
In desperation Isabeau shut her eyes but saw nothing but fizzling darkness. She thought back to the morning of her eighth birthday, when she had been tested in this way before. She remembered how Meghan had drawn something on a piece of paper and had made her guess. ‘A star in a circle,’ Isabeau said, and heard them sigh in relief. Involuntarily she looked at Meghan and saw her guardian was staring at her with her piercing black eyes. The stare made her blush and stammer, ‘I remember the game. I see nothing now.’
‘Odd,’ Seychella said. ‘Do we pass her or fail her? She has given the right response.’
‘Surely she must see it. It is the challenge o’ clear seeing,’ the stranger said. Isabeau looked appealingly at Meghan but it was Jorge who answered, saying, ‘She gave the right answer. Who are we to understand the ways o’ the Power? How she came to the right answer is surely a matter for Eà.’
Relief flooded her. She tried to remember if she and Meghan had ever played that game again, but she did not think they had. Surely her teacher should have prepared her for that Trial? And why had she not seen anything, when they all expected she would?
‘Isabeau has given the right answer to the Trial o’ Spirit,’ Jorge intoned. ‘Feel the blood pumping through your veins, my bairn, feel the forces o’ life animate ye. Give thanks to Eà, mother and father o’ us all, for the eternal spark, and goodwish the forces o’ Spirit which guide and teach us, and give us life.’
Isabeau was not allowed to rest for long, though they gave her more water and congratulated her on her Passing. Seychella was openly puzzled about the final Trial, but bowed to Jorge’s judgement. Isabeau crouched by the fire again, for the sun was obscured by rising clouds and the wind was sharp, then rose and found a flat patch of rock to do her ahdayeh exercises.
‘Snow Lion Goes to Drink,’ Seychella snapped, and immediately Isabeau felt her body swing into the loose, arrogant walk that she had been taught.
‘Snow Lion Sniffs the Air,’ and Isabeau turned to face the witches, every nerve alert, her back straight and her head raised.
‘Snow Lion Leaps the Rock.’
Isabeau lightly bounded into the air, her arms close to her body, landing a good six feet away, her feet together, knees bent. For the next hour, the commands flew and Isabeau was made to show every one of the thirty-three ahdayeh stances. As her body grew tired and the commands more difficult, she felt her muscles beginning to ache and her legs tremble. Only once did she stumble badly though, and that was towards the end, performing Dragon Dives for the Kill, an exercise that involved a complicated somersault and tumbling run. Although Isabeau made the somersault as tight as she could, the rock was uneven and she stumbled as she landed. The witches said nothing, just sat at the points of the pentagram on either side of the fire, and waited for her to recover herself.
Isabeau had hurt her ankle in the fall, but she knew bet
ter than to complain or show any sign of pain. She finished the final three moves, landing neatly back in her position before thankfully sinking to the ground. Her whole body ached and she felt tears prickling her eyes, but she said nothing, only looked down at her hands clenched in her lap.
Then the Second Test of Power began. Isabeau felt her confidence returning as she easily passed the Trials of Air, Water and Earth. The first exercise involved lifting a stone from one spot to another—the challenge of moving an unmoving object. For the second, she poured water from one jug to another without moving either receptacle—the challenge of the ebb and flow uncontained. For the Trial of Earth, she called beasts to her—an otter from the loch, a coney from the forest, a crested falcon from the sky, a salamander from the sunbaked rocks, a spider from its web. This was easy for Isabeau, living as she did with Meghan of the Beasts, for all the animals in the valley were her friends. After coming to Isabeau’s hand, the animals clustered around Meghan, and she spoke to them kindly, petting the coney’s soft fur, stroking the falcon’s bright head.
Isabeau should have found the Trial of Fire the easiest of them all, for all she had to do was use fire as a tool. She had forged many knives and spades before, and had sometimes been allowed to make simple jewellery to sell in the village markets. But her task today was to make a moonstone ring, and her hands trembled as she twisted the heat-softened silver. She had never made a ring before, and this ring would be worn by Meghan if she passed the Second Test, while she would wear her guardian’s. She wanted the ring to be perfect, so Meghan could accept it with pride. It was a serious statement of trust, to give something forged by your own hand—as serious as giving away something that had been long worn and used by you, since such things could be turned against you if they fell into the wrong hands. Yet this was the custom of the Coven, and so the ring she would win if she passed was the ring given to Meghan by her previous apprentice, Ishbel the Winged. Isabeau knew this ring would be one of her greatest treasures, yet one day she too would give it away, in return for a newly forged ring from the hand of her own apprentice.
