by Kate Forsyth
It was while she was waiting for the silver to soften again that she noticed Meghan talking with a long-eared hare. Hares were not easy to talk to if you had no hind-leg or white tail, but Isabeau noticed Meghan beating her hand rhythmically against the ground and wondered what had happened to alarm her. When next she glanced up, Gitâ was scurrying away from the wood witch at a great pace, even taking flight every few steps, unfolding the sails of skin between his legs.
Some other donbeag must be invading his nest, Isabeau thought idly, before turning her attention to setting the moonstone. She recognised the jewel—she had found it one day several weeks ago while exploring in the mountains, and had given it to Meghan, expecting it would be made into a pretty belt buckle or brooch to sell. It was the only moonstone she had ever found, a slightly misshapen circle that glowed with lambent light.
She set the moonstone between silver, single-petalled roses, as Meghan had instructed her the previous night, before Isabeau had been sent out to face her Ordeal alone in the forest. The other witches had left her alone with Meghan, who had spent some hours teaching her the rituals of the Testing. Once Isabeau had her responses word-perfect, and understood what was expected of her in the dawn, her guardian had taken down a narrow book with a blue cover. This was, she learnt, her acolyte book, and Meghan had written in it nearly every day of her life. Meghan would not let her read it, but showed her several pages which described her conduct and progress at the lessons Meghan chose to teach her, usually in censorious tones.
The wood witch had then turned to a page very early in the book, and showed Isabeau a design drawn there. It was of a ring, the jewel set between two roses, the single-petalled variety that grew wild in the mountains. Engraved on the band were delicate lines of thorns. Meghan made Isabeau practise her visualisation Skills on the drawing, until Isabeau could draw the design again perfectly. ‘Remember,’ the witch had said, ‘for when ye make your first ring tomorrow.’
She wondered why Meghan had insisted that she use such a design, for usually witches set their jewels in the emblem or crest of their family, or designed new shapes and patterns for themselves, according to their history. She had asked Meghan, but the old witch had just scowled and snapped, ‘Why must ye be always asking questions? Ye will understand when the time is right.’
Isabeau had known better than to ask again, but as she carefully engraved the band of the ring with the waving lines of thorns, she wondered again. It was not an easy design to re-create in silver, but at last she finished and set the ring to cool with mingled hope and anxiety.
After each challenge, Isabeau was told to breathe, drink, eat, and warm herself and each time she goodwished the element as instructed. The sun was sinking into a bank of dark clouds, and the wind was rising, and Isabeau was so tired she could barely sit upright. She had no doubt the witches would not let her rest until the end, despite the threatened storm. However, she knew she had only one more Trial to pass, so she took several deep breaths and began to gather in her will.
Meghan passed her a piece of broken pottery. Isabeau ran her fingers over it and concentrated. She felt nothing. She had seen Meghan do this before—hold an object and tell its past—but had never tried it herself. With all her strength she stared at the shard of pottery, willing it to speak to her, but she heard nothing. In despair she passed it back to Meghan, whose face was shuttered.
Her failure astounded Seychella. Under the Creed, a witch did not have to pass the Trials in all four of the Elemental Powers but must succeed in the Trial of Spirit to be permitted entry into the Coven. As far as she could remember a novice had never passed all four elemental challenges but not the final one. Despair rocked over Isabeau and, despite herself, she began to cry.
‘Stop your weeping, lassie,’ Seychella said. ‘Weeping shall no’ do any o’ us any good.’
Again Jorge spoke in her defence. ‘Her face is veiled. She canna open her third eye. I can sense the spirit in her, but she canna see. This happened to me when I was a novice, before I lost my sight. My guide allowed me to try a higher challenge in another element and when I succeeded, I was allowed to pass the Second Test o’ Power.’
Reluctantly Seychella agreed to allow Isabeau this loophole. Although the sun was still above the horizon, it was darkening quickly as storm clouds poured into the valley. Dragonclaw was completely hidden, and the wind was blowing the witches’ long hair about wildly. Isabeau looked apprehensively at the greenish clouds, lit with lightning.
‘Did ye call up this storm?’ Meghan asked the black-haired witch, who shook her head indignantly. ‘This is no’ the shape or direction storms take around here in spring,’ Meghan muttered and looked accusingly at Isabeau.
Isabeau found the higher Trial of Fire ridiculously easy, for all she had to do was handle the flames, which she had already done. She laughed when they told her, and conjured a ball of flame that she tossed from one hand to another. She was juggling seven balls when Seychella said with a barely suppressed smile, ‘Enough! I think we can say ye can handle fire!’
‘I did this before, why make me do it again?’ Isabeau asked, smug curiosity in every line of her body.
‘Everything in its rightful time and order,’ the unknown witch said with a faint smile. ‘I think we can say ye have passed all the Trials, my bairn. Now ye must show us how ye use all o’ the elemental powers. Make yourself your witch dagger, and make it with care, for ye shall carry it for a long time. Take the silver of the earth’s begetting, forge it with fire and air, and cool it with water. Fit it into a handle of sacred hazel that ye have smoothed with your own hands. Speak over it the words of the Creed and pour your own energies into it. Only then shall ye be admitted into the Coven.’
Unaccustomedly nervous, Isabeau forged herself a dagger, using the tools they gave her with dexterity and skill, and fitting it carefully to a handle of hazelwood. Her voice a little shaky, she spoke Eà’s blessing over the narrow blade, then looked across at Meghan, a tired grin breaking across her face.
She had passed her Second Test! Isabeau was too tired to feel much excitement, but a certain self-satisfaction seeped through her.
Seychella spoke first. ‘I am concerned that Isabeau has too much pride and self-will to be admitted into the Coven o’ Witches, even though she demonstrates the necessary power. I feel she is too immature. In other times, I’d say that she should spend an extra year as a novice in the Theurgia, with extra duties scrubbing floors and beating rugs, to teach her humility. However, the Theurgia is no more, and she canna have even one year there to learn the order and discipline that she needs.’
The sorceress Seychella paused, and the witches fixed their wilting acolyte with a fierce eye. The tears were very near the surface again, and Isabeau’s shoulders were slumped, her cheeks crimson. She was sure that Seychella was going to say she should not be accepted into the Coven, despite her success in the Tests.
Seychella waited for a moment before letting her voice ring out strongly again. ‘However, the number o’ lassies who can pass even the most elementary challenges is dwindling fast, and Isabeau has clearly passed the Tests with flying colours, despite her conceit. I therefore recommend she be allowed to wear her mentor’s moonstone, showing she has passed the Second Test!’
Isabeau’s head jerked up, her eyes glowing blue. A deep thrill ran through her, and she gazed at the four witches with excitement.
‘Come here, Beau,’ Meghan said, and Isabeau heard the pride in her voice. She ran and knelt in front of her guardian, burying her crimson face against her lap. ‘How many times do I have to tell ye to do only what ye are told to do and no more!’ the wood witch scolded. ‘Ye must learn obedience, humility and self-control!’
‘Aye,’ Isabeau said humbly, too happy to even think of a canny comeback.
‘Hold out your hand.’
Isabeau complied, tears stinging her eyes as the sorceress Meghan slowly slid the moonstone off the middle finger of her right hand and slipped it onto Is
abeau’s. The moonstone was small and perfectly round, and set in silver smelted to resemble two protecting hands.
‘Isabeau, with this ring ye are admitted into the Coven o’ Witches. Ken that ye are bound to seek knowledge, and use the One Power wisely and sparely. Ken that ye have taken but the first step on a path that may be fraught with dangers and loneliness. Ken that ye are to use the One Power only to teach, to heal, to help, but never to hurt or harm, except in the defence o’ yourself and others. Ken that the use o’ the One Power is in itself dangerous, filled as it is with the glamour o’ power. Swear to me that ye ken and will remember these things!’
‘I swear,’ Isabeau said, and looked down at the moonstone glimmering on her right hand. As the Coven decreed, she then handed her guardian the ring she had made and smiled at her, surprised at the trace of tears in the usually sardonic black eyes.
Meghan smiled back and thanked her, then said, ‘By the Creed o’ the Coven o’ Witches, ye must swear to speak only what is true in your heart, for ye must have courage in your beliefs; ye must swear no’ to use the Power to ensorcel others, remembering all people must choose their own path. Ye must use the One Power in wisdom and thoughtfulness, with a kind heart, a fierce and canny mind, and steadfast courage. Do ye swear these things?’
‘I swear. May my heart be kind, my mind fierce, my spirit brave.’
‘Ken this, though, Isabeau, in times o’ trouble and dissent, such as we ourselves are now living, choose how and when ye tell your truth. Too many witches have died or been banished or maimed for too candid a courage. Ye were always a chatterbox and a mischief-maker—well I remember the time ye almost had us pointed out as witches in Caeryla! Watch and listen, and be wary.’
Seychella leant forward and looked into Isabeau’s eyes intently. ‘Isabeau, these times are difficult. The Coven o’ Witches is broken, its members scattered or dead, much o’ its knowledge lost. Ye are now an acknowledged witch, though merely an apprentice. Ye must learn as much as ye can. Ye show some power, though your will is unbridled. Ye must do what ye can to gather knowledge and skill, for the time will soon come when every witch in the land will be needed. Do ye understand?’
‘Aye, Sorceress Seychella.’
Jorge leant forward to take Isabeau’s hand in his frail birdlike claw. ‘Do no’ fret, my dear, that ye were unable to see clearly. The veils will fall when it is time, and ye shall see and hear what is now hidden to ye. Keep faith, and may Eà’s blessing be upon you.’
‘And on you,’ Isabeau answered, and he squeezed her hand gently before leaning back to allow the silver-haired stranger to pass. She knelt by Isabeau’s side, her eyes a vivid blue in her pale face, and embraced the newly admitted apprentice witch fiercely, much to Isabeau’s surprise.
‘Ye have done well, very well. I am prouder o’ ye than I can express. Ye fulfilled all o’ the challenges, and it is a rare witch that can do that.’ For a moment she glanced at Meghan and murmured, ‘It is more than I was ever able to do.’ Then she hugged Isabeau again, and tangled her fingers in her unruly red-gold curls. ‘It is glad I am indeed to see you so strong and bonny. Welcome to the Coven, even in these dark and dangerous times, and keep yourself safe. I could no’ bear … There has been enough death and pain. Be careful, Isabeau, and guard your spirit carefully.’
‘I will,’ Isabeau responded, a little surprised by the emotion in the witch’s voice.
‘Let us go back and celebrate!’ Seychella said. ‘It has been a long time since we’ve given the Test! I do no’ ken about Isabeau, but I am exhausted!’
‘No’ yet,’ Meghan said.
Isabeau looked up from contemplation of her gently glowing moonstone. She recognised that note in her guardian’s voice. Something was wrong. Meghan stood by their fire, and said, ‘I would fain give Isabeau one more Trial.’
‘Be ye mad? It’s pouring down!’ Seychella said, and indeed the rain had begun, first as a splatter of great drops, but increasing in speed and ferocity as the wind whipped the surface of the loch into whitecaps. Meghan nodded, her face so grim Isabeau began to feel afraid. ‘A wee while ago the wards to the valley were breached. I could no’ stop the Trials after waiting so long and working so hard to make sure Isabeau was given her chance. In all the twenty years I’ve lived here no-one has ever breached the wards. This is no stray shepherd! The animals have reported a large contingent o’ Red Guards … and something else—a winged figure—the hare calls it a ghost.’
Seychella and Jorge were on their feet in alarm. ‘We must flee,’ Seychella cried. ‘We canna withstand a Mesmerd!’
‘They are already searching the valley,’ Meghan said grimly. ‘The beasts tell me where they are. It is too late, they will have seen the fire by now. We will have to distract them, and meet back at the tree-house. Do no’ let them follow ye, and seek shelter in the trees if ye must for the Red Guards will no’ find ye there.’
‘What about the Mesmerd?’ Seychella said angrily. ‘It has wings, it can fly?’
‘Avoid the Mesmerd at all costs,’ Meghan said, just as Isabeau gave a cry of dismay. Through the trees she could see a line of red as soldiers ran down towards them. There were about sixty of them, and by the expression on their faces, they had seen the five witches.
‘I want to give Isabeau the Sorceress Test o’ Fire,’ Meghan said.
The stranger-witch looked at Isabeau with her very blue eyes. ‘Sorceress level? Is she ready?’
‘In the name o’ the Spinners, hurry!’ Seychella shouted.
‘What is it?’ Isabeau cried, as the Red Guards lifted their claymores and began to run towards them. There was no doubt that they were in very real danger, for the signs of witchcraft were all about them: the circle and the pentagram scratched in the dust, the bowl of water and the pot of soil, the unbound hair and beringed fingers of the witches. If they were taken, they would be burnt to death.
Meghan gripped Isabeau’s arm. ‘The Sorceress Test o’ Fire—to use flame as a weapon,’ she said. ‘Now, Isabeau!’
Instinctively Isabeau threw a great ball of flame and was shocked to her core when soldiers fell screaming, one desperately trying to beat out the flames that engulfed him. Shaking with an inner chill, she threw another and another, but the soldiers just kept coming. Jorge huddled by her side, not even trying to protect himself as arrows rained towards them from the crossbowmen. Without even thinking, Isabeau deflected the arrows and brought up a great sheet of flame between them and the soldiers. Jorge’s raven dropped suddenly out of the sky, beating at the soldiers’ heads with his wings. Seychella shouted into the wind, bringing the whole force of the storm whirling upon the Red Guards. As the five witches huddled in the calm eye of the storm, the soldiers fought to advance against the wind and the rain.
The unknown witch took Isabeau’s hands. ‘It is time for me to go. Ye have done well, my daughter. Be no’ afraid o’ your Power. It is true it does terrible things, but ye can also use it for good. Remember that, and do no’ lose your way.’ Isabeau tried not to sob. The use of fire as a weapon had indeed shocked her—she had never harmed another living thing, except by accident. However, she did not regret using the fire, for the alternative could well be imprisonment and death. ‘Remember what Meghan has taught ye; she has been a better mother to ye than anyone could have been.’ The blue-eyed witch kissed Isabeau and then hugged Meghan.
‘Go in love, Ishbel,’ Meghan said, a look of great sadness on her face. ‘Shall I see you again?’
‘I do no’ ken,’ the blue-eyed witch responded, and there was such melancholy in her voice that Isabeau felt sorrow piercing her in sympathy. ‘If the Spinners wish it, our threads will cross again. But now I must go.’
Before Isabeau could exclaim in surprise, Ishbel the Winged was gone, her masses of hair billowing out behind her. She simply rose into the air and flew away, like a feather dragged by the wind. Isabeau cried out and even put out a hand as if to catch her, but it was too late, Ishbel had gone over the cliff.
‘I hope so,’ Meghan responded grimly. ‘But let us look out for ourselves at the moment.’
Isabeau spun to see the soldiers very close now, the Mesmerd hovering right behind them, its arms stretching forward as if to embrace her. Rearing up against the billowing clouds, it was more than seven feet tall, with a face of inhuman beauty, huge gauze wings and a double set of multijointed arms. Around its body fluttered grey draperies, and its clusters of eyes shimmered with iridescent light. Isabeau found her gaze being drawn irresistibly to those huge glittering eyes, and her fire faltered and dropped.
‘Do no’ look at it!’ Meghan shouted. ‘Do no’ let it breathe on ye!’
Wrenching her gaze away, Isabeau tried to engulf the Mesmerd in fire, but in a sudden and gut-wrenching move it darted sideways and forwards, avoiding her fire and suddenly so close Isabeau could smell its marshy, muddy odour. With a shriek she scrambled backwards, slipping and falling, then a great woolly bear lunged at the Mesmerd, drawing its hypnotic gaze so Isabeau could crawl away. Before the bear’s wicked claws could do more than rake the air between them, the Grey Ghost had enfolded the bear in its arms, pressing its hooked mouth against the bear’s snout. With a shudder, Isabeau saw the woolly bear droop and fall to the ground in a shaggy heap, then the Mesmerd again darted forward, nimbly avoiding the strike of lightning that Seychella called down against it.
The great stag, king of the valley, tossed its horns and stampeded the Mesmerd, but the creature darted away, its translucent wings whirring. Bellowing hoarsely, the stag turned and stampeded the soldiers, wounding one severely in the shoulder and knocking another to the ground. Suddenly there was a blood-chilling snarl, and a sabre-leopard leapt from a rock onto the back of a soldier. Moments later it raised its fierce head, its tusks stained with blood, then with a graceful bound, leapt for the throat of another.
