by Peter Birk
intently, her thumb rubbing a smudge of dirt from my cheeks. The violin felt like a heavy weight in my lap, and it was taking everything I could to keep from crying.
“At least let the poor girl rest, Marie.” An older witch, standing near the fire, her grey hair pulled behind her in a long tail, her red cloak draped over her shoulders, watched me the way a hawk would a mouse in the field. “There are more important things we need to discuss.”
Rene poured a cup of tea from the teapot steaming on the table next to the couch. She handed it to me, and I let both hands leave the violin for the first time since we’d left Inverness.
The Gran Mater touched the bundle in my lap. “May I?”
I nodded, and she picked it up, unwrapping it. She walked over towards the windows and held the violin up to the light. “Marvelous. Simply marvelous.”
She looked over at me. “You can play it?”
I blinked, realizing it was a command, not a question, and nodded. An eerie calm settled over me as I looked in her eyes. I took a sip of tea, then handed the teacup to Rene and stood.
The Gran Mater handed me the violin. I strung the bow and stood near the center of the room. Gran Mater sat on the couch. “Whenever you’re ready, dear.”
I decided to warm up, and started with scales. I’d found the violin to be a temperamental instrument, capable of producing dulcet sounds in the right mood, and horrible screeching in the wrong. I kept stopping to check that it was in tune, but as I went up and down the bars, I seemed to be hitting all of the wrong notes.
The older witch by the fire snorted. “I told you, Marie. I was against this project from the start. It was a waste of time and energy.”
The Gran Mater forced a smile and I felt my blood chill. “This is important, Lilith.” She nodded to me, “Go on, my dear.”
What little strength I had was gone. I continued through the warm-ups, which continued to produce painful noises.
“This isn’t important,” Lilith said. “This is you bullying the other Orders, just like you always do.”
“This isn’t about me,” the Gran Mater said forcefully.
I closed my eyes and tucked the violin under my chin. I’d come all this way, come to where I always wanted to be, only to fail. Pierre-Louis was right, and I felt so sad, so hollow, so empty, and all I could hear was their arguing and I just wanted to make it go away. Before I knew it, I had counted in and started the song.
With my eyes closed, the voice of the violin became my world, my canvas. I tried to fill it with all that I could: the sound of my père’s laughter; the wind whispering through the trees outside of Inverness; Henri’s smile; watching the sunset from the roof of my parent’s house; Pierre-Louis. It all seemed to flow through my fingers as I found I no longer had to think about the song. I knew the song and I let the violin sing it, and where I felt hollow and empty I started to feel calm and placid, and my sorrow began to bubble and boil along that border with happiness so that I wasn’t quite sure which one I was feeling, either or both. The song rose through me like the wind through the pines, and then I remembered that it ended softly, and smiled to myself as I let up on the bow.
I let the last note fade out and opened my eyes. All three of them were looking at me, silently. At last, the Gran Mater pulled a handkerchief out of her pocket to wipe her eyes and blow her nose.
“Congratulations,” Rene said with a slight smile. “No magic in the world can silence them once they start.”
The Gran Mater knotted her handkerchief in her hand. “Rene,” was all that she said, and then Rene’s hand was on my shoulder. “Come, dear,” she said warmly, “Let’s find your room.”
I curtsied awkwardly to the Gran Mater and Lilith before leaving the room. I made it four paces from the door before I started crying. The tears just started to trickle down my cheeks and I was too tired to stop them. I stumbled forward, determined to keep going, clutching the violin to my chest, then Rene’s arm was around my shoulders.
“You’ll be alright, Sophie,” she said. “You really are amazing.”
“What?” I sniffled, starting to bristle.
She just hugged me tighter as she helped me walk down the hall. “I’ve been Marie’s Prima Filia since the end of the Wolf War. I was with her the day that she found her daughter and grand-children murdered by the Wolf King.
“The thing that struck me about that day was how calm she was. She didn’t cry. I heard that when her husband was killed, she didn’t cry then, either. She’s a hard woman, a warrior.” A small smile grew on Rene’s face as she led me down the corridor. “In all the time I have known her, I have never seen Marie Chenault come close to crying. Until today.”
She looked down on me as she opened a door and led me into a small dormitory. I collapsed on the bed, clutching the violin to my chest. Rene pulled the blanket up over me.
“But,” I sniffled. “But, I’m not that good.”
Rene looked at me, confused.
“I made a lot of mistakes,” I gulped. “I shouldn’t even be here.”
She smiled gently at me. “Where do you think you should be?”
I wiped my nose with my sleeve. “This place,” I said, “This place is for witches, not clumsy mundanes. I have no magic. I should be anywhere but here.”
Rene shook her head. “People think the Will of the Light is like a river, carrying them along a discernible course. But it’s not. It’s like riding on the back of a wolf, the world racing by you in a blur. The best that you can do is hold on tightly, and trust that you’ll end up where you need to be.
“Trust in the Light, Sophie,” she said, tucking the blanket around me. “Hold on tight, and you’ll be just fine.”
Exhausted, I fell asleep. My dreams were filled with magic which flowed from my fingers like water, like fire, like music, magic that healed the bleeding heart, magic that brought joy where there had been only sorrow, light where there had been only darkness. And in the darkness of my dream I found myself, a little girl alone in her room with her stolen primer. Trembling, I held the violin out towards her. She looked up at me, and she smiled.
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