An Errant Witch

by E M Graham

  Hugh had said I might have hallucinations, flashbacks, that they were side effects of my healing from the damage Willem had caused in my mind when he burned his way through last month.

  ‘It’s not real,’ I whispered to myself. ‘There’s no way Willem could be here on Scarp, the very center of the Kin’s universe. He’s just a leftover echo in my head, brought on by the stress of the past twenty-four hours.’

  When I just about had myself convinced, I pushed on again toward the castle.

  THE large entrance hall held two fireplaces, both glowing with welcoming heat, and for the first time I realized how frozen I had been in our journey across the water through the heavy bank of magic that cloaked the atmosphere around the island. I paused to welcome the warmth and to defrost a little before following the other two through another set of large doors, into the castle proper.

  I could only gawp and stare around me at first. The ceiling of that brightly lit hallway must have been twenty feet high, all arched wood with the plaster between the ribs painted to look like the night sky, complete with stars glowing goldenly. Doors led off on both sides and ahead of us rose a majestic staircase, all curves and polished wood glinting in the light of the many candles in the huge chandelier above. There was a pleasant fragrance of honey and lavender and beeswax in this space.

  Timothy slipped off through a door in the back of the entrance, but my attention was caught by the familiar figure in black standing on the landing.

  The pit of my stomach gave way and I thought I might pee myself right there and then. Hugh had warned me that something was not quite right with the whole situation, and now I was pretty sure I knew what that was. Here was the elder who had pronounced my sentence, her face still as expressionless as it had been that morning, her blonde hair set back from her face. Our eyes locked, and dread filled my heart.

  ‘Johanna,’ Fergie said in a timid voice as she drew next to me, looking up the staircase where the woman in black watched us. This, then, was the dreaded she that Fergie had spoken of. Johanna, the friend of Cate. The elder who’d sentenced me to Scarp.

  The elder shifted her gaze to my companion.

  ‘Fergianna McBride,’ she replied in her crisp Scots accent. ‘I’m glad to see you accepted the challenge. Your life has been an unusual journey thus far, but I’m delighted that you’ve been able to overcome the obstacles of mind and circumstance to join us here on the island.’

  Fergie bowed her head and stared at the ground. ‘And I thank you for the opportunity,’ she replied quickly. I could see her cheeks had reddened, but she kept her face hidden beneath the curls which had fallen forward.

  ‘Dara Martin.’ I gave a slight shiver, remembering the woman from that very morning. Had it been the same day? How the hell had Johanna reached the island before us, for she didn’t look as if she’d been subjected to the rigors of public transportation. Undoubtedly Kin magic had been involved.

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ I replied.

  ‘Call me Johanna, please,’ she said, briskly as she swept down the staircase. ‘Ah, here’s Pauline, your fellow student. This is Dara, and I believe you’re already acquainted with Fergianna. Perhaps you will show our latest additions up to their room?’

  Fergie said nothing, but I could feel her stiffen beside me. Pauline, whose name was pronounced with the accent on the first syllable, stepped out of the shadows. She was a dreary creature with her straight brown hair tied severely behind her head in a childish ponytail, and her bangs cut straight across and too high up her forehead. Her dark gray dress was shapeless, and her brown wool cardigan was buttoned right up to her neck; the only spark of color on her person was in the form of a large red letter ‘C’ embroidered on her sweater. Black tights and sensible black low heeled oxfords completed her ensemble.

  ‘Of course, Johanna,’ she said primly.

  After the elder had departed through a heavy carved wooden door, Pauline merely sniffed in reply to Fergie’s reluctant greeting, and gave me the same look she might give a louse found lurking under her dinner plate. She led us through the green baize door set into the panelled walls, then down a rougher, poorly lit corridor and up a flight of stairs, all without saying a word to us. As we passed through the castle, it was like going back through time; whereas the grand entrance hall was luxuriously crafted, perhaps Victorian in all its embellishments, we soon transitioned into a much older part with bare stone walls and sconces burning smokily. The heavy doors leading off this corridor were all closed, the white wash on the wood not disguising the ancient bolts which studded each plank.

  Pauline stopped before one of these and opened it. ‘This is yours,’ she said, finally opening her mouth. ‘You two have to share a room.’

  ‘A place this large and we’ve got to double up?’ Fergie muttered.

  ‘It’s because of her.’ Pauline gave a toss of her head. ‘No one expected her to be coming here.’

  ‘Bloody hell,’ Fergie said as we peered into the small space. She didn’t bother to keep her voice down this time. A small coal fire burned in the grate, not giving off any warmth that I could feel.

  Pauline set the lit lantern on the table and the shadows jumped back a little to reveal two iron bedsteads stood on either side, blankets folded neatly on top of the blue striped ticking of the mattresses. There was a single table with two bentwood chairs, a small wardrobe, the tiniest sink I’d ever seen and not much else.

  ‘This is shite,’ Fergie continued. She looked furious. ‘Not exactly comfortable, is it? This must be the worst room.’

  Our escort Pauline cracked the first smile I’d seen from her yet, a thin mean line that didn’t show her teeth. ‘Sorry, this is the only one available. You should have come sooner, as the rest of us did. Doesn’t auger well for your performance in the competitions, does it?

  ‘Besides,’ she added with a sneer. ‘There is only ever supposed to be six of us. Six is the traditional number. With her here now, things are out of whack.’ She jerked her head towards me without even having the grace to look my way. I felt as small as a smear of dogturd under her heel and just as unwanted.

  ‘Feck off, Pauline.’ Fergie turned on her, her voice matching the other’s nastiness. ‘You can just feck right off out of here.’

  She stared our escort down till Pauline melted back into the shadows of the hall.

  After she left the room, Fergie then turned her unfriendly look on me.

  ‘I guess we’re stuck together then,’ she said, then let out a sigh of acceptance. ’It was all bad enough but of course Pauline had to end up here, too.’

  Without explaining herself further, she plunked her bag onto the bed nearest the door and began to unpack, leaving me with the drafty window bed and, I later found, a scant six inches of space in the wardrobe.

  OUR quarters were in the older parts of the castle, the medieval ramparts with the Tudor additions; wonky staircases appeared randomly in narrow hallways and unexpectedly behind corners, and always the stone walls surrounded us at every turn. The place had originally been built for security, not comfort, and it showed, for these thick walls kept out everything but the cold dampness of the northern sea.

  Only Johanna and the other Masters, I later found, inhabited the more genteel Victorian wing of the castle.

  We found our way down to the Refectory where the communal meals were eaten. Here at least it was warmer, with a huge fireplace burning at one end of the room. The single long table had room for all of us and more, it could have held at least thirty people without crowding, but it was just us students, or competitors, whatever we were.

  I found myself placed next to Pauline, who sat stiffly and still refused to acknowledge me. The last space at the table was taken by a late arrival who ran in at the last moment, all out of breath and bringing the fresh scent of the out-of-doors with him.

  He was a short guy with thin hair all windswept and sorely in need of a trim, and the friendliest person I’d met on the i
sland so far, giving me a wide smile as he took the last place setting. He was also the first person I’d ever seen to wear a kilt in non-formal circumstances. The olive green of his army-issue sweater clashed sorely with the yellow and blue of the tartan, and was unravelling from a hole in the arm.

  ‘Hi, you must be Dara,’ he said as he slipped into the seat across from me. His cheeks held the ruddiness of a life lived mostly out of doors. ‘I’m Sandy.’ He was so blithely cheerful, it was as if he didn’t even notice that everyone else was ignoring me at the table, as if he didn’t pick up on any tense vibes from our fellow diners.

  The meal that followed was largely silent after that, each of us tackling the mutton stew while keeping watchful eyes on the others. After it was over, however, I had the opportunity to get to know the others; I’d thought the Witch Kin kids back home were rotten bastards, and they were, but they couldn’t hold a candle to these, the supposed cream of the crop of the Kin.

  ‘Here’s to working together as a team,’ Timothy sneered as he held out his water glass in a mock toast and lounged in the chair at the end of the table closest to the fireplace, his cafe-au-lait skin flushed with the warmth.

  Fergie tittered at the sarcasm in his voice.

  ‘Should be interesting. I’ve known most of you all my life but I never considered you competition before.’ This came from a girl of Asian descent sitting next to Sandy. Her bowl was still full; she had tasted the soup, then let her spoon drop back to the bowl in disgust.

  ‘You can’t fool us, Win. We know that all you’ve ever thought about is competition.’ This speaker occupied the chair between Win and Timothy, I thought his name was Oliver. He sat straight and easy, speaking in a perfectly pitched and educated English accent, and he was the most handsome man I’d ever seen, yes, even far better looking than Hugh. His blond hair was swept back from his face, his skin was smooth, and his dark eyes were deep-set above sharp cheekbones.

  ‘I never thought I’d see the day when I’d be asked to work with a half-blood literally by my side.’ This came from Pauline, our earlier guide, sitting next to me all tense and hunched.

  I turned to defend myself from this direct insult, but anything I might have said was drowned out by the jeers and catcalls from all along the table. The others weren’t exactly leaping to my defense, but it was heartening to see that not all of them seemed to hate me for my accident of birth.

  ‘You Covenanters are so old-fashioned,’ Win said, almost spitting out the words. ‘Hasn’t anyone told you it’s the twenty-first century, and it’s rude to show your prejudices?’

  ‘Besides, Pauline, wasn’t it your own father who sent her here?’ Timothy drawled.

  I wanted to speak out, remind them that I was right there, but the conversation was snapping and pinging all around me, and I thought it expedient to stay out of the line of fire.

  Pauline placed her hands on the table to show she wasn’t to be silenced. ‘My father had no choice in the matter. It was her that insisted, and she over-ruled the voices of sanity in the Inquiry with her Modernist arguments. If it was up to my father, well, we wouldn’t have any of this nonsense.’

  ’Burn the half-bloods at the stake, you mean,’ Fergie said, a bitter note in her voice. ‘That’s one way to clean up the mess, eh, Pauline? Just like the good old days of 1591.’

  ‘It is thanks to the supporters of the 1643 Covenant and the so-called Covenanters, that the Kin no longer act in such barbaric fashion, Fergianna,’ Pauline hissed through thin lips. ‘And I guess you probably don’t want to look too closely at your own family tree, do you?’

  My room-mate’s face flashed bright red at this and she started up as if to jump across the table and claw Pauline’s eyes out, but Oliver’s voice cut through the furor.

  ‘It is not her bloodlines that bother me, but the fact that she has no training what so ever, at least that’s what I hear,’ he said, turning his cool, assessing gaze on me. ‘How can a witch with diluted blood and no formal background possibly survive the Competition?’

  Oh God. He had to remind me? Were these gladiator games where we would fight to the death, as Cate had seemed to hint? And me with, as he had put it, no training what so ever?

  ‘Perhaps they’re allowing Natural Selection to take care of the problem?’ Timothy was the only one to laugh at his own nasty joke.

  ‘If I were you,’ Win said to me, finally acknowledging my presence. She smiled cruelly at the terror she must have seen on my face. ‘If I were you, I would request to have what little magic you have bound. It would be a far kinder thing.’

  I saw Fergie hesitate, then bite her lip as she caught my eye speculatively. ‘Actually...’ But her voice was too quiet to be heard over the squabbling. I gave a short sharp shake of my head at her.

  Don’t tell them! I tried to convey to her, my eyes burning into hers. It was bad enough I’d been thrown amongst this crowd of vipers with no natural defences to assist me, I didn’t want them to have a real reason to hate me. All I needed was to stay under the radar and hope to survive in that way. She slid her gaze away from me.

  ‘Don’t even think of burning her with your Dragon Magic, Win,’ Pauline warned her as she thumped her fist on the wooden table. ‘You can bet we’ll all be keeping a close eye on that. I’ll not have you cheating.’

  ‘There’s also no advantages given for family connections either, Pauline,’ Oliver retorted. ‘That, too, is considered cheating, and no doubt has you a little worried.’

  Pauline huffed to her feet. ‘I have no need of special consideration,’ she said. ‘I am the daughter of one of the most important of Scottish elders. Of course I will prevail in the Competitions. I am no mere Hedge Witch!’

  Fergie’s eyes flicked open with fear; this was cutting too close. I could see her scramble inside her head for a defensive tactic.

  ‘Actually,’ Fergie said again, louder this time. ‘She’s not powerless.’ Her eyes met mine, and she gave a little shrug.

  I stared at her with horror; she had the grace to redden a little. Fergie had just thrown me under the bus to divert attention from herself, after I’d promised to help her in any way I could. I could feel the eyes of all in the room sliding towards me, calculating the degree of the threat I represented. They were all Kin born and had been practicing magic since they could walk; there was no way I could ever compete against any of them, and they must know this. I had to think fast.

  The others had all gone silent, and had turned their hunter’s eyes on me.

  ‘If it makes you all feel any better,’ I said, looking at each of them. ‘I had no desire to come here to Scarp, but it sure beats the alternative. I just want to learn how to use magic.’

  I shook my head. ‘I really don’t think you need to worry about me in the Competitions.’

  AFTER the meal, the old thick door leading from the Victorian wing opened and Johanna walked in, her black robe swirling around her ankles. The subdued murmuring halted immediately as the other six stood up, with me following a half-second behind the others. She looked at each of us in turn before speaking, as if fixing her gimlet eye into our very souls.

  ‘Please, sit. I wanted to take this opportunity to welcome the newcomers into our midst,’ she began. ‘The Gateway term has now begun. Most of you know Fergianna already from the Kin community.’

  Fergie smiled brightly at Johanna, then her eyes slid to Timothy’s as if searching for approval. He gave her only a half a smile, but that seemed enough to satisfy her.

  ‘Dara has come to us from across the water, and may not be familiar with our ways,’ Johanna continued. ‘I trust you will all have patience as she learns her way around.’

  She turned her sharp gaze on me. I felt like a bug under a microscope, the scrutiny of her cool eyes laser sharp right into my head. Everyone else sat absolutely still, but I could feel them looking at me from the corners of their eyes.

  Only Sandy grinned openly at me from across the
table as he gave a small wink.

  ‘You are aware of the privilege of having been chosen to study on Scarp,’ Joanna continued. ‘And you are all the fortunate recipients of a much coveted place. Your presence here means you are each counted amongst the most promising of this generation of witches.

  ‘It is both an honour and a burden,’ she stressed. ‘You will be challenged here at Scarp through your tutorials and through the Competitions, which will be strenuous and test your every skill. Yet, it is not just your witch craft which is being measured.’

  Here she paused and looked carefully at each of us in turn again, before settling her gaze on me. ‘Dara. You may not be familiar with the purpose of the Competitions. Each year, one person is chosen from amongst the cream of the crop to apprentice to PANEC.’

  I gaped at her, hardly hearing the rest of her words. Apprentice to PANEC? That was Hugh’s organization. My dream job. All of a sudden, I very much wanted to take part in the Competition, even though my sensible mind knew I would never stand even half a chance.

  Chapter 5

  MY MIND WAS ALIGHT with excitement. I had to force myself to listen to the rest of her words.

  ‘So, in order to be accepted for the apprenticeship, the winner must be not only be skilled, intelligent and gifted. This person must also show an exceptional level-headedness under adversity and most importantly, the ability to work on a team.’

  Johanna gave a small sigh as she continued. ‘Unfortunately, we sometimes find that the more gifted a student is, the less able they are to work cooperatively. Your behaviour must at all times be exemplary and fitting to your future roles of leaders within the Kin community, for each of you, with your backgrounds and particular talents, each and every of one of you will be contributors to the future.’

  I could feel the tension around the table. Next to me, Pauline was sitting on the edge of her seat and almost quivering like a dog waiting to go to the hunt. Win was silent but every muscle in her seemed tense like a rattle-snake about to spring, and even languid, laid back Timothy’s relaxed pose was forced; I could see he was working to keep up the pretence of breathing normally.