by Nina Clare
Myrtle modified her tone. ‘I consider Master Knightley’s lineage to be excellent and fascinating. I only wish the present generation were one hundredth part as interesting as their ancestors. The eldest Master Knightley is a mere lawyer, of all the boring things a man could choose for a profession, while our resident one is but a farmer. Not that there’s anything wrong with law and farming, but consider their family history – Knights of Yore, Heroes of the Realm, Dragon Slayers.'
‘Yes, Sister Myrtle, we all know the history of the Knightleys,’ Mother Goodword said. ‘Master Knightley does not merely manage his estate, he also helps watch the border between our village and the very gateway through which ogres and fire-wyrms once came through. And if he has not had to take up arms, or pit his wits against marauding beasts or sorceresses, it is precisely because he is diligent in ensuring that no such creature approaches our land without warning. He is as much a hero as his ancestors.’
Harriet had grown a degree paler at the mention of the fire-wyrm, and her face was alternating between pleasure that such a man was her ward, and fear that such a man was her ward.
‘Who’ve you got?’ Rue asked, leaning across to see Myrtle’s paper. ‘Hannah Hazeldene. Who’s she?’
‘I know Hannah Hazeldene,’ said Harriet. ‘She’s the new housemaid at the Westons. She worked at Donwell before that.’
‘A housemaid,’ said Myrtle. ‘Is she destined to marry a prince or a pauper, I wonder.’
‘It can’t be a prince,’ Harriet said. ‘You’d have to be a royal Godmother for that. But how do we find out who our ward’s matches are?’
‘Cast a knowing spell?’ Rue offered.
‘How would we target the spell?’ asked Harriet. ‘The knowing spell is so very hard. I always have trouble interpreting it. I wish it wouldn’t give answers in symbols.’
‘We should just pick their partners for them,’ said Myrtle. ‘Bring them together, give them a love potion each. Easy.’
Cloe-Claws’ eyes flashed deep yellow as she growled.
‘What?’ said Myrtle.
‘You know exactly what is wrong with that idea,’ said Mother Goodword. ‘We do not make our wards do anything by magic. We respect their will. We only assist them with small magic.’
‘We’re not witches,’ said Harriet, looking terrified at the thought. ‘We don’t want to control anyone.’
‘We’re helpers,’ added Rue in her big voice.
‘So, what do we do next?’ Harriet asked, looking at her paper again. ‘Master Knightley,’ she repeated in a tone of awe. ‘Mother Goodword, if you please, you still haven’t answered the question. How do we find out our ward’s true love? Why doesn’t the Council just tell us? That would be so much easier.’
‘Ease is not the object of this assignment,’ said Mother Goodword. ‘Strengthening your powers of discernment is the principal object, among others. A sound foundation in discernment will help you in every area of Godmothering work. What are the lessons I taught you in Discernment and Direction class?’
‘To discern through the exercise of our senses,’ recited Harriet. ‘But how will that tell us who our wards’ matches are?’
‘You watch for signs,’ said Mother Goodword patiently. ‘And remember, little signs often tell you more than obvious ones, and signs often come in patterns.’
‘But we need Dust to sharpen our senses,’ Rue added decidedly, for she was very fond of using Dust. ‘We can’t do it without Dust.’
‘You may have the use of Dust for this assignment,’ Mother Goodword agreed. ‘A modest use of Dust.’ She looked pointedly at Rue.
‘But where shall we begin?’ Harriet asked. ‘Do we have to talk to our wards first?’ She was thinking of Master Knightley, whom she had never spoken to directly before.
‘You will need to speak to them. Wear your forgetfulness cloaks when appropriate. Some of your conversations may be personal, and it is less intrusive to cause their hidden thoughts to return to them by forgetting they have spoken with you.’
‘I hate personal talks,’ Myrtle said. ‘This matchmaking business is all rather busy-bodying to my mind. We should just let people get on with it themselves.’
‘Matchmaking is an ancient art, Sister Myrtle,’ Mother Goodword reminded her. ‘Since the dawn of time our Order has aided mortals in finding one another’s true love. Everyone needs a little otherworldly help in the important matters of life.’
‘Shall I make up a big batch of Dust?’ Rue asked. ‘It’ll be the last one before the bees hibernate. I’ve got most of the pollen ready.’ She waggled her yellow fingers.
‘You may assemble the rest of the ingredients,’ Mother Goodword said. ‘I will activate it as usual. Work together, Sisters, that includes you, Sister Myrtle. Sisterly support and encouragement are vital. You can all learn from one another and strengthen your knowledge and growth. Here are your term’s lesson plans for tomorrow.’
A second set of papers were passed round.
There was a groan from Myrtle. ‘Do I have to? My first term’s lesson?’
‘It’s an important exercise,’ said Mother Goodword. ‘It has value, or it would not be in the curriculum. You cannot teach dragon lore every term.’
‘Ha!’ said Rue in delight, looking at her first lesson plan. Then her expression fell a little. ‘If only I didn’t have Cora Chandler in my class. She made a sow’s ear of weather-making last term.’ Her face resumed its brightness. ‘Oh well. It will still be fun.’
‘Fun is not the primary object of the lesson, Sister Rue,’ Mother Goodword said.
Harriet expressed her relief that she had only to concentrate on the foundational studies of reading and writing with her young students that term, and she was happy with the list of historical legends she was to read to her class.
‘Oh, I nearly forgot,’ Harriet said as Mother Goodword moved back her chair, ready to dismiss the meeting, ‘to tell you about the fox. Its tail twitched.’
Mother Goodword paused. ‘Which direction?’
‘South,’ said Rue.
‘And his whiskers pointed north,’ added Harriet, ‘so she is coming and—’
‘She, Harriet?’
‘Grand Godmother North,’ said Harriet. ‘Grand Godmother North is on her way.’
‘She’ll be here early, before the Last Apple falls, won’t she?’ added Rue.
‘Will not she. And just because Grand Godmother North has stirred, we cannot assume that she is coming directly here. These great Winds blow where they will. Grand Godmother North may have other places to visit, our little school is but one of her wardships.’
‘Oh, good,’ said Harriet, relieved.
Mother Goodword rose, and the Sisters stood politely until she left the room. Cloe-Claws remained sat in the middle of the table which restrained the Sisters from blurting out what they really felt about the assignments that lay ahead of them.
‘I’ll get the Dust ready,’ Rue said. ‘I need more pollen for a bigger batch.’
‘Shall I help you?’ Harriet offered.
‘You could hunt for some four-leaf-clover,’ Rue replied. ‘The more of it I put in, the better the serendipity factor.’
‘I’ll look in the west meadow,’ said Harriet, looking happy at the thought of a pleasant task. ‘Will you come?’ she said to Myrtle.
Myrtle shook her head. ‘I’m going to the library.’
‘Let me guess,’ Rue said, ‘The Anatomical Dictionary of Reptilian Fire-Breathers?’
‘Geographical History of River Hags, actually,’ said Myrtle with a gleam in her dark blue eyes. ‘New book.’
‘See you at dinner,’ Rue boomed from across the room as she left to fetch her bee-keeping hat.
But Rue did not make it so far as her bee garden, nor did Harriet leave for the meadows, for there was the sound of a farm gig crossing the courtyard and they watched as a tall young man alighted and hurried into the porch entrance.
‘Maid Smith!’ said the man, a slight fl
ush spreading across his cheeks as he spied Harriet.
‘Master Martin!’ Harriet exclaimed with a matching blush. ‘What brings you back?’
‘You forgot this.’ He held out a small burlap bag.
‘My pattens,’ she laughed and stepped forwards to take hold of it. The light outside altered and darkened behind Master Martin, and a heavy stillness thickened the air.
‘Storm’s on its way,’ said Master Martin, glancing over his shoulder. ‘I’d best hurry back to the farm.’
‘Yes, do hurry,’ urged Harriet. ‘Or you’ll get horribly wet.’
He hesitated, then said, ‘I noticed some roof tiles looking askew as I drove up.’ He nodded his head to indicate the part of the school where the classrooms were. ‘I’ll come back as soon as it’s dry and put them straight.’
‘You’re very kind,’ said Harriet.
‘Watch out for leaks in the meantime.’ He touched his cap and turned away.
‘Thank you for bringing back my shoes!’ Harriet called after him. ‘He’s so kind.’
‘He brought more than shoes,’ Rue joked, looking out at the darkening sky. ‘He brought rain.’
‘I’ll check the fox.’ Harriet ran outside.
The copper fox had moved significantly. He had swung his nose from north all the way round to the south. The stillness in the air was tangible and expectant. Something was about to happen.
‘This is a sudden turnabout,’ said Harriet to the fox. ‘I wonder what it means.’ She closed her eyes, trying to listen to the messages in the air. A cool breeze whipped across the courtyard, breaking the waiting stillness. The wind stirred her hair, blowing a loose, fair strand into her eyes. A fat drop of rain fell onto her nose and she opened her eyes to look up at the sky just as the first rumble sounded.
‘Better take shelter,’ she called to the tree sprites, unnecessarily, for they had already disappeared into their tree trunks. Harriet hurried back inside, but did not close the door. She had heard in the wind that someone was coming with the storm, and it would be very rude to shut the door on them.
3
A Visitor
The oak carving of the Green Lady watched over the entrance hall of the school as carefully as Cloe-Claws did.
Mother Goodword stood near to the carving of the school’s Faerie benefactress, feeling the hint of green magic from the Faerie oak and sensing the approach of powerful wind magic in the air outside.
‘Here she comes,’ she said.
Cloe-Claws thumped her tail.
‘I know,’ said Mother Goodword. ‘She can be a little dramatic. These Winds do like to make a grand entrance. Still, it is usually a portend of something interesting when she visits.’
Thunder boomed like a battery of drums, and lightning tore the sky with elemental zig zags. Mother Goodword and the three Sisters moved to the door to observe the phenomenon.
The rain swooshed by in a whirl as the wind gathered up the drops. The thunder and lightning gave one grand finale, and the storm arrived at the door of the school. Out of the maelstrom stepped a figure dressed in lightning silver and storm grey.
‘Grand Godmother South,’ greeted Mother Goodword, opening the door further and bowing politely, despite the spray of rain that met her. ‘Welcome. It has been too long.’
The three Godmothering Sisters and the four newly arrived boarders watched eagerly as the South Wind passed into Mother Goodword’s parlour, for the South Wind was famed for her beauty, though not as highly as the West Wind.
Grand Godmother South was happy to show herself and waved her hand like an empress to her little audience.
‘Not everyone is pleased to see me,’ said the South Wind, looking at Cloe-Claw’s disapproving tail.
‘She is not fond of rain,’ said Mother Goodword. ‘Please, take a seat, I shall make tea.’
‘No time for tea. I call on business, my love.’
‘Oh?’
Mother Goodword waited expectantly, but the South Wind was too busy examining Mother Goodword’s face and person.
‘Why will you not graduate to a Grand Godmother?’ the South Wind asked. ‘How can you bear to remain almost fully mortal and thus grow so old?’ She regarded Mother Goodword’s lines and grey hair. ‘Look at me, I shall be magnificent forever, untouched by time.’
‘You will not always remain in your position,’ Mother Goodword reminded her respectfully. ‘You too shall graduate one day to something less…’ she wanted to say showy, but she finished with, ‘visible.’
‘I know,’ sighed the South Wind. ‘But I mean to remain as I am for a good many centuries yet. Being a star or planet sounds noble, but there are fewer opportunities for showing oneself, and I do so love new gowns.’ She stroked her beautiful skirts, fabulously embroidered with drops of rain and lightning thread. ‘I have found the best dressmaker in all of Faerie. I am keeping her a secret, so West does not find her.’
Mother Goodword smiled despite her own discomfort and was suddenly very aware of her own plain gown and unfussy collar. Perhaps there was something in the South Wind’s beauty that stirred a little yearning in Mother Goodword, escaping from her as a soft sigh.
‘What business brings you to my door, Grand Godmother South?’
The South Wind did not answer the question. She was too busy examining Mother Goodword’s parlour, now that she had finished examining her person. ‘It is all so quaint,’ she said, picking up the embroidery frame on the workbox and looking at the design, then touching the row of delicate tea cups on their shelf. ‘Do you know, I think I will have tea, it has been so long. I have grown used to silver goblets and crystal glasses. It has been years since I held a mortal teacup.’
Mother Goodword pulled the bell cord which brought a housemaid to the door. She was a young gnomess, and she stared at the South Wind in fascination. ‘Ask Busie to bring in water for my teapot,’ Mother Goodword said. ‘That will be all,’ she prompted, when the gnomess remained peering round the door frame at the glamorous visitor.
Grand Godmother South was in a nostalgic mood. ‘How long has it been since I was Sister Camellia and you were Sister Ivy?’ she said. ‘It seems another lifetime.’
‘More than half a century,’ replied Mother Goodword. ‘I have raised nineteen generations of new Godmothers since I arrived.’
‘You did not always wish to be a teacher, did you?’ Grand Godmother South was now looking through Mother Goodword’s lesson plans on her desk.
‘I find satisfaction in my work. I raise my students to a high standard.’
‘Most commendable and desirable. Mother Sprightly thinks it acceptable to send out her graduates as some kind of boon sellers. For a fee they will make a good match or give a birth blessing, but if gold does not change hands, they will rarely stir.’
‘That is not the true way of Godmothering,’ said Mother Goodword warmly. She put down the jar of tea she had been spooning out into her teapot.
‘I see you feel strongly on the matter. As does your cat.’ Cloe-Claws was emitting soft rumblings.
‘I have dedicated my life to the principles of good Godmothering. It grieves me that there are those who would sell our work.’
‘But near-mortals must make a living, dear heart. Not every Godmother wishes to dwell in a shack and dress in drab.’
Mother Goodword smoothed her skirt self-consciously. ‘Not every Godmother is vain and silly and wishes to wallow in luxury while people still dwell in poverty in our kingdom. A Godmother has pledged to serve those of good hearts, regardless of rank or fortune. Selling blessings and making matches for gold excludes those who have no wealth.’
‘I am sure they still distribute their aid to the poor,’ said Grand Godmother South. ‘Personally, I do not see any harm in enriching one’s self where there is opportunity.’
‘We must be satisfied with thinking differently on the subject then,’ said Mother Goodword, struggling to repress her indignation, but not wishing to argue with her guest. ‘Ah, here is the w
ater!’
‘You must come and drink mead with me at my abode,’ said Grand Godmother South, when Mother Goodword had poured the tea and stirred in the honey. ‘Come next week when you reach the south.’
‘Reach the south?’ Mother Goodword broke into a fit of coughing, as she swallowed her mouthful of tea too quickly.
‘Why yes, did I not say? That is what I have come about. I need you to journey south. I have an assignment for you.’
‘An assignment in the south? I have never been sent south in all my life! My assignment is to be here.’
‘A new season is coming, my sweet, embrace it.’
‘A new season? But my work here is still in progress.’
‘No assignment lasts forever, dear heart, you know that full well. A new season is coming, and you have a little preparatory assignment in the south. The south west to be more accurate.’
‘Doing what? What is my assignment? For how long? I have three students in their final year, I cannot leave them, I cannot leave all my girls!’
‘Mother Goodword, calm yourself and recall who speaks to you!’ Grand Godmother South stood up from the couch, and a low rumble of thunder vibrated through the room. The South Wind’s eyes flashed with displeasure, and Mother Goodword quickly put her teacup down and stood and made a bow.
‘Forgive me, Grand Godmother South. Whatever assignment is accorded to me by the Council, I am ready to fulfill.’
The thunder abated, and the South Wind’s voice resumed its summery pleasance.
‘Very good. And as for your students, the Council has their eye on them. They have much to learn, but they have marked out two as showing promise. One has an unusual bloodline and interesting potential. I would not take you from them if it were not necessary for them to advance faster than is usual. We must see what they are made of.’
Mother Goodword nodded gravely. ‘I have sensed their potential. But I wish I could be here to guide them.’
‘You mean protect them. There comes a time when a Mother has to let her protege’s make their own way, and make their own mistakes.’
