The Promise Witch

by Celine Kiernan

  “Whatever the students need to learn, let them learn it,” Mam had told the teachers. “Whatever they need to become, let them become it.”

  Mup wiggled her toes in one of the bright splashes of colour which the stained-glass threw across the floor. It’s perfect, she thought. They’re going to love it.

  On the opposite side of the room a door led to an interior corridor, which led to a flight of steps, which led to the old guardroom, which opened onto the riverside courtyard.

  Tipper’s voice echoed happily from the shadows there. “This way, childrens! Follow me!”

  With a skitter of claws and a merry bark, Mup’s little brother bounded into the room. All fat paws, all waving tail, all jolly golden face, he lolloped merrily around the desks, barked “Hello, Crow! Hello, Mup! Hello, hello!” and bounced right back out again.

  Grinning, Mup ran after him to wait in the doorway. The new students were edging down the steps and into the corridor. They were a row of owlish faces in the gloom. The light of the riverside courtyard seeped in from the cloakroom behind them. Fírinne was a tall shape within the door there, standing guard. Mup waved up to her. Fírinne raised a hand in reply.

  Dad’s distinctive, broad-shouldered silhouette joined the tall, slim clann leader. Fírinne leaned on one side of the door frame, her arms crossed, Dad leaned on the other, and the two of them began talking in low voices. Mup knew they were discussing the safety of these children, the possibility of Mup’s grandmother engineering some kind of vengeance against their parents.

  Crow came to Mup’s side, and the approaching children eyed the two of them cautiously.

  Mup beamed at them and flung her arms wide. “Welcome to Magic School!”

  Unsmiling, the silent children crept past and into the classroom.

  “It’ll be OK,” Mup said gently. “It’ll be OK. I promise.”

  Tipper bounded about, excitedly barking. He snuffled pockets and licked tentatively reaching hands. The children began to smile. They began to look around the sunny room. Whatever they’d expected, Mup thought, it can’t have been this bright, happy, noisy place.

  “Fírinne!” barked Tipper, running to the schoolroom door. “Fírinne, where is Badger? You said you’d help him down the stairs!”

  Fírinne’s voice rose up in the guardroom and all the children laughed as Mup’s dear old grey-faced labrador, Badger, floated down the corridor, into the room, and was deposited gently by the door. Delighted with himself, Badger strolled from child to enchanted child, stiffly wagging his tail and introducing himself with polite licks on their outstretched hands.

  Crow began solemnly handing out copybooks and pens, a name badge for each pupil.

  Tipper noticed a tiny girl lurking at the door. “Come in! Come in!” he barked.

  The little girl just stared.

  Mup went to her. “No need to be scared,” she whispered. “No one will hurt you.”

  The little girl seemed to doubt this. “Not even teacher?” she asked.

  At the word “teacher” the other children went silent. They seemed to withdraw.

  “Will … will teacher be here soon?” asked one of the boys.

  “Teacher’s already here,” grunted Crow, with his usual lack of tact.

  The children gasped. Their eyes darted to the big desk at the front of the room.

  The sunlight streaming in the windows there had made it easy to miss the ghost. To a passing glance she could be mistaken for just a shadow. But once you knew she was there, there was no missing her, and once you’d seen her, there was no mistaking the tall, dark-clad spectre for anything other than what she was – a raggedy witch.

  With a quiet hiss of fear, the children stepped backwards.

  The little girl hid her face in the bright legs of Mup’s pyjamas.

  “It’s OK,” said Mup. “It’s just Naomi. Didn’t your parents tell you she’d be here?”

  The same Naomi chose that unfortunate moment to drift into shadow. Her severe features leapt into focus, and the children moaned.

  Mup made a frustrated gesture at the lurking spirit. Try not to look so terrifying. Perhaps it wasn’t possible for the ghost to actually change from her terrible uniform, but surely a smile wasn’t beyond the realms of her spectral capabilities?

  The children began edging for the door.

  “Come on, now,” urged Mup, desperately trying to prise the little girl from around her waist. “Let’s … let’s everyone choose a seat.”

  “Not a chance,” growled one of the older boys. He grabbed his little brother, and ran.

  “Wait!” called Crow.

  “Wait there, friends.

  This witch is here to make amends.

  She’ll teach us all we wish to know.

  In magic skills she’ll help us grow!”

  His words had no effect.

  “Naomi is nice!” cried Mup. “I promise!” But the children were hurrying away, the older ones dragging smaller ones with them as they went.

  A friendly voice, from nowhere and everywhere at once, brought everyone to a halt.

  “Hello,” it echoed. “Hello! Am I late?”

  It was such a warm voice, so full of infectious enthusiasm, that the children crept back to see to whom it belonged. They giggled when the ghost of Doctor Emberly popped his head through the wall at the far end of the room. His head and his ruffled lace collar were all that could be seen. He looked like a great luminous daisy pinned to the bookshelves.

  “Oh, I am late!” he cried, taking in the semi-deserted room.

  Bustling his way through the blackboard, he managed to shower Naomi in chalk.

  “Gracious!” he cried. “I have besmirched your vestments! A thousand apologies!”

  He dusted Naomi down as best he could, then bowed his lowest, most repentant bow.

  The witch nodded her thanks. Then, as if to acquaint her friend with the predicament, she cast a bleak glance to the knot of children, half in, half out of the door.

  Doctor Emberly seemed to immediately comprehend the situation.

  “Dear pupils!” he cried. “Brave adventurers on the path of knowledge. Did you think class was cancelled? I can hardly blame you. It’s all my own fault for being late. It shall not happen again.”

  He swept down the room, cooing and tutting and gently ushering bewildered children to their chairs. They were entranced by him, his beaming smile, his irresistible good nature. Even the shy little girl – still firmly gripping Mup’s pyjama leg – allowed herself to be guided to a chair.

  “Would you like me to sit with you a while?” whispered Mup.

  The little girl nodded, her eyes huge over the thumb she’d jammed into her mouth. On the other side of the room Crow was in a similar situation, with two small, grubby boys desperately clutching his coat tails. He smiled triumphantly at Mup as he knelt between the boys’ chairs. This is it. The start of something good.

  All around them children began taking their seats.

  At the head of the class Doctor Emberly clapped his ghostly hands, and said: “Magic is for everyone.”

  With a gasp, the children looked to Naomi. They obviously expected her to smite the poor doctor. She simply continued to float against the bookshelves, her attention reverently fixed on Emberly’s gentle face.

  “Magic,” said Emberly, “is free.”

  The children turned wondering eyes back to him.

  “We are all born magic,” he said. “But we all need to learn how to use that magic. Miss Naomi and I are here to help you do just that – starting with animal transformation.”

  “Men is ravens,” intoned the children. “Women is cats.”

  “Not any more,” said Naomi softly. “Not unless they want to be.”

  Emberly smiled at her. She smiled back. “Here,” said Emberly, “we become whatever we wish to become. Now…” he sparkled a grin at the children, “shall you start by drawing the animal you’d most like to turn into today?”

  At Mup’s si
de the little girl’s eyes grew wide with excitement. Her thumb popped from her mouth. She released Mup’s pyjamas and reached for her pen.

  Frog People and the Thirsty Earth

  There was a long, quiet time of pencils scratching and papers shuffling. Children began leaning across to see each other’s drawings, began borrowing pens, began whispering. When it became obvious that neither Doctor Emberly, drifting luminously up and down between the desks, nor Naomi, glimmering like a marshlight in the darkest corner, minded anyone talking, conversations began to blossom around the room.

  Mup’s new little friend seemed to quite forget that Mup was by her side, so engrossed did she become in her drawing.

  Mup drew back, watching everything. Across the room, Crow bent over a desk, his tousled head the centre of a ring of children who all seemed to be contributing to one large drawing between them. His eyes were still feverishly bright, the shadows under them very dark. In contrast to the plump, merry children around him, Mup thought he looked even thinner than usual.

  I think I will ask Fírinne to talk to him, she thought. She wanted to respect her stubborn friend’s decision to do things on his own, but as his friend she couldn’t help feeling that Crow might need a bit of help. I’ll ask Fírinne to be nice about it, though. Like Crow himself, the clann leader could be a bit… Well, Fírinne could be a bit gruff. Mup didn’t want her two irascible friends to end up fighting.

  A sly movement in the corner of her eye brought Mup’s attention to the schoolroom door. Two children were standing there, a boy of about twelve and a girl of about five years old: brother and sister, if their looks were anything to go by. They peered into the classroom with wary fascination, the boy holding his little sister firmly by her shoulders as if his wide, flat hands were the only things preventing her from being stolen.

  Both had round, wide-featured faces and huge golden eyes.

  Where have I seen eyes like that before? wondered Mup.

  She stood up, a welcoming smile on her face. The boy, startled that she’d seen him, immediately snatched his sister back and began marching her away up the corridor.

  Mup hurried after them. “Won’t you come in?” she called.

  “Naw,” said the boy, still marching.

  The little girl looked up at him pleadingly. “But it looks nice in there, Marty.”

  “We ain’t staying. I only come to look-see while Mam was talking.”

  “But them sprogs was all drawding. I like drawding, me.”

  The brother began hustling her up the steps. “You can drawd at home.” He nodded to Mup. “Sorry to waste your time, ma’am.”

  “But won’t you stay?” she asked. “We’re learning magic.”

  The boy stopped, bringing Mup to a surprised halt on the steps behind him. His eyes flashed angrily in the gloom. “Marshlanders don’t need castle lessons,” he said. “We have our own magic.”

  “Oh, Marty!” squeaked his little sister. “Marshlander magic is secret!”

  “Not any more it’s not,” said Marty, and with one last defiant look at Mup, he herded his little sister up the steps, out past Fírinne, and into the courtyard.

  Mup went to the door to watch them go. At the boat steps the boy called for attention from whoever stood out of sight below. The familiar voices of Clann’n Cheoil rose up from the riverbed. Their music lifted the children into the air. The little girl squealed and delightedly paddled her feet. The boy looked back at Mup one last time as they were lowered out of sight.

  Fírinne, leaning cross-armed in the doorway, quirked an eyebrow at Mup. “They’re awkward ones, those Marshlanders. That two give you any trouble?”

  Mup shook her head. Marshlanders, she thought, remembering the marshy town, long ago now, where she had forced two very reluctant police officers to arrest her.

  “That boy said his people were here to talk to Mam.”

  “His mother is one of their leaders. They’re down on the riverbed with your mam and dad now, talking about the water situation.”

  “They don’t seem to like the castle much.”

  Fírinne huffed. “Who does?”

  “But when I met Marshlanders before…”

  “You met Marshlanders?”

  “Yes, the time I got myself thrown in jail. When I was trying to rescue Dad. The two police officers who arrested me were Marshlanders. I know that now because they spoke just like those two kids – that kind of … bubbling accent?”

  “Oh, yes, the accent’s quite distinctive.”

  “But, Fírinne, the Marshlanders who arrested me seemed … well, they seemed…”

  Fírinne crooked a bitter smile. “Obedient?” she asked.

  “Yes!” cried Mup.

  “The kind of people who would do exactly what the old queen told them, no matter what?”

  “Yes,” agreed Mup. “That boy didn’t seem like that at all! Plus, he said they had their own secret magic, Fírinne. The Marshlanders I met wouldn’t have had anything to do with secret magic.”

  “That’s what everyone thought,” said Fírinne. “The Marshlanders had us all fooled. What a brilliant disguise, hiding under a mask of dullness, while all the time passing their magic skills from one generation to the next. I’d never have thought them capable of it. Mud-brained bog frogs, that’s all I thought they were.”

  “You don’t like them very much, do you?”

  Fírinne shrugged. “Folk did what they had to to survive under your grandmother’s rule,” she said. “Still … it’s hard to trust folk who bury their truths so deeply. Hey, where are you going?”

  Mup grinned slyly back at her as she made her way across to the boat steps. “I want to hear what’s going on.”

  “That bunch of closed-mouth newts will never help anyone but themselves,” grunted Fírinne. “Your mother’s wasting her time with them, and you’re wasting your time if you think they’ll say anything worth ear-wigging on.”

  Mup tutted. “How can you possibly know what someone will say before they say it? That’s just silly.” And she put her finger to her lips and crept out of Fírinne’s sight down the boat steps.

  Heat rose up in waves from the baked surface of the dried riverbed, and sang out unbearably from the stone wall at Mup’s back as she slunk down to the last boat step and crouched there, secretly listening to the conversation below. These steps used to lead to the surface of the river, but now that the water level had dropped, they stopped halfway down the castle wall, useless and somehow embarrassed, a flight of stairs to nowhere. Perfect for spying, though, thought Mup.

  There were two distinct groups of adults on the riverbed. On one side were the Marshlanders, dressed in mossy-looking layers of brown and green. On the other side were Mam and Dad and a selection of the people Mam called her “councillors”. Tall and short, spindly and fat, Mam’s people were dressed in all the different colours and costumes of the kingdom. Neither group paid any attention to the small dark girl in pyjamas crouched over their heads.

  Everyone was sweating in the heat, their attention fixed on a Marshlander man who lay on his stomach at their feet. By his side, a Marshlander woman crouched. Her broad face was grim beneath the shade of her wide-brimmed hat as she watched the man press his ear to the ground.

  “It’s a curse, all right,” said the man. “You can feel the magic way down there, holding the water in its grip.”

  The crouching woman nodded her heavy head and looked up at Mam with shrewd golden eyes. “T’aint this bad anywhere else,” she said. “Whoever is doing this…”

  “My mother is doing this,” interrupted Mam.

  “Whoever is doing this,” repeated the woman, “has concentrated their magic here. They’re concentrating on you, and on your castle staff. Trying to thirst you out.”

  “Can you help us, Marsinda?” asked Dad.

  The woman shrugged.

  Marsinda, thought Mup. That must be her name.

  “You told me that your people have a better understanding of wa
ter magic than anyone in the borough,” said Mam. “Why go to the bother of telling me that, why come here at all, if you’re not willing to help?”

  “What do we get for helping?”

  Mam frowned. “You get what every citizen of the borough gets. The chance of a better life.”

  High up on her perch, Mup nodded. That’s right. A better life for everyone.

  Marsinda rose to her feet. “Only a fool gives something for nothing.”

  “This is your country too,” said Dad. “Don’t you want to heal it?”

  “Everyone here works together,” Mam told the woman. “We help each other. Everyone here…”

  “Everyone here is out for what they can get!” snapped Marsinda. She pointed to some members of Clann’n Cheoil. “That lot have gone from trundling about in boxes on wheels to living in a castle.”

  “Boxes on wheels?” sputtered a clann man. “They’re called vardos, you ignorant mud-skip! And we don’t live in the…”

  Ignoring him, the woman gestured to the rest of Mam’s councillors. “And these? Ignorant peasants. Grey little bureaucrats. Merchants. A motley collection of nothing at all, and all of them suddenly rolling in power and wealth because they took your side.”

  “That’s not—” started Dad.

  The woman spoke over him. “I hear you’ve even got an enforcer here. Absolved of crime. Well, if you can reward one of your mother’s pale-faced minions, you can reward the innocent, hardworking people her kind used to trample.”

  “What is it you need?” asked Mam.

  “Need? When a queen takes, is it only what she needs? No. It’s always what she wants.”

  “I am not a queen,” said Mam softly. “But what I want is to heal this land. What is it that you want, Marsinda?”

  The woman folded her arms. “What are you offering?”

  Nothing! thought Mup, incensed by the woman’s rudeness and by her greed. We’ll sort this out ourselves! She launched herself from the boat steps, landed in an angry puff of dust, and began marching toward the delegates.