Tales of the Scarlet Knight Collection: The Call

by P. T. Dilloway

  “Take my hand, dear,” Mama says. I’ve never vanished anywhere before, though I’ve seen Aggie and Sophie do it often enough.

  There’s a flash of white light and my bedroom disappears. When my vision clears, I’m standing in a cavern of grayish rock. Mama lets go of my hand, whispering, “We’re here.”

  The cavern is circular in a way that can’t be naturally formed. In the center is another circle made of polished stone. Around this, a group of women stand in a semi-circle, facing us. I see Aggie and Sophie among them, off to the side. They’re the youngest of the group. There are a half-dozen in their thirties or forties, but the rest are old women, older even than Mama.

  A crone with yellowing white hair steps forward. She flashes a crooked, yellow smile at me. “Greetings, Sylvia. My name is Glenda. I’m the head of the coven. Your mother has said a lot about you.”

  I gulp, my voice sounding like a little girl’s as I squeak, “Thank you, ma’am.”

  “We’ll give you a few minutes to prepare and then we’ll begin.”

  ***

  To become a novice, a witch has to demonstrate that she has magical ability, that she can control this magic, and that she can focus it to cast a spell. For the first part of the test, I remember what Henri told me about going to buy a new horse with his father. They examined every part of the horse, from its teeth to its private parts, poking, prodding, and asking questions of the owner to make sure the animal was healthy.

  I feel like the horse as Mama leads me to stand on the polished stones. The coven closes in around me to examine me. They don’t study my teeth or look up my dress. Instead, they hold up what look like chicken leg bones on string. The drumstick bones are drawn to me like a magnet, the strings snapping.

  An old woman with silver hair in a bun—who I can’t help thinking looks like an older version of Sophie—clucks her tongue. “She certainly has potential.”

  Another witch holds up a pane of rose-colored glass, looking at me through this. She shakes her head. “No evil spirits attached to her.”

  Glenda stands on her toes so she can look me in the eye. “Yes, you certainly do have the gift, young lady. Can you control it?”

  “Yes,” I say. I can feel the tingling throughout my body like before I became an apprentice. At any moment I expect something horrible to happen, for my beautiful dress to disappear and leave me naked in front of these old women.

  I look around the circle, seeing Mama standing with Aggie and Sophie in the back. Mama and Aggie’s encouraging smiles allow me to maintain my control, so nothing bad happens—at least not yet. Glenda turns to Mama and my sisters. “She hasn’t had any incidents since you made her an apprentice?”

  “No, ma’am,” Mama says. It’s the first time I’ve heard my mother address someone else as a superior before. “Sylvia has maintained complete control.”

  Glenda continues looking in my eye, as if waiting for me to lose my control. “Are you scared, young lady?”

  “Yes,” I mumble, knowing better than to lie to the head of the coven.

  “What’s to be scared of? We’re just a bunch of old women—or most of us at any rate.” When I stare at her blankly, she smiles at me. “Come on, girl, speak up!”

  “I’m afraid that I’ll fail,” I say before I realize it. “I don’t want to let Mama down.”

  To my surprise, Glenda laughs at this. She pats me on the back hard enough to nearly send me pitching forward. “That’s a good answer, young lady. Your mother is a very special woman. I wouldn’t want to let her down either.”

  With that the old women back away, leaving Glenda and I alone in the circle. The witch who looks like an older Sophie comes forward again, this time bearing a scroll. Glenda takes this and then holds it out to me. “Sophie says that you’ve learned our tongue. Think you can read this for me?”

  “I’ll try,” I say without confidence. I know what’s on the scroll: a spell. I’ve never cast a spell before in private, let alone surrounded by a hundred appraising eyes.

  “Relax, dear. We’re not going to hurt you.”

  I nod and then take the scroll from her. I unroll it to see the words written on it. I recognize these from my lessons with Sophie. “Granna nessa horte ertim,” I read, my voice little more than a whisper. Nothing happens. I try again, but still nothing happens.

  Glenda shakes her head slightly. I can see the other witches doing the same, including Sophie. Mama looks down at her feet, her disappointment radiating in waves. Then there’s Aggie. She is still smiling with encouragement, nodding to me, urging me to do it. I touch my dress with one hand, remembering what she said when she gave it to me. She’s believed in me since before I was an apprentice, since I was an ordinary child.

  I say the magic words again and a pillar of fire shoots up in the air, scorching the stone ceiling of the cavern. There’s no applause or cheering; Glenda merely pats my shoulder. “Well done, young lady,” she says.

  I turn to Mama and my sisters. Sophie is smiling slightly, which for her is like an enormous grin. Mama’s smile is wider, one of relief. Aggie is crying openly, her body tensed as if she wants to run through the crowd to hug me. I wish I could do the same, but that will have to wait until later.

  For now I am a novice of the coven.

  Chapter 7

  The cavern is only one part of the archives. Mama explains this to me after the other witches have gone. Most of them vanish in a flash of light, going to different locations around the world. The rest go downstairs to the first level of the actual archives. The polished stone circle moves aside to reveal a ladder the witches use to climb down.

  Once the others have gone, Aggie finally gives me a hug tight enough to break my ribs. She’s stopped crying, but her eyes are still red. “I knew you could do it,” she says.

  “Thank you,” I say. There’s more I want to say, but Mama and Sophie are still here and I know neither approves of showing so much emotion.

  “The next part isn’t going to be any easier,” Aggie says. “It will actually be a lot more difficult. Whatever happens, you just remember what happened up here today. You are a witch.”

  “I will.” I want Aggie to come with me, to smile that same encouraging smile as in the cavern, but she can’t.

  “I have to go home and look after things. Mama and Sophie will stay here with you.”

  “Oh. Great.”

  Before she goes, Aggie touches my dress. “It looks just as good on you as I’d hoped. And I love what you did with your hair. I’ll have to let you try that on me when you get back.”

  “Of course.” I give Aggie another hug. Then she steps back and is gone, leaving me with Mama and Sophie.

  Before we go down the ladder, Mama says, “You have to be very careful in the archives, dear. The spells down there respond to magic. They want to be used. If you’re not careful, one will try to attach itself to you.”

  “Attach itself? Like a leech?”

  “In a way, yes. Don’t use any magic down there unless your instructors tell you to.”

  “Instructors?”

  “Regina and Hisae are going to teach you.”

  “Why can’t you and Sophie do it?”

  “Not all witches are the same, dear. We have different specialties. That’s why we need to match you with someone who can help you learn yours.”

  “What are my specialties?”

  “Charms and offensive magic.”

  “Offensive magic?”

  “Casting out demons and destroying evil spirits.”

  I’m not sure what to say to this, so I simply follow Mama down to the first floor of the archives. This is another cavern, shallower than the circular one. At one end is a wooden desk similar to the one in our library back home. I recognize the pale blond girl at the desk as Henri’s eldest sister Clare, who Henri said was in a convent.

  She smiles shyly at me. “Don’t look so surprised,” she says. “Our family has worked for the coven for centuries.”

 
; “Does Henri know?”

  “No. Only the women of the family learn the secret.”

  “Oh,” I say with obvious disappointment; if Henri knew about the coven then it would make things between us much easier.

  Clare motions to the rows of shelves behind her. “Glenda and the others are waiting for you in the back.”

  I follow Mama and Sophie through the aisles, waiting for one of the scrolls to lunge out at me as Mama indicated. Sensing this, she pats my arm. “These are the tamest spells, dear. They can’t hurt you.” Past the shelves there’s a heavy iron door to our right. “The most dangerous spells are kept down there, in the vault.”

  “Novices aren’t allowed in there,” Sophie says.

  “Fine with me,” I growl at her.

  Through an opening in a wall of the cavern are the archivist’s quarters, where Clare sleeps. There’s not much of a sitting room, just enough space for three wooden chairs. Glenda sits on one of these, along with the woman I took to be an older Sophie. The other woman has pale brown skin, long black hair, and almond-shaped brown eyes. This is the first Asian person I’ve ever seen before and for that matter the first non-white person I’ve ever seen.

  Glenda must sense my shock as she introduces us first. “This is Hisae Chiu. She’s from Japan, an island far to the east of here. Hisae is our expert on offensive magic.”

  Hisae bows slightly to me. “It’s an honor to meet you, Sylvia. I look forward to teaching you.”

  “I look forward to learning,” I stammer.

  “And this is Regina Milton. She’s going to teach you about charms.”

  “Charmed,” Regina says, smiling a bit at her pun.

  “I’m looking forward to it.”

  With that, Glenda claps her hands and stands up. “Now that you’re all introduced, I’ll leave you to your own devices.” She pats me on the shoulder. “Good luck, young lady.”

  Glenda vanishes in a flash of light. It’s a couple of hours before Sophie does as well. She nods to me and says, “You’re doing well—so far. Keep it up.” Then she too is gone.

  Beyond the sitting room is Clare’s bedroom, which is cramped with three straw mattresses at the moment. “You and I will be staying here with Clare,” Mama says. “Regina and Hisae will return as needed to work with you.”

  “I understand.”

  “Good, then it’s time to get to work,” Regina says.

  ***

  While my teachers are very different in style, they share a common strictness in dealing with me. Regina Milton employs the same method as Mama and Sophie when they taught me how to read in French and magic. Instead of a wooden spoon, she uses a baton. When she smacks my wrist, she leaves a bruise. “That should remind you not to make another mistake,” she says.

  I don’t make many mistakes with the charms. Having worked with Aggie’s hair and my own for so long, I’m well-versed in tying knots. The difficulty is in remembering the proper knots for different situations. This is where I make mistakes when Regina shoots me rapid-fire questions about hypothetical situations.

  “What knot do you use against a Class-4 demon?” she asks, brandishing the baton.

  I pick up the length of rope in front of me, tying three knots at equal lengths. Before I finish, Regina brings the baton down on my wrist. “Wrong! That only works on a Class-2 demon. Try that on a four and you’ll be dead.” She brandishes the baton again. “Now, do it again—properly this time.”

  I untie the knots at the ends, leaving the one in the center. Then I tie the ends of the rope together to make a circle. The baton trembles in Regina’s hand for a moment and I brace for her to hit me again. “Good,” she says.

  With Hisae it’s a more hands-on approach. Charms can ward off a demon or evil spirit, but they can’t actually destroy one. For that you have to use a variety of spells from repulsing spells to fireball spells. First, Hisae insists on training me in the martial arts.

  “Your body must be a weapon as well as your mind,” Hisae says. We’re up in the main cavern, which seems much bigger now that fifty witches aren’t crammed into it. Before I can react, she takes hold of my arm, squeezing it until I wince. “Your body is soft and frail.”

  “I’m not frail.”

  Hisae takes my right wrist with her other hand. With one squeeze, I hear something crack, followed by a sharp pain that brings me to my knees. Tears bubble up in my eyes. “You still have a child’s body,” she says.

  I want to argue but I’m in too much pain at the moment. That is until Hisae puts her hand to my wrist again. The pain ebbs and when I hold up my wrist it looks perfectly normal. “Why did you do that?” I shout at her.

  “Your path will be full of pain. You must be ready.”

  Mama fetches my leggings and tunic from home, which makes my sessions with Hisae go a little better than trying to kick and jump in a dress. As she previously demonstrated, Hisae has few qualms about hurting me. Unlike Regina, she doesn’t just aim for my wrists. After our first real session, I have bruises almost everywhere. I ask Mama for something to take away the pain, but she refuses. “That’s how you learn, dear,” she says, echoing Regina.

  I have no idea how long I’m down in the archives. I ask Clare about this and she only shrugs. “There’s so much magic around here that time is a little hard to gauge.” I don’t know how she can stand it, but Clare seems to enjoy her job. One night, after Mama has gone to bed, I ask her about it. Clare explains, “Up there all I could be is a servant or a nun or a wife. Here I can do something much more important.”

  I want to say that she’s a servant in another form, a servant of the coven, but I don’t want to hurt her feelings. Instead I decide to shift to a topic much closer to my heart. “Does Henri hate me?”

  “No, of course not. Henri loves you. You know that.”

  I look over at Mama to make sure she’s still asleep. “I love him too, but we can’t be together, can we?”

  “Not as long as you’re a witch.”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  To my surprise, Clare nods at this. “A witch can give up her powers. But then you would be a mortal, like him.”

  I remain awake for the rest of what passes for night, thinking about whether I should stop this now and give up my powers. Do I really love him enough to throw away everything I’ve worked for? Do I love him enough that I would alienate my family? I keep thinking of our kisses in the forest and that last argument before he left.

  The next morning Mama tries to wake me up, but I refuse to get out of bed. I’m lying with my back turned to her so she can’t see me crying. “Are you ill, dear?” she asks me. “I can have Agnes bring you a potion from home.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t want to be a witch,” I mumble.

  “Sylvia—”

  “I want to go home.” I finally roll over so she can look into my eyes. “I want to be with Henri. I love him.”

  I expect Mama to argue with me, to put up a fight. Instead, she simply nods to me. “If that’s what you want. But once you give up your powers, they’re gone forever. You’ll be mortal until the day you die. Is that what you want?”

  “Yes.”

  She nods to me again. “Before we do anything so drastic, why don’t you talk to the young man about it? Find out if that’s what he wants for you.”

  So I vanish home.

  ***

  Aggie is waiting for me in the living room. The way she springs up and hugs me with tears in her eyes indicates she already knows why I’m here. It must be another one of her feelings. “Oh, Sylvia,” she says, but then her throat is too choked with sobs to continue.

  “I’m sorry,” I say.

  She shakes her head. “No, dear,” she says, sounding like Mama. “Don’t be sorry. If this is really what you want, then I’ll be happy for you.”

  We sit down on the couch, where I tell her about Henri, though I’m sure she knows most of this already. “I love him,” I say. “I always have. Even when we were kids.”<
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  “And you’re certain he loves you—really loves you?”

  “He told me he did.”

  “Are you sure he meant it?”

  I think of his eyes that moment, how pained they looked when I didn’t immediately return his love. “Yes. I know he did.” We sit there in silence for a moment, each of us dabbing at our eyes with a handkerchief. “Mama says I should ask him if he wants me to give up being a witch.”

  “That will tell you how much he really loves you.”

  “It will?”

  Aggie nods. “If he really loves you, he’ll want you to keep being a witch.”

  “He will?”

  “Of course. Only a selfish man would ask you to give up your gift to be with him.”

  I consider this for a moment. “That makes sense.” There’s another lull before I ask, “What about you and that boy? Didn’t you love him?”

  “No. Not the way you love Henri. He was just a fling.”

  “Oh. So you think I should stop being a witch?”

  “That’s not for me to say. You’re the only one who can decide that.”

  I spend another sleepless night thinking this over. Each time I waver, I think of Henri and I kissing in the forest and in the pasture. There’s no doubt in my mind that he loves me as much as I love him. If the only way we can be together is for me to renounce being a witch, then what real choice is there?

  With that in mind, I set out for Henri’s new home the next morning. I wear a plain brown dress and keep my hair unbound so I appear more like a commoner—like the wife I could be for him. I carry nothing with me, my life being the only present I have to give him.

  His new home—our new home—is smaller than the quarters by the vineyard. It’s not even the size of our living room back home. But it will be enough, I tell myself. As long as Henri is there, it will be enough.

  I go up to the crude wooden door, rapping on it as hard as I can. No one answers. I try again, but there is still no answer. He must be out in the fields, I think.

  I walk out to the fields of grain, which at the moment are up to my knees. There are a half-dozen men working in the field, but none of them is Henri. Did he go up to the house? The stable? Maybe into town?