The Broken Circle: Yarns of the Knitting Witches

by Cheryl Potter

  Smokey glanced around her chair and peeked under the table. “I must have left it in the storeroom,” she quavered.

  Wheat pushed back her chair and jumped up from the table. “What?”

  “The amber crystals went out and it got dark,” Smokey tried to explain.

  “I hope it’s still there.” Wheat stalked out of the dining room. “Don’t ask to use it again.”

  “I almost never ask,” Smokey said, looking down. “I just take it.” Trader laughed. “How did you get in through the keyhole? I had to pick the lock to get you out.”

  “I was smoke,” Smokey said. “Wheat’s staff does that to me sometimes.” She turned to Aubergine. “You know what else? Teal was in there, and she was smoke, too. Only I was gray and she was green.”

  “You saw Tracery Teal in the storeroom?” Lily asked. “I’ve not laid eyes on her in twenty years.”

  “She wasn’t really Teal,” Smokey replied. “She was just green fog.”

  Indigo Rose shook her gray braids and adjusted her bandana, before turning to Aubergine. “Do you believe any of this?”

  “I do,” Aubergine confirmed. “All of us who live here have seen Teal’s ghost behaving fretfully from time to time. She appears as a wispy cloud floating in the hallways, or as green haze hovering over the kitchen stove.”

  “I assumed that was merely smoke from burnt toast, or Smokey Jo playing with the cook stove,” Lily said. “She is forever putting bits of bark and moss into the fire to watch them smolder.”

  “A trail of mossy mist is all we have left of Teal. She is a restless spirit and almost impossible to contain.” Aubergine placed her hands on the table. “It was I who lured Teal into the storeroom.”

  “Why?” Trader asked. “You can’t confine a ghost.”

  Aubergine shook her head wearily. “Little Teal.”

  “Trader,” the fossicker corrected her.

  Aubergine shut her eyes and smiled. “Trader,” she began again. “If you only knew. The Teal who came before you constantly reminds us of her presence. She can be tiresome and unnecessary.”

  “She takes things to get attention,” Smokey said. “Things she doesn’t need.”

  “I’m missing a few utensils,” Lily added. “Has anyone seen the new soup ladle I bought in the marketplace, or my fine-bristled bottle brush?”

  “One day you will rummage around in a closet or open an armoire and your misplaced items will tumble down on your head,” Aubergine predicted with a rueful smile. “It has happened to me more than once.”

  Smokey plucked Aubergine’s sleeve. “Teal was mean to me. She took my sweater. Then she left me locked in the dye closet.” Smokey turned to the rest seated around the table. “All I had to eat all afternoon was an apple.”

  Wheat stomped back into the dining room carrying her staff. “The lock is broken on the storeroom door,” she reported. “And all the dyestuffs are missing.” She pointed her staff at Smokey, letting the amber crystals hit and spark. “Lucky for you, no one took my crook.”

  “Did you see any green smoke in the air?” Aubergine asked.

  “There was steam over the dye pot.” Wheat acknowledged. “But the fire wasn’t even lit.”

  “I shall have to find a new way to coax Teal into a different sort of enclosure—perhaps my seamless box.” Aubergine eyed Trader. “Teal has not been in your presence since you were a babe. Come help me catch her.”

  Trader rose and grabbed her belongings. She picked up her walking stick from behind her chair.

  “Wait, what are you saying?” Ratta handed her empty pie plate to the maid, who added it to the stack on the cart. “That our Tracery Teal knows of this Trader who runs around in rags masquerading as a boy?”

  Trader rapped her stick on the floor. “Tracery Teal was my aunt, my mother’s sister. I am her namesake. But I have never met Teal in person, obviously. She disappeared before I was born.”

  “Trader, is that why you offered to take me to the Burnt Holes to find my mother?” Skye asked. “Did you really want to look for Tracery Teal?”

  Trader nodded. “I thought she might have been imprisoned. But now I have learned that she’s here.”

  Aubergine rose slowly from her seat. “No, child, Teal is not here,” she said softly.

  A delicate Merino lace wrap lay folded over the back of Aubergine’s chair. She reached back, picked it up, and settled it around her neck. Hand knit in an allover lattice pattern, it hung like a mantle over her shoulders. Only Smokey Jo was familiar with the garment, a ceremonial piece dyed in shades of purple and black. Aubergine only wore it when she was preparing for a vision over the great pot. Standing at the head of the table, Aubergine gripped the edge of the table. Like most Northlanders, she was exceptionally tall. Unlike many, she appeared exceptionally regal, with the shawl over a deep eggplant gown and her violet eyes, shining from a careworn face framed by a mane of silver hair. She seemed not only regal but imposing.

  “You witness mere wisps and trails of the Teal that was.” Aubergine explained, in a grim voice. “She can never appear to us in her solid form again, because Tasman destroyed her. Only traces remain.” Her dark eyes pierced Trader. “Thus your given name, Traces of Teal.”

  “What happened to your aunt was my fault,” Lily admitted, her face burning with shame. “It was I who put Teal in Tasman’s path that terrible night.”

  “The Dark Queen destroyed Teal, yet still seems to seek her.” Aubergine looked to Lily. “Can you tell us why?”

  “Tasman believes that Teal’s ghost saw what happened to the lost jewel,” Lily said. “When the necklace broke, that stone disappeared along with Teal.”

  “Maybe it’s in an upstairs closet or armoire, like Aubergine said.” Garth whispered to Skye. “I want to go look.”

  “Hush,” Skye held out a hand to still him.

  “I can’t ascertain what the remaining traces of our Teal may know about the missing amethyst.” Lily shook her head. “It isn’t possible to read the mind of a person whose essence has evaporated.”

  “Teal is nothing more than morning mist,” Aubergine agreed. “Whatever her spirit knows, it has no way to tell us.”

  “Fair enough, but we all name successors,” Wheat said. “Who stood to inherit Teal’s lore?”

  Indigo turned to Lily. “Her sister, perhaps?”

  Esmeralde nodded in quick agreement. “Surely whoever was chosen to take Tracery Teal’s place in the circle of Twelve would have knowledge of the lost stone.” She looked at Lily expectantly. “Who is it?”

  “Her namesake niece here, Traces of Teal,” Lily revealed with a smile.

  “Who prefers to be called Trader,” Aubergine added. “If the Dark Queen seeks any of us more than the others, it is she.” She glanced at the girl. “We must all protect Trader, as I have sought to do by hiding her as a boy in the Middlelands all these years.”

  “Why?” Indigo Rose wanted to know. “She isn’t Teal, really.”

  “No, but she is the embodiment of all that remains of the Teal you once knew,” Aubergine said. “Trader stands to inherit Teal’s lore, as well as her place in our circle of Twelve. If Teal ever did know what happened to the lost stone, Trader may yet help us find it.”

  “First I find out that you’re a girl, and now I find out you’re a knitting witch,” Garth complained. “Have you seen this lost stone? Is it hiding in a closet, upstairs, perchance?”

  “How would I know?” Trader said.

  Garth persisted. “Is it among the fossicks you keep in your pack?” He laid a hand on Trader’s shoulder. “You didn’t sell it to those men at the Forks for a few coppers’ worth of kettle corn, did you?”

  “Of course not.” Trader shrugged him off.

  “She is not one of us,” Ratta scoffed. “I doubt she has even heard of the lost stone. And she’s just a girl, too young to be of any use. ”

 
“We all were girls once,” Indigo said, draining her cup of cordial.

  Aubergine was not listening. Her eyes had grown dark as a distant storm. First the table under her hands began to vibrate, and then air buzzed with a charge of electricity. The rest of them startled, expecting a clap of thunder. Instead, the dye shed door banged open and cold air rushed out of the night and up the hall. It blasted into the dining room, scattering napkins, swirling salt, and knocking the pepper mill onto the floor. Aubergine’s silver hair tumbled wildly around her face.

  “What is it, Aubergine?” Lily cried.

  “Tasman is close, as is the stone.” Aubergine’s voice dropped to a whisper. She put up a hand to shield her face from the stinging squall. Her breath grew shallow as she focused her sight inward. “I can see them both in my mind’s eye. But not together.”

  The wind died as quickly as it had started. Blinking, Aubergine’s eyes examined each of them in turn, coming to rest on Trader. “We must start a simmer,” she said at last. “Ready or not, even if the others aren’t here, we begin tomorrow. We can’t wait.”

  “What about Skye?” Garth asked. “And me? Can’t we be witches, too, and help make the Twelve?”

  “The lines of the Twelve are matriarchal,” Lily said. “You may not.”

  “May-tree what?” Garth asked.

  “It means no boys,” Ratta growled.

  “Our power passes from mother to daughter, aunt to niece, or mistress to ward,” Aubergine said. “If we cannot hold Teal captive, Trader must take her place when we circle the great pot.” She looked down the table. “And it’s true, Skye, you may have to stand in for your mother.”

  “You’re not expecting her?” Skye asked, blinking back tears. She searched Aubergine’s face, and then Lily’s.

  “Not Sierra,” Lily replied, with a glance at Aubergine. “Not in time.”

  “Even if she does heed the call, Sierra cannot assume her previous place in our circle, for she is no longer my successor,” Aubergine explained. “If everything goes as planned, Sierra will be named The Keeper of the Tales.”

  “Sierra will inherit Mamie’s lore?” Wheat gasped. “We all thought Sierra would one day wear your mantle. Then who is your rightful heir now?”

  Indigo smiled at Esmeralde, who smiled in return and topped off their glasses with a celebratory measure of cordial. Indigo caught Trader’s attention and put a finger to her lips. All Trader could do was shake her head and roll her eyes.

  “Ratta knows all of the tales,” Wheat said, ignoring their antics. “We thought Mamie’s role would pass to her.”

  “I keep telling you, I am here in my own stead,” Ratta said. “Will you get that through your head?”

  Wheat reached for her staff, letting the glowing crystals click together. “What does Ratta offer?” She asked Aubergine. “She possesses no more arcane lore than this boy.” Wheat pointed her crook at Garth.

  Aubergine wrapped the ceremonial shawl around her shoulders. She fixed Wheat with a stare so frigid that the crystals on the shepherd’s crook went dark. “How many of you speak the silent tongue of the ancients?” Aubergine surveyed them all. “Who here but Ratta understands First Folk Mind Speak?”

  The table was silent.

  “As I thought,” Ratta said, looking smug.

  Unable to hold back any longer, Indigo nudged Esmeralde. Together, they stood and toasted each other with freshened glasses. To make herself taller, Indigo stood on her chair seat. She held both glasses as Esmeralde climbed aloft, too.

  “Here’s to us,” Esmeralde announced, as they stood above the others. She smiled at Indigo. “Two heads are better than one.”

  “What in cracked crystal . . .?” Wheat began.

  “Indy and I are trading places as well,” Esmeralde told the group. “With who?” Ratta snorted. “Each other?”

  Trader could contain herself no longer. “No one wants to succeed either of you,” she laughed.

  “No matter.” Esmeralde raised her cup. “We’re taking over.”

  “Taking over what?” Wheat asked.

  “The Potluck,” Indigo said. She clicked cups with Esmeralde and took a big gulp of cordial. “It’s our turn to run it.”

  “Whatever gave you that idea?” Lily asked mildly.

  “The Potluck is not a game of musical chairs,” Aubergine said.

  “We saw it in a vision,” Esmeralde replied. “Over the pot in Indy’s fireplace.”

  “You need all Twelve to have a simmer,” Smokey said. “Everyone knows that.

  “There was only the two of us,” Indigo argued. “But we saw everything just fine. Esmeralde and I were sitting here and here,” she pointed, indicating Aubergine’s and Smokey Jo’s chairs at the head of the table. “Presiding over dinner.”

  “Had you been drinking? Or smoking?” Wheat asked.

  Esmeralde looked at Indigo, who shrugged. “Not more than usual.”

  “Are you certain that what you saw was over a dye pot?” Lily chimed in.

  “It was just a soup kettle,” Indigo admitted. “But it was a large one.”

  “You did not have a vision,” Aubergine told them. “You had a hallucination. As did I, when you undertook this farce, because your show of hissing flames and that shower of green sparks popping from the chimney came to me unwanted, like a headache after sour wine. Now sit down.”

  “We were just trying to help,” Indigo argued peevishly. She swallowed more wine.

  “That’s right. We were just making an offer,” Esmeralde said, jovially raising her cordial cup in Aubergine’s direction.

  Suddenly the glasses flew from Esmeralde’s and Indigo’s hands and upended, pouring dregs of sticky liquor over their heads. Then the empty cups crashed to the table where they exploded into bits.

  Aubergine’s eyes blazed purple. “Sit down.”

  Esmeralde and Indigo jumped to the floor and took their chairs in haste.

  “Aubergine, you’re getting old,” Indigo could not help pointing out, a bit shaky. She wrung out her sopping braids one by one as

  Esmeralde scooped together the pieces of broken crockery. “We all know Smokey Jo spends most days playing with fire.” She picked up her napkin and absentmindedly wiped the wine from her face. “Who will head the Potluck when you’re gone?”

  “Who said I am going anywhere?” Aubergine’s eyes blazed dark and terrible. Indigo opened her mouth, but no sound came out, so she shut it again.

  “As we’ve had no answering fire, we shall wait one more night for the others.” Aubergine spoke into the silence that saturated the room. “At daybreak, Smokey Jo will light the fire under the great pot.”

  As soon as Aubergine had made her pronouncement, the others began to chatter.

  “Once the blaze is started, we mustn’t let it go out,” Smokey Jo said.

  Lily nodded. “I’ll have the stable boy bring in more wood. Garth, you can help with that.”

  “The water and the iron pot are both so cold,” Smokey said. “Aubergine, it will take a long time before something that big can come to a boil.”

  “The pot should start to simmer by mid-afternoon,” Aubergine calculated. “Then we will add the crystals. It’s a pity that Lavender Mae isn’t here to grind them. Indigo Rose, I ask you to do the honors.” Aubergine turned to Wheat. “Prepare your best fleece for the dye pot.”

  “I have no fleeces,” Wheat said. “My flock was scattered by Lowlanders. I have just the one lame sheep.”

  “This is folly,” Ratta said. “Half of us are missing. The crystals are gone.”

  Esmeralde raised her eyebrows. “Indy and I think there is an interloper.”

  “Or an intruder, perhaps,” Indigo added.

  “It was probably just Teal.” Smokey bent her head and counted on her fingers. “There are but nine of us,” she announced at last, holding out both hands with one thumb bent over for the
rest of them to see. “Ten if you include Mamie.” She gave Lily an anxious look. “Can we count her?”

  “I’m afraid not, for she is neither part of this world nor the next.” Aubergine nodded to Ratta. “Recite the lost yarn and we can let Mamie pass.”

  “I will tell nothing without Sierra’s blessing.” Ratta was stubborn. “Only she can decipher the meaning of the Lost Tale.”

  “Get some sleep, all of you,” Aubergine ordered, ignoring their objections. “Lily will show the newcomers where to sleep. After dinner tomorrow, we shall assemble around the great pot.” She beckoned to Trader. “Let’s try one last time to catch Teal.”

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  “Hold the glass for all to see.”

  CHAPTER 20

  LATE THE FOLLOWING AFTERNOON, the chosen women filed quietly down the hall and into the dye shed. They formed a silent circle around the great pot, which had been gradually approaching a boil all day. Those who knew their places around the black iron cauldron took them quickly. Smokey Jo nudged her stepstool to Aubergine’s left, and Lilac Lily swept in on Aubergine’s right, followed by Winter Wheat, trying to tread lightly in her heavy boots. Indigo and Esmeralde crowded in on the far side of Smokey Jo, while Trader crept up the other half of the circle to take Teal’s place next to Wheat, because they had failed to catch the wayward spirit. Ratta dragged herself into the circle reluctantly, unable to keep from looking toward the back of the room every few seconds. Mamie’s body, still wrapped in the never-ending shawl, lay in repose on the viewing table Lily had helped Ratta carry in from the front parlor.

  Across from Smokey Jo, Skye trembled, fearing that she would dishonor her mother’s place in the circle. She stood alone. To her right was a space reserved for Lavender Mae, and to her left was the vacancy created by Tasman the night she broke the necklace and fled. Garth had been banished to the main house, and no amount of pleading had gotten him any closer than the summer kitchen, even when he offered to stoke the fire.