Edaline approached Milly, and Milly shut her eyes tight.
The footsteps got closer.
And then—
“May I hug you?”
Milly blinked her eyes open to find Edaline kneeling in front of her.
Milly nodded.
Edaline extended her arms, and Milly walked into them. Tears dripped down Edaline’s face. “I’m sorry,” the older witch whispered. “I am so, so sorry.”
Slowly, carefully, Milly lifted her arms until she was hugging Edaline back. With her memories of Edaline partially restored, she suddenly remembered that they had once been friends. The memories were faint, just barely out of reach, but they were there somewhere. Floating on the fringes of her mind. Memories which had previously been hazy now had Edaline in them. Teaching her how to cook. Showing her magicks. Making her happy to also be a witch.
Milly started crying, too.* “I’m sorry I hurt your tree.”
“It’s not your fault—”
“Yes, it is!” She pulled back. “I’m the one that stabbed it! I shouldn’t have listened to Hightop. I should’ve . . .”
Edaline wiped the tears from Milly’s cheeks. “You didn’t know any better.”
Milly returned to Edaline’s arms and sobbed until she couldn’t cry anymore.
“Milly, these shadows are going to come for you—for us—no matter where you run. We don’t have much time,” Edaline said softly, “but I promise to make the most of what we have.”
“Make the most of what?”
“Your training.” Edaline pulled back and stood to her feet. “First thing tomorrow morning.”
“What’s happening?” Cilla asked.
“We’re going to teach your sister how to be a witch.”
“Oh!” Cilla glanced in Milly’s direction, a smile partly on her lips, then something else. Cilla spun around and climbed up the ladder. Horace shrugged and followed her up.
Milly made to follow them, but Jasper jumped onto her shoulder and whispered, “Don’t freak out, but look at Edaline’s neck.”
Milly looked over and saw that part of the witch’s head-scarf had slipped down, revealing something coarse where her skin used to be. Whatever it was spread out in vein-like patterns, just like the cracks that had appeared in the heart of the tree.
“I don’t know what’s going on,” the cat said, “but she wasn’t lying. She doesn’t have much time.”
AN INTRODUCTION TO CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
rules and regulations of being a witch
Here’s a secret: It was not magicks that saved the first witch. When the East Wind first heard the prayers of the mother of the first witch, the wind was too late. When they returned bearing the gift of magicks, the child was too sick for anything to bring healing. The child was already too near death. The magicks was too weak.
So the mother did what any loving mother would do. She sailed across the sea herself and carried her child directly to the heart of Arrett, desperate and afraid. No heart is full of more want than a mother’s.
In return, Arrett did the only thing they could do; they gave part of their own heart to the child. They spoke life into the child, asking only that the child speak life into every other living creature that she met thereafter. The heart of Arrett spread through the use of magicks, want given direction, prayers given form. This was what it meant to be a witch.
For generations, the main tenets of being a witch were passed down through tradition. These governed how witches were to treat their fellow beings, nurture the earth, make peace with magicks, and speak life into all things. At last, once paper had been invented, the great Dragons Master Jyllan Iffrydt Yyllsyf condensed them into three core guidelines. They are translated into grass tongue as follows . . .
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN, PART ONE
ask and you might receive
“Okay.” Edaline pulled her hair back and twisted it into a bun, then rewrapped the scarf around her head. “Follow me. Take notes. Obviously, we don’t have time to teach you every rule and regulation of being a witch, but I can at least give you the basics.” Edaline chatted her mouth off as she led Milly and Jasper up the stairs, past the library room, and to the very top of the house. “There aren’t many books left after they were all burned, and the ones I have are probably too complicated, so we’re going to start with something hands-on.”
The staircase narrowed and forced them to walk single file until they arrived at a platform suspended in the air. The room was utterly dark. Edaline pressed a blade of grass in front of her lips and made a loud bird-like whistle. The dark around them shattered into a thousand pieces. Broombranches flew in frantic circles, darting in and out of the light that now broke into the house, all around and below and above and beside the platform.
Edaline turned to Milly with a wild gleam in her eye. “First lesson: tame a broombranch.”*
Milly tried to follow the branches whipping back and forth, but that soon proved impossible. “How?!”
“I wish I could tell you, but I’m afraid Rosas insisted you learn this on your own.”
“Rosas?”
Edaline gestured toward the tree.
Milly felt her entire body shrink.
“Sorry,” Edaline mouthed. She whistled once more and one of the broombranches split off from the others. The staircase below them vanished. Edaline mounted the branch and smiled. “You’ve got this.”
And with that Edaline left, leaving Milly staring downward and Jasper, with flattened ears, pressed against the platform.
“How is this helpful?” Jasper howled. “Also, why am I here?!”
“I don’t know,” Milly said, then looked back up. “But we captured a broombranch once. I’m sure this can’t be that hard.”
Oh dear, how very wrong she was.
Jasper shut his eyes and dug his claws deeper into the platform. “Just tell me when this ordeal is over. I never thought I’d say this, but heights are not nearly as fun when you’re a cat.”
Milly turned her attention back to the broombranches. In most situations, she might have been scared. But she’d had a good amount of practice with falling now, and her mind was far too occupied to have the time to be scared.
A loud rustling echoed from the base of the tree, sending vibrations through the platform that Milly stood on.
Okay. Maybe she was a little scared.
She reached out her hand, the one with the moon, toward a nearby broombranch and tried to construct a spell the best way she knew how. “Please come over here.”
The branch started to come close, then darted off, making a weird chittering noise.
Jasper peeked an eye open. “I’m pretty sure that branch was laughing at you.”
Milly snorted and tried it again. “Broombranch, I summon you.” She stared at the mark on her hand, willing a spark to appear, but nothing happened.
This time several branches were laughing. She didn’t need Jasper’s commentary to hear them.
“They’re never going to come here, are they?”
“After the stunt you pulled last time? Not likely.”
Milly sat on the platform and watched the branches flit about. Most of them had begun to calm by now and were drifting idly. They ignored her for the most part. Instead, they rustled their thin-yellow leaves at one another and flew lazy circles in the patches of sunlight that poked through.
That’s when Milly saw the one broombranch that hadn’t moved. The one with the splintered end and claw marks.
She waved. “Hello, Ash.”
The broombranch drifted closer. “Hello, little twig. May I ask what it is you’re doing?”
“I’m supposed to tame a broombranch.”
If the broombranch could, it would have scoffed in disgust. “Yes, I see that part. Why?”
“Well . . . I’m a witch now. This was supposed
to be my first lesson.”
“Would you like it if I tried to tame you?”
“Of course not,” Milly said. Her face felt a little red. “Besides, I wouldn’t tame you. I mean, I know you. I wouldn’t want to . . .” She glanced over at Jasper.
“Exactly. So why on earth are you trying to tame my siblings?”
“Because . . .” Did she have a good answer for that? “I have to. I have to do this if I want to control magicks.”
The broombranch shook itself and from its wood came a long, low whistle. “I thought you were a smart child.”
Milly crossed her arms. “What do you mean?”
“Magicks aren’t for controlling, and neither are broombranches. Do you really think the other witch tried to tame us? That that’s why my entire family has stayed here with her? I know what being laid under a curse feels like. Trust me, none of us are willing to undergo that whole thing again.”
Jasper snorted. “That’s a good point.”
“Thank you, weird fuzzy bush.”
“Still a cat. Hasn’t changed since the last time we talked.”
“If you say so.”
“These flying twigs aren’t much help, are they?” Jasper said, turning to Milly. “Maybe if we’d talked to them in the first place like I suggested, Rosas wouldn’t be putting us through this trial. I don’t feel like you have many options—unless, of course, you try to really tame one again.” He gave her a very pointed stare.
Ash made a backward motion, as if he were physically flinching. But he didn’t say anything. He was clearly waiting to hear what Milly would say.
Milly tried to avoid looking at the cat. “I can’t do that. I shouldn’t.” She looked up at the ceiling of interlocking broombranches. “I’m sorry, Rosas. I shouldn’t make Ash, or any of them, do something they don’t want to do.” She glanced at Jasper again. Her palm burned; she still remembered the feeling of power that had come from taming a wind. She didn’t like it anymore. “I guess I’ll just have to tell Edaline I failed.”
The cat crept up to the edge of the platform. “We still need to get down.”
Milly scratched her head. “We could always jump?”
Jasper immediately backed away from the edge. “Let’s not risk that. I can’t just catch you every time you fall off something. Not in this form.”
Ash swayed in the air. “You could always ask, you know.”
Milly’s eyes widened. “You wouldn’t mind?”
“Of course not,” the broombranch replied. “I will never again be the steed of some wannabe master, but that doesn’t mean I can’t help a friend.”
“Yay. We’re all buddies now.” The cat climbed up onto Milly’s shoulder. His tail was fluffed out and his teeth rattled in his mouth. “Boy, do I miss being a wind. Can we please get off this stupid platform?”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN, PART TWO
be kind and do no harm
It was already midafternoon when Milly walked into the kitchen. Alone. Ash had returned to his rooftop, and Jasper decided not to be a part of whatever else Edaline was planning.
Milly found Edaline leaning against the counter, eating an apple while she read a book.
With loud footsteps, Milly made her presence known as she stomped into the room.
To her annoyance, the older witch didn’t turn. Edaline only pushed a plate with an uneaten sandwich in Milly’s direction. A stool skidded past Milly and toward the counter.
Milly wanted to be annoyed, but the sight of food made her stomach betray her. She clambered onto the stool and ate her sandwich. She made sure to chew it aggressively.
When Edaline had bitten down to the apple’s yellow core, she wiped a sleeve across her lips. “How’d it go?”
Milly wrinkled her nose.
Edaline cracked a grin. “Not well?”
Milly swallowed. “You tricked me,” she said, then took another giant bite.
“How’d you get down?”
“Ash helped.”
“That was nice of him.” Edaline flipped to another page.
Milly put down her sandwich. A good third of it was still left. “You’ve never tamed a branch. You knew it was wrong and you still tried to make me do it! How is this supposed to help me become a witch?”
Edaline finally turned to face the girl. “Rosas said it went very well.”
“I didn’t learn anything!”
“Are you sure about that?” Edaline raised an eyebrow. “I heard you made a friend out of it.”
“That’s not a lesson, though. I still don’t know how to control magicks. If I couldn’t even tame a broombranch, how am I going to confront Hightop? I can’t friend him into defeat.”
“Not everything you chase is meant to be caught.” Edaline shrugged. “Maybe there’s more to magicks than trying to control them. And maybe you should think about other options than just fighting Hightop. Like not being found in the first place.”
Milly buried her face in her hands. “I don’t understand anything,” she wailed through her fingers. Everything felt so needlessly complicated.
“Milly, why do you want to be a witch? To be powerful? To have control?”
She didn’t answer. She didn’t know how to say that those were things she wanted and hated at the same time.
“There’s more to being a witch than power.” Edaline put a hand on Milly’s shoulder. “It’s okay. We can take a break if you want. But for what it’s worth, you’re doing pretty well so far.”
Not well enough, she thought, and picked up her sandwich. When the moon in her hand came into view, she paused and stared hard. Why hadn’t it turned red when she tried to cast the spell?
“Milly.” Edaline must have caught her staring. “When you used magicks before, do you remember any common thread between them? Anything that triggered your powers?”
Milly thought back to the cliff and the fog and the flutterwishes and the cloud. “I was, I don’t know, desperate,” she said. And crying, said a little voice in her head.*
“Anything else?”
Milly thought for a moment and shook her head.
Edaline pushed the book toward Milly. “Take a look at this. Cilla said you liked reading. Maybe you’ll have some luck with it.”
Milly looked down at the page, decorated with a cursive script and woodblock illustrations. There were no step-by-step instructions to this spell. No preparations. No ingredients. It had only the picture of a small flame next to three delicate words: ask for me.
Milly shook her head. “This doesn’t look like a spell.”
“What should a spell look like?”
“I don’t know. It needs rules. Directions.”
“Does it?”
“Isn’t it easier to control magicks that way? I thought that was the point of having rules and regulations.”
“Of course it’s easier. That’s why so many wizards don’t ask. They demand. They don’t care how things happen. All they care for is results. But magicks are delicate.” Edaline turned her right palm upward and sang in a soft, gentle voice:
“Little light, if you please it,
comfort those of us who need it.”
As she spoke, green tendrils of fire rose from her fingers, joining together into one gentle flame. “Yes, it is sometimes harder. But the point of being a witch isn’t to do things the easy way. It’s to do things right. Even if that means things don’t always listen to you.” She placed her hand next to a nearby candle, and the flame crawled onto the wick with its little fiery fingers. “Believe me, there are many things in this world that won’t listen.”
Milly thought about Jasper and wondered if he would have come along even if she hadn’t forced him to. She looked at the moon on her hand, then turned it over and stared at her knuckles.
“Little light, if you—”
Edaline raised her hand. “Sorry, I don’t mean to interrupt. Try to do it in your own words.”
Milly crinkled her eyebrows and tried again. “Fire, appear in my hand.”
Nothing.
She stretched her fingers, hardened the words. Tried to rhyme it. Even shout it. But not a single spot nor sniff of a spark appeared. Why was working with magicks so much harder when she was actually trying?
Edaline picked up the book and ruffled backward through the pages. She sighed, closed it, and set it back down.
“Keep trying,” she said. “I’m going to prepare dinner.”
Milly didn’t feel like trying anymore. She wished she had more time.
With Edaline’s back turned, Milly glanced at the book. Its title read Fundamental Magicks by Dragons Master Jyllan Iffrydt Yyllsyf; translated by Jeddison Licks.
Milly flipped to the first chapter and read:
Historically speaking, magicks do not seem to be bound to any specific language. Words do not define the spell. Rather, they describe the magicker’s relationship to the spell itself. This operates on the fundamental idea that the magicks of Arrett are intrinsically wild and alive. Because every spell is unique at its moment of creation, no two magickers will ever produce the exact same results. When a witch uses consensual magicks, the same might be accomplished by a disciplined wizard using domination magicks. The difference lies not in the goal of the spell, but in the steps taken to achieve that goal. Witches pose every spell as an appeal. As the oldest magickers in Arrett, witches are very reluctant to ask of magicks anything they wouldn’t naturally want to already do. This results in the drawback of being incapable of performing certain powerful spells. Certainly not for lack of skill, but out of their own moral self-restriction. However, this also means that witches are capable of working with many magicks far beyond any other magicker’s comprehension. All they must do is ask.
Milly stared over at Edaline, still confused but a little less frustrated. She remembered the words covered up by the High Council’s words, the one engraved into the stonework. “In other words, ‘be kind and do no harm’?”
The Hungry Ghosts Page 14