“Rumor? No. He told me flat out when I started getting recruiting letters from Jacob wanting me to come here. He was serious. And paranoid?” Chance tilted his head back and laughed out loud, a deep, almost growling ironic laugh. “They are WITCHES. Our enemies, remember?”
Logan frowned, then bounced back to his feet. He had to get Chance off his back if he was going to get away with seeing her again. “You’re right. I’ll wait till after the Gleaning, dude,” he said. “We all have enough on our minds without adding a witch into the mix.”
“That’s more like it. Come on, let’s get in a good spar and call it a day.”
“You got it,” Logan said, but he still couldn’t shake the image of the blond-haired girl lying on the rock, the feeling that radiated deep into his bones when he’d touched her skin. Then there was the mystery of the amulet that hung around her neck, flashing at him, as if begging him to find out more.
Lily
“So how did you do that?” Orchid asked suddenly.
“What?”
“The out of control fire ball, dummy! The avalanche-inducing one? Or don’t you remember?”
“Oh yeah, that avalanche.”
“So, what did Camellia say to you after?”
Camellia wanted to know how I’d done it, too.
I suspected my huge surplus in power was because of sniffing the euca leaves, but I still wasn’t ready to confess that.
“Who the…?” Orchid demanded.
“Who? What?” I sucked in a breath.
She pointed to a surfer getting out of his car and heading toward the water. “Da-ang, his ink is all kinds of sizzle. I wonder if he’s one of them.”
“A warlock?”
“Uh-huh.”
“No way. They would never come out in public like that. But if you honestly think he is one, don’t even look.”
“It’s not like their eyes will turn us to stone, Lil.”
“That you know of…” Just the thought of fraternizing with one of them made my skin crawl.
“Yeah, you’re right. He’s way too hot to be a warlock. There’s just…something about his ink that made me wonder.”
“We have no idea what their ink looks like. Which is really starting to bug me, actually. Why won’t the elders tell us more about them? Seems like it would really be helpful to at least know what to expect.”
My best friend sat stiff-backed on her board, staring straight ahead.
“What?” I asked.
“I heard something last night.”
“What?”
Orchid’s board rose and fell in silence.
“Are you going tell me?”
“Swear you’ll keep it between us? You can’t tell Iris. You have to swear.”
“Okay. I swear.”
“I couldn’t sleep last night, so I went down to the kitchen for a snack, and I overheard Camellia talking to someone in her office. It was in Gaelic, and it was hard to hear, something like I’m ball?
I wracked my brain for the translation.
“Something about us…I think. She was saying something about our magic, and then said—”
“Was it i mbaol?”
“Yes, that’s it.”
I swallowed. “That means endangered?”
“Ohmygoddesses.”
“I know.”
We were both silent for a moment. Then finally I ventured to ask, “Maybe this is connected somehow to our magic going haywire?”
“That’s what I was thinking too.”
“Okay. Don’t say anything for now. I’m going to look into this i mbaol concept more. Keep an ear out in case Camellia says more, and I’ll do the same with Iris.”
“Got it.”
“And O?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for telling me.”
“You’re my best friend, Lil. That’s first over the rest.”
“Forever,” I said.
“Forever,” she said back.
The Roghnaithe
After school I headed straight for the Melas Public Library.
Maybe it was just an offhand comment, but what Orchid had said about our being an “endangered species” had freaked me out for some reason.
“Good afternoon, Lily,” Mrs. Glumberg said, as soon as I stepped through the automatic doors.
“Hi. How are you?” I asked.
“My gout is better! Thanks for the tip about the cherries,” she said.
“Anytime. So glad to hear it.”
“So what are you looking for today?”
“Can I have the key to the fifth floor?” I asked quietly.
“Hmm, that’s for students normally.”
“I promise, I’ll be like, five minutes. Max,” I reached into my bag and pulled out a glass bottle of special cherry elixir I whipped up for her in case she needed some extra encouragement to hand over the key, and set it on the counter. “Oh, here. We made this especially for you.”
“How very sweet!” She glanced around to make sure no one was watching, before she pulled her private set of keys out of her purse, and used one to open a drawer behind the counter.
The golden key flashed in my palm.
“Thanks a lot,” I said, closing my fingers around it before she noticed its magical response.
“I hope you find what you’re looking for,” she said, innocently.
She and Iris were old friends, and I wasn’t sure how much she knew about the Fifth Floor. So I just said, “Thanks, me too.”
The elevator only went to the fourth floor. I got off there and took a hidden flight of stairs to a locked door that said ARCHIVED BOOKS: NO PATRONS ALLOWED BEYOND THIS POINT WITHOUT SPECIAL PERMISSION. When I slipped the golden key into the lock, the doorknob magically twisted and opened for me.
The fifth floor was a large, dusty archive that patrons were only allowed to use with permission from Mrs. Glumberg.
To public knowledge, the archive’s many antique books were protected for their fragility and uniqueness—some were the only copies still in print. What the public didn’t know was that the Melas witches always had a representative on the library’s board, so we’d always have access to the precious collection we kept in here, glamoured, so only we could read it.
Our books were mixed in with human books. When I ran my fingers down their leather spines, their true titles appeared. With a pounding heart, I read:
DARK PROPHECY: ON THE ENDANGERMENT OF SPELLSPINNERS
If the Hundred Year Curse—placed on the witches and the warlocks by the Seven Sisters in the year of 1912—is not broken within a full century, modern Spellspinners will face the deireadh na n-amanna.
I pulled out my phone and typed the phrase into the translator:
Deireadh na N-Amanna: Irish: Gaelic.
End of Times.
End of Times?
Automatically, the enchanted book turned the page:
As their magic begins to fade from existence, modern Spellspinners will be left with only basic human bodies, impotent of the vast Powers granted through practicing magic.
My back scratched against the hard bindings as I slid to the floor. Heavy in my lap, the book flipped to a new page:
Hundred Year Curse
In the year of 1911, After centuries of living in peace, the stable family unions of male & female witches found themselves in deep-seeded philosophical conflict: Male/female opinions split between an eagerness to live amongst humans (female) and lust for power to rule over them (male). * Wives accused their male counterparts of succumbing to the temptations of dark magic. (Why else would they want to rule over less powerful beings?) Husbands accused wives of not tapping their potential. (Why waste healing energies on human children when they could be increasing their own powers?) After individual families fell, Coven communities succumbed to aggression. When the warring covens couldn’t come to terms, violence ensued. The Seven Sisters were forced to intervene and create a new order.
*ABRIDGED council ruling, translate
d from oracle on the isle of the Seven Sisters
Ord nua
Ruling that her spellspinners were unequipped to control the great surge of energy that came from binding the dark and light powers coursing between them, the spellspinners left the sisters with no choice but to sever their union, ordering female Witches to continue to live among humans, but practice their light magic (i.e. healing, breathing) in secret. Male witches were branded with a new name: Warlock*, and, as such, they were banished from witch communities and the human world, and stricken from harming or ruling over human or witch kind. They could practice their dark magic (i.e. levitation, mind reading) in secret.
*Warlock
Origin:
before 900; Middle English warloghe, -lach, Old English waerloga oathbreaker, devil, equivalent to waer covenant + -loga betrayer (derivative of leogan to lie)
The Congression
To maintain the new order, the Seven Sisters created a fair council of Spellspinners to govern over the witches and warlocks in the form of the Congression, a body comprised of seven wise spinners (three warlocks and four witches, alternating quarterly to four warlocks and three witches for balance) all of whom were approved by the sisters.
The Gleaning
Stripping the spellspinners of half their energy proved problematic, and both female and male complained to congression of failing magic beyond the powers stricken from them. Because the fe/male Spellspinners were not allowed to interact, they created a process called “The Gleaning” where fe/male spellspinners would exchange dark and light energy through a magically governed battle, to ensure their powers remain balanced. At the first gleaning, in June 1912, on the isle of the sisters, a tragedy occurred. a warlock murdered the opposing witch he was meant to glean light magic from, and in retaliation, a warlock was murdered by a witch. The Congression intervened, and the Seven Sisters cursed the spellspinning community as a whole, banishing them from the sacred isle to America. Further, they cursed the warlock community with premature aging as punishment for their greed; Likewise, witches, for retaliating without permission, inherited the curse of never falling in love. They could marry only humans, and would never again know the passionate joy of loving their magical equal.
Warlocks would only marry humans, and only give birth to male progeny, Sons of Darkness, while witches would spawn only Daughters of Light.
To punish the community further, the sisters gifted their female counterparts with eternal youth and indescribable beauty, forcing the warlocks to desire what they could never have, while witches would be forced to watch their magical equals deteriorate before their eyes, without ever knowing their love.
Modern Spellspinners continue to perform the same ritual as their ancestors every summer, fall, winter and spring solstice in an effort to preserve their powers (witches) and slow down their rapid aging (warlocks). The witches and warlocks were granted a hundred year window to amend past mistakes and break the curse, or abort their powers forevermore.
When I finished reading, I felt the same way I had on Black Mountain when I woke up on that rock after the spell. Just…spent. I knew that witches and warlocks were separated by the Seven Sisters, but I never understood the details. How brutally harsh it all sounded written so definitively.
Murder? And the part about forcing us to live forever without true love? Condemning us to want them, for them to desire us, but with no chance of fulfilling those desires? It seemed so…cruel.
The last sentence rang through my ears like a rogue spell:
“Witches and warlocks were granted a hundred year window to amend past mistakes and break the cures, or abort their powers forevermore.”
Make peace?
With the warlocks?
But how?
One thing was clear. I needed answers immediately. Quickly, I memorized the pages and placed the book back on the shelf.
But when I reached the door to the staircase, it wouldn’t budge.
Frantically, I yanked on the knob, desperate to get home and talk to Iris, feeling so betrayed that she hadn’t told me about this before. So I wasn’t screwing up my magic after all? My magic was screwed up because of this curse! And now, without a peace treaty, we’d lose it forever?
I took a deep breath. Calm down.
A tinkling sound, like wind chimes, made me turn to face the stacks again. A lone volume hovered between two aisles. It flew toward me, fast, and I held out my hands just as it smacked into my palms. I lowered them and let the book settle itself in my arms; then I watched as the pages flipped desperately to a glowing page in the middle.
BREAKING THE CURSE: THE ROGHNAITHE
Before the hundred year cycle is complete, a male spellspinner who claims the powers of both light and darkness, and all the magic that title possesses, will appear in the spellspinner community. This chosen spellspinner— the roghnaithe—is the sole key to unlocking the curse before the great syzygy*.
* Syzygy may refer to:
Syzygy (astronomy), a straight line configuration of three celestial bodies
Syzygy (Gnosticism), male-female pairings of the emanations known as aeons
The Oracle
The Oracle offered only this clue (loosely translated from Gaelic to English)
Under a broken rose moon
Lies a broken magic man
With the art of a broken rose moon.
The page ripped itself out and folded itself into a glittery origami rose. I blinked, and tucked it into my backpack. The door opened for me, and I ran down all five flights of stairs, practically flying out the emergency exit.
I didn’t know what the riddle meant—but I could do simple math.
The Hundred Year Curse began in 1911.
We were living in June 2011, weeks away from the Summer Solstice.
The Year of The Curse was about to begin.
Broken-Winged Bird
I wanted so badly to discuss with Mom what I found out at the library, but first I had to find out what else she was keeping from us—and why.
As I rode my mint green Electra beach cruiser up to the front of my house I was surprised to find my mother sitting cross-legged on our overgrown lawn, cupping what looked like a dead bird in her hand.
I leaned my bike against the garage door. “Mom? What happened?”
She looked up at me, frustration glistening in her eyes. “This baby bird fell out of his nest up there in the old oak tree. And I can’t…seem to do anything for him.”
“You’re trying to”—I lowered my voice—“revive him?”
Bringing things, anything, back from the dead was something we weren’t supposed to do. Those particular spells invited in a darker magic than we practiced, and conflicted with our greater mission of blending in with humans.
“Trying. Trying and failing,” she said, exasperated.
“Mom, but why are you trying?”
“She is just so young,” she said. “And her mother is yearning for her.”
This was bigger than a baby bird.
“But should you…should we be messing with nature like this?”
First Orchid’s revelation about Camellia the secret keeper, and now my mom was breaking strict coven rules in our front yard?
As Iris rocked back and forth, humming a regeneration spell in the old language, bits of which vibrated from her lips, her words hit the air like lightning during a hot summer storm, cracking the air like fireflies.
After, I touched the bird’s neck, searching for a pulse I knew innately wasn’t there.
“Can I try?”
“No. It’s too dangerous.”
“Why is it not too dangerous for you but would be for me?”
“Because you’re my daughter. It is my job to protect you.”
“Mom,” I said, touching her shoulder. “I’m sixteen now. You can’t protect me from everything. Not anymore.”
Her eyes met mine and looked so scared; it made me both angry and sad, because I knew why. Because we were losing our ma
gic and she wasn’t being honest with me about it. But then she squeezed my hand in hers, and I couldn’t be mad at her. She must have a reason. She was probably trying to protect me, like she said. I sighed.
I had to prove to her I was old enough, mature enough to understand what our coven was facing.
If I could revive this bird…
She didn’t say anything, but I knew it was okay for me to try.
I closed my eyes and laid my palm on the bird’s crooked, broken wing. I breathed in the scent of her life force, imagined her open beak begging for food, her new, eager eyes blinking for her mother, the hope and confidence in her soul when she jumped, prematurely, from her nest—trusting that she could fly before she was ready.
Under my hand, a hint of a heartbeat started up. Small at first, and weak, like the baby bird itself. But under my touch, it sped up, and suddenly she was crawling to her clawed feet on my mother’s hand. After a few minutes, while we waited for her to adjust back to life, Iris held up her arm and stared in disbelief as the baby bird flew back up to its nest, where its grateful mother and siblings were waiting.
“Lily Rose,” she said, the weight of what happened indenting the syllables of my name. “How in the world…?”
“I don’t know,” I said. What I wanted to say was, “I went hiking on Black Mountain a few days ago, and since then my magic has been so intense and I keep seeing this guy staring down at me, and I have no idea what’s going on.” But I wouldn’t. Not until she filled me in on the endangered magic.
“You shouldn’t have those skills until you rise at least two more levels,” she said, mostly to herself. “But I’m so…happy you could, honey. Nothing I did was working.”
Her face looked as crushed as that bird’s wing had moments go.
I pressed. I had to. “Do you know why yours wasn’t working?”
A warm wind picked up. My mother’s hair fluttered around her face. “My magic is failing me.”
Witch's Brew - Spellspinners 1 (Spellspinners of Melas County) Page 17