I was dumbfounded. So everyone left and no one bothered to look for us? They left me and Linden and Alwyn to die?
They didnt know you were there, lad. Susan Forest knocked on our door that night. Mum and I had already fled. You kids slept like the dead and were spelled besides. Fiona and I wanted you to sleep soundly, not to wake up in the middle of the night and find us missing and be afraid. Das voice caught there, and he shook his head as if to clear it. Anyway, when she got no answer, she figured wed all taken off.
I shook my head, frowning in disbelief. All this time Ive been mourning not only my parents, but everyone I knew, everyone in our village. And now youre telling me theyre hale and hearty, living thirty miles from home. I dont believe this! I said. Why didnt anyone contact us at Becks? Why hasnt anyone told me this before?
Da shrugged. I dont know. I guess Beck probably knows. Maybe he thought that if you knew, youd leave him and go back to the village.
Why didnt Brian Entwhistle bother to tell us that our parents were alive? I was feeling a growing sense of indignation. All those years of tears, of pain. . so much of it could have been avoided. It made me ill to think about it.
Da met my eyes. What would you have done if youd known?
Come to find you! I said.
Right.
Oh.
Your mum and I thought that if we sacrificed ourselves, we could save our children, save our coven. When I scried and saw the village gone, it was a hard blow. I thought it had been for nothing. I was relieved when I found out my vision had been wrong.
But after you learned that the coven was safe, why didnt you come back?
The dark wave was still after us. Im not sure if it was always Selene, but at the time we reckoned it was. No ones ever hated me like that. Goddess willing, no one ever will. At the time, it seemed that if we kept Selene occupied with finding us, shed have less time to go after other covens, other witches. It seemed worth it. He shrugged, as if that were no longer so clear.
Why arent you in hiding now? I asked. Are you not in danger anymore?
My father let out a deep breath, and again I was struck by how old he seemed, how frail. He looked like my grandfather. You know why. Selenes dead. Sos Cal.
I nodded. So he did know. I figured the council must have told him when theyd found him with Skys lead. I drank my tea, trying to digest this story. It was light-years away from anything I had imagined.
So now you work magick, now that youre not hiding from Amyranth?
Da shrugged, his thin shoulders rising like a coat hanger in his shirt. Like I said, Fionas dead, he said. No point in hiding, in keeping safe. The one thing I wanted to protect is gone. Whats the point in fighting anymore? It was for her I kept moving, kept finding new sanctuaries. She wanted us to stick to this plan; I wanted to do what she wanted. But shes gone now. Theres nothing left to protect. He spoke like an automaton, his words expressionless, his eyes focused on the table in front of him.
By the time he finished talking, my face was burning. On the one hand, I was glad that he and Mum had had some noble cause behind their disappearance, glad they had acted unselfishly, glad they had been trying to protect others. But it was also incredibly hurtful to listen to my own father basically negate my existence, my dead brothers, my sisters. Obviously staying alive now for our sakes hadnt occurred to him. I was glad he had been loyal to my mother; I was angry that he had not been loyal to his children.
Abruptly I got up and went into the living room. I undid the huge bundle of washing in the lounge, then made up Das bed with clean sheets and blankets. He was in the same position when I got back to the kitchen.
Im so sorry, son, he said in a thin voice. We thought we were acting for the best. Maybe we helped someI hope we did. Its hard to see clearly now what would have been best.
Yes. I see that. Well, its late, I said, not looking at him. It was only eight-thirty. Maybe we should turn in.
Aye. Im knackered, Da said. He got up and shuffled with his old mans walk toward the one bedroom. I sat down at the kitchen table, had another cup of tea, and listened to the deep silence of the house. Again I missed Morgan fiercely. If she were here, I would feel so much better, so much stronger. I imagined her arms coming around me, her long hair falling over my shoulder like a heavy, maple-colored curtain. I imagined us locked together, kissing, rolling around on my bed. I remembered her wanting to make love with me and my saying no. What an idiot Id been. I resolved to call her the next day as soon as I could get into town.
I washed up the few dishes and cleaned the kitchen. By ten oclock I felt physically exhausted enough to try to sleep. I wrapped myself up in a scratchy wool blanket and the ugly afghan. After being washed, the afghan was only about half as big as it had been. Oops.
From the couch I extinguished the lanterns and candles with my mind, and after they were snuffed, I lay in the darkness that is never really darkness, not for a witch. I thought about my unrecognizable da. When I was younger, hed seemed like a bear of a man, huge, powerful, an inevitable force to be reckoned with. Once when I was about six, I had been playing near an icy river that ran by our house. Of course I fell in, got carried downstream, and only barely managed to grab a low-hanging branch. I clung to it with all my strength while I frantically sent Da a witch message. It was long minutes before he came leaping down the bank toward me and splashed into the strong current. With one hand he grabbed my arm and hauled me out, flinging me toward the bank like a dead cat. I was shaking with cold, blue and numb, and mainly he felt Id gotten what Id deserved for being so stupid as to play near the river.
Thanks, Da, I gasped, my teeth chattering so hard, I almost bit my lip. He nodded at me abruptly, then gestured to my wet clothes. Dont let your mum see you like that. I watched him stride up the bank and out of sight, like a giant, then I crawled to my knees and made my way home.
But he could be so patient, teaching us spells. Hed begun on me when I was four, simple little spells to keep me from burning my mouth on my tea, to help me relax and concentrate, to track our dogs, Judy and Floss. Its true I caught on quickly; I was a good student. But its also true that Da was an incredibly good teacher, organized in his thoughts, able to impart information, able to give pertinent examples. He was kind when I messed up, and while he made it clear he expected a lot from me, still, he also made me feel that I was special, smart, quick, and satisfying to teach. I used to swell like a sponge when he praised me, almost bursting in the glow of his approval.
I turned on my side, trying to find a position that coordinated the old couchs lumps with my rib cage. I heard Da sleeping restlessly in the other room, as if he didnt even know how to do a soothing spell. Like yourself, idiot, said my critical inner voice. I rubbed the bridge of my nose with two fingers, trying to dispel a tension headache, then quickly sketched a few runes and sigils in the air, muttering words Id know since childhood. Where I am is safe and calm, I am hidden from the storm, I can close my eyes and breathe, now my worries will all leave. What second-year student doesnt know that? I said it, and instantly my eyes felt heavier, my breathing slowed, and I felt less stressed.
Just before I fell asleep, I remembered one last scene with my father. I had been seven and full of myself, leagues ahead of the other third-year students in our coven. To show off, I had crafted a spell to put on our cat, Mrs. Wilkie. It was to make her think a canary was dipping about her head so she would rear up on her hind paws and swat at it over and over again. Of course, nothing was there, and we kids were hysterical with laughter, watching her pointlessly swipe at the air.
Da hadnt found it so funny. He came down on us like the wrath of heaven, and of course my companions instantly gave me up, their fingers pointing at me silently. He hauled me up by my collar, undid the spell on poor Mrs. Wilkie, and then marched me to the woodshed (a real woodshed) and tanned my bum. I ate standing up for three days. Americans seem to be much more skittish about spanking, but I know that after that, I never again put a spell on an animal for fun. His approval was like the sun, his disapproval like a storm. I got love and affection from Mum, but it was being in Das good stead that mattered.
Today his approval or disapproval would mean little to me. With that last sad thought, I fell asleep.
7. Le Sorcier
December 2001
Today I found a bit of rock that had a thread of gold running through it. I held it in my hand and closed my eyes and felt its ancient fire warming my hand. I came home, crunching through the snow, and set the rock on my kitchen table. I stoked the fire and made myself some mulled cider. Then we sat together, the rock and I, and it told me its secrets. I knew its true name, the name of the rock and the name of the gold within it. Using the form as described by Davina Heartson, I gently, slowly, patiently coaxed the gold out of the rock. It came to me, running like water on fire, and now it sits in a tiny lump in my hand, the rock being empty where it was. It was such a beautiful thing, such a pure power, such a perfect knowledge, that I sat there and wept with it.
This is the value of my research. This is why I've gone to such lengths to collect true names. Knowing true names elevates my magick into something different from what most withes haves. I was born strong-I'm a Courceau. But the collection of true names I have gives me almost unlimited power over the known ones. Think of what I could do with some particular names. Think of what power I would wield. I could be virtually unstoppable. Then I could avenge my family, all those who have had their forces stripped, who have been persecuted, misunderstood, judged by smell-minded bureaucrats. They didn't understand who they were dealing with. I will make it my life's work to teach them.
J.C.
When I got up the next morning, Da was gone, just like he had been the day before. I wondered if the extra food hed been getting had given him more energy, because hed said he was going to work. Work? What work? I tried to engage him in a conversation about it but got nowhere. I could only assume that this had something to do with the notes thanking him for his skill as a sorcier; perhaps he was out on medicine-man business. I wished he would tell me more about it, because he scarcely seemed strong enough to go to the grocery store, never mind tending to the magickal needs of villagers. The previous afternoon when he had come home, his face had been the color of a cloudy sky. I wondered if his heart was okay. When was the last time he had seen a healer? I wished I could get him to one. As far as I knew, though, he was the only witch around.
But he was gone again, already gone when I woke up.
I meditated, fixed myself breakfast, then drove to town to call Morgan. Naturally, I discovered that if you phone your seventeen-year-old girlfriend at ten oclock on a Tuesday, shell be in school. After that disappointing episode, I hung around the house. I was starting to feel like a professional maid. I scrubbed the lounge floor (it was woodwhodve known?), whapped all the dust out of the furniture, and did a complete overhaul of the kitchen cabinets. I didnt know how long Id be there or what Da would do after I was gone, but Id laid in a good store of supplies.
Back in New York, I had pictured quite a different family reunion. Id pictured my parentschanged, to be sure, but still themselvesoverjoyed to see me, my mum crying tears of joy, Da clapping me on the back (Ive grown so tall!). Id pictured us sitting round a table, the three of us, sharing good stories and bad, sharing meals, catching each other up on our lives of the last eleven years.
I hadnt pictured a gray ghost of a father, my mother being dead, and me being Suzy Homekeeper while my da went off to his secretive work that the whole bloody village knew about but I didnt. Id wondered if my folks would be impressed or unhappy about my Seeker assignment from the council. Id wondered if theyd test my magickal strength, if they would be happy with my progress, my power. Id wanted to tell them about Morgan and even talk to them about what had happened with Linden, and with Selene and Cal. But Da had showed no interest in my life, asked no questions. Two of his four children were dead, and he hadnt asked any more about it. He hadnt asked about Beck or Shelagh or Sky or anyone else.
Goddess, why had I even come? And why was I staying? I sighed and looked around the cabin. It gave me a sad satisfaction: everything was tidy and scrubbed, clean and purified, the way a witchs house should be. I had sprinkled salt, burned sage, and performed purifying rites. The cabin no longer jangled my nerves when I walked into it. I had dragged it into the light. It was too bad the ground outside was still frozenI was itching to start digging up earth for a summer garden plot, every witchs mainstay. Sky and I had planned ours back in January. I hoped she would come back soon to help me with it.
Then my senses picked up on someone approaching the cabinDa returning? No. I turned off the gas burner on the stove and cast my senses more strongly.
When I answered the knock, I found a short First Nation woman standing on the porch. I didnt think Id seen her in town.
Her dark eyes squinted at me, and she didnt smile. Où est le sorcier?
I still found it hard to believe that my father was identified as such so openly. In danger or not, its never considered a good thing to be so obvious, so well known. Witches had been persecuted for hundreds of years, and it always made sense to be prudent.
I searched my mind for the little French Id learned to impress an ex-girlfriend. Il nest pas ici, I said haltingly.
The woman looked at me, then reached out her hand and touched my arm. I felt her warmth through my sweater. She gave a brisk nod, as if a suspicion had been confirmed. Vous être aussi un sorcier, she said matter-of-factly. Suivez-moi.
My jaw dropped open. Where was I? What was this crazy place where witches lived openly and villagers could tell them from nonwitches?
At my hesitation she said again, more firmly, Suivez-moi, and gestured toward a dark blue pickup truck that looked as though it had fallen down a rocky ravine, only to be hauled out and pressed into service again.
Oh, no, ah. .I began. I had no intention of getting into a truck with a strange woman, not in the backwoods of Canada, not when my da wasnt around.
Oui, oui, she said with quiet insistence. Vous suivez-moi. Maintenant.
Uh, pourquoi? I asked awkwardly, and her jaw set.
Nous besoin de vous, she said shortly. We need you. Maintenant. Now.
Oh, blimey, I muttered to myself. Daccord, daccord, I said, turning inside. I banked the fire in the hearth, grabbed my coat, and, wondering what the hell I was getting myself into, followed the woman out into the rapidly falling darkness.
The inside of the truck felt as rough as the outside looked. Nor did this driver believe in seat belts. I clutched the door handle, feeling my kidneys being pummeled by every stone and hole in the road, and there were too many to count. After what felt like a whole evening but was really only about twenty minutes, we slowed and the trucks headlights illuminated a cabin much like my fathers, and in the same state of decrepitude.
As soon as I unfolded myself painfully from the truck, I picked up on waves of searing pain and distress. My eyes widened, and I looked at the woman. What the hell was this about? Did she need a witch or a doctor? My driver came and took my arm in a deceptively strong grip and almost hauled me up the steps. I braced myself and started summoning strength, spells of power and protection, ward-evil spells.
Inside the cabin my ears were immediately assaulted by a long, howling wail of pain, as if an animal were trapped somehow. There were three other First Nation people in the lounge, and I saw another, older woman bent over the stove in the kitchen, which looked marginally better equipped than Das. Four sets of black eyes fastened on me as I stood there, dumbfounded, and then I cringed as the unearthly wail came again.
The woman tugged off my coat and pulled me toward a bedroom. Inside the bedroom I was confronted by something I never could have predicted: a woman in childbirth, writhing on a bed, while an elderly woman tended to her. In a flash I realized I had been brought here as a healer, to help this woman give birth.
Oh, no, I began lamely, as the woman screamed again. It made all the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and I was uncomfortably reminded of the time when Morgan had shape-shifted into a wolf.
Vous elle aidez, said my driver in a no-nonsense tone.
Oh, no, I said, trying to find my voice. She should be in hospital. Did anyone here understand someEnglish? I was rapidly running out of French. I glanced at the bed again and saw with dismay that, in fact, it wasnt a woman in childbirthit was a teenager who couldnt have been more than sixteen or seventeen. Morgans age. And she was having a hard time of it.
Non. Vous elle aidez, my companion said, a shade more loudly and with more tension.
A hospital? I said hopefully, and couldnt help shuddering when the girl screamed again. She didnt seem to know I was there. Her shoulder-length black hair was soaked with sweat, and she clutched her huge belly and curled up as if to get away from the pain. Tears had wet her face, so there was no dry skin left. The older woman was trying to soothe her, calm her, but the girl was hysterical and kept batting her away. The tension in the room was climbing rapidly, and I could feel coils of pressure surrounding the whole cabin. Oh, Goddess.
The older woman looked at me. The opital is five heures far. Far. She gestured with her hand to mean extremely far away. Is big money, big money.
Bloody hell. The girl wailed again, and I felt like I was in a nightmare. A huge swooping attack from Amyranth right now, with Ciaran trying to rip my soul away, would almost have been more welcome. The older woman, who I guessed was a midwife, came toward me. The girl sobbed brokenly on the bed, and I felt her energy draining away.
I get bébé out, the older woman said, using descriptive hand motions that made my face heat. You calmez er. Oui? Calmez. Again she gestured, with soothing, stroking motions, then pointed toward the girl.
There was nothing for it: I had to step into the fray. The girls eyes were wild, rolling like those of a frightened horse; she was fighting everyone who was trying to help her. My nerves were shot, but I reached deep inside my mind and quickly blocked things out, sinking into a midlevel meditative state. After a few seconds I began to send waves of calmness, comfort, reassurance to the girl. I didnt even try to interact with her present self but sent these thoughts deep within her, into her mind, where she would simply receive them without examining or questioning them.
The girls wild, terrified eyes slowly turned and focused on me. Then another contraction racked her, and she coiled and screamed again. I had never done anything like this before and had to make up a plan as I went along. I kept sending waves of calm, comfort, reassurance toward her while I desperately searched my spell repertoire for anything that might help. Right, come on, Niall, pull it out of your hat. I stepped closer to the bed and saw where it was soaked from her water breaking. Agh. I wanted to run from the room. Instead, I looked away and began to sketch sigils over the bed, muttering spells to take away pain, spells to calm fears, spells to make her relax, to let go, to release.
The girl made harsh panting sounds, hah, hah, hah, but kept her eyes on my face. As if in a dream, I slowly reached out and touched her wet hair, like black silken rope beneath my fingers. As soon as I touched her, I got a horrible wave of pain, as if someone had run a machete through my gut, and I gasped and swallowed hard. The girl wailed again, but already her cry was less intense, less frightened. She tried to slap my hand away, but I dodged her and stayed connected, pushing some of my own strength and energy into her, transferring some of my power. Within half a minute she had quit struggling, quit writhing as much. Her next contraction broke our connection, but I came back, touching her temple, closing my eyes to focus. The poor teenage girl couldnt begin to understand, but the deep-seated, primal woman within her could respond. Concentrating, I tuned that woman into the cycles of nature, of renewal, of birth. I sent knowledge that the contractions werent the pain of injury or damage, but instead signs of her bodys awesome power, the strength that was able to bring a child into the world. I felt the consciousness of the child within her, felt that it was strong and healthy, a girl. I smiled and looked up. My driver and the midwife were nearby. The midwife was sponging the girls forehead and patting her hand. Une fille, I said, smiling. Le bébé est une fille. Elle est jolie.
At this the girl met my eyes again, and I saw that she understood, that she was calm enough to hear and understand words. Une fille, I told her softly again. Elle est jolie. I tried to think of the word for healthy but couldnt. Elle est bonne was the best I could come up with. The midwife smiled, and so did the woman who had fetched me, and then I sensed another contraction coming.
This time I reached down and held the girls hand, and as her muscles began their tremendous push down, their intense concentric pressure, I tried to project the feeling that these contractions were just her body working hard to accomplish something. This was what she needed to do to get her baby out; she had to release her fear and let her body take over. Her body, like the bodies of women since time began, knew what to do and could do it well. Together we rode the wave of her contraction, squeezing our hands together as it crested, and then I think we both panted as the force ebbed and her muscles relaxed again.
Oui, oui, murmured the midwife. She was down at the end of the bed, pushing the girls knees up, and besides that I didnt want to know. I stayed near the head of the bed, looking into the girls bottomless black eyes, holding her hand, sending calming waves. Her eyes were much calmer and more present; she looked more like a person.
Elle arrivé, the midwife murmured, and the girls face contorted, and fast, fast, I sent images of things opening up, flowers blooming, seeds splitting, anything I could think of in my panicked state. I thought relaxation, concentration, releasing of fear, surrendering to her own body. As I looked at her, her eyes went very wide, her mouth opened, she said, Ah, ah, ah, ah, in a high-pitched voice, and then suddenly it seemed like she kind of deflated. I made the mistake of glancing over to see the midwife pulling up a dark red, rubbery-looking baby, still connected to her mother by a pulsing blue cord. Sweat broke out on my forehead, and my skin grew cold, as if I were about to faint. The baby squinched up its quarter-size mouth, took a breath, and wailed, sounding like a tiny, infuriated puppy.
My patients face softened, and she instinctively reached out her arms. The midwife, beaming now, wrapped the kicking, squalling baby in a clean towel and handed her to the mother, the cord stretching back behind her. As if the entire episode of terror and gut-splitting pain had never happened, the girl looked down at her baby and marveled at it. Feeling somewhat queasy, I looked at the infant, this end product of two people making love nine months earlier. Her face was red and raw looking. She had a cap of long, straight black hair that was glued to her little skull with what looked like petroleum jelly. Her skin was streaked with blood and white goop, and suddenly I felt like if I didnt have fresh air, I would die.
I staggered to my feet and lurched from the room, through the lounge and out the front door. Outside, I took in great, gulping breaths of icy air and instantly felt better. Somewhat embarrassed, I went back in to find that some of the other women had come into the bedroom. They were smiling, and I felt their waves of relief and happiness. They praised the girl, who was now beaming tiredly, holding her new daughter close. The midwife was still busy, and when I glanced over, she was picking up the cord, so I looked away fast.
I had never seen a human birth before and wished I hadnt seen this one. Yes, it was a miracle, yes, it was the Goddess incarnate, but still. I would have given a lot just then to be sitting in a pub, knocking back a pint and watching a football game on the telly.
The girl looked up and saw me, and she smiled widely, almost shyly at me. I was struck by how regular she looked, how girlish, how smooth her soft tan skin was, how white her teeth were. The contrast with how shed been, while racked with pain and fear, was amazing. I smiled back, and she gestured to the baby in her arms.
Regardez elle, she murmured, smoothing the babys cheek. The baby turned her head toward her and opened her rosebud mouth, searching.
Quickly I said, Elle est très jolie, très belle. Vous avez bonne chance. Then I cornered the woman who had brought me and took her arm. I have to go home now.
We were interrupted by other women thanking me gravely, treating me with distant gratitude, then turning, all warmth and smiles, to the girl. They knew I had helped the girl but also knew I was a witch and probably couldnt be trusted. I had mixed feelings. Surely a girl this young ought not to be having a baby. From looking around, I could see these people had no money; who knew how many of them lived in this four-room cabin? Yet seeing how the women clustered around the girl, praising her, admiring the baby, tending to them both, it was clear that the girl was safe here, that she would be treated well and her baby looked after. There was love here, and acceptance. And often, that was most of what one needed.
I tapped my drivers arm againshe was cooing over the baby, who was now attempting to nurse. I kept my eyes firmly away from what I considered a private thing (I was the only one who thought sothere were at least five other people in the room). I have to go home now, I said again, and she looked up at me with impatience, and then understanding.
Oui, oui.Vous avez fatigué.
Right. Whatever. I looked for my coat and shrugged it on. My right hand was sore from being squeezed so tightly. I suddenly felt bone weary, mentally and physically exhausted, and I was ashamedly aware that out of all of us, I had done the least work. Men might have bigger muscles, bigger hearts and lungs, but women have greater stamina, usually greater determination, and a certain patient, inexorable will of iron that gets hard things done. Which is why most covens are matriarchal, why lines in my religion usually went from mother to daughter. Women usually led the hardest, most complicated rites, the ones that took days, the ones that took a certain ruthlessness.
I sighed and realized I was punchy, my shoulder brushing against the door frame as I went through. The night air woke me up, making me blink and take in deep breaths. I groaned audibly as I saw my nemesis, the blue pickup truck from hell. The woman, whose name I had never learned, walked briskly to it and pulled herself into the drivers seat. I climbed into the passengers seat, pulled the door closed, and reflexively clutched the door handle.
Then the door of the cabin opened, and a sharp rectangle of light slanted across the dark yard. Attendez! cried a woman, and she came toward us. She gestured to me to roll down my window, but it didnt unroll, so I opened my door. Merci, merci beaucoup, msieu sorcier, the woman said shyly. I saw that it was the older woman who had been in the kitchen.
I smiled and nodded, uncomfortable about being openly identified as such. De rien.
Non, non.Vous aidez ma petite-fille, she said, and pushed a package toward me.
Curious, I opened the brown paper and found a warm loaf of homemade bread and, beneath it, a somewhat new mans flannel shirt. I was incredibly touched. Right then I broke off a piece of the bread and bit it. It was incredible, and I closed my eyes, leaned back against the truck seat, and moaned. The women laughed. "Cest très, très bon, I said with feeling. Then I unfolded the shirt and looked at it, as if to assess its quality. Finally I nodded and smiled: it was more than acceptable. The woman seemed relieved and even proud that I thought her gift was fine. Je vous remercier, I said formally, and she nodded, then clutched her shawl around her shoulders and ran back into the house.