Page 13 of The Black Witch

“The Council will try, Elloren.” My aunt reassures me. “Its wings will be removed and a Mage Priest will do everything he can to try and save the child’s twisted soul.” She pauses and looks at me inquisitively. “What else did Sage say to you?”

It’s a simple enough question, but something pulls me up short, some amorphous fear. And Sage has enough problems already.

Clearly she’s stolen this wand. It can’t possibly be the wand of myth that she imagines it to be, but it’s obviously an expensive wand. Probably belonging to Tobias.

I’ll wait until all this dies down and find a way to return it to him. And I don’t mention that Sage has run off into the woods—I’m sure the Council will find her soon enough on their own anyway.

“She didn’t say much else,” I lie. “Only what I’ve told you.”

My aunt nods in approval and lets out a small sigh. “Well, then, enough of this. We’ve a big journey ahead of us.”

I attempt a small, resigned smile in return and bury Sage’s secret deep within, as well as my guilt in keeping it.

CHAPTER FIVE

The Selkie

I stare out the window of my aunt’s grand carriage as the scenery gradually changes from wilderness interspersed with farmland to small towns with more horse traffic. We sit opposite each other on green silk-cushioned seats, windows to our sides. A red, tasseled cord hangs from the ceiling that can be pulled to get the driver’s attention.

I run my fingers nervously along the polished wood that lines my seat, its smooth touch soothing to me. An image of its source tree suffuses my mind, delicate, pointed leaves sparkling gold in the sunlight.

Star Maple.

I breathe in deep and let the tree anchor me.

All throughout the morning and well into the afternoon, my aunt quietly works on Mage Council paperwork on a small table that folds out from the wall.

Aunt Vyvian’s the only woman to ever sit on our ruling Mage Council. She’s one of twelve Mages there, not counting our High Mage. You have to be important to be on the Mage Council, and it’s usually made up of powerful priests or Guild leaders, like Warren Gaffney, who’s the head of the Agricultural Guild. But Aunt Vyvian has especially high status, being the daughter of the Black Witch.

Aunt Vyvian dips her pen in an inkwell with a sharp tap, her script graceful as a professional calligrapher’s.

Glancing up, she smiles at me, then finishes up the page she’s working on and places it into a large, important-looking, black leather folder, the Mage Council’s goldenMaffixed to its front. After clearing the table, she collapses it back against the wall, smooths her skirts and turns her attention to me.

“Well, Elloren,” she begins pleasantly, “it’s been a long time since we’ve seen each other, and an even longer time since we’ve had a chance to talk. I really do regret that your uncle left everything to the last minute like this. It must be very confusing for you, and I suspect you have some questions.”

I ponder this. Sage’s deformed hands are foremost on my mind.

“When I saw Sage this morning,” I begin, tentatively, “her hands were wounded...horribly wounded.”

My aunt looks a bit taken aback. She sighs deeply. “Elloren,” she says, her face solemn, “Sage left her fastmate and ran off with a Kelt.”

A rush of shock runs through me. The Kelts killed my parents. They oppressed my people for generations. How could kind, gentle Sage have run off with...a Kelt?

My aunt’s brow tightens in sympathy. “I know this must be hard for you, since you were friendly with the girl, but wandfasting is asacredcommitment, and breaking that commitment has serious consequences.” Her face softens when she sees my troubled expression. “Do not despair, Elloren,” she says to comfort me. “There is hope yet. Tobias is willing to take Sage back, and there may be hope for her child, as well. The Ancient One is full of compassion when we truly repent and beg for forgiveness.”

I remember Sage’s defiance and think it highly unlikely she will beg for anyone’s forgiveness, least of all Tobias’s. I’ve hidden Sage’s white wand inside the lining of my travel trunk, so at least being in possession of a stolen wand won’t be added to her horrific troubles.

“It doesn’t hurt to be fasted, does it?” I ask Aunt Vyvian worriedly.

My aunt laughs at this and leans forward to pat my hand with affection. “No, Elloren. It’s not painful at all! The priest simply has the couple hold hands before waving his wand over them and reciting a few words. It’s not something you feel, although it does leave an imprint on your hand, which you’ve seen before.” My aunt holds out her hand, which is marked with graceful black swirls that extend to her wrist.

Unlike my uncle, who never married, most Gardnerian adults have some variation of these marks on their hands and wrists, the design unique to each couple and influenced by their Mage affinity lines. Hers are quite beautiful; undimmed by time and the death of her fastmate in the Realm War.

“Do not let Sage’s unfortunate situation color your view of wandfasting,” my aunt cautions. “Wandfasting is a beautiful sacrament, meant to keep us pure and chaste. The lure of the Evil Ones is strong, Elloren. Wandfasting helps young people such as yourself to stay on the path of virtue. It’s one of the many things that sets us apart from the heretic races all around us.” She motions toward me with both hands, palms upturned. “Thatis why I would like to see you wandfasted to someone you find appealing, someone who would be right for you. I’m having a party at week’s end while you’re in Valgard. Let me know if there is any young man who particularly catches your fancy.” My aunt smiles at me conspiratorially.

A heady anticipation ripples through me.

What if I meet a young man I like at my aunt’s party? Might he ask me to dance? Or to walk with him in a beautiful garden? There’s a dearth of young, unfasted men in Halfix, and none that I fancy. Meeting a young man in Valgard is a thrilling thought, and I spend a fair bit of time dreamily considering it.

---