and afraid.
Yet still I could not imagine a life without magick.
At that moment, a young housemartin, roosting somewhere amongst the rafters, burst into flight above me with a clatter of wings.
I was not the only creature on edge in the old palace.
I climbed the stairs, lifting my gown so it wouldn’t brush against the dust and debris. I knew that if I did not hurry, night would fall before I was finished. Then I would have to come down again in complete darkness, and find my way back across the lower rooms without even the dying rays of the sun to guide me.
Even as I considered that possibility, I chided myself as a coward. What witch was afraid of the dark?
The third chamber I peeked into looked perfect. It was small and unswept, but the narrow windows had no glass, which meant there was more light here than elsewhere, and there was nothing on the floor except dust.
Quickly, I drew the dagger out from beneath my skirts, and stood in the centre of the shadowy room. Recalling my aunt ’s incantation for the casting, I spoke the spell as clearly as I dared in the silence. I lay down an oak twig for an altar, along with a few fragrant leaves and flowers, then stooped to draw a rough circle about myself in the dust. I did not dare burn any herbs this time to clear away evil influences, in case any escaping smoke was seen from outside. But I spoke the words of protection under my breath, hoping they would be enough.
The air stirred darkly at the spell, raising the dust as though a door had been opened somewhere. I listened, but heard nothing. It had probably been a sudden wind from the gardens below. The old palace was so draughty, with most of its bare windows unshuttered beyond the royal apartments.
Seating myself in the middle of my circle, I sat straight-backed and cross-legged, facing my little makeshift altar. I called on the four directions – north, south, east and west – and begged each one to look favourably on the magick I would work there.
The power began to come into me from the shadows, tingling at the tips of my fingers, a rush of blood to my head that left me momentarily dizzy.
I was just groping for the ritual that would open the dark magick of the moon for me, the women’s magick that is best worked at twilight or in the hours of darkness, when a terrible scream shattered the stillness.
‘Witch!’
I scrambled to my feet at that scream and spun in the fading light to face my accuser.
My breath was coming short and fast, and the sacred dagger was still clutched in my hand as though I intended to use it.
To my amazement, it was Joan who had screamed, the simple girl from the kitchen who shared my room and loved to follow me about my duties like a faithful dog. Tonight, she had followed me into the dark silences of the mouldering Palace of Woodstock. I don’t know why. Perhaps she had thought I was playing a game, like hide and seek, and wanted to join in.
But what she’d seen here tonight must have terrified the poor simple girl instead.
Joan’s mouth was agape as she stared at the ceremonial knife with its wicked blade, and the uneven circle drawn in the dust between us. Then her finger pointed at my face in dreadful accusation.
‘Witch!’
FIVE
Witch
I TOOK A step towards the girl, intending to calm her down, but instead Joan backed away as though I meant to come after her.
Stumbling, she fell backwards through the doorway into the deepening shadows on the landing. Joan yelped with hurt and fear. Then she jumped up and ran back to the staircase as though all the hounds in Hell were after her, still crying, ‘Witch!’
The circle broken, the dagger forgotten in my hand, I stood horrified.
What had I done?
In my stupidity, I had thought it safe to work magick here in the old palace, casting the circle and never believing I might be caught. Now I had likely brought down the wrath of the Inquisition on my head, and led the witch-hunters straight to my family.
For a moment, I
Yet still I could not imagine a life without magick.
At that moment, a young housemartin, roosting somewhere amongst the rafters, burst into flight above me with a clatter of wings.
I was not the only creature on edge in the old palace.
I climbed the stairs, lifting my gown so it wouldn’t brush against the dust and debris. I knew that if I did not hurry, night would fall before I was finished. Then I would have to come down again in complete darkness, and find my way back across the lower rooms without even the dying rays of the sun to guide me.
Even as I considered that possibility, I chided myself as a coward. What witch was afraid of the dark?
The third chamber I peeked into looked perfect. It was small and unswept, but the narrow windows had no glass, which meant there was more light here than elsewhere, and there was nothing on the floor except dust.
Quickly, I drew the dagger out from beneath my skirts, and stood in the centre of the shadowy room. Recalling my aunt ’s incantation for the casting, I spoke the spell as clearly as I dared in the silence. I lay down an oak twig for an altar, along with a few fragrant leaves and flowers, then stooped to draw a rough circle about myself in the dust. I did not dare burn any herbs this time to clear away evil influences, in case any escaping smoke was seen from outside. But I spoke the words of protection under my breath, hoping they would be enough.
The air stirred darkly at the spell, raising the dust as though a door had been opened somewhere. I listened, but heard nothing. It had probably been a sudden wind from the gardens below. The old palace was so draughty, with most of its bare windows unshuttered beyond the royal apartments.
Seating myself in the middle of my circle, I sat straight-backed and cross-legged, facing my little makeshift altar. I called on the four directions – north, south, east and west – and begged each one to look favourably on the magick I would work there.
The power began to come into me from the shadows, tingling at the tips of my fingers, a rush of blood to my head that left me momentarily dizzy.
I was just groping for the ritual that would open the dark magick of the moon for me, the women’s magick that is best worked at twilight or in the hours of darkness, when a terrible scream shattered the stillness.
‘Witch!’
I scrambled to my feet at that scream and spun in the fading light to face my accuser.
My breath was coming short and fast, and the sacred dagger was still clutched in my hand as though I intended to use it.
To my amazement, it was Joan who had screamed, the simple girl from the kitchen who shared my room and loved to follow me about my duties like a faithful dog. Tonight, she had followed me into the dark silences of the mouldering Palace of Woodstock. I don’t know why. Perhaps she had thought I was playing a game, like hide and seek, and wanted to join in.
But what she’d seen here tonight must have terrified the poor simple girl instead.
Joan’s mouth was agape as she stared at the ceremonial knife with its wicked blade, and the uneven circle drawn in the dust between us. Then her finger pointed at my face in dreadful accusation.
‘Witch!’
FIVE
Witch
I TOOK A step towards the girl, intending to calm her down, but instead Joan backed away as though I meant to come after her.
Stumbling, she fell backwards through the doorway into the deepening shadows on the landing. Joan yelped with hurt and fear. Then she jumped up and ran back to the staircase as though all the hounds in Hell were after her, still crying, ‘Witch!’
The circle broken, the dagger forgotten in my hand, I stood horrified.
What had I done?
In my stupidity, I had thought it safe to work magick here in the old palace, casting the circle and never believing I might be caught. Now I had likely brought down the wrath of the Inquisition on my head, and led the witch-hunters straight to my family.
For a moment, I
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