First Witch's Tale

The classes were, despite Cemburu’s constant barbs and jibes at my expense, extremely interesting, although the teachers constantly made it clear that I had a great deal to learn. We studied history, from the first recorded traces of magic to the Whitehall Commune and the decision to turn the castle into a school. Lord Whitehall had clearly been a great man as well as a great magician, although no one was entirely clear on what had happened to him. His old companions had largely passed on or dispersed, leaving Bernard in charge of the school. There were whispered rumours that Master Wolfe haunted the corridors, offering help and advice to students in exchange for their blood, but I was fairly sure they were just cautionary tales to keep students in the dorms after hours. It wasn’t as if we lived in a country village, where no one would willingly go outside after dark - and if they did, they would be taking their lives in their hands. I couldn’t help thinking, as I listened to the lectures, that was something missing, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. Cemburu poured scorn on me the moment I tried to ask. He, apparently, had been taught everything he needed to know from a very early age.

The practical classes were more interesting, and relevant. I had never tried to write anything, even my own name, before I was given a slate and taught the basics. It was incredibly complicated to sound out the words, let alone write them for myself. I wasn’t convinced I needed to learn, if only because there were few books in the school, but my teachers gave me no choice. I practised extensively, trying to master the basics of reading and writing, even though I was sure it would take me years to match - if not surpass - Cemburu and his peers. They were not remotely helpful. The students were supposed to assist each other, but Cemburu gave me a line of writing to copy that was a direct insult to the tutor. He didn’t see the funny side. I had never been so tempted to rat someone out as I had been at that moment. The only thing that saved me from a whipping was the teacher’s awareness that I could not have written the line myself. And yet …

It was the raw magic classes that really interested me. Master Rupertson and Master Ashlord drilled us repeatedly in spellwork, teaching us how to put together the building blocks to cast complex spells. It was as frustrating and finicky as always, but I couldn’t help feeling that I was making progress with every spell I successfully cast. I had to work hard to figure out how the variables went together - the magic did not have a mind of its own, I was assured, although I didn’t really believe it - and then make sure there were no loopholes in the spell before embedding the spells into the wand. It wasn’t easy to do that either. Wood channelled magic very well, certainly compared to other materials, but embedded charms rarely lingered. Master Rupertson had prepared the wand he’d given me in advance. I did well - I knew I was doing well - and yet I was all too aware of how much else I had to learn.

“There will always be something to learn,” Julianne told me. She was the closest thing Whitehall had to a witchcraft tutor, although very few students took her classes. I wasn’t sure if they were reluctant to take instruction from a woman or felt witchcraft was not a proper subject of study for male magicians. “We are constantly pushing the limits of what we can do, learning more and more as we go along. You will make discoveries yourself as you grow older, discoveries that will be passed down and used as the base for later discoveries.”

I nodded, thoughtfully. Julianne had listened carefully as I told her what I had learnt from Hilde, then taught me some things of her own in return. I couldn’t help wondering how she had learnt the basics of witchcraft - hedge witches rarely shared their secrets with anyone outside their circle - let alone the magic she used freely. I was convinced there was a secret there, something kept from me and everyone else. Cemburu insisted that no woman could learn magic properly, certainly not in a classroom, but there were stories of another female magician who had helped to found the school. I didn’t know how seriously to take them. Julianne had learnt from her father and then her husband. But who had taught the mystery sorceress? Cemburu insisted she was nothing more than a myth spread to legitimise the idea of women learning magic. I hated to think he might be right.

“I wish I knew more,” I admitted. “How long does it take to get out of the basic classes?”