First Witch's Tale

“As long as it takes.” Julianne gave me a faint smile. “The students have to master the basics before they can proceed. Even something as simple as brewing potions” - she indicated cauldrons at the back of the room - “relies upon the student having precise control over their powers. If they do not, they will either turn the potion into sludge or kill themselves - and if they are very unlucky, they will kill everyone nearby as well.”

I shivered. I was well aware that life could be dangerous, that a man could be crippled or killed quite by accident, or a woman - like my mother - could die in childbirth, but it was hard to gauge just how dangerous any given piece of magic actually was. Some of the simplest spells could be very dangerous if cast with malicious or deadly intent, or even without sufficient forethought. Master Ashlord had demonstrated how easily a levitation spell could get someone killed by launching an apple into the air and smashing it into the ceiling. I had taken note. The magic coursing through me, growing stronger and more controlled with every passing day, could be lethal if I made a single mistake.

The thought haunted me as I continued my lessons. I had always been strong, but nowhere near as strong as my father or brothers. The idea I could seriously hurt someone had been unthinkable until David and then … I had used magic to do it. I wasn’t even sure what had happened. I felt reluctant to discuss it with Julianne, let alone the other teachers. Julianne … I liked her, really I did, but there was something about her that made it difficult to confide in her. The other tutors were all male. I couldn’t be alone with them without Cemburu starting rumours. He was very lucky that the teachers hadn’t heard the handful of rumours he had spread.

“There’s no reason for you to be here,” he said, time and time again. I was tempted to ask when he would come up with some new material. Jokes lose their humour with every repetition and insults lose their sting. “Why do you even bother?”

His cronies tittered on cue. I rolled my eyes and ignored them as Master Falladine entered the classroom and started to demonstrate how spells, even very simple spells, could be used in combat. My older classmates - some were old enough to be my father - leaned forward with interest. A couple of them, I was sure, had served in an army; they certainly asked questions that suggested they had genuine experience, unlike the aristocrats who were granted rank as their birthright. Or so I thought. My father and brothers had kept me and my sisters well away from any passing soldiers, on the rare occasions they marched through the village. Much of what I knew came from horror stories of wars and conflicts so far away they might as well be in fantasy lands. I didn’t want to be involved.

“You must always be prepared to fight,” Master Falladine told us. He was the battle magic teacher, the only man I had ever met who looked more muscular than my father. His outfit was tight enough to show off his physique, while still allowing him to move easily. He carried a sword as well as a pair of wands, pointing out to Cemburu - when he asked - that magic wasn’t always reliable in combat, while a sword usually was. “You will never know when threats will raise their heads, or when you will have to fight for your life.”

Cemburu stuck up his hand. “Sir,” he said. “Who would fight a magician?”

“There is no shortage of people who think they can fight and kill a magician,” Master Falladine said, bluntly. “The anarchy may be in the past, but there is no shortage of lawless territory or men seeking to profit from the cares. Whitehall itself may be attacked at any moment. There are kings and noblemen out there who resent our predominance and our willingness to teach magic to everyone” – I could feel eyes burning into my back – “and they may sponsor further attacks on us, if they scent weakness.”

I tried not to shudder as Master Falladine continued to demonstrate spells, in-between lecturing as on the importance of physical exercise and combat training. I had never considered that the school might not be popular with everyone, although in hindsight it was obvious. Common-born magicians - and witches – threatened to upend the social order. I wasn’t sure if the story about Hilde turning a young nobleman into a frog and telling him that he would have to get a woman to willingly kiss him if he wanted to be turned back to a man, was true, but it was hard to control magicians. I could easily imagine the local nobility trying to maintain a monopoly on magical education and trying to stamp out commoner magic.

“I expect you all to practice these spells,” Master Falladine finished. “I want you all perfect by the end of the week. If you can cast them on cue, we will move on to embedding spells within bladed weapons and using them to enhance our prowess; if not …”