‘Rosette, your mother may have had enemies too.’
Rosette stopped eating. ‘I don’t understand. She was just a matron, looking after the estate. How could she have enemies? She’d turned her back on witchcraft.’
Nell raised her brows. ‘Had she?’
‘Pardon?’
‘Do you really believe she repressed her power to mould herself around John’ra’s life?’
‘She didn’t?’
‘No, my dear Rosette. She was hiding, and she wanted to hide you, too. I told her it would go ill if John’ra caught the public eye. If he was noticed, so would she be. There was no controlling him though, it seems.’
‘I thought someone was after John’ra. He owed money, I think.’
‘Perhaps.’
‘Who would want to hurt mamá?’
Nell shook her head. ‘We can’t know for sure. The temples are not all at peace.’
‘Did she have some magic they wanted?’
Rosette thought she saw Nell stiffen, but when she looked again she was relaxed.
‘Anything’s possible. Meanwhile, you’re here and presumed dead. That’s as safe as it gets.’
‘Am I in danger, though?’ Rosette looked out the doorway as if at any moment someone would be coming up the path.
‘We’ll be vigilant. Besides, no-one gets to me without my knowing.’
‘That’s what Jarrod said.’
‘Did he?’
Nell lifted up her mug again. ‘A toast to a new life—for both of us.’
‘To a new life.’ Rosette clanked her mug against Nell’s. ‘Can I ask you something?’ Rosette felt heat rise in her face.
‘Anything.’
‘Since I’m here, and ready for a new beginning…will you teach me the things mamá forbade?’
‘Forbade?’ Nell stopped. Her spoon, laden with food, hovered halfway to her mouth.
‘She said I wasn’t ready, but I am,’ Rosette went on. ‘And I want to learn so much! Star-craft, herbs, spells, the sword and the bow—and shape-shifting. Definitely shape-shifting. Please may I? You can teach me. I know you can.’
‘Full of enthusiasm, aren’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘You fancy yourself a witch?’
‘Yes.’
Nell closed her eyes. ‘Why?’ she asked, keeping them shut.
Rosette put down her bread. ‘I just know it.’
‘You just know it,’ Nell repeated. ‘Good. Now tell me, how so?’
‘Because something…something is calling me, like the woods of Espiro Dell Ray, and the whispers of
stones and the wind in the arroyos, and lately, it’s been more than a call.’
‘More than a call?’
‘It’s been a holler.’
Nell laughed, her eyes popping open. ‘And you want to answer the call?’
‘I do.’
‘Then you shall.’ She started eating again and nodded to Rosette to do the same.
‘Does that mean you’ll initiate me?’
‘It does.’
Rosette beamed a smile. ‘When can I start?’
‘There’s no rush.’
‘Nell, please. Give me a hint!’
‘You’ll have an entire lunar cycle—from waning to new, new to full, and waning again in the sign of the Water-Bearer—to prepare.’
‘On my lunar return?’
She nodded. ‘By the time the moon returns next month, you’ll have sought and acquired your initiation name.’
‘Rosette’s no good?’
‘Rosette’s fine. Very lovely. It’s perfect for all you meet and everything you do overtly. Your name as an initiate is different. It’s known to you alone, or shared only with another you fully trust.’
‘Okay.’
‘It’s sacred, Rosette. When you find it, keep it occult.’
‘I will.’
‘You must also choose the design of your initiation tattoo.’ She paused for a moment. ‘Though it’s more likely that it will choose you.’
Rosette’s eyes went wide, looking closely at the symbols on Nell’s bare arms—the raven on the left and a stout tree with serpents entwining the trunk on the right.
She sucked in her breath. ‘I’ve already done that.’
‘You have?’
Rosette glanced over to the bookcase where an onyx statuette of a temple cat sat, slender, regal and fey. The animal had large, pointed ears, the left one pierced with a golden ring. Its face was chiselled, limbs refined, the tail wrapped around its front feet.
Nell followed her line of sight and smiled.
‘Basta, mother of the ancient temple cats?’
‘I’ve always known it would be her.’
‘Wonderful choice.’
Rosette smiled back. ‘I knew years ago, on my first visit. I held that statue in my hands and for a second, it came alive.’ She took another bite of bread, sucking drops of honey from her fingers. ‘After my tattoo, then what happens?’
Nell patted her hand. ‘Under the eyes of great Ishtar…’
Rosette held her breath.
‘…we do the ritual.’
Rosette nodded, a shadow crossing her face.
‘What, child?’
‘Mamá and John’ra would not have approved, and now they’re…’
‘They would have wanted you to survive, Rosette, and studying witchcraft is the surest way to protect yourself. Besides, it’s in your blood.’
‘Get the whitest ones you can find.’ Nell sketched the shape of the root on a drawing pad. ‘No smaller than this. You can only see the tips sticking out from the snowbanks at this time of the year, so you have to dig deep.’ She handed Rosette a copper trowel to pack in her backpack.
The summer after Rosette’s initiation had fled by; the smell of the woods and the warm sun baked away her fears and eased the sadness. Her arms had tanned a
dark honey-brown as she’d tended the gardens, and her intuition had sharpened as she’d hunted at the edges of the woods by day and studied herbs and star-craft by the fire at night.
Now winter was here, and it was time to collect the Snow Root—
Symphytum officinalia
—that Nell used in her potions, particularly the one that kept joints supple and bones warm through the long dark nights.
‘How many?’ Rosette tucked the talisman Nell had given her as an initiation gift—a silver pentagram nestling inside a crescent moon—under her sweater and buttoned up her coat.
‘At least five, more if time allows. Take only the top half of the root and replant the rest. It’s sacred, and we don’t want to deplete it.’
Rosette nodded.
‘Get away from the woods well before sunset—it’s no place to be on a winter’s night, I promise you.’
‘Nell, why are you fussing? It’s just a trip to the woods.’ Rosette’s eyes suddenly went wide. ‘Is there a transit you aren’t telling me about?’
‘You’ve studied the ephemeris. Is there?’
Rosette closed her eyes, visualising the planetary positions for the day. She couldn’t see anything outstanding, and said so.
‘What about last month?’
Rosette frowned. ‘Last month was the lunar eclipse on my north node, but what’s that got to do with today? It’s long past…Oh.’ Rosette put her hand over her mouth to stop a stream of babble.
‘Yes.
Oh!
’ Nell smiled briefly before letting it fade. ‘What can you tell me about the timing of eclipse events?’
Rosette took a deep breath. ‘An eclipse can have its outcome thirty days
before
or
after
the exact alignment, plus or minus three days either side.’
‘Yes, it can, and that brings us to today. It’s nothing to fret about, though I want you to stay aware, and be out of those woods before dark.’
‘Don’t worry, Nell. I’ll be back before dinner.’ She fished gloves from her pockets and pulled them on, picked up her staff and shouldered her backpack before kissing Nell’s cheeks.
The wind struck her face as she opened the cottage door. Nell called her back.
‘Here.’ She daubed a sweet-smelling ointment on Rosette’s lips and thrust the small tin into her gloved hand. ‘This’ll keep your lips from chapping. Use it sparingly; it’s very strong.’
Rosette put the container in her pocket before flipping up her hood and waving goodbye.
Several hours later she was scouring the borders of the Dumarkian Woods, looking for the elusive Snow Root. She had found only one small plant so far and no sign of any others. Pausing before the wall of pine trees, she smiled. She remembered a patch of them carpeting the summer forest floor, their tiny purple blossoms dancing like puppets on a stick. They were further in. She glanced up at the pale sun, took a deep breath and entered the woods.
The stillness struck her first. No wind whipped and cut at her face and not a branch moved. Only the occasional snapping of a twig underfoot, the crunch of snow and the distant screech of a raptor broke the silence. She couldn’t believe a place so still could feel this alive. It teemed with energy, and today not all of it felt friendly.
She imagined this would be an amazing place to explore on horseback. How long had it been since she’d so much as seen a horse in the distance? The last she’d touched had been Assalo, right before he died. She pushed the memory away before it choked her and continued through the woods.
By late afternoon, she had six good-size roots in her backpack. She sat on a fallen log beneath a tall grove of pines, munching on the oatcakes that Nell had packed for her. The sun had vanished behind the cloud cover, and a light snowfall floated down between the branches like puffs of dandelion looking for somewhere to land. It was already getting dark. She shivered.
Retracing her steps, she made slow progress. Her hands and feet were cold and stiff. Her legs felt like lead weights, and she had the eerie sensation of being watched. She turned a full circle, seeing nothing but the sentinel trees and falling snow before she caught a flash of movement. A blast of adrenaline hit her solar plexus, and she sucked in her breath.
There it was again, something slipping in and out of the shadows. She couldn’t identify it. Then a hunkered shape appeared. It seemed damaged. It wasn’t moving right. A high-pitched scream pierced the air and was immediately answered by a squawking challenge. Some creature was clearly under attack. Gripping her staff with both hands, she ran forward, her eyes wide and her heart pounding.
As she came closer, she made out two birds on the ground, flapping dark wings. There was a tug of war going on between a crow and a buzzard twice its size. Both were intent on the quarry and neither would back down. She couldn’t make out what they’d scavenged, but it wasn’t moving or making any noise. Rosette watched with fascination as the birds bounced and flapped and hopped back and forth, the squawks cutting short as the buzzard stopped momentarily to eye her. When it dropped its grip, Rosette recognised what they were fighting over and her heart pinched.
It was a large black cat, dead or unconscious. As she raised her staff it suddenly came to life, spitting and
struggling. Rosette didn’t wait for her next breath. She held her staff high over her head and charged at the birds, screaming, ‘Get away!’ She swung her staff, well before coming into range. ‘Let go or I’ll break your necks!’
She struck at them, yelling at the top of her voice, swinging towards the crow first and sending it cawing to a low pine branch. The buzzard opened its wings as if to stand its ground, but hopped away quickly when Rosette’s staff whizzed by its head. With a few more swings and curses she had the birds scattered enough to turn her attention to the feline.
Kneeling down, she saw that, for all its large size, it was only a kitten.
‘Where’s your mamá?’ Rosette looked around the clearing as she spoke.
Wherever the mother was, the creature would be huge. She saw nothing nearby except the darkening woods and the buzzard swooping to a branch just above her.
The baby cat shuddered in the snow, its nose on the ground. One leg was bent at an unnatural angle and the others were tensed underneath its body. There was blood oozing from its neck and one eye had swollen shut. It tried to leap away only to collapse into the snow, inches ahead.
‘I’ve got you,’ Rosette whispered. ‘You’re safe with me.’
She scooped the kitten up into her arms, unbuttoned her coat and thick woollen sweater, tucking it into the warmth between her breasts. The touch of its cold body burned her skin and made her gasp.
She patted the animal. ‘Don’t worry. They can’t get you now, baby cat.’
She buttoned her sweater over it, tightening her coat as she stood. Drips of melting ice-water trickled down
her belly, and something warmer too. The baby’s blood? She grabbed her staff and ran for home.
The birds closed in, seemingly united now in their effort to reclaim the feline, or perhaps even Rosette. She swung her staff and screamed at them before scooping snowballs and firing them at their heads, the fists of ice forcing them to seek cover. Rosette had an accurate throwing arm, thanks to her playful summers with Jarrod and Liam, and she felt grateful for it now as the birds flew higher and higher in retreat.
Constantly looking over her shoulder, the journey home seemed to take forever. At the edge of the woods she turned back, catching her breath. A pale beam of sunlight shone between the clouds. It was near to setting. The baby cat felt warm now, and the dripping had stopped. The double-time tap of its heartbeat against her own reassured her it was still alive.
‘We’ll be home soon,’ she cooed, patting the large bump in her coat.
Hoisting her staff like a fishing pole, she jogged the rest of the way to the cottage.
Around the corner of the ruined temple, on a fallen slab of marble entangled with bare vines and spotted with snow, a mammoth feline stood. She opened her mouth to roar, but let no air escape her lungs. She closed her eyes instead and sat. Her tail wrapped tight around her body, the tip lifting slightly, moving in fits and jerks. Slowly she lay down on her sternum, her forepaws stretched out in front of her like a sphinx. She didn’t flinch, but her heart pounded into the cold marble like a slow, aching drum.
Maudi was tortured by her choice. Was it the right one? She was tempted to run down the girl and retrieve her cub. Her whiskers twitched as Drack, a rust-and-black male, approached, sitting a distance away. She could feel
the vibration of his purr through the marble slab, through her heart. She knew it was generated from fear, not joy—an involuntary response to alarm, something like the way humans might laugh when suddenly frightened. Drack probably thought she would eat him alive.