“ ’Tis hard to say.” Ma stroked my hair, then moved me to a chair. “Have you done anything that might offend Her? Think hard, Rose, and be honest. What kind of spells have you been working on of late?”
I rubbed my forehead, wondering how to get through my web of lies without tripping over it. Surely my love spell for Diarmuid had not offended the Goddess so greatly? “Well, there was drawing down the moon. I did that with Kyra.”
“ ’Tis not a spell, though.”
“But we did work magick,” I insisted. “We had a charm that needed to be charged.”
“What sort of charm?”
As soon as she asked the question, I knew trouble was brewing for me. “It was a moonstone for Kyra,” I said simply.
“And the purpose of the charm?”
“To bring her the love of Falkner Radburn.”
“Oh, by the Goddess...” Ma banged her fist on the table, making the witch’s jar jump a bit. “How many times have I told you not to meddle with a person’s free will? You can make a charm or a poppet to attract love, but it’s wrong to ensnare the love of a specific person. To meddle with a person’s life, to control his destiny. that’s dark magick.” She banged her fist again. “It’s wrong, Rose!”
My insides turned stone cold at her anger. Couldn’t she see I was just helping a very desperate friend?
“Why is it that all my instructions to you fly through the air and fall to the soil?” my mother asked. “You are not listening, Rose, and today is just one example of how the power of the Goddess can harm if you don’t practice witchcraft in the ways of the elders. Do you want to hurt people, Rose?”
“No, Ma,” I said quietly. That much was true.
“Then why do you insist on meddling with a person’s will? ’Tis not right, Rose. When you go out to gather plants, do you strike down a plant without apology? Do you slash through stems at will, taking more than you need, harming nature?”
“No.” I dug my fingers into my hair, dropping my chin against my chest. I hated being chastised this way. I thought of Diarmuid’s comment that he had seen a woman struck down the same way because she was destined to be the high priestess of the coven. Why could my ma not even entertain the thought that there was a positive reason? Could it be that she knew I had been chosen by the Goddess for greatness, and she was jealous of my connection to Her? My face burned at the thought.
“So why would you strike out at a person that way, tampering with his destiny?”
There was no answer—at least, none that would suit her—so I kept quiet.
“You must go back to your earlier lessons,” Ma said sternly. “Starting tomorrow, you will look over your Book of Shadows from the beginning. You will spend less time afield with your friends and more time studying from my Book of Shadows, too. And you will stop making up your own spells until I can be sure you’re fulfilling the Goddess’s will. Do you understand?”
“I understand,” I said. I pressed my teeth into my lower lip, wondering if she would realize that I had not promised her anything.
It was all so unfair. I had tried to gain my mother’s support by telling her about the painful strike from the sky, and in turn she merely wanted to cripple me. If Síle the high priestess had her way, I’d be locked in the cottage, drying herbs and inscribing spells.
How could I stop making spells when I knew the Goddess was calling me to Her? How dare my mother try to interfere with the Goddess’s destiny for me?
Ma did not understand about my powers. And from her tart reaction on that front, I knew that it would be a catastrophe to tell her about Diarmuid.
For now he would be a secret, and until my mother learned to see me as more than her incapable daughter, he would remain a secret.
Down the dark road, Miller MacGreavy led the way. He was followed by his wife, who walked beside my mother, their voices lowered so as not to wake anyone in the cottages we passed. I walked behind them, feeling dull and tired. The night’s Esbat rites had hardly moved me. They had only emphasized how Síle and her coven were following a weary, timeworn road while I was on the verge of opening an exciting new doorway to the Goddess.
The breeze rustled the trees so ripe with bud; their clattering branches reminded me of the bell rung at Esbat.
Three times.
“An ye harm none, do what thou wilt,” Síle chanted.
“An ye harm none, do what thou wilt,” we all repeated.
“Thus runs the Witch’s Rede,” Síle went on. “Remember it well. Whatever you desire; whatever you would ask of the Goddess, be assured that it will harm no one—not even yourself. And remember that as you give, so it shall return threefold.”
I trudged along, trying to clear my mother’s voice from my head. I had heard her words in the circle so many times, I could recite them by heart.
“I am She who watches over thee,” said High Priestess Síle.
“Mother of you all. Know that I rejoice that you do not forget me, paying me homage at the full of the moon. Know that I weave the skein of life for each and every one of you...”
“Enough, enough, enough!” I grumbled through gritted teeth. I had heard my mother’s words so many times, they had become meaningless for me.
As we neared the mill, I wondered if Ma’s spell of protection would work. At least this was something that interested me, as I’d never worked one before. Miller MacGreavy unlatched the big door to the mill, and the four of us filed inside. During the Esbat rites, Ma and the MacGreavys had summoned the Goddess to protect them and the mill, so I imagined that this would entail more spell casting than the ritual had.
Soon Ma had candles lit, and Mrs. MacGreavy set her tools on the table, which we assembled around. Normally I would have helped with preparations, but since Ma had made it clear I was being punished, I held back. Ma had already placed herbs in the witch’s jar, which now sat at the center of the table, but I knew there was something more to be added before we sealed it.
Closing her eyes, Ma held up her hands, opened to the Goddess. “With this witch’s jar we will cast a spell of protection over this mill and this miller’s family,” she said. Looking down at the table, she moved the jar toward Mrs. MacGreavy. “’Twill need a drop of blood from you. Take your bolline and give your finger the slightest prick.”
The miller’s wife pressed the sharp end of her bolline against her fingertip. A crimson drop began to form, and she squeezed it into the jar.
Then my mother passed the jar over to the miller. “Spit in it,” she said. He did so. Then Ma began to seal the top of the jar, using hot candle wax. As she worked, she chanted:
“Protect this mill, protect these folk,
Guard them from illness and harm.
Send back the darkness to those who sent it.
Cast a light of goodness around,
Let love and protection abound.”
Glancing up from the sealed jar, my mother told the MacGreavys to join hands. “You must remain here in the mill while Rose and I circle it with the jar. Three times.” She pulled on her cloak and went to the door. “We’ll be back when the spell is finished.”
Silently I followed my mother. I was allowed to hold the jar as we traced a wide circle around the mill. On the side where the brook ran deep and fast, there was a crossing bridge. But as we reached the shallows on the other side of the mill, it was clear there was no way across.
“No way across but in,” Ma said, gathering up her skirts. “Pull up your gown, Rose. We’ll be walking through the Goddess’s waters tonight.” She stuck out her foot, eyeing her sandal. “Too bad it’s not a cobbler we’re casting a spell for. We’ll be in need of new footwear after this.”
I laughed, taken aback at Ma’s impetuous humor. This was a side of her I rarely saw. I hitched up my skirts and stepped into the brook. Cold water swirled around my legs and mud seeped into my shoes, but I tramped on beside Ma, the witch’s jar tucked into the crook of my arm.