Snippet 2: Witchlight, Lucy Duceaul #1

"In troubled times a flower will bloom,

Night-star, witch-flower, golden loom"

Excerpt from the Lumenary Prophetiae



Lucy considered the world from her upside-down view of it and decided it could do with a little less purple.

Her head was still ringing from the blow Linux had just dealt her. She was still too slow with her defense moves.“Up you get,” Linux jollied her, his tone firm but kind.

She remained where she was for a moment, staring at his legs wrapped in linen, some telltale red fur peeking out between the bindings.

“It’s easy for you,” she said, “You’ve got were-cat reflexes and strength. How am I ever meant to compete with that?” Her ears were still ringing from the blow he had just landed, and bruises were beginning to flower all over her bare arms and legs.

It had been a great training session today. Despite a few bumps and bruises, they had covered some ground. Lucy felt like she was really improving, even if Linux didn’t say so.

Linux slit his eyes at her and bared demon-sharp teeth, which might have looked pretty threatening to anyone who didn’t know that in cat language, it showed approval and pleasure.

He loved having his ego stroked, and it was a surefire way to distract him.

With a jerk, she flipped to the balls of her feet and pushed her stick against his throat. “And while you were preening, you died,” she said, crowing at her own joke.

Linux laughed, a soft, sibilant sound. “And so the student teaches the master, again,” he dropped her a deep court bow.

“After all our years' training, don’t you think it might be time you allowed us to play with real weapons,” she tried.

“A real Michi master doesn’t need a blade!” Linux twirled his stick and sweeping her legs out from under her, again.

“Hey, I wasn’t ready!”

“Precisely my point, indeed.”

Linux purred in a self-satisfied way, sitting back on his haunches with his arms folded. “Now I have a wild sage and truffle souffle in the oven needing attention, and you have a sick father who I am sure, is ready for another of your disgusting herbal brews.”

Lucy loved her time with Linux. He was like the older brother she never had. Mostly patient and eager to teach her all he knew. Which was a lot for a retired Michi Were-cat with a smashing fashion sense and a flair for food.

Linux was tall and lithe. His tawny, brindled fur gleamed with hints of gold, to match his icy catlike eyes. Were-cats were just like big, cuddly, self-absorbed bundles of soft fluff with daggers for claws and teeth and a murderous sense of humor. They made loyal friends and ferocious enemies.

She loved him with the same wary caution one had with any older brother. They could be fun, were protective, but could also put bugs in your bed or sit on you. Not to be entirely trusted, or at least, to be approached with care.

“Don’t forget your birthday supper later,” he called back over his shoulder as he walked away.

“What a great way to ruin a good mood,” she muttered. All she could think about was how old she was, and how little she had done with her life. It was really grating her.

She watched him as he wound his way down the grassy hillside, back to the quaint little village inn he ran together with Urg, the ogre who tended the bar section and kept general order in the place. An unlikely couple, she mused, but they were happy together.

Urg and Linux had endless time for her. She was a bit like a favorite pet human, Linux had often said over the years. They loved doting on her and spoiling her with tasty tidbits, treats, and affection. Linux had been trying to dress her in girls’ clothes for years, and she still thought fondly of the pink dress he gave her last year, which made an excellent nest for her favorite chicken.

Back at the cozy little cottage she shared with her father, she carefully measured out the herbs she needed into a small muslin bag, and with a bit of concentration soon had it steaming away in a large mug.

Reginald Duceaul, an honorary member of the Druidic Order of Small Shrubs, was wrapped up in mounds of blankets, with wisps of gray hair sticking out in a crazy nimbus around his head. He had never really carried off the dignity required for his position; he just couldn’t be bothered.

How much gravitas did a small shrub have, anyway?

“Did someone mention your birthday,” he asked, his usually deep voice muffled by a blocked nose. “I don’t know why you hate birthdays so much, Lucy, everyone has them. And stop stomping around, my head hurts.”

He grimaced as she handed him the cup, “I don’t suppose you added any honey. Not that it would make a smidgeon of difference to your foul concoctions.”

“Way to show gratitude for all my tender care, Daddyo. It’s only willow bark, thyme, and a bit of lemon peel. It’s not like you can even smell it,” she laughed.

“So, what is bothering you Lucy, oh light of my life?”

“Seventeen, Dad! Seventeen!” Lucy thumped the table in irritation. Reginald jumped a little, peering at her with concern in his kind eyes. It was not like her to be so irritable.

“My life is wasting away in this charming backwater you keep us in, and now it’s too late even to enter the Witchfinder trials. They would never take anyone as old as me. And how else am I supposed to earn a living one day? With my incredible magic skills?”

Reginald pulled a face, “There is more to the world than the Druids and their police force, Lucy. Why do you think I keep such a low profile? Why avoid our heritage and all that comes with it? Because it is limited! Flawed! I saw that many years ago, and I still believe it now.”

He started coughing with agitation, and Lucy patted him on the back until he was calmer.

“There are more choices than you are thinking of right now. You are worth so much more.”

Gah! Dad would never understand, clearly. Lucy could feel her inner resistance building as he spoke. He just saw things from his own perspective. He thought village life was fine. In fact, he would be happy living a solitary life, with just her and the chickens and trees. She knew that. But that wasn’t her choice!

Joining the Witchfinders was something she had wanted, badly. Why should she give up on her dreams?

Lucy stood up and brushed bits of herb off her trousers in agitation. Her lean, wiry frame stood testament to the hard work she put into her training with Linux every day. It was her way of taking back some sort of control of her life.

She understood why they had to hide away and keep a low profile, but she couldn’t help yearning for a different life, one where she was the master of her fortunes and didn’t have a sickly old father to worry about. Not that she minded fussing over him, he was very dear to her, and she felt he had given up so much to keep her safe and hidden.

But surely it didn’t always have to be this way? There must be another way forward for her, other than growing vegetables and living in this village. It wasn’t even a one-horse town, it was a lame donkey village, and that donkey was probably soon to kick the bucket of old age and boredom.

She remembered when he first explained it. She was old enough to talk, sitting on his comfortable knee. “We need to be careful my poppet! It’s better if we just tell everyone your mommy is gone.

Mommy’s family are not very nice people my angel, and if they found out about you, they might want to take you away. Or hurt you. And that I would never let happen!”

Reg got fierce and protective whenever the subject came up.

She imagined the Sidhe side of her family like black, shadowy monsters, who liked eating children. A rumor that many parents used to keep naughty kids in line.

“But where is my Mommy?” she had asked. Most of the other village kids had mothers. It sometimes made her feel all empty and sad, watching them fussing over their children. What was wrong with her that her mother had left? It hurt.

“Mommy was different. But she and I were not supposed to be together, my girl. She went away before we got into too much trouble so that you could be safe. And I got to change a hundred diapers, for my sins,” her father would chuckle.

“Raising babies wasn’t among her talents. It’s better this way. I get to keep you safe by me,” Reginald cuddled her small frame close as if the very shadows in the room might be a threat.

Lucy wasn’t sure what she was. Her father was a Druid, and her mother, a Sidhe. Order and Chaos in an unlikely mating, “and the best damn time I ever had,” Reg would say nostalgically, a light in his eyes. “That woman was craaaazeeeyy.”

There were a few faded real-world photographs of Reg and her mom, dressed in jeans and long, flowing linen shirts, making peace signs, and smoking things. Sitting around on motorbikes in fields of daisies.

Lucy reached out and smoothed some of Reg’s hair back, off his glasses so that he could see better. He was always such a mess!

There was no point in pushing at him now when he was feeling ill. She would try again another time. There must be some way she could convince him she needed her freedom.

“I’m going for a swim in the river, and then I might drop by Madge’s place for a bit, is that alright?”

“Sure,” Reg nodded, his wild, straggly, grey beard wagging, “your tea has cleared my head a bit, I think I will get in some tinkering in the workroom before dinner. I have a surprise I think you might like.”

Lucy smiled, he had been dropping hints about her birthday present for months, smuggling strange shapes wrapped in brown paper into the workroom, where she had been expressly forbidden to set foot while he was working on her surprise.

He seemed quite eager for her to leave, which didn’t bother her at all. She couldn’t wait to cool down.

It was a stunningly clear day, the sun shone hot and bright and the cicadas sang in the thickets by the deep river water. Lucy took her time, rinsing off the sweat from her training, and floating around on her back in one of the pools. The shade from the overhanging willows played with the occasional beams of light and mesmerized her through her closed eyelids.

The cool water soothed all her bumps and bruises, and the willows reached down to trail their leaves over her arms and legs, sending healing energy into her body.

“My thanks oh mighty Tree Mistresses,” she sent her thoughts to the trees above her, and they rustled in appreciation of her good manners. Never ignore an attentive willow tree, she had learned that young. They could be very nurturing and motherly, but their sensitive feelings were easily offended, and a healing touch could quickly turn into a stinging smack from a branch if they thought you were being rude.

In the shallows a few young naiads played, splashing each other. Pretty strange when they were basically made of water.

A little brown bird landed on a branch near her head, and regarded her with one eye, its head cocked quizzically.

“Ooooo – errr, check out the legs on you sweetheart.” The bird had a slightly slurred voice surprisingly deep for its small, feathery frame.

“That’s exactly not appropriate you mangy, drunken bird,” Lucy flung some water at Snack’s head.

He dodged with zero effort.

“Magda says you’re late, cutie patootie. And one day you will recognize that you and I were meant to be.”

“You are a bird, Snack! A bird! I am not a bird. Did you notice?”

He always seemed to find her, no matter how careful she was. A small bird with a big attitude. She named him Snack after one of the village cats nearly made a meal of him.

Despite their endless sarcastic verbal jousting, she was actually quite fond of the creature. Just for good measure, she flicked some more water at him.

Snack chittered with laughter and flew off to harass some other poor soul.

Luckily, not many could hear him, only her, Madge, and her dad sometimes, so most people just thought, “How sweet,” until he got into their mead bucket and took a bath.

“You need a new hobby,” she shouted at his feathery form as it fluttered away.

Well, that was her peace and quiet ruined, she supposed.

Lucy climbed out, giving the water sprites a wide berth. She still didn’t feel like talking to anyone and was still feeling a bit prickly about her birthday. She would have preferred to have just a normal day today. But her father and friends would never let the chance slide to make a fuss. She would just have to put up with it.

She sighed and dried herself off. At least her afternoon would just the same as usual. Madge expected her there every day just after noon. No excuses and no nonsense.

The exercise and swim, plus the warm day, had lulled Lucy into a beautifully relaxed state. Sadly, dozing off in Madge’s library could earn you a rap on the knuckles, Lucy grimaced, rubbing her stinging hand. “This is important, Lucy,” Madge stated firmly, “you don’t know what you don’t know. And YOU don’t know quite a lot!”

Madge looked nothing like a village witch, her crisp, navy-blue trousers and smart white blouse and tie, and her short, iron-grey hair made her look . . . well, Lucy didn’t exactly know but it reminded her of some pictures of women in the real world magazines Madge sometimes let her read.

“I really despair. If you can’t stay awake, this is just a waste of time,” Madge stated impatiently. “You aren’t anywhere near where you need to be with your studies. Reading endless books about the real world is not going to help you when we don’t even live there. And talking to trees and messing about with water sprites makes you no better than the average woodland pixie!”

The only class she really enjoyed was herbalism, Lucy thought ruefully. The endless equations, and memorizing rules and numbers bored her to bits. Why did magic have to have so many rules? Who cared if you needed to point a silver-handled athame 32 degrees North-West at 3 pm on a Tuesday, and sing the lower-Druidic blighting chant, if you wanted to get rid of chilblains? She didn’t even have chilblains. She wouldn’t even know a chilblain if it knocked on her door!

Madge was particularly good at lectures. They could go on for ages, thought Lucy, and it didn’t help keep her awake at all.

“Ah, this is pointless,” Madge threw up her hands, “go home and take a nap or something. And in the future you are not to train with Linux before we have done at least a few hours on book learning. We still have the whole section on basic energy control and the law of conversion to cover this week.”

“Your father would be horrified to know how far I have let you fall behind, while you satisfy your curiosity about motorbikes and television sets. I know they seem mystical and exciting, but real, everyday magic is what you need to get by in this world, missy!”

Madge piled a few extra books in Lucy’s arms, with strict instructions to read at least a chapter of each later, birthday or no birthday. She would test her tomorrow.

Lucy trailed off into the deepening twilight. A delicious waft of cooking meat came from The Spotted Duck and her stomach grumbled.

The cottage felt empty when she got back home. Her voice echoed and there was no answer from her father when she called his name, other than a few spiders plopping down off the rafters.

“Dad?”

Nothing.

That was strange. She investigated around the back. She wasn’t supposed to go anywhere near in his workroom until her present was finished, but her worry was growing. It wasn’t like him to not be home. He was always home.

In his workroom, a greasy canvas half-covered a strange horse-shape, complete with two shiny wheels poking out the bottom. A strong smell acrid smell permeated the air. On the floor a roll of tools had been dropped haphazardly, and a metal container of something lay on one side, spilling clear pink fluid onto the floor.

Lucy sucked in an excited breath. Was this what she thought it was? She had seen them in real-world books and read about them. She pulled off the canvas and an ant-shaped machine stood in front of her – looking like its thorax and head were made out of metal. She ran her hands over the metal and leather, burning herself on the two long pieces that lay on each side of the bike. They were quite hot.

A motorbike!

This must be the birthday present Reg had been hiding for months and hinting at, her own piece of real-world treasure.

But where was he?

Forcing herself to stop ogling her birthday gift, she continued on her search.

The cottage wasn’t that big, and he wasn’t anywhere to be found. Not even in the chicken coop or shed.

Maybe he was out gathering herbs, or down at the Duck.

Not like him to leave without her.

A little niggle of fear wormed its way through her.



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