Page 103 of The Changeling

Some black and some green

Hey-ho for Hallowe’en.

For the first time, I wondered what a green witch might look like.

Perhaps a little like me, with my patched dress the colour of the forest, my girdle embroidered with wildflowers, my necklace of rowan berries, the birch twig and hagstone tied about my wrist with a red thread. Perhaps there was more than one way of being a witch.

Did I dare?

What harm could it do to try to summon the Sight? Everyone thought me a witch, anyway.

I drew a bucket of water from the well. It glimmered with the last of the day’s light. A crescent moon as thin as a slit hung in the west. I did not have much time.

I carried the bucket back to Mam’s room, then filled the deep silver bowl almost to the brim and set it on the chest, a lit candle on either side. After dipping the hazel stave in the water, I ran the silky-smooth side round and round the rim of the silver bowl. A low hum arose, and the bowl began to resonate. Circular ripples formed on the gleaming surface of the water. I gazed into their centre, repeating the rhyme my great-aunt had written in her cunning book, as if knowing that I would have need of such a spell.

Hazel, tree of epiphany, open my eyes and help me see …

For the first time in my life, I summoned the Sight on purpose.

A slight flame quivered in the depths of the rippling water. I concentrated upon it. Slowly my consciousness sank down, down, down.

A cave. Two young women grieving. A basket empty of food.

‘Go to the henwife and beg her for some eggs,’ I told Sorcha. ‘Make sure you dinna break your fast on the way, though.’

‘Is it safe? What if someone sees me?’ Sorcha replied anxiously.

‘Just take care no-one does!’

‘How am I meant to find her?’

‘Follow the sound of a rooster crowing, numbskull.’

Sorcha looked a little hurt, but she did as I bade. She was so dizzy and faint, she kept having to stop and put her hand on a tree to steady herself. Blackberry brambles grew over the wall. Sorcha picked a few and ate them, then went on, looking about her apprehensively.

A rooster crowed. Sorcha turned that way. She came to a clearing where a woman sat by a fire, stirring something in a pot. Chickens scratched about her. Sorcha hesitated.

‘Welcome, my lambkin,’ the old woman said, pointing at the iron cauldron. ‘Look in the pot, and you will see what you seek.’

Sorcha peered into the cauldron, but saw nothing but bubbling water. ‘I canna see any eggs.’

‘Go home, and next time make sure you dinna break your fast,’ the henwife said in a cold sharp voice. Sorcha flushed, not understanding why eating just a few blackberries should make any difference. She trudged back up the hill to the cave with bowed head and shoulders.

Afraid and puzzled, I watched the scene in the scrying bowl. I had never sent Sorcha to fetch any eggs. This Seeing of mine was false.

I bent to the scrying bowl again, and saw the same sequence of events played out. Sorcha went to fetch eggs, Sorcha ate a bite of food on the way, Sorcha saw nothing in the bubbling water.

Shadows fell, the sun rose one more time, and once again I ordered my sister to go to the henwife and ask for eggs. It was strange seeing myself in the scrying bowl, saying and doing things I knew I had never done. It was like looking in a warped mirror and seeing my familiar face, with its high cheekbones and pointed chin, twisted all awry.

I spoke to Sorcha in a tone of cold and haughty contempt. ‘I see you canna be trusted no’ to break your fast, so I will walk with you and make sure no’ a single morsel of food passes your lips. You are far too plump; it will do you good to fast a while.’

Sorcha went red. I pointed the way, and she walked ahead of me, not looking at me. I hurried her along, my plaid drawn close around my face.

My sense of wrongness grew. None of this was true. It had not happened. What was I seeing?

Suddenly I realised. ‘Where’s Carlin?’

Beside me, my hound looked up at the sound of her name, her tail beating the floor.