The Missing Link (7 page)

"Let them keep their blind and deceiving ways. If they don't want a Westhiller, that be
plenty fine by me. Where be that cask of fire brew? I need a swallow." Jantice strode towards the
refreshment table with her sister in tow.

Lucreta smiled apologetically to Carole. "I best see what I can do to simmer her down
some. It be bad to hold onto such bitterness, even if there be good cause for it." She hurried after
her cousins.

"Okay ye witches, witchlings and cats," Herling bellowed through the noise, while
rapping a bowl against a table. "That be plenty 'nough kerfuffling fer now. Time to get to the
business at hand. Ye can party again soon enough. Grab a seat."

The merriment dimmed a little as witches began to congregate at the tables. Herling
motioned for Carole to take one of the two still-empty chairs at the head table.

She was reluctant to do so until she saw Lucreta moving towards the other chair. "I'm
glad you're up here, too," she whispered to Lucreta.

"Sames be with me," Lucreta said. "I not be used to being where all eyes can stare direct
at me."

Carole suddenly realized. "Does this mean you've graduated?"

"Might be so." Lucreta grinned shyly.

Soon all except the new bunch of witchlings were seated.

Carole pointed to the children. "What are they doing?"

"Waiting for permission. They have to be accepted into the coven, first. Ye will see."

"All right!" Herling beckoned to the young witchlings, "Ye new lot, come here and form a
line so we can all get a good look at ye."

The remaining noise died quickly as all attention was focused on the children walking
single file towards Herling.

She cleared her throat. "Right. I be Head Witch Herling and..." she swept her arms to
encompass the hall. "we be the Westhill Coven and various friends and such. Ye younguns hope to
become part of this coven to learn the ways of Westhillers?"

There was quiet murmuring and head bobbing from the little girls.

Herling's nod showed her pride. "Most witches want to be part of our coven, but most
not get to be. Westhill only accepts the best.

"Ye be the first group to try since the time of the Great Conundrum." Herling pointed a
finger at Carole. "The Conundrum that young Sylphwood here did finally put an end to."

The little girls looked as one to Carole. Their eyes grew wider, as the hall erupted with
the sound of applause.

Carole's cheeks burned.

"She and Philamount be Hub witches, multitaskers, and they be good friends with we
Westhillers and be most welcome to all of our gatherings. So ye be sure to treat 'em the same as ye
treat me. So now, on to the testing of yer mettle."

The youngsters shuffled uneasily.

"Well ye might be scairt. Ye not be told 'bout this testing part, cause ye can't study fer it.
No need to get ye all worked up and worried 'til the time be at hand. Brutus, bring up those whelps
that ye bin lying to."

Brutus sauntered out from beneath the table and cross the floor like he had all the time
in the world. Behind him, following nose-to-tail, were the kittens Carole had seen earlier. Brutus
leapt onto the head table and sat down, facing the witchlings, who all backed away uncertainly. The
kittens followed Brutus' lead, sitting in line at the table's edge.

"Now, there be a story we Westhillers tell, 'bout long ago times and the White Witch.
Perhaps ye younguns heard tell of such."

Several of the hopeful witchlings nodded.

"The story goes this way. There be a time back in the history of this Nightshade and
Ghostly Spirit Realm when there be no such thing as the Westhill Coven. Back then witches wore
colorful clothing, too.

"In those past times the color that a witch wore be akin to her ability, and hence her
place in witch society. Colors like red were being lowly, and colors like blue were being highly. So
one could always tell how powerful a witch be, by the color of her garb.

"Then along comes the White Witch. She be an extremely powerful witch and she took
on the color white, that none before had the guts to wear. She be very pleasing to the eyes and ears
too, this White Witch. But in time it became obvious that she be a mean spirited sort, who used her
powers to get what she wanted through deception and force.

"Eventually the other witches figured her out to be a nasty sort, but by that time none be
able to stand up to her churlish magic. And it didn't go well fer any that tried to defeat the White
Witch neither, nor for any who lived in her shadow.

"Then one day there comes a witchling from a wild, rough and tumble region where no
one be known to live except werewolves, vampires and the such. Nobody knew her name nor her
family, but this witchling be dressed in rags of black. At that time black be the color for witches with
little or no magic. Black be considered much worse even than red, though still a little better than
non-magic folk.

"Now this youngun went up to the White Witch and brazenly asks to be her handmaid.
The White Witch be a suspicious type but she also knows there be nothing to fear from such a weak
whelp of a black witchling. But what the White Witch didn't realize, be that the witchling not be
weak at all.

"That witchling actually had very powerful magic ability deep within her, she jest have
no training to speak of.

"The White Witch took no chances, regardless. She kept all her spells and such in a great
stone tower, sealed with spells so thick that the youngun never be able to traipse anywhere near
'em. Only the White Witch and her witch cat be able to get into that tower.

"Then one day, after the witchling had grown up, she challenged the White Witch. And
so began a duel unlike any seen afore or since on this here realm. They say the skies went dark and
rolled with thunderish spells for days on end, such be the power of their battle. Eventually the
youngun destroyed the White Witch and her tower with all her evil magic lore.

"That young witch be known ever after as Lunyae, 'cause she threw down the White
Witch under the light of the healing moon." Herling pointed to a portrait hanging over the doorway,
one Carole hadn't noticed before. The faded image showed a young woman with wild flying hair
and dark penetrating eyes, illuminated by the light of a full moon. "Lunyae be the founder of this
Westhill Coven.

"Now maybe ye wonders how be it that Lunyae could defeat the great White Witch
without any training? And I tell ye that, now. She did it three ways: Firstly, she be wearing black so
as to remain humble-like and not appear a threat despite the powerful magic that she held within.
Secondly, she studied secretly, long and hard, learning magic lore and especially learning ways to
defeat the White Witch. And thirdly, she be taught by Feisty, the White Witch's cat."

Herling again pointed to the portrait, and this time Carole noticed that Lunyae had a
scruffy looking cat sitting on her lap.

"Feisty be an old cantankerous creature and a good match in temperament to the White
Witch, but first and foremost he still be a cat. This be a thing that the White Witch in all her power
and vanity forgot. Not all cats be pleasant creatures, but miserable or not, cats be creatures that
detest evil.

"When Feisty saw that the White Witch's heart be totally given over to evil, he took it
onto himself to train Lunyae. It be Feisty who revealed to Lunyae all that be hidden in the White
Witch's tower, and it be Feisty who revealed to Lunyae the White Witch's weaknesses.

"So that be why witches wear black, today. Black be the true color of wisdom. Black be
the color ye get when ye add all the other colors together. Black reminds us of the deep wisdom of
Lunyae, who through her humble ways saved our realm from the grips of evil.

"And that be why we keep companion cats, as friends but also as guides to warn us
should we stray too far along evilish ways.

"Look now ye younguns." Herling pointed to the kittens. "These here cat whelps have
vowed to be true to the ways of Feisty cat. And since I began telling this story, they bin studying ye.
Tis they that be yer test. If no cat comes to yer side, it be because they see true evil within ye. If that
be the case, ye will leave our coven this very eve and never return."

Herling gave no time for her words to sink in. She beckoned to the first child at the left
end of the line. "Ye, there. Step forward and lets the cats take a final look."

The girl nearly jumped out of her skin, but before she could take two steps, a pretty gray
tabby mewed sweetly and leapt into her arms. Grinning from ear-to-ear, the witchling returned to
the line, accompanied by hearty applause and table thumping from around the hall. The second girl
steeled herself and stepped forward. A jet-black kitten slipped to the ground and wound itself
around her ankles.

Each of the witchlings were accepted in turn, until there was only one girl left. This
witchling stood nervously watching and waiting. The kitten, a miniature version of Brutus, sat
licking itself, neither accepting nor dismissing the girl. Time ticked on and Carole could see tears in
the girl's eyes.

Finally Herling barked, "Enough of yer vanity ways, cat. Ye might look like Brutus, but
that don't mean ye get to act like him. Choose or not. We be done waiting."

Cringing under the barrage of words, the kitten slunk from the table and lay placidly
across girl's feet. The girl hefted the cat in her arms, and looking as though she were about to faint
from relief, turned to face the hall.

"Good." Herling growled over the raucous applause. "That be done with. As Head Witch I
welcome all ye witchlings to the Westhill Coven. In honor of yer acceptance ye get to sit up front
here, near the head table. Enjoy, fer it'll be long time 'til ye gets to eat up here again."

The witchlings and their cats sat down to another round of applause.

"Now then to the other business that be at hand," Herling said, once the noise had died
down. "Lucreta, stand yerself up, girl. Lucreta, myself and the other head crones feel that ye be
ready fer life as a full-fledged witch. Jest this day past ye done show us how expert a healer ye be, in
helping to save young Mariat's life, and likewise in patching up young Sylphwood, here. Yer training
be more than complete, so no longer a witchling ye be." Again the hall burst into thunderous cheer,
and this time it was Lucreta's cheeks that turned dark crimson.

"As such ye can take yer place with us at the coven, or ye can live in a village with
non-witch folk. This be a tough decision that all new witches must make, but whilst ye be thinking on it
ye get to move into yer own cottage... except maybe with one slight hitch."

Herling rubbed her chin. "Young Mariat be also graduating to the next level and by
rights she gets to move to the first floor with the other senior witchlings, but it might be better fer
Mariat to room with a more mature witch to help keep her out of trouble."

Chuckles were heard around the hall.

"Not to mention to keep her from spoiling this new batch of witchlings with her wild
ways," Herling added, so only Carole and Lucreta could hear. "So I be thinking that Lucreta might be
a good choice fer Mariat's roommate. This be totally yer choice, Lucreta. Certainly none of us would
think ye a stinker fer saying no to that rascal. Course if ye say yes, ye can have a bigger cottage.
There be one or two that'll fix up nice."

Lucreta cleared her throat. "It be no problem to put up with Mariat. We get along pretty
fine, now."

"Good! That be all the formal coven business we have fer tonight," Herling decreed. "Ye
all get to partying again."

With a scraping of chairs and a rustling of skirts, the witches crowded onto the floor.
Many came over to congratulate Lucreta, and many more came over to welcome the new arrivals,
who were beginning to look more at ease. Carole felt a soft touch against her calf and looked down
to see Mariat's cat, Cleopatra. The cat meowed something before bolting towards the door. Needing
no further prompting, Carole followed her.

Cleopatra was running towards the outskirts of the village. Carole kicked into a fast
glide and pulled even just as the cat came to a stop outside the brew shack.

"Don't tell me Mariat's in there. Her and her sneaky ways. She's supposed to be in
bed."

"Meeowl!"

"I'm not blaming you, Cleo. I just can't believe that witchling of yours." She opened the
door of the shack and the cat vanished inside. "Mariat?"

There was no answer.

Carole stepped into the gloom, closing the door behind her. That was a mistake. Not
only were there no windows, but it was extremely hot and smelly. "Mariat?"

Silence.

She waited for her eyes to adjust to the dark. After a few moments she could make out
glowing coals in a hearth at the opposite end of the shack. Above the coals hung a small cauldron.
Carole went closer. It was still too dark to see anything, but the smell coming from the vat was
putrid. Holding her nose, she quickly backed away.

A movement attracted her attention. Cleopatra was sitting next to a canvas partly
covering two wooden barrels. Whilst staring at Carole, the cat placed a paw atop an irregular lump
in the canvas.

"What are you doing under there, Mariat?"

"Ya skunk, Cleo." Mariat pulled the canvas off her head. "Didn't I tell ye not to
snitch?"

"You're the skunk, Mariat. You were given strict orders to stay in bed, and now look at
you. Even in this light I can see you're pale as a ghost. You've probably started to bleed again."

"Not so. I jest be a little sore is all."

"If you walked here from Brunstice's cottage, I can almost guarantee you're
bleeding."

"I didn't. I took my broom. Cleo knows the truth. My belly aches only a very little, and
probably Brunstice's wicked broth be the cause of that."

"True, Cleo?"

The cat nodded.

"It's still no excuse, Mariat."