Caution: Witch In Progress (19 page)

    ‘No buts,’ interrupted the angry teacher. ‘I think we have all
heard enough from you today. You were all warned about the dangers of damaging
trees, and you, boy, chose to ignore the warning. Well, now you know why. The
spirit of the living tree you damaged has got its own back. You will have to
get another broomstick made, of the correct wood, before you can try again.
Meanwhile, sit over there where I can keep an eye on you!’

    Fang slunk away, head down. It was his turn to look thoroughly
humiliated. He obviously didn’t enjoy it one bit.

    After all the excitement, the others found it a bit difficult to
get back to what they had been doing. Gertie knew she should have felt smug
about Fang, but she didn’t. After all, that would have made her as bad as him,
wouldn’t it? She ignored his scowling face, and concentrated on her broom.
Everyone else did the same, quietly. Miss Black was watching them all like a
hawk, or even like Sly’s vulture! No one else was going to misbehave in her
class. Everyone knew better than to even think about it. In fact, they all
tried even harder to do as they were told.

    Broomsticks wavered, broomsticks rose. Miss Black looked
encouraged and walked around giving words of advice on keeping the brooms
steady, and maintaining their lift. Gertie was so excited when her broom
reached the height of her knees that she forgot all about Fang. This was what
being at the Academy was all about!

    By the end of the morning, Miss Black had allowed them all to
sit on their broomsticks at waist height, and propel themselves a very short
distance forwards. They did this one at a time, while the teacher stood closely
beside them.

    Bertha flew the few feet with a look of complete boredom on her
face. Gertie knew she was wondering when they would break for lunch.

    When Gertie’s turn came, she was almost too excited to sit
still. She wobbled a bit, and Miss Black reached to catch her should she begin
to fall. There was no need. Gertie righted herself, and concentrated with all
her might. The short distance she flew felt like the best broomstick ride she
had ever been on.

    As soon as class broke up, Gertie rushed back to her room. If
ever there was an important time for an extra call to Ma and Gran, this was it.

Even
Bat was full of Gertie’s broomstick flying class. He hadn’t forgotten Gertie
had promised to take him for rides with her. He had chatted about nothing else
since he watched the class through the window, and saw Gertie take her first
short, low ride.

    When Gertie woke up next morning, she wondered if Bat had shut
up about it at all in the night, because he was still muttering away to
himself. Owl came in through the open window, and paused to peer very closely
at the strange umbrella that was making a noise. Not understanding what he was
looking at, even so close up, he tapped the wooden head with his beak.

    ‘Heeeeelp!’ yelled Bat. ‘Call off your Owl, old pal, he’ll have
me out the window!’

    Gertie shot out of bed and dashed over to him. A scratch behind
his left ear soon got Owl’s full attention. He then headed over to his log for
a snooze following another busy night’s exploring.

    ‘He wouldn’t hurt you on purpose,’ Gertie said to Bat.

    ‘Well, no, I guess not,’ replied the umbrella in a worried
voice, ‘but, sheeesh, my whole life flashed before my eyes! Not that there’s
much to flash, but you know what I mean. Hey, are we, I mean you, flying again
today?’ And on he went. Gertie had forgotten what it was like to have her room
quiet.

    One more new class remained before the pupils would be given
more free time to prepare their Presentation. This would be the Fire Spell
class. Gertie was used to getting her wall torches to light now, but she knew
they had special spells placed on them to make it easy. The class was to teach
them the basics of producing fire, and controlling it.

    Thoughts of fire always took Gertie’s mind back to the incident
with Grothilde’s barn. In a way, it was good she had been able to make fire at
all, and at such a distance! Still, the fact remained it had been well out of
her control. Gertie hadn’t been brave enough to try forming fire since. She was
afraid what she might unwittingly set ablaze. Soon however, she would have to
do it again. The class was fortunately being held out on the blasted heath at
the site of the bonfires the older pupils had at times. Surely there wouldn’t
be anything she could accidentally set on fire there? Gertie hoped not.

    It would be a hectic last few weeks. Maybe Gertie’s last weeks
ever at the Academy. The young witch wasn’t sure whether she would be back for
another term or not. She wouldn’t be given the chance if she didn’t pass this
term anyway. Gertie decided not to think about the future until she was through
this term. She must pass, for Ma and Gran, but also to prove something to
herself. Gertie needed to believe, really believe, she was a witch. She wanted
to feel like a true Grimthorpe. It was a name to be proud of in the village.

    Gertie gave herself to her studies with a new enthusiasm. She
was doing a little better in other classes now, but plants, herbs and cures
remained her firm favourite. Apart from the crystal ball, the blonde witch’s
other successes were not great if truth be told. It wasn’t for lack of trying,
but Gertie couldn’t see that a time would come when she would want to harm
anyone. Why grimace and point at someone to hurt them? It didn’t make any sense
to Gertie. She didn’t even want to hurt Fang, though she had to think about
that one. He seemed to be doing a good enough job of hurting himself anyway
with his silly and spiteful ways. Gertie didn’t think any of the teachers liked
him, and he fooled around too much to be good at anything. No, Gertie believed
Fang would turn out to be his own worst enemy.

    The young witch took Bat with her as she went to check on Wart.
She also wanted to see if the moat monster needed any herbs for his upset
tummy. Bat loved to go anywhere at all, so he burbled on happily even though
Gertie was deep in her own thoughts. She truly believed she had learned
everything she could now for her Presentation. Gertie was as ready as she would
ever be. But did she know enough? It was a worry, because what Gertie was about
to attempt could potentially have disastrous consequences if it went wrong.

    ‘Hiya, Moaty!’ called Bat from sideways under Gertie’s arm. He
thankfully did not know the moat monster’s real name.

    ‘Hi, Woodhead,’ replied the scaly creature, who often said he
didn’t understand how a bodiless wooden head could talk to him. ‘You’re an
amazing witch, Pipsqueak,’ he called. ‘A talking umbrella and a cure for
stomach gripe. You never fail to impress me.’

    Gertie had brought Mervin’s cure with her, because he always
seemed to need it. This time however, she also carried some seeds and small
pots of leafy growths. That was why Bat was under her arm.

    ‘What’s that, Pipsqueak?’ asked Mervin with interest. ‘Something
else for me?’

    ‘Well, yes, in a way,’ Gertie replied. As a kind witch, she had
been wondering what would happen when she was no longer at the Academy. How
would Mervin get his cure? She had hit on what she thought to be the perfect
solution.

    ‘I’m going to make you your own herb garden where you can reach
it, Mer…Monster,’ said Gertie, glancing at Bat who she had placed on the
ground.

    ‘My own herb garden?’ asked Mervin, completely agog now.

    As Gertie poked, and dug, and planted in a sheltered spot by the
moat, she continued to talk. ‘Yes, and then you can pick what you need, when
you need it. You know what the different leaves look like now, don’t you?’

    ‘Oh yes,’ replied the monster, ‘but, why can’t you just bring
it?’

    Gertie believed he looked sad. Mervin seemed to know something
was wrong. She didn’t know what to say. The young witch took a little time
saying a few magical words over the tiny garden she had created, to give
herself time to think. She cast a spell said to make plants grow quickly, and
thrive. She hoped it would work.

    Finally, she turned to Mervin; who gave off a rude noise and
made the moat bubble. He stared at her with sad, green, googly eyes. ‘Not that
anyone would want to visit me, if they didn’t have to…’ said the moat monster,
shrugging as if he didn’t care. ‘I only like my own company,’ he added in a
defensive way.

    ‘I love to come to see you!’ Gertie replied with a smile.

    ‘You do?’ asked Mervin.

    ‘Yes, of course. You’re my friend,’ said the young witch.

    ‘But I’m her better friend,’ interrupted a wooden head from the
ground.

    Gertie picked Bat up again, so he could look around. That
quietened him down for a while.

    Gertie went on to tell Mervin about her home, and the Academy
term coming to an end. She also told him she wasn’t sure if she would be coming
back for another term. ‘But I’ll come back to visit!’ she promised.

    ‘You will?’ asked the slimy monster.

    ‘As often as I can,’ Gertie said. ‘Especially when I can fly my
own broomstick.’

    ‘Okay,’ said the moat monster after a while, still looking down.
He turned to examine his garden.

    ‘I’m off to check on Wart now,’ Gertie called.

    ‘Uhm,’ said Mervin, without turning around.

    ‘Are you sulking?’ Gertie asked.

    ‘No,’ replied the monster.

    ‘He is,’ Bat said.

    Mervin didn’t respond, so Gertie turned to walk away.

    ‘Gertie!’ Mervin called after her, using her name for the first
time.

    Gertie turned back in surprise.

    ‘I’ll miss you,’ he continued, obviously while he still had the
courage to say it.

    ‘Oh dear,’ said Gertie. ‘Look, you’re making me all sad now. I’m
not going yet, we still have ages.’

    ‘Okay, Pipsqueak,’ said the moat monster, dismissing her with a
flap of his hand. ‘Off you go. I need a swim.’ With that, he gave a weak but
toothy smile, and disappeared under the stagnant water.

    Continuing on her way to see Wart, Gertie made herself a mental
note to talk to Miss Fiendish about making friends with Mervin, very soon. Life
could be so complicated.

    All talk amongst the pupils was now of the Fire class. It was
getting ever nearer. The Fire Spell was really meant for older pupils on their
second term. This made it all the more exciting to most of the young witches
and warlocks. Gertie began to wonder if she was the only one who was a bit worried
about it. Bertha couldn’t care less, one way or the other.

    The blasted heath was a very barren place, situated away from
the Academy and any woods, for obvious reasons. Inexperienced hands, and fire,
were not a very safe combination. It was quite a large area and had a hill in
its centre. They had been told that older pupils held supervised bonfires on
the hill at special times of the year, like Halloween, and the Winter Solstice,
which Gertie remembered was the shortest day of the year. This naturally also
made it the longest night of the year, which was a good time for witchery.

    There was even talk of dancing around the bonfire and chanting
spells, but Gertie had never seen any of this from the windows of the Academy.
She had heard exaggerated tales about it, and couldn’t decide which parts were
true or not.

    Standing out on the blasted heath at last, Gertie felt strangely
cold. The whole area was dead and deserted, with blackened earth and a
permanent burnt smell in the air. Gertie wasn’t keen on it at all, though the
others were whispering in awe at the blackness of it all. She would have much
preferred to be in the woods, full of life and colour.

    Mr Morbid had led all the pupils out from the Academy, and on
the walk to the heath.  He now stood facing them and began to speak.

    ‘Right, class,’ he began, staring under his dark, thin brows. ‘You
can all light your wall torches, yes?’

    There was a general murmur of agreement.

    He nodded. ‘Well, what you are about to learn today won’t be
much different. It relies heavily on the same principle of belief, as does much
of witchcraft. I’m sure you’re beginning to find that out for yourselves as you
near the end of your first term here. This class will be very basic, but those
of you who return for another term will have further classes with me to learn
much more. All we will learn today is to form small flickers of fire, and to
control them. I will begin by telling you the general principles.’

    Mr Morbid looked around at everyone. Gertie did too. They were
all paying close attention, apart from Bertha who looked rather weary.

    He continued, ‘Firstly, to produce fire, you will need to centre
your body’s electrical energy at your fingertips. Once you feel the tingling
announce its arrival, you need to evoke a flicker. Witches don’t usually find
this difficult with practice, though I’ve never known a normal able to do it.
Once you see the flickering flame at your fingertips, you can then begin to
learn how to form balls of fire under your control. Some witches can in fact
produce fire simply by the right look or stare, but most prefer to produce the
fire on their fingertips.’

    Gertie paid even more attention. Had she done something clever
when she set fire to Grothilde’s barn with a stare? Not that she was proud of
what she had done. They were still building it back.

    Mr Morbid continued. ‘The fingertip method is also the safest
way to produce fire, as you will learn to hold it, and produce a controlled
cast. In this way, you can see the size of the flame before you cast it. You
don’t want to be trying to light a fire in the hearth, and send a ball large
enough to set the whole room on fire, do you?’

    Some of the witches giggled. Fang seemed to think it sounded
like a great idea. What power! His usually slitty eyes were now wide with
interest.

    ‘A point is the safest way to direct your fire,’ Mr Morbid said.
‘In this way, you can specify more easily where you want your fire to go. If
you are using the “Look” method, and become distracted, anything could happen,’
he stated, looking one to the other.

    Gertie felt herself blush. Oops, she thought.

    Mr Morbid’s gaze rested on her a moment, turning Gertie an even
brighter shade of red. She wondered if he could possible know what she had
done. Of course, he couldn’t.

    ‘We prefer therefore to teach fire by the point method at the
Academy,’ the teacher continued. ‘You will find your own preferred ways once
you are adept. You will learn, with practice, to use the amount of electrical
energy necessary for the size of fire you wish to create. As you see the fire
on the tips of your fingers, you will know how much power you need. If it looks
too large, decrease your fire power. If it is too small, increase it. It will
not burn your fingers, because it is your fire. Beware how you use it however,
as it could burn someone else if you are careless with it.’

    Mr Morbid paused again to make sure his last remark had sunk in.
‘The key, as I’m sure you are beginning to realise, is concentration. I want
you all to space out now to give yourselves enough room, and concentrate on
bringing fire to your fingertips. NO throwing unless I tell you to do so, and
only SMALL flames at this stage. You can use words of power if you like, to get
yourselves in the right mood. This isn’t necessary, but some witches and
warlocks find that repetitive words aid concentration and prevent the mind from
wandering. It is VITAL you do not let your mind wander when dealing with fire!’