The Secret Story: The Sylvalla Chronicles

Dedication

THANK YOU TO ALL MY readers, and all the generous people who have helped to develop this manuscript. I’d especially like to thank Gale Osborne, Shell Harry and the other secret readers who named my new witches and witches’ familiars!

Prologue

ALL STORIES ABOUT WITCHES are secret, told in allegory, hidden in plain sight. Secret is in our nature, for there are those for whom our power is a threat. Apparently, there’s nothing that really puts the fright up people more than an old woman who dares to heal people, or have a cat.

Those who would control everything and leave the ground barren in their lust for gold have no use for healers or herbs, and so witches are painted evil. Evil and ugly, and yet we have our own ways of fighting back, of hiding our knowledge in places everyone can see, if they only deign to look. Not only in our recipe books, and coded knitting patterns, but in the stories all mothers tell their children.

But there’s none so important as the story of the witch’s daughter who falls in love with a handsome prince. Sometimes there’s a fairy godmother. Sometimes the tale says that she wears glass slippers, or that the young maid feels as though they are walking on broken glass so far from the life-giving forest, so far from her old friends—feeling like she’s been torn between two worlds. But not just any old torn—torn in half. You have been warned. It’s all very well for the wizards, with their universities, and their lah-de-dah pretences of goodness and saving people, and solidarity. And do no harm. Because they’ll turn it all around in an instant, like a sawbones cutting off a festering limb—if they believe it’s for the greater good.

In the stories she’ll require many things: fairy godmothers and chariots of gold and footmen. But that’s only in the stories. All a witch really needs is youth, a glamour spell, and the willingness to being trapped in a castle for the rest of her life. It’s always sad, the prince was never worth the trouble, and yet that bit of the story, the bit where they all live unhappily ever after is the bit that is most often misquoted.

Happily? Propaganda is what that is. Have they not met any princes? Or do they really think all that posing in expensive clothes, and giving out the odd coin from their vast trove, is indicative of integrity? The idea is preposterous, at best they’re shallow and indulged, and at worst, they’re grasping murderous rogues with almost unlimited power within their kingdoms.

This is not one of those stories—although it does involve a royal ball. This is the story of what really happened that night, so that you, my fellow witches, can know the truth.

So, without any ado, let me get on with my knitting. I’ve a particularly difficult piece of code to create and need all my concentration.

Cook

The Rules: Prologue

Tishke

NAME: TISHKE NEE MARZI

FAMILIAR: With patterns

HEALING: Very little

WISDOM: When she was younger it was thought that Tishke would grow into great wisdom—that was until she made the unfortunate decision of marrying the prince of Avondale.

OTHER MAGIC:  Some ability in Persuasion, Protection and Glamour, unfortunately all underdeveloped, along with her knowledge of protection glyphs. 

NOTES:  Is obsessed with appearing to be the perfect image of a queen, terrified that one day someone will penetrate the façade and see instead Marzi, youngest child of a minor noble.

§

Tishke flicked through her cookbook that was not a cookbook, her eyes constantly darting to the door. It was a shame nobody would ever believe that she, as queen, would do her own cooking. So being caught with such a possession would be highly suspicious. Still, there were secrets in here, wisdom she’d never decode. There were also traps. For instance, it was best not to think about the Fairy Godmother Spell that got her here. She turned to the page containing The Rules hidden in a knitting pattern. O-XXXX-X XOX-XXO-XOXX-X-XXX...

The Rules

"THE RULES ARE SIMPLE, and most of them are not so much rules as guidelines about how not to die. They exist because it’s dangerous to be a witch. Because weak men are terrified of powerful women. You need to understand, they’ll kill you as soon as look at you. But if you’re brave, you can harness that fear to make your magic stronger. Just so long as nobody ever decides to call you a witch. Be especially wary of carelessly igniting the jealousy of fools—because then it will be far more likely that you will be caught and burned at the stake—whether anyone really thinks you’re a witch, or no.

Being a witch is dangerous; have you thought about taking up another, safer, career path? Careers that are not safe for witches: healer, apothecary, herbalist and midwife, which is ironic because they’re also the careers where you will be able to do the most good. We advise doing that good where no one can see, so when things go wrong you will not be standing in the way of blame.

Learn your Forget spell and keep your sisters secret.

If you have a black cat, never let anyone see you feed or pet it, and if you’re strong enough, use a little magic to ensure the creature has a white chest and white-stockinged feet.

Looking into the future is dangerous and carries consequences, which are not limited to madness, paranoia and poor digestion.

Never use a besom for sweeping. For a start, besoms are too well associated with magic, but even more importantly sweeping will only damage the besom and ruin its aerodynamics. If flying is imperative, consider choosing an umbrella or parasol as these items are less associated with witchcraft.

Watch out for wizards: they’re trouble.

If possible, obtain a certificate to prove that you are heavier than a duck. You’d be surprised how many lives have been saved by the possession of a fancy certificate.

Casting for Fairy Godmothers is dangerous. Your wish may turn into nightmare. Also, most transmogrification spells end at midnight, and that can be very embarrassing for want-to-be princesses who forget to keep an eye on the time.

Break the above rules at your own peril, but the blighting of crops or any form of dark or overt magic is punishable by us, your fellow witches, and we will stop you by any means necessary."

§

As she always did on days like today, Tishke counted off the ways she’d made herself safe from accusations of witchcraft. She had no cat, let alone a black one, so that was a plus. And as the queen of Avondale, she was hardly a healer or apothecary or any of the named dangerous professions. And she had a lot of power—although she’d always regret having to give away her besom in exchange for the umbrellas and parasols that were more suitable for a queen.

She sighed. I should never have opened the thumb-stained old book. Nothing in it was the slightest bit helpful. Still, she desperately wanted to show it to her daughter, Sylvalla. She could be so much more... But now’s not a good time. There had never been a good time. At first, Sylvalla had been too young. Then, she’d been too impetuous. And now, with all the gossip flying around about the princess and her ridiculous aspirations of being a hero, it was too dangerous. Sylvalla needed to be married. She must be married—and not sneaking into sword fighting with the noble boys like a vagabond. It was an utter, utter scandal...and that sword master pretending blindness... If only Tishke could be certain her daughter wouldn’t need such skills, she’d have put her foot down. But there’d been warnings, warnings she couldn’t ignore...and now danger was here. She could smell it.

Or maybe that was breakfast? Eggs?

Someone knocked on the door—Cook, fresh from the kitchens, and looking more flustered than usual. She was wearing her special pinny. Tishke read the pattern. There would be an important witch meeting...this afternoon! Of all days. It had better be worth our while, Tishke thought. What with the arrival of the prince, the ball Rufus was expected to announce, and the dreadful task of getting Princess Sylvalla into a suitable gown, she really didn’t need the distraction.

Defiance

Amarinda

FAMILIAR: NONE

HEALING: Trace

WISDOM: Too young to know

OTHER MAGIC:  None

NOTES: Tidy, vivacious, and only a little irritating. Not bad for a young thing.

§

Amarinda and her friends, Mac and Torri, squeezed through the open iron gates and into the castle courtyard, past vendors selling treats and the celebratory crowd all dressed in their finest. She brushed down her best dress, wishing she could afford a garment like her friend Torri’s—all made-to-measure from