Equal Rites

The smith nodded. He didn’t really understand, but he correctly surmised that if he revealed this fact Gra

“She’s strong in her mind and it might take a while,” said Gra

Smith picked up a hammer from his bench, looked at it as though he had never seen it before, and put it down again.

“But,” he said, “if it’s wizard magic she’s got, learning witchery won’t be any good, will it? You said they’re different.”

“They’re both magic. If you can’t learn to ride an elephant, you can at least learn to ride a horse.”

“What’s an elephant?”

“A kind of badger,” said Gra

The blacksmith sighed. He knew he was beaten. His wife had made it clear that she favored the idea and, now that he came to think about it, there were some advantages. After all, Gra

“All right,” he said.

And so, as the winter turned and started the long, reluctant climb towards spring, Esk spent days at a time with Gra

It seemed to consist mainly of things to remember.

The lessons were quite practical. There was cleaning the kitchen table and Basic Herbalism. There was mucking out the goats and The Uses of Fungi. There was doing the washing and The Summoning of the Small Gods. And there was always tending the big copper still in the scullery and The Theory and Practice of Distillation. By the time the warm Rim winds were blowing, and the snow remained only as little streaks of slush on the Hub side of trees, Esk knew how to prepare a range of ointments, several medicinal brandies, a score of special infusions, and a number of mysterious potions that Gra

What she hadn’t done was any magic at all.

“All in good time,” repeated Gra

“But I’m supposed to be a witch!”

“You’re not a witch yet. Name me three herbs good for the bowels.”

Esk put her hands behind her back, closed her eyes, and said: “The flowering tops of Greater Peahane, the root pith of Old Man’s Trousers, the stems of the Bloodwater Lily, the seedcases of—”

“All right. Where may water gherkins be found?”

“Peat bogs and stagnant pools, from the months of—”

“Good. You’re learning.”

“But it’s not magic!”

Gra

“Most magic isn’t,” she said. “It’s just knowing the right herbs, and learning to watch the weather, and finding out the ways of animals. And the ways of people, too.”

“That’s all it is!” said Esk, horrified.

“All? It’s a pretty big all,” said Gra

“Can’t you teach me?”

“All in good time. There’s no call to go showing yourself yet.”

“Showing myself? Who to?”

Gra

“Never you mind.”

Then even the last lingering tails of snow had gone and the spring gales roared around the mountains. The air in the forest began to smell of leaf mould and turpentine. A few early flowers braved the night frosts, and the bees started to fly.

“Now bees,” said Gra

She carefully lifted the lid of the first hive.

“Your bees,” she went on, “is your mead, your wax, your bee gum, your honey. A wonderful thing is your bee. Ruled by a queen, too,” she added, with a touch of approval.

“Don’t they sting you?” said Esk, standing back a little. Bees boiled out of the comb and overflowed the rough wooden sides of the box.

“Hardly ever,” said Gra

She put a hand into the struggling mass of insects and made a shrill, faint piping noise at the back of her throat. There was a movement in the mass, and a large bee, longer and fatter than the others, crawled on to her hand. A few workers followed it, stroking it and generally ministering to it.

“How did you do that?” said Esk.

“Ah,” said Gra

“Yes. I would. That’s why I asked, Gra

“Do you think I used magic?”

Esk looked down at the queen bee. She looked up at the witch. “No,” she said, “I think you just know a lot about bees.”

Gra

“Exactly correct. That’s one form of magic, of course.”

“What, just knowing things?”

“Knowing things that other people don’t know,” said Gra

“And I think it’s time you learned a few secrets,” she added.

At last, thought Esk.

“But first, we must pay our respects to the Hive,” said Gra

Without thinking, Esk bobbed a curtsey.

Gra

“Bow, I told you,” she said, without rancor. “Witches bow.” She demonstrated.

“But why?” complained Esk.

“Because witches have got to be different, and that’s part of the secret,” said Gra

They sat on a bleached bench in front of the rimward wall of the cottage. In front of them the Herbs were already a foot high, a sinister collection of pale green leaves.

“Right,” said Gra

Esk obediently went inside and unhooked Gra

Gra

“Inside this hat,” she said solemnly, “is one of the secrets of witchcraft. If you ca

“Can I hold it?”

“Be my guest.”

Esk peered inside the hat. There was some wire stiffening to give it a shape, and a couple of hatpins. That was all.

There was nothing particularly strange about it, except that no one in the village had one like it. But that didn’t make it magical. Esk bit her lip; she had a vision of herself being sent home in disgrace.

It didn’t feel strange, and there were no hidden pockets. It was just a typical witch’s hat. Gra

She tried to recall the bits of lessons that Gra

Gra

Esk began to feel the shape of the answer and she didn’t like it much. It was like a lot of Gra

“I think I know,” she said at last.

“Out with it, then.”

“It’s in sort of two parts.”

“Well?”

“It’s a witch’s hat because you wear it. But you’re a witch because you wear the hat. Um.”

“So—”prompted Gra

“So people see you coming in the hat and the cloak and they know you’re a witch and that’s why your magic works?” said Esk.

“That’s right,” said Gra

“But it’s not real!” Esk protested. “That’s not magic, it’s it’s—”

“Listen,” said Gra

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