I well remember the morning I met her. A late frost had all England in its cruel grip. Wild northern winds were blowing over the moors and shaking the stunted pines on the slopes of the Scottish hills. Tiny birds sat huddled in the tangled briars, their feathers puffed up against the cold. Thin sheets of black ice covered the puddles in the cart ruts on the road.
My back ached; I repositioned the sword and pack strapped to my back and trudged onward. I had been on the move since daybreak. The bitter wind chaffed my hands raw and chilled me to the bone. The last of the food was gone. Work in my line was getting scarce. Not many villages had trouble with magical beasts these days.
I had reached sixteen summers last year. My elder brother, the head of our small household, had taken me aside and congratulated me on reaching manhood.
“Godric, our father left you in my charge when he died. Now you are your own master and I shall not be the one to say nay to you any longer. Long has your heart longed to be on the road, seeking a better fortune then the one fate has lain upon you.
“See,” he said, pointing out the open door at the tilled fields and well-filled storehouses, “One third of this land is yours. Your brother and I are ready to help you build your own house across the creek. Briallen, Brynmor’s daughter, is willing to wed with you before the winter snows. Life is good here in the Hollow.”
I looked into my brother’s face. It was very sad; the dark eyes looking into mine held little of the hope his words expressed. I opened my lips to speak, but he raised his hand to stop me.
“Godric, take a few days and think on what I have said. If you choose to stay I will be content. If you desire to go, then take our father’s sword and be gone. We shall sorely miss you, brother, but I shall not hold you back.” He turned away, laying his hands on the doorframe and watching the pigs grub in the creek bed. “The villagers are right. You are a lion at heart. You bear no love for the soil. Battle is in your blood.”
“And magic is in my veins, brother,” I whispered back. He turned on me and his eyes flashed, but he didn’t answer. It was then I knew without a doubt that I would leave. Few knew how much it grieved me to go.
Sometimes I regret that decision. Food, lodging, and friends are hard to come by in these times. Occasionally I come across a village that needs some wild animal killed. I dispatched a feral werewolf in one town, a sickly dragon in another. But life was far from easy. My clothes had reached an almost beggarly state. My pack was never heavy enough. My belt was always cinched tight. I grew to hate the bitter cold.
It was nearing midmorning now, and I had yet to sight a village or a farm. The sharp mountains rose into the slate gray sky, their peaks glittering in the pale light. I watched an eagle wheel in the sky overhead and then plummet toward the earth. A hunting shriek was born down the wind, a wild sound in that empty country. I shivered and pressed onward.
I had covered another league or two when I heard the distant hoof-beats of an approaching horse. I slowed my pace and slung down the sword at my back. The princely gems glittered for an instant as I strapped it to my hip. Then I pulled my jerkin down to hide the hilt. The hoof beats grew louder.
I turned and waited. A lone rider was trotting up the long slope I had just climbed. The hunting eagle I had just seen was circling low about his mounted master. A full game bag was slung across the horse’s withers. The figure that sat easily in the saddle was hooded and swathed in a midnight blue mantle.
The horse closed the distance rapidly. I felt a wave of surprise when I realized it was a shaggy plow horse. The unkempt beast contrasted strangely with his robed rider. When the pair reached me I caught at the bit and the horse shied, aiming a half kick at my shins with his forelegs.
“Release my horse!” demanded a woman’s indignant voice. I ignored the imperious order and kept my grip on the bridle. I had no intention of missing the chance for directions to the nearest village.
“Calm your mad beast, woman!” I exclaimed, hastily sidestepping the prancing hooves, “I only beg directions. I am hungry and need lodging, not a broken leg.” I looked up, and my eyes meet a pair of angry hazel ones.
“There is no lodging for at least ten leagues more, stranger,” she replied. She reached up and pushed back her hood with a small white hand.
“Then where are you from, pray?” I asked in astonishment. “Surely there is a castle nearby, or at least your hunting party?” I saw she looked pleased, but a small frown appeared between the intelligent eyes.
“I live that way,” she pointed northwest, “but I do not invite you to my home.” There was flat finality in her tone. I felt my hopes for a hot meal and dry pallet fade. I dropped my hand from the bridle and stood aside. She dug her heels into the horse’s sides and started down the hill.
“Wait!” I called suddenly, remembering my profession, “Are you or your folk plagued by any dangerous beasts? I hunt and slay dark creatures.”
She pulled her horse up sharply. I saw her turn in the saddle, her slight body braced against the wind and her dark tresses floating free. I saw that her attention was mine and I took a desperate chance. “I come from the moors, across yon flatlands. I have traveled since before last winter’s snows. I am weary. I came by long roads from Smyth Town five days since. I rid them of a feral werewolf when the moon was full. Can I do you or your folk any such service?”
“What is your name?” she asked.
“Godric of the Hollow,” I replied. Disappointment crossed her face. I felt a flush rise in my cheeks. She had expected to recognize my name.
“We have had trouble with a Gryphon in these parts…” she said slowly and dropped into deep thought. Her eyes lost their brilliant intensity and she seemed to float into a silent world all her own. It was then that I observed the surreal beauty that graced her face. Chiseled cheekbones, small straight nose, delicately arched eyebrows; she looked like a lady of the highest rank in the land. My gaze flicked uncertainly back to the shaggy gray horse; ‘twas no lady’s palfrey.
“Very well,” she said at last, “’tis against my better judgment, but I shall lead you to my father’s house. The Gryphon has taken much of our livestock, and it would be wise to destroy it before the lambing season.”
“My thanks,” I said. We descended the hill together. I walked at her knee, my pace lengthening with the promise of shelter ahead. I felt her curious eyes on me more than once during that short journey, but I maintained a stoic silence.
When he seized Selyf’s bridle I felt a stab of fear. My magic has never been of a warlike bent. I could see the sword at his belt and the long dagger strapped into his boot. For all I knew he had more weapons I could not see.
What a fool I was for assuming he was Llyn, our chief shepherd. The two had the same build; tall, but broad in the shoulder and narrow in the flank. I had ridden up the hill and was next to him before I realized my mistake.
The hex on the tip of my tongue would have blinded him, but I hesitated when he drew no weapon. When I saw his eyes, I knew he meant me no harm. However, these were hard times. Strangers often bring ill fortune, and empty hands earn no bread.
Yet he promised to rid us of the Gryphon, which was good news indeed, if true. The creature had long tormented our valley and my spells had had only a limited effect. My few magical books contained nothing useful for banishing a full-grown Gryphon. All I had accomplished was to hide the house and sheepfolds from his nightly attacks.
I cautiously smoothed my skirts and watched Godric out of the corner of my eye. He thought I was a lady. I wondered what he would he would think when he saw my home. I was no more a lady then old Llyn was a laird of rank. I only had fine clothes because I knew many spells that transfigured cloth, trinkets, and the like. My tomes had taught me much on that frivolous subject.
An old monk taught me to read when my family lived at Wellington. I was a child then, a bit of a girl with tangled hair and spoilt ways. He took me under his wing one summer and taught me to read Latin from the monastery’s small library. Books have enchanted me from first moment I laid my hand on their kidskin covers. Books contain wisdom, the greatest treasure mankind possesses.
‘Witch’ is an ugly word to hear in these times. I began to realize my powers in my seventh winter. My family begged me to hide the displays of magic. They took away my books, fearing that learning had turned my head. We moved to these distant hills. They had no wish to see their daughter burned at the stake.
I hid some of my books in the linen chests and under my pallet. These few I managed to keep out of my father’s hands. I knew them cover to cover within a year. Every now and then a new one came my way, but they were exceeding rare.
My parents feared me. They knew my magic has waxed strong in the last ten years. They touched nothing I transfigured or charmed. They never spoke of my gift. They tried to find me a husband, but rumors had spread. My parents gave up at last, and I was left to mind my own affairs as I pleased.
Godric was the first wanderer we had seen that spring. I could tell he had seen a hard winter. A shaggy mane of red hair tumbled on his shoulders and a short beard covered lips and chin. Sea green eyes had met mine several times when we had exchanged words, but after that he avoided my gaze. I wondered what he thought of me, and if he thought me a child. He had surely seen more years then I. His face was that of a man. I felt painfully aware of my boyish frame and untamed hair. He would laugh at me behind his hand when he saw me out of the saddle.
We came within sight of my home. I watched his face carefully. I had been right. A humble manor house and stables were the last things he had expected to see. He masked his confusion and kept walking. I hid my own feelings and led the way. Godric would know now that I was not a lady. For some reason the thought stung me bitterly. I felt like the last hold I had on his respect was gone.
The yard was deserted. I drew reign at the mounting block and handed down the game bag. Godric took it without comment. My eagle Fercos landed in the pines behind the house and watched my companion with suspicious eyes.
I jumped off Selyf’s back onto the block. In a moment I had reached the ground. It was as I had feared. Godric towered over me, head and shoulders well above my own. I thought I saw a small smile on his lips.
“I will tell my parents that we have a guest,” I said in a small voice. Godric despises us, I thought privately. He has probably been spending his time in the employ of lairds and knights.
I entered the house ahead of him. It was dark within. My mother sat carding wool by the fire. I could have charmed it straight and fine in an instant, but she never let me touch it.
“Mother, a guest,” I explained shortly. “He thinks he can do something about the beast that has been killing our sheep.” My mother rose and made Godric welcome. I returned to the yard and took Selyf to the barn. My object was now to stay out of Godric’s way. He would hunt down the Gryphon and leave in a day or two. I need only see him at mealtimes, and not even then, if I could help it.
I did not see her again that night. Eyslk, her mother, fed me and showed me where to sleep. I could not bring myself to ask the mother what her daughter’s name was.
In the afternoon the wind died. I went out tracking and soon found signs of the beast down by the bourn. I followed the Gryphon’s trail to the forest and marked the place well. It was too late to follow him into the trees. I walked back in the failing light and ate alone in the kitchen with her father. He was kind, but spoke little to me. I deem his troubles sat heavy on his shoulders.
Dawn found me in the stable yard readying my gear. I had laid out my weapons and was oiling my leather buckler when the sun rose. She opened the door and started across the yard towards the stables before she saw me. I saw her start and glance hurriedly back toward the door.
“Will you help me clean my gear before I go?” I asked, hoping she would stay. She sighed and dropped her basket, coming to stand beside me. She was so small next to me that I smiled in spite of myself. The top of her dark head would not have even reached my chin had she laid her head upon my breast. I shook myself, attempting to rid my treacherous mind of the thought.
“What shall I do?” she asked.
“If you finish oiling these,” I replied, handing her my leather gear, “I will sharpen my sword.” She nodded.
I drew the blade from its wrappings. Rubies glittered like setting suns in the morning sunlight. I heard her gasp. That pleased me. I knew she was impressed at last. Only a knight carried a blade like this.
“It was my father’s blade,” I explained sadly, looking into her wide hazel eyes. “He was killed when I was a child. I seek honor for his memory and a lasting name of my own.” She nodded, and a long silence fell between us. At last she broke it.
“I too seek a name for myself in the memories of men. But I wish to pass my name down in books of learning, not tales of valor. Perhaps you think this strange for a woman?”
“I do not,” I replied. “I only wish I had such lofty ambitions. I neither read nor write, so books of learning hold little for me. But you say you seek a name. What is your name?”
“Rowena,” she replied, glancing up at me from under long, dark lashes.
“It suits you. Raven-haired Rowena, wise woman of the northern glens… a name like that will not fade with time.” I saw a blush stain her cheeks. I rose. “I will be back before nightfall, Rowena,” I said, trying the name once more upon my lips. It felt sweet upon them. I turned to leave.
“Wait!” she exclaimed. Her blush deepened. “I have a draught to give you. It is not much, but it will nourish your strength in the battle at hand.” She handed me a corked flask. It was then that her fingers brushed my own. The surge in my magic was so violent I gasped and sprang away. She too sprang back and on her face I read both astonishment and fear. Without another word I stumbled across the open fields towards the forest.
I feared she had sensed something amiss. I was usually so careful, but Rowena would surely see through me now. The air between us had sparkled and snapped for an instant. The rush of heat along my arm had been like searing fire.
Rowena would guess that I was a wizard.
***
He knows!
My brain reeled. I tried to think clearly and rationally, but senseless fear was uppermost. My magic had betrayed me.
But then another thought swirled to the surface of my mind. If he knows then there is no use hiding the fact that I am, indeed, a witch. Godric was about to face a dangerous magical beast. I could do little on my own, but there was a faint chance that I could protect him from harm. I knew concealment charms and healing spells. Both might be useful.
He was already far across the fields when I stood up and shook away my thoughts. My parents were already astir within. Llyn was crossing the yard towards the sheep pens, whistling for his dogs as he went.
“Llyn,” I called. He stopped and I ran to him. “Please fetch Selyf. I must pack a bag. I will be back in half a moment. Young Godric has gone to seek the Gryphon and I must”“, I stopped and snatched back the hand I had laid pleadingly on Llyn’s arm.
“Ach, lass,” he smiled, “in thy wee hands lies more than meets the eye. Ye go now and fetch thy herbs and remedies and I’ll get thy horse.” He winked and patted my shoulder. “I’ve known thy secret many a year, little raven. Go on now; the lad will need thee by and by.” I threw my arms about his shaggy old neck and thanked him, and then ran for my remedies as fast as my feet would carry me.
I found the Gryphon’s lair with ease. The beast had made no attempt to hide his trail. I knew better then to corner him in his own den. I carefully readied my weapons and waited for him to emerge.
The sun neared its zenith ere I saw the monster. I heard him first, crawling out of the mouth of the cavern he inhabited. Rocks shifted beneath his great bulk as he came. When he reached the light I realized that no tale I had ever heard had done justice to the size and strength of a Gryphon. Yet perhaps no Gryphon had reached the girth and pride of this fearsome creature.
A mighty eagle he was in his forequarters, and a fell lion from shoulder to tail. Amber eyes scanned the clearing and soon discovered me, waiting his coming in the center of the open glade. The Gryphon opened the wings that lay folded close to his body. Their span was greater than any bird hatched in nest or aerie. I gripped my sword more tightly and waited. Battles in the past had taught me to wait upon my enemy.
The Gryphon boldly took wing and swooped upon me, claws bared. I sidestepped and drove my sword hard into his flank as he passed. The Gryphon screamed in anger and shied away. Fire flashed now in his eyes, and I saw more than a desire to kill; he wished now to rend me limb from limb, and would take no small pleasure in the process.
I once again waited his coming. The Gryphon bellowed and reared, slashing at me with its lion’s claws. I parried and ducked, but he charged and knocked me to the ground. I rolled beneath him, missing the deadly claws by some miracle. I slashed upward at his exposed belly and rolled free. The creature’s shrieks of agony nearly deafened me.
Before I could regain my feet he attacked. My side was seized in his enormous beak and I was flung against a tree. For a moment my sight dimmed. Strangely the beast seemed unable to see me, for he did not take his advantage.
I staggered to my feet and picked up my fallen sword. The blade was dark with blood. I realized my own side was rent and bleeding. With the realization of my wound came the pain.
The Gryphon was still seeking me, seeming unaware of the fact that I stood little more than an arm length away. I wondered if the creature had been blinded. I raised the point of my sword to the level of my eyes. “Invalesco spatha,” I cried aloud. Light flickered along the silver blade and shimmered in the rubies at the hilt.
I spun on my heel and drove the sword home with all the strength in my body. I thought I heard a voice mingled with my own as I spoke the incantation for strength, Compleo. The Gryphon fell dead; I had killed my enemy.
When I saw him make the killing stroke I felt both joy and fear. I had seen him summon magic to his aid, and all at once I knew I was no longer alone. I had found one of my own kind, a wielder of magic.
My spell for strength mingled with his as he buried his sword in the Gryphon’s side. I gave a shout of joy that died on my lips. For even as the Gryphon fell, so did Godric. He had either swooned or died, and my heart failed me at the thought of losing what I had just found.
When I reached him I saw just how grave was his hurt. His side was mangled by the Gryphon’s claws and beak. With shaking hands I uncapped the bottles and flasks I had brought with me, treating his wounds and forcing potions into his mouth. I had never treated anyone so badly wounded, and I feared my skill would fail me now.
“Godric, stay with me,” I pleaded, swabbing his wound and bathing in with salve. “You must turn your magic inward now. Save your life, all I can do is help.” Tears were running down my cheeks. I touched his face with gentle fingers, wiping away the dust, leaves, and grime. His lids were closed, red lashes laid against pallid cheeks.
My body shook with sobs. I felt guilt rise within me, far more terrible a monster then the one that lay dead before us. If I had not changed my mind on the hilltop he never would have come to this fate.
I poured a blood-replenishing potion into his mouth and helped him swallow it with a spell. Then I sat forlorn, with his poor head in my lap, praying that the potions would take effect soon. My thoughts meandered far into misty realms, and I wandered far in search of magic that would heal young Godric, the Gryphon’s bane.
When I opened my eyes I was looking up into Rowena’s sweet face. Her eyes were dreamy, as if she had passed into a waking trance. I studied that fair face awhile, trying to remember what had happened and why I lay stretched in a forest clearing, my head resting in her lap.
“Have I been asleep?” I asked at last. Something stirred in her eyes and she became aware of me. She smiled and sighed.
“You live,” she murmured, one hand brushing light as a feather across my forehead. “Do you remember nothing, then?” she asked. I turned my head and saw the carcass of the Gryphon.
“You came to find me then, after I slew the Gryphon?” I asked, memory returning.
“I followed you from the moment you reached the forest edge. I watched the fight, Godric,” she replied. I remembered my injuries and reached out to cautiously touch my side. My side was unhurt; not even a scratch remained.
“But I was wounded,” I muttered.
“I healed you.” She answered simply.
“But that would have taken weeks! How long have I been in this wood?”
“It is not yet sunset. You have lain here for about six hours.” She paused and seemed to consider her words carefully. “Godric, you used very powerful magic in that battle with the Gryphon. You are a wizard, are you not?”
I sat up slowly, my heart racing. She had challenged me. The hazel eyes looking into mine demanded a true response.
“Rowena,” I said slowly, “Yes, I am a wizard.” I waited for her to shrink away, to jump up and run for her horse, but she just laughed.
“It takes little wit to see that,” she commented, a mocking smile now curving her lips, “You bear no common sword and speak ancient spells handed down from time out of mind. Tell me, have you never met another wizard… or witch?”
“No,” I answered, feeling wary. Her obvious amusement troubled me.
“Godric, you are being very slow. Can you not see that that is no longer true?” she queried, raising one eyebrow. A wave of understanding engulfed me.
“You are”” I could not go on.
“I am a witch, Godric.”
Joy filled me like a rising tide. “Rowena, do you speak the truth? I have never given up hope, but fortune has cheated me before.”
For answer she picked up a leaf and whispered a spell. There was a flicker of wings and the leaf rose into the air, transfigured into a red and gold butterfly. She reached out and laid her hand on my arm, “Godric,” she said softly, “you and I are no longer alone in the world. Let us go forth and seek our kind. I am certain there are others. We must learn from each other and from them. Magic was never meant to dwell alone.”
We rode back in the twilight. She sat behind me, clasping my waist with her small hands. The sun set in a purple sky behind us, and a crescent moon hung pearly-white overhead.
In the morning we would leave for Londin Towne. Rumor had reached Rowena that magical folk could be found there. She laughed lightly at the distance; “Fortune favors the brave,” she quipped. I knew our combined magic would shorten the road, but it would be many days and nights before we saw the walls of that city before us in the glomming.
I had been riding hard all afternoon. My horse was steaming in the late spring rain as I passed into the outskirts of Londin Towne. I clapped my spurs into the horse's flanks. He galloped faster.
When I reached The Kelpie I pulled up my horse and dismounted. I threw the rains to a grubby stable boy. He opened the door and I pushed my way into the inn, cursing the wet weather. I was drenched to the bone. The first telltale signs of fever and a sore throat boded ill. I was in no mood to converse with strangers.
For such a rainy afternoon the guests were scarce. Some warlocks conversed at the trench tables and three travelers sat at the long counter. The largest was a rough looking wizard. On his left sat a red haired youth wearing a sword. I judge the metal of a man easily. This lad would make a sound ally and a dangerous enemy. I studied his face carefully before turning my attention to his companion.
I wondered if this other was his son or pageboy. The lad had thick dark hair cropped short about his face. The fine lines of cheekbone and mouth indicated high birth, I deemed. Doubtless he was a page to this young knight, I decided. The young stripling seemed to sense my gaze. A pair of intelligent hazel eyes turned to study me intently.
That will be young Salazar, I sighed to myself when I heard the thunder of hooves in the street. I had been working at The Kelpie long enough to know his habits. Most likely chucked out of the house again, poor man.
I hurried out of the scullery to prepare a room for him. When I came down the stairs I saw him standing by the door. The rain was dripping from his heavy cloak onto my clean floor. He flung back his hood. Then I realized that he had locked gazes with the raven-haired lad in the corner. The look was intense, and I wondered what each was thinking.
A call for ale distracted me, and when I looked again he had removed his cloak and moved to the fire. I sighed when I saw the muddy footprints, but knew better then to scold. He was in one of his right foul moods, I could tell.
“Oi, Helga!” called old John, banging his mug on the counter, “when’ll the stew be ready?”
“Any moment now, you old vagabond,” I chided. I surreptitiously flicked my wand and banished the footprints, then went to the kitchen to check on the pot of stew. There would be about ten guests this wet evening.
I heard the main door bang some time later. I groaned and charmed the stew to accommodate eleven. I drew another mug of ale and carried it out to greet the new guest. I felt my heart sink when I saw him. ‘Twas Heathnart. He and Salazar had a bitter feud between them. Tempers would run high in my pub tonight.
I cursed the fates when Heathnart came in. He loved reminding me that my sister had dishonored my family’s name by marrying a common Muggle. She was been my favorite sister. Her betrayal cut me to the quick. Lylyn is dead now, taken in childbirth long ago.
Heathnart had once hoped to marry her. He hated Slytherin Manor and all who inhabited it for despising his suit. He took solace in blaming us for her death. My hand tightened convulsively on my wand.
‘Twas was clear he was already far-gone in drink. Helga bustled in, and I saw alarm in her blue eyes when they lit upon us both. I nodded coldly in greeting.
“Now, Master Heathnart,” she began, setting down the mug she had carried in, “what are you doing here at this hour. You should be up at Heath Hall! What brings you out so late?”
“’Been at the Leaky, Helga,” he chuckled, “Their beer is better then yourn, but the ol’ Kelpie will do fer seconds.”
“You’re drunk!” Helga exclaimed, anger snapping in her eyes, “but if you want to insult my pub you can drink elsewhere.” She scooped up the mug and turned back to the kitchen.
Heathnart noticed me at last. “Look what we have here!” he boomed, striding over unsteadily and thrusting his great ugly face near my own. “So tell me, Salazar, does your sister rest easy in her grave, or has she come back to haunt the halls of Slytherin Manor?”
Raw magic flooded my being. My anger was so intense I did not need to channel it into a spell. Heathnart was thrust backward as if by a blow to the face. I never moved, my anger rooting me to the spot.
He was flung halfway across the room and collided with the rough looking stranger at the bar. He, in turn, shoved Heathnart to the floor with an oath. The red haired man and his companion rose to leave, sensing a fight in the offing. But Heathnart lashed out at the younger lad’s knees. “I’ll not have the curs slinking off to hide when the dogs begin to fight,” he snarled, his humiliation making him savage.
The red-bearded youth picked Heathnart up by the collar and thrust him back. “Do not lay your filthy paws on my brother,” he said coldly and turned to leave.
“Oh no you don’t!” yelled Heathnart, and hurled a punch at his ear.
There was a flash and a bang. I saw the smaller lad raise his left hand again. There was a loud crack and one of the benches spun like a top, knocking Heathnart’s legs from under him. I had drawn my own wand, but it hung loose at my side. The elder lad drew his sword and looked down the blade at Heathnart’s white face, “I suggest,” he said smoothly, “that you depart… at once.”
A second later the door had slammed shut behind the rascally ruffian. I looked over at the kitchen door and found Helga watching the scene intently. I shrugged and walked up to the two strangers.
“Repairo, repairo,” I commanded, mending the furniture and crockery damaged in the scuffle. Both strangers stiffened in surprise when they heard my spell. They looked cautiously at each other and the remaining patrons of the Kelpie. I shrugged again and spoke to Helga, “May we have a private room?” She nodded and led the way down a side passage. We three followed her in silence.
Young Salazar clearly wanted to confer with the strangers. I wanted to hear their story too. It was not often that you met wandering magical folk. Well, to speak true, for ought I knew they came and went all the time. But it is dangerous to openly display one’s magic.
Salazar knew that I was a witch. It was the one reason he patronized the Kelpie. Since my father’s death I had been sole owner of the pub. It was my livelihood and my home. My parents had been magical, but we had kept the pub open to both Muggle and magical alike.
Alas, I knew the Kelpie was doomed. The Leaky Cauldron had recently opened on the other side of Londin Towne. It was hidden from Muggles, and for that reason it had become instantly popular in the magical community. I could not blame them. I even went there once in a while to meet and converse with other magic folk. The hidden magical market in Diagon Alley had leapt up almost overnight around the pub. None of us could imagine life without it now.
I ushered the three guests into a private parlor. All three took seats and I lit the candles with my wand. “Well,” I began, conjuring drinks, “tell us your story… you are clearly not from these parts. You are also clearly magical. I am a witch and Salazar is a wizard. You are among friends.”
Both relaxed slightly and exchanged glances. “I am Godric Gryffin’s Bane,” said the elder lad, squaring his shoulders and meeting our gazes proudly. “This is my brother Rowen. We have traveled from the North. We seek folk like ourselves.”
Salazar looked keenly into the hazel eyes of the younger lad, “Is this true?” he asked in a low voice. Godric laid his hand on his sword hilt, but Salazar sat back without a trace of fear, “Come, come,” he laughed, “I am not a fool. That is not your brother, Godric. You are unlike as night and day! You are as tawny as a lion and ‘Rowen’ here is dark as a cunning raven. Page, perhaps, but brother, no.”
Rowen sighed and ran his small hands through his dark hair. The short strands lengthened and began to fall in waves down his back. “Very well. You are right. We are not brothers. I am Rowena, and I have traveled with Godric from the north seeking magical learning and magical folk. He consented to let me follow him if I concealed myself as his brother. We would have been denied even the meager hospitality we received on the road if they had known we were unmarried and that I was a runaway.”
Salazar smiled. “That is better. The truth suits you better then disguise. You are far too fair a maid to masquerade as a pageboy.
“Now,” he continued, “Helga and I will honor you with explanations of our own. I am the son of a wizard and witch who live some distance from Londin Towne. I frequently visit this city. Helga has kept the Kelpie for a few years now, and a better witch you will not find for a good meal and a fine goblet of wine. She will take excellent care of you both.”
I smiled my welcome to Godric and Rowena. Rowena smiled back and I knew instantly that I had found a friend. She was a delicate little thing. My motherly instinct went out to her, even though she was clearly my own age. “Come with me, Rowena. Let these two men talk while I make you comfortable.” With a grateful smile she rose eagerly and followed me out.
I looked hard at Godric after the two girls left the room. He was taller then I, and that annoyed me slightly. The sword at his belt was a thing of beauty. The rubies inlayed in the hilt were noble jewels. This too annoyed me. The golden locket that hung on my breast was not as fine an heirloom of that glittering blade.
“So, you have traveled from the north?” I inquired, trying to make conversation.
“Yes. Rowena had heard of magical folk in Londin Towne. I hardly believed it, but I am glad she was right. I should have trusted her. She is very clever woman, the cleverest I have ever met. Learning is her passion. She can both read and write. Have you ever met a woman who could read and write?”
“No indeed,” I replied. “Tell me… do neither of you wield wands? I noticed Rowena performed her magic without one.”
He looked at me blankly. “Wands? What are wands?”
I concealed a smirk. This young man could probably have thrown me out of a window as easily as he could have tossed a cat, but I could already tell he was not quick. In his position I would have dissembled my lack of knowledge easily, but he frankly and openly admitted his ignorance. I liked him the better for it. I hate to feel inferior.
“A wand is a device carried by a wizard or a witch. It is made of wood, and it channels magic, making spells both more powerful and more focused. A wizard without a wand is practically a cripple…” I saw he either missed my irony or took no offence.
“Rowena will be happy to learn of this,” he said happily, smiling up at me from the chair he had taken by the fire. “What do these wands look like?”
I drew my ironwood wand and held it up. Light flickered in the emerald eyes of the serpents engraved in the handle. Godric examined the wand without touching it. “I have always channeled my magic through my sword,” he explained.
“I see,” I replied. “Now,” I continued, taking my seat again and propping my feet up on the hearth, “Forgive the question, but are you a pureblooded wizard?”
“I do not know what you mean.”
“Were both your parents magical?”
“My father was a wizard,” he said slowly, “he was killed in battle when I was a lad. My mother was a witch. She died when I was born.”
I was relieved. A half-blood is a filthy thing and a Muggleborn disgusts me. They sometimes manage to learn magical secrets and worm their way into the magical world. They are like rats; they eat the food off your table and bring disease into the very heart of your home. I felt sorry for deluded witches like Helga. She felt compassion for the pests.
I relaxed. It seemed I had found a pair of equals. There could be no question of Rowena’s blood. She bore all the grace and elegance of a pureblooded witch. It would be almost indecent to question her status, like asking a blushing rose if it was sired by a vulgar cabbage.
“Helga and I will take you to Diagon Alley in the morning. You can purchase a wand there if you so desire, and your fair companion can find a book or two.”
“Rowena will be delighted to hear that,” he answered, looking pleased.
“I will leave you to your rest,” I said rising. “I am sure we shall be good friends, Godric,” I said, clasping his hand as he rose to see me to the door.
“Like brothers, perhaps?” Godric replied, slapping my back and nearly catapulting me into the door.
“Like brothers,” I gasped.
I worry a great deal. It is my nature. On the other hand, the things I worry about tend to come to pass. I am no seer, and I am thankful for it, but I have a sharp eye and a quick brain. Little things never escape my notice.
I could have told you that night that there would be trouble between those three. I thought it would happen much sooner than it did. Many years have passed since that night, but I will never forget their faces in the firelight. I could read the future in their eyes.
We moved to the North and founded a school of magic. On the banks of a broad lake we raised a mighty fortress of stone. Towers, halls, and classrooms filled with light, dungeons and tunnels filled with silent darkness… we called it home.
Salazar was the eldest. He had already reached his twentieth year when we met. Rowena and Godric were seventeen. I was fifteen, but I think in some ways I was wiser than all three. They never saw where their hearts were leading them.
Godric was already in love with Rowena. That was plain for anyone to see. He could sense her when she was entered the room, and whenever she left it a part of him went with her. He looked up to her, for she was witty and clever. Magic came to her as easily as breathing. Within a year she rivaled Salazar in spellwork and learning.
Dear Godric was the bravest of us, but he never really accustomed himself to using a wand. He always preferred his sword. This preference held back his magic. Yet he never seemed to feel discontentment.
Rowena blossomed in mind and magic. She was never happy without a book in her hand and she never forgot anything she had read. Yet there was a passionate side to her. She came to Londin Towne already half in love with Godric, but her head was turned by the attentions she received from suave, subtle Salazar. She never wanted to choose one or the other, but in the end she made her choice. ‘Twas the one I predicted.
Salazar loved Rowena with all the passion that a nature like his possessed. He played upon her mind with his clever words and mysterious past. He gave her everything she wanted almost before she knew she desired it. Rowena came to depend on him with one half of her being, but with the other half she always longed for freedom.
She realized Salazar was tying her to himself with clever, invisible bonds of steel. Sometimes she would fly into a rage and storm at him for no particular reason. ‘Twas how we came to call her ‘little Ravenclaws,’ the girl with dark hair and the curved talons of a savage bird.
She always loved me. I never reproached her when she was angry. I always comforted her when she came to me sobbing with her many troubles. I mothered her and I never had the heart to scold. She was a powerful witch caught between two powerful wizards. I could only look on and hope all would come right in the end.
She always called me her ‘Hufflepuff,’ because I lost my breath climbing the endless spiraling stairs to the tower she took to be her home. She would run to the door and pull me in, her eyes sparkling and some knew spell tripping merrily off her tongue. We spent long days together, talking about magic, life, and love. I have never forgotten the way she would tilt her head on one side and laugh, “Now ‘Puff, that’s just silly,” to something I had said.
Salazar and Godric roamed the Forbidden Forest that clothed the slopes of the hills behind the school. Many a song could have been written about the adventures they had therein. Rowena and I would watch for them by the forest fringe at dusk.
Godric was too greathearted a man to hate Salazar when he eventually won Rowena’s hand. He gave his blessing to them both, and even gladly became godfather to their daughter Helena. But when Salazar abandoned Rowena upon learning that she was a Muggleborn, their brother-love turned to bitterest hate. They never spoke to one another in friendship from that day forth.
When I look back, our four lives seem to me like meteors in a black velvet sky. We changed so much, we left a lasting inheritance, but in the end we vanished in a blaze of light. No one will remember what was truly important to us. Our fondest memories are lost in the sands of time. But one thing will endure for centuries to come:
Ravenclaw. Gryffindor. Slytherin. Hufflepuff.
Our legacy.
The End.
~*~