Affinity Witch

Chapter 1: Metal & Melancholy

The heat from the forge made Sabrina wince, and she turned her head to one side as a hot gust of air swept over her. Tightening her grip on the large tongs requiring the use of both her gloved hands, she forced herself to count, waiting a few more seconds before pulling the metal out of the sweltering flames.

Hurrying over to a bucket of water, she plunged the metal into the cold liquid, holding her breath as plumes of steam rose upwards, keeping her eyes closed until the vapor had been carried away by the strong cross breeze blowing through the open windows.

Sabrina then made her way to a large wooden table, its surface marred by numerous scorch marks, as well as a few shallow divots where bits of wood had accidentally been chipped away by the bite of an errant tool.

Releasing the now-cool metal, she set the tongs aside and pulled off her spelled gloves. The seamstresses in the Hexen coven had created them especially for her, as they did for every metallurgist, and while Sabrina always cast a protection spell when working with especially volatile compounds, wearing the gloves never failed to make her feel safer.

The only thing she disliked about the gloves was that she hadn't been able to watch them being created. She recognized some of the spells on them, of course, spells to reduce heat or cold or to disperse poisonous liquids, such as mercury, rather than absorbing them. But the majority of the spells weren't simply applied—they were woven into the very fabric of the gloves themselves, layered deep within each stitch of embroidery, using magic known only to those with an affinity for sewing.

Sabrina hated having only partial knowledge about something, especially something she used on an almost daily basis; it rubbed at her like a pebble inside her boot. But, frustrating or not, it couldn't be helped, so she turned her attention away from the gloves and back to the metal on the table.

The oversized iron ring was intended to be a door knocker. Running her fingers over the cooled surface, she searched for any bumps or malformations; when she didn't find any, she nodded, pleased with herself.

The knocker would be hung on the outer door set within the high stone wall surrounding the castle. Once installed, it would be enchanted, allowing the members of the High Council to hear it wherever they were in the enormous building, regardless of the time, alerting them to the arrival of a visitor after the usual hours for such things had passed.

Given that her mother was the Sprechen, the leader of the High Council, Sabrina assumed she was going to hear the door knocker clang out in their shared apartment at least a few times. Hopefully her mother could confine the spell to her bedroom or perhaps to a frequency only she could hear, as Sabrina didn't fancy being awakened in the middle of the night over something that didn't involve her. It would also make sense for the members of the High Council to take turns being responsible for answering the knocker, but knowing her mother, she would likely insist on being involved every single time.

Sabrina scowled...yet another unpleasant aspect of her mother's leadership position.

Well, there was nothing she could do about that, either, and Sabrina prided herself on her ability to know when the solution to a problem was worth pursuing and when it was time to shift her attention elsewhere, so she picked up a polishing cloth and began running it over the heavy iron ring.

Tante Olga, one of the senior Hexen metallurgists, would be by to fetch it soon. While she wasn't actually Sabrina's aunt, it was customary to address elder witches in the coven using the title Tante until you turned eighteen and came of age. Doing so was supposed to reinforce the sense of family, but sometimes Sabrina felt as if it merely reinforced the power differential, reminding witchlings like herself how powerless she truly was, as she was still six months away from her eighteenth birthday.