Treacherous Witch

39. The Convent

Remember.

That night, Valerie kicked off her shoes and jumped on the bed in her new room, exhausted, a little drunk, and very happy. It had all been such a whirlwind. She wanted to hug every moment close to her chest, cherish every memory. The celebrations. The parade. The oath. The blessing.

The light of the silvertree—that, she would never forget. The way it had shone within her, illuminating a power she didn't know she had. She'd changed the colour of her fingernails—a tiny, insignificant spell—and her mother had gasped in delight.

"She's a natural," High Priestess Glynda had said, and Valerie could have burst with pride. 

She lifted her hands now, examining the blood vessels, the crisscrossing lines, the complexity of her own flesh. A lamp on her bedside table glowed with a magical light. She'd worked that one out too. She only had to will it, to want it to happen, and so it was.

I can do anything.

She couldn't sleep. Even though it was late and every muscle ached, she was brimming with possibilities. And why sleep, when she could dream about all the things she was going to do, starting with herself—she would not be anything less than dazzling—and then her home, and then the village, and then...

A sharp rap at the door startled her. "Valerie!"

A strong, motherly voice—High Priestess Glynda. Valerie's heart rate quickened. What was the High Priestess doing here? Was there some other ritual, some part of the induction process that she didn't know about?

"Come in," she called, getting up.

The door opened, but Glynda didn't enter. "Good, you're awake. I need your help with something. Get dressed, quick as you can."

"Help with what?"

Valerie reached for her brown acolyte's robes, but the High Priestess shook her head.

"No, no—wear your own clothes. And sturdy shoes, if you can. Boots? Those will do. The cloak too, it'll be chilly. I'll show you what in a moment."

Burning with curiosity, Valerie did as she was told. She had packed her own garments to wear outside of class, including for the coming winter months, so she was soon dressed in her own deep red gown, woollen travelling cloak, and leather boots. But Glynda was wearing her grey priestess's robes. Why would she...

"Quickly," Glynda urged.

The High Priestess gestured at Valerie to follow. Together they hurried through the hallway of the acolytes' quarters, dark and silent, down the spiral staircase to the communal hall, and then outside into the main courtyard. Valerie shivered as the cold air hit her. It had to be closer to the next morning than sundown. Everything was eerie and still, and even the moon had vanished behind some cloud.

The only light came from the silvertree, tall, splendid, and with its own incandescent beauty that struck her all over again in the dead of night.

And it was to the silvertree that Glynda led her, hurrying across the lawn.

"I don't understand," she said, her voice sounding as tremulous as she felt. "High Priestess, is something wrong? I didn't know this was part of the blessing."

"It isn't." Glynda turned to her, illuminated by the silvertree, and drew out a wand from her billowing grey sleeve. "Our first duty is to protect the silvertrees. They are in the greatest peril they have ever been. I am going to protect the tree, and you are going to help me, do you understand? Take my arm."