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The Hawkweed Legacyhits shelves August 15, 2017.
Immediately, circle upon circle of candles were lit in readiness for the nights festivities.
Credit: Courtesy Irena Brignull
For this eve was not for sleeping.
The coven had taken to their beds that afternoon so you can remain awake the whole night through.
Fires were burning and hogs roasting.
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Cider was being poured.
Young witches were practising spells for their displays.
Now that they were seventeen, Charlock and her friend, Betony, were responsible for lighting the candles.
Were lucky theres no breeze tonight, murmured Charlock as she admired the tiny flames.
Your sister has made certain of that, most likely, joked Betony.
It is not just us she bosses but the weather too.
Charlock smiled, then looked around guiltily to see if Raven might be watching.
Dont fear her so, whispered Betony.
You are a Hawkweed too.
Not the one that matters, she said simply, without complaint.
She was the younger, softer sister, a witch with only moderate magic.
Raven, on the other hand, was already the most powerful witch their clan had ever known.
Betony moved closer to Charlock in a show of solidarity.
The pressure and warmth of her friends side against her own were comforting, as were Betonys words.
Come on, she said.
These candles, this celebration, are for us.
We have turned seventeen this winter.
It is us who will be yoking for the first time tomorrow.
It is our night, Charlock admitted, gazing out at the candles they had lit.
She felt a sudden shiver of nerves and the flames seemed to flicker in response.
Do you ever doubt it though?
That we are ready?
I want an adventure, Charlock.
I want to see something new.
But what of making a daughter?
Betony took her hand.
Besides, look at Sisters Caraway, Mildred and Ivy.
They are keen enough for all of us.
Each seventeen-year-old was collecting a garland for her hair snowdrops, irises and crocuses.
Normally, flowers were not for picking but this celebration was different.
Yoking was a part of life.
It was natural and not to be feared.
Charlock inhaled the sweet scent of the flowers and felt soothed.
She didnt have to go tomorrow.
It was only for those who wanted and there were many sisters who chose to remain childless.
This was her choice.
Besides, she had promised Betony and would not let her down.
She squeezed Betonys hand.
I think I smell cake.
Sister Clovers honey cake!
And they both laughed with delight as they ran to fetch some.
That night, they danced until their feet were sore and feasted till their bellies were full.
Sister Wynne read their horoscopes and told their fortunes.
Sister Ada produced her usual falconry display.
The youngest of the group put on their own displays one magicked mice from her sleeves.
Another turned water into juice.
One bent a spoon by staring at it.
A small group recited healing spells in high and lilting voices.
Everyone oohed and aahed and clapped as the children took a bow.
Charlock and Betony were the last to sleep and the last to awake.
The first day of spring was for the mothers in the clan and all those trying to become so.
Thank you, Mother, for all you have done and do for me.
Her mother put her hands on Charlocks cheeks, rough skin against smooth.
It is your turn now, my sweet.
It makes me very proud to know that you will join the others for the yoking this evening.
Then she plucked a fragment of a flower from Charlocks hair and handed it to her.
It lay in Charlocks palm, crushed and damp, and Charlock felt a seconds sorrow at its loss.
Then she changed from her nightgown to her clothes.
Her belly hardly curved and it was difficult to picture a baby curled up within it.
Instead, she imagined how proud her mother would be if tonight she proved successful.
Her reverie was broken by Ravens strident tones.
Charlock, stop dawdling!
came the call from outside the caravan.
Charlock leant out of the window and saw her sister holding a little lamb.
Chop chop, said Raven without a smile.
Copyright 2017 by Irena Brignull, reprinted with permission from Hachette/Weinstein Books.
