Fair Ravenclaw, From Glen

Chapter One

The Lady Moira

Rowena did not remember the first move; she had been too young. The first hasty packing she recalled dated from her fifth year, when her mother was heavily pregnant with the child that would be Lynet. Though she was, at that point, old enough to remember the relocation, she was as yet too young to understand the reasons behind it. Between the second and third moves, however, Rowena learned much. Her mother, the famed beauty Ainslee, at that time finally saw fit to explain to her inquisitive little girl. "They just... they don't understand us, my dear," Ainslee said, holding the babe Lynet on her hip. "Some of them are afraid of us, and some of them are jealous, and some..." She sighed heavily, and seven year old Rowena, though a precocious child, was not experienced enough in the world to understand the emotion behind the exhale. Ainslee looked over at the soup, still patiently stirring itself, and then glanced over at the dried herbs hanging from the ceiling of their little cottage. "And some, my dear girl, hate us for reasons even they do not understand."

It was the third move, however, that left the greatest impression.

Rowena was a moon's cycle short of eight years old at the time, and the Ravenclaw family had been living for three years quite happily and quietly in a village outside of Hexham. Claennis had been born when Rowena was seven, two years after Lynet, and by all accounts the family prospered. Rowena's father, Enda, raised crops that never failed and owned livestock that never sickened. Ainslee had for years been proscribing little remedies and helpful tips to anyone who needed them, and in return the neighbors were always quick to share extra provisions, or to pass along any small luxuries to the kind woman who always knew what to do if a baby had the colic or a child just couldn't shake a cough.

But the summer of 913 (though few of the townsfolk knew that to be the year) was hot and dry, and the farmers of North Umbria were not accustomed to dealing with droughts. When adults began sickening, sheep began dying, and cows stopped giving milk, suspicion turned immediately and unflinchingly towards the only family untouched by suffering in these hard times: the ever-fortunate Enda Ravenclaw, his wife, and three babes.

For the rest of her life, Rowena would never be able to tolerate the smell of smoke in any intensity beyond that of a snuffed candle. The scent would forever be associated with the way orange flames licked at the black summer sky, with ear-piercing shrieks, with the sight of Orlege the blacksmith holding Ainslee back from rushing into the cottage to save her children. Enda and Ainslee had eventually broken free from their captors and recovered their wands, and promptly began hexing everyone in sight. When the villagers fled in terror, Enda grabbed the stunned Rowena, and ran. After a few weeks spent in a tavern in Durham, with Ainslee singing for their suppers, Rowena mending clothes and telling stories, and Enda gambling his way to glory, the three Ravenclaws moved to Alnwick, further north, and Rowena was again, as she had been born, an only child.

The Ravenclaws recovered quickly, as they always had, at least in financial means. Ainslee was never quite the same again, and Enda hid his despair in his business, stalwartly spending all his waking hours working on a tavern of his own. The business suited him well, and was more lucrative than farming, but never again did Rowena see in either of her parents the joy for life she had known as a small child. Rowena, though, continued to thrive. She felt some degree of guilt for doing so when her parents never seemed to smile, but the tavern provided Rowena with a great many opportunities. The girl loved to learn, anything and everything she could, and from any traveler that would teach her. She had already gathered a great deal of herblore from her mother, but the people who passed through Dusty Raven taught her a wide variety of talents. From an old ex-warrior, she learned how to hold a sword. From a woman of Mercia, she learned how to weave intricate patterns on a loom. From a man who lived across the sea, she learned words in a language she had never before heard. He said it was the language of great kings, of the men descended from Roman emperors. Not only common learnings found their way to Rowena; the Dusty Raven was renowned in North Umbria's magical community as something of a haven, and any witch or wizard passing through was glad to reduce the cost of a night's room and board by a half a penny by teaching the Ravenclaws' daughter a little of what they knew. Rowena absorbed every scrap of knowledge that came her way, and this process bolstered her spirits so that she, unlike her parents, was not crushed by loss.

In later years, Rowena would come to look on this move as a blessing in a very hidden disguise. If they had not moved to Alnwick, Rowena might never have come to the attention of one Lady Moira Aighan.

~~*~~

August, 913, Alnwick, North Umbria

It happened late in the summer of 913. Rowena's eighth birthday had recently passed, or at least everyone supposed it had. She had been born on the Full Fruit Moon of 905, and it was now a week past full. The Ravenclaws had been in Alnwick for a few weeks now. Rowena was helping her mother by cleaning the linens, and had taken them out to wash and hang on the line when a stranger approached from the roadside. Rowena, who was repeating to herself a few Frankish words she had learned from a traveling cleric, did not notice. At one point she tripped, tugging the drying line down from its tree. Rowena yelped, and outstretched her hand, unable to do anything else. The line hung in midair, frozen with the clean linens hovering a foot above the dusty ground. Rowena blinked a few times, startled, then hastily stood and grabbed the end of the rope, winding it back around the nail stuck in the tree and tying it off.

The stranger went inside the tavern, and said nothing.

For two days, he observed the dark-haired girl from a distance, watching as she went about her chores, and taking careful note of all the little magics that worked their way into her daily life. Many she hardly seemed aware of, whether summoning a cup or plate a mere few inches, or levitating herself while on tiptoe to dust a high shelf. On the morning of the third day, the stranger approached the girl's father.

"A word, Master Ravenclaw? And with your wife as well, please?" Ainslee, sitting at her loom, paled. She had heard such words other times in her life, and usually the torches were not far behind. But the stranger, who spoke with an Anglian accent, smiled kindly beneath a ginger-coloured mustache and beard. "Do not look so affrighted, Mistress Ravenclaw. It is concerning your daughter." Enda nodded and led the stranger into a back room, motioning for Ainslee to follow. "I should introduce myself," said the stranger, flinging back his hood. "I am Arlice Bericheart."

"The wizard of Ipswich," Enda said, eyes lighting up in understanding. He and Ainslee both relaxed, now knowing they were with someone unlikely to betray him.

Arlice nodded. "Your daughter has talent," he said, simply.

"She's a very bright girl," Ainslee remarked. "We know that. She's always picking up things from the people who stay here."

Raising an eyebrow, Arlice wondered just how much the girl had picked up so far. "Are you aware that she's performing spontaneous magic?"

"A little, yes," Enda said. "Mostly prophetic things that we've noticed. A few light levitation spells here and there."

"What are you planning with regards to her magical instruction?"

Enda and Ainslee looked at each other, and hesitated. "We'll teach her ourselves," Enda replied, looking a bit confused. "That's the way it's always been done in our families."

Arlice took a deep breath, and leaned back slightly. "Unless I miss my guess, Master Ravenclaw, you have an extremely gifted daughter. I just saw her perform an immobilizing charm without even a wand, and that demonstrates impressive talent. Raw talent."

"Yes, well, I suppose she's of an age now..." Enda murmured.

"Yes. She is. And if you'll forgive my saying so, she ought to be instructed by someone other than a tavernkeeper and his wife." He tried to say this as gently as possible, but Ainslee stiffened nonetheless. Enda did not seem particularly bothered.

"I hope," said Ainslee, a bit defensively for the slight at her and her husband, "you don't mean yourself. It would not be at all--"

"No, Mistress Ravenclaw," said Arlice, smiling. "I would never presume such a thing. But I do know of a lady who is seeking a new pupil. I wonder, though, if I might have a chance to speak with your daughter, to see if my instincts regarding her are correct."

"As long as we may be present," Ainslee quickly replied.

"Of course, Mistress Ravenclaw. Of course."

"Ainslee, dear, go fetch Rowena." Ainslee obediently left the room to find her daughter, and Enda gave Arlice an appraising look. "They speak well of you, the men of the south," he said quietly. Arlice only nodded. "You must forgive my wife's shortness. She is... a distrustful sort."

"It is only natural," Arlice conceded, giving his beard a stroke with the knuckles of his right hand. "Any woman has right to be suspicious of an old codger like me making inquiries after her young daughter. I assure you, Master Ravenclaw, that it was the girl's magical talent and nothing else that caught my attention."

Enda nodded. "I do not doubt it. As I say, the men of the south speak your name with regard. And I trust a man's reputation when it precedes him so brightly."

Ainslee returned with a perplexed Rowena. The girl was disheveled, and seemed embarrassed to be brought before apparently important company in such a condition, with her gunna spattered with water and her dark hair falling out of its long braid. "Rowena, this is Master Arlice Bericheart of Ipswich." Rowena's sharp eyes widened a bit. She, like her father, had heard the name. She fidgeted, even more ashamed of her state now to know she was being presented to a notable wizard of the south. Quickly, she dropped a curtsy, looking down at the floor briefly before meeting Arlice's eyes again.

"Rowena, is it?" Arlice asked, and she nodded. "Well, then, Rowena. What magic do you know?"

Rowena looked questioningly at her mother for a moment before looking back at Arlice. "Mama has taught me much herblore. I know the uses of nearly all the native plants, and how to use many of them in potions."

"What sorts of potions?" Arlice asked, with genuine interest.

"Healing, mostly. The one we make most often is to cure a cough, although I did manage one to get rid of the colic last week. It wasn't very strong, though." Rowena's eyes fluttered downwards, as though ashamed of a failure.

Arlice nodded patiently. "How about charms? What do you know of those?"

"Very little, sir," Rowena replied honestly. "I have picked up a few small tricks, but nothing grand."

"Might I see one of your tricks?"

Rowena nodded, and turned to a shelf of little satchels lining the wall. Narrowing her eyes, she focused on one, which she knew to be stuffed full of heather, and stretched her hand out towards it. After a moment, the pouch began to wobble, and then floated itself off of the shelf and into Rowena's waiting hand. With a small smile, she turned back to Arlice. "Sometimes I can get it faster than that. Sometimes not."

"Impressive..." Arlice murmured, more to himself than to the girl. "Without even a wand... very impressive... tell me, Rowena, can you read?"

She shook her head. "I can write my name, though. A man from Shrewsbury taught me a few years ago."

"Well, that will have to be amended," Arlice decided aloud. Ainslee startled, but Enda took her hand and gave it a light squeeze, and she remained quiet. "Rowena, would you like to learn to read? And learn more magic?"

"Oh yes!" Rowena exclaimed, giving a little jump and nodding vigorously. All Arlice had needed to do was say the word "learn", and Rowena's heart was immediately captured by the proposal.

"Most excellent. I know a lady, a witch very famous in some parts of England, who might be willing to teach you, once she sees your talent for herself." Arlice glanced up at Enda. "I hope I may invite her to share your hospitality."

"Of course," Enda said. His face was as impassive as ever, but looking up at her father, Rowena thought she could see a spark of something alive, lurking in the back of his pale eyes. It was a light she had not seen in some time, not since the little ones had been killed. One day, years down the road, she would learn to recognise it as hope, but for the moment she was only a little girl glad to see what could be considered improvement in her father's demeanor.

Arlice smiled at Rowena again. "I think she will like you, Rowena. I will send her an owl this evening, and I'm sure she will come to see you for herself as soon as she is able."

~~*~~

The famed witch arrived two nights later, Apparating quietly into the darkness behind the tavern. She did not have to make her presence known as she entered the tavern; all there felt it immediately. Many left, uncomfortable with the strange sense of power being exuded by this dark-cloaked woman. Others simply stayed to watch in awe. Arlice Bericheart alone seemed unaffected as rose from his seat by the fire and went to embrace her. "You came."

"Naturally."

"Shall we go see the girl, then?"

In her short life, Rowena had only seen a few people dressed so finely as Lady Moira Aighan, and none who had impressed her so thoroughly. She stood, gaping, for a moment, before remembering to drop a curtsey. Lady Moira wore a bright blue kirtle and a gunna of vibrant green, edged in gold-threaded ribbon. Her veils were a softer blue, and hung down to her knees in the back, held in place by a jeweled headpiece. Her face, thought slightly aged, was beautiful, perfectly pale skin with high cheekbones and a few wisps of red-gold hair peeking out from under the veil. And her smile, as she looked at Rowena, was radiant.

"Mistress Rowena," she said in a voice that rang like bells, "I am glad to meet you."

"I am most honoured to be introduced to you, Lady Moira," Rowena replied, bowing her head. With a delicate finger, Moira reached out and tilted Rowena's chin up.

"Let me see what you can do, child," she declared.

Rowena performed some of the same magics that she had for Arlice Bericheart, but Lady Moira pushed her further, testing her inventiveness and her ability to make quick decisions. Rowena was disappointed in herself for fumbling a few attempts, but Lady Moira seemed pleased with all her efforts. "Excellent, Mistress Rowena. Most excellent indeed." She gave Arlice a knowing look. "You have always known how to pick them, my dear Arlice."

"I do try, my lady."

"She shows remarkable creativity for one so young, no doubt born out of a lack of means, but it will benefit her well, I think," Lady Moira appraised, speaking as though Rowena was not in the room, though her pale blue eyes were looking over the girl. "Yes... I think she may go far..." Lady Moira stood and turned to Enda. "Might I have a word with you in private, Master Ravenclaw?" Enda nodded, and he and Lady Moira disappeared to another room.

Rowena could not help but fidget, knowing Arlice's eyes were still on her, as though waiting for her to spontaneously do something astounding. Instead, she looked at her mother. "Did I do alright, Mama?"

"Yes, dear," Ainslee flatly replied. "You did just fine." Rowena tried to smile, but her mother did not sound at all pleased or enthusiastic, and Rowena thought perhaps she had disappointed.

"Lady Moira was impressed," Arlice put in. "Unless I miss my guess, she is now speaking with your father about the possibility of taking you on as a student."

Rowena looked thoughtful. "Would I have to leave home?"

"Perhaps," Arlice answered. "I can not say for sure. Would that upset you?"

Rowena's eyes darted to Ainslee's forlorn face, and she replied, "Yes, a little. But I would so like to learn magic from Lady Moira."

After a few more moments, Moira and Enda returned. Moira was smiling, and the little light had again reentered Enda's eyes. "Rowena," Moira began, "how would you like it if I came to live here in Alnwick and taught you magic?"

"Oh!" Rowena exclaimed. "Oh, really? That would be wonderful, my lady!"

Moira reached out for Rowena's hand. "I suspected you might say so. We will have to travel some, but your home may still be here."

Rowena beamed brightly. It was as though Lady Moira had known precisely what her greatest fear in this proposal would be, and worked quickly to quell it. "Where will we travel to?" Rowena asked excitedly.

"First to London. You need a wand, foremost, and some other affects as well."

"We can't afford--" Ainslee began to protest.

"Your husband," Moira said, cutting her off coolly, "has kindly offered that my room and board will be payment for the girl's instruction and materials." Moira's tone made it clear that she thought higher of Enda than his wife, and indeed of the little girl than her mother, and would tolerate no opposition from a simple housewife.

"When may we go?" Rowena asked, bouncing up on the balls of her toes.

"Excited?" Moira asked with an amused smile. "I'm glad to see that. We will leave tomorrow, if you can be ready, Mistress Rowena."

"Oh, yes, my lady," Rowena said, not seeing the wounded expression on Ainslee's face. "As soon as we can!"

~~*~~

Rowena slept well that night, curled on her pallet on the floor of her parents' room. She was smiling in her sleep, and Enda nearly smiled to see it. "She'll have to have her own room from now on, to share with the Lady," he thought out loud. "No more a child, our little Rowena."

"Enda, do you really think this is a good idea?" Ainslee voiced, rebraiding her hair for the night. "Sending her off to London with a woman we've just met..."

"A witch who has the esteem of most of wizarding Britain," Enda replied. "And who is willing to teach Rowena all that she knows."

"I'm just not sure it's wise... I don't see why she needs a tutor. I learned everything I know from my parents, as did you, and we've turned out well enough." A slight pout was forming on Ainslee's lips, an expression that had contributed to the delicate beauty of her youth.

Enda sat down on the bed next to her. "But don't you want more for her?"

"What else is there?"

Enda shook his head. Ainslee was pretty, and bright enough for what she was, but the woman had never had much imagination. "She could be great, Ainslee, I'm sure of it. Our little girl is so bright... she could be like that Lady Moira, a name known and respected wherever she goes."

"I just don't see why she has to go anywhere."

"Ainslee," Enda said, starting to become exasperated, "she needs more than this life. She needs more than this tenuous existence, packing up and moving every few years, practicing little magics to get by. She deserves to be like the Lady, if she can."

The pout did not leave Ainslee's face as she finished off her plait and fell back against the bed, rolling so that her back was to Enda. He sighed, and laid down as well, thinking of how he would be able to let his little girl go come morning.

~~*~~

Arlice Bericheart and Moira Aighan stayed in the main room of the tavern until long after all the other guests had gone to bed.

"Do you think she's the one, Arlice?"

"If I didn't," the ginger-haired man said, poking at the fire, "I wouldn't have dragged you up here."

"So is that two that we have?"

"And one that Lord Aster has."

Moira sighed, rubbing at her left temple. "That doesn't mean..."

"I know." Arlice straightened, leaving the fire to work its way back to blazing flames. "I know. We can't discount Aster."

"We have to trust him a certain amount, Arlice. He's--"

"I know." Arlice sat back down across the table from Moira, and pulled a faded scroll of parchment out of his sack. "Another look, shall we?" Moira gestured for him to open it, though it only revealed a poem she had read many times and had memorized long ago. Somehow looking at the words, rather than merely thinking them, often helped the riddles to make more sense. The text was in Latin, but Moira and Arlice both could translate it on sight, and Moira drew a deep breath and began reading out loud.

"'Hark, ye listeners, to a tale of old'... Sweet Morgan, the introduction is boring..." she muttered, scanning down the page past the customary invocation of the muse and recitation of the poet's credentials. "Ah. Better. 'For there shall come a time when all Britain's magic hinges on the success of Four, whose destinies are written in fire and starlight, whose brightness shall illuminate the Isles for all time.'"

"Skip ahead," Arlice said. "We know that part."

Moira rifled through the parchments, and her eyes skimmed down to the fifth section of the text, entitled "Cærulus" by some interpreter a hundred years earlier. It followed the introduction, the parchment detailing how the mysterious Four were fated to shape Britain's magic for all time, and two sections entitled "Rutilus" and "Viridis". Moira continued reading. "'The third, a lady born in glen, with the fairy mark upon her. A child of the lost times, in touch with the forgotten powers. She will find the hidden ways, the roads to worlds her teachers have forgotten how to see.'" Moira frowned at this, not liking any slight on her capability, even if it did come from someone who had been dead for four hundred years. "'She comes from the old blood of Britain, with the moon in her eyes.'"

"That, I think, is clear," Arlice interrupted. "Our little girl is clearly of Celtic blood, and she has silver eyes, has she not?"

"How poetic of you," Moira replied. "They are grey, yes, but that bit about the moon... I have always felt that it must mean more than colour."

"Second Sight?" Arlice ventured.

Moira nodded. "That was my instinct, though perhaps we're reading too much into it."

"Her father says she shows prophetic tendencies, though I have yet to see any of them."

"In time, I suppose. In time. I should keep close watch over her during the next full moon." She looked back at the scrolls, then up at Arlice again. "What do you suppose the fairy mark is?"

"I can not say. I have observed no strange blemishes on the child, but it is entirely possible she may not receive the mark until later in life. The text is, as ever, vague."

"Hmm..." Moira returned to the text. "'She will be recognized, in her own time and for all, for cleverness and wit, and love of learning. The pursuit of knowledge will lead her to dark places, and bring her out again.' Well, our little Rowena so far displays those traits."

"I don't know why you're bothering with that," Arlice remarked. "You're already convinced, or you wouldn't have agreed to take her on as a student."

Moira continued, skipping down a few lines. "'Caught between, her head her strength but her heart her weakness, a lady made but ever a woman born.' Cryptic, that."

"They make sense in time, Moira."

She sighed. "I suppose you're right," she said, beginning to roll up the scrolls. "And how is your student faring?"

"Precisely as I expected," Arlice replied. "He does not always learn the right way to do things, but he always finds the quickest. It is a different sort of cleverness than I believe Rowena will show."

"How old is he now?"

"Ten. And he's been with me three years," Arlice continued, anticipating Moira's next question.

"Promising?"

"Oh, very promising. I have no doubts about him." Arlice gave the scrolls a pointed look. "So far he fits the description in every way. Only time will tell if he grows into what it predicts for him."

Moira sighed, slipping the leather band about the parchments. "So we have two," she stated.

Arlice nodded. "So we have two."

~~*~*~*~~