Bellwitch Saints III

Clara had expected a Silent Sister to be more silent.

The woman had spoken six times since entering the Morlins’ cottage.

Clara had counted.

She had also learned that Silent Sisters did not appreciate being counted.

“Seven,” Clara said.

The woman looked at her.

“Seven what?”

“Times you’ve spoken.”

Mrs. Morlin placed a cup of tea on the table with enough force to spill some into the saucer.

“Clara.”

“What?”

“Stop.”

“I’m only pointing out that the name is misleading.”

The Silent Sister sat across from Clara.

Her grey cloak hung beside the door, dripping rainwater onto the floor. Without it, she seemed less frightening.

Slightly.

She wore a simple grey dress beneath a darker sleeveless robe. Silver thread had been sewn around the collar and cuffs in symbols Clara did not recognize.

The woman looked perhaps forty.

Perhaps fifty.

There was something about her face that made age difficult to judge. Her black hair was pulled tightly behind her head, exposing a thin white scar running from her left ear to the corner of her jaw.

Around her neck hung a small iron bell.

Unlike Clara’s chime, it had a clapper.

It had not made a sound.

Clara wondered why.

The Sister looked at her.

“You stare.”

Clara immediately looked away.

“Eight.”

Mr. Morlin coughed.

The Sister’s mouth moved.

Not quite a smile.

Close.

Mrs. Morlin noticed.

She did not seem amused.

Nobody had opened the black envelope.

It rested in the center of the kitchen table.

Clara had carried it home.

The Silent Sister had followed.

Half the village had watched them go.

By supper, Clara expected everyone in Briar Glen would know that a witch had arrived for her.

By tomorrow, someone would probably claim Clara had grown horns.

She looked at the envelope again.

The red wax seal showed a bell surrounded by seven stars.

“What’s your name?”

The Sister glanced at her.

“Sister Elowen.”

“Is that your real name?”

“Yes.”

“I thought witches had secret names.”

“Some do.”

“Do you?”

“If I did, telling you would defeat the purpose.”

Clara considered that.

“Fair.”

Mrs. Morlin sat beside her husband.

Neither had touched their tea.

Clara noticed that too.

Since last night, the Morlins had become very poor at behaving normally.

Sister Elowen folded her hands.

“You haven’t opened it.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know what’s inside.”

“Opening it generally solves that.”

Clara looked at her.

“You’re funnier than I expected.”

“I hear that rarely.”

“Because you’re a Silent Sister?”

“Because I’m not funny.”

Clara smiled despite herself.

Then she looked at the envelope again.

The smile disappeared.

“What happens if I don’t open it?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing.”

“You came all this way to give me a letter, and I can simply refuse to read it?”

“Yes.”

“That seems inefficient.”

“The Tower does not force summons.”

Clara looked up.

“The Tower.”

Sister Elowen nodded.

“You said that outside.”

“I did.”

“What Tower?”

The Sister’s expression remained still.

“The Tower.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It is where I come from.”

“There are hundreds of towers.”

“Not like this one.”

Mrs. Morlin suddenly stood.

“I’ll make more tea.”

Nobody needed more tea.

She crossed to the hearth anyway.

Clara watched her.

Sister Elowen watched her too.

“Mrs. Morlin,” Clara said.

“Yes?”

“You know what she’s talking about.”

The older woman’s shoulders stiffened.

“I know stories.”

“What stories?”

“The same ones everyone knows.”

“I apparently missed them.”

Mr. Morlin leaned forward.

“You didn’t.”

Clara turned.

He rubbed both hands over his face.

“You’ve heard them. When you were little.”

“I heard stories about giants living beneath mountains and a prince who married a river.”

“You believed the river one,” Mrs. Morlin said.

“I was six.”

“You wanted to attend the wedding.”

“I was six.”

Sister Elowen looked between them.

“The Tower is not a children’s story.”

Clara’s attention returned to her.

“Then what is it?”

“A school.”

Clara blinked.

“For what?”

The Sister looked directly at her.

“Witches.”

Silence.

Clara waited.

Nobody laughed.

She looked at Mr. Morlin.

Then Mrs. Morlin.

Then Sister Elowen.

“Witches.”

“And warlocks,” Sister Elowen said.

“Of course. We wouldn’t want to exclude anyone.”

“Clara,” Mrs. Morlin warned.

Clara stood.

“No. A woman rides into the village dressed like a funeral curtain, hands me a black letter, tells me she’s from a school for witches, and all of you are acting as though this is perfectly reasonable.”

“It isn’t perfectly reasonable,” Mr. Morlin said.

“Thank you.”

“It’s considerably worse.”

Clara stared at him.

“That did not help.”

Sister Elowen reached for the envelope.

She pushed it toward Clara.

“Open it.”

Clara remained standing.

“Why me?”

“Open it.”

“I asked you a question.”

“And the letter contains the beginning of your answer.”

“The beginning?”

“Some answers take time.”

“I’ve noticed witches seem fond of saying things that sound important without actually explaining anything.”

“That is mostly scholars.”

Despite herself, Clara sat.

She picked up the envelope.

The paper was thick.

Almost like cloth.

The seal felt cold beneath her thumb.

Her chime warmed.

Clara stopped.

Sister Elowen’s eyes dropped toward her chest.

“You felt that?”

Clara touched the chime through her dress.

“Yes.”

“Show me.”

Clara hesitated.

She pulled the cord over her head.

The moment the little bell appeared, Sister Elowen leaned closer.

Mrs. Morlin turned away from the hearth.

Mr. Morlin stopped breathing.

Clara looked at all three.

“Everyone keeps doing that.”

“Doing what?” Elowen asked.

“Looking at this thing as though it’s going to grow teeth.”

Sister Elowen held out her hand.

“May I?”

Clara placed the chime into her palm.

The reaction was immediate.

Sister Elowen gasped.

Her fingers closed around the metal.

The iron bell hanging from her own neck gave a sharp ring.

Ching.

Everyone froze.

Elowen released Clara’s chime.

It struck the table.

Her own bell became silent.

Clara stared.

“What happened?”

Sister Elowen looked at her hand.

A red mark crossed her palm.

Not a burn.

A symbol.

A small circle split by a single vertical line.

It faded before Clara could study it.

Elowen looked toward Mrs. Morlin.

“Where did she get this?”

Mrs. Morlin said nothing.

Clara’s stomach tightened.

“Mrs. Morlin?”

“She had it when she came to us.”

Sister Elowen stood.

“When?”

“Seventeen years ago.”

“Where?”

Mr. Morlin answered.

“South road.”

Clara turned toward him.

“What?”

He looked miserable.

“The old milestone.”

“You said I was left at your door.”

Neither Morlin answered.

Clara felt something cold settle inside her.

“You told me someone left me outside the house.”

Mrs. Morlin came toward her.

“We were trying to protect you.”

“From what?”

“We didn’t know.”

“Then how did you know I needed protecting?”

“Because of what happened that night.”

Sister Elowen stepped closer.

“What happened?”

Mrs. Morlin looked at her husband.

He nodded once.

Mrs. Morlin sat.

“There was a storm.”

Clara almost laughed.

Of course there was.

“It came suddenly,” Mrs. Morlin continued. “No warning. Clear sky at supper. Rain before midnight. Your father and I heard something on the road.”

“My father?”

Mr. Morlin looked at Clara.

She corrected herself.

“Mr. Morlin.”

The pain in his face made her regret it immediately.

She looked away.

“We thought someone had overturned a cart,” Mrs. Morlin said. “We went out with lanterns. We found you beside the milestone.”

“Alone?”

“Yes.”

“No carriage?”

“No.”

“Footprints?”

Mrs. Morlin hesitated.

“One set.”

Clara leaned forward.

“Whose?”

“They came from the road.”

“And?”

“They stopped beside you.”

“Where did they go?”

“They didn’t.”

Clara frowned.

“What do you mean?”

“There were footprints leading to the milestone. None leading away.”

The kitchen became very quiet.

Clara looked toward Sister Elowen.

The witch had gone pale.

“You know what that means,” Clara said.

Elowen did not answer.

“You know.”

“I know what it might mean.”

“Which is?”

“Not yet.”

Clara slapped a hand against the table.

“I’m becoming very tired of those words.”

Her chime rang.

Ching.

Everyone stopped.

Clara looked down.

The little bell lay on the table.

It had no clapper.

Yet it rang again.

Ching.

The black envelope moved.

Slowly.

Across the table.

Toward Clara.

Mrs. Morlin stepped back.

Sister Elowen did not.

Clara stared at the envelope.

The wax seal cracked by itself.

Once.

Twice.

Then broke cleanly in half.

The envelope opened.

A sheet of pale paper slid onto the table.

Ink appeared across it.

Not all at once.

Letter by letter.

Clara watched her name form.

CLARA VENTRIS

Her breath stopped.

Below it came another line.

You are hereby summoned to the Tower for examination, instruction, and protection under the ancient laws of the Seven.

More words appeared.

Your presence is required because magic has awakened within you.

Clara stared.

“No.”

The final sentence appeared.

Sister Elowen read it first.

Her face changed.

Clara looked down.

Classification pending.

Then those words faded.

New ones replaced them.

RESONANCE DETECTED.

The chime began trembling.

Sister Elowen grabbed it.

“Clara, move away.”

“Why?”

“Move.”

The little bell rang.

Ching.

The windows shook.

Mrs. Morlin cried out.

Clara stepped backward.

The chime rang again.

Louder.

CHING.

Every cup on the table cracked.

Mr. Morlin pulled his wife away.

Sister Elowen wrapped both hands around the chime.

“Enough.”

Her iron bell rang.

A low note filled the cottage.

The two sounds struck each other.

Clara felt it in her teeth.

Then everything stopped.

Sister Elowen stood breathing heavily.

A thin line of blood ran from her nose.

Clara stared at her.

“What am I?”

Elowen wiped the blood away.

For the first time since arriving, the Silent Sister seemed uncertain.

“I don’t know.”

Clara looked at the summons.

“You came here because you don’t know?”

“I came because the Tower felt something awaken last night.”

“The bell?”

Elowen looked at her.

“What bell?”

Clara’s skin went cold.

“The one that rang three times.”

Sister Elowen stared at her.

Behind her, Mrs. Morlin covered her mouth.

Clara looked from one face to another.

“Why is everyone looking at me like that?”

Sister Elowen slowly placed Clara’s chime back on the table.

“Because no bell rang last night.”

“I heard it.”

“I believe you.”

Clara hadn’t expected that.

She swallowed.

“Then what does that mean?”

Sister Elowen looked at the summons.

The Seven Stars on the broken seal had turned black.

“It means you didn’t hear a bell ringing.”

Clara frowned.

“What else would I have heard?”

Elowen raised her eyes.

“Something calling you.”

Outside, thunder rolled across a clear morning sky.