LAST WEEK:
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“No.”
Renna nodded. “Yep. See, exactly what I thought you were going to say.”
They were back at Leila’s home, and had just finished explaining the plans they had for that night. Of course, Job was quick to veto them.
“So why did you even bother asking then?” Job grumbled, returning to the work they and Leila were currently engaged in. A fire was being stoked, and tools laid out (minus the missing one) in preparation for dispelling the baleful magical catalyst they had been carrying.
“Because I feel like you’re just saying no without really considering our request. I don’t think it’s unreasonable.”
“You know why it’s unreasonable, Renna, I shouldn’t have to explain again. We have confirmation that the demon is back in action.”
“But that’s it, though. We’re asking for a delay of less than twenty-four hours—maybe even half that, depending on when the first bus is. I know this is serious, Job, but that’s why I want to be serious about it as well. This way, we can get the tools back to Leila before the fanatics attempt to drive her out. Plus, we’ll be helping some of our own.”
Job turned to Renna and Sera, the latter of whom was standing back a few feet to avoid the brunt of the debate. “Your appeal is a reasonable one. But what I take issue with isn’t the merits of your argument, but rather the argument itself. Is there any time when I could count on you to respect my authority as your teacher and just comply when I advise you on a course of action without having to match wits with you?”
It was an unusually straightforward approach from Job that Renna wasn’t quite prepared to deal with. Any further attempts at convincing them through common sense seemed to have been hamstrung. She could feel the rebellious side of herself flare up, offering her a quick, verbose response, but she held it back, knowing it wouldn’t lead anywhere good.
It turned out to be Leila to their rescue. “Excuse me for throwing my thoughts in here,” she said as she walked around the roaring fire. “But I think it would do them good to go, Job. There are valuable experiences in our lives that can only be gained through opportunities like this. And once the demon really does draw near, Renna’s chances of having them will grow all too scarce. I am in agreement with Job, however, that part of being a disciplined student means respecting the will of one’s teacher, who shall sometimes hand down frustrating decisions. But that’s also part of the trust that should exist between the pair; even if you can’t understand their intentions, you should always be assured that they mean the best for you.”
Renna acknowledged this, cheerful because she knew that they had won their appeal. She wasn’t really sure she agreed with this dogma, despite it coming from the wise Leila. But that didn’t need to be brought up now. Job held out for a minute more, trying to salvage their pride, until they finally assented.
“Fine. But you two are going to be awake by six thirty tomorrow morning; that’s when we need to be up to catch the first bus out of here.”
“Hell yeah!” Renna leapt in the air in celebration. “What? They can’t possibly hear us all the way out here.”
Sera had instinctively glanced over her shoulder, back in the direction of the town.
“Furthermore, you haven’t done any of your daily practice yet, have you Renna? Might want to get cracking on that.”
“Aye aye.” Renna pulled Sera towards the RV, where their stuff was being kept.
Job returned to the edge of the fire that Leila had been stoking, whose flametips now twitched and twirled merrily in the deep stone hearth. It made enough noise to keep the conversation just between Job and Leila.
“Sorry for stepping in like that. I’ve done you a disservice as a teacher.”
Job shook their head. “It’s fine. I appreciate it actually. You were right. Ironically, if Renna was more willing to heed my counsel from time to time, instead of trying to understand everything as soon as she first hears about it, I don’t think it would have been an issue.”
“Spoken like a teacher who thinks they’re the only one with such a troublesome student.”
It was time; Leila took the bound catalyst from the nearby table they had arranged for their work, and after whispering some words that sounded like humming poetry, she dropped it into the center of the fire. Job waited for it to burn away, but a minute or so later, it was apparent that the fire was ineffective.
Leila picked up an instrument and handed it to Job, holding another for herself. “It’s a resilient little spell; the dark magic within isn’t going to let a few hundred degrees untangle it from the world it desires to remain in. That’s what these are for.”
Job was holding a slender silver hammer, the shaft extending about two and a half feet in length, with a slim ball peen head. Beautiful Arabic calligraphy was etched in precisely aligned spots along the surface, giving the tool a mysterious extra heft that Job could feel as they shifted it about in their hands. Leila was equipped with a similar instrument, but hers had a vicious-looking pick-head on the end.
“We’ll see how well that nasty hex holds up after a few blows from these sisters. They can be very persuasive. But first, let me start the dispelling ritual.”
Leila bent down and opened a hatch near the bottom of the furnace. She began reciting again, and methodically added several ingredients to the fire. Sage, lavender and myrrh went in, and Job could see subtle changes in the flames as they took on the new fuel. The noxious charm began to quake a little bit.
“Right.” Leila slapped the hatch shut and took up her pick again. “It’s important to follow the rhythm that we set up; alternating blows three times, and then strike together on the fourth. After four sets, we need to pause for a bit so it can weaken. It will take a bit to get the hang of, but it’s nothing complex.”
Job nodded and readied themselves. As they swung the hammer up and down again, they had a powerful impression that it was not them that was exerting the force, but the hammer that was dragging their arms along instead. The sensation made them a bit unnerved at first, but they soon saw that letting the magic do its will made the process a lot smoother than trying to fight against it.
During their first break, Leila asked Job what other misgivings they had about Renna and Sera’s errand.
“Why—How did you know there was something else?”
Leila smiled. “You leave your secrets laying out all over your expressions. Renna probably isn’t attuned to the worries of an adult, but you can’t fool someone who’s twice your senior.”
“There’s plenty of things that Renna hasn’t experienced yet. Just one day in a Christian community like this one isn’t enough for her to understand how they function. I don’t think she’s ready for whatever she might encounter tonight. Same with Sera.”
“I agree with that. They are in no way ready, and why should they be? They’re so young. When you think about it, there’s no real chance of avoiding failure on their part. But it’s a necessary aspect of growth.”
“Even when their failure is caused by recklessness or irresponsibility?”
“Of course. What better traits to have when first diving into an unknown world? Especially when they have a caring and wise teacher to jump in and protect them from the real dangers.”
Job sighed. “Caring, maybe. If I could borrow some of your wisdom, the road might be a bit smoother.” They returned to another round of striking the catalyst, which was beginning to show thin cracks all along its form, hissing with steam and sometimes turning the flames around them strange colors for a moment.
On their next break, Leila returned to their conversation. “I have no wisdom to loan out, Job. Wisdom is hard-won, carved into our bodies and minds through experiences that sometimes almost stop us from moving forward.”
Her intense stare was melting in the flames that licked away at the charm. “Christians like these aren’t the only ones who take serious offense to witchcraft. And it’s even harder growing up in a Muslim community when you have such a strong connection to the energies around you. I started crafting things because it was the only way I felt like I could get the magic out of myself and into something else, so it wouldn’t build up in me too much. I was like a rain barrel constantly filling up with water when I was younger. I was afraid of overflowing. But when you’re supposed to devote your soul and actions to God, there’s no room for understanding these feelings among my people. I couldn’t reconcile them in the end—I had to leave my country and my family or face harsh judgment.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” was all Job had to say as a lame response to the sorrowful tale.
The burden of memory vanished from Leila’s face. “That’s long in the past now. It’s clear that fate never held a place for me there, among those people, although I still love many of them dearly. There is always suffering in finding one’s way in the dark, but the Craft makes us whole.”
While the sentiment seemed pleasing, Job couldn’t quite align their own experience with the idea that their magic had replaced what they had lost. Their fingers felt their way by instinct along the shallow ridges in their arms, which felt like the ghosts of the tattoos that were etched over them.
The ink could cover the sight of the scars, but not the touch. Magic certainly had made Job stronger, but they had never stopped identifying with patchwork jobs; cars with one different-colored door, used clothes that had been franken-sewn back to life, or a set of books in which one volume had been replaced with a newer edition. They weren’t like old, and they weren’t like new either, but they had done enough to seem “fixed.”
“I hope someday I’ll feel that way too,” they replied to Leila. “I don’t think I’ve earned a strong face like you have yet.”
Leila laughed off their compliment. “Job, I consider this strong face of mine to be my greatest fabrication. The pride of my collection. It’s enough to keep everyone fooled, even me most days. Now, enough beating yourself down. You speak with enough maturity and gravitas that sometimes I feel like I’m talking to someone my age, and not a kid who’s only a few years senior to their apprentice. Now then, we have work to finish.”
A few more rounds of coordinated smashing and hacking finally yielded a frightful hiss from the now very tenderized catalyst. Small streams of sparks flew from its gaping wounds, turning to noxious hues of blue and green as they sizzled to the end of their lives in midair. Leila threw out a few more powerful words in Arabic over the fire, and they watched the last of the burned husk curl up and surrender itself to the ashes.
Leila wiped the sweat from her brow. “There you have it. The energies bound up for malicious deeds inside the catalyst have been released back into the world, where they can rejoin more positive flows.” She addressed Job with a sly smile. “You were a praiseworthy helper there. Maybe you’d give some thought to working for this poor, tired woman for a while if you ever become bored of the Rectory…”
“I’m honored by the offer, but I already owe the people there too much of my service to lend it out to anyone else.”
Leila laughed. “What a responsible young witch. Well, I’ll at least be counting on your help until Renna and Sera return from their errand.”
“Counting on my help? Are there more malignant charms that need dispelling?”
“You might say that.” Leila was dragging a large plastic storage container out from underneath the RV, covered in seals of Arabic calligraphy. “If I’m going to be getting evicted on short notice by my good neighbors, I’d like to have to pack as little as possible. You wouldn’t believe how some of these cursed objects pile up …”
Job sighed and hefted the hammer back onto their shoulder, which ached already.
Hear the author read this week’s installment in the video below:
MetaStellar fiction editor Geordie Morse works primarily as a personal language coach, developing curricula and working with clients remotely. His first book, Renna's Crossing, is out now. His various other projects are cataloged on his site Arnamantle.