The female line of Marcus’s ancestors. Not relevant.
Where Marcus was born and brought up. Not relevant.
How Marcus knew my mother. Slap.
I know how Marcus knew my mother, though, and more, since after I returned from Mary’s, Gran told me what happened. And I wonder if Celia actually does know anything of the truth of that or any of my other questions.
One day Celia asks, ‘How do you think I control my Gift?’
I’m not in the mood. I’ve had to kill, pluck and gut a chicken today. I shrug.
Next thing I’m on the kitchen floor clutching at my ears. She doesn’t often use her Gift on me; usually it’s just slaps.
The noise stops abruptly and I get to my feet, using the range to pull myself up. I’ve got blood running out of my nose.
‘How do I control my Gift?’
I wipe my nose on the back of my hand and say, ‘You think about it and –’
And I’m on the floor again.
The noise shuts off and I’m looking at the floorboards. The floorboards and I are old friends. I look to them for the answer. They are never much good at stuff like that, though.
I get to my knees.
‘Well?’
I shrug again. ‘You just do it.’
‘Yes.’ She slaps me across the top of my head. ‘Like hitting. I know I want to do it, where and to whom, and it’s almost a reflex. I just do it. I don’t have to think about raising my arm and moving my hand.’ She gives me another slap.
I get to my feet, moving a step away as I do.
‘How does Marcus control all his Gifts? The ones he stole?’ she asks.
‘Can he control them all?’
Celia gives me a nod for that. ‘There is some evidence that he uses the lightning and moves objects, leaps …’
‘Some people can play lots of musical instruments. They just pick up the instrument and play. I guess they have to practise to become expert, though.’
Celia says, ‘But there is always one that they favour?’
‘I don’t even have my Gift, how would –’
Those slaps really sting.
Celia is also teaching me about the history of witches. I don’t know how much to believe; I often wonder how much I should believe of anything she tells me. Anyway, according to Celia, hundreds and thousands of years ago, when the world was not split into countries but was inhabited by different tribes, each tribe had a healer: a shaman. Few of the healers had real power but one called Geeta was special: powerful, good and kind. She healed the sick and wounded in her tribe but also people from other tribes.
This didn’t go down well with the tribe leader, Aster, who ruled that no one outside the tribe was to see Geeta without his permission. He kept her a virtual prisoner in the village. Geeta wanted to help everyone, so she escaped with the assistance of one of her patients, Callor, a wounded warrior from her tribe.
Callor and Geeta lived in a remote cave. Geeta healed those who came to her. Callor hunted and protected Geeta. They were in love and had children: twins, two identical girls, Dawn and Eve. Geeta trained them both in witchcraft, gave them both three gifts and her blood on their seventeenth birthday. They would become great witches.
The old leader from Geeta’s tribe, Aster, was ill and he sent a message requesting Geeta to return and heal him. Although Geeta wanted to help, as she helped everyone, Callor didn’t trust Aster and he persuaded Geeta to send their daughter Eve, the younger of the twins, rather than go herself. But instead of healing Aster, Eve, the hateful vicious twin, put a curse on him and fled. Aster died after a month of agony. Aster’s son, Ash, took revenge by killing Callor and capturing Geeta and Dawn.
The story goes that Dawn, the compassionate twin, fell in love with Ash and they had a daughter. This daughter was the first of the White Witches.
Eve roamed from tribe to tribe. She also had a daughter, who became the first of the Black Witches.
I asked Celia, ‘Do you believe that story?’
‘It’s our history.’
‘History according to White Witches.’
Today Blacks mock White Witches for living closely within fain communities, for pretending to be fains. They see White Witches as becoming weaker, more fain-like, needing guns to kill, using phones to communicate.
And Whites hate Black Witches for their anarchy and lunacy. They don’t integrate within fain communities, but don’t have a community of their own. Their marriages never last, often ending in abrupt violence. They usually live alone, hate fains and fain technology. Their Gifts are strong.
Celia won’t talk about the female line of my Black ancestors but she has told me the names of the male line. It’s an illustrious and yet depressing list. Each one was a powerful Black Witch and none of them died quietly in his sleep at a ripe old age. My great-grandfather Massimo committed suicide, so you could argue that he wasn’t killed by White Witches, but there is a clear trend in that direction: