From the Ashes of Victory: The Complete Series, page 142
part #0 of From the Ashes of Victory Series
"I wouldn't deem it necessary," Victoria said. "But I think I can understand your reasoning and methodology in this. This is not, as I perhaps convinced myself it was, my purview. You have my word that I will not interfere or second-guess you again, unless invited."
"Thank you. I know it's hard to reacclimatise, find your purpose again. There's a lot you can teach them, just maybe not the way you think. There are some brainy girls in this group who like books more than boys. I will try to steer them in your direction, but not about magic."
"I understand," Victoria said.
"Not just because of your promise. The smart ones, like Sophia, are ambitious. Driven. They want to Manifest; stop bullets, the lot. They think it's just about working hard enough and wanting it more. But it's going to be a long while yet before we cover Manifests, and… why they happen. I have nightmares about one of them jumping off The Shed thinking she'll sprout wings on the way down. If someone needs to be pulled aside and told the truth, would you be willing to share your story if I asked you to? Could you trust me with that?"
At any moment previous to today, the answer would have been unequivocally no, but Pretoria had been right to note that a young ambitious woman who had been thwarted of her goals had needed others to help her out of the pit she'd fallen into as a result.
Those others were now the very bedrock of Victoria's life, the closest friends she could imagine having, filling the holes that had been torn open by the death of her family. Whatever her compunctions, she had no right to deny the same help to those for whom she was now responsible.
"Yes, you may."
"Thank you, Doctor. Sincerely."
Victoria followed Pretoria back into the Hall, and looked up at the banner hanging from the rafters. To many, the mythic Eve was the root of evil, and thus provided the fundamental basis of so much modern misogyny. To modern EVE, she was a hero because she dared to seek for herself what others had denied her; the idiomatic 'forbidden fruit' knowledge itself.
An apple.
From today forward, there would be 24 apple-seekers at EVE, and Victoria would have to be prepared to hand out as many as she could, no matter their shape or tartness.
Or location. If her place was not the classroom, then where?
Unlike so much else that had she had felt unsure of as of late, she was eager to find out.
"It's absolutely remarkable what you've done here," Helga said as she strolled along with Katya through the wisteria tunnel back to her office. "This will be a template used for hundreds of years."
"That is extremely kind. I'm proud of it, but let's not get ahead of ourselves: it's only been a few days. It could all go pear-shaped by the end of the week," Katya said, opening the door for Helga and gesturing her through.
Even without the elaborate costuming of Isolde and miles from the nearest stage, Helga moved with erect assuredness, her posture and bearing that of a woman in her prime. Her cedar-coloured hair rippled in Marcel waves beneath the restraint of a silver diadem with a cobalt blue sapphire perched dead centre on her forehead.
"You do yourself a disservice with such talk, Kat. The Continent is watching, and they like what they see."
"I try not to think about that. Tea?"
"Please."
Katya buzzed the kitchen, and as they waited, Helga took an appraising look about the office, stopping on the wall of books that was already spilling onto the floor. "Well, there's no question who owns this corner."
"You should see her bedroom."
One of the kitchen staff appeared with a tea service, but Katya elected to serve herself. "I know you have to get back to London, so I will be blunt: what do we need to know about what's happening in Germany? Are we in danger here?"
Helga took her tea gratefully, wrapping both hands around the steaming cup like she'd just wandered in from a blizzard. She savoured the aroma a moment, her brilliant green eyes muted in thought. "It's worse than the wider world knows. They watch a Murnau film, see the well-to-do driving Mercedes' and think that everything must be fine. It's not. This economic miracle that the rest of Europe pulled out of her hat is being seen increasingly with resentment. That you aren't sharing, that it's our wealth on display that you stole at Versailles, flaunting it in our faces as you leave us behind. There's a reason people like Hitler have an audience. People are starting to feel like it's only either him or the Communists that will make us equal again."
It was a story that struck too close for Katya's comfort. She knew firsthand what the Communist version of 'equality' looked like; she had the physical and mental scars to prove it. But when things were bad enough, even madness began to sound sane. "And our sisters?"
"We are doing what we can, but help from witches is extremely localised in Germany. We don't have a Katya Gurevich to marshal us nationwide."
"You have a Helga."
"Ha! I'm an artist, Kat."
"I was a homeless wastrel with little more than the clothes on my back when I got here. You've already stated your admiration for what I helped build from that." Katya stirred a dash of milk into her tea and sat back in her chair, letting the aroma waft through her.
"With help from the richest people in Britain."
"And no witch community to speak of. Your name alone puts you a few phone calls from every witch in Germany. You have a voice, a visible profile. There is a lot you could do with that. It's about organisation, and that requires leadership, now more than ever. I know how visible you are and how much that can make you feel a target, but we need someone visible with a loud voice, as it were."
Selene was there right now tracking down every witch she could find, trying to tie them back into the community the Pact and the war had conspired to rip into tatters. EVE only existed because of Selene, and she was using that experience to build on the Continent what she had so successfully done in Britain. But to throw it in Helga's face would have been gauche, so Katya let it go unspoken.
The German witch heard it loud and clear nonetheless. "You make a strong case. Perhaps there is more I could be doing. I won't insult you by saying you don't understand how scary it is at home. There's likely no-one who knows better." She was thoughtful a moment, attention lost in her reflection. "I'll give what you've said some consideration. In the meantime, I will redouble my efforts with the Alliance, making more connections while continuing to give them updates, as well. We need them. Until someone makes the appearance of trying to take the Allied boot off our neck, I don't know how much difference anything I do can make. People need targets for their ire, and the Nazis are handing them out with glee."
Katya had been one of those before, too. "Witches?"
"Not yet. What you did at the Treaty signing has kept us in good sway, but that may not last with Hitler going around saying it was all a hoax to intimidate us. Germany, I mean," Helga added.
"What?" Katya choked out, trying not to spray tea across the desk. Versailles had almost killed Vita, it was in every newspaper in the world, and now people were saying it hadn't even happened?
"It's a complete lie, of course. Saying it over and over again just sows the seeds of doubt. It starts to look more real when the terms continue to strangle us, however. Films and fancy cars will only take us so far. We need help from outside. What have you heard from the Alliance?"
"They're trying," Katya said, dabbing away tea at the corners of her mouth with a napkin. "They've asked for Sveta to come help with the negotiations."
Helga looked up from her cup. "Oh. Well… they're serious. What has she said?"
"I haven't told her yet," Katya admitted. The letter was sitting by her bed at the moment. It was the first, sharpest reminder that Katya's personal life and business life were deeply intertwined, and that there were more difficult decisions ahead than behind.
"You're going to, aren't you?" Helga said deliberately.
"Of course," Katya said. "It's her right, her choice."
"But?"
Living alongside Sveta for so long made the truth a far less precious commodity than it had once been, and Katya much more willing to spend it. "I've come to rely on her. Too much, probably. Ever since Carice arrived, Sveta has flourished. Her potential is astonishing, and it's being wasted here. But she's my Coven. The thought of sending her away… we all just got back together again."
"Things change. As many superlatives as I can apply to this place, you can't keep her here forever. She was always going to do amazing things," Helga said.
Sifting out crooked contractors and consoling freshman students were laudable enough, but a bit like asking Chekhov to write a nursery-school Christmas pageant. "I know. But I need to ask you again before you leave: are we in danger here from the Nazis?"
Helga shook her head. "I've put out a few feelers, getting a sense of how deep the rot goes, and I think you're safe for the time being. They have a long way to go at home, to jump the Channel now would be to invite outside reprisals."
"They might want that. To make us squeeze all the tighter."
"Doesn't work if everyone knows it was them. They aren't subtle. They want people afraid, not to punch back. They're bullies that way; walking over scared, directionless people is one thing, drawing the eye of a Britain or France with pointed questions at the ready is quite another," Helga said.
Her confidence was reassuring, and Katya took it as genuine. All EVE had needed was a little breathing room to get their feet under them. If they had only been granted that much, then she would count herself both lucky and grateful.
But in a single cup of tea, Helga's confidence morphed into something else. "Josephine told me about Lucie; I am deeply ashamed of my countryfolk, and you have my apologies for Millie and Niamh needing to endanger themselves to undo what those reprehensible traitors did."
"There is no need, you had nothing to do with it," Katya said.
"That's very kind. Still, I will pay a visit to the hospital before I return to Germany."
From the scene of Vita's nightmares to not even needing to be specified by name by someone from as far away as Germany, perhaps the transformation of that place was finally complete. "They will be very happy to hear that."
"Good." Helga spun her cup in her hands. "Kat, this Nazi situation is going to get worse before it gets better. I have been away only a few weeks, and I already fear what I will find when I get home. If they have their way, there will be another war, I guarantee it. We can't let that happen."
"We won't." The molten heat in Katya's core intensified, swelling and churning at the very idea. The walls that housed the Firebird deformed as she shifted within. "I give you my word: EVE will never allow that to happen, no matter the cost. And not just my word. The Firebird, the Raven, the Red Knight, the Sword of Stars all will ensure that no-one will again suffer as we… as the world did. But I don't want it to get to the point we need them. EVE and Josephine's witches will work with the Alliance from the outside, but we need you and your sisters to work from the inside. The only way to lift Germany back up is from both ends at once. Together."
Katya leaned across her desk, drawing just enough of the Firebird so that they peered out from her eyes together. "Take this home to your sisters: you aren't alone."
The message struck home, and the weight that lifted from Helga's shoulders was visible. "Thank you. I can't tell you what it means to me. To all of us."
"Of course." The Firebird retreated, and Katya flicked a glance at the clock. "You must needs be going, and just as today's lessons are finishing. If you want to sneak out without being mobbed by a gaggle of girls who worship famous witches, you should go now."
Helga laughed, genuine surprise expanding across her face. "Are you joking? Do you know how few opera fans there are under the age of fifty? I would be delighted. Besides, I could do to ingratiate myself with Katya Gurevich's witches as soon as possible."
"They'll be Pretoria's witches. They're just my students."
"'Just my students,' she says. What you're doing here isn't just anything. And I'll take that back with me, too."
The last lesson of the first week was to be one the assembled students of EVE would not soon forget, Millie was certain. It was the last 'new' lesson, in that it covered a subject as yet unaddressed. It had nothing to do with magic, but everything to do with being a witch in the 20th century. A witch in the 20th century living within proximity of Niamh, at least.
She had spent the whole week making sure everyone had at least seen her in preparation for today, when she introduced herself properly. There was a reason she had saved it for Friday, the same reason that had dictated that it be the only lesson for the whole day. On paper, the students would be released early for an extended weekend, if only by a few hours.
What they didn't know was that it was so that they might have time to recover.
"Try not to be too hard on them," Millie said as Niamh rolled her neck and popped everything in it, going by the sound. Always dressed for movement, she now made a show of it in loose-fitting trousers and a sleeveless shirt that did nothing to hide her sinewy build nor the terrible scars crawling down her shoulders like pale, molten wax. None of the students had ever seen them, and Millie wasn't sure how many of the elder witches had, either. Niamh rarely spoke of them, and hadn't needed to. The once or twice she had were more than enough to give Millie something to avoid thinking about for months and even years afterward.
"No harder than I am on you," Niamh said noncommittally, staring ahead at the wall. Getting no response, she looked back to Millie and pointed out through the doorway at the students gathered in the centre of the Hall, pointing and commenting on seeing one other in exercise clothing for the first time. Subsequent lessons would be done in smaller groups in the excercise room upstairs, but to avoid word getting out, they were all going to learn what they were in for at once. "I had high standards for you. They just need to be able to defend themselves."
A pang shot through Millie at the reminder. Would it have helped Lucie? Pretoria?
They would at least have had a fighting chance that way, she thought. That any of this had been deemed so necessary as to make it part of the curriculum at a conservatory for young women was both sad and enraging. But there was a binder sitting on Carice's desk that would more than answer any objections.
So too would the memories burned into Millie's mind.
"Now, you warned the others, right?"
"They know you well enough to have an inkling of what this will look like. You have Kat and Vickie's blessing to do it your way," Millie said.
"We'll see how long that lasts."
Conversations withered and died the moment Niamh walked in, the mood shifting from curiosity to apprehension. Every eye followed her as she marched to stand before the students, while Millie sidled up to the wall where the elder witches were already gathered.
"She's going to go easy on the first day, isn't she?" Alex asked.
"She didn't with me," Millie said.
And that was all that needed to be said, as Niamh didn't wait for anyone to collect their fallen jaws before she started speaking.
"My name's Niamh, and you are here to learn self-defence. No magic, no salves, elixirs, potions. No knives, no guns, no swords, either. Maybe a witchlight if you become a witch, but for right now, all you have is what you were born with, because that's all you're guaranteed to have if the time comes that you need anything of what I'm going to teach you. So if you think magic is hard, or you're not getting it, consider Friday your day off. You'll probably think different tomorrow morning, though. Any questions before we get started?"
A brave hand went up in the back. "Why, Mistress? This is a magic school."
"No, this is a witch school, and a witch is what we say she is. Like being a doctor. You wanna start cutting livers out without learning how, first? Be my guest."
The Sword of Stars blazed to silent, ethereal life, and more than one gasp burst from the array of students. Fully three feet long, it was undoubtedly a sword, only one made of pure white magic, extending straight out from Niamh's right hand.
"Actually, that part's easy. It's puttin' 'em back in that's hard. Any more questions? No? Good. In this place, there's more to learning what it means to be a witch than just magic. Too many of your sisters have been killed or mutilated because they didn't know how to defend themselves even basically. They were taught to wait for help, or to give up. Maybe they had no choice, but that won't be true for you. If you want to be a witch from us, you're going to learn how to defend yourself without help. If you think that it's not necessary, or 'unladylike' to learn how to kick a man in the balls so squarely he spits up blood, then go home."
Hands flew to mouths in attempts to hide looks of shock at such frank language, and there were titters from a few that failed. Eyes went wide with looks for confirmation that they'd heard what they thought they'd heard, but Niamh's stony glare and sheer physical presence kept many in check.
"You think this is funny?" she said, rounding on one who hadn't bothered to stifle her reaction: none other than Sophia.
"No," she said, and might have believed.
Niamh's witchblade evaporated as she gestured to the empty space in front of the group. "Step forward."
Sophia's head swivelled about in little jerks in the vain hope Niamh might have been talking to someone else, but not a single one of her fellow students so much as glanced at her. On an island of one, she drifted through the group exactly the way one does when caught by a teacher doing something she shouldn't have.
Niamh's cold grey eyes looked her up and down in swift assessment. "Name?"
"Sophia Kensington, Mistress!"
"You a virgin?"
Sophia's eyes flew open in shocked indignation, but Niamh's remained resolutely narrowed. "I don't think that's an appropriate question, I—"
"Don't care. Answer me."
Millie looked over to catch a barely perceptible nod from Sveta, but couldn't tell what part of Niamh's interrogation the Russian was responding to.
