From the Ashes of Victory: The Complete Series, page 143
part #0 of From the Ashes of Victory Series
Still all alone on her island, Sophia flushed beet red, swallowing hard enough she could have gotten a cricket ball down her gullet. "Of course. As any respectable young woman would be," she said, a game attempt at turning the room, engendering much the opposite effect in more than a few students, and several of her instructors.
"Why?" Niamh asked.
"Wh- I don't understand the question…"
"Why are you still a virgin?" Niamh asked with shocking softness compared to the granite in her eyes. "Some strapping lad or lass must have turned your head a time or two. Only natural, I would say."
Sophia's mind raced behind her eyes, the first time Millie had ever seen her have to work at anything. She was quick at more than magic, Millie had to admit. "I'm saving myself for marriage, Mistress."
"Ah. That make you more… valuable? Been awhile since I've had to think about it, y'see," Niamh said.
"Y- yes," Sophia stammered.
Niamh considered Sophia a moment before turning to the other students, most of whom studiously avoided looking back. "And who is it you let decide said value? Your father?" she asked while looking at Clara, "society?"
"It's always been this way, Mistress," Sophia said with tremulous bravery. "To ensure the patronage of any issue that may result from the marriage."
Niamh gave Sophia a look of approval that lasted all of two seconds. "Uh-huh. Because no married woman's ever pushed out a bastard. So." The word rang in a particular way, and Millie braced herself to find out just how deep Sophia's convictions went. "You just accept the way things have always been done? And you want to be a witch? Well."
Sophia opened her mouth to either protest or ask a question, but Niamh ripped the thought straight out of her head before it had a chance to live.
"On your knees."
"Wh-" was all Sophia got out before roiling white magical energy honed by centuries of experience shot from Niamh's clenched fist with an edge sharp enough to cleave stone.
"Kneel!"
Sophia's bravery failing snapped across her features like she'd been struck, and she complied with weak, wobbling legs. Witchblade flashed bright in her dark, wavering eyes, but just as the urge to argue that the point had been made rose to Millie's throat, the blade winked out, leaving a ghostly green afterimage.
"Now, I don't suspect you'll ever have a magic sword pulled on you again, so let me make the point in terms more of you will understand," Niamh said, lifting her right leg and rolling back the trouser fabric.
Silver flashed, and where there had been an arcane blade was now a very real, very tangible one of metal; a stiletto sharp enough to perform surgery on gnats.
"What would you do to get me to put this away? Anything?"
Sophia nodded frantically, unable to tear her eyes away from the knife.
"Good. But you didn't, so I just took your virginity and now you're worthless. Then I got bored and passed you around to my mates. Now you're dead. Or," the stiletto took on a more menacing glint with a single word, "maybe I shoved this up your nose and took your magic away, made you worse than dead. That feel right?"
Just enough of Sophia's wits returned for her to blurt, "No!"
"Why not? You've already let others decide your value for this long, what's the difference if I say you have none?"
Sophia had no answer other than to try to stop the tremors that were violently trying to knock her over.
Slowly, Niamh lowered herself until her eyes were level with Sophia's. "There's more to being a witch than magic, love. It's not a title, or something to show off to your vapid friends like a shiny bauble. I am a witch, and so are they." She pointed to EVE's seniority. "And a witch has to be strong beyond her magic and her years because there are those out there who will want to take both and more from you. They only start with your virtue. That is also part of our history, and now it's yours."
Niamh tapped Sophia gently on the chest. "The only value that matters is the one you give yourself, and that they can never take from you. It's the most precious thing we have. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Mistress!" Sophia shouted in relief and terror.
"Good." Niamh stood and helped Sophia to her feet. "You did very well. You can go back."
"Thank you, Mistress."
Millie noted that when Sophia took her place again, the ranks closed in around her a little tighter than they had before she'd stepped away.
"As for the rest of you… I understand you're scared, surprised and confused; this week has been a lot to take in. But you're here because you have been blessed with an extraordinary gift, which can make others jealous, or fearful. And you have to be able to protect it," Niamh said, her voice soft and encouraging, completely at odds with the fact she still had a knife in her hand.
"Now… Doctor Ravenwood?"
"Yes?"
The stiletto snapped outward and before anyone knew what was happening, it was out of Niamh's hand and halfway to Vickie's neck.
Which was as far as it got.
To the shocked disbelief of 24 young women and the pride of nine older ones, Vickie stepped forward with preternatural calm. As she approached the knife suspended in mid-air, it began bending and deforming into what looked like a wadded-up ball of tinfoil. She plucked it out of its magical suspension with two fingers, and the eyes of every student followed her as she strode before them to hand the ball of harmless junk back to its owner.
Niamh held it up for them all to see. "How many of you can do that?"
No-one so much as breathed.
"Exactly. And you're never going to be able to, so put that out of your heads right now. No-one can, except her. You know why? Because she's the most powerful witch in the world. We call her the Raven. What do we call you?"
"Student," Emma ventured.
"That's right. Do a good job, work hard, pay attention, and maybe in time we'll call you witch. But since you can't stop bullets, or start fires, or summon armour from nothing, you're going to learn spitting, eye-gouging, drawing blood with your nails, buckling knees and screaming bloody murder. You will learn to do those things without thinking. You will not wait to be rescued, and you will not give up or submit. Being a witch brings its own risk, and it is very real. I hope to God you never learn how real, but I'm going to kick the shit out of you until you're ready when someone disagrees."
Sophia was still trembling, but she wasn't alone in casting an appeal for reprieve at Pretoria, the witch they knew best.
They didn't get it. "And I'm going to watch her do it. Niamh saved my life once, and now she's going to save yours. And like she said, if you don't like it, you're free to leave at any time. No-one will think less of you," Pretoria said, but made perfectly clear from her tone she didn't mean. She would absolutely think less of them, and herself for allowing anyone who would leave now to be admitted in the first place. They all would.
Niamh spoke again, "I know I've just terrified many of you, made you question why you signed up to lock yourselves in here with an Irish psychopath. In my defence, that was the point. I see your enthusiasm, your hope, and I applaud it. I am genuinely happy that you are here and want to unlock the potential that each and every one of you was born with. But when you walk out of here today, I want you to look on the wall outside. Remember the name Anna Blair. I see some of you already do, good. Anna was burned at the stake seven years ago, the last witch in Britain to be murdered for being a witch. But just because it hasn't happened since doesn't mean it can't happen again. So when you think I'm being too hard on you, or that this isn't why you came here, go look at her face and remember why she isn't here to complain alongside you. For now, however, we will start with twenty laps around the campus. Anyone who dallies will soon find the Furies on her heels as encouragement. Or me."
It was something like an orderly scrum that squirted out the door, and—though it was clear that many of the students had never once had a single bout of dedicated exercise—ran for their lives.
"Too much?" Niamh asked when the last one had darted from view.
Kat answered both for herself and her sisters: "Not at all."
The conference room had been designed to be comfortable, a pleasant place to spend hours doing relatively boring things. And it was, except when it wasn't. No-one had thought about it being on the leeward side of the building, which meant little breeze came in through the open windows. Perhaps it was for the best, as the air outside was thick and humid, like it could snap into a thunderstorm at any moment. The fans were trying their best to help, but couldn't compete with a sweaty witch who could warp physics on a whim.
With a trickle of magic, the door and both windows all swung shut at once and within two breaths, the air was as cool as an October afternoon.
"Much better," Vita said, cinching her necktie tight again. "You were saying, Pretoria?"
"I… was, yes." Pretoria looked from the glass that had just been the sky down to the notes in front of her. "Er, ah… oh, right. I am pleased to inform you that Yvonne and Henni have, to date, not killed one another. They seem to be getting along famously, in fact. Between those two, and Clara and Emma, we may be in the process of forging a Coven or two already."
Katya set down her tea. It was Saturday, she didn't need coffee. Yet. "It's only been a week, let's not get too deep into prognosticating. Still, it's good news. How is Clara doing, by the way?"
"I had my worries about her, but I would have never in my wildest dreams considered 'telling off your father in front of a hundred people' as a way to boost her confidence. Ever since she did though, she's on her way to running down Sophia in terms of potential. I'm very impressed with her progress."
"And Sophia?" Vita asked.
"Niamh's little talk dulled that blade a bit, so she's less… pointy. Still a show-off and a know-it-all, though."
"That will settle out, I'm sure," Katya said. "Or do you still think she's trouble?"
Pretoria held up her hands. "I thought I knew, but Emma's the one who's done a number on her."
"Oh?"
"She's a shrink, all right. But like Kat said, it's only been a week. There's 24 of them, they're going to end up shaking things out for themselves anyway. Oh, but you two need to make clear our policy on booze."
Katya wasn't entirely sure where her smile came from: sheer audacity or pride. "Already?"
"Niamh was a little too effective in getting her point across, I think. The lounge was a scene of some, ah, shall we say, indulgence? last night."
"Why didn't you tell us?" Vita asked.
"Because you would have swooped in and taken their heads off. They needed it. As long as things don't get out of hand, I'm willing to let them have their fun. But if you want to come down on them for it, it's your call."
Vita opened her mouth, but Katya spoke first. "We'll talk about it. Vita."
Pretoria set her chin in her hand and waited for the show to start, but all she got was a fizzle of static.
"Very well," Vita said. "The early days can be… stressful. Perhaps allowing them some slack in how they address it would be beneficial. But I want to know immediately if it hinders their performance in the classroom."
"Aye, Captain," Pretoria said with a little smile brightened by sharing a face with those eyes of hers.
"You seem particularly ebullient this morning, Pretoria. I would have thought you would be knackered after this week," Vita said.
"Mmm, I had a six-hour bath that I only awoke from because Ivy thought I was dead, so I'm actually quite refreshed. But mostly it's because I have something for you that does in fact make me all bubbly inside."
Vita fell upon such obvious bait with all the abandon of a bear doomed to soon adorn the floor of a lodge somewhere. "Which is?"
"Advice," the water witch said through a smile that conjured any number of things that also found comfort beneath the waves, such as a barracuda or particularly self-satisfied shark. "Stop being afraid of them."
Vita's eyebrows wormed towards one another as she set down her tea. "Who?"
"The girls. The way you circle around the edge of the Hall like a vulture, they all think you're waiting for one of them to die."
"Colourful."
"Correct. You found what you were looking for, yeah? You can use your time more constructively. As it stands, Emma's the only one who isn't afraid of you, as far as I can tell. I like her, you know. A lot. She and Clara are going to be wonderful witches, and excellent partners. But there's 23 more who need to learn to trust their headmistress, not eyeball her and wonder if they're about to get nicked for something they may or may not have done. Or dragged away and drained of their blood."
To Vita's credit, this wasn't met with affront, but a thoughtful sitting back in the chair. "You may have a point."
Katya lost her battle with the smile she'd been holding back. "You are a remarkable teacher, Pret."
But Vita was away in her own thoughts, and Katya had no idea if her barb ever caught up. "I realise I am not… ideally suited towards student affairs, and you have proven your judgment trustworthy, Pretoria. I would appreciate more of your input on matters, even if I don't solicit it."
"Oh, good! Maybe wear something other than black? It makes you a bit… ominous," Pretoria said, wiggling her fingers in illustration.
"Your unsolicited advice will only be accepted to an extent, however. That lies well beyond," Vita said without so much as a glance at her clothing.
"Worth a shot."
"Indeed. And the attempt is not unappreciated. But I will give consideration to your other concerns. I was not… unaware of my reputation, but hearing it put in such stark terms is enough to give me pause."
"As long as you start up again by Monday," Katya said.
Vita tilted her head on one side. "I will endeavour to be… present."
From outside came the first rumble of thunder, along with scattered spats of rain ticking against the windows.
"That's all I have. Is there anything else? We have some hatches to batten down, it would seem," Pretoria said.
When they opened the door to leave, it was to find Sophia standing there with her fist poised against empty space. She immediately took on a look of sheepish embarrassment, but when her lips started moving, no sound came out.
"Vita," Katya said.
"Oh. Right." With a flick of willpower, the silencing screen that had been over the doorway evaporated.
"…and I think she might be a spy."
The thunder went about ravaging the sky and the rain did its utmost to test every inch of weatherstripping on the campus, but the only lightning was flashing in Vita's eyes as Sophia was sat down with a cup of tea and a burning need to talk.
Pret sat across from her while Vita paced and failed to look less vulture-like, leaving Katya sitting a few seats away to act the neutral arbiter. "Why do you think Emma is a spy, Sophia?"
"Lay out your reasoning in exacting detail," the Raven said, beak already bloodied with the entrails of the young woman's confidence.
Pret looked at her with beseeching eyes, but Vita only saw what she wanted to see. With a little sigh of resignation, she leaned across the table towards Sophia. "That's quite the accusation. I hope you have some evidence to back it up."
Katya hoped so, too. This was exactly the kind of thing that could tear the entire student body apart with finger-pointing before Sveta came back on Monday. A lot of damage could be done in two days.
Sophia looked down into her tea and resolutely not at Vita. "She's a Hun, Mistress."
"I beg your pardon?" the Raven demanded. October suddenly became January, regardless of the sounds of summer outside.
Soft brown eyes flicked up long enough to make sure there were no talons aimed at them, then found the tea again. "I heard her talking to one of the German girls in German, Mistress. She sounded fluent, like it was her native tongue. I don't know what they were saying, but I know what German sounds like."
"Can't someone speak another language without being a spy?" Pretoria asked before the Raven could demand something similar in far less generous terms.
Sophia swallowed. "If it were French or Italian, of course. But German? Of all the languages. No-one speaks German since the war, that's the language of the enemy."
Katya heard Vita stop. As the pressure of her Manifest swelled, Katya was swift with the pin she jabbed into it. "Doctor Ravenwood, may I confer with you outside?"
When they were alone, Katya made Vita put up a silencing screen along the entire wall before she said, "Stop it."
"Stop what?"
"You took Pret's metaphor a little too close to heart. Sophia is terrified of you right now," Katya said, pointing at the door.
"As well she should be! Speaking that way of one of her classmates. That wasn't a supposition, it was bald-faced character assassination, and I won't have it, Katya. I will not."
Katya blew out a breath and sought the ceiling. "You're letting your bias for Emma inform your reaction. Can't you try to see why Sophia might feel that way?"
Vita waved away the thought. "Irrelevant. Coming to us with that tripe, even thinking it undermines everything EVE is trying to do. What we are trying to build. At the very least, it shows complete disrespect for Svetlana, at worst it's subversive and toxic. It has to be stopped here. Now."
"Her big brother was killed in the war."
"My twin brother was killed in the war. What of it?"
"You came to terms with it. Through Emma. Sophia obviously hasn't. Shouldn't she get the chance?" Katya asked softly, complete supplication to Vita's piercing accusation.
Vita resumed her pacing, boots clicking on the linoleum, one step for every two squares, like clockwork. "She won't give Emma the chance. Why else would she have come to us with this poppycock rather than working it out for herself?"
"Because she's scared. Her brother wasn't killed in the trenches, he was poisoned by a double agent. He worked in intelligence."
The clockwork hitched, the clicking stopped. "That information isn't in her file. How did you—?"
