Something in the black-and-white illustration moved. I saw it. I examined the black-and-white sketch of a farmhouse in the countryside. Now it was still. I swiped over it quickly with my fingers in case it had been a piece of debris. Nothing. My eyes darted back to the text I had been reading at the top of the page, back to the word Help. I saw the illustration move again in my peripheral vision. I focused on Help and watched the little person in the window wave at me. I looked back at the image again and the figure was now the shadow of the window curtain. Nervous excitement arose within me. Using my finger as a bookmark, I quickly closed the book to look at the cover. Pligeli Norwaithe. Not a name I recognized.
“Jill,” I called my classmate sitting across from me, “have you heard of this author? Pligeli Norwaithe?” She looked at the name, twisted her mouth, and shook her head.
“No bells.”
I flipped over to the back of the book. The blurb and author bio read:
Ever since the Thneedlewickeian regime became legitimate, an unsettling quiet has spread through the Martadon. The Knights are everywhere. As steadfastly ruthless enforcers of the regime, you can never be too trusting of a strange face. All trade and communication routes have been blocked. Neighbours all sit in isolation, unwillingly ignorant. Daily life must continue as normal and questions shall not be asked.
Despite the danger, the Ermine farmhouse has been harbouring a treacherous secret, all in the hopes that the darkness invading the Martadon can be stopped. Years have gone by without change, leaving them to believe they are the only remaining hope. Will they succeed?
Pligeli Norwaithe grew up in a small historic town south of Bergamont. Inspired by the magic she found within history, she began writing prolifically at a very young age. She has since written over 30 novels and short stories which have been posthumously published in over seven languages.
“Has anyone ever heard of the author Pligeli Norwaithe?” I asked the class.
“Nortwaithe? That family sank the Pradaline ship that ended the Pradaline line of witches,” Arla offered up.
“No, Norwaithe. It says she grew up near Bergamont. That’s it… And she’s dead.” Arla shrugged her shoulders. No one else had any answers.
I looked up at the clock. There was an hour left of the lunch recess. I opened the book back up, determined to finish it before the start of class.
*******
“Good afternoon, everyone. Take out your science kits and retrieve a two-knot clipping from the Ash shrub. Herbettany, could you pass the shrubs around, please? Lithanne, finish your lunch and put the book away,” Professor Heffrye commanded as he strolled into the room. I placed a hand on the rest of my sandwich but didn’t eat it as I was still entrenched in the book. There were only two pages left.
“Lithanne,” Prof Heffrye warned. One page left.
“Wait, sir,” I pleaded.
“At least take a bite while you read.” I gripped the sandwich tighter but my eyes were too glued to the page to even try aiming for my mouth. Jill placed a cut Ash twig on my table. I flipped to the final page, which contained a single line that read:
The growing band of members hidden under Ermine desperately await help.
There was no “To be continued.” That was the end. I sat, mouth agape for a second.
“Lithanne,” Prof Heffrye warned again, slightly more annoyed as we had inched enough into class time.
“Sir!” I got up hurriedly and went to his side. “This book… No, it’s the story. It’s been enchanted. I saw this picture move.” I found the page with the moving illustration.
“Is it a children’s book?” he asked, taking the book and examining the cover’s coloured illustration of the idyllic Ermine Farm.
“The content is too unsettling and slow-burn for children. And only one of the illustrations moved - this one.” I redirected him back to the page I had opened. Enchanted children’s books had more obvious and frequent moving illustrations. “And! I borrowed it from a mortal library.” The world of witchcraft was a well-kept secret. “What publisher would let an enchantment survive entering a mortal establishment? It should’ve been broken as soon as it entered.” I pointed to the word Help. “The enchantment is triggered when you read the word Help.” I watched him observe the page, eyes bouncing from Help to the illustration and then back. His eyebrows furrowed with thought.
“And you’re suggesting?” he asked, flipping the book to the back and skimming the blurb as I had done.
“This story is about this region called Martadon that has been taken over by these Thneedlewickeian rulers. They sent knights throughout the Martadon to make sure that nobody could communicate with each other or move freely and this has gone on for, like, 5 years or something. People who even seem like they’re trying to rebel have gone missing, nobody knows what is going on, and the days keep getting shorter. The sun barely comes above the horizon anymore before setting. It’s implied that it has something to do with the Thneedlewickeians.
Ermine Farm is the main setting and the Ermines are this large family that made their name generations ago as healers. There’s a rumour that the land they sit on is magical, so all of the water and food drawn from the ground is imbued with magical healing. Oh, and they’re finding it harder and harder to grow a crop as the sun dwindles and people on the farm have started to grow sick, which has never happened before, because they’re continuously healed by the land’s resources. Their oldest family member was 134 years old but died in the third year. I think that wherever Martadon and the Ermines are, it’s real. Everything is real and this story was enchanted in hopes of getting the message out.”
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Prof Heffrye looked deep in thought.
“That would be very serious if it were true.”
“May I see the cover, Professor?” Andea asked. He tilted the book and raised it to the rest of the class.
“I’m sure I saw Eathra Hennly from the year above reading the same book,” she noted.
“And before that, had any of you ever seen an occurrence of this book? Think hard.” Everyone shook their head.
“When was it published?” Eni asked.
“Sir, may I?” I took the book from his hand and flipped through the front pages. “1984. About three decades ago.”
“Well, I suppose you could be on to something. Enchanted objects tend to increase in frequency and occurrence when they want to be noticed. I have a feeling that a book older than all of you wouldn’t have gone unnoticed for so long if it were really a normal book.”
“Do you think Eathra still has her copy?” I asked Andea.
“I saw her with it last week.”
“Perhaps we should call Eathra and see what she thinks about it,” I suggested to Prof Heffrye. “And my copy is missing Chapter 8. Maybe her copy can fill us in some more.” He nodded and went round his desk to the phone. He picked up the receiver and called Eathra Hennly’s name, inviting her to the class if she were still on lunch. I got calls from my classmates asking to see the illustration. I carried the book over to them and everyone started leaving their seats to gather. I pointed to the word Help. “It moves while you read this word. Don’t look directly at the picture,” I noted. The crowd let out small gasps as the enchantment revealed itself.
“It’s so well hidden.”
“Where is it? Oh! The curtains!”
“It’s like an optical illusion.”
“Does the book say how we would help them?” Ophelia asked. I nodded and dived back into the book, looking for the poem I had found.
“At the end of a couple of the chapters, the author included these poems. There’s one by the farm matriarch, who I suspect is the coven mother. It’s two lines long and looks like those historic spell structures we studied a couple of months ago. I think the time periods also match up,” I pointed to the italicized poem. Ophelia leaned in to scan it. With her being the gutsiest and one of the most gifted witches in our class, I realized that I had made a mistake too late. I watched her lips move in a quick whisper. I snapped the book shut.
“Ophelia!” I raised a finger to cast numbing on her face, but it hit Harriet’s face instead when it flew across the empty space where Ophelia had been standing. She had disappeared into thin air. Harriet’s face drooped as she tried to undo the spell.
“It’s real!” Talum said.
“What happened?” Prof Heffrye asked. We all looked at each other.
“Ophelia read one of the spells and disappeared,” Andea reported. I was in shock.
“Move back to your seats,” he demanded.
“Sir, what are you going to do?” Andea inquired.
“Eathra is on her way here. I will report this to the appropriate authorities.”
“What if it’s too late by then? We can’t just abandon Ophelia!” I argued. “As her coven, we are the appropriate authorities-”
“You are undertrained!” He rebutted.
“We take offence to that, Professor Heffrye. We’re the highest-performing class of this year and that is all while we are under a substitute coven leader,” Leela pointed out, referring to Prof Heffrye’s illegitimate position as our teacher.
“Let’s just wait until Eathra brings us her copy,” Prof Heffrye sighed. He held out a hand. “Book,” he demanded. I unwillingly handed him the book. “I’m making another phone call. Please just sit in silence.” He muted himself and faced away from the class, excluding us from the conversation.
Eathra knocked on the classroom door and he waved her in mid-conversation. As she made her way down the centre aisle, I intercepted her book.
“Do you have Chapter 8?” I asked eagerly.
“Yes.” I flipped through. It was written in Cyrullian, which I was barely fluent in, but I could understand enough. I skimmed.
“What does Achanphu mean?” I asked aloud.
“Low lighting,” someone answered.
“Ok, so visual disguises work very well in low lighting. It… keeps knights from suspecting there are strangers hiding on the farm, presumably because they only see the same few faces,” I summed up. “They’re attempting to draw power from the moon but they would first need the moon to move closer.”
“Eathra, thank you for coming. Did you notice anything strange with your copy of this book?” Prof Heffrye asked.
“Uhh, one of the pictures of a house flickered but only once. I didn’t catch what it was and couldn’t get it to happen again.”
“Lithanne discovered an enchantment in her copy that she picked up from a mortal library. Do you think there could be any truth to the story?”
“No. How would that make sense? A bunch of witches trapped on a farm for years and they can’t even get enough power to win the war?” She shook her head in disbelief.
“Ophelia read one of the spell poems and disappeared,” I told her. She shrugged.
“Sir, what are we going to do!” Eni asked.
“As your teacher, I will read the spell and retrieve Ophelia. I have contacted Principal Istrish. She is on her way here. Someone will need to inform her of what is going on.”
“Shouldn’t we come as well? Eathra can stay back and inform,” I suggested.
“We don’t know what will be on the other side,” he responded. “It could be dangerous.”
“And having read the book, I’m better equipped than you to deal with this, sir.”
Are you all certain you want to come?” Prof Heffrye asked.
“We should do a coven vote,” Andea said, getting up and retrieving a batch of red voting papers. She looked over at Talum, who was standing next to her. She threw the papers in the air and the two of them blew them across the room to each student.
“Alright, think quickly but carefully. Cast your votes,” Prof Heffrye said, pulling the voting bowl out on his table. I took my pen. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind that I would vote yes but a horrible feeling grew in my stomach. I did this. I would be responsible for what happened to Ophelia. I hurriedly scribbled my vote down and sent the paper into the bowl, the first in the class to do so. Professor Heffrye saw the look on my face and came over to confiscate the other copy of the book.
“You can’t stop me. You can’t stop me. I’ve already committed the poem to memory,” I told him. He didn’t acknowledge me, except with a look of defeat. I hadn’t actually, having read through everything too quickly. I scrambled to remember it, struggling to remember which words had been used where.
The red votes floated across the room and into the bowl. When the last vote arrived, the whole pile burst into a bright pink flame. I excitedly slapped the desk while getting up.
“We’re going,” I announced before Prof Heffrye could utter a protest.
“Okay, join hands. Lithanne, write the spell on the board. Eathra, will you catch Principal Istrish up when she arrives?” Eathra nodded.
“Good luck,” Eathra wished us. I quickly transcribed the spell and then ran over to join the circle. In unison, we recited the spell, entrenching us in darkness.