study the list of tools in your book?”
“Yes. Cauldrons, bowls, bells, candles, wands, the ritual knives—athames—brooms, goblets, swords.”
“It’s time you learned to use them. Today, we’ll make charms for calm minds, calm hearts, fertility, safe journeys, good fortune, and protection.”
Herbs and crystals, ribbons and cloths—and, above all, Breen learned, intention. It seemed very basic, but she learned quickly the wrong crystal, the wrong herbs in a charm could draw evil rather than repel it, could cause a sleepless night instead of a restful one.
“Now keep this, of your own making.”
Breen took the small purple pouch she’d sewn and filled. “For protection,” she remembered. “I already have this.” She touched the gemstone she wore.
“And now a charm bag as well. Do you remember what you filled it with?”
“Yes, I think. Betony and sage, a piece of amber, one of malachite, another of tourmaline—black tourmaline,” she corrected. “A little shell and a broom straw. And I chanted: By my will, repel all ill. With this charm, protect from harm.”
With a simple nod, Marg gave approval. “Well done. Very well done.”
“What will you do with the others?”
“Give or trade as needs be. A young were I know is hoping for a child. I’ll gift her the fertility charm. But for now, we purify our tools, and put it all away.”
“I don’t suppose you could teach me a spell first.”
Marg laughed. “Mo stór, and so I have. A charm is but a spell in a pouch.”
“A spell in a pouch.” Finding that delightful, she slid it into her pocket. “We didn’t do any love spells. I’d think they’d be popular.”
“A charm or spell to draw another’s attention, to encourage another to look and see—these are common. But a true love spell? These are forbidden, as to bind a heart to you with magick removes choice.”
“I get that. Do they actually work?”
“Sometimes all too well, and always, always with a hard price. A woman might forsake her family, a man might strike down a rival. The bespelled might turn on the bespeller in a fit of jealousy, all twisted from magicks. A heart can go mad with love, after all.”
She could believe it even without personal experience.
“It’s so much about healing, protecting, bringing comfort—everything you’ve taught me so far. When I was little, I wanted to be a vet—an animal doctor. Not just because I loved animals, but because they need someone to take care of them.”
“You have healing in you. I can help bring some out, but Aisling is stronger there.”
They put away cloth and crystals and candles. Breen watched as Marg bathed the scissors and needles they’d used in water drawn in moonlight, how she wiped them dry with a white cloth.
“Now, you’ll take some air, clear your mind. You might walk to see Morena, or Aisling. Then I can show you how to make a wand.”
“You make them?”
“I could give you one, and will, but the making of your own imbues it with your self, your heart, your power. You’ll choose the wood, the stones, the carvings. Your wand is an extension of the magicks inside you.”
“I’m not very crafty,” she began as they walked outside. “Arts and crafty, I mean. Sewing those pouches was pretty much the top of my skill level.”
“And you did well there, didn’t you? Ah, we have company, it seems.”
She recognized the black stallion, unless he had a twin. Standing beside him outside the cabin was a smaller horse. She recognized the type from her young teen’s love affair with horses as a buckskin.
“That would be Keegan’s Merlin, the black beauty there.”
“Yes, I saw him impregnate a mare this morning. She seemed agreeable.”
“Ah, so he’s mated with Mahon’s Eryn then. That’s a fine thing. The handsome gelding is one of Harken’s. He’s called Boy—from Good Boy, as he is one. If the pair of them are inside with Sedric, we won’t find a crumb of those biscuits left.”
Inside, Keegan sat by the fire with Sedric—and Bollocks. The two men each had a tall mug—a tankard, Breen supposed.
“And here they are,” Sedric announced. “I’ve plied Keegan with a mug of ale to keep him from interrupting your work.”
“And fine work it was. I’m told your Merlin did his job of work just this morning.”
“He did at that, and successfully.”
“It took. That’s grand then.”
“Isn’t it too early to know?”
Keegan glanced at Breen. “Harken says she’s carrying, and he’d know.” He rose then, polished off the ale. “I brought Boy, as she has to learn to ride, and Harken says