Snippet
Revising this book is throwing up some new scenes. Here's a snippet.
"Meanwhile and faraway
“Have a seat.”
The room is bland: beige carpet and curtains, plain glass-topped table, uncomfortable chairs with worn padding. A mid-level government interview room, could be anywhere outside the corridors of the most powerful. Maybe there, too. Rauni has never been in those corridors. She takes the seat closest to the door.
Two women and a man are already seated. None of them have name badges. All of them, nonetheless, are people of rank. She inclines her head towards the one she already knows, the Aunty.
The Aunty smiles, that familiar Aunty smile, a mix of reassurance and command. She says, “We want you to apply for a job.”
Rauni blinks. This was not what she expected. If she expected anything, about which she isn’t sure. The man slides a folder across the table to her, and she opens it. An advertisement, printed out from an agency website, for a locum doctor in a small village in the North.
Rauni has a job. The Aunty knows this. She reads the advertisement through, twice, then says, “May I ask why?”
There’s a moment’s silence. Then the other woman says, “It’s a delicate situation. That village lies between earth and water, over one of the oldest portals.” She pauses, a fine line drawing itself between her narrow, arching brows. She’s beautiful, this woman, like a waterfall in spring. Like a tempest. Power winds through her, a low hum that Rauni can sense across the room. The woman continues, “There’s a family there, a witchblood family, and a resident guardian.” She pauses, waiting for some response.
Rauni looks again to the Aunty. No help there. She says, “I have no training with portals.”
“No. That will be provided.”
This makes no sense. Rauni is not a witch, and this, surely, is witch work. Medical witches are far from rare: it should be easy to find one to take this job. There’s more to know, here. She folds her hands in her lap and waits.
The man stirs. He, surely, is the other anomaly here. Men are not witches. Men are not Aunties. He must, therefore, hold some kind of sensitive government position. He says, “There is… a complication. The witchblood family has no witches in the current generation, nor is there a powerful witch resident in the village. The guardian reports unease: something is stirring but he does not know what. He detects no witchery, nor any activity from Outside. It’s a new flavour, or a very old one. There is no evidence of change, yet something is clearly changing or imminent. He’s uncomfortable about the weather. He mentioned dragons.”
Ah. But Rauni says nothing out loud, exchanging another look with the Aunty.
“A senior witch from my section is conducting a quiet inspection,” the woman says. “But my colleague –” and she nodded towards the Aunty, “feels we need an alternative perspective as well. You can provide that. If this is old magic, well…” She tails off and looks at Rauni. “We’re aware this is an irregular request. You are under no obligation.”
“How long would the posting last?” Rauni asks.
“A year, in the first instance.” The woman hesitates. “It’s a pleasant village, not too remote and there are facilities. You won’t be uncomfortable. I can confirm that: I was born there.”
“I’ll apply for the job,” says Rauni."
"Meanwhile and faraway
“Have a seat.”
The room is bland: beige carpet and curtains, plain glass-topped table, uncomfortable chairs with worn padding. A mid-level government interview room, could be anywhere outside the corridors of the most powerful. Maybe there, too. Rauni has never been in those corridors. She takes the seat closest to the door.
Two women and a man are already seated. None of them have name badges. All of them, nonetheless, are people of rank. She inclines her head towards the one she already knows, the Aunty.
The Aunty smiles, that familiar Aunty smile, a mix of reassurance and command. She says, “We want you to apply for a job.”
Rauni blinks. This was not what she expected. If she expected anything, about which she isn’t sure. The man slides a folder across the table to her, and she opens it. An advertisement, printed out from an agency website, for a locum doctor in a small village in the North.
Rauni has a job. The Aunty knows this. She reads the advertisement through, twice, then says, “May I ask why?”
There’s a moment’s silence. Then the other woman says, “It’s a delicate situation. That village lies between earth and water, over one of the oldest portals.” She pauses, a fine line drawing itself between her narrow, arching brows. She’s beautiful, this woman, like a waterfall in spring. Like a tempest. Power winds through her, a low hum that Rauni can sense across the room. The woman continues, “There’s a family there, a witchblood family, and a resident guardian.” She pauses, waiting for some response.
Rauni looks again to the Aunty. No help there. She says, “I have no training with portals.”
“No. That will be provided.”
This makes no sense. Rauni is not a witch, and this, surely, is witch work. Medical witches are far from rare: it should be easy to find one to take this job. There’s more to know, here. She folds her hands in her lap and waits.
The man stirs. He, surely, is the other anomaly here. Men are not witches. Men are not Aunties. He must, therefore, hold some kind of sensitive government position. He says, “There is… a complication. The witchblood family has no witches in the current generation, nor is there a powerful witch resident in the village. The guardian reports unease: something is stirring but he does not know what. He detects no witchery, nor any activity from Outside. It’s a new flavour, or a very old one. There is no evidence of change, yet something is clearly changing or imminent. He’s uncomfortable about the weather. He mentioned dragons.”
Ah. But Rauni says nothing out loud, exchanging another look with the Aunty.
“A senior witch from my section is conducting a quiet inspection,” the woman says. “But my colleague –” and she nodded towards the Aunty, “feels we need an alternative perspective as well. You can provide that. If this is old magic, well…” She tails off and looks at Rauni. “We’re aware this is an irregular request. You are under no obligation.”
“How long would the posting last?” Rauni asks.
“A year, in the first instance.” The woman hesitates. “It’s a pleasant village, not too remote and there are facilities. You won’t be uncomfortable. I can confirm that: I was born there.”
“I’ll apply for the job,” says Rauni."