Capella Thornberry leaned over the vial, eyeing the glimmering green potion inside. She double-checked the list of ingredients and their proportions. Three parts powdered mandrake, two parts wormwood, pinch of moss, six dried firefly abdomens…

It was easy to lay everything out on her work table at least. She sat alone now at in Professor Cain Litchfield’s class, a pariah among her other classmates.

Capella had been at Darkwood Academy for less than three days when a student who insulted her ended up found dead after being ejected from the classroom for berating her. She could still see Herman Philbot’s lifeless body, his face pale as parchment, his shirt and cloak stained red with blood seeping from two criss-cross marks on his chest. Herman had been found by the swamp where Litchfield had sent him to collect leeches as punishment. And although she’d been inside when he’d died, all eyes had turned to her when his body had been laid out in the school lobby. Suddenly the mysterious hedgewitch - the only female in a class that never allowed females - was seen in a new and suspicious light. It did not help when - without explanation - Professor Litchfield moved Capella from her small isolated room in the tower to a room in his own quarters.

It was an awkward situation, and the only silver lining was that it cleared up once and for all her questions about Professor Litchfield’s assistant, Ethon. The young man, pretending to be her friend, had encouraged her to stand up to her menacing instructor, a decision that earned her a firm and humiliating spanking. But since Professor Litchfield had moved her to his quarters, Ethon had not even tried to hide his disdain for her. Capella would feel uneasy and turn to see him glowering at her, his eyes dark with hatred.

But the young man dared not say anything to her when she was in Professor Litchfield’s company, which seemed to be every moment unless she was in her quarters. He had refused to tell her why he’d become so protective of her and had threatened her with punishment. Having been across his knee on one occasion and bent over his desk for a caning on another, Capella was quickly learning that Cain Litchfield spoke little, but when he did speak he meant what he said. He was not a man of idle threats.

Her only friend now was the little fox that greeted her at the end of each school day. She’d dubbed him Sage, and he spent his days doing whatever while she went about her studies. On Thursdays, the class worked with their familiars; that was the only time he got to go to class with her. Thursday quickly became Capella’s favorite day of the week.

She heard a noise to her left and glanced over. Ethon was moving from table to table, taking notes for Professor Litchfield on the students’ progress. Capella tried to quell her nervousness as he approached. She had been very careful and with only two ingredients to go, the draught she was concocting was as close to perfection as she could hope.

“Miss Thornberry.” Ethon’s tone was artificially formal.

“Sir,” she said, affording him respect she found hard to give.

He looked over her ingredients, jotting notes into his book. “It’s an easy enough potion; I’m not surprised that even you can accomplish it.”

She did not acknowledge the jibe, and was relieved when he turned away. But has he did, Ethon’s sleeve brushed a cluster of leaves which were next to go into the flask.

“I’ll get them,” she said.

“No,” he replied. “Let me.” He leaned down and then stood, putting them back on the desk. “So sorry.”

Capella nodded and reached for the leaves, thinking how happy she’d be to finally have the class over with. She concentrated on chopping the leaves and chopping them again until they were diced into little more than thin shreds as the manual described.

She picked them up and put them in the vial. What happened next drew everyone’s attention. The vial exploded, and it was only by luck that none of the shards ended up in Capella’s face. Some did end up embedded in the wooden beam on the wall next to her table, and the solution that remained sizzled, popped and ate through the wood of the table.

“Calm down!” Professor Litchfield walked over, his face grim. “Do not touch, Miss Thornberry,” he said. He raised his wand.

“Evaporatum.”

The mixture began to ascend in miniscule, glittering droplets that dissipated in a wisp of smoke. Professor Litchfield looked at Capella without saying anything and then dropped his gaze to her desk. He scanned what remained of the ingredients and then picked up the shredded remains of one leaf and held it to his nose.

“The directions called for what, Ms. Thornberry?” he asked.

“Vervain,” she said.

“Hold out your hand.”

She obeyed and he put the piece of leaf on her finger.

“What is this?”

She sniffed it as he had done. The odor was pungent, distinct.

“Fireweed,” she said.

She looked up at him, stricken. Fireweed was potent and dangerous. “I used vervain, sir. I swear it.” Capella’s eyes searched the professor’s. They were unreadable.

“Class dismissed,” he said. “Except for Miss Capella.” Without turning, he continued. “And you, Ethon.”

Over his shoulder, Ethon smiled. Capella felt a knot of fear in her stomach. The professor was going to punish her. She knew it. And he was going to allow Ethon to watch. She felt the twin emotions of fear and rage swell in her breast. She knew now that Ethon had purposefully brushed the leaves off her desk and replaced them with fireweed leaves. She wanted to tell the professor, but held her tongue. She did not want to make a scene in front of the other students as they departed.

The last one shut the door behind him.

“Fireweed,” Cain Litchfield said. “What do you know about it, Miss Thornberry?”

“It grows by caves where dragons once lived. It is said that the urine of dragons soaked into the ground and traces remain still. Weeds that grow by dragons’ caves are highly flammable. Explosive.”

“Did you dabble in such as a hedgewitch?” he asked.

“I only picked fireweed once,” she said honestly. “It was in winter and we’d had so much snow and rain that none of the kindling the villagers gathered would light. They would come to me, asking for a spell. But I did not want to draw attention to myself.”

Across the room, Ethon snorted. Capella ignored him and continued.

“I knew from studying herblore on my own that fireweed would light any wood, even if it were pulled saturated from a lake. I traveled two days to the cave above our village and picked some. I was …afraid. I’d heard if it were mishandled it could burn you. Or worse. I brought it back and built a fire in my home. It was different than any fire. It never went out all winter. The villagers would bring their torches and light them from it.”

“No one accused you of witchery?” he asked.

“If they suspected it, they were too grateful to be warm to say anything,” he said.

The professor nodded and turned to Ethon.

“Do we keep fireweed here?”

Ethon’s eyes darted nervously to the professor and then back to the paper he was pretending to study. “Yes, professor.”

“And where do we keep fireweed?”

Ethon cleared his throat. “In the restricted cabinet.” He glanced up then. “Is Miss Thornberry aware that she was not supposed to bring fireweed to school?”

“I didn’t!” Capella said hotly. “You….” She stopped. Even though she knew what he’d done, she did not want to accuse him. She did not want to appear to be a tattletale.

The professor looked at her. “You know, Miss Thornberry. When you know you have been wronged there is no shame in exposing the one who wronged you. I know that Ethon brushed your vervain leaves off the desk. I know that he replaced them with fireweed leaves.”

He turned his attention to Ethon, who looked stricken with fear.

“You must think me a fool, Ethon, to not notice when my rare herbs are tampered with. I am disappointed in you. Do you honestly think that your theft would go unnoticed?”

“I didn’t..” Ethon began.

“Spare me,” the professor replied icily.

“I did not!” Ethon persisted. “She brought it here. I’m sure of it. She probably thought it would make her potion more…”

The crack of Cain Litchfield’s hand across his assistant’s face resounded off the wall. The  young man did not turn to look at the professor, but help his face to the side. The handprint that bloomed across his cheek was only slightly redder than the flush of shame that crept across the rest of his face.

“I employ revelation charms on my most potent bottles. One touch and I can tell who last held them. The fireweed has your imprint on it, Ethon. And that kind of magic doesn’t lie.”

The young man turned to face Litchfield now and pointed at Capella.

“She does not belong here!”

The professor grabbed the young man by the lapels of his cloak and jerked him from his seat. “It is not for you to say.”

He turned Ethon and shoved him towards the table on the other side of the aisle.

“Professor, no!” the assistant cried. But the cane was flying from across the room to his open hand and now Capella was on her feet joining in the protest.

“Professor Litchfield, don’t!” she cried, and before she could stop herself, she’d grabbed his arm. He turned, his face livid at her intrusion.

“Miss Thornberry, I suggest you stand down. Now.”

The order was delivered with such authority that she obeyed instantly.

“I won’t stay to watch this,” she said.

“You will, Miss Thornerry. Or you will suffer the consequences.”

She backed away, shaking her head. Her mind flashed back to Herman Philbot. She did not want anyone else chastised because of her, not even if they deserved it.

“No,” she repeated. “I don’t care.”

She turned and fled; the last sound she heard before exiting the door was Ethan’s cry of pain and humiliation. The cries followed her like phantoms as she made for her quarters but then she stopped. She was staying with the professor and could not get into her quarters until he let her into his. She turned and looked out the window. It was late in the day. The sky was still overcast and it was misty. She was forbidden, she knew, to leave the old castle, but she didn’t care. She had to.

Capella was careful to make sure she was not detected as she slipped through a doorway behind a heavy tapestry. She’d seen a couple of other students use it when they didn’t think anyone was looking and had a suspicion that it led to the outside. She was right. A series of interconnecting tunnels took her to a passage with earthen walls lined with tree roots and she emerged through the trunk of the most ancient oak she’d ever seen.

The air was cool and damp. She breathed it in, suddenly realizing how much she missed being out of doors. Still she was careful, glancing right and left before fully stepping away from the shelter of the tree.

She wanted to go back home. She hated it at Darkwood Academy. She was grateful to the headmaster, Claudius Clack, for saving her from the witch burners. But she could not abide the atmosphere of the school any longer, where she was hated by her classmates and ordered around by authority figures who refused to give her any explanations for what she could not roam the grounds or be lodged with other students. She hated the knowing looks she’d seen pass between Clack and Litchfield when they were talking about her. And she knew they were talking about her, even if she couldn’t hear them. She could feel her name on their tongues. Something was wrong. Ordinary wise women weren’t plucked out of villages and taken to places like Darkwood Academy without a reason.

The only thing she regretted was leaving Sage. She sat in the grass and visualized him. She thought of his fur, how she could bury her hand in the thickness. She meditated on the way his paw pads smelled of the earthy, forbidden places he’d tread when he was wandering the grounds without her. She reflected on the feel of his hot breath on her cheek and then, suddenly she could feel it. She smiled, because she knew when she opened her eyes he would be there.

And he was. Capella threw her arms around the little animal and he nestled in her lap, wrapping his long tail around her slender waist. He was all she would take - him and the wand she’d been given. Later, when she was settled, she would find a way to repay Claudius Clack. But she would not go back.

She stood and smoothed her skirt as she attempted to get her bearings. Merchants some times came to the school, but they were usually dealers in magical items which meant it was likely the traveled by magical means. Still, there had to be a road somewhere. After all, the castle was mortar and stone. At some point it had been built, which meant a trade route for regular folk should be nearby.

The swampy area where Herman Philbot had been sent to gather slugs was at the edge of a river. Capella decided following that river downstream would be the surest way of finding a town. Perhaps if she found one big enough, she could blend in. She’d have to be careful to hide her magical talents, and to resist using them even to help others. These were dangerous times.

She glanced back at the castle with a feeling of sadness. She wished things could have worked out. She had tried, and hoped Claudius would not judge her too harshly. As for Professor Litchfield, she feared him more than she’d ever feared anyone. Anyone capable of reducing young men bigger than she was to tears would surely put her through more pain should she defy him. Capella knew obedience was expected of her, but she was no more an obedient creature than her fox.

“Let’s go, Sage,” she said and began to walk. The fox trailed behind her, ducking in and out of the bushes as they traveled. She walked as quickly as she could, a sense of foreboding growing with each step. Capella tried to shake the feeling, telling herself she was just nervous because she didn’t know where she was going. But behind her the fox was beginning to growl, and Capella remembered how the little animal had growled at Ethon, how it had sensed his intentions even when she’d been denying them.

She turned. The fox was at her feet now, its nose pointing towards the forest on one side. Its teeth were bared. It squatted and peed as it sometimes did when it was nervous.

“Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea,” Capella said.

“Lost?”

She turned and cried out in alarm. The man who’d spoken to her seemed to have come from nowhere. He was tall, with silver hair. His face was angular, his eyebrows bushy. A jagged scar ran from the top of his eye down across one of his high cheekbones.

“Where…where did you come from?” she asked. Behind her the fox continued to growl.

“Your pet is afraid of me,” he said.

“He’s not a…” Capella caught herself just in time.

But the man didn’t seem to notice.

“It’s not safe for a young woman alone, so far off the road. What’s your name, child?”

Instinct told Capella to lie. She listened. “Mary,” she replied.

The man’s smile faded. “Mary?” he said the word skeptically. “A nice Christian name.”

“My parents are nice Christians,” she said.

“Good Christian girls don’t wander by wild rivers,” he countered.

“They don’t talk to strange men either,” she said. “Good afternoon, sir.”

She turned to walk away.

“Capella!”

She stopped in her tracks. It felt as if someone had replaced her blood with a cold liquid. The fox was whimpering now.

“Don’t acknowledge him,” Capella told herself and began to walk again. Her heart was thudding. The sound of it boomed in her ears. She cried out when she had to halt suddenly to keep from running into the man. He’d materialized in front of her just as Professor Litchfield had done in his classroom.

Magical. He was magical. But something about this man was different than Claudius Clack or even Professor Litchfield who - while stern - did not frighten her in the same way this man did. She sensed something evil in this man, something that wanted her. But why?

“That is your real name? Capella?”

“Who are you?” she asked.

“I’m the man who’s come to give you your birthright.”

Her birthright? Capella was seized by a different and deeper chill. She could sense evil in this man, but also some sort of connection that terrified her. She lifted her wand and the man looked stunned for a moment before clapping his hands in delight.

“You dare raise a wand against me?” he asked. “If you weren’t who you are, I’d kill you.”

Capella wanted to ask who she was. But she didn’t want to ask this man. She lifted her wand above her.

“Abruptus!”

She darted out of the way just in time. The huge branch that fell from above barely missed her and her fox. The weight of it shook the ground. Capella turned. She knew she only had a short window of time to flee. She began to run, leaping to pick up Sage as she sprinted. She tried to visualize a safe place and to her surprise the first thing that came to her mind was her little apartment in Professor Litchfield’s quarters. She closed her eyes, seeing it, feeling it. She heard a blast behind her as the stranger obliterated the huge tree branch that stood between him and her. And then she felt a rush of air and was gone, flying through space and time.

She landed with a thump on a stone floor and rolled. She came to rest against a wall. Her first awareness of was of a Sage stumbling to his feet, disoriented and shaken but otherwise unharmed. Her second awareness was of two men looking down on her. She sat up slowly gazing first into the kind eyes of Claudius Clack and then the furious eyes of Cain Litchfield.

.