"Master, there's something you should know."
Mnou turned away from the steaming pot where she was preparing fish soup, surprised. The witches were currently at Ruth's house, helping out with household chores. Azra and his father had gone fishing. The boy had recently been spending a lot of time at sea with him, helping with the work. He needed to learn how to earn a living. The witches would occasionally come down to the village to cook something for them, as neither of the fishermen was very skilled in the kitchen. Esme often tidied up for them. Still, they rarely found them at home. Today was no different.
The little girl stood there uneasily, wringing the edge of her skirt. Her forehead was wrinkled in thought, and worry covered her face. Mnou had recently grown used to this new expression. Long gone were the days when Esme always had a smile on her lips and laughed at every little silliness. She missed that old Esme—the smile, the mischievous sparkle in her eyes. At the same time, she realized this was the real Esme: thoughtful, worried, and frowning. Mnou still often tried to cheer her up, but with little success. It pained her deeply, but she had to get used to it.
The look on her face now, however, was more serious than usual. Mnou grew slightly alarmed. She wiped her wet hands on her apron and gestured for her to continue.
"It's about Azra. A few days ago, he told me that…" she paused for a moment, then lifted her gaze, meeting Mnou's eyes, "...that he hears Ruth's voice."
Mnou frowned just like her apprentice. A flood of theories instantly began forming in her mind about what it could mean. But she let the girl continue.
"At first, I was scared it might have something to do with the strange things happening on the island, but I don't think that's it. Azra told me he hears her voice coming… from a tree."
Mnou gasped softly in shock. "Don't tell me Azra could be…"
"…a wizard," the girl finished quietly, nodding her head. "It seems Ruth's soul has chosen to return."
Mnou sat heavily down on the wobbly chair, which let out a creak. She weighed the possibilities, absentmindedly twirling a strand of hair around her finger. After a moment, Esme spoke again.
"You have to teach him," she said firmly.
"Wait, wait, let's not rush it. We need to confirm it first."
"There's nothing left to confirm. You're not seriously going to send him to the academy in Ashkantt, are you?"
Mnou rubbed the bridge of her nose. Without realizing it, she murmured, "And why not? Maybe he'd be better off in the city than here, spending his life fishing on stormy seas from dawn till dusk."
Esme gave her an indignant look. "You really want to send him far across the sea to Ashkantt, when he's lived his whole life on this remote island? The poor boy can't even read!"
"All right, it was just a suggestion. There's no point in us arguing. What matters is his opinion—what he wants. And first we need to confirm it's true. We'll wait for him here and talk about it."
Esme nodded with a sigh.
The fishermen returned before nightfall, delighted by the hot meal and the warm cottage. The witches were pleased too. By the time they finished eating, twilight had turned to night. A peaceful calm settled over everything. Mnou almost felt guilty for having to disturb it.
Dago, Azra's father, began dozing in the armchair, a packed pipe in his hand. He never got around to lighting it. Mnou gently took it from his fingers and set it on the table so it wouldn't fall and break. It was a beautiful antique piece.
The boy was quietly chatting with Esme. They seemed quite content. The girl even let out a shy giggle at something he said. To Mnou, it was like music from heaven. She smiled without thinking. When Esme noticed, she returned it hesitantly. But both of their expressions hardened as they remembered what they had to do. It was as if they had reached silent agreement.
Mnou approached them cautiously. Azra stopped mid-sentence and grew serious. He had grown closer to her recently, but Esme knew he was still a little afraid of her. Mnou had often been told she had an odd aura that some found a bit intimidating. She didn't do it on purpose—it was just how she was.
"Azra… we need to talk," Mnou began, gently explaining what she and Esme had discussed earlier. She ended with a question: "Could you tell us which tree it is?"
The boy just stared at her in disbelief, not answering. He looked confused and frightened. He turned to Esme for support and an explanation, maybe hoping she would say it was all just a bad joke. The apprentice looked away, but after a moment, she answered:
"I know it's a shock. I felt the same. I believe everyone would. It's a strange feeling. I understand that you're confused and reluctant to believe it, but you must accept this power." She looked him in the eye and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.
Now Azra turned away. They stood in silence for a few moments. The witches didn't want to pressure him. But when the silence dragged on, Mnou decided to break it by repeating her question. Before she could, though, the boy spoke.
"It's the old linden tree beyond the field. I've always liked it. Sometimes I sit under it to rest. Mostly in spring and summer, but I went there recently even though everything was covered in snow. I don't even know why. And that's where I heard my mother's voice. I… I can't remember what she said. She just spoke. That was enough." He looked like he was close to tears, so Mnou quickly took over.
"All right, that's enough for now. You can sit by the stove; it's nice and warm," she said in the kindest tone she could muster and awkwardly patted his head. "Esme and I will go have a look at the tree now. Wait for us here, okay?"
They were just closing the back door when he stopped them. "I… I'll go with you. I want to know now," Azra said hesitantly.
Mnou wanted to protest at first, but realized there was no good reason why he couldn't come. So, they set off into the darkness tinted white with snow. Esme carried a lantern, but the moon lit their path beautifully, and the snow brightened the landscape even more. The lantern was hardly needed. In the distance, they heard an owl hoot.
They reached the linden tree in less than ten minutes. Without the snowdrifts, it would have been even quicker—it was a straight path from the house. The tree stood majestically in the pale moonlight, which seemed to trace its twisted bare branches. It looked truly ancient, like a relic of long-forgotten times. Mnou silently estimated it was at least two hundred years old. And it would be here for many more. By the time this tree withered and fell from its roots, none of them would be around to see it.
Her wandering thoughts were interrupted by what sounded like rustling leaves. Both witches heard it. They listened to the light night breeze. Esme shifted her weight, the snow crunching beneath her feet.
The rustling grew clearer, and Mnou realized it sounded like voices. Whispering a soft song. Each voice was distinct, yet they harmonized like a practiced choir. Gradually, the whispers merged into a single voice, becoming almost comprehensible. They all recognized Ruth's melodic, sing-song voice. She was saying something. But Mnou couldn't catch the words. Or maybe she did, but the moment they faded, they vanished from her mind.
The sound became hypnotic. The witch closed her eyes briefly, and under her lids came the image of a completely different tree. A tree that likely still stood far across the sea in a garden full of withered roses. It had been exactly the same. She recalled the tone and colour of her mother's voice, but not a single word remained in her memory. She reached toward the tree, just like then. Flinched slightly as something icy suddenly stung her hands and cheeks. She opened her eyes. A light dusting of snowflakes began falling from the sky. The heavens had cloaked themselves in a dark veil of clouds and released their delicate little charges into the world.
Mnou took a step forward to get closer to the tree. Next to her came a crunching sound as Esme joined her. A thin white layer began to form on her hat.
They didn't need words to understand each other. They both placed their hands on the cold, rough bark. Suddenly, warmth spread through their fingers. The soul radiated before them. There was no longer any doubt.
With one hand, Mnou slowly ran her fingers along the trunk, guiding the pulsing soul. She felt Esme's small hand grasp her hand wrapped around her magical staff. Mnou's warm palm slid up to a thick branch, which she gripped tightly. She sensed the soul moving, filling the sturdy limb. Mnou stood on tiptoe a moment longer, then without effort or resistance, broke the branch. It snapped as if it were just dry bark. She opened her eyes and examined it silently. Gave a small, approving nod. Then she held it out to Azra, who stood a few steps behind them, watching in awe.
"This is your magic staff, Azra. From now on, it will be part of you. Like an extension of your arm. For a wizard, his staff is as precious as his own life. The bond is stronger than any other in this world. Guard it and care for it as if it were your own eye. After all, it holds the soul… of your mother."