11 The Witch's Apprentice Chapter 11

Bell woke to the soft scent of something sweet and earthy—baked grain, honey, and the faint floral tang of dried lavender. The stone floor beneath her mat was warm, and soft light filtered in through the woven curtain that separated her sleeping nook from the main room.

She blinked slowly. For a moment, she forgot where she was.

Then the memory of the river came flooding back—the rush, the terror, the firelight, the coven.

Bell sat up, still wrapped in the moss-colored robe she'd been given, and pushed aside the curtain.

Thera sat cross-legged on the rug, braiding her thick brown hair back from her face while a clay teapot steamed gently nearby. Nyla stirred something in a shallow skillet over the brazier, humming softly under her breath. She glanced up as Bell entered.

“Morning, river girl,” Nyla said. “Hope you like sweetcakes and herb jam.”

Bell’s stomach growled audibly in reply. She flushed.

Thera laughed. “That’s a yes, then.”

They handed her a warm plate and a steaming mug of something dark and spiced—some kind of chicory brew with hints of clove and roasted root. The cakes were crisp on the edges and soft in the center, smeared with pale lavender-colored jam. Bell ate slowly, still half-dreaming, the food grounding her after the strange storm of the last day.

When the plates were cleared, Nyla returned with something wrapped in soft cloth. She unrolled it gently on the low table between them, revealing a thick, blank book bound in dark leather. The cover was unmarked except for a faint sigil pressed into the center—two crescent moons facing each other around a single dot.

Bell blinked at it. “Is that for me?”

Thera nodded. “Your first Book of Shadows.”

Bell reached out and touched the cover. It was warm to the touch, faintly tingling, like it was already waking up.

“Lesson one,” Nyla said, settling beside her with a worn journal of her own. “Every witch keeps a book of shadows. It’s more than a journal. It’s a living record of your magic—your spells, your thoughts, your growth, your failures. It holds what you’ve learned… and sometimes, what you haven’t yet understood.”

“It's not just about recording spells,” Thera added. “It’s about building a relationship—with magic, with yourself, and eventually… with the world.”

Bell opened the book slowly. The pages were thick and creamy, edged in gold. Empty, but not blank. Somehow, they felt ready.

Nyla pulled a stick of black charcoal from a nearby jar and handed it over. “Start with your name,” she said. “Then your intention—why you’re here, or what you hope to find.”

Bell hesitated. “What if I don’t know yet?”

“Then write that,” Thera said. “Honesty is part of the magic.”

Bell nodded slowly and wrote:

Bell’s Book of Shadows
I don’t know what I’m doing yet. But I want to learn.

The charcoal left soft, dark lines, easy to smudge or shift. But when she finished writing, the letters shimmered faintly before settling into the page as if absorbed.

Nyla grinned. “Good. It recognizes you.”

Thera opened her own well-worn book, pages filled with notes, sketches, ink-blotted spells and looping script.

“Here’s a basic format we teach all apprentices,” she said. “You can change it later, but it helps to start with structure.”

She pointed to the page:

Name of Spell
Intention: (What the spell is for)
Timing: (Moon phase, time of day, season, or emotional state)
Ingredients: (Physical tools, herbs, symbols)
Steps: (What to do and in what order)
Words/Chant: (If any—spoken or silent)
Result: (What happened, what changed, what to note for next time)

“You won’t always follow it perfectly,” Nyla said. “Some spells come to you whole. Others evolve over years. But every line you write down helps you understand your magic better.”

Bell ran her hand over the page. “So it’s like… a map?”

Thera smiled. “A map you make as you walk the road.”

“And if you get lost,” Nyla added, “sometimes the book finds you first.”

They spent the rest of the morning adding first entries—simple cleansing spells, a grounding tea ritual, a chant for clarity. Bell copied each carefully, her letters uncertain but growing more confident. The pages began to darken with life.

As she wrote, she felt something settle in her chest—not an answer, exactly, but a sense of purpose. A stillness that said: you are where you are meant to be.

Yet, as the candle beside her guttered low, she couldn’t help but glance toward the lake.

Something was moving beneath it.

Watching.

Waiting.

And though neither Thera nor Nyla said a word about it, Bell knew there was more to her being here than spellcraft and books.

Something else had called her.

Something old.

And soon, she would need to answer.

After breakfast and her first entries in the Book of Shadows, Bell stepped out into the soft light of the cavern once more, the warmth of the herbal tea still lingering in her chest. Her robe—now dry and scented with rosemary and cedar—brushed against her legs as she followed Thera down one of the winding stone paths.

The village buzzed gently with life.

A kettle sang from one of the low homes, its steam curling like a ghost into the mist. Two women perched on a ledge nearby, weaving threads into shimmering cloth while murmuring quiet incantations. A group of children—not many, but a few—ran between stone pillars, trailing sparks of light behind them like fireflies.

Bell walked beside Thera, trying to absorb it all.

It wasn’t like the city. There were no blaring forge horns, no clock towers, no rumbling carts or shouts from merchants. Everything here moved slowly, as if in rhythm with the water itself. Each motion felt deliberate. Intentional.

“Welcome to the slow life,” Thera said, catching Bell’s awestruck expression. “It’s not for everyone. But it’s everything to us.”

Bell looked around. “This is where you all live?”

“Live. Learn. Work. Love. Die,” Thera said, smiling faintly. “We’re not just a school. We’re a sanctuary.”

They turned a corner, and Thera gestured to a sloping path that led to an open terrace carved directly into the rock. Raised beds filled with herbs and vegetables lined the stone, all glowing faintly under the radiance of the crystal high above. It hung like a second sun, suspended by ancient magic, its soft light casting long blue-gold shadows over the plants.

“The crystal gives us everything we need,” Thera explained. “It mimics sunlight—enough to grow what we eat, heal our wounds, and keep the lake calm.”

Bell approached the garden beds slowly, kneeling beside a patch of pale blue mint. The leaves smelled cool and electric, tinged with magic.

Thera knelt beside her. “The earth here remembers. You don’t need much more than care and intention. Some say the plants grow faster if you sing to them. Others swear by moon water and bone meal.”

Bell traced her fingers over the soft petals of a lavender bloom, marveling at its life in the depths of the world.

As they moved on, Thera led her to the shore once more—though a different place than where Bell had landed. This stretch was quieter, lined with low docks and narrow canoes carved from the twisted driftwood that washed up on the hidden banks.

Several witches stood knee-deep in the shallows, casting enchanted nets across the surface. The water here was almost still, dappled with reflections of the quartz light above. Every now and then, a soft splash echoed through the cavern as silver-scaled fish were pulled from the depths—slim, iridescent, and marked with faint glowing patterns across their bodies.