Septimus Heap, Book One_ Magyk - Angie Sage [75]
But she did.
And he wasn’t.
26
MIDWINTER FEAST DAY
No, thank you, Galen. I’m not going to those witches’ MidWinter Feast. We Wizards don’t celebrate it,” Sarah told Galen after Silas had left that morning.
“Well, I shall go,” said Galen, “and I think we all should go. You don’t turn down a Wendron Witch invitation lightly, Sarah. It’s an honor to be asked. In fact, I can’t imagine how Silas managed to get us all an invitation.”
“Humph” was Sarah’s only response.
But as the afternoon wore on and the delicious smell of roast wolverine drifted through the Forest and up to the tree house, the boys became very restless. Galen only ate vegetables, roots and nuts, which was, as Erik had pointed out in a loud voice after their first meal with Galen, exactly what they fed the rabbits at home.
The snow was falling heavily through the trees as Galen opened the tree house trapdoor. Using a clever pulley system she had devised herself, she pulled down the long wooden ladder so that it was resting on the blanket of snow that now covered the ground. The tree house itself was built on a series of platforms running across three ancient oak trees and had been part of the oaks ever since they had reached their full height, many hundreds of years ago. A higgledy-piggledy collection of huts had been put up on the platform over the years. They were covered with ivy and blended in with the trees so well that they were invisible from the floor of the Forest.
Sam, Edd and Erik, and Jo-Jo were sharing the guest hut at the very top of the middle tree and had their own rope down to the Forest. While the boys fought over who was going down the rope first, Galen, Sarah and Sally made a more sedate exit down the main ladder.
Galen had dressed up for the MidWinter Feast. She had been asked to one many years ago, after she had healed a witch’s child, and she knew it was quite an occasion. Galen was a small woman, somewhat weather-beaten after years of outdoor living in the Forest. She had cropped tousled red hair, laughing brown eyes and generally wore a simple short green tunic, leggings and a cloak. But today she wore her MidWinter Feast dress.
“Goodness, Galen, you’ve gone to a lot of trouble,” said Sarah, slightly disapprovingly. “I haven’t seen that dress before. It’s…quite something.”
Galen didn’t get out much, but when she did, she really dressed up for it. Her dress looked as though it was made from hundreds of multicolored leaves all sewn together and tied in the middle with a brilliant green sash.
“Oh, thank you,” said Galen, “I made it myself.”
“I thought you had,” said Sarah.
Sally Mullin pushed the ladder back up through the trapdoor, and the party set off through the Forest, following the delicious smell of roasting wolverine.
Galen led them through the Forest paths, which were covered with a thick fall of new snow and crisscrossed with all shapes and sizes of animal tracks. After a long trudge through a maze of tracks, ditches and gullies, they came to what had once been a slate quarry for the Castle. This was now where the Wendron Witches’ Moots took place.
Thirty-nine witches, all dressed in their red MidWinter Feast robes, were gathered around a roaring fire down in the middle of the quarry. The ground was strewn with freshly cut greenery dusted by the snow that fell softly around them, much of it melting and sizzling in the heat of the fire. There was a heady smell of spicy food in the air: spits were turning, wolverines were roasting, rabbits were stewing in bubbling cauldrons and squirrels were baking in underground ovens. A long table was piled high with all kinds of sweet and spicy foods. The Witches had bartered for these treats with the Northern Traders and had saved them for this, the most important day of the year. The boys’ eyes opened wide with amazement. They had never seen so much food all in one place in their whole lives. Even Sarah had to admit to herself that it was impressive.
Morwenna Mould spotted them hovering uncertainly at the entrance to the quarry. She gathered up her