The Crymych School of Druidic Sorcery for secondary age girls and boys was one of the most prestigious institutions for learning Celtic magick in the entire United Kingdom, and perhaps even the world.
Yes, most definitely the world.
Rhian Peregrine focused her vision onto a number two pencil slathered with green paste.
"F — rodro!"
The yellow writing instrument remained stationary on top her desk. Rhian tried harder, squinting her eyes tight.
"Fr — rod — ro."
"Dammit. Explode!" She punched her desk. The pencil rolled off, leaving behind a trail of green goop.
Braith Evans chuckled and leant over to pick up Rhian's test subject. She placed it back on her desk and brushed a blonde curl from her shoulder.
The freckled girl cleared her throat. "It's like this."
Braith locked her eyes on the number 2. "Ffrwydro."
Shards of yellow wood splintered up from the desk. Rhian shielded her eyes.
"Honestly, I'm not sure why you're having such trouble." Braith shot her a lopsided smile before turning back to her own assignment.
Rhian grumbled to herself, mimicking Braith's exasperated tone. She reached and pulled another pencil from a small cardboard box.
The school may be prestigious, but Rhian was far from it. Her grandfather had been a miner back before the 'Witch of Westminster' had cursed the mountains. Desperate for work, he settled in the English village of Bosbury. That's where Dad met Mum, and where Rhian was born and raised. She'd been happy there. Bored — but happy.
Rhianpressed her finger into a bowl of gelatinous plant matter and spread it along the sides of the pencil. She'd been about thirteen when she discovered she could burn things with her touch. Her family still argued over who deserved the credit.
Mum claimed it was due to her familial links to the Knight Templar. But Dad said poppycock and insisted the ability came from his rich Welsh bloodline, which no doubt had a druid or two somewhere in it. Perhaps even Merlin, who, as Dad enjoyed reminding everyone, was also Welsh.
Whoever was to blame, her parents were enthusiastic for her to learn more about her power, bestowing onto them the privilege and prestige they now believed was lost somewhere between the ages. Her parents had even gone as far as to sell their semi-detached home to pay for the school's entry and admission fees. They now lived at a caravan park in Cenarth as to be close by in case she needed them.
Rhian wiped her fingers onto her blazer pocket and glared at the pencil.
It was great that her parents were so keen, and that the exclusive admissions board of the Crymych School of Druidic Sorcery agreed with her father about her having a rich Welsh blood line.
YOU ARE READING
A barely literate pyromancer struggles to avoid expulsion from the prestigious Crymych School of Druidic Sorcery; but when a murderer begins hunting her more talented classmates, exams become the least of her worries. (Especially when her friends ar...