Way of The Wand

The broth in the cauldron bubbled ferociously, spurting out in unruly bursts . Green smoke filled the air, choking up the already stuffy kitchen with an acrid odour that made it difficult to breathe.

Jira noticed that some of her students were backing away, their faces contorted in disgust with hands over their noses. While their reactions were understandable, they displeased her. This was an integral aspect of their study—witchcraft. It wasn’t always going to be glamorous spells and exhilarating broomstick rides around the house. This gritty reality, enduring a steamy room filled with the acrid stench of potion broth, was an indelible part of the experience. This was the unfiltered essence of being a witch.

“If you can’t stand the fumes of potions, maybe you should be studying wizardry instead of witchcraft,” Jira scolded.

“Maybe they should,” an unseen figure responded.

Stunned, Jira straightened up, searching the room for the source of the voice that had just spoken back to her. It didn’t belong to any of her fifteen students—too mature, too confident. A voice with a familiarity she dared not acknowledge after all these years.

Jira’s gaze locked onto the culprit, her mother, Kalinda Rakha, standing at the doorway with hands akimbo. The sight of her standing there, amidst the steam and swirling green smoke, shook through Jira. How could her mother, after all this time, reappear in the midst of her witchcraft class?

The young witch let go of the turning stick she was using to stir the broth and started towards her mother. What a far from pleasant surprise. The old woman’s presence spelled nothing but trouble. As Jira’s students instinctively parted to let her through, she confronted the old woman with a question that hung in the steam-filled air, “What are you doing here, mother?”

Contrary to the typical wizard’s penchant for sombre black robes, Kalinda bucked tradition, favouring a wardrobe bursting with bright, colourful, and eye-popping coats. Today, she adorned herself in a vibrant, heavy blue coat adorned with intricate flowery stitching at the hem.

“You say the word ‘mother’ like it’s a slur. How about you call me ‘Mum’ instead, like old times?”

“You haven’t answered my question, mother,” Jira said, doubling down.

Kalinda responded with a sigh, her expression shifting to feigned disappointment. “Does a mother need a reason to visit her daughter?”

“Oh,” Jira said, her voice thick with derision, “I only ask because you haven’t come to see me in…” She stared blankly into space, her thoughts wandering through the years. “Four, almost five years now, is it?”

Kalinda pulled Jira in for a hug. “Oh, Jira, you know how it is. Running the biggest school of wizardry in the land tends to keep one busy.”

She broke off the hug and held Jira at arm’s breadth, examining her. “Believe me when I say I’ve missed you.”

Jira met her mother’s gaze, searching the depths of her eyes, trying to discern the truth beneath the surface.

With her soft expression, Kalinda seemed genuine enough, but past experiences had left too many dents in their relationship for Jira to fully trust whatever emotions were reflecting in those pupils. The veneer of sincerity, though present, couldn’t mend the fractures of their complicated history.

Jira drew herself up, a clear signal that she wasn’t ready to welcome her mother with open arms—not after everything that had happened.

“You think after abandoning me all these years, you can just show up at my house and pretend like everything is alright?”

Defensiveness set into Kalinda’s voice swiftly. “Abandoned you? You abandoned us, Jira. You turned your back on us. And wizards don’t do that. Wizards don’t walk away from their family.”

“Well, good thing I’m no wizard then. I’m a witch,” Jira said.

“Mother,” Jira continued as she backed away, maintaining her resolve, “I know you didn’t leave your busy schedule to come here for nothing. So please, out with it, so I can get back to teaching my students.”

“Your students…” Kalinda’s eyes combed over the crowd of teens. To her, they didn’t resemble typical students. Dressed in informal shirts, skirts, trousers, and dashikis, they could easily be mistaken for friends attending a casual gathering.

No student of hers would dare come to school dressed like that. At Airad, the expectation was starkly different. The standard black uniforms, from hats to shoes, were mandatory, and any deviation from the school’s strict dress codes incurred heavy penalties.

“You know, when I got word you’d started a school of witchcraft to compete with our family’s school of wizardry, I refused to believe it.”

Jira responded with a snide scoff. “This has nothing to do with wanting to compete with Airad.”

Kalinda took a few paces forward and back, studying the features of the building. It was a pity her daughter had deserted the family mansion to come live, and now teach, in a decrepit place like this.

The brick walls, marked with age, hosted hanging slime and cobwebs in the corners. Likewise, the wooden doors bore scars of time with their noticeable chips, and the windows, fogged with years of neglect, barely allowed slivers of light to filter through.

Kalinda squeezed her nose in disgust. What a far cry this was from the gold-hued walls, lush glass windows, and majestic bronze doors of the place Jira once called home.

Never in her life would Kalinda have guessed she would visit a place like this. But because of her daughter, she’d braved the dusty road, untamed vegetation, unkempt streets, and shoddy-looking buildings of the surrounding area to get here.

Kalinda continued her inspection, walking around and peering into cluttered rooms filled with peculiar ingredients and magical apparatus. When she got to the kitchen, she stopped just shy of the open door, assailed by the potent smell of the potion brewing in the cauldron.

“You’re teaching these kids out of your house, making potions in your kitchen. This barely qualifies as a school.”

Jira clenched her hands into fists to keep from saying something both she and her mother would regret.

Kalinda exhaled a sigh that exuded both pity and exasperation. “Jira come back to us, your family, come back to me. You don’t have to suffer like this just to spite me.”

Jira’s body stiffened with rage. “Not everything I do is because of you.”

“Maybe not,” Kalinda replied, “but this definitely is. Why else would you choose to study witchcraft over wizardry, abandoning your heritage, if not because you wanted to displease me?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Jira replied, throwing up her arms in frustration, “maybe because I happen to like witchcraft and don’t subscribe to the false notion that it’s a lesser form of magic than wizardry.”

Kalinda closed the gap between herself and her daughter. “You expect me to believe you’re satisfied with needing wands to cast spells, potions to heal and broomsticks to fly?”

”It’s a free country, believe whatever you want.”

Kalinda, visibly frustrated, shook her head. “I’ve come to try and make amends, Jira. You said you wanted to know why I’m here. That’s it.”

“Too bad, you’re four years too late.”

Kalinda was going to say something, but her eyes caught the cauldron in the kitchen start to shake with unearthly force, the green potion simmering inside having overboiled to instability. Jira followed her mother’s eyes and saw it too. Her heart slowed to a stop. Distracted by her mother, she’d completely forgotten about the potion.

Jira would have used a spell to save the day, but she did not have her wand in hand.

“Run!” She shouted to her students to scatter before the cauldron could explode.

Kalinda, realising that there was no way all fifteen students would make it to the exit in time, enacted a different plan. She gestured with her hands and under her magical command, the cauldron shot up from the ground and crashed out through the roof, exploding in the air.

As the rubble of broken roof and cauldron parts started to fall back down, Kalinda made it all still, suspending all the chunks of brick and metal in mid-air.

Her eyes flashed down to her daughter and the students, “See what I mean? You witches are completely helpless without your wands.”

Kalinda let everything fall gently to the ground as Jira went to make sure all her students were alright.

“Thank you, mother, for treating us to a grand display of your power,” Jira said after making sure her pupils were alright. “And how long did it take you to learn that trick? Thirteen years?”

Jira went into the kitchen and returned with her wand. She pointed it at the mess of metal and brick on the floor and whispered, “fix.”

The metal parts zoomed back together and reformed into the cauldron while the chunks of bricks flew back to their place in the roof.

Jira turned to her mother with a satisfied look on her face. “You want to know how long it took me to learn how to do that? Three months.”

Kalinda shrugged. “Yes, but you still need a wand to do it.”

Jira’s nostrils narrowed, a subtle sign of her displeasure. “Nothing in our relationship is going to change until you accept that witches are worthy of the same dignity and respect accorded to wizards.”

“Then prove it,” Kalinda said. “Prove that witches are not weaker, prove that they are our equals.”

“And how do you expect me to do that?” Jira asked, already guessing she would not like the answer.

“It’s simple really. I propose a tournament. Three tasks for three champions from your school and mine.” She paused to allow the idea to simmer. “And if your champions win, I will announce to the world myself that everyone has been wrong all this time to assume wizardry is greater than witchcraft.”

Jira shook her head to decline. “If that’s what it would take, then I’m afraid I’m not interested. I will not risk the lives of my students just to prove a point to you.”

“Well, that’s a pity then.”

The air hung heavy with tension until a timid voice broke the silence.

“Jira,” the voice came from the background.

Jira turned to face Tomi, her timid but gifted student, who had just turned fourteen the week before. She wore her hair in braids, wrapped tight in a bun, and had soft brown eyes that could melt even the hardest of hearts.

“I think…I think we should consider it,” Tomi said.

Before Jira could even process the shock of Tomi’s words, her older brother, Timi, stepped forward to lend his voice.

“If this is what it would take to stop the world from ridiculing us for studying witchcraft, then we’re in,” he said.

But it’s not just the siblings. Jira could see the same conviction in the face of each and every student.

Jira snapped back to her mother. “Very well then, have it your way. A tournament between witches and wizards. Two schools, three tasks, three champions.”

Kalinda locked her hands together, her belly rising with excitement. “Splendid. Leave it to me to set everything up.”