Toadmila Wartly: Book 1: Toadmila Wartly, #1

By Diana Parparita

As a rule, there are only three things that magic cannot do: create life, bring back the dead, and make people fall in love. As a rule, there are only three things that villagers ask from a witch: to produce children for the old and barren, to bring back the dead, and to make someone or other fall in love. Naturally, Toadmila had been trained to handle such requests with utmost professionalism. The key to it was to smile, look confident, and never let on that there was anything impossible for a witch.

 

As a young witch assigned to assist and protect a bunch of superstitious villagers, Toadmila Wartly has to deal with mostly impossible demands from her customers. And the lessons from that prestigious witchcraft Academy she's graduated don't seem to help her much. But with enough ingenuity and wit, she might just find a way to help everyone.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Diana Parparita
• Release date: Sep 3, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201161019

Diana Parparita

Diana Parparita writes fantasy and science fiction. Her short stories have been published in a number of magazines and anthologies, including Mad Scientist Journal, The Great Tome of Fantastic and Wondrous Places, Strange Economics and Avast, Ye Airships!

Book preview

Prologue

The air smelled of dung. The windows were wide open, and the sounds and smells of the busy streets were bursting in along with the sunlight. The town of Ratsburg was not known for its pleasant scent. But the orphanage itself was clean, everything fully polished and the children freshly washed and dressed in their best clothes, the ones they only got to wear when His Lordship came over to pick the orphans he’d take under his personal care. They’d even been given shoes, and Toadmila’s feet hurt unbearably.

But His Lordship wasn’t coming over today, she knew that. He’d already made his visit this year, and he’d taken Poppy, the pretty new girl. He always took the prettiest of the children. With her crooked nose and her pointy chin, Toadmila was already resigned to the idea that no one was going to take her away from the orphanage.

The guest who walked in was a tall woman with long black hair, dressed in an unusual black gown.

That’s a witch’s uniform! one of the older boys whispered as they all crowded together to peek at the visitor.

This explained the mix of deference and hostility in the way the sisters acted towards her. Witches were not liked, but they were respected in Ratsburg.

We don’t think any of our children would be suitable, Sister Abigail was saying to the witch. But, of course, you can have a look.

I’d like to talk to them, the witch answered. There are certain qualities we are looking for in particular.

Toadmila tried to hide her excitement. Talking to the children had never been something His Lordship did. And qualities implied more than just looks, although the witch was so strikingly beautiful that looks had to be part of it. Toadmila promised herself that she was going to be dignified and not get her hopes up.

The witch talked to the children one by one, in a separate room, under the sisters’ supervision. When Toadmila’s turn came, she tried to be composed, but her heart was racing.

What’s your name? the witch asked gently.

Toadmila Wartly, Toadmila said, carefully enunciating the r and the l.

It’s Warty, Sister Mary cut in. Old Warty found her when she was a baby, and raised her as her own until she died – God rest her soul – and we took her in.

Miss Wartly, the witch said, crouching to bring her face to Toadmila’s height, what would you do if you were a witch?

1. The Assignment

There is nothing like the feeling of graduating from a top witchcraft academy with top grades, and getting your first – and possibly last – position as resident witch. You walk down the gloomy corridors of the Office, marveling at your reflection in the polished wooden panels, perhaps observing some particular detail of the skull-shaped engravings that decorate the ceiling, until you find yourself in front of a massive slab of black marble with a large star in the middle of it, and carvings of ancient runes surrounding it. Your mind quickly races over your lessons on ancient runes, lessons which you once thought utterly useless, since all the old sorcery books have already been conveniently translated into perfectly readable English – and over a hundred other modern languages – by generations and generations of bored students looking for extra credit. With great difficulty, you decipher the message Portal. Stand here. As you step onto the star in the middle of the marble slab, your eyes meet that same translation etched into the walls in plain English, French, German, Latin, ancient Greek, traditional Chinese, something that looks like Arabic, and a few dozen other languages that you canʼt quite place. Then your vision blurs, steam rises from the edges of the slab for extra effect, and when your vision clears again, you are in a dark room, with walled-in gothic windows and only two candle holders framing a large and rather uncomfortable-looking throne, upon which the Giver is seated.

The Giver does not need to hear your name, or the paltry list of qualifications and work experience that you have scrupulously brought for her. The Giver knows all, sees all, and most importantly, the Giver is seated on a very uncomfortable iron contraption and cannot possibly be persuaded to sit there long enough to listen to you blabbering on about your degree in potions and your six-month internship at your local Witchʼs Hut. The Giver gives a ratʼs hinder parts about all that, and she will not tolerate your insolent remarks about the remarkable potions that rat hinder parts are an essential ingredient to, thus making said hinder parts actually invaluable to the advancement of potion-making research. The Giver will set you in your place, for her only job is to give places of employment to promising young witches, or, in bleak times, to less promising, less young witches, who are likely to accept half the pay for doing a third of the work that a top witch could do.

And so the Giver gives you your assigned place, and at once when hearing of it your face lights up with delight and gratitude. Unless you are Miss Toadmila Wartly, eighteen years old, top of her class, and extraordinarily gifted in all subjects, apart from Obedience to the Elders. Her face did not light up, and when she opened her mouth to give thanks, as was the custom, her words were not overflowing with gratitude.

The Dilapidated Hut in Grimwood Forest!? Really! With my grades, you should station me as adviser to some emperor. Or at least a king.

"Miss Wartly, with your penchant for diplomacy, youʼd be beheaded in less than a week. Iʼm giving you a position where you wouldnʼt risk losing your head."

Where Iʼd be out of the way.

"Where the Seers predict great things for your future."

Toadmila snorted and crossed her arms.

"Well Iʼm not leaving here until I get a good assignment," she said menacingly.

You did get a good assignment, the Giver retorted. She raised her left arm, snapped her fingers and shouted Next! and Toadmila