Morning dawned over the village of Trinningham, clear and warm for the first weeks of autumn. The sun reached its first fingers into Jo’s bedroom, falling across her face. She groaned and opened her eyes, shielding them with her arm.

It had not been a good night for sleep. Her fright at what she had seen in the mirror had abated slightly, but then she was kept up by the angry raised voices of her parents. It was not hard to guess that she was the source of their argument. When she finally had drifted off she fell into strange dreams of mirrors, shining white lights and eerie shadows.

Movement downstairs. At least one of her parents was up. Jo dragged herself out of bed and proceeded to get washed and dressed.
Making her way down towards the kitchen, Jo dodged to avoid the whirlwind that was her three little sisters surfacing for the day, and bumped into her youngest brother, eleven year old Robert.

“Morning Bobby,” she smiled, as he grinned sleepily at her. She had always gotten along with Robert more than Jerry, possibly because the latter was too similar in temperament to herself. Bobby on the other hand was a very quiet and gentle boy, more like their mother than any of his other siblings were.

“Morning Josie.” His smile faded as he looked over her with concern in his eyes, and Jo remembered she must still look awful from her fight the day before. “Are you all right? Mum and Dad had an argument last night and I didn’t know…”

“It’s ok Bob,” said Jo, putting a hand on his little shoulder. “They’re going to have a talk with me today about a few things. Nothing for you to worry about. I hope they didn’t upset you last night?”

He shook his head; a lie Jo knew. Bobby was easily upset by a lot of things, their parents arguing would be high on the list.

“C’mon,” winked Jo, “Let’s get some breakfast.”

The tension in the air between their parents was clearly visible. Even Jo’s sisters, seven-year-old twins Christina and Catherine, and four-year-old Robyn, were unusually quiet, scurrying from the kitchen table as quickly as possible. Jerry and Bobby were slower to leave, looking at Jo with concern.

Jerry worried about me, thought Jo wryly, now there’s a turn up for the books.
Heart thumping with anticipation, Jo looked up at her parents properly for the first time during breakfast. Her mother’s eyes were red rimmed – had she been crying? Her father, her tall, greying, strong dependable father, suddenly looked old and careworn.

Jo swallowed thickly and looked back at the table. She had been the cause of all of this.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Her mother leapt up from her seat and rushed to put her arms round Jo’s shoulders. “Never ever say that Josie. None of this is your fault. None of it. Jeremiah!” she snapped suddenly at Jo’s father, making both him and Jo jump. “Tell her about the letter. She’s old enough to know now.”

But her father looked reluctant. He refused to meet her eyes, twisting his hands round and round.

“Dad,” Jo said softly. “I’m not a little girl anymore. You can’t keep protecting me from things like this.”

To her shock she saw tears in his eyes. He sighed and wiped them away with the back of his hand. “I know love,” he said, sadly. “I’ve been a fool to think I could. A fool to think that ignoring this would make it go away. It’s time you knew.”

Slowly he began to tell her the story of the night she was born. Jo listened, with an increasing sense of bewilderment and, strangely enough, excitement. Suddenly her life was changing. She felt there was more to it than avoiding the villagers and waiting for the right man to come along and marry her. That, after all, would have been her fate, thought Jo dryly. She had never relished the thought, but she also had never dreamed that there was any alternative. Now suddenly a whole world of opportunity was opening up in front of her. One thought raced through Jo’s mind – she needed to find that wizard, she needed more information.

When her father had finished his tale, Jo took a deep breath, trying to calm herself, to focus on the present. “What happened to the ring?” she asked, eagerly. “Do you still have it?”

Mr Hooper looked like he was ready to refuse her, but her mother stepped in. “It’s here Josie,” she said, holding out her left hand.

Jo blinked confused. The big silver ring her mother had always worn on her thumb, everyday, ever since Jo could remember, glinted at her in the morning light that shone in through the kitchen window.

“But…” she blinked, astonished. “But you said that was an heirloom from grandfather….” Jo fell silent, feeling foolish. Of course, she thought, it was a brilliant place to hide it: in full view of everyone.

Slowly, Jo reached out and slid the ring off her mother’s hand. She held it up in the light – it had always been such a constant in her life that she had never studied it properly before, although she felt like she knew every inch of it. It was like the kitchen cupboards above her head; why look at them when she knew they were always there? But suddenly the ring seemed to take on new life to her. It felt heavy in her hand, and she fancied she could sense a faint pulsating; like a heartbeat. The stone shone bright and white at her, making spots in front of her eyes appear. It felt unusually warm, although that could have been just her mother’s body heat still present on it. It was obviously a man’s ring, too large for any of her bony fingers, even her thumb. She held it back out to her mother.

“No Josie, it’s yours. It’s always been yours.”

Jo felt very confused. She looked up at her father, who was staring at her with a sadness in his eyes that she had never seen before. “You said something about a letter?”

He sighed and pulled a crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket. Jo took it with trembling fingers and read the faded, spidery writing.

Miss Hooper,
  By now you should have been informed of the events of your birth. You should be aware that you are no ordinary young lady. Indeed, some might say you possess such powers as no other does. You may also be aware that there are those who feel that such power is the domain of men alone. No friends shall you find in these people.
And yet not all hope for your future is gone. I, and a few others, believe that you are the one that was foreseen. To this end I am willing to risk my own safety to help you hone your skills and magic, and to give you some guidance on the road which you must take. There is no easy way to explain, and too much to include in this letter, which is why I must see you in person. Come to the main city of Chairnin. Once here you must find a way to get into the school for young wizards. It will not be easy; women are not permitted within the boundaries. However, it must be done, and as soon as possible. Something in your future, in everyone’s future is imminent – and dangerous. More I cannot explain here. The sooner your training begins the better hope for all of us.
When you find the school you will know me by the pendant I wear. It is in the shape of a silver star. I look forward to seeing you, although I mourn that is not in happier circumstances.
Yours in good faith,
   Samash Invar.

Jo looked for a date on the letter but found none. “When did you get this?”

Her mother glared at her father, who looked sheepish. He cleared his throat. “Now Josie, what you must realised is that I…”

“When Dad, when did you get this?” repeated Jo with an increasing sense of foreboding.

He shut his eyes. “Three years ago.”

She leapt up from her seat. “What!”

“Josephine try to understand – ”

“I don’t understand!” said Jo, her voice nearly a shriek. “I don’t understand any of this, and all the time I could have had it explained to me, and you…” She was almost too upset to speak. “You hid this from me for three years! How could you be so bloody dense?”

Her father looked angry now. “Do not speak to me in that tone of voice. I was doing what I thought was best.”

“Best? Best for who? For you? Obviously not for me…” Jo paused and looked back at the letter. “Or for anyone else. Did you not read this? Imminent danger. Did that not make you think ‘Oh maybe this is something very important that my daughter has to do’? No, because you were doing what you thought was best!”

“Josie…” her mother said warningly.

It was too late, her father was suddenly on his feet as well.

“Josephine, when you have children of your own I hope you will understand better the fear a parent has for their child. You are not meant for this. You’re only fifteen years old. You’re a girl for heaven’s sake! This business…this magic and destiny business…it’s a man’s business and far too dangerous for the likes of you, and if you think I am going to stand by and watch…” He stopped, breathing heavily. “Eliza, I was wrong to listen to you. We should never have told her this.”

“Jeremiah…”

But Jo interrupted her mother. “Oh yeah of course, I forgot. Women are far too weak for such things. Why not just say it Dad, I’m not good enough.”

“Josephine…”

“Well I don’t care what you think, you can’t stop me…you have no right to stop me, not after having lied to me for all these years – ”

There was a loud crack as her father slapped her round the face. Hard.

Jo stumbled and fell silent, her ears ringing from the impact. She stared at her father, suddenly scared. In all her years she had seen him lose his temper countless times, but he had never, never, raised his hand to any of them before.

They seemed frozen now, in a tableau; her mother with her hands pressed in horror to her cheeks; her father, hand still lifted, the expression on his face changing from anger to disbelief at what he had just done; his eyes locked on his daughter, who was looking at him like she had never seen him before.

It was Jo who broke the scene first. She was nearest the door, and out of it before either of her parents had recovered enough to move. She heard both of them calling her name, screaming at her to come back, but she did not listen. She did not know where she was going, or if she was being followed. Instead she just ran; ran her fastest to get away from the sudden madness that had broken out in her life.
Jo did not realise her running had a purpose to it until she suddenly looked up and saw in front of her a lone tiny farmhouse up on a hill.

She slowed, finally, and became aware of the searing pain in her side and the trembling muscles in her legs. Walking the rest of the way up to the house, she tried to slow her breathing, her beating heart. She realised that she had been clutching her mother’s ring – no wait that was wrong, it was her ring now wasn’t it? It had always been hers – in her hand the entire time, and it had left deep reddened imprints in her palm. These throbbed in time with her bruises from yesterday’s fight, and on top of all of this her cheek stung sharply still, a reminder of her father’s frightening anger. She pocketed the ring, feeling its weight thump against her thigh.

The front door was propped ajar, and sounds of humming came from within, but Jo did not enter. Instead she went round the back of the house to where the chicken coops were kept.

It was still early morning and her guess was right. The boy she sought was stooping over the chickens, throwing them their breakfast grain.

No, not a boy. Jon was a man now, eighteen years old, six-foot three inches tall, broad shouldered and well muscled. As he turned to greet Jo, however, with his curly brown hair flopping about his forehead, his tanned open face set with deep brown eyes and slightly too-large nose was exactly the same as it had been since their youth.

He grinned when he saw her, and put the chicken feed down. Jon had been her friend since before she could remember. They had grown up together as children, playing the same rough and tumble games, climbing trees, chasing her father’s cows. He had always stood up for her when the other children in the village had started their bullying – and due to his size not many dared to argue with him. Now they were older, their friendship was as strong as it ever was, and they shared absolutely everything.

Which is why as she neared him, his smile faded to be replaced with one of concern. His sharp eyes took in her bruised face, the reddened right cheek, the haunted expression.

“Jo?” Jon’s voice was deep and thick with countryside vowels. “Jo what’s happened?”

She did not cry. Jo surprised herself, as she related the full story to Jon in calm tones. Her shaking hands were the only thing that belied the raging emotions that tumbled within her, and she kept those tucked in the pockets of her pinafore.
Jon, steady and dependable, looked stunned by the time she had finished.

“Well…” he said slowly, exhaling through his teeth. “We always knew you were a little different Jo, but for summat like this to have happened…well…”

Jo smiled inwardly. This was why she was such good friends with Jon. Only he could refer to her situation as being ‘a little different’.

He swept her into a sudden hug, crushing her already bruised ribs. “Oh Jo,” he said into her hair, “What are we going to do?”

That nearly did it, nearly destroyed the iron grip she had on her emotion – “What are we going to do?” – it was so like Jon, he was so selfless. Her heart thumped painfully, and she was sure he could feel it against his own chest. She buried her face in his shirt and breathed in his reassuring warm smell.

“I don’t know,” Jo replied, her voice muffled somewhat. She raised her head and looked at him. “But I can’t go home. Not now. Perhaps not ever.”

Jon blinked. “You don’t mean that surely?”

“I don’t know,” Jo repeated. “I don’t know about anything anymore.”