The Half Witch

Chapter 1-The Journey to Harcourt Academy

Chapter 1-Journey to Harcourt Academy

I hadn’t slept last night. I wasn’t tired though-I was wide awake. Anticipation, fear and exhilaration sustained me more than any amount of sleep and good food could. I surveyed our tiny hut, wondering if I’d miss it. It was cold and full of bugs, yet it reminded me of everything that was familiar to me. Mum was checking my backpack to make sure I’d packed everything I could possibly need on my journey-everything that was available to us anyway.

She hadn’t noticed I was awake yet, and I didn’t alert her. I simply watched her sadly, wondering how I would survive without the only friend, the only family, I’d ever known. When Mum turned slightly, I was startled to realise that tears rolled down her cheeks. However, I knew neither of us doubted her decision. This was what she had always wanted for me, even though it was hard for the both of us.

100 years ago, there was an uprising of dark, terrible creatures. They wanted to take over the universe-they nearly did. So many of us died-our population was halved, and then halved again, and again. People were forced to repopulate the earth. People who objected were tortured into submission, but never killed-every single person on the world was one of the last of the human race, and therefore of indescribable value.

The creatures that had leaded the uprising were witches. The human population was stable now. However, nothing was ever the same again-the world became a dark place, and evil creatures were still at large. Witches were feared, yes, but more than that, they were hated. The Harcourt Academy was built, named after the founder of it, a famous warrior that had helped save us during the uprising. Now, thousands of teenagers were sent to the academy. There was no fee for joining the academy, simply a life’s commitment to witch hunting and a vow to kill any witch on sight. Almost all of the teenagers who went there were poor, looking for a better life. Being a witch hunter was a respectable position, and being at the academy you were guaranteed a place to sleep and food in your stomach, which was more than a lot of people had.

Mum had always said that when I turned 16-the eligible age for joining the academy-I would go there, and live a life she knew she could never give me. There was only one problem-I was a half witch. My dad had been a full witch who had tricked Mum, a human, into falling in love with him. Witches could be male or female-wizards were simply the stuff of fairy tales. Witches are fairly easy to spot-pale coloured eyes, sharp teeth and slightly green tinged skin. Of course, there were more complex ways to spot them, but only those at the academy really knew about them-learning how to spot a witch is part of their training. Half-witches like me were very rare, but they were treated the same as witches-to be killed on sight and have no mercy upon.

Luckily for me, half witches have no physical signs of being a witch, so I’d never been executed. Apart from escaping total poverty, my other reason for going to the academy, though I’d never told Mum, was that I hoped it could almost squash out the witch inside of me.  If I proved I was against witches, if anyone ever found out, they might not kill me. Long story short, I was determined to become a witch hunter. After years of finding out all I could about witches and practicing swordplay, I felt ready.

“Mum,” I called softly, and she gasped. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. Are you alright?”

She frantically wiped her cheeks and smiled, trying to be strong for me, “I’m fine, Steph. I’m just thinking about how much I’m going to miss you.”

I bit my lip. That was the only thing I hated about going to the academy-it meant leaving Mum all alone to fend for herself. It would be so long before I saw her again, and I was terrified at the idea of her being gone when I came back for her.

I went over to Mum and wrapped my arms tightly around her waist, pressing my face to her chest and forcing back the tears that threatened at my eyes. She was so thin and frail, I felt like I could crush her if I held her any tighter. Luckily I’d inherited my father’s build of broad shoulders and big bones, so our lack of food didn’t make my bones stick out like Mum’s.