7. A Horse of a Different Color #2
All I could see now when I stared into it was Prism in a chair as I braided flowers and runes into her hair. All I could see was the pale, black haired witch, preparing a sunshine, innocent girl for her capture.
The dark circles under my eyes and frizz of my unkempt hair betrayed the disarray I felt inside. I attempted a messy braid and pinched my cheeks. It was the solstice. It was the solstice , and magic was abundant as the moon rose.
When I emerged, backpack and mysterious grimoire in tow, the horse called Birch was gone.
Nice. Hopefully he was getting lost in the woods and becoming a wither’s dinner.
The thought warmed my heart as I padded through brittle grass.
Thinking of the sharp teeth of the nine-foot-tall, dark as night, skeletal-faced withers sinking their teeth into Birch kept the thoughts of the same fate befalling my sister at bay.
Though, which Birch was I hoping died? Now that his soul transferred to a different body…
would Birch die or would the horse? I certainly didn’t wish harm on the horse.
Though what happened if the horse harmed Birch’s human form?
Body-switching wasn’t magic I was privy to.
It was dark, and probably not without consequence…
though I’d just deal with whatever that was after I knew my sister was safe and sleeping soundly in her bed where she belonged.
Picking flowers, singing songs our mothers taught us, leaving our cooking scraps for the rabbits outside.
My sweet sister… so gentle, so pure. If anyone should have been taken it should have been me.
Was this my punishment for not taking a spouse? Were the fates building resentment year by year, dragging me to graves, and ultimately stealing my sister for not following through with the rite when I came of age?
Who would I have married? Adder? Hemlock?
I’d rather the loom toast me over his logs than be near that jackass Adder Viper or any of his brothers.
In that moment, as each step brought me closer to the solstice circle, I wished my matri was by my side.
Her fighting training had helped me with Adder.
She’d always taught me how to be calm and levelheaded in chaos.
While Mother and Prism could never bear to even pluck a chicken for dinner, it was Matri and I breaking their necks and butchering the meat.
We were much the same, and I wished for her guidance now more than ever. I wished she hadn’t been taken. I wished it hadn’t been my fault she was taken…
I pushed those thoughts away as tiny flickers of yellow lit around me.
A small smile stretched my lips. Fairies.
If I looked closely, I could see their tiny silhouettes when they lit up and darted past. Prism used to describe them as ovals with brown bodies and antennas.
Though, to me, I didn’t see an insect at all.
Humans called them lightning bugs or fireflies.
A clever disguise, concealing themselves in bug-bodies to the non- magical.
I wished Prism could see them, too. I wished Prism had magic to fight the withers.
It was my job to protect her.
Though my magic was outlawed and my runes failed.
I’d failed so miserably.
Yellow light blinked twice in my field of vision as a wily fairy spun, fanning out her tiny glowing gown before becoming one with the darkness again.
Sometimes they’d join us during our summer solstice coven circles, dancing and spinning along the outskirts of our bonfires.
Those solstices were beautiful and sacred affairs.
Full of light amongst one night of feeling whole.
This solstice, however, came on the edge of tragedy.
So the mood was markedly different as I half slid down the damp hill toward the giant willow stump and adjacent bonfire.
The scene of the crime.
My heart ached.
It wasn’t until I reached sixty-six paces away that the unassuming pile of charred sticks erupted into flames, illuminating the willow stump.
A simple spell to conceal our happenings from the interest of prying eyes.
To any non-member of the coven this simply looked like the same empty, dark field as every other night.
The coven bustled around the bonfire, spreading out to surround the sacred willow’s remains.
I wasn’t sure what solstice circles looked like before the threat of Asunder’s ire.
Perhaps they were merely celebrations and grand displays of magic.
For now, for us, it was our opportunity to practice our craft unencumbered.
Charm once told us a story of how she chanted a song in her head for ninety days, continually, allowing no other thoughts to enter, just for the chance to sing it under the protection of the solstice.
When she did, apparently, the sky erupted in blooms of fire and sparks of different colors.
I was only a child, but I knew my mothers had witnessed it.
I liked to think my mother and Matri were holding hands and laughing in joy at such a sight.
Potion workers Wish, Meadow, and Quest tinkered at their pots and vials as spirited plumes of violet smoke swirled around them.
Hedge witches Dream, Veracious, Tune, and Infinity were all gathered around a heavy book, discussing its contents.
The other witches were more solitary. Saga, a cosmic witch, sat cross-legged by the fire’s warmth, awaiting our crone.
Near Saga was Memoir, an elemental witch.
Both rare specialties, both without a teacher or way to truly harness their abilities.
Memoir fanned her fingers, lazily catching stray fire sparks and weaving them around her knuckles.
Did she wish she could do more? Or was such a simple act of pure and fantastical magic enough for her?
At least they all knew their magic’s home and calling.
Mine hadn’t revealed itself yet. Empath had suggested I might be a hedge witch like my mother, and my skills were just as they were now and nothing more.
That was a depressing thought. There was nothing wrong with hedge or kitchen witchery—it was just that using magic to bake a perfectly dome-crusted loaf of sourdough didn’t fill my spirit with joy in the same way it did my mother or Emp.
The crone also mused one solstice that I may be a sea witch like my matri, and in the absence of being near the ocean, my magic had no inspiration to come to life.
Though, my draw and curiosity toward the ocean was only because I knew my matri had loved it and missed it so tremendously.
I guessed it was possible that the ocean was where my skills rested, though it didn’t feel quite right in my bones.
Charm had once asked if I were perhaps a ceremonial witch and I’d laughed in her face.
No, adhering to the rites and rituals of coven politics and gatherings wasn’t my passion.
Though it was all lovely, nothing that lit my coven sisters’ spirits to dance resonated as deeply within me.
Sometimes I believed it a marvel I had any magic at all.
“Rumor,” Polyphony, an eclectic witch who practiced a combination of ceremony and crystal craft, grabbed my shoulders and pulled me in for a hug. “I’m so sorry for your loss. Prism was the sweetest girl.”
“ Is the sweetest girl,” I corrected. “I’m here to fix it and bring her back.”
Polyphony gave me a sympathetic look and gestured to her spot next to the fire. “Sit by me. I sense our crone and high priestess are here.”
“Oh, our crone and high priestess arriving at the solstice right on time as they did every single solstice since forever, wow, what a keen prophetic gift you have, Polyphony.” I rolled my eyes, still annoyed at her for speaking of my sister in past tense. She wasn’t dead. I wasn’t giving up on her.
Polyphony pursed her lips. I could almost hear her chanting love and light, love and light , in her head five hundred times, as Empath always advised us to do as children when we were angry. Saga joined us, her white smile bright. “Well, Rumor, I see a familiar has chosen you. Congratulations.”
I’d forgotten about the furry little bastard. Saga reached past me and scratched under the gray cat’s chin. “Not sure if he’s a familiar or just a cat who likes free beef jerky. Really, what’s the difference?”
The warmth at my back dimmed, and the potion and hedge witches gathered looked up from their practices.
Meadow, Quest, and Veracious, who doubled as ceremonial witches, ushered for us all to gather in a circle around the fire and the willow.
As we did, Charm joined the circle and held out her hand for Emp.
Once our crone joined palms with our high priestess, we all followed suit and held hands.
My eyes scanned our crone’s features, hoping to make out some semblance of a plan brewing, an announcement forthcoming on what we’d do, how we’d join our magic together to rescue Prism, but her long gray hair covered her face in silver waves as she looked down and swayed in our circle.
Charm spoke then. “Welcome sisters. It is the solstice once more. May light, hope, and growth flow through us all as we channel summer’s waning light into the harvest of the multicolored abundance of autumn’s blessings.
Close your eyes and let the power of my song intersperse within your souls as bright as the changing leaves around us. ”
I bounced on my heels, eager to get through the ceremony portion of the evening.
Why were we even doing this? Why weren’t we launching right into a strategy?
Clearly I wasn’t a ceremonial witch, because frankly, I didn’t see the point.
It seems to only waste the precious time we had to practice magic, individually and together, with a bunch of flowery language and hand holding.
And oh, goddess , Charm’s songs…
My teeth ground against each other in my jaw as Charm sang a story-like song about leaves, and bears, and dwindling lightning bug fairies.
I lost interest despite feeling her magic flutter warmly over my shoulders like butterfly wings.
Her magic was much like her name—charming. But I wasn’t in the mood for it.
The solstice circle went on in both song and ceremony as we rotated around the flames and the sacred willow’s grave.
Biting my tongue was nearly impossible by the time it was our crone’s time to bless us.
Surely when it was Empath’s time to speak, she would reveal our means for finding my sister.
Though when her time came and went, only her blessings to the coven flowed forth like a soft spring rain against our consciousness, love and light, love and light.
The coven clapped, and the fire roared as the circle concluded.
Polyphony avoided my gaze, so did everyone, actually, as I looked around in an irritated frenzy as witches gathered their supplies or fell into conversations.
“Wait!” I called out. “Crone, coven, we aren’t done here.”
Charm paused with a bundle of sheet music in her arms and sat down a harp I hadn’t even noticed she had.
Leveling me with an indignant stare, she glanced at Empath, who stood from the bale of hay she’d just sat on.
Like a mother who’d just gotten her first moment off her feet for the day and her toddler just spilt a cup of milk, Empath exhaled and stood, motioning for the coven to be silent.
They already were. Everyone watched me intently, with only the sounds of pops from the burning branches accompanying the quiet.
“Address your sisters and crone mother,” Empath said slowly.
I stepped around several witches, ignoring their judgmental gazes. “My sister…” The words tumbled from my throat. “My sister was taken… it’s the solstice. What do we do to get her back?”
The coven was silent.
Empath and Charm held my pleading stare before Charm responded. “Rumor, our hearts are with you, and we feel for your loss. However, there has never been a remedy for the wedding rite working as intended…”
“As intended?” I all but shrieked, trying to meet any of the other witch’s eyes for backup. Everyone avoided my begging as I stepped closer. “Prism was supposed to marry that wretched Birch Viper and he didn’t show.”
“The recourse, the way of Willowspire, in the event of no suitor to claim the maiden… she belongs to the forest.”
“Not the forest.” Anger simmered in my chest. “A wither . A nine-foot-tall, dark as night, jagged-toothed, soul stealing, foul monster took my sister. And what, we’re going to do nothing? It’s the solstice and we can use magic, but you all are telling me this is as intended?”
“Rumor…” Empath began. Her mouth opened to continue when something interrupted us, a loud crash just outside the protective walls of our wards.
Tune and Meadow appeared from the shadows, trembling. Meadow’s hazel eyes were glassy as she steadied her breath. “Something’s outside the wards. It knows we’re here. It’s trying to get inside.”