Chapter 38
Avice
Avice stepped back to admire her handiwork.
A single braid wove down the middle and back of his head like a silver waterfall. She interlaced small red and white flowers, adding a distinctly floral layer to his normal scent of petrichor and fallen leaves.
“How does it look?” Trewoofe asked.
“I believe it is my finest work,” Avice replied. “Stand up and let me see you from the front.”
She shifted to give him some room as he rose and stepped off the pallet. He beamed down at her, his fanged grin making her spine tingle.
He spread his arms. “Well?”
Avice licked her lips. What could she say?
He looked like some ancient forest god that had appeared from the deep wilderness.
With his hair pulled back from his face, he was sharper, more angular, and she could clearly see the point to his ears.
His horns gleamed, curling into the mess of herbs she stored above.
The ash around his eyes brought out their startling red, and his silver veins were obvious as they pulsed at his throat.
Her gaze dropped.
The wide neck of his dark tunic dipped low, revealing the start of the net of scars that now dominated his torso.
His sleeves were long, covering the wounds down his arms, and tied off at the wrists with black ribbons.
Then there was his purple hose which clung to him like a second skin, accentuating his strong, lithe leg muscles.
“We complement each other,” Avice stated.
They did: his tall to her short, his silver to her black, his dark clothing to her white, matching ashes and flowers. They looked as though they were both the Moon, the stars, and the night sky, all at once.
Trewoofe smoothed the front of his tunic. “We do.”
She tucked a loose strand behind her ear. “You are beautiful, Lord. But I have always thought so.”
His throat bobbed. “Little witch, I have been wanting to ask—”
Bramble whimpered and scratched at the door. Avice! It is time! The Faeries, they are here!
Her pulse quickened. “They came?”
She strode over to the door, unlocked it and threw it open, letting in a blast of frigid air. She stepped under the eaves, ignoring the biting cold on her soles, and swept her gaze around the gloomy garden.
They had come.
The Pillywiggins were there, of course. They squawked and squabbled off to the side, the crow-sized Queen standing to attention at the front of her flock. Avice nodded at the Faerie, who bobbed her head in acknowledgement.
Next were the Caps. Both the red and blue types had emerged from the storm.
Their spotted mushroom hats were sprinkled in snowflakes.
They reminded Avice of the fruiting tops of the fungus she picked in Autumn.
Their bodies were fleshy grey, and their skin was like the mycelium that grew beneath the earth.
The tallest stood at the front and pulled her net skirt in a curtsey.
Avice bowed in acknowledgement to the Cap Queen.
Then the final group. The Knockers. They had appeared from their burrows deep in the woods.
Resembling chubby, diminutive humans, they were dressed in pelts and painted wooden shoes.
Their noses and chins were pointed, and most seemed elderly with their hair silvered.
At the front of the flock stood the Queen – she was smaller than the rest, wizened and hunched over, giving her a matronly demeanour.
“Only three,” Avice murmured.
Her stomach dropped at the sight. Normally, there were at least ten clans that would come for the ritual. They all benefitted from it, imbuing the land with magic, making the woods and fields more fruitful.
Bramble butted her balled fist, and she curled her fingers in his fur.
“Only three flocks have come… it is not enough.”
Trewoofe loomed behind her. He dropped his hand to his shoulder and gave her a comforting squeeze.
Desperation clawed at her chest. “Ashling.” She flicked her gaze to the Wisp that floated beside her. “You will have to join in.”
He flickered. “But that will hurt you even more!”
“I know, but we need all the magic we can gather to make this work,” she replied. “Please, Ashling.”
The Wisp bobbed and flitted over to the other Good Neighbours, who waited for her to enter the garden so they could begin.
Trewoofe’s grip tightened on her shoulder. “Wait. What do you mean ‘hurt’ and ‘even more’?”
She tossed him a sharpened gaze. “I did not tell you, because you would try to stop me.”
His jaw feathered. “Tell me what?”
That whenever a witch pulls magic from a Good Neighbour, it hurts. Bramble interrupted, looking up at Avice with pleading eyes. I do not like it when you do it. It is dangerous.
Trewoofe spun her around, a hand on each shoulder now, holding her tightly. “You should have told me.”
She looked away from him. “Perhaps. But this ritual is happening, and I did not want the argument, Lord.”
She extracted herself from his grip and stepped out from under the eaves.
Her skin immediately prickled from the chill, her teeth chattering wildly in her head.
She rubbed her arms as she made her way into the centre of circle the Good Neighbour clans made.
Ashling floated above her, illuminating the circle with his light.
Shivering, she looked up; Trewoofe’s ward had begun to buckle. The fissures had widened, letting in more snow. She let out a trembling exhale, her breath thick in the freeze, and brought her hands together above her head in a short, sharp clap.
“Thank you for coming.”
The Faeries hummed all at once. Their voices intertwining to a layered chord, creating a wild choir.
“We can do this.”
She spun on her toes, dress wafting up and down.
Another clap.
Another melodious hum.
The air crackled as magic sparked from every Good Neighbour in a vibrant rainbow. Avice spun again, moving her body to their song. She spread her arms wide as she gathered their threads of power to her as it thickened in the air.
It hurt.
Stinging, needling pain knotted at the small of her back as she danced, and they crooned.
It worked its way up her spine, forcing her sigil tattoo into a stubborn illumination.
She continued her untamed movements as the Faeries sang in a myriad of melodies.
Despite the chill, sweat slicked to her skin, and exhaustion made her limbs heavy.
Finally, her tattoo was brimming with the threads of their power.
She stomped her foot to the frost, sending a jolt of pain down her leg.
Wildflowers, magic touched and shimmering, sprouted around her with loud pops. She turned and repeated the movement. Each time, greenery burst up, singing into life with dulcet tones.
“Keep going!” Avice shouted.
The Faerie chorus increased their volume, tossing more of their enchantment into the air. Avice grasped for it, sewing it into her skin and using her sigil to funnel it into summoning Spring. Wherever the season was, she was determined to bring her to the land tonight.
Equinox was when the power of the Good Neighbours was at its peak.
A special time when the barrier between the human lands and the Otherworlds was at its thinnest. When the ancient magic cascaded up and out, feeding their intrinsic abilities, their power was increased tenfold.
Usually, Avice only used it to make the woods and fields more fertile, but tonight it was for a greater purpose.
If they were going to bring a close to this endless Winter, it had to be now.
Avice tossed her hands in the air and twisted her body. The magic flushed up the trunks of the surrounding trees, forcing them into bloom. The scent of apple, pear, plum, and mulberry blossom wafted over, saturating her senses with their sweetness.
Her healing herbs erupted from the ground fully grown in their designated beds: sage, rosemary, thyme, and little flowers of calendula and chamomile spread through her garden like a painter flourishing their brush.
Only, she was the artist, and the Good Neighbour’s magic was her tool of creation.
Even the tree, the one Trewoofe had knocked over, began to grow tiny saplings from the wreckage of the break.
Avice would have been filled with elation if it did not hurt so much.
With every flush of green and every flower that bloomed, pain and exhaustion bit at her limbs.
Agony spilled from her, like a cup that had been overfilled.
She repeated the movements, but each stomp and clap brought less and less magic with it.
While her garden overflowed with Spring, it did not stop the raging snowstorm above or bring fields of green beyond the boundary of Trewoofe’s ward.
Realisation dawned, that this may all be in vain. It was one thing to convert untamed Faerie magic into a blessing for the woods, the fields, and the coast. It was completely different to bring Spring to fruition altogether.
She did not stop.
Avice grimaced as she spun petals blustering down from the hem of her wafting shift.
She jolted in surprise as clawed fingers dimpled her wrists from behind, shooting sparks up the pearlescent scar on her arm.
The pain immediately ceased, the overwhelming magic no longer burnt her veins.
Trewoofe’s massive hands encircled her. His lips brushed her ear, sending tingles across her skin.
He rubbed his stubbly cheek against hers, before spinning her around so they were face to face, making her giddy.
Her breath was stolen at the sight of him.
His outline glowed translucent violet. His throat and chest were flushed pink and purple; his silver veins throbbed beneath his skin. Shimmering magic had settled on his nose and cheekbones, giving the illusion of sparkling freckles.
“I will not stand back and watch you suffer alone.” Trewoofe lifted her arm up. “I will help, twirl for me.”
Avice sparked with delight. “Lord, I—”
He spun her around, making her lightheaded in all the right ways, before catching her again in his sure and steady arms. The magic thrummed through her, both his and hers.
It entwined through the air, dropping seeds that germinated and bloomed as they embedded into the ground at their bare feet, the threads of power tossed up through the fractures in the ward, and blasted away the mountain of snow that threatened to crush them.
He beamed down at her. “Knuckers are good dancers, but I know you can keep up.”