Chapter 6 Aunt Agnes #2
“No child, of course not.” Agnes laughed.
“I don’t mess with the occult in that manner.
Just cooking, cleaning, gardening. I’m a hearth witch; That’s all my spells are good for.
And the occasional protective spell, warding my home from evil and anyone who wishes me or my guests harm.
That sort of thing. But I don’t dabble in immortality, nor do I deal with the elements.
That’s what got us all into this mess anyway, you know. ”
Hazel sipped her tea and perked up at her words. She didn’t know why magic had been outlawed, only that it was considered a threat.
“You don’t know? I will have to talk to your father about that.” She sighed. “Things used to be so different. Not too long ago, if you can believe it.” She looked out the window longingly.
“What was it like?”
Agnes closed her eyes thoughtfully. Where to begin.
“Such a loaded question, that one. Life was bright and full, the world was beaming with energy, and yes, like me, many folks used their enchantments to help around the house. A few, however, tampered with elemental magics, and that was where everything went downhill. It started innocently enough I suppose—simple experimentation. Then a couple of folks grew bored and bold, a dangerous combination. They messed with the weather, the growth of crops, the flow of our rivers… and well, it got out of hand. Before long, and as you might expect, that same group of witches became hungry for power, power they believed they could steal with this newfound magic.”
Hazel was listening to a fairytale. Something so far from reality it simply could not be true.
Magic was prevalent? She’d always imagined it a rarity, where every now and then someone was lucky enough to be blessed with it, as though the gods had chosen them for some higher purpose. This was a new revelation, indeed.
“Do you ever look around and wonder why our lands are the way they are? So decrepit and devoid of life? When you come here, child, you see what the lands could be. My wards allow it to be so because magic feeds the land, and the land feeds the magic. It is a beautiful, synchronous cycle. The two are… symbiotic you might say.”
Hazel nodded thoughtfully, sipping the tea.
“When the High King placed a ban on magic and started wiping out the magic wielders, the lands suffered. The plants and animals withered and died. In his ignorance and arrogance, he refused to see the truth. He said we, the magic wielders, had angered the gods by tampering with the elements.”
“But that wasn’t true, was it?” Hazel wondered, setting her cup down.
“No, of course it wasn’t. The gods did not react until after the land became unbalanced.
The reason things are the way they are now, we don’t entirely know.
Something is likely amiss on the Aetherial Plane.
That is where Caelis is located, the high seat of the remaining gods.
All but the Anemoi, the Wind gods, have forsaken us.
The look on your face tells me you’ve heard none of this… hmm.”
Hazel tried to fix her face. “No, I haven’t. We don’t talk about the gods much at home. But… I just don’t understand. Why are the Four Winds the only gods who stayed for us?”
“For us?” Agnes scoffed. “No, child. The Anemoi have never been the most benevolent gods. Where the others saw a lost cause, those scavenging harpies saw opportunity.” She started whispering her next words.
“Don’t for one second think they have our best interests at heart.
While they were always one of the four main sects of Elementals—the others being Earth, Fire, and Water—they were never a top priority for any people, save for the sailors and pirates, perhaps.
Those few folk who relied on the Winds for guidance and a push in the right direction were barely enough to appease the greedy gods.
Whereas the Earth gods, Fire gods, and Water gods especially, were at the forefront of most peoples’ minds each day.
Not long before you were born, we prayed to them all. ”
Hazel’s head was spinning. She brought her locket to her lips as the questions rolled through her. Why did no one talk about this? Why did people so willingly give up their way of life? “Agnes, this is so much to take in. Why wouldn’t Pa have told me about any of this?”
“Don’t fret about it. Believe it or not, Connall has good reason for doing most of the things he does, bullheaded as he may be.
Maybe he just hasn’t felt that the time was right.
Or maybe, since you live among other people, he’s worried someone would overhear any blasphemous talk.
” She nodded to the teacup. “How was it?”
Scratching her eyebrow in thought, she looked down, not even realizing she’d drank it all. “It was just what I needed, Agnes. Thank you.”
“Still up for that reading?”
Hazel hesitated. No, she really wasn’t up for a reading. She had so many questions swirling and buzzing in her head, and the last thing she wanted was anything else to worry about. She didn’t even think she could go home to Connall and immediately volley him with questions.
Seeing her concern, Agnes withdrew. “It’s alright, dear. We can do it some other time. Or not at all, if you prefer.”
“No!” Hazel cut her off. “Sorry, that was rude. I just meant, well, I said I would do it, and I don’t have any good reason not to. So yes, please, let’s do the reading.” She smiled reassuringly.
Agnes nodded, reaching for the cup. The old woman withdrew into herself as she pulled the cup in, sparing Hazel a quick glance before closing her eyes and seeming to go…
elsewhere… again. After a pause—perhaps a silent beckoning to whatever gods she prayed to—Agnes opened her eyes again and peered into the cup.
There was no reaction. She didn’t so much as flinch. She just stared at the bottom of the cup for ages. Hazel shifted uneasily in her seat.
She heard a breeze rustling the leaves outside. Perhaps it was her imagination, but she was sure there had not been a breeze when she arrived. Was the sky darkening as well? There hadn’t been a cloud in the sky on her walk over.
Agnes appeared to return from wherever she had gone, looking around as if she had lost her way.
She locked eyes with Hazel, brows furrowing slightly before her gaze shot back down into the cup.
Hazel got an uneasy feeling in her stomach that something had gone terribly wrong.
Like she was about to learn of some horrible fate awaiting her in the near future.
“Agnes?” She broke the silence, and Agnes looked as though she’d seen the undead. Then, as though it had never been, her clouded expression faded away.
“So sorry, dear! Sometimes I wander too far when I do these readings, and it’s been quite a while since I’ve had someone willing to let me practice. Forgive me, please.”
“Are you alright? I thought something terrible had happened to you.”
Agnes tried to hide the flash of worry as it crossed her face, but Hazel caught it just so. She didn’t mention it, but it was unnerving.
“Agnes, what’s going on? What did the leaves show you?” Hazel leaned in closer. Ask her about the powder.
She sighed, pushing back her chair. “Nothing.”
“That reaction was for nothing? I find that hard to believe.”
Agnes shook her head. “Not nothing in the traditional sense. The thing is, Hazel dear, the leaves never show nothing. I am just not sure what to make of yours. It was… ambiguous. There is nothing distinct for me to work with. I was searching for something in a deeper place… beyond. But it is no matter.” She waved her hand as if shooing the thought away.
There was a shift in her tone as she stood up from the table.
“It’s no worry, child.” She gathered the cups and kettle and turned her back on Hazel.
Something was off, but Agnes clearly needed some time to think about it. Maybe Agnes was just tired, and Hazel had overstayed. After all, she wasn’t getting any younger. Hazel stood and gathered her things to leave.
But the presence in her bag weighed on her, its burden a boulder in her mind. She swallowed hard. “Agnes, I need to ask you about something else,” she managed.
“Sure, sure,” Agnes replied, too busy to turn around.
Hazel took a deep breath. “Something strange happened yesterday. A jar fell from a shelf in the kitchen, and when I went to clean it up, I didn’t recognize the herb inside. Actually, I don’t think it’s an herb at all.”
“Mmhmm,” the old woman mumbled.
“I wondered if you might take a look at it and tell me what you think?”
“Sure, dear. Hand it here.” Agnes reached back as Hazel pulled forth the jar, her heart thumping wildly as she did so. Agnes grasped the jar without looking and placed it on her workbench.
Without warning, she whirled on Hazel.
“Where did you say you found this?” Her voice was sharp.
Hazel recoiled. “I-It was in our kitchen. At Briar and Rose. Shattered on the floor.”
Agnes’s eyes grew wide then narrowed to near slits.
Without another word, she spun back to her workbench, turning her back on Hazel.
She knocked around her own glass jars of herbs frantically, as though looking for something specific.
She dug around in her cupboard, grabbing things and mumbling to herself.
When she turned around, Agnes had several small sachets of herbs, affixing them to Hazel’s person and her bag.
Hazel eyed them warily. “What was in that jar, Agnes?”
She fixed a pointed gaze on Hazel. “That is Witchbane powder, cultivated from Veilroot. Did you handle it? Did it touch your skin?” She glanced down at the bandage on Hazel’s finger. “Your blood?”
“No,” she lied. “I swept it up with a dustpan and dumped it into the jar. I cut myself with a knife while preparing the evening meal yesterday. Is it… Am I in danger?” She swallowed the lump in her throat.
“No more than normal, my dear,” Agnes replied. Hazel found it less reassuring than she would have liked.
“What is it used for? Why are you worried about me touching it?” she blurted.
For a moment, Agnes said nothing. Then she gave what Hazel suspected to be a carefully crafted lie. It was too rehearsed to be the truth.
“Witchbane is exactly what it sounds like. In the decades following the Thousand Years War, during the first persecution of witch kind, Veilroot was ground into a powder, then steeped in tea and consumed by witches who wanted or needed to conceal their powers. Only in the last twenty-five years has it become prevalent again.”
A manicured lie or a truth she lived through? Hazel wondered.
“I’m not a witch, Agnes,” Hazel scoffed, “so why is it so important I don’t handle it?”
Her weighted gaze lingered over Hazel before she answered. “Witchbane is known to cause childbearing issues in women. All women. And I’m not going to assume whether or not you want babes of your own, but if you envision that for yourself, you’ll do well to stay away from it.”
Fine. Hazel nodded and changed the subject. “And what’s all this for, then?” she asked, gesturing to the herbs and trinkets Agnes loaded her up with.
“Hmm, these? Just some charms and small wards for you to take home to your father, along with the tea leaves he requested.”
Hazel thought perhaps she’d had enough tea for a while, but she didn’t say it aloud. She fingered through the herbs. Rosemary. Dried hawthorn berries. Bay leaf. Sage. Plants for protection, according to the limited herbology Agnes had taught her.
Her heart thumped a little faster. “Should I be worried?” Should Pa?
Agnes laughed then. “No, dear. And I am sorry to have frightened you. We will try again sometime, and I am sure we will have a more successful reading. As for the rest of this… it’s nothing for you to concern yourself with.”
Sure… Hazel was less than convinced but said nothing more.
They embraced, the tiny, hunched woman barely coming up to Hazel’s chest.
“Love you, auntie.” She planted a loving kiss on the old woman’s wrinkled forehead before excusing herself from the cottage.
Hazel looked back one last time before she crossed through the ward again, waving to Agnes over her shoulder.
As she stepped through, feeling the familiar buzz again, she thought Agnes’s face darkened with concern.
But then, she was on the other side and both the old woman and her cottage were gone.