Open Book
A Spell for Swapping and Sunshine
There will come a time when you’re journeying, my gem.
I’ll do what I can to ease your path. This charm can sweeten the weather, and I’ll share my secret to staving off the rain, at least until you get where you’re going.
Now, we shouldn’t meddle overmuch in such business.
If there was no rain, the trees and flowers couldn’t grow and the brooks would dry up.
Not only that, but the rain makes us treasure those sunny days.
That said, sometimes we do need to coax an hour or two more.
My only caveat is, if you enjoy the sun now, there will be rain later.
The universe tries to stay in balance. You’re not changing the totals, my jewel.
Rather, you’re borrowing future sunshine.
That means it’ll rain when it was supposed to be sunny at some point.
But since timing matters, mayhap that rain won’t inconvenience you, if you’ve gotten where you were going.
It might trouble others, so do consider that before you give the weather a tweak.
This working is best performed in the light. You’ll need:
A significant amount of sunstone, honey calcite, and tigereye
Broom, saffron, and alder
A golden censer
Arrange the stones in a protective circle, alternating types.
Take care not to place two pieces of the same type next to each other.
This spell is deceptively simple, and so much falls upon your clarity of mind and the focus of your will.
From within the protective circle, add the herbs to the golden censer.
Use your magic to incinerate them to smoke, and then focus your will.
Concentrate on the smoke carrying your wishes far and wide, until it becomes…
more. A manifestation of your will. This is not quite a summoning, but near enough that the protective circle is a wise precaution.
You can use different stones for different charms, but these are attuned to the sun.
Keep your mind fixed on fair winds and bright skies.
Once you’re certain that the smoke shadow is bound to your directive and will go forth to stave off rain and whisper sweetly to the wind on your behalf, only then carefully unseal the circle.
You can do this by moving a stone or stepping outside the boundary.
The smoke should wing away and keep the clouds at bay for the time you’ve specified.
This charm is stronger when cast on someone else’s behalf. The last time I used this spell, it was your name day, and you were so disappointed that we wouldn’t be picnicking to celebrate that I moved the clouds for you. Do you remember how it stormed that night? All things in due time.
Thea
While the riddling was fun, we do have a schedule to keep.
This will probably embarrass Kerboros, who seems to think he’s saved the day by defusing the tension. His smile is…unexpected, sunshine breaking through a bank of darkest clouds. He’s so proud of himself that I shouldn’t burst his bubble.
But this gruagach, Timuir, is a family friend, and while he looks moderately terrifying, if people would stop screaming when they see him, they’d discover that he’s quite a nice person.
“It’s been lovely riddling, Uncle Tim! How have you been?”
Kerboros shoots me an unreadable look, but within the span of a few heartbeats, he relaxes his battle readiness and keeps his own counsel.
Though I don’t expect him to comment, I’m minorly disappointed that he’s so self-contained.
I do feed on excess anger, but he keeps his fury so well leashed that usually I would need to touch him to gain any sustenance.
And I’ve promised not to do that again without his consent.
“You know,” Uncle Tim says with an eloquent head tilt. He probably doesn’t want to say more in front of Winter’s hound.
I nod, understanding the words unspoken.
“Where are you going with that?” I gesture to the tree trunk at our feet. It does resemble a club, and anyone might reasonably expect a gruagach to use it for smashing.
“Building a dam for Macha. She can be so picky about the type of wood.”
“Oh, we’re on the way to see her as well. Do you want some company?”
“Normally, I’d say yes, but…” Uncle Tim shoots an apologetic look at me.
Yeah, Kerboros is making me unpopular in the wildlands.
“Don’t let me keep you, then. Take care of yourself, and mind your bad knee!”
I get a wave of acknowledgment as Uncle Tim strides off, his footfalls shaking the immediate area. We haven’t found the pookas yet, so even if he had been willing to travel with us, we couldn’t have kept up. A gruagach takes five steps for every one of mine.
Once my honorary uncle leaves my line of sight, I turn toward my companion, but before I can speak, he does.
“Do you know everyone in the wildlands?” Kerboros asks in a mild tone.
Mild for him.
“Mostly.” I’m not being facetious.
I wonder if he’ll inquire about my plans again. I’d rather not have to make up something to satisfy him, though I doubt he’s asking from his own curiosity. The Lord and Lady of Winter will be demanding updates.
Instead, he gestures, indicating we should get moving now that the path is clear.
The weather is perfect, no mischief sending storms in our direction. If I know Da, he’s got the wood folk casting charms for fair winds and bright skies to ease our path. I aim a burst of brightness in Mudge’s direction as I head for the pookas’ favorite grazing spot.
Kerboros is quiet, bordering on morose. He doesn’t look at me, but he isn’t admiring the scenery either.
It makes me sad, how little savor he seems to find in life.
I’ve heard only a snippet of his story from Erdene, but I can’t fathom how alone he must feel.
The irritation I used to experience in his company is slowly easing into empathy.
After all, I know what’s it like to feel alone at court, and Kerboros can’t even take refuge with the wild fae.
I push onward, past the tangle of thorny brambles and feathery foliage.
The wildlands offer so many shades of green: moss and myrtle, pine and phthalo, so deep it’s nearly black.
Ahead, the trees thin, yielding to a grassy meadow, and the green deepens to gold.
Wildflowers grow amid the waving fronds, while honeybees drift from bloom to bloom, tasting the nectar.
The breeze is warm and tinged with the scent of mint and clover.
As expected, I find a few pookas grazing on the sweetest grass anywhere in the wildlands.
Including Ferghus, who owes me a favor. I don’t enjoy keeping score on kindness, but we need a ride to Macha’s hut.
I bow even deeper to the pooka king than I did to the Lord of Winter.
Hopefully, Kerboros won’t share that in his report.
“I could use your assistance,” I say.
It would be gauche to speak of debts. I have their attention now, and Ferghus touches his thoughts to mine. I greeted him verbally so as not to presume on our connection, but his silent response assures me that I’m still in his good graces.
What would you have of me?
A ride to Macha’s domain, or as near as you feel comfortable.
The swamp witch can be…sensitive. To say the least. And many wild fae prefer to avoid her territory entirely.
Easily done. Do you need us to rid you of your burden? It would be easy.
I collect he means to get Kerboros lost, not to bury him in a bog, but with pookas it’s tough to say. They’re intense beings with passion to spare. They run for joy, and they hold grudges against those who curtail their fun.
Pookas also have…interesting ideas as to what could be considered entertainment.
He can stay, I send back.
As an extension of our regard for you, so long as he does not provoke us.
I turn to Kerboros, who has watched our silent communication with a faint frown. I speak quickly. “They’ll take us to Macha’s place. Please don’t give them any trouble, just ride quietly.”
“You make me sound like an agent of chaos,” he snaps.
We both know that’s me, I say to Ferghus.
The pooka lets out an amused sound and lowers his body for me to mount. It’s more of a struggle for Kerboros since his pooka won’t help, but he manages to swing astride, and then we’re off, racing through the wildlands at breakneck speed.
I mind-sing to Ferghus, more curious than anything else: Do you know anything of the Summerlings who went missing from the Winter Palace?
The wilds are silent, Ferghus sings back.
Hm. That’s unusual.
The Winter lands should be eager to speak of Summer crossings. I don’t know what to make of the fact that Kerboros can’t find the portal that took them, and none of my usual allies have news either. If Macha can’t point us in the right direction, I’ll be out of ideas.
For now, I enjoy the ride and the option not to talk with Kerboros. His pooka isn’t making it easy for him to stay on its back, but the Winter hound clings with stubborn determination that I can’t help but find admirable.
The forest flies by in a blur, and I breathe in the freshness of the green air.
Pooka speed is tremendous, however, so we don’t ride long before the terrain shifts, yielding to the springy ground that heralds the start of the bog.
From there it will grow wetter still, until the plants grow dark and twisted, guided by Macha’s hand.
Not because she’s a bad person but because she wants the region to look unprepossessing.
It discourages visitors. The swamp stretches as far as the eye can see.
Technically, Macha exists at the edge of Winter’s borders, but her domain touches all four territories, making her swamp the center of everything.
Stagnant pools fill with the scent of decay—wet earth, rotting vegetation, and a coppery tang it’s best not to contemplate. Gnarled trees jut from the ground, draped in curtains of moss and parasitic vines. Ferghus trots to a stop when it grows difficult for the pookas to maneuver, and I slide off.