Witch Clan: Matriarchs, John Stormm [great reads txt] 📗

didn't mention around outsiders and she wasn't sure how she would break it to him. If he learned those lessons the hard way, Danu only knew what it might bring of his darker nature.


* * *


Emma had allowed herself another day to consider her course of action and belted on her long knife under her apron and had a canvas shopping bag tucked under her arm. Johnny had been equipped with an army surplus day pack he wore on his back. Together they walked to Cobb's Hill Park where she would begin teaching him wood lore. There were a few acres of woods there where particularly potent varieties of flora could be found for her pantry. It was a bit of a hike for the little fellow, but he never seemed to tire of anything his heart was in and was certainly eager to be with her.

"You can help Grandma gather some supplies for the summer kitchen," she said. "Won't that be nice?"

"Will you show me how to pick sassafras?" Johnny asked excitedly.

"Especially sassafras," she said while tousling his hair. "We'll need some white oak acorns, some may apples, some sulfur shelves, lemon balm and what other goodies we might find there too."

"Are we going to the woods," Johnny puzzled. "or are we going shopping?"

"Why both, of course," she replied.

It was a beautiful day strolling around the meandering trails in the woods. Johnny quickly learned to fill his bag with the plumper white oak acorns as opposed to the red oak variety that were narrower and had more bitterness to be removed before they could be eaten by humans. He was eager to know where root beer came from and was checking hollow trees for crocks of brew and faery treasure as Emma plucked a nearby branch and sat down on a log and called her grandson to sit with her as she explained.

"The strength of a tree may be found in its roots," she said. "For any of these trees to grow strong and tall, they must have equally strong and deep roots growing beneath them."

"But if they are underground, how will we know where to dig for root beer?" Johnny asked.

"You must first learn how to recognize the tree itself," she confided. “There's a story that goes with the sassafras trees to help you remember how to recognize them. It is a medicine tree and the number three is a potent number for medicines and magick. If you look at this oak tree here, you'll see that on its branches, all the leaves have this same wavy look to them. All the sugar maples have the same shaped leaves, but look at the branch in my hand. Can you tell me what is different about it?"

Johnny looked carefully at the branch. He didn't seem to be catching on as he looked and looked and then his face brightened.

"It's got different leaves on it," he said proudly.

"That's right, boyo," she congratulated him. "It has three different shaped leaves on the very same branch. This one is shaped like a football. Your Grandpa loves to watch that about this time of year. And this one is shaped like a mitten, and we'll soon be wearing those again as the weather gets colder and this one looks like a ghost about to jump up and yell 'BOO!'"

Johnny jumped back startled and then laughed delightedly at the joke.

"What we have to do now is find a patch of young skinny trees with leaves like these. All three kinds on one branch, remember. And then we dig up a couple where there are too many to grow healthy, so there will always be more when we want some."

Johnny couldn't wait. He scampered about examining each tree in detail. It didn't take him long to find a patch of young sassafras.

"Are these it?" he asked excitedly. "Can we dig 'em up?"

"Let's see," she replied, taking her long knife out to scrape a bit into the bark where Johnny could sniff it. "What does it smell like?" she asked her grandson.

"Mmmmm, root beer," Johnny replied.

"We clear off the debris around this sapling," she instructed while moving leaves and sticks away with her foot. "And we dig here."

Johnny dug away with Emma's garden trowel that she had put in his day pack, and then started digging in with his hands like a dog. When enough of the root system had been bared, she started tipping the tree this way and that to loosen it up more before she started pulling it up, roots and all. Johnny braced himself and pulled up yet another sapling all by himself and brought it to her by the log they had been sitting on where Emma used its surface like a cutting board and used her long knife to trim the roots into manageable sections that she dropped into her canvas shopping bag. Johnny stuck his face in the sack and inhaled the heady root beer fragrance. It appeared to have an intoxicating effect on him, so she carried it herself.

The boy was in love with the woods. He had to climb into every hollow tree to meet its faeries. Walk every fallen log and chatter at every squirrel. He seemed to have a talent for imitating any sounds he heard and loved the reactions he got from the creatures he mimicked. Emma picked a few more plants for her sack. Reading the corner of the woods, she called her grandson nearer. Up ahead the trail made a sharp curve to the right towards the city reservoir and to the left several houses had backyards that backed right up into the woods. Johnny had already pointed out a large silvery sphere resting on a marble table in the backyard of the first house and wanted to make straight for it when Emma placed a firm hand on his shoulder.

“It’s somebody else’s property, son,” she explained. “You just can’t go charging into their yard uninvited, and some you want to be careful in even when you are invited.” She scanned the surrounding woods when her eyes found who they were searching for.

“Blessed be, Emma,” a small dark haired woman in a black dress with a dark blue apron carrying a small basket called her from the wooded trail to her right.

“Good morning, Vy,” she returned, purposely avoiding giving her blessing. “Gathering a few things too, I see,” she said, nodding at the basket.

In spite of her small size, the woman advanced quickly up the trail towards them and had eyes for only Johnny as she spoke to her.

“This must be the grandson I’ve heard so much about,” Elvyra spoke aloud as she steadily scrutinized the boy. “He looks like the spitting image of your Lorry, but the resemblance ends there. His aura is certainly Sidhe if ever I saw one. What a prize you are, boy. What’s his name?”

“Johnny, after his uncle,” Emma supplied. “Johnny, this is Elvyra. She lives in that house over there.”

Johnny glanced back at the silvery sphere he wanted to check out earlier and to the woman who was studying him and recoiled into Emma’s arms where he never took his eyes off Elvyra until she was forced to look elsewhere. The effect it had on the witch was tangible.

“The fae boy, and now some changes to you too, I see,” Vy observed in a flat tone, pointing to Emma's silver forelock. “You’ll want to hang onto that one, Emma. It won’t do to let him wander off, you know.” She gave them a smile that didn’t encompass her eyes and carried her basket back to her house.

“Johnny, I want you to remember this woman and this house,” she instructed her grandson. “And I want you to never let her get her hands on you. Om biggun tu?”

“Tiggum, Grandma,” he replied readily in Irish. “I understand. She makes me feel bad. But why?”

“She’s a witch, that one,” Emma said. “A very powerful witch, who doesn’t care much who gets hurt to get her even more power.”

“Are all witches bad, Grandma?” Johnny asked as Emma did a double take at her grandson.

“Not usually,” she replied as she led him away from the area. “We’re like everybody else. Some of us are nice people and some of us are not so nice, but all of us are people with secrets.”

“Are you a witch too, Grandma?” Johnny asked.

“Yes, and my mother and her mother, and your aunts and even you,” she pointed out.

“Me too?” he asked, wide eyed. “and Grandpa?”

“No, not Grandpa, I’m afraid,” Emma rejoined. “Not many men ever become witches or wizards, son. You are the only one I know. Most people are afraid of things they don‘t understand, and when they‘re afraid they will do terrible things.”

“Will Grandpa be afraid of us, Grandma?” Johnny asked.

“Not if he knows how much we really love him first,” she said. “He needs to know that above all else. Someone once said that perfect love casts away fear. Now someone like Elvyra... well, she’d rather people be afraid, and maybe it’s a good thing they are. But you and me, we’re going to love them first and show them we aren’t bad folks at all. Aren’t we?”

Johnny nodded eagerly. Emma hugged him close.

“You see how much I love you?” she asked, as she put her forehead to his.

“Grandma,--" Johnny's eyes got big as saucers--" I hear you,” he exclaimed.

“You