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

be his best bet for a hammer and anvil. The stone was nearly flat on five sides, He had found it at the beach where the water and sand had smoothed the rocks to all sorts of interesting shapes. This one looked sort of like a four inch tall obelisk with the corners all rounded. Originally, the idea was to carve runes into its sides to make a knick-knack for Grandma's shelves. Now, it would be his smithy hammer as he held it in his little fist and pounded away, flattening the point of the nail on the stone floor.

It didn't look like much of a bottle opener, but he was able to slip it under more of the bottle cap. Working it back and forth loosened the cap a little, but it still wouldn't come off. Tapping his stone on the nail head while the point was set underneath the cap favored him with a satisfying 'pop,' and the sweet grape soda was his to enjoy. He promised himself that he would reward himself with a sip every once in a while if he was good, and set the bottle aside under his cot with the cap set back on top.

His nail looked like a pixie-sized spade. What kind of buried treasure would a pixie dig for? Turning it around in his fingers, he thought if he hammered it farther up the shaft, it would look like a pixie-sized broadsword. One never knew when some pixie-sized hero might drop by and have need of a good sword. His mind and his hands were occupied and it allowed him to pass the time. He hammered away on his little project and left about a half inch of the nail at the head untouched for the hilt. Using the rounded top of his stone, he flattened the tiny sword’s edges until they were almost a real blade, but it was still too dull. He worked the edges against his stone like he had seen his grandfather do to sharpen a knife until a satisfactory edge was obtained. Later, he laid on the cot, playing with his tiny sword until he fell asleep. He could not even dream of anyplace outside of the cell. He was alone, and every time he called, he was answered by the numbing black cold.


Wise Women's Council of War

Emma awoke early and sat with Gregory by the fire. The rain was more intermittent now, with the occasional jet black streak of lightning to the west of them. The frequency of the strikes and the proximity suggested that the Vough already had Johnny and was using him somehow to call down the energy to empower Behir. Elvyra would have her hands full as the monster became more powerful. Spelled or not, sooner or later it would breach those doors and begin its rampage into the connecting planes at Cobb’s Hill.

Divide and conquer, her mother had said. Send Leona in to soothe Johnny or try to influence him in some way while she drew out the Vough. To what? How do you reason with a mad fae woman? A trial by combat? There had been no reasoning with Lee when his darker nature overwhelmed him. The ancient Sidhe had driven out the Formor, and the early Celts displaced the Sidhe. The Vough hated humans and Sidhe, but mostly Sidhe, as she had managed to produce hybrid humans in her family too. It’s not as though she would have to drive out an entire race of Formorians. Just one, and maybe her demon.

The monster, Behir, was the Vough’s weapon of vengeance. Disarm her, and maybe she could be reasoned with, though the idea of tackling a creature of unknown size and shape was not a task she relished. But in her dreams, she had already done just that. She would have to make herself a gazing bowl to contact Elvyra. Drawing her witch blade, she scooped a shallow depression in the opposite end of the slab of stone their fire was built on. She let this fill with rainwater as she carved runes around the bowl to focus her intentions. Her first was Gyfu, the rune of Partnership. She needed partners in this venture. The next was Lagu, the water rune, the feminine element and she needed sisters in the craft. Thirdly came Tir, the rune of the Spirit Warrior as this would be a war council. Fourth would be Os, the Messenger rune. The knowledge that communication would bring was needed. Lastly, she carved Peorth, the rune of the Initiate. This was a witch-to-witch call. From last night’s experience, this was the perfect place to make such contacts as needed. She would leave her record etched in stone. Leona had awakened and crawled out of the pine needles and was brushing herself off by the fire and getting all the night’s debris out of her hair.

“Grandma, I had the strangest dream,” her granddaughter said. “We were talking with...”

“Your great grandmother,” she interjected. “I know, dear. This is one of the many reasons I ask you about your dreams every morning. It is one of many vehicles a witch will use as it opens us up to greater possibilities. Sit with me, little witch. It’s high time you learned the fine art of the gazing bowl. We have a witch-to-witch call to make, sweetie.” Leona pulled up a stone and sat across from her and she gave the girl some last minute instructions.





“I need you to join me in contacting Elvyra. I’ll do all the talking and you just join me in the gazing. Relax your eyes and let them rest on the surface of the water in this bowl. Straighten up your spine a bit, dear. Don’t slouch. Take a couple slow, deep breaths in through your nose and out slowly through your mouth. Use your tummy to draw in the breath and to help push out the breath. All you need to have on your mind is that we are calling Elvyra, and remember what she looks like. Nothing more than that.” The rain had stopped for a time and the water in the bowl smoothed to a glassy mirror. In moments, Elvyra’s nervous image appeared in the bowl.

“Oh, thank the powers-that-be,” Elvyra said, relief showing on her face. “You’re still alive. Behir is growing larger and stronger by the minute. Your grandson is being used to call the lightning and she is channeling the power to Behir. I don’t know if I can hold him in there much longer. Something has got to give.”

“That’s my reason for calling, sister,” Emma replied. “I want you to remove the warding off the doors to the front of your house, and concentrate on keeping the back ones sealed. If something has to give, let it release him back into this world and not the others. Also, I need to know if there is any way we can access the black tower when we get there.”

“The tower door has a plate that is sensitive to power objects,” Elvyra said. “It is an ancient design that only an initiate can gain entrance to. When I’ve visited there as a child, I scribed the rune of Opening with my wand on the plate to go in. You might try the same. But, you realize, that when Behir escapes, he will return to the tower to attack you and then seek to receive new commands from his mistress. If she returns here with him, I will not be able to stop them from crossing over.”

“Let us worry about that, my friend,” she replied. “The valley is flooded between us and we have a plan.”

“The flood will only slow him a little, my sister,” Elvyra said. “I only wish your Sidhe blade was a bit bigger. My blessings to you all.” Her image faded in the bowl and the rain began to sprinkle again.

“What did she mean by that?” Leona asked. “Just how big is that thing in her house?”

“There’s no telling at this point,” she said. “For every bolt that Johnny calls he’ll get bigger and stronger. On its own, it wouldn’t be much more of a threat than a single bear or a mountain lion. Dangerous enough, to be sure, but what the Vough wants is something huge and powerful that can move back and forth among the planes and create great havoc and murder there. It will kill many and then slip away into another plane before any can find or identify him and do it again and again. Very many will die and those who can manage the craft may be incited to war in order to try and isolate themselves for protection. If the Corca-Oidce, the Children of Darkness, become emboldened by Behir’s rampages, this could escalate to unheard of destruction in all the planes. We must stop him here, or there may never be another chance to catch him at his weakest.”

“What do you want me to do, Grandma?” Leona asked as a look of grim determination replaced the apprehension on her face.

“Divide and conquer, my mother said,” she replied. “We split up. We try to get you in to Johnny, and see if we can get a little Hansel and Gretel scenario going, while I try to take away the Vough’s best weapon. But I think I’ll add yet another strategy to this campaign... the Trojan Horse.” She looked meaningfully across the fire at Gregory, who smiled and gave a warrior’s salute with his trusty thorn in hand.

Having had their breakfast, they dressed in reasonably clean and dry clothes, broke camp and trekked westward up the trail towards the Vough’s