The Witch's Diary

by Rebecca Brae

  Love and blessings on your newest adventure,

  Magda

  P.S. Missera says “hi” to Herman. She’s already bugging me about visiting. I told her to cool her broom. Once you’re feeling more settled, let me know and I’ll arrange transport. I’ve never been to the Outerplane. It sounds a most exciting place. Perhaps we can help out in your House of Horrors! Missera is keen to shed her bonnet and do some snake-worthy scaring. She keeps telling me I’m stifling her potential, but I know how much she loves her bonnets. Little scamp!

  Wendias, Nettle Moon 10, 209

  THE LAST FIVE suns days have been a marathon of traveling, researching, and unpacking. We’ve set up our new backyard (the area with sleeping tents and motorhomes), the midway, and the big top tent.

  I opted to keep living in a tent. Asena said I was welcome to sleep in her spare bunk, but I know I’ll never be entirely comfortable in a motorhome because of its wizardly origins. The prospect of going to sleep one eventide and waking up somewhere else in the morn is not calming. I like my travelling to be conscious and directed, preferably on a broom.

  That desire is looking less and less attainable. Try as I might, I cannot get my broom to carry any weight. I don’t know if it’s a problem with me or if the broom design itself isn’t suited to the Outerplane. I’m not giving up, but it is discouraging.

  Summoning elementals is becoming marginally easier. The process is different and more involved, yet similar enough to be confusing and cause a problem. I feel like a bumbling child. Basically, I have to go back to the beginning of my training and subtly shift all the magick building blocks I learnt. It is infinitely harder to unlearn something than to learn something new. Let’s just say I won’t be trying complex magicks for a while.

  On a happier note, I confirmed many of the supposed requirements for Outerplane spellwork are bogus, rhyming being my most gleeful dismissal. There is a lot of misinformation and downright ridiculous practice recommendations floating around. It almost feels like someone is actively trying to sow distrust in the magickal arts. Could it be part of a wizard conspiracy to discredit witches? Whatever it is, I will not let it stand. I have begun correcting the tomes I borrowed (within reason . . . the gag order prevents me from detailing some things, even in writing). False methods are easy enough to weed out as they simply don’t work. It just takes time. Hopefully, I can save the next witch who picks up these resources some time and effort.

  The not-so-great news is that I need to significantly downgrade my magickal expectations. I stole some private time away from the group last sun yesterday to play with Fire. Even considering my reduced magick abilities, I should have been able to summon decently powerful elementals (despite having to call five instead of one). What I ended up with was a pack of barely discernible sprites. The only reason I knew the immolate spell worked was that I briefly smelled smoke. After searching around, I discovered that my fire sprite sparks had burnt a pinprick-sized hole in the scrap of parchment I held.

  I also successfully created a fleet of charm bags and placed them in everyone’s joint and motorhome, as well as liberally hanging them around the big top and front gate. Instead of focusing on protection, I decided to boost our prosperity. My charms should work on us and our patrons. Who doesn’t need a little extra prosperity in their life, whether it’s for coin, love, or kittens? The effects won’t be strong but that is a bonus since too much of anything is dangerous. For example, suffocating under a mountain of kittens would really suck.

  I eliminated the protection ward idea because Sam told me obtaining the loan broker’s hair, fingernails, or blood would get me into trouble he wasn’t sure he could get me out of. Without those, I can’t target the spell, which is a serious problem. A generalized ward to drive off greed might force away all our customers because there’s no way to specify an acceptable level of greed. And everyone can be greedy, whether it’s for coin, someone’s attention, a favourite food, etc.

  Some witches may be willing to cast broad-spectrum protection wards, but not me. Not since Magda warned me off in college during the Justin fiasco. I wanted to make one to ward off jerks. That would have gone oh, so badly as they seem to make up the vast majority of the population. My job search would have been fruitless in perpetuity. Not to mention, I can be a real jerk sometimes. I shudder to think what it would have done in that scenario.

  I didn’t fully understand how narrowly I avoided disaster until I witnessed Klorepton’s try at warding off Fire (he nearly died in a hut blaze as a child and was terrified of it). The moment he infused the spell with power, every cell in his body stopped working. We managed to undo the ward and save him but . . . wow! All hail Magda’s giant brain! It should never be doubted.

  For now, my strategies to improve the House of Horrors must remain magickally modest and heavily reliant on Sam’s wizardry. The house itself is an incredibly intricate wizard construct. It was both fascinating and terrifying to watch the troupe break it down into component parts, pack it into a truck, and reconstruct it when we arrived here. I’m sure Bob was delighted.

  The H of H is Sam’s creation and I have to give him credit. If we were in my home plane, he would be a highly sought-after wizard. Royals are always on the lookout for someone to design elaborate traps to discourage unwelcome castle interlopers. Sam is a sweet person, but he’s obviously capable of devising some truly wicked perils. I hope he’s more careful than most wizards. So far, he seems to be.

  After witnessing my joint’s collapsibility, I was nervous to venture inside. Sam took great pains to demonstrate its stability, showing that once the pieces are locked into place, they will not move. It appears to be steadier than Althea’s Gingerbread Hut and I managed to survive that horror, so I’ll probably be fine.

  I’ve only had time to implement a few minor improvements. I recruited Kamal to help collect spiders and then I cast spells on our eight-legged friends to attract more. He was interested in what I was doing. I tried to show him, but it always ended in a coughing fit. Bloody gag order. The spiders have been slow to gather, but our efforts are starting to pay off. I set them to work building webs and the H of H feels much more homey and witchy now.

  I plan to augment my appearance with prosthetics and makeup (paying very close attention to expiry dates), and am once again adopting my crone demeanour. Asena said it would be well received by our customers.

  Sourcing equivalent Outerplane spell components is as daunting as learning their magick systems. I’m documenting each new component I test and in what spells it was useful. Asena’s tomes contain a wealth of information about flora and fauna from this landmass, and I found a massive herbalist compendium in the town library (almost every town here has a stockpile of tomes available to anyone . . . how wonderful!). Some Outerplane components seem similar to what I know from my plane (i.e. hemlock), but I can’t be sure they possess the same magickal properties until I use them. The fly knees, webs, and honeysuckle sap I used in my spider attraction spell acted as expected, if a bit weakly.

  I’ve also been working on a salve for Tim’s skin and am happy to report he experienced no side effects from the spot test. He was excited to try a full body test. The ointment is bright green, due to its ingredients, so the only real issue is that it lends his skin a distinctly verdant hue. He said he doesn’t mind and that it might add to his “Snakeman” persona. I hope the salve stops his skin from cracking. I’m sure I can improve the formula over time and will carry on experimenting. I wish Magda were here. She is the true potion star.

  I may have been too hasty branding my position with the carnival as unacceptable to the Witch’s Union. My role is very close to what I did as a village hag, only now my village moves. There is a lot of magick work involved and the challenge of casting in a null zone should fly in my favour, if I can figure out how to do it reliably. And sure, maybe I acquired the job through the Employment Cabal, but does that mean it can’t ever be officially approved?

  Ouleah pointed me to
the non-union job bank, knowing I specifically needed a job to qualify for my Adept rites. She must have had some plan in mind to get a non-union job approved. Though, she had no way of knowing said job would be in the bloody Outerplane. I need to send her a letter. If she can accredit my position, I can stay with Karneval Života for a season cycle and make my Adept ceremony! I haven’t been this excited since . . . I’m not sure I’ve ever been this excited. I had given up hope. This is amazing. Potentially. I need to rein in my enthusiasm and not get ahead of myself. Letter first. Then celebrate. Hopefully.

  Cerridias, Nettle Moon 11, 209

  OUR GROUP SUPPERS provide me with some much needed opportunities to experiment with Outerplane components and kitchen witchery. Cooking the meal is a shared responsibility and I’ve contributed a dish of my own for the last few nights. I’m not a great cook, but I’m beginning to suspect there is also a difference in taste and texture preference between the planes.

  My surprise buns were not a hit—the surprise being what kind of bug was hidden inside. Sam got the prized crispy beetle (I didn’t tell Herman about that one), but he wasn’t at all happy about it. I explained that the beetle conveys longevity, but he was too busy shovelling down great mouthfuls of Maria’s chimichurri sauce (a green medley spicy enough to choke a dragon). He must really like it. I have to admit, it is tasty.

  So far, gingerbread is the only dish I’ve made that my co-workers enjoyed. I still can’t bring myself to eat it, but they polished off every last crumb.

  This eventide I tried an Outerplane recipe for sweet buns (people adore sugar here). The recipe was more complicated than most spells. It took me all sun to decipher what the supplies were and find them. I had to sift non-genetically modified flour and ethically sourced icing sugar into a fair-trade bowl, make a friendly valley in the centre with a locally handcrafted and salvaged wooden spoon, into which I gently cracked vegetarian fed free-range eggs. And that was just the beginning. Yeesh. Also, I burnt the buns because I ran out of time to cook them and bumped up the heat in the oven a bit much. Very disappointing. Everyone was understanding and ate the parts that weren’t charred, but I still felt bad.

  My next big project is to make mead. I came across a local bee farm in my hunt for supplies and bought two large glass jugs, a bunch of smaller bottles, and all the ingredients I need (I think . . . whether I acquired equivalent components remains to be seen).

  My favourite is Fire brew—a drink I fell in love with during my college suns in the most unlikely of places. It is normally spiced with Tarkalian fireplain berries and lieggar bark, which I replaced with polygonum blossoms and ginger root. I talked with the farmer, who also makes mead, and he said my plan was sound. He recommended letting the mead sit for six moons, but I’m sure I can speed up the process with magick. Should be interesting. Hopefully a tankard or two of mead will lift my co-workers’ spirits.

  Freydias, Nettle Moon 12, 209

  THAT WAS FUN! I’m exhausted after my first full day of running the House of Horrors, but it was totally worth it.

  I saw the big top show this eventide evening for the first time, and I am even more impressed with my co-workers’ skills. Their performances had everyone on the edge of their seats. There was laughing and ooos of wonder and gasps of fear. All in all, a remarkable spectacle.

  Wandering the midway and watching Fiona and Gilroy run their rides was instructive. Sometimes they sit quietly and let people come to them, but when things get slow, they perform feats of strength to drum up business.

  Sam is popular with children. They are as entranced by his luxurious hair as I am, and a swarm surrounds him whenever he walks the midway. He’s incredibly patient, letting them climb on him, telling them stories, and singing (his beautiful voice rivals any Siren’s song). Throughout the day, he moves from joint to joint so the people running them get breaks, and he fixes anything wizardly that has gone wrong.

  I amassed a fair bit of business for the House of Horrors by simply walking around. Asena calls it “dragging the midway.” I broke out my most menacing cackle and recited a few gibberish hexes (no actual curses as I couldn’t guarantee the effects and I’d likely hack up a lung, thanks to the ever-inconvenient gag order). People were amused and amazed when I directed my broom around to poke them. Sadly, it takes a lot of concentration and power, so I couldn’t keep it up for long. After a while, my brain said “Nope. You’re done” and turned into a mushy pile of scrambled dodgerflun spawn.

  There were a few minor issues and accidents at the H of H, but nothing catastrophic, which is a blessing given my propensity to mess things up. The only real issue was that I made one room too scary. Actually, it was more of a conflagration of several factors. The spiders gave me the idea.

  I’ve been looking for ways to practice my magick skills and decided to try out a small sensory illusion. After emptying out the insulting witch themed room, I had Sam put in some moving red wizard lights. Then I cast a spell to make anyone entering feel as though bugs were crawling on them. I thought it would just startle patrons, but apparently there is a widespread phobia of bugs (which, incidentally, also explains my co-workers’ bizarre reactions to my deep-fried mealworms and stewed maggot dishes).

  NOTE: Ha! While writing all this out, I had a wicked idea for the H of H. See * at end.

  My poor house spiders, through no fault of their own, inadvertently upped the fear factor. They enjoy that room, possibly because my illusion also affects them and they like the feeling of being crawled on. By the time my customers stampeded out, many really did have spiders traipsing around on them. Sam managed to calm most of the hysterical patrons by assuring them they were fake spiders, but sadly, there were a number of casualties (spiders, not customers). I’ll have to recruit more to keep my webs in order.

  So, today I learnt that the House of Horrors needs to be scary, but not terrifying. I have to lower the realism and research exactly what is considered frightening on the Outerplane.

  Herman unintentionally elicited a few screams. He was just wandering around the house (or napping in one instance) and customers practically leapt out of their skin when they caught sight of him. I overheard several screaming about rats, so I wonder if they mistook him for one in the low light. The shape of an armadillo is vaguely reminiscent. Unless they were screaming about bats. It’s possible I misheard. I don’t think I have any bats, but it’s not a bad idea. I’ll look into recruiting some. Unless they’re too scary. This is very confusing. (NOTE: Check with Sam to see whether bats are just scary enough, or too scary.)

  Frankly, I’m baffled as to why anyone would find rats or bats frightening. Bats even eat spiders (which we’ve already established are vile Outerplane foes), so the whole thing makes no sense. I suppose there’s not much logic to be found in most fears. Guess that holds true no matter what plane you’re on.

  In other news, my experiments to hasten mead production backfired, literally. One of the jugs blew up. Nobody was injured but the jug is well and truly done for. I’ll have to find another one to replace it.

  * IDEA—What about adding a witch’s banquet to the House of Horrors? My co-workers had extreme reactions to the traditional family dishes I prepared. They tried to be polite about it, but they couldn’t even stomach my eyeball soup. If I can join two rooms on the main floor, there’ll be enough space for me to set out a variety of fare for patrons on a long table. Should it be a stand and mingle affair or a proper sit-down feast? I’ll talk to Sam and see what he thinks.

  Moondias, Nettle Moon 15, 209

  PHEW. FIRST FEW days of the carnival are done and today is my day of rest (I’m getting better with Outerplane lingo). It has been busy and people-y but fun.

  I informed Sam that witches don’t work on Moondias and he was fine with that. They usually close the carnival for a couple of suns a week to clean the grounds and rides. If my time off doesn’t coincide with that, he said I can arrange with the others for someone to cover the H of H.

  Perhaps there
is something to what Magda said about me being meant to be here. I am cautiously optimistic about my stay in the Outerplane. Despite my unplanned planar dislocation, so much of this feels right in a witch-gut sense. And in a chicken gut sense. I read the entrails of some chickens Julie cooked for supper and the omens were mostly good. It was just as messy as I remembered but they were there and weren’t being used. It would be a shame for good entrails to go to waste. My moor Mother would be proud.

  I’m a little nervous that I haven’t heard from Ouleah about whether it’s possible to accredit my job with the union. I hope she’s just busy and not trying to figure out how to positively spin the fact that it’s impossible. The entrails bolstered my hope but I wish I had a letter from her, in hand. Distraction is the key to stopping my fretting and thankfully my co-workers are masters at it.

  Everyone gathered for a roaring bonfire this evening. Sam and I spent most of the time chatting. He is curious about a great many things (some of which I can only cough at him about) and has bits of knowledge about topics I didn’t even know existed. Tonight, he asked why witches are supposed to fly on brooms. He phrased the question in a way that suggested he thought it nothing more than a fanciful yarn. I can’t fault his disbelief. My broom certainly hasn’t been able to transport so much as an emaciated snail.

  I explained that we use brooms because of our practical natures. A broom can be used to tidy a hut, as a ritual tool, a bonker or poker for self-defence, or to simply lift a cauldron off the fire. They also happen to be comfortably ride-able and easy to propel as long as they’re made with a suitable wood and their withies have been gathered in the prescribed manner. We’re not like wizards who delight in lugging around a different tool for every conceivable task. I winked at him as I said the last, but my teasing flustered him. For some reason he seems uncomfortable when I call him a wizard. Maybe they’re more secretive here than they were at home—a ridiculous pretence given how abundant their blasted devices are.