The Witch's Diary

by Rebecca Brae

  Tydias, Lotus Moon 16, 209

  I WENT AGAINST my better judgment and accepted Sam’s offer of a swamp tour yesterday (a Moondias!) after the film crew “wrapped.” Given the day, I knew things wouldn’t go as planned but, to my unending surprise, it turned out to be a pleasant disaster. Not sure I’ve ever experienced one of those before.

  I had just tasted my oldest jug of mead and judged it drinkable when the idea of the tour was raised. Interested, but certain things would go wrong, I decided to bring a flask to share. Nothing looks quite so dire after a sip or two of good mead. (SIDE NOTE: I have the aging process down to a little over a month. Not bad, but there’s room for improvement. More experiments needed!)

  Sam and I ended up on the tour alone . . . except for the boat captain but he was only there for a short time. I’ll explain that in a bit. More people were supposed to come, but everyone else backed out at the last minute. I suspect Asena had a hand in it. Herman was excited about the trip, and yet he was mysteriously absent when it came time to leave. I later found out that he’d been cavorting on the beach with Kamal—a convenient distraction, I’m sure.

  The swamp was breathtaking and mercifully cool. We explored an area overgrown with towering trees whose gnarled branches were thick with leaves and a moss resembling the greyed hair of ancient corpses. It swayed in the wind, beckoning us deeper. Hidden creatures peeked out of every dark nook. Only the barest touch of sunlight penetrated the canopy. Moving through water patterned with vines and roots, the shadows around us birthed more shadows and the world was right. Everything was right.

  It was delightfully eerie. Dark. Dangerous. Alive with mystery. A perfect place for a witch. I’ll definitely be going back. Perhaps I can build a hut there when I have spare coin. I never thought I’d be hut hunting in the Outerplane. Life is strange.

  As much as I loved the swamp, Sam did not. He jumped at every rustle of moss and ripple of water. The captain was knowledgeable about the area, but the more he talked, the twitchier Sam became. I don’t think he’s a fan of alligators or snakes that drop from trees. I was most intrigued when one of the snakes popped in for a visit. Sam, not so much.

  He would have killed the poor thing with a paddle if I hadn’t spurred my water elemental into rocking the boat. The snake was quick to size up the situation and escape. Sam didn’t fall overboard, but it was close. I imagine that wouldn’t have gone well, since both he and the snake would have been together in the water.

  The only part of the tour I wasn’t fond of was the ear shattering wizard air blower the captain used to propel the boat. It was so loud, we had to cover our ears with a noise cancelling device. Leave it to wizards to make something so unusable that they have to devise another gadget so they can sit near enough to operate it. Honestly. It’s not like there wasn’t wind available. Why can’t people use sails? Much more civilized. At least my air elemental had a great time playing in the engine.

  Once we entered the overgrown section, the captain shut the air blaster off and used a pole. The sounds of the swamp were lovely. Waves lapped against the shores of small islands. Wind murmured through the leaves. Birds cooed. The occasional splash and startled cry as an alligator snapped its jaws closed on one of the cooing birds. Simply blissful.

  Unfortunately for Sam, the air engine decided it was done working just as we were about to leave the treed area (Moondias always gets you!). The captain attempted to fix it, and then Sam tried as well, but even his wizardly skills could not coax it back to life. A part had broken inside, rendering the whole thing unusable (Wizards, they always get you too!). Sam said that area of an engine shouldn’t get hot enough to melt butter, let alone metal. Guess there’s a first time for everything.

  We had travelled for a long while to get there and couldn’t row or pole our way back to the dock. I offered up my robe as a sail, but that appeared to make everyone uncomfortable. The captain said he knew of a relatively short route to the mainland. Problem was, we’d have to wade most of the way as it wasn’t passable in the now defunct boat. Sam was having none of that. In the end, the captain tethered the boat to a tree and set us up on an island while he waded away to secure another boat. He promised to come back as soon as he could. I didn’t care. Any extra time spent in such a beautiful place was welcome.

  The captain left while it was still light (or as light as it got in that part of the swamp), but blessed darkness soon reigned on our little island and brought with it a damp chill. After the unrelenting heat of the past week, it was a relief, but I knew the cold would eventually work its way to our bones. All the captain left us was a rope, a bucket, and a “flash light,” which doesn’t flash at all. It produces a bright continuous light. Even on a different plane, there’s no rhyme or reason to wizard nomenclature.

  Lucky for us, I’m in the habit of carrying my power crystals with me, so lighting a fire (even in such a water-rich environment) was of little consequence. My fire elemental was eager to help and the corpse moss was nicely dried and incendiary. I burnt off the water in some twigs and, from there, set alight larger felled branches.

  Sam was beside himself. He stood in the middle of the island, arms crossed, turning in circles, trying to watch the shoreline and overhanging trees at once, convinced we were about to be overrun by ravenous animals. He apologized profusely for our predicament, believing it was his fault since the tour was his idea (Asena must have convinced him the idea originated from him. She’s tricksy!). I tried to explain that a night in a swamp wasn’t a big deal, but he was inconsolable. Poor guy.

  He did his best to help gather branches for the fire and the small lean-to I wanted to build (didn’t think those skills would come in handy again so soon), but he lost more branches than he collected. At least one armful ended up in the water because he accidently grabbed a convincingly branch-like snake. I don’t know which of them was more surprised.

  When I finished with the fire and lean-to, I set a simple lure spell and caught a bucketful of crawfish for supper. The captain mentioned they were a local delicacy and I was not disappointed. I wrapped them into neat packages with leaves from a water plant and cooked them on a flat rock. Apart from some trouble cracking them open, it was an easy and delicious dish. Even more so when I added a splash of my Fire mead to the meat. Surprisingly, Sam liked the crayfish. It’s the first thing I’ve cooked (other than gingerbread) that he’s deemed edible. Why are Outerplane water bugs considered more palatable than air or land bugs? Strange.

  Just as we were cleaning up, I noticed Bob. I’m glad I discovered him first and could steer Sam away before he saw what my gargoyle friend was sitting on. The alligator was unimpressed, but since it was probably sneaking up to take a bite out of something it wasn’t welcome to, I didn’t have much sympathy.

  To show my thanks, I wove some of the yellow flowers that grow in the water with moss and a thin branch to make a necklace for Bob. His stony lips were curved into a wide smile when I next looked over, so I think he appreciated the gift.

  Sam lay down and fell asleep in the lean-to and then things got really interesting.

  I was not tired. Night always invigorates me, especially one such as this, spent out in the wilds. I sat by the fire, revelling in the rich smell of smoke and lush vegetation, thinking about how lucky I was to spend time away from the fetid belching breath of wizard vehicles.

  Our island was homey. There was a clearing in the middle, perfect for a modest witch hut. I could already see my broom leaning against the doorframe, drying herbs strung from the roof struts.

  While I was lost in thought, a large snake (more than twice the length of me) slithered out of the water and curled up on the warm ground near the fire. I saw it coming, but had no objection to sharing my camp. I nodded to it and carried on dreaming, occasionally checking to make sure it was behaving itself and that Sam was still asleep. There was a glint of otherworld in its eyes as it watched me. I was curious, but not rude enough to ask.

  “This place, so teeming wit
h life and death, is one of my favourites as well.”

  I knew the snake had spoken, because Bob couldn’t and Sam was unlikely to ever express such a sentiment.

  “My magicks are weaker here, but sufficient. I’m pleased you are doing so well, my daughter.”

  Hekate again. I was alarmed that I couldn’t sense her presence like I did at home. The Luminous Mother of Magick, Wise One, Goddess of the Night was sharing a fire with me . . . and I hadn’t noticed. I swear the snake smiled as I flinched at the realization.

  “Forgive my rudeness,” I stammered. “I did not expect to meet you here.”

  “I like being where I’m not expected. Interesting things to learn.” She uncoiled and slithered around the camp, curiously pushing her head into the bucket of live crawfish and tasting mead from the rim of my flask with a flick of her tongue.

  I grew nervous when she peered into the lean-to, certain of how Sam would react upon waking to a face-full of snake. Hekate sensed my anxiety and assured me he would not wake until sunrise. Thinking back, I now realize it was odd for Sam to have fallen asleep so quickly, given his panicky state. The Goddess of Magick is full of mischief.

  After stoking the fire, I collected more water plants and cooked the remaining crawfish as an offering to my guest and Goddess. She remained silent while I cooked, enjoying the warmth of the fire as she cast her gaze around the swamp. I was curious to know why she had come, but reluctant to ask. You never know what a goddess will take amiss.

  I plucked the meat from the shells and added mead as I had done for our supper. Hekate gulped everything down, smacking her lips at the end in a satisfied manner—an unsettling sight on so large a snake.

  Unsure what constituted friendly conversation for a goddess, I decided to stick to recent shared events and inquired after the sisters. Hekate said Mother and Crone were as cantankerous and feisty as ever, and that she was still overseeing their work on the moors. They were reluctantly revising a few of their attitudes and ways, but their implementation remained chaotic.

  She rubbed herself against a rock, shedding a loose piece of skin. “It’s always a trick, balancing order and chaos. I’m not supposed to have a favourite, but chaos is just so much more . . . fun.”

  I chuckled, wondering if that explained her interest in me. Chaos followed my steps closer than my shadow.

  Fire reflected in the depths of her eyes as we spoke, and for a moment, I could feel the world, all the worlds, and every possibility in them stretched out around me. All the various paths of my hopes and dreams were laid bare. And of all the places I could be, of all the companions I could be with, and things I could be doing, right here on the Outerplane with Herman and Bob and Karneval Života was where I’d choose to be, every time.

  Such is Hekate’s power. In a land where magick barely exists, simply meeting her gaze can draw forth your heart’s true calling.

  We fell into silence and Hekate curled up by the fire again. I glanced at the swamp and every patch of darkness held a pair of gleaming eyes. Birds, rodents, alligators, fish, snakes; you name it, they were gathered around our island, listening to their goddess breathe, settling as near as they dared.

  The creatures that came to pay their respects were well behaved. Alligators co-existed with herons. Owls and eagles shared trees with nary a misplaced talon. Even the fish left the water spiders and flies alone.

  When the horizon lightened, Hekate bade me goodnight and slipped back into the emerald green waters. Her followers trailed for a while and then dispersed. A little field of flowering wolfsbane sprung from the soil where she had rested.

  Fog drifted in with the dawn, low and thick enough to obscure the boundary between land and water. What a delightfully dangerous place! I commandeered a few cavorting water elementals to keep our island clear of vapours, worried the alligators might grow brave. There were some muffled splashes around us, but none dared approach without cover.

  The misty veil flowed over the riot of vines and roots and water and land, transforming the swamp into a place of dreams. Trees reached up from the cloud, limbs twisted and knotted as if they could not decide which direction to grow next. Not long ago, that was me.

  After staring at them, a realization hit. The chaos of branches served a purpose. No matter what angle the sun shone from, those trees would have enough light. A good life lesson and a poignant moment for me.

  I’ve experienced chaos, caused a fair amount of it, been tossed around by it, but it has been to my benefit. I know without doubt that I can make it through anything. And I enjoy a bit of chaos. It’s exciting. Magda was right. If I had locked myself into a safe and steady job, I’d be bored out of my skull.

  As far as my Adept rites go, I find myself caring less and less. Even if Ouleah gets back to me and says the union won’t approve my job but she has another one lined up, I won’t take it. I can’t just leave, knowing how hard-pressed Sam would be to replace me during their busy season. I guess my priorities have changed.

  So what if I don’t meet the requirements to become an Adept this season cycle? Hekate has never mentioned it, so I doubt the title means anything to her. It’s not like my job with the carnival hinges on it. Magda is the only classmate whose opinion really matters, and I know her friendship is unwavering. My parents may initially be disheartened and confused, but I’ll find a way to explain things. In fact, anyone who really cares about me knows that I have never in my life done anything the normal way. It’s not surprising that I’m entering my profession on a unique schedule and path.

  Strange to think that in all this turmoil, I have found peace. Well, my kind of peace anyway. Which is to say, chaos is my peace. In the end, it’s that aspect of myself, the chaos I carry in my spirit, that I need to stop fighting and accept.

  Sam awoke shortly after the sun and jolted me out of my musings. He fretted about the encroaching mists until the captain arrived with a new boat. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen Sam so happy.

  Our leave-taking came all too soon for me. There wasn’t even time to catch more crawfish for breakfast. I watered the wolfsbane and committed our little island to memory before stepping onto the boat. I don’t know if I’ll ever be back (I hope so), but I will carry this magickal night and island in my heart forever.

  Cerridias, Lotus Moon 18, 209

  WHAT HAPPENED TODAY is a great example of how I sometimes create my own chaos. I have been trying to embrace it, but it’s not always easy. Especially when said chaos smells like bad fish. Others aren’t so fond of that kind either.

  After my realizations in the swamp, much of my anxiety about my path and role as a witch in the Outerplane has lessened. These last few days have been a welcome respite. I didn’t know how deeply the constant stress affected me until it was absent. Even the prospect of tearing down the camp and making another jump felt less daunting.

  Although I enjoy having a new batch of people to scare every few weeks, this is usually the time I start stressing about having to get in a vehicle again. My palms sweat and my heart races—very inconvenient when you have to be physically active and are trying to carry things. I’m sure people think I’m tragically out of shape and clumsy.

  But today, the getting there part didn’t seem so bad. I woke up refreshed and excited about our next location. I hopped out of my cot, gathered my washcloth and soap, threw on my robe, and tossed aside the flaps on my tent. As I stepped into the sun’s unrelenting embrace, something wet and fishy smacked my cheek. I stumbled sideways and looked around. There was no sign of what had hit me.

  I shook it off as yet another Outerplane oddity and carried on with my normal morning routine. I returned to my tent after breakfast to change into my work robe and gather supplies for spider collecting before taking down the H of H. Nothing fishy happened when I exited, so I figured it was a temporary issue.

  Not so. I received a scaly slap at random times throughout the day. There was never any sign of what had hit me. A couple of times people were looking directly at
me and saw nothing but my reaction to the blow.

  After a while, I noticed it was more likely to happen when I passed from the backyard to the midway, or when I left my tent, Asena’s motorhome, or the House of Horrors. The latter was extremely inconvenient as I was in and out constantly in my quest to free my house spiders and pack up props.

  By the end of the day, I smelled worse than a dead fisherman in a barrel of chum. Jim Dandy the dog, Bob’s bunny, and Monkey were following me around and rubbing up against me. Everyone else politely found excuses to be elsewhere. Even Herman said the smell was a bit much and he loves fish. I took a shower and did what I could to wash it off. It worked until the next invisible chum attack. I became seriously concerned that I had pissed off an Outerplane sea god.

  What was actually going on hit me at the same time as another invisible fish. I left my tent for my last trek to the bathroom before laying down and smack! It must have been a big one, because it hit my face and shoulder at the same time, knocking me flat. As I lay on the ground, my broom, which had been propped against the canvas by the opening, fell on me. At first, I was angry, but then a distant memory tickled the back of my mind.

  I tested my theory. Grabbing my broom, I stepped outside unmolested. I entered again, and left without my broom. Smack! Another fishy assault. I repeated the process and confirmed it.

  After flipping waaaay back in my diary, I found the entry I was looking for and verified the wording of a hex I had put on myself: “Every time I leave my abode (whatever and wherever that might be) without my broom, a fish will materialize and slap me in the face.” Abode. That was the key.

  The hex had seemed a good idea at the time. It was supposed to ensure that I would never forget my broom. Oh, how naive I had been. Not to mention exhausted and more than a little irritated. It all came about after an epic foot-chase through a valley tracking Pasha, the surprisingly mobile “abode” I had been hired to hut-sit during college break. Good times.