A Witch, A Glitch, and A Dog

by J. E. Lezah

“The opening ceremonies had such a fanfare, I just assumed the games would as well.”

  Snapdragons. She hadn’t thought of anything elaborate for the games. She ducked her head doing her best to avoid Jacob and his flashing red light. “Tempest, a witch can’t give away all her secrets,” Aldara chortled. Especially when I don’t have any.

  Aldara beamed as she stood on the podium next to her father. Once she was able to shake Tempest and her camera guy, she made quick of ticking items off her to do list. She double checked her list making sure all items were checked off. Now the only thing left to do was signal the Exemptor Portice to call for contestants for the first event: the Witching Tug of war.

  The biggest problem with Witching Tug of War was how often the participants wanted to cheat. Often they would try to slip a giant or event an ogre onto their roster. Due to this, in a controversial move by the Grand Conclave both ogres and giants were banned from participating in that specific event. Unless, both competing teams could secure either one or the other to be on their team.

  Aldara’s favorite event was the dragon races. She had always wanted to jockey for the event, but her mother always felt it too dangerous. She could only imagine how freeing it must be to sit atop the majestic creatures and soar through the sky. Sure Aldara had ridden brooms and the occasional flying carpet or two, but not a dragon. For her, that would be the ultimate.

  “Are you ready, Aldara?” her father whispered in her ear.

  “Yes, father. I believe we are.” She smiled up at him.

  “Then let us begin.” Keene nodded to the Exemptor Portis who struck the end of his staff against the stage three times sending a cannon blast of sound across the field.

  “Witches, wizards and honored guests,” Horace began. His voice resounding for all to hear. “The witching games are a time honored event among our folk. But before we begin, I have been asked by our Supreme Regent to remind each of you of a few rules.”

  Aldara dropped her head trying to hide her amusement at the chorus of hisses Horace received at the mentioning of the rules. The fact of the matter was witching game rules were more suggestions than hard fast rules. First and foremost of which, was no cheating.

  Horace continued. “No spell casting, no enchantments, no feeding your opponents or their dragons bewitched food or drink. That goes double for you Little Wendt.”

  The crowd roared in raucous laughter, cheering and jeering at the mention of the head of the Australian clan.”

  “As day is long, I swear my innocence,” Little Wendt yelled from somewhere in the middle of the crowd.

  Aldara found it hard to believe Horace had the nerve to call out Little Wendt in front of everyone. Although she had not been there for the incident in question, Aldara’s sisters took great pleasure in retelling what a spectacle it truly was.

  According to Zoe and Zerlina, Little Wendt, gave each of his opponent’s dragons a side of mutton dosed with a sleep potion the morning of the race. Before the horn could even sound for the dragons to take off, they were fast asleep on the starting line. All but Little Wendt’s, that was.

  For the poor creatures, the herbs used in the potion gave them horrific flatulence. The noxious odor of thirteen farting dragons filled the air, causing most all of those in attendance to become ill. Not only did the dragons release fumes, but also sparks. Fire shot from beneath the dragons tails, causing them to flip their tails and bodies around to stare at their butts every time they passed gas. That year, the remaining games were canceled due to the fumes. This incident was also the number one reason the dragon races were now the last event of the day.

  The head dragon trainer had been so furious, he demanded Wendt and his clan be banned from the races altogether. After an impromptu meeting of the conclave, the decision was made that Wendt and his clan would be suspended from participation in the games for three years.

  “Enough talking,” someone shouted.

  Horace held up his hands for silence. “Very well. Our first event will be the Cauldron Fling. Remember, the cauldron must make it from the starting line to the finish line without touching the ground. How you do that is up to you. Only standard five gallon cauldrons are to be used, all others will be disqualified. Now, please bring your caldrons to the scale for weigh-in.

  Aldara positioned herself by the scale. Her father thought it would be an excellent opportunity for her to be seen by the witching community. She wanted to tell him there was little need of her to be seen by the witching community considering she would not be taking his place, but she figured it was best not to start a family argument in front of others.

  One by one the representatives of each clan made their way to the scale. Aldara had arranged for a group of troubadours, acrobats, and jugglers to entertain the crowds while they waited. From time to time she would glance around. She was relieved to find the crowd laughing and singing along with the performers. Some even joined in showing their own prowess at fire eating and sword swallowing.

  “Don’t forget the pie eating contest,” she reminded Horace.

  “Oh, yes, yes.” Horace struck the podium again with his staff. “While waiting, if any want to join in the Screaming Cherry pie eating contest, please proceed to the tent near the finish line on the North East corner. The contest will begin in twenty minutes. The countdown starts now.”

  Aldara noticed the inquisitive look on Horace’s face. “Aldara,” he whispered from the corner of his lips. “Where’s the clock?”

  “The what?”

  “The official time clock. Where is it?”

  Aldara’s eyes widened. No one had told her she needed one of those. Luckily, it was a problem easily resolved. She’d just whip one up. Taking her wand from inside the top of her boot, Aldara swept the wand forward. “Temporus Totalis.”

  Sparks sputtered from the tip of her wand. A stop watch, about the size of a bottlecap, materialized in the air and fell with a “plink” to the ground. She stared at the miniscule item, before stooping to pick it up.

  “What in Merlin’s pointy hat is that?” Horace asked. His tone drenched in disapproval.

  “I’m…I’m not sure.”

  “Well, that’s not going to work. We need a huge clock and tote board to boot. Not whatever that thing is.”

  “Right. Of course. Just a bit of nerves,” She chortled, trying to play off her rising anxiety. Again she waved her wand. “Temporus Totalis Maximus.” More sparks shot from the wand, and then, nothing.

  “What are you playing at, young lady?”

  “I don’t know. I mean, nothing.” She looked at the end of her wand. A wand couldn’t go bad. Could it? “Rats, bats and crickadats. She exclaimed in frustration, shaking her wand up and down.

  An eerie silence flowed through the crowd, while overhead gray clouds billowed over head. Lightening streaked across the sky, preceding deafening thunder. The clouds opened up and began to pour not only water but rats, bats, and crickets on the unsuspecting crowd below. Screams mixed with the thunder, as the witches ran for cover.

  “What have you done?” Delano hissed in her ear, as he pulled her out of the way. She had no idea where he had come from or how he had gotten so close.

  She heard his voice and that of her father shouting to each other over the cacophony of squeals, shrieks, and screams. The two wizards chanted in unison, forcing the clouds into a tornado, sucking up the vermin and collapsing in on itself.

  Slow applause began, soon erupting into shouts and cheers in recognition of Delano and her father. Keene turned to his daughter. “Aldara, I think you need to return to Shadowfield.”

  “What about the games?”

  “Horace and Delano will see they continue as planned.

  Tears stung the backs of her eyes. “But father.”

  “Come, Aldara,” he insisted, reaching his hand toward her.

  “I can do it myself.”

  “I’m not sure you can.”

  Indignation rose within her. Her father all but said he had no f
aith in her magic or her ability to find her way home. Aldara fought the urge to stomp her foot, and remind him she was a grown witch, capable of taking care of herself. But the truth was, she kind of agreed with him.

  “Fine,” she huffed and took her father’s hand.

  Keene swirled his hand above their heads. “To the study.”

  The world spun around her. Aldara pressed a hand to her mouth, hoping to hold back the wave of nausea climbing in her throat. Keeping her eyes tightly shut, she willed her legs not to collapse as they landed inside of Shadowfield.

  ***

  “High Priestess, you summoned me?” The newest initiate of the Daughters of LeFay asked as she entered the darkened room of the Almost Forgotten Tower. The robed figure of the High Priestess remained with her back to the door.

  “How goes your offering?”

  “I shall have everything I need by tomorrow evening.”

  The High Priestess turned. Her face covered in shadow. “Good. The moon will be at its fullest then. The perfect time to finish what you have started. Do you feel the pull of the tides sister?” Before the initiate had time to answer the High Priestess continued. “The Sisters and I have been speaking about you and your offering.”

  The initiates hand flew to her throat. “About me?” she gulped.

  “The Coven feels it’s best that we should be present to witness the end of Aldara Hasting’s magic.”

  “But High Priestess, how would that be possible? My final interview with her is at the studio. Surely all of you wouldn’t want to be there. And what about my crew? You wouldn’t want them to see you. Would you?”

  The High Priestess raised a hand for silence. “Sister Storm, do you want to take your place as a Daughter of LeFay? To hopefully, one day take my place as the High Priestess?”

  “Yes, High Priestess.”

  “Then you would be best served to not go against the wishes of the Coven.”

  “Yes, High Priestess.”

  The elder witch produced her wand from inside the sleeve of her cloak. “We will meet here, in a days time. Then we shall all bear witness as final bit of magic is drained from Aldara Hasting’s body.” With a flick of her wand, the High Priestess was gone.

  14

  “Call for Rosethorne!” Magnie’s voice rang throughout the halls of Shadowfield.

  Aldara reached for her father, grabbing the edge of his sleeve. “Father, tell her I’m fine. There’s no need to call for the Hedge Witch.”

  “I trust your mother in this. I’m sure whatever ails you, Rosethorne will be more than able to mend.”

  Aramanthia Rosethorne was the eldest of the village Hedge Witches. She and her coven cultivated the medicinal herbs for the whole of Hexestadt. Whenever anyone was ill, they went to see the Hedge Witches.

  But Rosethorne was THE Hedge Witch. She walked the border between the physical world of magic and the ethereal world of magic. She could see things others could not, nor would even dare to. If Aldara’s mother thought Rosethorne was needed, then she must have suspected something more than a common cold.

  Aldara closed her eyes in an attempt to will away stabbing pain behind her right eye. Placing her cheek against the smooth leather of her father’s chair, Aldara focused on the coolness of the leather and the scents of sage and Palo Santo wafting through the air. She made a mental note to burn more of it when she returned home. Maybe that would get rid of whatever the shadow was lurking around her house.

  Something cold and wet nudged her hand. She didn’t have to open her eyes to know Ismarelda was close at hand. Warm puffs of air brushed across her knuckles prompting Aldara to rub the pups head. “It’s okay, Marelda. Mom’s just a bit under the weather.

  No sooner had she said the words, than a small storm cloud appeared above her head. The first drops of rain forced her from the chair. What in the world was happening to her. Being home should cause her magic to get stronger, not go wonky. “Oh, rats, bats, and crickadats,” she blurted out.

  “Aldara, no!” She heard her mother’s command from across the room, but it was too late.

  The first cricket landed getting tangled in her dampened hair. Followed by a swooping bat or two, and then the rats. Soon the room began filling with the creatures she had inadvertently called.

  Ismarelda barked wildly chasing first the rats then the crickets, and occasionally leaping at the bats. Leggero and Scuro joined in the chase running this way and that after the rats. Tears of anger and frustration rain down her cheeks as she looked about the room at her mother trying to wrangle the ferrets, the servants trying to grab the bats, but it was her father that frustrated her the most.

  Keene stood in the middle of the room, his gentle grey eyes turn black as midnight. His disappointment in her evident. He reached into his robe, producing his wand. “Vicissim retro commeant,” he said, twirling his wand in a clockwise motion. Spinning it faster and faster until a small tornado appeared sweeping into it all the unwanted insects and animals she had called forth.

  The windows to the study flung open. With steadied steps, Keene walked the tornado and its contents through the windows and into the yard.

  Aldara couldn’t help but yelp as the windows banged shut. She only had one nerve left and everything was trying to stand on it. She sniffed and looked to her parents. She wanted to say something, but she feared opening her mouth again. The settee let out a squeak as she fell back onto it. Leaning forward a rat ran out from behind her, jumping across her lap, only to be snatched up by the lanky woman who appeared next to her.

  “Looks as though I missed all the fun,” she chuckled, holding the rat up by its tail, studying it.

  Aldara felt her mother come near. “Aramanthia, thank you for coming.”

  “Pish-posh,” Aramanthia said, as she placed the squirming rat into a small leather pouch at her waist. “Now what seems to be the problem? Eh?”

  With her crooked nose and stooped shoulders, Aramanthia Rosethorne was the classic crone. With a huff, Aramanthia scuttled near, and Aldara fought the urge to move away. For someone so petite, the witch held an energy that was stronger than any she had felt.

  Aramanthia settled next to Aldara, her faded green skirt with its multitudinous fold threatened to swallow them both. “Now, child. Give me your hands.”

  Aldara hesitated. Whether diamage or witch, she hated going to the doctor. They always wanted to poke and prod you, then give you some horrible tasting concoction.

  It had been more than a hundred years, and still the taste of Miss Valerian’s Calming Tincture for Witchlings. The taste was emblazoned in her mind. It tasted like stinky feet smelled. Her hand to the Goddess it tasted like stinky feet.

  Not only did it smell and taste bad, but the taste lingered for three days. If you had to go to school it was terrible because all the other kids called you stink breath. Talk about embarrassing. The only saving grace was it happened to all witchlings, not just her.

  Aldara grimaced as she swallowed, trying to clear her mind and mouth of the memory of the taste. But, it wasn’t a memory. She was actually tasting Miss Valerian’s Tincture. What next? Not only were her spoken words causing backwards spells, but now it was her thoughts as well. Burying her face in her hands, Aldara cried all the more.

  “There, there child,” Aramanthia cooed, pulling Aldara’s hands into hers. “There’s nothing to cry about.” The crone plundered into the many pockets of her skirt producing a tape measure, notepad and pencil, and a magnifying glass.

  Aldara found it a rather odd combination of items, but she had to trust Aramanthia knew what she was doing.

  She unfurled the tape measure. “Now, lean your head toward me.”

  Aldara sniffed, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. She felt her mother tap the back of her shoulder. “Fine,” Aldara grumped. Tightness banded around her head, and she could tell Aramanthia was measuring her skull.

  “Very good. Very good,” Aramanthia mumbled to herself as she wrote something in her notebook
.

  “Now then, let me see your eyes.” With magnifying glass in hand, Aramanthia leaned in.

  To say she was apprehensive was an understatement, especially after the head measuring thing. Aramanthia’s eye grew to twenty times it’s normal size behind the glass. She moved from one eye to the other, prying Aldara’s eye lids as open as possible.

  “Umm hmm. Very interesting,” she said. “Tsk. Tsk. Tsk.” She shook her head, returning the magnifier back to her skirt.

  “Do you know what’s wrong with her?”

  “Yes. I do.”

  “What is it? What do I have?” Aldara begged for answers.

  “You have leeches.”

  “Leeches? You mean a bug. Like a virus. Right?”

  “A bug would be easy to get rid of, but this. This is dark magic and can only be broken by the one who cast it.”

  Keene stepped in between the two women. “You mean to say, someone did this to her?”

  “Yes. Most definitely.”

  “But what does it mean?” Aldara asked trying her best to ignore her father’s presence.

  “The leeches have attached to your third eye and your solar plexus chakras, and they are slowly syphoning your magic from you.”

  “Well get them out.”

  “I can’t. The only person who can do that is the witch or wizard what cast the spell.”

  “How do we do that? I know of no one that would want to hurt me.”

  “Fewahl,” Keened said through gritted teeth. “Would he do such a thing?”

  Aramanthia tilted her head. “Doubtful,” she answered. “But I never rule out anyone.”

  This couldn’t be happening. She didn’t know anyone into dark magic. It couldn’t be possible.

  “That is why they call it dark, my child. It stays hidden in the shadows, using them to cloak their true desires. Sometimes it’s the ones we least expect.”

  “Or maybe it’s the ones that are obvious,” Keene said, and with a flourish of his robes he was gone.

  “Well then,” Aramanthia rose. “It seems my work is done.”