Witch Clan: Matriarchs by John Stormm (best beach reads of all time TXT) 📖

In Abred, their own plane of existence, it would be a warm, sunny summer’s day. Even if it were a rainy day, the bright rays of the sun would find a way to pierce fluffy, bright clouds and dazzle the wet landscape. Here, in Annwn, the morning started cool, foggy and gray, only to become a little less misty and lighter as the day went on. It was still a warm summer day, but overcast and humid beneath the threatening skies. Even the ugly tree canopies were a break from the monotonous monochrome sky. Occasionally, something dark or dun colored and winged would flit amongst the branches and cry out, but Emma was certain they weren’t birds.

Marking their trail with pointing sticks, stacked stones and runes for clarification, Emma led the procession making good progress that morning. They had stopped to eat a sweet pear from their packed stores and drink a little water when they heard the raucous, panicked cries of the unknown winged creatures ahead on the trail. Bringing their light meal to a quick end, they repacked their supplies and moved cautiously up the trail to investigate the disturbance. The trail curved sharply to the right to avoid a tight cluster of strange trees, and rounding the bend, they came upon something wholly unexpected.

A spider web blocked the trail ahead. It stretched about twenty-five feet across the trail to trees on either side, and fifteen feet up into the branches. The squawking and chirruping came from what appeared to be winged pixies in a variety of earth toned hues instead of the brighter, iridescent species of the other planes. The largest of these were only slightly larger of size and wingspan than the average sparrow. A few of these were caught in the web. To Emma's horror, the more the poor creatures struggled, the more entangled they became. Those who had not become entangled, flitted about excitedly chattering at the captives and among themselves. The agitation reached its peak when an extremely efficient looking arachnid, about eighteen inches across scampered nimbly over the web and cut loose one of the captives and carried it back to her funnel shaped hole near the base of the left most tree.

If she wanted to help them, now was the time to try and free some of the creatures from that web. Regardless, she would have to remove it from the trail to pass. As she approached the struggling forms in the sticky strands, the free flying creatures buzzed her angrily and pulled at her hair. Leona did what she could by swinging her staff at them to ward them off.

“I’m only trying to free your friends,” Emma snarled. “You ungrateful imps.”

“Piskies are not pixies, sister.” Elvyra’s voice seemed to surround them. “I’ve been trying to keep track of your progress in my bowl as time allows. These are not the friendly creatures of Gwynvyd, but She-who-waits will stay in her nest until you pass as you are not a part of her natural diet.”

“Thanks, for the timely tip, sister,” she replied. I’ll do what I can here and be on my way.”

She drew her witch blade from under her apron to cut the strands. From the moment the gray twilight struck the blade and glinted its warning, the remaining piskies shot through the trees for cover and squawked their protests from a safe distance. She tried gingerly to cut the remaining piskies free of the web, before attempting to cut the trap loose to clear the path. All were horrified of the approaching blade, and some even tried to bite and claw her as she set them free. The last of these was either unconscious in a dead faint or simply resigned to its fate. She couldn’t tell which, but she cut it loose without any resistance and began cutting the connecting strands to clear the trail as it stood calmly at her feet and cleaned its wings. Moving back up the trail a few yards, she scratched the crow’s foot rune of Protection upside down on a boulder, so that the stem pointed upwards. Moving an equal distance to the other side of the formerly blocked trail she carved the same symbol in a fallen log.

“Why did you make it like that, Grandma?” Leona asked, taking an interest.

“In reading runes for divination,” she explained, “when inverted they have the opposite meaning. Where Eolh, right side up would designate ‘protection’ in some form, being reversed implies ‘the need for protection’ to those who might read it.”

“So, it’s a warning that this spot might not be safe,” Leona surmised.

“Exactly, sweetie,” she replied. “Although, I’m not sure which is really worse, the giant spider or the piskies. Still, the ward will keep us from unpleasant surprises.”

“This one doesn’t seem to want to leave,” Leona said, pointing to the remaining pisky that made it a point to flit to the nearest branches along their way and not join his noisome clan at a safe distance from the intruding humans.

“It seemed like his friends didn’t want them freed from the web,” Emma replied, thoughtfully. “I have no idea how intelligent they may or may not be or what their intentions might be. Our faeries are perplexing enough at the best of times, and I understand them best by watching Johnny. I wonder if they had seen him pass this way, and how he got around that web.”

Her forehead was buzzing like the day her forelock turned white and she sat down on a log with her granddaughter to rest a moment. Was it a result of the pisky bites? She examined her hands for wounds. Nothing she found there was deeper than a minor abrasion at the most. She sparingly poured a little water on her scratches and shared a drink of the sassafras brew with Leona. Looking down on the log beside her, she was surprised by the lone pisky standing there, looking up at her hungrily, but making no move towards her or the skin bag that held his attention. Its nostrils flared for the scent of the sassafras coming from the cap.

“Where are my manners?” she said. “Would you like a drink of this?” She hefted the bag of brew.

He cocked its head, like she had seen her grandson do on so many occasions as he considered something and nodded his head with enthusiasm and wiped his mouth as if he might be salivating. She uncapped the bag and poured a tiny libation in the cap and set it down on the log in front of him. He bowed his head reverently to her and then plunged his face into the cap and drained it. A shiver of excitement spread throughout his tiny body and extended to his sparrow like wings. Originally, she wasn’t sure if they were furred creatures or clothed in odd furs as she cut them loose of all the webbing. The rest had fluttered in her face much too aggressively to make out much detail, but this one beside her gave her pause to examine him in detail. He was about four inches tall, with brown hair and black eyes, dressed in a grayish brown fur tunic that came to his knees. It appeared to be the skin of some sort of mouse. The tunic was belted with a length of tough, dried grass with a two inch, black thorn tucked through the left side along with a tiny pouch.

He was looking at her oddly, head tilting from side to side as her mind buzzed annoyingly. Forcibly relaxing herself from the tension she got from the buzzing, an image of her grandson as though he was being watched from up in the trees filled her mind. He was following a tall, gaunt woman in a long sleeved, green dress that trailed behind her on the forest floor. In her hand, she carried a stick about the size and shape of a baseball bat with an orange glowing orb imbedded in the wood at its top end. It was this she had used to clear away the web from the trail. Looking at the hard packed path, she could spot the small scuffs worn by Johnny’s shoes in places, but not a trace of the tall woman.

“Are you alright, Grandma?” Leona asked timidly.

“Oh, yes, dear,” she said, breaking out of her reverie. “I was communing with our new friend here. We’ll have to make up a name for him so as not to offend him. Got any ideas?”

“I was just thinking of the time Johnny was mocking Grandpa’s ’pesky pecks,’” Leona said, “and thinking how funny it would be to hear Johnny try to say ’pesky piskies’ and was wondering if Gregory Peck had any fae blood in his family. My mom thinks he’s the handsomest actor in Hollywood. How about Gregory the Peck?”

“Well, he’s a handsome little fellow,” she said. “And you haven’t lost your sense of humor. Let’s try some names.”

Emma concentrated on an image of Johnny and spoke his name three times slowly. The pisky nodded. She pointed to Leona, also picturing her and spoke her name likewise, and the creature gave a little bow to her granddaughter. Tapping herself and trying to visualize herself with the new silver lock, she spoke her own name thrice and received a courtier’s bow. Lastly, she pictured the noble creature and spoke his new name three times and he lit on her shoulder and smiled.

“I think we’ve got the names established,” she said, without looking at her granddaughter. “Here’s the test. I want you to gently call his name.”

“Gregory?” Leona asked.

To which the pisky craned to see past Emma to her grandchild as if enquiring of what she might want. Leona offered a sliver of sweet pear from the core she still carried, which was accepted with