Lovely Witches Club

Magic woke, stretched, yawned into the late afternoon and the peaceful corner of the wood where long it slept. But what prompted its return to awareness? Pink tendrils of power unwound from deep beneath the earth, the crushed needles and heavy moss. Seeking the source of its awakening with gentle curiosity. The sun dappled trees gave way to dark orange light while dusk washed over the forest path. Black robes caught the edges of the remaining illumination in flickers that seemed to absorb into the lush velvet folds, passing over shoulders and cowls, across the tips of the brooms they carried deeper into the quiet of the wood. She led them, flashes of blue satin lining appearing as she moved, her narrow toed shoes gliding over the hard packed red earth, floating as if she barely touched the ground. And though the four figures moved quickly and with seeming purpose, nature didn't shun them or their intrusion. If anything, they were welcomed, observed with ancient delight, sent on with the trill of birdsong and the chattering interest of watching squirrels. Fearless nature was of these women, for they were witches. And the magic of that place exhaled the last trace of sleep, rejoicing in their return. The tallest witch trailed behind, her head down, the lace overlay of her cloak swallowing her completely, despair in the very fabric of her covering, in the carriage of her body. She did not react to the wakening power though it prodded her shoes, tugged at the hem of her robe like a playful kitten. She kept pace instead, mournful, her long, shining hair swinging loose. One pale hand swiftly returned the stray locks to their place within her cowl, as though exposing herself to the world meant failure of her purpose. The power scooted ahead of her, to the next in line. Perhaps here it could gain attention, notice. But she, too, seemed engulfed in sorrow and distraction and the pink mist of the magic's reach sadly shifted forward once more. It felt their loss, their old despair for it was the same as that which put this power to sleep decades ago. Only now did it remember its own grief, though their intrusion in this place that had held silence for so long had to bode well, didn't it? At least more magic glinted from them, from all four, weaving around them, those same sparks of pink drifting from their hands, their lowered faces, sneaking out from within the heavy velvet folds of their robes. Tied to the power of that place if not listening to it just yet. The magic of the wood lingered, bouncing on the path before them like delighted pixies calling the witches onward. If they noticed or delighted in what they summoned none of the focused four showed it, gloom falling over them in feeling as surely as it did from the passing of the sun and the turn over into night. They reached the clearing and the waiting cauldron just as the last of the day's light washed their surroundings in orange and gold. It squatted in silence, the surface rusted, pitted with time and neglect, though it seemed to stir with life as they approached. Yes, here, at the cauldron of life itself, the source of the wakened power they'd jarred from its rest. Here it could connect with them, communicate at last. Without hesitation, the leader waved one hand, fine lines wrinkling over the narrowness of her flashing fingers, those same pink sparks leaping into the huge vessel, bubbling the surface of the liquid within and casting a glow across their faces. The cauldron shuddered while the forest's magic dove within, flakes of red falling free, black freshness replacing the appearance of ruin as it was finally called to its duty once again. It burbled its utter joy. After so long, they had returned. The witches lingered a long moment, hesitating at last though the cauldron's renewal was a welcome. The formed a semicircle of power staring into the dancing depths of the awakened vessel, before, as one, they raised a hand and swept back their cowls from their weary faces. Their leader, the oldest among them, set her jaw, her voice firm and low as she spoke. "I thought it might be long dead." She shook her head, one hand clasping the rim with shaking fingers, pink mist rising to stroke her flesh. So wonderful to have them home again. "This is, I think, the best sign of all we do what must be done. What we've long wanted to do." She looked up, met there sets of waiting eyes. "Begin," she said, words crisp, old lines across her well-worn brow deepening as she leaned forward. "Before I lose my nerve." The power tasted their hesitation, and through it the history that had unwound beyond the moment of the beginning of its quiet sleep. And mourned again the loss of the one who should have nurtured them. Knew at its heart what they did here, what they were about to do, was not to be taken lightly, not by this small cluster of rebels and their need for answers. Not when their quest was as f*******n as their use of magic in this time and place. "There's no nerve to lose." The youngest bit her lower lip, shook her head, her red curls bouncing, nose wrinkling so the freckles there connected. "I don't care what Constance does to me, not now. Not when we're so close to the end. She's no longer my leader." A sharp nod and a frown pulled at the roundness of her pink cheeks, rippling her freckles once again, wide green eyes flashing heady defiance. She giggled then, one hand clamping over her mouth almost instantly. "This is no laughing matter." And yet, those words didn't sound like chastisement from her tall counterpart who'd taken the last position, spoken between purple painted lips. "If we're caught, she'll make sure we suffer for betraying her orders. And that could mean trouble for our covens. Still." Her deep, melodic voice sounded less concerned than perhaps it should if her words were true, her casual shrug and arched eyebrow a clear indication of her lack of worry. "But Constance Cooper lost the right to lead me when she failed to save our Island's magic." They all nodded as one. "And I refuse to allow her to continue to march us to ruin. Especially when, it seems, our power still lives, calls to us, after all this time." She gestured at the happily bubbling cauldron. The last of their number sighed, dark red hair swinging as she bowed her head, amber eyes locked on the churning surface of the vessel before she turned to the eldest of them. "Agnes," she said. "We've all made our choices. And we all stand by you. It's time. If you do this, we will guard you against all comers, including Constance. No matter the consequences." And the magic, despite tradition, rejoiced in their courage. "So mote it be." Agnes cast one last look around the group. "If you're all certain. Vine." The youngest grinned, nodded rapidly, before sagging as though her enthusiasm weren't welcome. But Agnes smiled in return, if with weariness. "Thank you, dear. Rosary?" Again a nod, amber eyes sparking with pink. "And Piper?" The tall, statuesque witch who trailed them to the cauldron didn't comment or even twitch, but Agnes sighed and nodded anyway. "You could go down with me, all three of you. Instead of holding your places as coven leaders." She looked out across the forest clearing. "I should make you all go home." The power of that place gasped its denial, but it didn't need to act. Not when the three witches did its job for it. "We're doomed without change," Rosary said while Piper nodded and Vine hugged herself. "Our Island will not survive much longer. And Constance refuses to do anything to save us that isn't tradition." Snorts all around. "We didn't come here lightly, or to abandon you now. Act or let us leave this ancient place where once our real leader stood proud." "Lilith." Agnes nodded again. The cauldron fell still a long moment and each of them shivered at the sorrowful wind that washed over them. The magic of the forest mourned that name, that loss, in a wash of grief that swayed them like trees in a wind. It passed, the bubbling returning, an eagerness seizing them all when the power renewed its purpose. This was the time for action and it was done sleeping. Without speaking again, Agnes raised both hands over the churning water while it rose in utter joy to greet her waiting touch. "Let us begin." ***