Witch Lit: Words from the Cauldron

Witch Lit:

Words from the Cauldron

Witches Who Write

An Anthology

Copyright © 2019 by the respective authors

All rights reserved.

Smashwords edition.

Except as permitted for fair use in reviews, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.

Cover design by Rhea Ruth Aitken.

Original Image Source: Pixabay/Adryanah

Edited by Laura Perry.

Organized, compiled, formatted, and produced by the Witch Lit team: Rhea Ruth Aitken, Sheena Cundy, Laura Perry, and Wendy Steele.

Contents

Introduction

The Pook Project

Empath

The Witch Is not Dead

How to Write a Spell Book

Offerings

Lars

A Familiar Life

The House in the Forest

Witch Calling

A Walk in the Park

A Ghost Story for the Winter Solstice

Birth-Rebirth

Sea Cave

The Forest Witch

The Mwg

The Little Prince

The Naked Magician

The Labyrinth

The Wind Came at Night

The Wish

The Woman in the Purple Coat

Arachne’s Sonnet

The Glass Knight

The Gambler

I Am of Fire

The Butterfly Door

And the Dead Spoke

Introduction

Welcome to Words from the Cauldron, a showcase of magical writing from some of the fabulous authors of the Witch Lit Facebook group. You can find out about each author and their writing at the end of their individual pieces.

Witch Lit is magical writing in all its guises—short story, novel, essay, song and poem. In this anthology, you’ll enjoy a range of short stories and poems, and an insight into the life of a Forest Witch.

Our Facebook group and Twitter presence seek to bring together writers and readers of magical fiction. Follow the links and join us.

This anthology is being sold in aid of Books for Africa—all proceeds go to this charity. We love their simple mission, to collect, sort, ship, and distribute books to students of all ages in Africa, and their goal, to end the book famine in Africa.

If you enjoy this book, we would appreciate you leaving a few lines on Amazon, so other like- minded readers can find us and our writing.

Sit back with a cup of tea in your favourite chair and let the magic begin…

The Pook Project

A Wyrde Woods Tale by Nils Nisse Visser

Joy Whitfield rarely ventured further into the village of Wolfden than she had to. Up and down the Roreford Road to the village school was the extent of it. Not going to school would have been better, Joy reckoned, but that would have meant trouble for her mum. It wasn’t so much the lessons Joy objected to; she just preferred the solace of the Wyrde Woods to being surrounded by people.

It was therefore rare for Joy to walk into Wolfden on a sunny Sunday afternoon out of her own free will. She could feel the stares as she crossed Stone Square in the village’s heart. She could hear the village gossips tut-tutting.

They disapproved of her wild mane of frizzled red hair that refused to stay in place, no matter how often Joy brushed it. They also took offence at the girl’s bare feet and legs. Joy didn’t like shoes much and as it was summer just wore a simple white dress without stockings. Apparently this was wrong for a twelve-year-old, but Joy didn’t know why; she liked the freedom of it.

Joy pretended not to notice the remarks made by the gossips. She didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of knowing that their remarks were hurtful.

Relieved to leave Stone Square behind, Joy made her way toward the West Manor Woods. She began to feel more confident again as she approached Manor Lane.

The street was lined by rows of tiny terraced cottages. The kind that looked homely on postcards but weren’t necessarily pleasant to live in, crammed as they were with large families. Nonetheless, Joy felt more at ease. Folk here were too poor to put on airs and fancy themselves better than others.

The lane was busier than Wolfden’s other streets. Many household activities were conducted on the front door steps, every inch of the small plots out back used to grow greens to supplement meagre war rations.

There weren’t many menfolk about. Most of them had gone off to war or were serving in the Home Guard. Most able-bodied women worked at the munitions factories in the nearby town of Odesby.

That left the elderly to maintain the home front on Manor Lane, as well as a host of youngsters playing hopscotch, tag, hide and seek, and other outdoor games.

There was no traffic. The street didn’t lead anywhere except outlying fields and then through the woods until it ended as the driveway of the abandoned Westwood Manor.

Being a native, Joy had no problem understanding the snatches of Broad Sussex dialect as she passed the houses.

…So I were telling that brabagious draggle-tail twas naun of her purvension, so I were…

…middling tessy, coked at me as if I en-a’most merited a proper bannicking, so I loped away otherwheres…

…why, hullo there young Miss Whitfield!

Joy smiled at the silver-haired woman who had greeted her. How do, Goody Cauldale?

Scratching along, bethanks. Please tell your mum my sister’s leg be healing bettermost.

I’ll do that, Goody Caulfield. I’m sure she’ll be out to look at it somewhen this week.

Joy walked on, happier now. The folk of Manor Lane often appealed to her mum when they were ill or hurt. Not everyone in Wolfden was hostile to the Whitfields; some valued the old healing skills.

The last remnant of unpleasantness from Stone Square was wiped away when Joy spotted Katie, anxiously hovering by a cottage door.

Katie was three years younger than Joy, a shy and timid girl. They were friends of sorts because they both played in the same gang that had regular adventures in the Wyrde Woods. The younger members were in awe of the older ones though, and often kept a distance within the group. Joy had been surprised when Katie had approached her at the end of a day’s play, to ask Joy to come and look at something in the West Manor Woods. She hadn’t said what it was, but made clear it was important for her.

The younger girl’s impish face burst into delight when she saw Joy.

Joy! You came!

’Course I did; you asked me to. Joy shrugged, as if walking through the gossip’s lair on Stone Square had been of no concern. It didn’t matter now. Katie’s delight at seeing Joy more than made up for it. So what did you want me to look at?

₰₰₰₰₰₰₰

Katie led Joy out of Wolfden, along a dirt road with the woods to their left and fields to their right. Joy was beginning to wonder if they’d walk all the way to the abandoned manor, when Katie indicated a narrow path leading out of the sunshine and into the wood’s shade.

Late flowering rhododendrons reached overhead to form a protective roof over the path. A heavy, sweet fragrance pervaded the air.

The girls passed an elegant statue of a woman, draped in a long gown and covered almost entirely in moss, a forlorn ghost of days long past. Joy saw orbs float around the green lady’s torso and smiled, whispering a greeting.

Shortly thereafter the path led into a more open part of the woods. Joy looked around curiously. She had never been to this corner of the Wyrde Woods. The woodlands here were mixed, a curious combination of exotic trees planted a long time ago, and native trees which had begun to encroach the once well-maintained parkland.

What do you think? Katie asked eagerly.

Think about what?

This! And that! Those! Katie pointed at the bases of nearby trees. These! We’ve been making them for months now.

Oh! Joy exclaimed. Everywhere she looked, she could see tiny doors. Some were no more than rectangles of waste-wood, crudely painted in bright colours and propped up against tree trunks. Others were meticulous works of art, complete with a door-knob, a spy-window, and even door frames. These latter were the type of thing wood-working and indulgent grandfathers could be relied on to make.

Joy made her way to the nearest one, finely crafted, and knelt next to it. She looked up at Katie, who had followed her. Other children were drifting towards them.

Some people say it’s silly, Katie said apologetically.

Grown-ups? Joy asked.

Katie nodded and Joy scowled.

Typical.

Joy opened the tiny door. The triangular cavity behind the door wasn’t empty. Someone had laid a soft carpet of moss on the ground and left a glass marble, a tin soldier, and a boiled sweet in the middle of the miniature den.

Joy felt the thrilling tickle of goose bumps rising on her arms and legs. A delicious shiver swept through her.

Do all of them… Joy’s arm swept in a broad circle. …leave things behind the doors?

Yes, Katie answered. "We leave them toys and treats, so they don’t get bored. But…"

…Grown-ups say it’s silly. Joy carefully closed the little door and rose to her feet to face Katie.

A dozen boys and girls, most of them younger than Katie, had gathered around. They were all looking at Joy with wary respect.

Dawning realisations swirled through Joy’s mind. These youngsters were honouring the forest spirits in a fashion that mirrored centuries of tradition. Nobody had told them to do it. It was pure intuition. In doing so they had summoned a level of magic. It wasn’t much, nowhere near the powerful envelopment at the sacred places deeper in the Wyrde Woods, but tangible enough for Joy to sense it all around her.

Joy reckoned that even well-meaning adults, like Joy’s mother and the Guardians of the Wyrde Woods, underestimated the magical potency of the young. The elders seemed to think that children were too inexperienced to know much, but Joy suspected that it was often adults who were blind to things children could perceive.

The whole was a notion which Joy found near impossible to put into words, much to her frustration.

Patience, Joy’s mum would say. You’re still only an apprentice; your time will come.

Only an apprentice!

Joy knew it to be true, but also felt she was far more than that. She had perceived the magic of the Wyrde Woods for as long as she could remember, but over the last few years had discovered that she was able to change its fabric and manipulate the very essence of it.

Her first experiments had been small ones, accompanied by her own astonishment. Now Joy was tackling increasingly ambitious challenges with growing confidence. Unguided, because Mum and the Guardians didn’t deem Joy ready. She knew she shouldn’t, but most of the time Joy couldn’t help it; the urge would simply become too great. It was a deep yearning that threatened to overwhelm her, one that would only subside for a while if Joy gave in to further exploration of her powers.

Why should I wait until I’m older? The magic might be gone then…

Well? Katie’s voice drew Joy out of her reveries.

Well what? Joy asked, readjusting to the here and now.

She took in Katie’s hopeful face, and the eager expectancy that could be read in the expressions of the others.

Joy was struck by the notion that Katie had told these youngsters to expect Joy’s visit. They seemed to be looking to her for answers, perhaps to quell doubts planted by adults.

Joy had never found herself in this position before, but she had seen Mum, outside of their cottage in the woods, receiving groups of women from nearby farms and villages. They would come to seek Mum’s advice and look at Mum the way Katie’s friends looked at Joy now.

You’re still only an apprentice.

Mum’s voice, cautioning patience.

Am I, though?

There was a cycle to everything, an endless circle. Offerings made to the ancient deities and spirits that were part of the living landscape. The seer—wise woman or man—consulted in matters of the Unseen, because there were always a few who could see what others couldn’t, for whom the invisible world was as clear as daylight. A person like Joy’s mum, who presided over the rituals conducted in moonlight by those who followed the Old Ways.

In the eyes of these children, it was Joy who fulfilled that role. They would have distrusted any adult in this matter. Led once again by intuition, they looked to Joy for guidance.

Joy could not deny the pride that swelled within her chest. These children had set in motion an experience that would tie them to the land… and bind them to guardianship over the woods in the future. Her elders might not deem Joy ready, but the children of Manor Lane did.

You’ve done well, Joy told the children. Bettermost.

There were sighs of relief, followed by smiles.

One little boy still looked anxious. "Will they like them?"

The Pooks, Katie clarified. Do you think Pooks will come to visit?

Joy looked around at the many tiny doors. She hid a smile when she contemplated the larger types of Pooks that lived deep in the Wyrde Woods. They’d be puzzled by the small spaces behind the doors, hardly large enough to fit one of their paws or hooves. There were other Pooks though, the small, jittery, squeaky ones who were easily excitable and would love the garish colours, the gifts, and the attention.

Yes, Joy said. The Pooks will love this. I reckon they’ve come already somewhen.

As if on cue, there was rustling in nearby bushes, a glimpse of furtive movement… could be a rabbit or a squirrel… but Joy knew better.

Looking at the pleasure reflected on the faces around her, she was glad that she had come.

₰₰₰₰₰₰₰

Joy had less cause to smile on her way back home. She strode across Stone Square confidently, empowered by her visit to the West Manor Woods. Her way was barred though, by a cluster of gossips led by Mrs. Hare, the chairwoman of Wolfden’s Christian Ladies Society. Mrs. Hare wasn’t a large woman, only slightly taller than Joy, but she had a fierce-some presence. She blocked Joy’s way, hands on her hips, a scornful scowl on her narrow face, and her eyes shining with malice.

Joy came to a halt, her confidence rapidly ebbing away in the face of the hostility she didn’t really understand. As far as Joy knew, she had never been rude to these women, nor caused them any harm. Still, they resented her with an intensity that was frightening.

Joy’s mum said that things had always been this way, and it was best to ignore them, but that wasn’t possible when they barred the way.

You’ve been out to the West Manor Woods, no doubt. Mrs Hare sniffed haughtily.

Yes, I have. Joy forced herself to make eye contact, and spoke slowly to