“But you have enough to do it, with the magic you already possessed.” Aurora squeezes my shoulder warmly. “Now, Brundil.”
“Right.” I shift, facing forward again, and close my eyes, returning my focus inward. Once I have my mental fingertips on Aurora’s power, I speak. Even though I use my voice, it feels as though the words are not formed with my breath but, instead, formed by the power within me. “Brundil, I, Faelyn, a humble weaver witch, call upon you with an open heart and good intentions.” As if with a mind of their own, my fingers sink deeper into the earth. “I seek you not only as an ally, but as a friend.”
At first, nothing happens. But I feel a shifting deep within. An unfurling of magic, like a line cast out far, far beyond myself. And then a tug. A connection was made. A metaphorical fish took the bait.
But there is nothing fishlike about the creature that emerges before me.
The ground sags, prompting my eyes to open. The earth has turned to liquid, swirling before me, grasses churning into hard dirt, and richer, deeper soil beneath. And from that primordial churning, a figure rises.
It is childlike in nature. The mighty spirit of the earth looks like a girl no older than ten. Her skin is cracked mud and patches of moss. Her legs are wooden, fingers spindly roots. From her head, long grasses grow, tangling with flowering vines.
She sits before me, cross-legged and head tilted to the side. Her eyes, two smooth river rocks, revolve in their sockets as she looks from Aurora to me.
“I was wondering when you would call on me, Faelyn the witch,” she says finally. Her voice is deep and cracking, like wood splitting the silence of a winter’s day.
“You…know me?” I whisper. Not just because I don’t want anyone else to hear, but also because I am drawn to reverent silence before this primordial creature. Vaguely, I wonder how different Aurora might look and feel when she is freed from hermortal form and reunited with her power. Will she resemble the woman at all as I know her? Even if she doesn’t, I know my heart will recognize her.
“Mary has told me much of you over the years.”
“Is she well?” I immediately ask.
“She is.”
“I’m so glad.” I can’t stop a smile at the mention of my dear friend. “She has always been a good companion to me.”
“And you to her, it would seem.” Brundil’s eyes shift again. “Aurora, it has been some time since you last called upon me.”
“A few millennia, yes. Forgive me, friend.” Aurora releases my shoulders, shifting to my side. “But I could feel you in every sodden earth of summer, every flower-filled day of spring.”
“It is truly a crime against nature itself, what they have done to you.” Brundil reaches out, cupping Aurora’s cheek gently. “I miss our dances.”
“As do I.”
“I am going to restore Aurora’s power,” I dare to interject.
“Says the person who currently holds it.” Brundil releases Aurora and casts a suspicious tone my way.
“It was an accident,” Aurora speaks for me. “Faelyn has only been good to me. I believe her word that she will be the one to finally free me.”
“And when we make our move, I would like to call upon you again,” I say to the earth spirit. “If you would let me.”
Brundil leans back, looking mildly offended. “I am not some minor spirit to be at the beck and call of a little witch.”
“I…” My gaze drops. Little witch. That’s always been the fear, hasn’t it? That everything I am and everything I could be won’t amount to much. The protections I tried to keep for the humans in the Natural World…the barrier so easily shredded.
But my magic wasn’tbad… Quite the contrary. My conversation with Evander returns to me. Not just anyone couldbreak it—it took a lykin, a magical being, with knowledge of witchesandwith the aid of a strong spirit. I try to remind myself of what I have accomplished and sit a little taller.
Meeting Brundil’s eyes with purpose, I say, “Even someone of the least skill, and smallest stature, can do incredible things. I might be a ‘little witch’ but I am also your friend’s ally and currently her best chance to be free. Do not mistake stature for capability.”
The earth spirit tilts her head in the opposite direction.
I continue, “And I would not want you at my ‘beck and call.’ I respect you, Lady Brundil. I wouldn’t waste your time. But I do not think asking you to help us escape would be a waste.”
A slight smile curls her lips. Mud cracks and flakes off to the ground with each of her movements, landing as petals that are instantly decomposed into the soil. She’s a constantly growing and changing spirit.
“The trees and stones of the forest by the redwood offshoot spoke highly of you, as did Mary…and Aurora. I suppose I can put my faith in you, little witch.” When she says it this time, it no longer sounds like an offense. But, rather, a term of endearment.
I reach into the satchel at my side, pulling out my grandma’s—my sewing kit. I take out a length of thread, and hum softly as I loop it around my fingers. I only ever watched Grandma perform this act once. Yet…it’s imprinted on my soul. I know the motions as if on instinct.
