by John Conroe
“Look at you, getting it right the first time,” she exclaimed, her pleased surprise real and sincere.
Eager for praise, I jumped to the next one, and the one after. I stumbled a bit on that one, rushing my plea and yanking instead of coaxing. The plant, a carpetweed, broke off. I glanced up to see if she’d noticed my mistake. She had, but she just raised a single eyebrow and nodded for me to get on with it.
“Mr. Weed, I’m sorry I broke you. If I help you go back together, can you move to my yard?” I asked, concentrating on the plant being whole. This time, the roots came out in one piece, the broken stem fused back together. I showed my mom, but her eyes were again wide with surprise, but it wasn’t the pleased kind.
“I’m sorry, Mama. I didn’t mean to break it,” I said, waiting for her disappointment.
Her eyes got even wider but then her shock swiftly changed to something warm and soft and she wrapped me in a hug. “I know ye didn’t, lad. But tell me, how did you put it right?”
“I gave it some magic, just a little, onna account I broke it. It was just a little,” I said, holding up my thumb and finger a little apart like I’d seen both her and Aunt Ash do.
“Truly ye are me blessing, Declan O’Carroll, a gift from the goddess herself,” she said, squeezing me in the best hug ever.
“Should I do more weeds, Mama?”
“I should say so,” she exclaimed as she reluctantly released me. “But Declan, what ye did with the plant was uncommon. It’s a thing to be very careful with. Very careful, do ye hear?”
“Why, Mama?”
“Have we talked about the Threefold Rule, lad?” she asked.
I shook my head.
“It’s a very, very important rule ye must always follow—always!” she said, holding up her index finger, which meant it really was serious. “The Threefold Rule says that whatever a witch puts out into the world, they get three times as much back.”
“What’s three times?” I asked.
“This is one.” She held up a finger on her right hand. “This is three,” she said, holding up three fingers on the other. “Right?” she asked.
I nodded because everyone knew that.
“What’s this?” She held up two fingers.
“Two.”
She nodded. “How many do I have if I have three twos?” she asked, tapping the two fingers with her other hand, then unfolding two more fingers for a total of four, then held up two fingers on the other hand.
I counted. “Six?”
“Right ye are! So if you give me two and I give you back threefold, how many will you get?”
“Sixxxx,” I ventured slowly.
“Yes. Because threefold two is six. Your teacher in school will say it three times two, and you’ll learn more about it there, but for now all you need to know is that if you put out magic, either good or bad, you’ll get back a whole lot more of the same. Do you understand?”
“I don’t do bad magic, Mama,” I said, frowning.
“No, you don’t, Declan, because you’re not that kinda witch, now are ye?”
“No, Mama.”
“But even putting out things that might seem good can be trouble for a witch, laddie. What if you gave every weed in this garden a little magic? What would happen?”
“They would grow?”
“Grow and grow and grow. Now, ye dinna do a wrong thing, ‘cause ye was fixing your mistake, but what should ye have done in the first place?”
“Gone slow and not broke the plant,” I said.
“Right ye are,” she said with a nod. “Now let’s go slow and sure and get our garden clean and healthy.”
“But Mama, I hear you talk to the good plants too.”
“Aye lad, so I do. Talking, like we been doing, is a fine way to give jest a wee bit o’ magic to our work, ye see? A wee bit to get the weed out, and a wee bit to keep the vegetable healthy and strong.”
I worked alongside her till she was satisfied, then we took the weeds and sprinkled them throughout the yard. She said that if they could take root then they deserved to grow. I didn’t think she liked Kentucky Bluegrass although it was green, and I didn’t know what Kentucky was.
After garden duty, I helped her cook a dinner for all of us including Aunt Ash, using mostly plants that we had picked ourselves. During dinner, she recounted to Ash our gardening adventures and Craft lessons, which earned me a surprised glance from my aunt.
“He’s learning the Threefold Rule,” Mama said, which caused Ash to turn and look at her very quickly.
“Well, now, I should think it a proper thing for our sharp scamp to be learning. Not too soon at all,” Aunt Ash said in a way that made me think she meant the opposite.
“Well, he already knows that a witch seeks restraint and balance in all Crafting,” Mother said.
The word Crafting triggered my memory. “Mama, you said you would teach me something else… a trick?” I asked.
“Well now, so I did. It’s a clever thing and ye won’t be good at it right away, but if ye practice and take your time, it’s great fun. Your Auntie Ash and I played it many times when we were jest girls.”
“When you were my age?” I asked.
“Maybe just a bit older. Now let me show ye,” she said, reaching out and grabbing some dirt from the nearest of many, many houseplants. She cupped the dirt in her hand and focused her attention on it. Instantly I felt magic rising around the room, and she began to glow to my Sight. The golden glow grew around her head and torso, then flowed rather suddenly down her right arm and into the pile of dirt.
The soil shuddered, then began to move about on the flat surface of her palm. It rose into a mound, which shifted in shape, forming a little round head, a visible body, and even legs and arms. I’m sure my eyes were huge as I leaned close to the little dirt person. It began to walk, and I think I just about lost my mind.
The figure walked across her hand, a bit raggedly at first but quickly smoothing out its gait. Mama moved her hand to the tabletop and it jumped down next to her plate. A couple specks of dirt fell off and Aunt Ash made a tsking sound. Mama shot her a look, then rolled her eyes at me with a grin. The little person bent over and touched each particle of fallen soil, reabsorbing it into its form.
“Can you do it too, Aunt Ash?” I asked, bouncing in my seat.
“Yeah Ash, can ye still conjure up your air devil?” Mama asked her, grinning.
My aunt’s slightly disapproving expression vanished at the challenge, her eyebrows raising almost to her hairline.
“Oh, ye think I forgot, do ye?” she asked. Power flowed around her and I watched closely. My aunt was an Air witch, not Earth and Fire like Mama and me. Anytime she used magic, I was fascinated.
The calm air of the living room suddenly came alive, swirling around us, flicking our hair before moving close to the big pillar candle at the center of the table. The flame went out, a tendril of white smoke rising steadily from the still-glowing wick. The smoke stopped climbing four inches above the candle, forming into a ball as more and more sooty plumes joined it.
“That’s more than enough,” Mama said and I felt a pulse of power flick to the candle, which relit itself.
“Hmpf,” Ash said, giving her a mock glare and winking at me. The ball of smoke shifted about, turning and twirling in on itself, compacting and forming new shapes. Wings appeared, smoky and gray, then a body and head, complete with long, flowing white hair. It was a little woman, with tiny curves and delicate features. The wings began to flap and the smoky female suddenly flew straight at me.
I didn’t move a muscle, confident even at six that my aunt’s magic would never harm me. The girl of smoke flew all around me, then dove at my mother’s dirt person, who had also taken on a female form, although not so delicate of feature.
“Can I do it? Can I?” I asked, suddenly beside myself with the need to get in on this game.
“I don’t know, lad. Can ye?” Mama asked. I recognized the same challenge she had thrown
at Aunt Ash.
I grabbed a clump of dirt and held it in my hand.
“Use your other hand, laddie, the Pushing hand,” Mama suggested.
Chagrined, I dumped the soil from my left into my right. I knew better than to use my receiving hand for channeling but in my defense, this was about the coolest thing I had ever seen, and I was overexcited.
I focused on the grains of earth in my palm, but my excitement had my thoughts fluttering like Ash’s smoke girl’s wings. Taking a breath like they had each shown me, I held it for a second, then let it out slowly, my focus drilling down on the particles of rock and organic matter. Seconds ticked by as I fell into the dirt, feeling each grain with some part of my mind. A picture of a little dirt boy appeared in my head and the grains in my hand shifted and jumped. I added details to the image and the soil began to rise up into first a mound, then almost a cylinder. Legs split apart at the lower half, then tiny arms each raised to the side. He had no face, his body straight up and down, his head just a round lump, but he was real, and he was moving.
Beside me, I sensed my mother and aunt exchanging a glance, but I was too focused on my dirt person to pay any attention. They were always giving each other looks whenever I did anything, and I had stopped trying to figure out what each meant. At that moment, feeling my dirt guy begin to walk, however clumsy, was amazing.
“I’m doing it!” I yelled and he fell apart, still in my hand.
“That ye did, kiddo,” my aunt said, reaching out to rub my hair. “Aww now, there’ll be none of those long faces, ye hear? Ye did clever Craft jest now and ye should be honored that the goddess has favored ye so,” Ash admonished and encouraged at the same time.
“We dinnae start this game till we were eight and nine, so listen to your aunt and put away your disappointment,” my mama said. “There is nothing for it but to do it again.”
So, I did. And I did it every day after that, at least once I was done with my garden chores, had helped in the restaurant, completed my daily reading practice, and practiced my control exercises. The last were never to be forgotten or skipped. Fifteen minutes of just sitting, breathing, and pulling in the tendrils of magic that constantly slipped out of me and into the world around me. It was a practice I had started so long ago that I couldn’t remember a day when I didn’t do it. It started small, just a minute or so, then gradually grew to a full fifteen minutes every day.
Mama made me spend even more time at it and six months later, I was responsible for a full forty minutes of control time, but afterward, I got to spend hours playing the game that I had come to call Wytchwar.
I was only allowed to play and practice inside our back barn, within the warded circle that I had laboriously helped my mother make. Each day’s fun began with a careful renewal of the runes around the circle’s edge. My mother had been adamant that not a trace of power could ever leave that circle or the game would be banned.
“What have ye done now, lad?” My mother asked upon entering the barn where I was playing.
“I’m making other players, Mama. This is going to be a dragon,” I said, pointing at the sticks and wire I was working on.
“Hmm, that’s pretty advanced, boyo. Can ye do it?” she asked.
“He’s just another kind of dirt guy.”
“Well, I guess he is at that. Now, enough of this. You have a party to go to.”
“Oh, Rory’s. I forgot,” I said, thinking of my friend. My only friend. I looked at the game course and turned to my mother, mouth opening to ask. One look and my mouth closed on its own.
“Aww, Declan. Ye know ye can’t show your friend your game. We’ve talked about it, right?”
“But Rory won’t tell,” I said.
“Maybe not on purpose, but your friend Rory has a tendency to get excited, now doesn’t he?” she asked. It was true; Rory got kind of wordy when he got excited. He liked to tell people how much he knew, and he knew a lot. If a regular person were to say that magic wasn’t real and Rory had seen me do magic, well, nothing would be able to stop him from correcting that person, even if they were an adult. Especially if they were an adult.
Mother led me out of the barn and toward the restaurant. “Now get ready for the party. I have to take a trip, so Aunt Ash will be taking ye and ye’ll behave for your aunt now, won’t ye?”
“Of course he will,” Aunt Ash said, standing in the doorway. “But I wish you would rethink this trip, Maeve. I don’t like it at all.”
“Mama, you should listen to Aunt Ash,” I said, suddenly worried. “She knows things.”
“Aye lad, she does. But she doesn’t know everything. This is an important trip. Now let’s get ready.”
We got me set for the party, wrapped present in hand, and Mama kissed and hugged me goodbye. I never saw her again.
***
“What are ye working on, lad?” my aunt asked.
“Nothing, Aunt Ash. Just got tired of flying my dragon and running my dirt dude at the same time. I’m trying to get Draco to do it on his own.”
“Draco, is it?” she asked absently, her eyes locked on the kitten-sized flying dragon that was circling above my game course. “How is he flying then?”
“I copied some of your spells onto his wings,” I said, smiling at my dragon. My aunt’s head whipped around, her expression shocked.
“Did I do something wrong?” I asked, worried I would be banned from my game.
“Make the wee devil land and show me what ye did,” she ordered.
“Draco, here!” I said, holding up my arm. The little dragon swooped in and alighted on my arm; his metal talons carefully locked around the skin instead of sinking into it. I held him up for her inspection.
She was silent as she studied the little model that sat frozen in place. She reached a finger out to touch a set of runes and the small draconian head turned to look at her, freezing her in place.
“He won’t hurt you, Aunt Ash. He only hunts dirt dudes,” I said.
She looked from the dragon to me, her expression worrying me. “He grinds them up with those claws then, does he?”
“Well, yes. Sometimes he burns them though,” I confessed.
“Burns, you say? Jest what are ye talking about here, boy?” That tone sounded like trouble.
“Um, nothing bad. But he’s a dragon… They have to breathe fire. I put the charcoal thing inside him.”
“Best show me, boy.” The continued use of boy was bad.
I walked over to my supply box and picked out a piece of charcoal briquet I had liberated from our grilling supply. It was the kind presoaked in lighter fluid. The piece I offered to Draco was marble-sized. The dragon turned his head and snapped the offering in a single quick motion that caused my aunt to suck in a sharp breath.
“Draco. Burn,” I said, pointing to the dirt dude I was currently using. The dragon launched from my arm and swept up into the rafters of the barn before banking tightly and racing toward the ground. I made the dirt person run, but he was too slow to escape Draco. A small but significant cone of fire streamed from the dragon’s tiny mouth, enveloping the dirt dude and turning his exterior black. The dragon swooped around and landed back on my still outstretched arm. The dirt dude kept running but clumps of blackened, dried-out dirt were cascading from his wire frame. He made it about a yard before he fell in a heap.
I watched my aunt’s face, awaiting her verdict. Somehow, I had overstepped myself, but I wasn’t sure how.
She was frowning as she bent down and poked at the charred dirt.
“Did you realize what you were making, boy?”
“Ah, you already knew I had a dragon. I just made him fly on his own. Can I keep playing?”
“No. At least not till I’ve looked over that… that thing ye made,” she said.
“Did I do bad, Aunt Ash? I was real careful with my Crafting,” I said.
She looked at me, surprised, then her face relaxed and she came over and hugged me. “Oh, lad, you’re gonna make me old before my ti
me,” she said, which I didn’t understand at all, but a hug couldn’t be bad, right?
Fifteen minutes later, my aunt stepped back from her perusal of Draco’s spelled wings.
“It’s clean and crisp,” she said, almost talking to herself. “Every line perfect.”
“See. Which is why it works,” I said.
“But it shouldn’t work,” she said. “But it does, which means really just one thing,” Aunt Ash said. I wondered what the one thing was.
“And it’s combined with Fire,” she said.
“Was that wrong, Aunt Ash?”
“Wrong? No… just, it should not have worked, laddie.” Laddie was lots better than boy.
“Can I keep it?” I asked.
My aunt gave the dragon another look. After a second, she gave a little shrug. Finally, she pulled her eyes from Draco and looked at me. “For now. But you aren’t to use the fire unless I am around.”
I opened my mouth to protest but her hand came up with her index finger extended straight up. Aunt sign language for no buts.
I must have frowned or something because she frowned back. “I know you can handle fire, but this”—she waved at the dragon sitting on the floor of the barn—“is something that shouldn’t be, laddie. We need to observe it and make sure that it remains safe.”
“Draco won’t hurt me. He won’t hurt you either, Aunt Ash,” I said.
“And you’re knowing this how?”
“I wrote his spells to always help us,” I said.
“Well, that’s jest great lad, as long as he listens to his spells,” she said.
***
“Aunt Ash, Trey is here,” I called out.
“Aye, and you’ll be listening to his father now, lad, right? No slipups, ye hear?”
“Aunt Ash, I haven’t slipped up in like forever,” I said. It had been more than a few years, actually, and no one had ever connected the level four earthquake to a small boy in Castlebury, Vermont who had just learned that his mother was dead. And small earthquakes sometimes happened even in Vermont.