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My eyes widened at that. I knew witches had a lot of their own customs and abilities that the outside world were completely unaware of, but I was having a hard time wrapping my head around that. “Is that useful?”
“Yeah, we use it to catch up, but having connections like that can temporarily boost our magic.”
“It does?”
She nodded. “Think of it like… mushrooms.”
“Mushrooms, as in actual fungi?”
“Yeah. Mushrooms connect through a network called mycelium, and having a strong network interconnecting them makes them that much healthier. Us witches are like that, connecting with each other, building our bonds, rejoining us with the roots of our magic. All of that makes us healthier and more powerful.”
Okay, I was definitely getting it more, but her explanation presented one truly awful problem. “But… you’ve been self-isolated for three years.” Meaning she hadn’t been able to connect with her own kind for nearly a fifth of her life.
“Yeah… yeah, I was.”
If I didn’t already feel intensely enough for her before, my heart ached that much harder. I hated, absolutelyhated, whoever cursed her and everything they stood for.
I'd plenty more to ask, but my questions took a back seat when I looked around the longhouse we’d walked into. There were several women around of various ages, but it was mostly empty. Where was everyone? Maybe I had the wrong idea from visiting the indigenous villages, but usually communal houses were always aflutter with activity.
I didn’t have much time to observe much else, because then we were out another door and into the community proper.
It really was like a full village, with several houses and other social buildings that one might expect. Many of them were built between trees or had branches and trunks literally growing through them, making all sorts of interesting, adaptive architecture. It reminded me of the dryad and nymph colonies my father and I toured when I was first coming into my own. But did the witches base these parts of their commune around those other cultures, or did they predate them? It was hard to say considering how little was known about them, even among us cryptids.
As we walked along, I took in the sprawling gardens and the quaint but beautiful decorations. Colorful banners, rampant blooming vines—it was all soalive.
It was also unwelcoming. I couldn’t say how, but it was like the land was only barely tolerating our presence, like we were indeed interlopers who were never meant to step foot on such private ground. It certainly put me on edge, but that was probably for the better. One didn’t let their guard down around strange witches without suffering the consequences.
Zara led us into one of those beautiful, dense gardens. I wondered how much of the flora around us was potentially lethal, but Ayla looked quite at home. Nostalgic even. I figuredif there was anything we needed to truly be worried about, she'd tell us, so I settled in.
A few moments later, we stepped into a small clearing, with a bubbling fountain at the center, and comfortable looking chairs and chaises a group of older women were lounging in. They were dressed much like Zara, though they all hosted different colors and embroidery patterns in their dresses, vests, and cloaks, speaking to the personalities of the wearer.
I was pretty sure we’d just found the crones of the coven.
“Zara,” one said, with short hair that'd been shorn on either side of her head, with what was left being braided into a long rope that hung down to her hips. Like Zara, she seemed both youthful and eternal, untold energy crackling just below the surface of her skin. “What’s all this?”
“What do you mean?” the red-headed witch said primly. “Have you all grown so blind that you cannot recognize our prodigal daughter?”
At that, Zara made a small gesture toward Ayla, who dipped her head in response. There was a beat of silence, as if the witches were putting it together.
Then pandemonium broke out.
Two of the women jumped up, rushing Ayla. I tensed, ready to defend her, but the tiniest shake of her head had me standing down. Both women instead threw their arms around my mate and hugged her, shrieking happy exclamations.
It was difficult to see their faces with their equally wild hair, but the two actually looked like they were around Ayla’s age. Their tresses weren’t quite as wild as the others, and their voices didn’t bear that same dichotomy that Zara’s did. Were the pair possibly old playmates of Ayla’s? If so, what a reunion indeed.
Most of the reactions were quite positive, but I couldn’t help noticing the downright scowl on one woman’s face. It set my teeth on edge, though I did my best to behave myself.
“Willa,” Ayla said, detangling herself from the younger ones to embrace the original blond speaker. “It is good to see you again.”
“The same could be said to you,” another woman with pitch-black hair said, pulling Ayla into a hug as soon as she and Willa parted.
“I know, Aunt Ryu. It’s been a long time.”
When the two parted, Ayla turned to the scowling one, and there were no attempts at hugging. Instead, she just tipped her head. “Tabit.”
The woman—Tabit, apparently—said nothing in response.
Ah, yes. Definitely tension here.
