When slumber fled Autumn’s mind, she awoke to an intense ache permeating her entire body. Yesterday, she’d pushed her body to its breaking point and beyond. Every muscle she had was cramped and sore. Even her eyelids ached for some reason.
Still, it was that all-encompassing, full-body ache that made her realize she was still alive, and that, unfortunately, the events of yesterday hadn’t been a terrible nightmare.
The sweat of a fever soaked Autumn’s body. Shivering, she pushed aside the allure of sleep and urged herself to move. Outside, the fey still lurked, and she doubted they’d wait for her to recover in peace. Ignoring the painful twitching in her muscles, she leveraged herself up into a sitting position and glanced blearily around the cottage.
Pale moonlight still illuminated the space. Despite a full night’s rest, and perhaps a few hours extra, dawn hadn’t broken. Only the baleful moon shone in the black sky, trapped within its thorny cage.
Dawn wouldn’t ever come. Not here.
Autumn’s stomach let out a wild growl. As slowly as she could, she stretched out her taut muscles, massaging them to loosen their hold on her agony so that she could fetch something to eat. Slowly, she became more of a person and less of a barely-functioning zombie.
The fire she’d lit hours ago still crackled merrily away, although now sadly low. It’d almost consumed all the wood she’d placed inside the hearth. Thankfully, the heat it radiated still lingered, despite the smashed-in window on the opposite side of the room.
Autumn shivered as a breeze caressed her skin.
Right, food then clothing.
Unfortunately, there wasn’t much in the way of sustenance remaining inside after her rampage amongst the dried carrots last night. She needed a new source of nourishment. Autumn’s gaze swept the room, alighting upon a small pantry by the fireplace she’d missed last night amidst her tiredness and pain.
Hobbling to her feet, she limped over to the small cupboard and opened it. It was in as much of a sorry state as herself. Time had destroyed anything fresh that might’ve once dwelled within, and all that remained was a handful of nuts and a small bag of dried fruits. Still, she couldn’t be picky. Grabbing the nuts, she wolfed them down.
There was food outside in the garden, but that would mean braving the elements and exposing herself to the fey watching the cottage. And if they didn’t already know she was inside, they would if she went out.
Spotting a wineskin hanging inside the pantry, Autumn uncorked it and sniffed. It smelled like stale wine, and had likely been such at one point. Now it only tasted like vinegar and sorrow. It soured her tongue, but she was thirsty enough to force it down.
Coughing, she wiped the excess off her lips.
With her hunger dealt with, it was time to address her lack of apparel. While Autumn had gotten used to moving around in the nude after having to run for her life with barely anything on her, it wasn’t the most pleasant of experiences, and it was rather cold even with the fire going.
Currently, her only clothing consisted of a sweat-soaked blanket and her shame. And while it was possible to fashion both into a garment, she’d spotted proper clothing that was reasonably wearable in the wardrobe while she’d been tearing the worst up for bandages and rags. The chest was still ajar when Autumn hobbled her way over to it.
Among the moth-eatened pieces, Autumn found some that fit herself to a reasonable degree. The underwear was disappointing, consisting of old-timey bloomers that looked like baggy shorts, along with a loose, white-ish inner tunic that was meant to serve in place of a bra. The softer materials served to protect her still sensitive skin from the rougher materials of the outerwear.
After struggling into those, she picked out a grey tunic that had a lace up v-neck made of some scratchy material, and a pair of musty trousers that were unfortunately a size too small. A lot of cursing was had as she struggled to fit her hips into the pants. They rode a little high around her ankles, but they beat running naked through the forest again.
“Next marketplace I find, I’m going shopping,” Autumn muttered as she picked at her patchy sleeves. “Once I get some money, that is.”
Resting beside the wardrobe were a pair of the saddest-looking leather boots Autumn had ever seen. They were ugly as sin. Their leather was more cracked than an older gentleman’s face, and completely stained with mud and unidentifiable substances. The laces were almost non-existent and were likely to break at the slightest tug. Still, they were almost in Autumn’s size, and it wasn’t like she had much of a choice.
However, it was still too early for her to put anything on her feet.
There were two more articles of clothing Autumn hadn’t investigated within the tattered wardrobe. A long black robe, and a hat.
It was clear both had belonged to a witch.
Autumn pulled the black robe out of the locker and draped it in her arms to examine it. Time had faded it a great deal, turning some of the black into a hazy gray. Yet, despite its advanced age, it looked fairly sturdy, and when Autumn slipped her arms into its voluminous sleeves, she felt a comfort protecting her.
The robe swallowed Autumn in its embrace, bundling her up. It was warm. Cozy. She felt secure in its billowing grace, ready to face the world. Standing up, it would hang down past her hips and thighs to swirl around her calves. A small iron chain untouched by rust adorned the front of the robe, allowing her to fasten the robe’s open front together. She wasted no time securing it.
Upon closer inspection, Autumn was happy to discover her new attire possessed a handful of pockets lining the interior, including a few secretive ones that were perfect for hiding valuables or other things she didn’t want stolen.
Autumn had never loved an article of clothing more.
The last item of inspection was the hat.
It was made of black leather that’d cracked like a crone’s face. The wizened peak had folded down on itself with age, curled like a broken spine, while the brim was rat-chewed and ragged. Yet, somehow, it still stood proud, regal, as it sat atop the wardrobe. All in all, it was a classic witch’s hat.
Reaching out, Autumn plucked it from its rest and lowered it onto her brow. The hat was far heavier than she expected. Heavy with the weight of time and magic.
Autumn tore it off of herself in fright. She held it at arm’s length, eyeing the leather hat with no small amount of trepidation. Perhaps she ought not to play with things she didn’t understand. With respect, she placed the hat back where she found it.
“Okay, noted – don’t touch spooky things.”
Now that she was both fed and clad, Autumn gazed about the rest of the chamber, seeking to understand more about the shelter she’d invited herself into. She’d only caught brief glimpses of the space last night in her hurried rummaging. Today, she’d explore. And hopefully she’d find something to help her escape the fey gathered outside.
Autumn made her way over to the shelves of odd jars. Creepy content glittered in the moonlight. A jar of eyeballs sat beside the jarred fetus of a strange creature Autumn couldn’t name. She spied dead and dried pixies with wings of glitter. There were jars of bat ears, frog’s tongues, and puppy-dog’s tails. There was even a jar that held pure darkness swirling inside.
Curiosity satisfied, Autumn turned away from the display toward the workbench. Melted candles littered the sides and back, leaving a section of stained wood warped into a palette of splotched colors free. An equally weathered chair rested before the desk, offering relief for her pained feet.
Obliging the chair, she sat, taking the weight off her feet with a sigh.
An old, dusty book lay on the table before her. The leather cover was finely aged and its edges and spine were bound in iron. The smell of oil wafted off the cover as Autumn touched it. Cracking it open, yellowed pages appeared before her eyes. This was a tome.
Autumn closed it and picked it up with care. It felt heavy. There had to be hundreds of pages within its covers.
How long had it waited here for its owner or a wandering soul like herself to page through it?
Putting it back down, she cracked the cover open once more, listening to the iron and leather creaking as she did, and glanced into the book. The first page was mostly blank, aside from a series of strange runes scrawled along it, that, while she had never seen them before, Autumn could read.
Beware all who read the private property of Witch Augus.
Be ye witch-hunter, may you die in a fire.
Be ye adventurer, may you eat troll dung.
Be ye tax-collector, see all the above.
If you are still reading this, that means that you are not any of those listed above, or all the deadly curses I had placed upon this tome have faded.
Call yourself lucky if so.
Autumn glanced down at the book nervously. As it didn’t burst into a series of deadly spells and violent curses, she assumed that the magic had faded.
Magic! Real magic! Tempering her excitement, Autumn flipped over the cover page in search of more hints to the wonders hidden within. Maybe this was what she needed to escape the fey chasing her! Her eyes flickered over the words upon the next page.
This Tome of Witchcraft and Arts most Black, is the property of Witch Augus, the most terrible and wise.
Within you will find my last will, and the legacy to be passed down to the young witch destined to surpass me, as illogical as that might be.
In my entire long life, as storied as it was, I regret to admit that I’ve failed to acquire a suitable successor who could prove worthy to inherit my vast knowledge of profound magickas. I have tried every means available to me to find the one, but no such luck has fallen my way. All have fallen short of my standards.
Not even a clone of myself rose as high as I demanded.
So, in my desperation, I contacted a noble fey that ruled the lands I sequestered my abode within, and struck a deal with them to provide me with a girl that would meet my lofty demands. Yet, I fear that the tricky fey have found a way to weave around my wording, and cheat me of my end of the bargain. My every utterance of our deal leaves them in fits of giggles, yet they insist that the girl will come, despite the fact that autumn has passed sevenfold.
I fear I cannot wait forever. There are other pressing matters for me to attend.
So, if the one reading this is the girl I was promised, know that I have transcribed everything you need to know about witchcraft and magic within this tome. If so, this tome and its magic now belong to you. Take good care of it.
Oh, and you can have my spare wand and hat. I shan't be needing them.
Gentle was the rage that burned beneath Autumn’s skin and boiled in her heart. It was bound in her chest like a chained dog eyeing the hand that strikes it. She couldn’t breathe, such was her fury.
This was the reason she was here. Her name. Autumn. The fey had snatched her to cheat this witch by providing her with a girl named Autumn rather than before the season of autumn had passed.
She needed a moment to think
Within her beaten, aching breast burned the desire to cast the tome into the fire, to burn the witch’s legacy for all the pain and torment Autumn endured getting here. All because she’d made a deal with the fey. She suffered. Because of her.
Yet, even as hate festered within her like an infected wound, she knew she could not turn away her hope of salvation. The fey still waited for her outside, and there was an entire Wild Hunt seeking a way over the river Styx to get to her. She needed this power to survive.
Magic was the unfulfilled desire of countless generations. Alchemists toiled to create gold and eternal life. Medieval herbalists sought it to cure ailments and diseases. That wasn’t even mentioning the generation of kids who’d grown up reading or watching a certain wizarding world, hoping to receive a green-inked letter.
Autumn would make it her strength.
Taking a quill in her uninjured hand, she viciously scratched out Witch Augus’ name and filled in it with her own.
Beware all who read the private property of Witch
Augus
Autumn.
Taking a calming breath, Autumn stuffed her mouth with a handful of dried fruits. They tasted like bitter lemons coated in chocolate. After swallowing them down, she turned the page and read on.
There are many ways to pluck at the weave of magic. To make the world bend to one’s will.
Sorcerers pull from their blood, casting the magic of their ancestors, whether they be fey, fiend, angelic, or even rarely, draconic. Wizards study, forging spells through the long discovery of the weave’s ebbs and flows. Warlocks make pacts with powerful patrons, casting only what they are allowed to cast, often at the cost of their souls or labor. Druids give and take from nature. Runelords carve bone, stone, or metal to cast their learned spells.
These are but a few examples of the many ways one might look to wield magic.
We witches take a different tack when it comes to controlling the weave. Emotions. We pay for every spell and ritual with a payment of emotion. Not necessarily our own. It is the most potent source of power aside from using the soul itself, but that is a lesson for another time.
Any emotion will do – anger, hope, love, desperation, fear. Some work better than others for certain things. For example – anger works better for attack spells, while love works best fueling protection.
However, collecting a single emotion is more efficient. It creates natural pathways, or grooves, throughout the caster’s body and mind, allowing for greater control. Using multiple emotions is possible, but I personally wouldn’t recommend it as you’ll spread yourself thin, and your spells will be weaker for it.
Now, you may be asking at this point – how do I collect emotions? And where do I keep it all?
Great questions! You need a hat, of course. No, really. Why do you think we wear them? With a witch’s hat nestled upon your burdensome brow, you can stuff it full of emotions to use later. Simply reach deep within yourself, and pluck some free and tuck it beneath her hat.
However, be warned before you try it, (if you haven’t already skipped ahead.) Don’t take it all.
Why? You might be asking. Well, if you drain yourself or another fully of a particular emotion, then they’ll be emptied of it. They’ll become hollow for a time. Now, this state doesn’t last forever, (unless you egregiously fuck up and curse them.) For example – without anger, you lack the will to fight, and might just lay down and die.
So, go on and try. Just be careful. Don’t worry about choosing an emotion now as you have time to specialize later.
With a sigh of annoyance, Autumn cast her gaze back across the room to the hat that she’d left behind. It sat upon the wardrobe, mocking her. Reluctantly, she parted with the comfort of her chair and hobbled over to the tattered headwear, retrieving it before returning back to her seat at the desk.
Even that small amount of exertion was painful and left her breathing heavier.
After steadying her breathing, she turned the leather cap over in her hands, examining it. The strange weight rested in her palms. So this was magic? Lifting it, she placed the hat upon her brow, letting it sink atop her head down to her eyes. The brim touched her shoulders on either side of her head.
“So, just grab some emotions and stuff it inside? How hard could that be?”
Autumn took a steadying breath and closed her eyes. She searched deep within herself for some ethereal weight of magic. While she doubted it, it didn’t hurt to check if she was some kind of sorcerer instead. But as hard as she looked, she didn’t find a hidden font of magic burning in her veins. There was nothing besides her thumping heart.
Druid, she ruled out, for she lacked the care for flora and fauna. So too did she eliminate wizardry from her immediate future as she lacked the time to study at this particular moment. As for warlocks, the only patrons she knew of around these parts were the fey, and they were trying to kill her right now.
So all that was left was witchcraft.
But which emotion to use?
Autumn wasn’t feeling very hopeful right now, and neither love nor happiness had burdened her mind for a while. Perhaps she could use anger, if it didn’t feel so unruly, rising and falling within her chest at a rapid pace as she recalled her plight. Sadness she touched upon, but even the slightest glimpse of the deep well of grief within herself cut her dearly.
As she was struggling to think of which to take, another emotion leaped to her, almost beckoning her to take it. Fear. It flitted about her chest like a wild animal, striking her heart like it was a thunderous drum. It felt like a scream.
The emotion had grown glutinous yesterday, and served as a perfect candidate to test her magic upon.
Drawing deep from her well of paranoia and fright, Autumn pressed a battered hand to her sternum and pulled with her mind, seeking to wrest the fear free. It howled and fought. Thrashed like the wild animal she thought it was. Her system was awash with panic, sending her heart into a thundering rhythm that pulsed the blood in her ears.
Autumn felt like her blood was boiling. She felt like her heart was racing to its doom. Despite how hard she pulled, she couldn’t wrench the fear free of its stranglehold of her lungs. She let go, slumping into her chair with a gasp. Her back was awash with sweat, soaking her new tunic.
As she gulped down air, she realized the fault was that she was trying to take too much far too soon. She’d been too excited, and in her haste, had tried to steal the entirety of her fear.
A thrill glinted in her eyes. Taking another steadying breath, she tried again, this time taking only a sliver of her fear. It worked. From her chest emerged an inky, purplish-black worm. Upon being drawn in the real world, it coiled around her fingers like a living thing. She cupped it in her palms and it skittered like a tiny spider.
With shaking hands, Autumn raised the emotion up to her hat and tucked it beneath the brim. When she let go of her mental hold, the fear remained where she’d placed it. The hat felt a little heavier as it sat upon her head.
She’d done it.