23 – The Beltane Festival

The big day had finally arrived. We gathered in the main chamber around noon, ready to depart for the Westbrook covenstead. Myrl had made over a dozen bars of mushroom chocolate and wrapped them in pretty gold foil. Linli’s gift was a handcrafted wicker totem that he planned to enlarge for the bonfire later tonight. Erl had meticulously painted dozens of hard-boiled eggs with colorful scenes of animals in the woods. Bagavash’s contribution was a jar of lightning motes, magical constructs similar to fireflies, crafted to fly around and light the festival when released.

We all turned our heads when Senior Archmage Alynur finally descended the stairs. He was carrying a single potted bluebell. “Are we ready to depart?”

We all put our gifts in our respective inventories, except for Alynur. He claimed the spatial magic would wilt the flowers. He led the procession out of the front gate, carrying his little plant like a precious gem. Erl brought up the rear, pulling a cart with the wizard’s massive barrel of barley wine on it. It was a gift from all of us. Some things, it seemed, were too large for the inventory.

Bluebell Tower was to the south of Brenick, and we took a road that skirted the edge of the village towards the west. As we walked, I asked Bagavash whether the witches were orb ponderers like us, or if they preferred the monster orb method of cultivation.

“Witches are built different than us, lad. The primary way they gather mana is through something they call ‘yearning.’ Rather than a meditative state, they get into a melancholic state, dreaming of ways their lives and the world could be better. It’s almost a form of prayer.”

“Interesting,” I said.

“They have other ways too that aren’t open to us wizards. They can do something called ‘communing’ where they cycle their mana through each other which not only purifies their collective mana, but also draws more to the group as a whole.”

“Damn. Sounds like they got the better end of the deal.”

“In a lot of ways they did, lad. All we can do is work with the tools we were given.”

“Does the whole communal cultivating thing give them an edge over the wizards? It seems like a pretty powerful way to level up.”

“Some say it provides a slight advantage,” Bagavash continued. “But the witches have never been much for the pursuit of power. Rather than having a single political center and hierarchy like the White Tower, most witch covens are scattered among the wildlands. They prefer connection to nature over kingdom building. That’s not to say there aren’t some very powerful witches in the White Tower. Siulius takes witch and wizard alike, as long as you have a hunger to grow stronger and are willing to adopt their aggressive monster harvesting methods. It’s only in the outer provinces that witches and wizards tend to separate. It’s an old way of doing things, but if you couldn’t tell, we like doing things the old way.”

The journey to Westbrook wasn’t very long, and we arrived by mid-afternoon. The road entered an ancient wood where spruces and firs towered. A gentle creek babbled away on one side of the road. We passed around a bend, and the covenstead of the witches was laid out before us.

They had no central tower, like us, but rather a congregation of wooden huts that were interspersed among the trees and ringed around a central meadow. It gave me the impression of a rustic nature retreat with cabins and log houses. The central meadow, rich with wildflowers, had been decked out with long tables, flower garlands, and ribbons of yellow and pink. And everywhere there were witches.

Women in earth-toned cloaks and wild hair bustled about carrying steaming trays of food and bottles of pale liquid with flowers in them. I counted at least twenty of the wizards’ female counterparts. It made me wonder whether the talent for magic was more likely to occur in women, or if maybe the White Tower siphoned off a disproportionate amount of promising young wizards.

As we approached, a witch who was about my age spotted us and shouted, “They’re here! They’re here!”

There was a chaotic moment where the witches scrambled to put the finishing touches on their decorations, then a group of them filed down to meet us, led by a very old-looking witch with fiery green eyes.

She and Alynur met on the gravel road, and both of our processions stopped.

“Senior Archwitch Embaire, it’s a pleasure to see you again.”

“The pleasure is all mine, you old goat.” Despite her advanced age, the Senior Archwitch had a playfulness about her that immediately endeared her to me.

“I brought you a gift,” Alynur said, bowing slightly and holding the potted bluebell before him.

“Oh, Alynur, it’s even more beautiful than the one you gave me last year. I don’t know how to thank you.”

“The pleasure of your company is all the thanks I need.”

“I see you have a new recruit,” she said, eyeing me with her piercing gaze. “How long has it been since you had a new member? Sixty years?”

“Seventy, actually,” the archmage responded. “This is Mark. He has a lot to learn, but he’s a Blue Wizard through and through.”

“Well, we’re happy to have you, Mark,” the Senior Archwitch said. “Please, everyone, make yourself at home. And let’s get that barrel set up. We’ve been dying for some of your famous barley wine.”

Erl pulled the cart carrying the barrel next to one of the long tables and produced a set of flagons from his inventory. A line formed almost immediately, and Erl took on the role of unofficial bartender, pouring flagons of frothy ale for witch and wizard alike.

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I wasn’t sure where to put my gift, so I just placed it on one of the long tables where a bunch of other food had been laid out.

“Honey?” one of the witches said. It was the one who was my age who had initially spotted us on the road. I hadn’t noticed before, but she was quite pretty. She had long auburn hair with bright amber eyes and a rosy complexion. The cutest thing about her was her slightly upturned nose.

“Hot honey, actually,” I said. “The perfect balance of spicy and sweet.”

She unscrewed the lid and dipped a finger in. She sucked the honey off her finger with a curious look. “Hmm, not for me, but I can see how others might like it.”

“Just wait,” I said. “It grows on you.”

“My name’s Becca,” she said, holding out her hand and smiling.

I shook it. “Mark.”

“It’s nice to finally have someone my age at one of these things. I love the old guys, but I’ve been listening to Linli tell the same jokes since I was a little girl.”

“Yeah,” I said. “It’s actually nice to meet someone my age, too. Since I arrived here, I’ve just been hanging out with the wizards.”

I had never been very good with talking to girls in my old life, but this conversation was going surprisingly well.