Valiant: Tales From The Drift

[Tails #26: Prodigal Son]

Log Date: 10/18/12764

Data Sources: Jazel Jaskolka, Lysanne Arrignis

Event Log: Jazel Jaskolka

Falcon’s Crossing: Witchfen Woods

9:04am SGT

“So we will see other witches in these woods?” Kayenta asks as we snowshoe along the path in the woods. It’s just me, her, and Mom, out on a trip to harvest spell components that we can bring to the winter witch gathering this year as offerings.

“We may. Only members of the coven, and their families, are allowed in the Witchfen. That is why Lysanne and the others couldn’t come with us.” Mom answers as she leads the way at the front of the group. The trees around us are mostly evergreen conifers, their needled branches heavy with snow. “This is where we come to harvest the materials we use for our spells. You can buy them at the store, or online if needed, but they’re more potent when harvested fresh and in person.”

“Yes, Jazel showed me how your people do magic once.” Kayenta says from behind me. “It’s like baking.”

Mom looks over her shoulder, raising an eyebrow at that. “Oh really?”

“It was the easiest way to explain it to her.” I explain. “How our spells are like recipes. We have to get specific materials, and follow specific instructions, in order to create the spell and get the end result. Her magic is freeform, and she’d never encountered ritual magic before.”

“Yes, I noticed.” Mom replies as we step over tracks from another group of witches snowshoeing through the woods before us. “I almost wish it was that easy for us to use magic sometimes.”

“Jazel said that your people cannot learn my kind of magic because you do not have the lineage for it.” Kayenta adds. “And he said that I cannot learn witch magic because I do not share his lineage.”

“Well, I don’t have a degree in arcanology like he does, but that sounds about right.” Mom says, starting to take a turnoff in the woods that strays away from the tracks we’ve been following. “I’ve heard that magic often comes from genetics.”

“If we had kits, would they be able to use both my magic and his magic?” Kayenta asks.

Mom stops and looks back at Kayenta, then at me.

I shake my head rapidly. “I don’t think we’re planning on that.” I say quickly, then after a curious look from Kayenta, I clear my throat. “…I mean maybe. Eventually. Not right now, but like, possibly in the future.”

“Kits.” Mom repeats, turning and starting to snowshoe again. “Does that mean they come in litters?”

“No, it’s usually just one.” Kayenta says blithely. “But I think morphoxes have a lot more twins and triplets than humans do. Like a lot more.”

“Do they now.” Mom says, trekking through the fresh, unbroken snow. “Do they have tails and ears like you when they’re born?”

“Yup! Though they only start with one tail.” Kayenta says cheerily. “The ears are really big when they first come out. Takes them a while to grow into them.”

“Little babies with tails and big ears. Sounds… cute.” Mom muses. “…I wouldn’t be opposed to it.”

“Mom.” I mutter, hoping she’ll catch the hint. My brain’s finally clicking into gear as I start thinking of all the reasons I can’t have kids right now: I have a job, the family would constantly be on the move, having to live on the Drift, they wouldn’t have other kids to play with, plus Lysanne would kill me if Kayenta and I had kids.

“Well, don’t keep us hanging, Jazel.” Mom replies easily. “You’re the arcanologist. Would the kits have witch magic and morphox magic?”

I feel my face heat up in spite of how cold it is out here. “I-I mean, the common view is that only Aurescuran souls can use Aurescuran magic, whether of the church or of the witch variety, and Aurescuran souls are only born to two Aurescuran parents, or to people born on Aurescuran worlds, so, uhm, I dunno, it’s kinda complicated?”

Kayenta does a couple stomping hops with her snowshoes, catching up to me and leaning over my shoulder with a toothy grin. “I know a way we can find out, little witchling.”

“Kaya, not in front of my mum!” I mutter. Even though we’re trekking through snow in the mountains, I feel like I’m burning up.

Mom just laughs at that. “I’m just playing. I know I probably won’t have grandchildren for a while. What about your parents, Kaya? Are they expecting grandchildren?”

Kayenta stops clinging to my back, shrugging as she goes back to following in the snowshoe prints that Mom and I are leaving behind. “They have many already. A few grandchildren more will be nothing special.”

“Oh? How many siblings do you have?” Mom asks as the path curves away to one side, narrowing and becoming tighter as it ventures into a stand of younger conifers.

“None! I don’t have any brothers or sisters.” Kayenta says, batting at a hanging branch loaded with snow.

“Really?” I can hear the confusion in Mom’s voice as she works through the logistics of Kayenta’s answers. “How do your parents have grandchildren, then?”

“They have lots of children! Father created the vashaya’rei for Mother, but the morphoxes especially for her. All the morphoxes are her children.” Kayenta explains.

I know where this is going, but I don’t say anything. I figure it’s best that we get this part out of the way instead of avoiding it, otherwise it’ll just come up again later.

“Vashaya’rei.” Mom says after a moment. “I assume you’re referring to the race?”

“Yup!”

“And you say your parents… created the vashaya’rei.”

“Yup! A long time ago, after they ascended to the Rantheon.”

I can feel the question coming, and I start counting the seconds to see how long it’ll take Mom to ask it.

“Who are your parents, again?” Six seconds.

“Radiance and Maelstrom! They’re the gods of sun, shadow, and storm.”

Right on cue, Mom gives a quick glance back at me as if to confirm. I raise my hands, spinning my forefingers around each other and mouthing roll with it to her. She raises her brows at that, nods, and keeps trekking through the snow.

“So, are they good parents?” Mom asks as we work our way along the side of one of the slopes.

“Yeah. They are good parents. They taught me everything I know.” Kayenta says. “I haven’t heard from them in a while, but I can still call on their power. They usually visit me in my dreams.”

“That’s very nice of them.” Mom says as we start down the slope. “Are you and Jazel planning on visiting them sometime?”

“We can’t really visit them. We would need to go to the heavens, and mortals aren’t allowed to go there while they’re still alive.” Kayenta says. “Sometimes they will come and visit in person, though. I can pray to them to see if they will come and visit.”

“Right, right, of course, of course.” Mom says quickly. “Since they’re gods and all. So if they do visit in person, what do you do with them?”

“Oh, we usually just sit and talk. Sometimes Father will bring food; he likes cooking for Mother. Sometimes I will ask them to teach me a new spell.” Kayenta says as the path starts to level off, and the trees get closer again. “They’re usually busy, since they have to manage the sun and the night and the storms. They also have other children to watch over.”

“Well, that would make sense for gods.” Mom replies. “I’m sure Jazel’s told you, but we do not have gods of our own. So it’s interesting to hear about the gods of other cultures.”

“Hey Mom, hold on just a moment.” I say, straying towards one of the trees on the narrow path. “Can you get one of the boxes?”

Mom pauses and turns around. “Find something?” she asks as I start pulling off my gloves.

“Yeah. It looks like a cicada shell.” I say, stopping in front of the tree and examining the pale, frosted insect husk clinging to the bark.

“This late into winter? That’s amazing. And out of cycle, too.” Mom say, tromping back through the snow to open the pack on my back and start pulling out one of the boxes we’d brought with us.

“What is it?” Kayenta says, snowshoeing up behind me. “It looks like a bug.”

“It’s the remnants of a bug. A shell left over from when it molted.” I say, carefully clearing some of the snow away from the trunk around where the husk is hanging.

“We use them as components in witch spells.” Mom says as she comes up with a small box that has tissues inside for protective padding. “Cicada husks are rare, fragile elements that can create very powerful spells; they represent metamorphosis and change, but most cicadas only come to the surface every fourteen years. Finding a husk between those years is not something that is easy to do.”

“What kind of spells can you make with it?” Kayenta asks while I gently grip the husk with the tips of my fingers.

“They’re an element in a number of spells.” I answer, slowly tugging the husk upwards. “Healing spells, echo spells, cloning spells. I think the best-known one is the renewal spell, though that one is very complex and resource-intensive.” There’s a little bit of resistance from the brittle husk, but by pushing it forward ever so slightly and continuing to tug upwards, it eventually comes loose of the bark that the jagged claws of its forelegs were hooked into.

“What does the renewal spell do?” Kayenta asks as I place the cicada husk into the box, and Mom closes and secures it.

“Well, it’s a spell that basically lets you do what a cicada does: emerge from a husk of yourself, renewed and refreshed.” Mom explains as she works the box back into the pack on my back. “In ancient days, witches would use it to delay their aging, and stay young for longer, while lengthening their life beyond the span of normal Aurescuran lives. There are stories of witches who lived for centuries using this spell over and over again. But that is taboo nowadays, for many of those stories taught us it was unnatural to live for so long, and it always came to grief in the end. Nowadays, the renewal spell is only used for healing mortal wounds — it cannot heal diseases, but it can heal many catastrophic injuries, like stab wounds or bullet wounds or other kinds of physical trauma.”

“Most often used for car crash victims.” I add, pulling my gloves back on.

“It will make a good offering for the matriarch at tonight’s party.” Mom says, zipping my pack shut and starting to walk again. “This means that we can keep whatever else we find on this trip, and overall, we should have more to trade with other witches at the winter gathering tonight.”

“That’s the party, right?” Kayenta says as we get back on our way. “Where we’ll be seeing other witches?”

“A party, a celebration, yes.” Mom answers. “In the old days, the winter gathering was a market event for witches. But over the years, it became more of a party event as technology became more advanced. Nowadays it is more of a dance, a celebration, with witches trading components and spells on the side, and young witches courting the sons of the coven.”

“So young witches try to find a mate at this gathering?” Kayenta asks. “Will any of them try to court Jazel?”

“The coven’s witchling is usually considered quite the catch, yes.” Mom explains. “The Falcon’s Crossing coven had a new witchling chosen after Jazel went offworld. But some of the witches there will undoubtedly recognize Jazel and may try their luck if they think he is single.”

I don’t need to look back to know the face that Kayenta is making; I can read it from her tone alone. “There is not a way for him to show he is not single?” she inquires.

“Stay by his side.” Mom answers before I can. “If he is being escorted, it is less likely that other witches will try their luck.”

“Mom.” I sigh in exasperation. “There is a way, Kaya. Committed pairs usually wear matching cloaks. You don’t have to stay glued to my side all night.”

“But what if I want to?” I can hear the mischief in Kayenta’s voice as she hops close behind me again.

“See, Jazel?” Mom grins over her shoulder. “She wants to. Who are you to tell her no?”

I give Mom a flat look. “She only wants to because you put the idea in her head.”

“Well, that doesn’t make it any less legitimate. Besides, you two would look cute as a couple at the winter gathering.”

“Mom, please, I don’t want to do any social posturing tonight. We’re not there to show off to the rest of the coven; we’re there to follow our traditions and celebrate our heritage, right?”

“Who said you couldn’t do both?”

“Mooooom!”

Event Log: Lysanne Arrignis

Falcon’s Crossing: Coven Clubhouse

7:38pm SGT

“I admit, I am surprised they let me attend the gathering with you.” Dandy says, sipping spiced cider from her paper cup. “I did not think they would welcome people that are not members of the coven.”

“You and I are an exception.” I explain as we rove through the clubhouse together. It’s a neighborhood building, about three floors, with the winter gathering scattered through much of it. Banquet tables are set up on both the first floor and the second floor, and on the first floor there are market and trade tables where witches can peddle their wares and trade with each other. “I’ve known Jazel for over twenty years, and being friends with the coven’s witchling can get you preferential treatment. Plus, we’re women, and covens are matriarchal social structures.”

“Ah.” Dandy says. “So that is why we are here, and Milor and Ozzy are not.”

“Yes.” I say, smiling faintly. “They are men, and they are not part of the coven. As you can clearly see, men are allowed here, but they have to be family members or significant others of witches that belong to the coven. Ozzy and Milor are neither.”

“Curious. In places where these kinds of social structures persist, you usually see them in the reverse, as patriarchies.” Dandy observes. “This is the first time I’ve had an in-person look at a matriarchal community.”

“Do you like what you see?” I ask, breaking another chunk off the candy cane I’ve been nursing.

She tilts her head at that. “It is less… obvious than I had been expecting? There are hints and clues that it is a matriarchal community, but they are not as obtrusive as they are portrayed in popular media. The men don’t seem to be treated much differently than the women.”

“Well. Most of the men.” I say, nodding to a table where Jazel and Kaya are visiting what appears to be a teenage boy arrayed in a witch cloak. The density of people around that table is higher than anywhere else on the second floor, aside from the banquet tables. “Witchlings get special treatment. From what I understand, they have all the privileges and access that witches have to the various traditions and customs of the witch culture, but any authority within the coven is withheld.”

“What is the reason they are so desired, then?” Dandy asks, tilting her head to one side.  “If they lack authority within the coven, are they desirable partners because marrying one grants social status?”

“That’s part of it. It’s a mix of different things, I think.” I say, crunching the chunk of peppermint I’ve been nursing. “There is the status, the prestige, if you will, that comes from marrying a witchling. But there is also the benefit of having a partner that can practice magic with you; husbands of witches usually aren’t allowed to practice witch magic. Neither for that matter are sons, unless that son is a witchling. So I suppose that is an attractive prospect: having a partner that you can practice magic with.”

“I can see how that would be a bonding experience.” Dandy says thoughtfully. “Is that why there are so many witches drifting around Jazel and the other witchling?”

I smirk at that. “More or less. It seems like Kaya is aware that she will need to guard her man.” Even from this side of the room, I can see how close Kayenta is hovering to Jazel, glancing at any witches who stray too near, and using her manifold tails to keep space cleared around the pair of them. Her silver ears are perked and alert, twitching to the many sounds of the party, perhaps searching for signs that other witches are trying to flirt with Jazel. “Coven witches tend to be a bit more proactive when it comes to courtship. There’s more incentive to pursue.”

“Does this mean that the females within coven society are expected to take the lead and make the first move?” Dandy asks, still taking in the loose constellation of witches drifting around Jazel and the other witchling.

“Not quite. It’s about half and half; it can go either way. Both the men and the women are free to pursue if they like, and it would not be considered unusual either way.” I explain as we reach the stairs leading down to the first floor. “In coven society, heritage is typically matrilineal, so the men will usually take their wife’s last name. Depending on the witch’s station within the coven, sometimes the husband will keep the household while the witch works; other times, the husband works while the witch minds the household. It simply depends on the station and situation of the pair.”

Dandy is quiet, listening while I explain this, by which point we’ve reached the first floor. Her digital-blue eyes dart around nervously, taking in the tables set up down here for the witches to sell and trade. “Are covens entirely based on a heterosexual binary? Or do they…?”

I take a deep breath at that, and angle to lead us around the edge of the room, near the wall, where perhaps our conversation won’t drift as far. “That’s… complicated. Like a lot of cultures that exhibit religious features, Aurescuran witch covens have a heavy bias towards the heterosexual binary. I mean, they’re better than the Church of Aurescura, which openly resisted granting the right to marry to nontraditional couples for a long time. Although that’s not really a good comparison; the Church and the covens have different reasons for why they do what they do… okay, let me start over. The Church held the stance it did due to dogma. The covens… don’t discourage nontraditional relationships, but they don’t have the same value to the coven community at large.”

Dandy’s had a furrowed brow the entire time, and I can tell that I didn’t start off this explanation well and she’s having trouble working through it. “So will anyone here…?”

“What? No.” I scoff, waving off the cautious question. “Nobody here cares that we’re together. We’re not part of the coven; they don’t care what we do. I mean, at least as far as lifestyle choices go. But… how do I put this.” I take a moment to think about how to phrase it before going on. “The production of offspring is important to the coven’s culture, because you cannot convert to the coven the way you can convert to a religion. You are only part of the coven if you are born into the coven or marry into the coven; that is their tradition and culture. If you can’t maintain the community’s population through conversion, then logically, you have to maintain it through the creation of the next generation. That is why coven culture values child-producing unions. It’s not that they dislike nontraditional relationships, but rather that producing children is vital to the community and the culture’s survival — and so a union that can’t produce a child just isn’t as important to them as one that can.”

It takes Dandy a moment to work through that and formulate a response, her brow still furrowed as she processes through it. “I… see the logic in the solution, even if the problem itself arises from a custom which lacks logic. Specifically the rules about not being able to convert to the culture in the way that one converts to a religion. But religion and traditions rarely answer to modern logic. Still, even if there is no malice intended, I cannot help but feel disappointed that our relationship would not be viewed with as much value as, say, Jazel and Kaya’s would.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I get that.” I agree. “Not that it matters, because again, we’re not part of the coven and their rules don’t apply to us. But it’s the principle of the thing.” I look around as we reach the corner of the room. “Still. After all is said and done, I think coven culture is mostly a good thing. It provides a model for a community where women have more authority. It’s got its problems, but honestly, that goes for any culture or religion.”

“I think I have liked what I have seen here, relative to other cultures where women still face institutional hurdles.” Dandy says, lacing her fingers together. “The men don’t seem to mind their diminished dominance, at least as far as I can tell.”

“Well, something to keep in mind — just because the men aren’t in charge doesn’t mean they’re not important.” I explain. “They are a part of the coven. They work and share the burdens of caregiving. The witches will be the first to tell you that you cannot have a coven without men, and nor would they want that. They rather like having someone around to handle the hard labor and honey-do’s.”

“Honey-do’s?” Dandy repeats, clearly intending it as a question.

“It’s a household expression for things that a wife will ask a husband to do. Getting something on a high shelf, taking out the trash, fixing the car, mending broken furniture, that sort of thing.” I say, watching as some of the witches start to gravitate outside. There’s tables set up out there as well, but it looks like a loose grouping of witches are scattering out onto the lightly-snowed open lawn. “Round-the-house things that men are usually good at.”

“That seems very… traditional.” Dandy remarks.

“It is.” I agree. “Covens often have strong traditionalist roots, but are anchored in matriarchal power structures. Which, as I’m sure you know, is at odds with most other traditionalist cultures, which tend to strongly favor patriarchal structures. It puts covens in a weird place, politically speaking. They hold a lot of the same beliefs as traditionalists, but for much different reasons.”

“So limited government, capitalism-guided economy, emphasis on the family…?” Dandy says, ticking off some of the traditionalist platforms on her fingers.

“Yes, those exactly. But, where most traditionalists want limited government to try and cut down regulation, taxes, and privacy invasions, covens advocate for limited government because the Church of Aurescura has a history of using the government to persecute witch covens, going so far as to burn down their forests, trying to exterminate covens, and forcibly relocating the ones that are less resistant.” I say, lowering my voice a little. “So advocating for a limited government meant curbing the Church’s power to abuse it. Some of that spills into unregulated capitalism as well; the Church, at multiple points, used their representatives within government to try and stifle the witch market from integrating into the wider Aurescuran economy by banning a lot of witch products and industries that make up their income. It was a way of trying to suppress them, keep them poor, and control them, without having to resort to the genocide and forced relocations that voters found distasteful. And with the emphasis on family, well, I already explained that.”

“So the traditionalist positions that the covens espouse don’t spring from political ideology; they are existential matters for them, at least based on their history.” Dandy surmises.  “Covens take these positions not to enrich and empower themselves, as typical traditionalists do, but to try and curb the power that interest groups within a government have, so as to reduce their ability to suppress a given population.”

“Exactly.” I confirm. “Personally, I think a big chunk of the problem would be resolved if you removed the access to government that interest groups have, but that’s a whole ‘nother topic for a different time. At any rate, most of it is water under the bridge at this point; the Church and the covens have been cool with each other for most of the last several centuries, after a bunch of apologies, reforms, and land-back agreements, mostly on the Church’s side. It’s not like the Church and covens go out of their way to be friends, but for the most part, each one minds their own business now.”

“Interesting. Witch culture is much more… complex than I was expecting.” Dandy reflects, watching as more witches start to filter outside along with some of the men, one carrying a fiddle and another, a banjo. 

“More than just pointy hats, black cloaks, and spellcraft, yes.” I say, leaning forward a little when I see others coming down from the second floor to start heading outside as well. “I think they’re about to do the Maidan dance. Want to come out and watch?”

“Certainly. Is this one of their traditions?” Dandy asks, taking my hand as I hold it out to her.

“Yes, although we’ll just be watching, not participating.” I say, keeping her close as we join the flow of people out the doors and into the cold. “It’s a dance you’ll only see in the forest and the plains covens; the beach, island, desert, and mountain covens don’t practice it.”

“Oh. I hadn’t realized there were regional covens.” Dandy says as we filter away to the sides of the main area where most of the witches and men are gathering. “I presume some traditions vary by geography?”

“Yeah. The general coven structure is the same, but there are a lot of region-specific traditions built on the shared stuff. I’ve heard the beach covens are pretty chill. Honestly, if I was a witch, I’d want to be a beach witch. Spend my days gettin’ a tan and catchin’ waves out on the coast.” I say, pulling my coat a little tighter around myself to guard against the winter chill.

“That does have a certain appeal to it.” Dandy agrees, though we both fall quiet as the fiddler starts testing his bow against the strings. The witches and the men perk up as one of the older witches shouts back to the clubhouse.

“Hey everyone! It’s time for the Maidan dance! We need the witchlings out here, can someone go get them?”

“Multiple witchlings? Aren’t we only supposed to have one?”

“There’s two. One’s visiting, he’s not staying here permanently.”

“Oh. About gave me a heart attack, thought we were about to split the coven…”

A couple of the coven members start rolling out a paid of of large, traditional drums as more witches and men start trickling out of the clubhouse, with Jazel and Kayenta appearing on the second-story balcony a minute later. One of the witches shouts up to him. “C’mon down, Jazel, we’re doing the Maidan. Bring your girl!”

“You guys already have a witchling, though. He’s on his way down.” Jazel calls down.

“Oh, c’mon. We’re your home coven. You can still dance with us.”

“Alright, but Kaya doesn’t know the dance — she’s from a different culture.” Jazel says, motioning to Kayenta.

“Oh, is this a dance?” Kayenta says, perking up. “I can learn! Teach me the steps!”

Some of the men down below laugh. “You ain’t gettin’ out of it, Jazel! Your girl wants to dance, you better teach her! We’ll be startin’ in just a minute!” one of them calls.

Kayenta turns to Jazel, patting his shoulder. “Come on, I want to dance with the witches!” With that, she jumps over the railing of the balcony, then turns and holds her arms out. “Jump, I’ll catch you!”

Jazel sucks in a deep breath, sizing up the drop from the second-floor balcony. “Alright, if you say so…” he says, climbing up on the railing and easing his way over, his cloak billowing around him. Kayenta catches him easily and sets him down, surprising some of the witches with the incongruence between her size and apparent strength.

“So they do not mind that he is dating outside the coven?” Dandy asks me as Jazel starts explaining the dance to Kaya, showing her the footwork along with a few other witches.

“I don’t think they do.” I explain. “He left for employment abroad, so he’s not really a regular part of the coven anymore? That’s why they picked another witchling to replace him. I think that’s the biggest reason that they don’t care who he’s dating; he’s not a regular part of the coven, so for the most part, his lifestyle decisions don’t affect them anymore.” I let my gaze rove the lawn, noticing a gaggle of witches watching Kayenta and whispering to each other. “Although it is definitely still a topic of gossip. They’ll probably still be talking about Kaya even after we’ve left.”

“I assume because morphoxes aren’t standard partners for witchlings?” Dandy guesses, following my gaze.

“Well, that, and a bunch of other things. It’s unusual for witchlings to date outside the coven, more unusual for them to date outside their species, and even more unusual to date someone that uses a different breed of magic. Kaya is all of those things; she’s very ‘exotic’ to the coven, is the way I heard a couple other witches put it earlier.” I say, watching as lines start to form out on the lawn. “While he’s not necessarily doing anything wrong, he’s definitely breaking a lot of norms that would be expected from a witchling that had stayed in the coven.”

Further discussion is ended by the twanging of the banjo, followed by a high woodwind that I’m pretty sure is a pair of pennywhistles. The lines on the lawn start to straighten up, with the witches running to one side and the men settling on the other. In the middle are Jazel and Kaya, along with the other witchling and his date; the older folks that aren’t spry enough to participate in the dance remain in the benches and tables near the foot of the clubhouse. The coven members with the instruments play off to the side of the dance area, and the song, one I’ve heard several times before, is one that’s easy and rhythmic, but allows for other layered patterns atop it. As those on the lawn start to bob and sway to the rhythm, Jazel raises his hand, chanting the first verse and alternating the hissed refrain with the other witchling.

When the moon is rising high

Maidan mother, tell us why

(Maidan, maidan,

Maidan, maidan)

When the night is black as pitch

Call the one who’s not a witch

(Maidan, maidan!

Maidan, maidan!)

When the blood spills in the stream

Drink it for a fever dream

(Maidan, maidan,

Maidan, maidan!)

Maidan, play our game!

Run, run!

She we cannot tame!

While Jazel and the other witchling are singing their interchanging parts, the dancing coven members skip towards each other, meeting the middle and linking arms, spinning around once before crossing over to the opposite side. At the end of the first verse, everyone stomps their feet to the unceasing beat as a plucked cello joins in with the other instruments. It adds a bassy thrum to the song as the witchlings link arms with their partners and circle each other, leading into the next verse.

When a witch doth break the law

(Maidan, maidan

Maidan, maidan)

Take her, bind her, burn her all

(Maidan! Maidan!

Maidan! Maidan!)

When a neighbor does you wrong

(Maidan, maidan,

Maidan, maidan)

Maidan, sing your murder song

(Maidan! Maidan!

Maidan! Maidan!)

If your lover starts to stray

(Maidan, maidan,

Maidan, maidan)

Maidan, come and make them pay

(Maidan! Maidan!

Maidan! Maidan!)

Maidan, play our game!

Come, come!

You shall cast the blame!

The second verse is accompanied by the two rows of dancers crossing over to meet in the middle again, but instead of passing through each other, they remain in the middle, a joined line on either side of witchlings. One line turns to face one direction, and the other in the opposite direction, and with that, each line starts to march around the witchlings in the center, like the turning spokes of a wheel. After completing a single revolution, each line splits on the ends, filing outwards to form a square with the witchlings in the center, stomping to the beat and howling in a cacophony that harmonizes, uneasily, to the interlude between verses.

It’s at this point that I glance at Dandy to find her watching the whole display with wide eyes — I’d almost call her look alarmed. And I quickly realize that I grew up with all this, but this is her first time seeing it, and this song is… well, it isn’t exactly galactic popstar material. More like a gleeful, growling, chanting, stomping exaltation of coven traditions.

“You okay?” I ask, touching her arm.

“What? Oh, yes, I’m fine.” she says hastily. “This is all very unusual; this song structure is incredibly complex. Jazel and the other witchling alternate the singing of the verse lines, and they both chant the even-numbered maidan refrain, but they alternate each word when they chant the refrain, instead of chanting together. And then on every odd-numbered refrain, they remain silent while the coven chants the refrain. And all this while the coven members are doing a synchronized formation dance around them; this extraordinary by choreographic and compositional standards; it’s just, it’s a lot to absorb. It’s very layered. What… what is a maidan, by the way?”

“I’ll explain during the next interlude.” I say as the individualized howling suddenly resolves into unified, wordless singing, with the drums setting a steady, unrelenting beat. This goes for a few measures before the coven falls silent and claps to the beat instead, leaving only the fiddle and the banjo playing. “The third verse it about to start.”

If the priest should burn the woods

(If the priest should burn the woods)

Come now sisters, raise your hoods

(Maidan, maidan,

Maidan, maidan)

Seize an ember from the flame

(Seize an ember from the flame)

To the church we’ll do the same

(Maidan, maidan,

Maidan, maidan)

We’ll crucify the bishop’s son

(We’ll crucify the bishop’s son)

Maidan, show us how it’s done

(Maidan, maidan,

Maidan, maidan)

Maidan, play our game!

Go, go!

You shall set the flame!

The music builds all throughout the third verse, with the coven members breathlessly whisper-chanting the call-and-response lines back to the witchlings. It rises to a fever pitch by the end of the verse, all while the square around the witchling collapses — the men shifting outwards, the witches shifting inwards, both groups forming a pair of circles around the dancing witchlings. The two circles rotate in countervailing directions, the witches with arms around each other’s shoulders as part of the tighter circle, the men linked at the hands as part of the wider circle. As the third verse ends and leads again into the interlude between verses, I start explaining to Dandy.

“So, a maidan is like the reverse of a witchling: she’s a female member of the coven that doesn’t practice witch magic, and is tasked with enforcing the coven’s laws and punishing those that break them.” I say quickly, knowing the gap between the third and fourth verses is relatively short. “It varies from coven to coven, of course, but maidans are viewed as warriors, and are often the coven matriarch’s enforcer, or the captain of the guard if the men of the coven are a fighting force. Like a witchling, there is only one maidan in each coven.”

“Ah. I see.” Dandy nods. “And this song, it is extolling the things that a maidan should do?”

“Yes, sort of? It’s mostly about maidan duties, but it reminds the coven about the wars between the Church and covens. It’s mostly about maidans, but also about other things.” I say.

“I see.” Dandy says again, and we don’t have any more time to talk about it at that point, because the fourth verse starts up then and there.

And when the end is drawing near

(Maidan! Maidan!

Maidan! Maidan!)

Know that witches nothing fear

(Maidan! Maidan!

Maidan! Maidan!)

Every day is Armageddon

(Maidan! Maidan!

Maidan! Maidan!)

But we know we shall live again

(Maidan! Maidan!

Maidan! Maidan!)

When day is night and light is gone

(Maidan! Maidan!

Maidan! Maidan!)

Maidan, Witchling, lead us on

(Maidan! Maidan!

Maidan! Maidan!)

Maidan, play our game!

Run, run!

She we cannot tame!

Maidan, play our game!

Come, come!

You shall cast the blame!

Maidan, play our game!

Go, go!

You shall set the flame!

With that, the circling members of the coven break apart, whooping and hollering as the song comes to an end. Faces are flushed, with many of the dancing witches fanning themselves and laughing, while the men catch their breath. It’s unsurprising, with how energetic the Maidan dance is, and how sharp and cold the winter air is. Add the singing to that, and it’s a good workout for anyone participating in it.

“So, what do you think?” I ask, glancing back to Dandy.

She tilts her head a little, watching as the members of the covens roam, some grouping together while others idle towards the outdoor tables to chat with the older members of the coven that sat out the dance. “I think I would’ve liked to participate. It looks like they had fun. I understand that we cannot, since we’re not part of the coven, but still.”

“That’s alright. We can have a dance of our own later.” I say, taking her hand and lifting it to give it a quick kiss, smiling at her. “Want to head back inside? It’s warmer there, and I wanted to do some shopping. Aurescuran witches sell arcane wares that even non-witches can use.”

Dandy considers the hand I just kissed, then leans in and gives me a quick kiss on the mouth, catching me off guard. It’s unusually forward for her; usually I’m the one that initiates, and Dandy’s never initiated in a public setting before. It doesn’t last very long; she draws back, letting out a soft, warm breath that crystallizes in the cold winter air. “Do you feel warmer now?” she asks with a lilted smile.

I can’t keep down the heat rising to my face. “A little.”

“Let’s go back inside, then. That will probably keep you warmer than I will.”

“I wouldn’t mind testing that theory later…”

Event Log: Jazel Jaskolka

Falcon’s Crossing: Coven Clubhouse

8:17pm SGT

“So every year, you make offering to this matriarch?” Kayenta asks as we ascend the steps leading to the clubhouse’s third floor. After taking some time to cool off and catch our breath after the Maidan dance, the matriarch had called our family so we could meet with her.

“Yes, it’s part of the coven tradition. She does it with every witch family that attends the winter gathering.” I explain. “We make our offering, she will ask us questions, and we will talk for a little bit before she dismisses us so she can meet with the next family.”

“And what does she do with all the offerings she gets?” Kayenta asks.

“I… don’t know, actually. I think she keeps some, and gives others back to the coven over the course of the year. Probably makes powerful spells and potions with a lot of the raw and rare components she receives.” I admit. “But I can’t say for sure.”

“The matriarch often uses the offerings to create such things, and gives them to the needier members of the coven to help them out in hard times.” Mom says as she reaches the door at the end of the hall. “Covens are not where you go to find rich people. We always make sure we take care of fellow witches in poverty, because many of us have been there before.” Resting a hand on the doorknob, she looks back at us. “Ready?”

I give a nod, lifting the little box I’d been holding beneath my cloak. Mom opens the door and steps in, and we file in behind her. The room inside is small; it’s not made for large gatherings, and a mat is laid out on the center of the floor. Sitting on a pillow on one end of it is the coven matriarch, hunched and small, with her cloak pooled around her, salt-and-pepper hair bunned up at the back of her head.

“Matriarch.” Mom says, inclining her head as I turn to close the door behind us.

“Katya.” the matriarch says, motioning to the array of kneeling pillows on the other side of the mat. “I see you bring family this year.”

Kayenta, who’s been staring at the matriarch, cocks her head to one side as we kneel to the pillows on our side of the mat. “You’re old.” she states frankly, as if this fact needed to be remarked.

“Kaya!” I mutter through gritted teeth. On my other side, Mom bites her lip, fighting back an instinctual reprimand.

Kayenta looks at me. “What? She is.” she shrugs.

The matriarch raises an eyebrow. “I see this one is without guile.”

“I apologize.” I say quickly. “She is from a different culture. We have brought an offering for you.” Popping the lid on the box, I tuck it under the bottom and slide it across to the mat to her. “It is a cicada husk we found out of season while we were foraging the Witchfen in the mountains.”

“A cicada husk in the winter? Very unusual. They are typically gone by the fall.” the matriarch says, picking up the box to study the husk, carefully reaching in and lifting it out. “It is in good condition. I am surprised it survived to the winter. This is a good offering, and it recommends your family well.”

“We are glad it is acceptable in the eyes of the coven.” Mom says, before motioning to me and Kayenta. “As you know, matriarch, this is my son, Jazel. On his other side is Kayenta, his…”

“Significant other.” I say when Mom hesitates. “We live our lives together.”

“It is okay to call her your girlfriend, Jazel.” the matriarch says, setting the cicada back in the box and carefully closing it, then setting it among the other offerings on the mat beside her. “The coven is not as judgmental as the Church.”

“It’s not that, it’s just we’re… a little more than that, but not quite married, it’s somewhere in-between.” I say, feeling heat rise along the back of my neck at the thought of having to explain that Kayenta viewed me as her mate. “Like I said earlier, she comes from a different culture…”

“Yes, I noticed.” the matriarch remarks drily, watching as Kayenta, who’s already lost interest in the conversation, makes a yanking motion with two of her fingers. The flame from one of the candles in the room is jerked away from its wick, zipping across the room to where Kayenta can catch it in her cupped hands as a tiny little sphere of fire. “She seems to be amply endowed with both tails and talents. Quite a catch.”

I reach over, taking one of Kayenta’s hands to hold it, and extinguishing the captured flame in the process. “She is.” I say as Kayenta looks up at me. “We didn’t get along at first, but I love being with her now. It is not always easy, but she is worth it to me.”

“I see.” the matriarch says, looking to Mom now. “Katya?”

“They get along well together.” Mom says. “It’s a bit unusual, I can’t argue with that, but they are a good pair, from what I have seen.”

Before I can say anything to that, Kayenta tugs our joined hands, and I glance to see that she’s staring at one of the tapestries hung on the wall. It’s the same one that’s hung in here for years, and I’ve seen it plenty of times on prior visits; it shows a hierarchy of Aurescuran spirits, with the Witchling at the top and the Old Ones at the bottom, and all the other spirits of Aurescura organized between. I give Kayenta a questioning look, not wanting to further disrupt the meeting with the matriarch, and Kayenta responds by lifting a hand and pointing at the third row of the tapestry. There, beneath the hooded Watchers, are a row of nondescript men and women in formal attire, each one with heads obscured by a swarm of animals.

And one of them is a woman with a flock of crows clouding her head.

“Would either of you like to share what has so captured your attention?” the matriarch asks, having noticed our distraction.

I snap my head back towards her, about to apologize, but Kayenta speaks before I can. “That picture on the wall, the people on the third row, what are they? The one with the crows told us she was an angel, but I don’t believe her. Angels are not that sickly or pale.”

The matriarch turns to look. “…this tapestry?”

“Yes, that one.”

“The third row from the top?”

“Yes, where all the people have their head hidden by creatures.”

The matriarch’s brow furrows. “Those are the Faceless Ones. They are the Witchling’s angels. Who told you they were not angels?”

“I did.” Kayenta declares fearlessly. “She said she was an angel, but I told her that angels aren’t that skinny or weak.”

“Who said that they were an angel?” the matriarch says, sounding confused as she looks back to Kayenta.

“The one with the crows!” Kayenta says, pointing again to the tapestry, then glancing at me. “Remember, Jazel? In the church, when we were looking at the room with the pictures?”

Both the matriarch and Mom look at me, and I take a deep breath, averting my eyes because I know how this is going to sound.

“One of them spoke to us in the Goldenbirch Cathedral. Showed us the history of Aurescura.” I say quietly.

“You two encountered one of the Faceless Ones.” the matriarch repeats, as if to clear away any ambiguity.

“Two, actually, there was one with cats. He came towards the end and reprimanded the one with crows.” Kayenta says. “I wanted to pet the cats, but I was too busy guarding Jazel.”

Again, both the matriarch and Mom turn to me, as if for confirmation.

I bite my lip. It feels stupid, even sacrilegious, saying this. No sane person claims that they’ve been visited by angels, but… “I thought at first that it was a delusion, a hallucination. That I was seeing things, and it was just me. And if it was just me, then I could write it off as something that I had imagined. But Kaya was there with me. She saw what I saw. And I knew from a medical standpoint that a shared hallucination was almost impossible.”

Kayenta looks from me, to Mom, to the matriarch. “Why is it such a big deal? It was just an angel.”

The matriarch arches an eyebrow. “‘Just’ an angel?”

“Kaya’s more used to… divine interaction… than most normal people are.” I explain quickly. “We did not share what we saw with anyone else, because… well, we would look crazy, and…” I wave my hands, because the point should be fairly self-evident.

“What did they show you, Jazel?” Mom asks. “The Faceless Ones.”

I lick my lips as I think back on that day in the cathedral. “The crow angel, she showed us Aurescura, the goddess. What she was, and what led her to try and destroy our world. And the crow angel showed us the final Cycle, where the Witchling took our entire world unto herself and shattered the heaven’s seal. Things we were not supposed to see, know, or remember. The cat angel, he came at the end and interrupted it, and reprimanded the crow angel for showing us things that were not meant to be shared with mortals. Said that they were the province of the Order alone.”

“And then they left.” Kayenta adds.

The matriarch and Mom look at each other, before the matriarch looks back to Kayenta and myself. “I must speak with your mother alone. You two will wait outside; we will call you back in when we are finished speaking.”

I nod at that and stand up, helping Kayenta to her feet as well. She gives a last look back at the room as I open the door, lead her out, and close it behind use; in the close, dim hall outside, we stand in silence for a bit, Kayenta’s august gaze straying to me now and again.

“Did we do something wrong?” she eventually asks.

“What?” I say, glancing at her. “No, no… it’s just… this is not normal for us. Your parents are gods; you’re familiar with angels, but normal people, they don’t experience those kinds of things. If you say you’ve seen an angel, people will usually think you’re crazy. People barely even see angels nowadays. A lot of them don’t even believe in higher powers.”

Kayenta’s quiet at that, looking downwards. As usual, her feet are as bare as they can get in a season like this; she’s wearing sandals, and even then, I can see her toes fidgeting, like she’s itching to kick them off and go barefoot. “I feel like, sometimes, I am too different from the rest of you.” she says quietly.

I look at her. Her hands are hidden behind her back, but I imagine she’s fidgeting with them as well. “What do you mean by that?”

“Everywhere we go, the people are different. They all seem similar to each other, but they are different from me.” she says, keeping her eyes down. “I have seen it on every world we go to. They all talk a certain way, and think me strange for speaking of gods or other things. They are fixated on these strange things that I don’t understand, the things you call politics and economics and social issues. I know you’ve explained them to me, but it is still hard to understand them. They just seem so… big. Everything is… big.”

I slip an arm around her, pulling her close. “That’s okay. Those are big things. The galaxy is a big place. It’s okay to feel small, or to feel like you don’t understand it. I’ve lived with it all my life, and even I only kinda understand some of it. And you’ve started learning some of it, even if it may not feel like it to you — you pick it up through the things you read and the things you watch, like the Challenger comics or the Challenger anime. Granted, it’s only simplified bits and pieces of a much bigger picture, but it’s something.”

“I guess.” Kayenta says, pursing her lips. “It doesn’t feel like it, though. Sometimes it feels like I finally understand it, but then people are always looking at me strangely for the things I say and do. And then I am filled with doubt, and wonder if I said or did something wrong… if I have to go back and ask you again. And I am always asking you questions…” She sighs, tilting her head against my shoulder. “I am just tired of everyone looking at me that way, looking at me strangely. Tired of being different.”

That leaves me at a loss, unsure of what to say. Kayenta was different, this much was true, but she was always so assertive and self-assured that I had never thought that being different would bother her. But I suppose it would feel lonely sometimes if people always looked at you a certain way, as if you were a curiosity or an outlier.

“Yeah. I guess that makes sense.” I say after a long moment, turning and gently nuzzling my face into her hair, between her silver ears. “But I like that you are different. If you were not different, you would not be you — and I like you. I like it when you ask me questions.”

She flicks one of her ears at that, then takes her head off my shoulder, looking at me. “Really? You like it when I ask you questions?”

“I do.” I smile, leaning in and brushing the tip of my nose against hers. “My curious little fox.”

The troubled set of her face melts into grateful relief, and bashful affection. “I am happy. I thought you would tire of my questions eventually.” she says, her many tails flicking back and forth.

“Ask me all the questions you want.” I reassure her with a smile. “Just don’t ask them all at once. I can only answer so much.”

“I will ask you all the questions, little witchling.” she promises, just as the door at the end of the hall opens again. We both turn to see Mom standing there, beckoning us back in.

Filing in, we close the door behind ourselves, taking our places on the kneeling pillows  once again. The matriarch waits until we are settled into place, then starts speaking.

“Jazel, you return to us as a prodigal son. You left the coven, and our homeworld, in the pursuit of ambition, and return to us now in transgress of the coven’s traditions.” That last part is spoken with a glance towards Kayenta. “She may have magic, but she is not a witch, nor is she of the Aurescuran persuasion.”

I don’t hesitate to reach over and take Kayenta’s hand. “That doesn’t matter to me.” I say, knowing I might be pushing the boundaries. Even as a witchling, being a man talking back to the coven matriarch rarely goes over well. “She is good as any witch I would find in the coven. Possibly better. She is sincere, and honest, and she may be unusual, but I would not trade her.”

The matriarch raises an eyebrow. “Let me finish, young man. Despite the fact that you left the coven and strayed from our traditions, we nonetheless welcome you back, even as the prodigal son. We are no longer bound so rigidly by the old ways; but more than that, we have long expected this. We have known for some time that you would not be as other witchlings.”

That catches me off guard. “What do you mean? Are you saying that you knew I would leave the coven?”

“Not as such, no. But we knew you would do things differently.” the matriarch says. “We know this because I was once told as much by one of the Faceless Ones.”

“So you know they are real!” Kayenta says, leaning forward on her hands. “You have met one, so you know we have met one! Two, actually.”

“Belief is not so easy for you as it is for the rest of us, child.” the matriarch says to Kayenta, and I bite back the impulse to tell her that Kayenta’s four centuries old. “It is rare, especially in this day and age, that mortals are graced with visitations from the divine. But if he has been visited by one of the Faceless Ones, then there are other things he should know as well. I will speak with the matriarch of the Redleaf coven, so that you and your mother may visit Kaldt Fjell. She let me know that your family already has a visit to Redleaf planned, so this will be a convenient addition to the existing trip.”

I can feel the muscles along my spine contract, causing me to sit up a little straighter as the hairs on the back of my neck rise. “Will the Redleaf witches allow it?”

“They will. They knew that you might return one day.” the matriarch affirms.

“Return?” I repeat, glancing at Mom. “But I’ve never been…”

“You were there once.” Mom says, but without fully looking at me. “You would not remember it. You were an infant.”

“But why was I…” I start, trailing off when I can tell Mom isn’t going to talk about it here, and the matriarch appears equally impassive. I feel unease growing within me as I start to realize why they are reluctant to discuss it — whatever it is being withheld, it has to do with my adoption.

Kayenta squeezes my hand, and though she does not say anything, I can tell she is trying to reassure me, made evident by how many of her tails flick and curl to the side, brushing against my back. Taking a deep breath, I nod to the matriarch. “Understood. We will go.” I say quietly. This is the way of the covens — often the matriarch will tell witches to go do something without telling them why. We are not supposed to question; the journey is the lesson, the destination the answer — the ancient tradition of learning passed from one generation of witches to the next.

“Good.” the matriarch nods. “You and your family may go your way now, Katya. Send up the Shinterhobbin family when you return downstairs. I am hoping the lateness of the night has worn out some of their young ones.”

“Five children. Six now? I could never.” Mom says, shaking her head as we get to our feet and prepare to leave. “I will tell them it is their turn. Thank you for meeting with us, matriarch.”

“And thank you for your offering, Katya.” the matriarch says as we open the door. “And Kayenta?”

Kayenta pauses, looking around.

“In the witch covens of Aurescura, there is only a single witchling in each coven. It is a great privilege and responsibility to be partnered with one. I expect you will take good care of this one, even if you are not one of ours.” the matriarch says.

“He is my witchling. He was stolen from me once; he will not be stolen again.” Kayenta replies, tugging our joined hands a little closer to herself.

“Good.” the matriarch says with an approving nod. “And for what it’s worth — I think the other witches are envious of your tails. They are quite beautiful, and good at getting the men’s attention.”

Kayenta smiles, her ego clearly preened with that compliment. “Thank you. I do not need any other men, though. I already have a mate.” With that, she tugs me out into the hall as she follows along behind Mom, and I close the door to the room with a last at the matriarch.

“I think we’ll be leaving soon.” Mom says as we reach the second floor again. “It’s starting to get late, and I’m a bit tired. Would you two mind tracking down Lysanne and Dandy while I’m looking for the Shinterhobbins?”

“We’ll find them.” I say. Mom heads off with that, and looking around, I can see the gathering has died down a little; some of the families with younger children have gone home. The clubhouse is a bit emptier, though there are still people wandering from table to table and socializing.

“Your mother is hiding something from you.” Kayenta observes once Mom is out of earshot.

I nod quietly. “I’m sure she had a reason.”

Neither of us move, even though we’re supposed to be tracking down Lysanne and Dandy. Instead, we just watch the remaining members of the coven milling around, each of us lost in our own thoughts about the meeting with the matriarch. After a few moments spent in silence, Kayenta turns suddenly, burying her face in the crook of my neck.

“Thank you for standing up for me when the matriarch said I was not a good match for you.” she mumbles. “You made my heart happy.”

I lean my head against hers. “I am your mate. Good mates stand up for each other and take care of each other.”

“Then you are a good mate.” I feel her lips press against my neck for a moment, before she pulls back, taking my hand and starting to tug me away from the stairs. “We should go find Lysanne and Dandy now. We do not want your mother to be cross.”

I can’t help but smile as she leads me away. Before I’d met Kayenta, there were a lot of things I expected to experience in a relationship. Feeling heartwarmed by my partner not wanting to disappoint my mother wasn’t one of them, but…

It was a good feeling.