TALES OF THE WITCH CLAN
MATRIARCHAL MAYHEM


       The twins, Gareth and Callum, were three months old, and still on breast milk. For James, their father, this meant toting baby baggage filled with innumerable gadgets like bottles, breast pumps, binkies, disposable diapers, extra blankets, throwing knives and a semiautomatic Ruger Blackhawk.

     “Mel, there’s two knives and a gun in this diaper bag!” James called out.

“The knives are mine, dear,” Melanie responded from the bathroom. “The gun was given to me after band rehearsal, last night.”

“I thought I recognized the knives,” James said, while balancing the larger of the two on his finger. “Your father gave you this one, but who thought you needed a gun?”

“A nice man in the parking lot by the club,” Mel said. “He had decided he wouldn’t be needing it anymore. So I couldn’t just leave it laying around for some child to find, so I took it with me when I got my knives back. I wiped them off on his jacket, but I still have to wash them. Could you put them in the sink for me?” James was sure he was missing something of the story here. Mel was the sweetest and loveliest woman he’d ever known, but this family had a side to it that a lesser man would fear to fathom.

“How, exactly, did you meet this nice man?” James asked with just a little trepidation.

“We only brought in the one bag, for rehearsal,” Mel said. “Since you were holding the boys, I went out to the car to get the other. While I was getting the bag out of the back, the nice man came up and showed me his gun. It seemed he wanted some money for it, but silly me, I wasn’t carrying my purse. He got very upset about that. I was worried the gun might accidentally go off, so the knife in my sleeve, the cute, little, four inch, thin one, ended up in his wrist and he dropped his gun.”

“You stabbed him?” James asked, incredulously.

“Well, nothing so personal as that,” Mel replied, returning to the kitchen to get the baby wipes out of the groceries. “I just stepped back a step and flicked it at his wrist, to make the nerves in his hand go dead.”

“Let me guess,” James hypothesized, “You used the bigger knife to finish him off. But I don’t remember any bodies laying about near the car when we left.”

“No silly,” Mel tittered. “I flicked the other knife, into his left rotator cuff to paralyze his left arm when he tried to pick the gun up with his other hand. I didn’t hit any arteries, and he was sleeping so peacefully on the pavement when I left him. It seems that his chin, hit the toe of my boot pretty hard, but it all worked out fine. I got my knives back without any fuss at all, ” she said as she walked down the hall to the twins’ room. James staring after her with eyes wide.

“You didn’t think to call a cop or something?” he said.

“Sure I thought about it.” Mel quipped, “I didn’t need one, and he didn’t want one. I’d have to say, that with the work related injuries he had sustained last night, that he will probably have to train for another profession. You certainly won’t find a penal system that works so fast and effectively as that, not these days.”

“So what are we going to do with this illegal handgun?” James asked.

“Turn it in for fifty dollars, when the police hold their annual drive to get them off the street.” Mel snapped, “Then maybe I’ll have some money to give the next maniac that tries to rob me. Nobody will get hurt, right?” Once again, James wasn’t sure what he said wrong, but he’d pacify the love of his life by putting the Ruger away, high up on top of the kitchen cabinet and wash the knives good. It wouldn’t do to give some poor miscreant an infection with a dirty knife, he thought.

* * *

     Melanie dearly loved James, but he could be so exasperating at times. He was very patient and understanding about so many things that occurred normally in her clan, most of which would send most outsiders running for therapy. He was as brave as he was kind. It would be a nice thing for the boys to inherit from their father. She thought she had handled the matter of the gunman in a very gracious manner. Her father, perceiving lethal intent with the weapon, would have killed the man instantly. Mel liked to think that she was just a tad more humane than the old wizard. Not that Daddums wasn’t as sweet as he wanted to be, he just wasn’t wired for what people call ‘normal.’ Her and James had their fair share of arguments about what was normal and not normal. Mel taught James that he would never get anywhere with that argument in this family. Given James’ Mohawk heritage, and Mel’s Irish, Cherokee and Sidhe heritage, doubled with the fact she was the current matriarch of a hereditary witch clan, martial arts proficiency not withstanding, “normal” was something that happened to people on the other side of the universe.

Mel wasn’t a frail woman, by any standards. At six feet tall, to James’ five foot ten inch frame, both of them athletic, lacrosse for James, kung fu for Melanie, theirs was a match made in heaven… that is, if they allowed you to run around and hit people with sticks in paradise.

Melanie’s particular interest, when not seam stressing, was music. Like her father, she could play almost any instrument after about an hour’s tinkering, and like her mother, she could sing the birds down from the trees. The rehearsal the other night was with a group she was a vocalist for, called The Wild Band. Her boys were familiar with this music from the womb, as Mel traveled with the band right on up to her last month of pregnancy. Occasionally, she would put together her own entourage and play at various festivals and gatherings, but with motherhood, some things would have to be on hold for a while, and that was about as normal as Mel would get.

This is not to suggest that this is a family of maniacs and lunatics. This is a family with very broad horizons and requires an adept to maintain a healthy balance. Mel was the product of thirteen centuries of adept, hereditary witches. Her father was also adept in the craft, but preferred the role of clan chieftain and left the matriarchy in place. He was the clan’s first adept male in as many centuries, but as it had always been a matriarchal succession, and his firstborn was as adept as she was beloved, he seemed happy to continue the tradition. All of his children were trained in martial arts, music, wood lore, herbs, spellcraft and the arcane wisdom of many disciplines. Her father was quick to use any and every opportunity to teach a principle by playing a game or making an example of something found on a nature hike. School was always in session with Dad.

Mel often felt sorry for friends who didn’t have the benefit of her particular kind of upbringing. People who looked into the arcane for knowledge and wisdom, without the benefit of childhood training, were referred to as “dabblers” in her family. Many who went poking around in occult matters, without some knowledge of what they were opening up, often became its victims. Daddums was often rescuing these victims as he happened upon them. Melanie’s next project was to get her father to teach a class on the foundations of Wiccan principles. She knew many women, who would have been natural witches, had they had the proper upbringing. It was a sad waste of wise womanhood, men too, but they were rare birds indeed. She had to do something about that. She’d have to find a way to corner her father when he came to look in on his grandsons.

Mel was just finishing the clean up of one of Callum’s infamous “power poops” when her dad walked in. It was amazing how he managed to never show up before or during one of these episodes. When the old wizard claimed he had a strong stomach, what he meant was, that he could toss it as far as the next guy.

“How’s Grandpa’s boys today?” he beamed.

“Clean, right down to their tiny little colons,” Mel retorted. “Would you do the honors of entertaining them while I clean up a bit?”

“Sure,” her father said, and placed a baby on each knee and began bouncing and singing to them some old favorites from the Fifties and Sixties. Mel disposed of the dirty diapers, and put away all the wipes and powder, and freshened up herself, and came back to relieve her father who was winding up with a funky rendition of “Mustang Sally.” Gareth was either grooving on the tune, or getting motion sickness, when Mel decided a little burp and then naptime would be in order for the twins.

“So, how’s Daddy’s big girl?” he asked, as she was putting the boys down in their cribs.

“I’m fine,” Mel replied. “But I’ve got some issues on my mind, that I doubt I can tackle on my own. I think I’m going to need your help.”

“Tell me about it,” he said, “and I’ll see what I can do.”

“I have a friend, from Mom’s store,” Mel began, “She’s a Puerto Rican witch, of a sort, named Gem.”

“You’re not fixing me up are you?” her father glowered.

“No, she’s definitely not your type, Daddums,” Mel laughed. “Her issues have issues. She’s into something called ‘Chango,’ and it seems that some life issues have gotten out of hand, and she needs some good advice from someone who can understand where she’s coming from and yet won’t take her for a ride.”

“That craft would be ‘Santeria,’” her father said thoughtfully. “Chango is a high order fae spirit. Is she a grounded witch?”

“That would have made things a lot easier,” Mel said. “But she’s only been at this for a few years, and a lot of old chickens have picked this time to come home to roost, so to speak. She’s a good woman and single mom, with a fine son and daughter. If she had our upbringing, I think she would have been a first rate witch as any you’ve known.”

“So, you’re not fixing me up,” her father recounted, “and you want me to raise an already grown witch, undo the ‘dabbler’ and make her functional. In short, you want a miracle.”

“Yep,” Mel grinned. “I’m sure you have one or two left to spare from today’s ration.”

“I do,” the old wizard replied. “But, I’m going to insist on a few things. First, I do not meet alone with this woman. You will always be present. Her respectability AND my own, must be preserved. Second, she’s not the only one on your mind, tell me about the others.” For the briefest moment, Mel had forgotten who she was talking to and was taken aback.

“Actually, I know a few women, all of whom, in another place and time, would have been trained as witches,” Mel complied. “They are talented individuals with little more than a ‘knack’ for things and little or no formalized training. They just don’t know about crawling before walking and then running and jumping, and of course, we can expect they’ll get hurt as they learn why one comes before the other.” Mel was speaking about certain metaphysical precepts that witch children are taught as they are growing up, to make the most of their individual talents. Her father had seen the problems incurred by well meaning dabblers all too often.

“You often said,” Mel went on, “that the world, during the Dark Ages, had separated itself from its own roots. Since we’re not exactly on the Inquisition’s list anymore, I was wondering what we might do to restore some of the balance.”

“If I fear anything,” her father replied, “it’s religious zealots, both ours and theirs. I don’t want to convert the world to Wicca. I’m very happy with Christ. I’m still not overly trusting of Christians with matches though. I don’t want to be anyone’s high priest. I’m a confirmed solitary wizard. Even when I belonged to a coven, I saw good magick take a back seat to coven politics, and the same goes for even the best Christian churches. What could I produce? Christian witches? Most people believe that to be an oxymoron.”

“You raised FOUR Christian witches,” Mel remonstrated, holding up four fingers, “with no little success. And that, with no support from the rest of your clan, nor any from our local church. But I’m not suggesting religious education. I’m asking we teach them how to see and think like a witch, learn to base things on solid foundations so that they work as they should, in a stable and sane way. I’ve been learning how few people there are in the world who have any idea of what that really is. Every concept of the greater reality has been cloaked in mumbo-jumbo for centuries. Is it any wonder, that the ones that possess the tiniest bit of sight for such things, get into the most trouble with them?”

“That’s why a clan such as ours,” the old wizard remarked, “needs an adept witch as a matriarch, or even a patriarch as times might demand. Only an adept will see and understand the fullest needs of the clan. Your idea of kin, is a bit broader than mine. I’m too used to being excluded from humanity.” He continued with a sigh, “It’s a high goal to reach for, but your argument is a sound one. Perhaps, something of the informal women’s circle my grandma and aunts used, will work for us here. There’s a lot of Disney-fied, misconceptions that we’ll have to tackle one on one, but if the ladies are willing, I think we can help with some things that will make them better able to manage as their own witch. Solitaires only, no covens. No high priestesses and grand exalted poobahs, just witch to witch. Om biggun tu?” he broke into Irish.

“I understand,” Mel smiled, and hugged him tightly “Thanks Dad.”

* * *

    Mel and her father coached Gem through some tough times. They would meet at restaurants and sometimes at their individual abodes. He would allow Gem to talk out her problems, and then patiently, begin building precept upon precept, and define why he was tackling items in a particular order. By the following Lughnasadh Festival, at Midsummer, her father had helped Gem accumulate the spell components she would need to crossover into the Otherworld and set things in motion to effect a positive change in her life. It was like moving in baby steps all that year, but when they took Gem through the woods to Kidron, the spellwork was as marvelous as anyone could expect. A well grounded witch was beginning to emerge from a frightened woman. Mel’s intuition told her that the cultural boundaries would represent no real problem, if the fundamentals were in put in place. She was proven right.

The women’s circle first met, without her father present, so that the ladies would become comfortable with each other and why they were there. In the first meeting, there were four women, besides Melanie. Tammy was a feisty, middle aged, red haired, divorcee. Her children lived in the house behind old Storm’s apartment. When she was visiting her kids, she caught sight of Mel and her dad working out with swords from the back yard, so she took it on herself to meet them. Sarah was a lovely dark haired, doe eyed, jewess, in her early twenties with an overpowering intuition about people and things. She wasn’t comfortable with her talents and wanted to understand and explore them. Tara was an auburn haired Irish woman in her late twenties, with an unquenchable thirst for all things Celtic. Helene Mpoyi was probably the eldest of all the women, excluding Gem. She was from the old Congo, now called Zimbabwe. Her husband Max was the clan chieftain of her extended family. Being the clan mother, she felt a kinship with Mel and her father. Managing her extended household wisely, was important to her, so she felt her time in these meetings would be well spent.

Melanie shared with them some stories of her own childhood, being raised in martial arts, and wood lore with her siblings, by their father, and her mother teaching them needlework and fabrics. They were somewhat envious of Mel’s good fortune to be raised as a witch, in a modern family. She seemed so comfortable with the craft, as if she were in a sewing circle.

“Being a real witch,” Mel explained, “is not putting on a robe on certain portentous days and waving wands and chanting at things. It’s the ‘craft of the wise.’ It’s a way of living and looking at the world around you, and being prepared to deal with the circumstances it throws at you. The robes and wands have their places, but they are only a couple tools out of a vast tool chest.”

“It sounds like your parents raised you to be prepared for any eventuality,” Helene commented.

“Take it to the next level, and you‘d be right,” Mel replied. “To some people, shit happens. Witches have the power to MAKE shit happen. Some people are victims of circumstance, and anything else that comes their way. Witches are manipulators of circumstance. If there’s a force in nature, it will be a witch, of one sort or another, who will find a way to make it work for them.”

“I want to put a curse on my ex-husband,” Tammy laughed. “He never worked for me.”

“That’s an idea to start with,” Mel said, “but not one to carry through as such. You’ll make yourself even more miserable than he makes you.” Tammy and the ladies looked puzzled.

“The number three is a powerful number in most arcane disciplines,” Mel explained. “The witch’s Law of Threes states that anything you do, be it good or bad, will come back to you threefold.”

“I’ve heard of this before,” Tara said wonderingly.

“So any cooties, I put on my old man, will come back on me triple?” Tammy asked.

“BINGO!” Mel said. “Likewise, anything done to a witch, will incur this same law. You just watch and wait for him to get his payback. But that doesn’t mean we have to sit back and take all that abuse patiently. Sometimes, we have to manipulate a few circumstances to put our tormentors in a position where they are more apt to learn what a bad idea it might be to piss off a witch. We have to be wise about such things. It doesn’t pay to burn your house down around your ears.”

“But, isn’t your mom a Christian?” Sarah interposed. “Doesn’t that make for a lot of conflict in your family?”

“It makes for conflict,” Mel replied. “But, not the way you might think. Of all pagans, witches are notoriously individualistic about what patron deities or entities they choose to pay homage to. Some are Dianic witches. They pray to the Moon goddess. Some prefer Danu or Gaia, otherwise known as Mother Earth. My father was originally a lunar witch. The last thirty years or so, he’s been a Christian, and raised us that way too.”

“How can you be both?” Tara asked. “In Ireland, Catholics and Protestants would stop fighting each other long enough to burn a witch. It was said that the Protestants would bring the matches and the Catholics would gather the wood.”

“I never thought about it much,” Mel said. “The things the Bible said not to do, I didn’t bother doing. The things it said about being wise as serpents, and harmless as doves, I took to heart. To many, “witch” is an evil word that gives them an image of something caricatured and demonized by the Holy Roman Empire. To me, “witch” or “wizard“ means wise woman or wise man. It’s a Celtic word for wisdom. There’s no edict against being wise. If there was, by definition, only idiots would abide by it.”

“You mean to tell me that witches and Christians can be comfortable together?” Helene queried.

“Only if they drop all the bigoted garbage that has been handed down for so long,” Mel went on, “Everybody respects the “Magi” that honored Christ at his birth. But who or what did you think they were? My dad likes to say that our people knew about Christ, before the Jews were even aware of what was happening within their midst. We were the ones who warned Joseph and misdirected Herod. My allegiance is unwaveringly with Christ. That is my wise choice as a witch.”

“Then why all the centuries of conflict?” Tammy asked.

“The conflict comes from Christians, or any sect, who have no knowledge of who or what we are, apart from what they see in movies or read about in fairy tales and comic books.” Mel explained, “The same church that has the heartfelt calling to send its missionaries to the pagans of Papua, New Guinea, will reject the pagans of North America, out of hand, as beyond redemption. Most people don’t like to be preached at. Witches aren’t likely to take this kind of treatment as an invitation to come join our church. To them, ‘Christian love’ is open hostility. As always, the true enemy is ignorance.”

“What do you consider yourself to be?” Sarah posed.

“My culture is a mixed bag of traditions.” Mel went on, “Christianity in every country, has its own peculiar culture and traditions, and for the most part, they are comfortable with the diversity. My family are not all that different in this aspect. My religion is where I place my faith and trust. My way of life is that of an Irish witch, with a good portion of Native American lore thrown in. It‘s amazing the similarities that exist in the old Celtic and Native cultures here. Every witch makes a conscious choice of who or what they want to be, and it has to fit the individual.” She continued, “But just like the rules about what goes up, must go down, there are certain precepts that bind us all. You want to know about witchcraft, we‘re willing to share some of the best precepts of it for you to avoid the worst mistakes. Remember, the blessings we share with you, return to us threefold. It‘s for our mutual good.”

“How much, do you think your father will charge for these lessons?” Tammy asked.

“If you want my dad to speak at a conference,” Mel replied, “or travel somewhere to talk to a group, you’ll need to consider an honorarium. To share knowledge within our own clan confines, it’s his privilege. His return is karmic, and he prefers it that way. He has an ironbound code of ethics he feels comfortable with. Trust me, if anybody started trying to foist money or gifts on him when he’s not receptive, he can become very abrupt, and downright rude.”

The women’s circle was a hit with the ladies. Often they would bring knitting or busywork with them as they sat and shared. On an occasion when preparing for a big dinner conflicted with the circle, Tammy used her “hands free” cell phone to stay in the circle with Mel as she was baking in her kitchen at home. For a small portion of the circle’s time, the old wizard would come and speak to the ladies about the craft. The number of attendees was beginning to increase, but fluctuated somewhat due to availability. The measure of success was that everybody benefited from what was learned here. Mel wanted to keep it small and close, but still she felt as if she should be reaching more women, and possibly men as well, but not like this.

“Dad, I want to take this to another level,” Mel said. “But I’m not clear as to how.”

“I know what you mean,” her father agreed. “I’ve been thinking I had better get to writing those books I’ve been itching to write for so long. I signed up for a writers course. I’m toying with some short stories in the occult fiction genre. I think I can share some craft and entertain in one fell swoop.”

“It’s about time, Daddums, publishing sounds good,” Mel said thoughtfully. “Even a witch clan website might be an idea. How does ’Witch Clan Dot Com’ sound to you?”

“Wouldn’t it better be a Dot ‘Org,’” her father countered, “as it deals primarily as a cultural education setting?”

“I think ‘Dot Com’ is for us,” Mel asserted. “Your stories entertain and give people something to think about, and the website can give them even more. We can also keep your readers updated for the where and when of new stories or lectures. So the commercial designation is appropriate. We‘ll reach even more people that way. Most will just want a good story, and not even realize what they are learning, but when somebody says ‘witch‘, they‘ll think of people like us, and not some green faced hag in ruby slippers, which combats an impossible stereotype for us.”

Mel and her father wrote a series of informative articles to begin the website with, and digitized pictures and charts detailed various lessons. Her father was already well into sending out short stories to various publications and contests. His first book of short stories on his family’s theme was already in bookstores. Upon completion of the website, it began taking hits almost immediately by people using search engines to obtain material on witches and witchcraft. It was about this time that Mel began getting e-mail from a group of hereditary witches in Ohio. They were primarily interested in her father and his family tree. Mel wasn’t sure if she should be exposing distant family members to the kind of scrutiny she was getting, and her father had long ago severed most ties to his former family members just to keep his own peace of mind. He was a very different kind of man, but he deeply resented those who treated him as though he were some sort of monster. He had his own ideas of who the monsters REALLY were, so he simply dropped all ties. Nobody came looking for him to inquire as to his well being, he wasn’t really missed, and he certainly didn’t miss living constantly under suspicion. She thought it best to contact her father and have him look into these inquiries. He was currently using some vacation time to explore rift areas and not easily reached.

The e-mails got plenteous, and some grew more insistent about family information. Mel took a strict tone at this point. The stories were fiction, and even the more historic versions were fictionalized enough to protect family members from the potential fanatic, religious or otherwise. Her website policy became that if you wanted information on various aspects of the craft and culture, we were willing to share. If you wanted publishing companies and release dates, we were happy to provide information as it became available. If you wanted to pry into private family affairs, you were unwelcome. This caused the worst of these messages to stop. Until she got this one:

To: Melanie@WitchClan.com
From: Leona@NotMail.com

Dear Melanie;
We are sorry if we upset you. Some family members recognized enough of our names and history to believe we are related. In your father’s writings, I have seen my great grandmother’s name, grandmother’s name, and my mother’s name, as well as some aunts’, but only their first names. It’s been all too many decades, but I recognize your father’s name and description of him as a child. Allow me to offer a positive I.D. Ella, Emma, and myself, all have the same middle name “Mae”. I too was trained by our grandmother, Emma. Evelyn was my mother, and I am your father’s cousin, Leona Mae. Grandmother called us the “Lioness and the Unicorn.” I’m five years older than your father. Your father never mentioned these in his stories, please pass this on to him to verify my story. As current matriarch of the main body of our clan, I think it’s high time I mended some old fences, and removed some others. I have never thought ill of my cousin, indeed, most of our present family have no knowledge of him at all. My mother passed away a number of years ago, and most of the “old guard” are gone. May we start anew?
Sincerely,
Leona Mae

     Melanie was beside herself. She wasn’t sure how her father might react, but he had, in the past, mentioned his cousin Leona. He never spoke ill of her, but still, fifty plus years was a long time, and he had finally settled down into a state he was comfortable with. It didn’t strike her as a wise idea to pick open old wounds and try to heal them. It wasn’t a wise idea to snub family either, though HE had been the outcast, and not the other way around. There was also the matter of his wife and children being of Cherokee stock. Dad didn’t tolerate any kind of racial discrimination, and when his mother and half sisters expressed a few less than equal views, he cut them off as sharp as a sword stroke. Dad didn’t have any half measures about half breeds, he could only love whole heartedly. There was no telling how old family might react, but she knew her father. She went to her father’s house and taped the e-mail to his computer screen with a note to talk to her as soon as possible. He would understand all the implications.

First thing, Monday morning, her father was knocking at her door, e-mail in hand and a troubled expression on his face.

“What the hell did I open up now?” her father asked. Beating around bushes was not his cup of tea. “I feel like I’m being annexed.”

“That was my first impression,” Mel laughed aloud. “My second thought, was how I was going to be nice about all this, without starting a witch war. Is Leona adept?”

“Ooooh, I don’t like any of this,” the old wizard grimaced. “Leona is not a born adept, but with over a half century in the craft, it hardly makes much difference. She’ll be a formidable witch, by any standards. She was a good choice for matriarch, but you are OUR best choice, Mel. Leona is ALL human, and the family is strictly women in the craft. I haven’t heard a peep about any male cousins in the practice at all. You know I don’t play word games about sexual or racial discrimination, and the kind about MY race is a doozy. I had a helluva time, just prying into exactly what Iroquois tribe, my great grandfather was a chieftain of. They don’t even talk about it anymore. Leona and I being Grandma’s pets, she can vouch for my skill as an adept and my humanity, and they MIGHT buy that, to a point.” He explained himself, “As a male, I’ll still be resented. Now here I sit, with adept, hybrid children who are also not particularly white… it will be a wonder if all our mail doesn’t start coming second through fourth class. You know what I mean? I don‘t think I could stand for that, even a little while.” Her father’s heart was back out on his proverbial sleeve, and Mel could see it already broken and scarred from the life he led. He was doing so nicely, until now.

“Maybe, we should show them an already well established clan,” Mel suggested. “That would require them to make drastic changes to join. Give them something they’ll want to think about for a long time, but allow a loose association in a good will, to distant family sort of way.”

“Keep me informed,” her father chuckled. “I can see you’ve been thinking about this, and I like the way you think. Just don’t underestimate Leona. She’s the best of the best over there. She’s due a good degree of respect.”

“In the ‘food for thought’ department,” Mel quipped, “I’m planning a feast of large proportions.”

“That’s my girl!” her father beamed. Mel began drawing upon every resource available to her, for what was to come.

* * *

     The women’s circle was still meeting regularly, and more were coming all the time. A local group of psychics and practicing New Age witches, had caught wind of it and some meetings would take place in some of their own facilities, where more seating was available. Mel’s father would also give lectures there as well, and at some meetings, even some men would show up for the talks. A certain spirituality was beginning to pervade, though Mel preferred the close to home variety of ladies meetings. As it was nearing Halloween, the psychic’s association was considering renting a “haunted castle” for their psychic’s fair this year, and wondered if the local witch population, might like to go in with them for half the rent, and provide a safe community Halloween party. The old National Guard Armory on Main Street was going to be used for this. It was built like a medieval castle and had a great hall. Presently being vacant, the owner could use a bit of tax help, so the price was right. Melanie was right in the thick of things as the arrangements were being made and the costumes and decorations were being set.

Leona and her clan were still e-mailing regularly, and Mel openly invited them to attend a little clan get together at the “clan hall” on Main Street, to meet with her and the old wizard. It would be for early in the week of the last week of October. This would give Leona plenty of time to be back with her own family by Samhain, for their own festivities. The ladies were excited and proud to have this visit. They felt very much a part of the Storm household and Mel prepared them to greet a very old and honored family. Her brother Jonathan, and Seth as well as some of her father’s advanced martial arts students would attend as well, all to be on their very best behavior. This was a Halloween that no one would forget.

* * *

     Leona Mae, was understated elegance in her long gray dress and white shawl. Her shining ash blond hair hung loosely to her waist, and her clan medallion hanging at her breast. She wore her age very well, as the genetics of her family dictated, and good living allowed. The family resemblance between her and old Storm was remarkable. Not having seen him since he was about nine or ten years old, she would rely on this to recognize him. The chartered airport limo dropped Leona, her daughter Fiona and her two nieces before a medieval castle only a few blocks east of downtown Rochester. At once the doors opened and four young men, elegantly dressed in black, wearing swords slung in ornate baldrics, came to help them in with their luggage. Leona hadn’t packed much, as she was only planning an over night visit and returning to Cleveland the following afternoon. She had noted that they all wore silver Celtic cross medallions, and that as the men bent to pick up the bags, the tallest of the four had mage runes engraved deeply in the back of his.

“Biannach bi, Jonathan,” Leona addressed him directly, knowing his description from the stories. “You wear the runes of the magi. Your matriarch approves?”

“I am my father’s son,” Jonathan replied simply, and bowed slightly. “My sisters bid you welcome, a warm reception awaits you all, inside. Allow me to escort my honored lady to our hall.” Jonathan took her proffered arm, as the other gentlemen took up the baggage and followed behind. Her daughter, Fiona and her nieces were hard put, not to gawk. When the women in her clan met, there were no men present, at all. Since the family connection between hers and Melanie’s clan would be the adept wizard, she assumed there would be at least a single exception to this rule. It was obvious, by the runes and the stories that Jonathan was yet another exception. She couldn’t figure how these other young men fit into the witch clan. Was Storm such a prolific breeder, that he had other children by other wives?

* * *

     At the door, Helene Mpoyi, dressed in her most elegant native attire, greeted the visiting matriarch with a heartfelt blessing in Swahili. The Caribbean witch, Gem, appeared at her side and sprinkled sea salt and blessings on the visitors as well. Their eyes grew wider as they came into the great hall. The men and women present appeared to be a veritable United Nations of Witchcraft. A large banner, in Celtic script, welcoming the witch clan, stretched across the room. Smaller flags and placards of all sorts decorated the walls. A candle lit head table, flanked by two long tables were set at the far end of the hall. A steaming iron cauldron sat on a hook in the fireplace, the unmistakable root beer smell of brewing sassafras coming from within. A lovely redheaded woman was ladling pewter mugs of the brew. Before the head table stood three, very tall, women cowled in ornate black velvet cloaks. The cowled woman to Leona’s left, held the hilt of an ornate, unsheathed sword. The woman to the right, held a gnarled wooden scepter with a large green stone orb in its grasp. The taller of the three, in the center, was holding an intricately carved wooden staff with a rampant unicorn largely visible on its top half.

Jonathan moved forward and greeted the unearthly trio as his sisters, and introduced Leona and her charges to the family. The sisters removed their cowls and each stepped forward to meet their long lost cousins. Becky, Jonathan and Tori bowed slightly to the visiting matriarch, as Melanie waited for her due. Leona and her charges bowed slightly to Melanie as Storm clan matriarch, and offered their blessings on the hall. Tammy brought the honored guests steaming mugs of sassafras, and the young men brought chairs to the hearth for the sisters and guests to sit. Mel poured a libation to the fae present on the hearthstone and the party was officially begun.

“The smell of this brew brings back so many memories,” Leona smiled into her cup.

“My father and the boys still harvest it from the same places your grandmother taught him,” Mel explained.

“Is your father well?” Leona asked, “Will he be coming?”

“He’s in the apartment in the tower,” Mel replied. “He’ll be down soon. I think he’s preparing a proper enchantment to greet you with.”

“This whole turn out is so enchanting,” Leona observed. “You out do yourselves.”

“More than one family, one culture or even one world is represented here today,” Mel explained.

“My grandmother used to call him ‘the world’s tallest elf,’” Leona reminisced. “I imagine he’s still quite fae. My mother used to say he could cross over into the Otherworld like he was a native. All of my aunts had commented on that. They were a bit fearful about him, as he was very unpredictable as a boy. I found him to be head strong, but very sweet when we were children together at Grandma’s house. Once, in Grandma’s garden, he crossed over, and I was with him. I saw faeries for the first time. I’ll never forget that. Nobody would believe me when I told them, though.” she smiled sadly.

About this time, the crowd, that had been enjoying refreshments with the Storms and Leona’s family, an expression of murmured wonder spread through the room, and the crowd had quieted and parted as a familiar blue orb, floated into the hall towards the ladies seated at the hearth. Leona’s eyes grew wide.

“This must be Sundog,” Leona breathed. “I’ve read about you. To be honest, I thought you were the ‘fiction’ part of the stories.”

“He prefers it that way,” Mel supplied. “Dad must be coming down now.”

The old wizard walked into the hall, following the path the faery had cleared for him, nodding and smiling to all of his acquaintances and guests. His long, ash blond hair hanging loosely over his cowled black cloak, silver clan ring and medallions gracing his fingers and neck, with a carved ebon staff in his hand. He approached the hearth and kissed his daughters each on their cheek, and greeted his cousins warmly.

“Leona, you have aged so gracefully,” he said unabashedly. “What a wonderful matriarch you’ve made. Grandma would be so proud of you, to see you so.”

“And you as well, cousin,” Leona conceded. “I never would have thought such was possible,” she indicated with a sweeping gesture.

“I have a bit of a surprise,” Storm said. “If you’ll give me but a moment to prepare.” Leona nodded as the wizard started giving instructions to various people.

“I need the hearth area cleared and people to take their seats at the tables,” he indicated. “Tori, if you will set your rift wand on the mantle, please?” Tori placed her strange scepter on the mantle piece and backed off to help with the seating. Melanie stayed seated at the hearth. Leona and her charges started to rise and move for the tables, when the old wizard stopped them.

“Forgive me, but this is an experience, you’ll all appreciate,” he said, motioning for Fiona and her cousins to remain by the hearth. “I mean to include you all in on this. This time, Leona, someone will believe you,” he said enigmatically and raised his staff and struck the hearthstone thrice. His eyes flashed with lightning, and thunder shook the windows as the room went suddenly dark. A moment of disorientation and the candle light and hearth’s fire lit the room again. No electric lighting appeared and the hall was empty of people, except for Melanie, her father, Leona and her three neophytes were present in the room.

“You’ve made them all disappear!” Fiona blurted out, her cousins looking wildly about.

“Not them…US,” Melanie corrected. “We’ve crossed over. This is the Otherworld version of this castle.” Her father clapped his hands, and fae lights descended from the upper reaches of the rafters and danced in formation to an eerie music that filled the hall.

“Your father commands the faeries,” Fiona remarked.

“We ARE fae,” Mel returned. “We’re only a generation removed from our fae roots. In the time before your visit, Daddy asked them to help. These are friends, not servants.”

“If you want to meet this family, it’s important you meet all of us as we are,” the wizard said. “I won’t pretend our aunts were wrong about me, but neither will I accede that they were right.” Leona looked askance at him, and the girls looked apprehensive.

"Don’t be afraid,” Storm continued, “I’m no monster. We’ll be having a lovely dinner with our human guests and clan members shortly. I just wanted you to see some things for yourselves, with your own eyes. You came to look me over, and consider me back into the clan. I’m afraid I might still be unfit for you, but I want you to judge me such for all the right reasons. The people you’ve met are people I have come to love, and they love me, in spite of my differences. They are as much family to me as yourselves, and they are important to me. I’m not asking you to restructure your clan to make room for me and mine, not as such. I think our past matriarchs are greatly honored in being the founders of not one, but two great clans. I don’t think it’s possible for a human matriarch to manage such as we are, and will be,” he gestured between himself and Melanie. “I also wouldn’t feel right about changing the centuries long traditions that you have preserved, and has brought our kind this far. But we are related, and not so loosely as we have treated each other for so long. Perhaps, a bit more mutual respect and family love are long over due.” The wizard looked upwards and sighed deeply, “I’m showing off on a grand scale, simply to show you who, and what we are, and how different. I don’t mean to startle or alienate you. I just wanted you to know what I really felt about all this, and heap enough honor on you to show you are loved and respected here.” With that, before anyone could respond, the wizard brought his staff down on the hearthstone again. A crack of thunder shook the windows, and a light flashed. As the ladies eyes adjusted to the brightness of the room, they found themselves all seated at the head table to the sound of a hearty applause by all the people seated around them.

The dinner was excellent, with so many dishes from so many cultures present. Gem had brought Caribbean dancers complete with Afro-Caribbean drummers to entertain. There were belly dancers with Middle Eastern music. Jonathan and the advanced students did a weapons kata set to music. Melanie got up and sang a set of tunes, ancient and modern, with a group of musicians she managed to cobble together for the occasion.
Later, her husband James showed up with the twins, which completely captured Leona’s heart. The party slowed down and guests left as time allowed, but the talking and reminiscing went on, until the ladies were driven to their hotel rooms, late that evening. The old wizard was as happy and proud as she had ever seen him. Himself, Bex, Tori, and the boys stayed to clean up and lock up the hall, and get it in shape for the Halloween parties later in the week.

The next afternoon, Mel met with the cousins and drove them to the airport to see them back. Everyone promised to keep in touch. She was sure they would. Leona had expressed to her what a wonderful matriarch she thought Mel was. Leona was sure her grandmother and great grandmothers would have been so very proud of them both. Mel was proud the whole event went off without a hitch. There was only a single, mild altercation in the parking garage to mar an otherwise perfect time. But Mel quickly put it out of her mind.

* * *

“Mel, do you have any idea how this handgun got into our glove compartment?” James asked, the following day. All was back to normal... such as we know it.

 

Impressum

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 30.01.2010

Alle Rechte vorbehalten