River Mist Tales: The Cauldron

Hurry, this way, before the river mist settles upon the dooryard. It may be a while before your path home is revealed.

The seat by the window is most comfortable and there’s tea in the pot, if you haven’t brought a wee dram of your own.

Ignore the cats, don’t open the windows when the crows come calling.

I’ll be working in the darkened alcove across the room if you have any needs or she knocks upon the door.

She doesn’t like to be kept waiting. Enjoy her photographs and her 12-line tales. Though she is a bit loose with the truth and a bit too revealing with magic, as your kind calls it.

Until your next visit, may your wonderings be bold and your imaginings be wise.


The Cauldron

“This will never work,” said Dorcas shaking her head.

“Not with that attitude,” said Lynney, wondering why her cousin was giving up so soon.

“She’s right Lynney, we need the cauldron, we need Granny Briar’s cauldron,” said Tanith, “ she infused it with wind energy, and, well, we could use her help.”

“The dead Granny Briar, the woman none of our mom’s will talk about, the woman whose cottage disappeared in a dark fog, that woman’s cauldron,” said Lynney beginning to doubt her own abilities, her own attitude.

“Yeah, that woman, but I’ve been reading her books we found, all we do is ask, give thanks really for already receiving the cauldron, and, and it will reveal itself to us,” said Dorcas, confident that her studies were leading them in the right direction, “so let’s go.”

Without another word, the three girls packed away their jars of dried herbs, their collection of bird feathers, dried leaves, sky blue candles, braided ribbons the colors of summer sunsets and storm laden winter skies, placing everything with care into a leather and wood travelers trunk, locking it shut, shoving it against a shadowed wall, placing their alder handled brooms, broomcorn bristles upright, into a dark corner of the hay loft.

“My mom’s not happy about all this, about us, about me, she’s asking more and more questions” said Tanith as the three climbed down the ladder, left the barn.

“Don’t lie Tanith, you have a gift, don’t lie about it, none of us need lie if anyone asks anything,” said Dorcas, “speak with care though, for now focus on the cauldron, practice the incantation, remember our words have power.”

Anyone following the cousins might have wondered why three teenage girls were walking in deep silence, only the rising breeze, the crows, the bare-limbed trees, heard the growing song of enchantment, heard the strengthening desire, the overwhelming rise of gratitude, and willingly added their own energy to the call.

It was Lynney who stopped first, having raised her eyes from the familiar path through the field, around the out buildings, of her father’s farm.

“Look,” said Lynney grabbing Dorcas’ arm, “look, there by the old storage sheds, you are gifted, scary but gifted.”

Leaving Dorcas standing guard over the grounded cauldron, drawing the circle, invoking the wisdom and blessing of their Granny Briar, Tanith and Lynney retraced their steps back to the barn, collected the feathers, candles, ribbons and other items they considered supportive for the spell work, the enchantment they were calling, the flying spell the three were casting upon their brooms, upon themselves.