Witch Clan: Matriarchs by John Stormm (best pdf ebook reader .TXT) 📕

For such small wedding plans it was a very hectic day, and it didn't help matters with a four year old bundle of restless energy running about yelling "Stop it, stop it, stop it" at the faeries he insisted were hiding things on the adults so that they could enjoy the ensuing circus of frantic activity.

"Johnny, maybe you could help Grandma by taking your faery friends out to the garden until we all get dressed." Emma shooed him out the back door. "And don't get your nice new clothes all dirty. You want to look nice for Grandma's wedding."

Willard had made a friend of Pastor Gibson at the Lutheran church at the edge of town where he had taken on a carpentry job repairing the bell tower that had recently been struck by lightning. Since money was nowhere near plenteous and he so much wanted to give Emma a church wedding, the pastor had agreed to do a small ceremony in the church nave in front of the altar. There would only be seven people in attendance besides the good pastor, so a simple honorarium to cover the filing fees and license would be sufficient.

Dave had agreed to be Willard’s best man and Lorry was Emma’s maid of honor. Old Ian and Geraldine put on their Sunday best and came as witnesses. It was nice to have Geraldine present to keep a kind hand on Johnny, who had never been in a church before. Willard looked uncomfortable in the only suit he owned, as though it might have been lacking a decent pair of bib overalls to complete a proper ensemble. Emma had curled her long, black tresses and wore her nicest floral print cotton dress with a wreath of flowers from her own garden in her hair. Willard had insisted on buying her a bouquet to hold at the altar. Old Ian stood gaunt and stoic in his finest blazer and kilt dwarfed next to Geraldine’s massive frame, bright blue cotton dress and summer hat. Johnny stood quietly with Geraldine’s gentle hands on his shoulders and gawked at all the stained glass and carvings in the huge nave.

Dozens of unlit candles lined the nave on brazen stands. On the altar, only two candles were lit as there was no one else in the church. The pastor had pulled a fine linen cotta over his suit and a heavily embroidered green silk stole draped over his shoulders as he thumbed through his missal for the appropriate ceremony. Emma looked over her shoulder again at her grandson. Johnny was beginning to fidget and staring wildly about the church.

“Friends!” Johnny exclaimed, raising his arms and smiling beatifically.

“Yes,” Geraldine agreed with a slight tear in her eye. “We’re all friends here.”

Pastor Gibson was squinting at his book through his spectacles when all the candles in the nave lit simultaneously, as by an unseen hand.

“That’s so much better,” he said as he found his place, and then looked around with a start.

“Automatic candles,” Geraldine remarked. “What will they come up with next?”

Everyone had stopped and were staring quietly around them as though seeing the church for the very first time. But Johnny had his hands over his mouth and was smiling with his eyes at something only he could see to either side of the altar.

“Remarkable that no one told me about the new candles,” breathed the pastor, and he began the ceremony.

Indeed it was remarkable that Emma, who had misgivings of being in this church as a Christian pretender that she dared not even voice to Willard, felt exhilarated and welcomed within its hallowed walls. She was not blind to her grandson's nature, nor did she deceive herself as to what he was, but she could well discern that he was not a bringer of doom and gloom to her family. The love she immersed him in always came back in blessings. She was doing the right thing and the fickle forces of nature approved.

The not-so-big wedding went off like a dream out of a story book. The simple ceremony, the lights and the ambience of the place made the whole event seem on a grander scale and better attended than if it had taken place in England's Westminster Abbey amongst Europe's reigning royalty. Her mother would be so proud of her and the boy. Gods how she missed her so. Then Willard leaned forward and kissed her. Of those in attendance, he seemed the least fazed of the magickal happenings and probably the most enchanted as he never took his eyes off her. There was only slightly less wonder when the lights dimmed as they made their way out of the church to leave for Niagara Falls for the weekend.

They left Pastor Gibson pondering the mystery of the 'automatic candles' that seemed to have no reason to remain lit. Johnny would stay home and spend some quality time with his mother before Lorry and Dave would be leaving for California. Emma suspected the little, half-blood, adept wizard in their midst had caught them all in the spell, but it was such a blessed spell as was ever woven.

Tall pointed crowns on broad brimmed hats and dark cowled cloaks shadowed features to anonymity, while eyes hidden in darkened depths scrutinized her mercilessly. Emma felt uncomfortable and vulnerable. Was she being foolish in her decisions? She looked deep into her own heart. This was not the easiest choice but it was the right one. The wise one.

"Yes," she replied to her shadowy inquisitors. "I, as matriarch of our clan, will deviate from our tradition to raise this boy as an adept witch of the blood. As my word, so mote it be."

"It is well," replied a sibilant trio of voices. "That you have considered your actions long and hard as you should. This is no light thing as such males are rare among our kind and he needs be well taught to keep destruction off our heads as persecution has all but destroyed our kind in this world. When once we counseled kings, the Burning Times have caused us to hide our wisdom away in the shadows while the world of men grew in the knowledge of destructive sciences and their souls shriveled in ignorance. Teach him well, Emma. He must be as much warrior as wizard if he is to survive. When the time is right, we will send him a Sidhe mentor, but you must find him a warrior of no small courage to foster him in warcraft beyond your means. Such a lad can be our boon or bane. Be wise, Emma Iron Locks. Be wise for more than yourself, matriarch."

"Help me," Emma pleaded the trio. "I am no adept as our last matriarch. I am but a lowly kitchen witch compared to my mother. I have no great gift with which to guide our clan by. If I rely on only what meager gifts I have, I will fail them all. I need to be bigger than myself to do these things. Bless me to the task, I pray thee."

"You are very wise in that you speak truly," the trio responded in unison. "And the love that moves you is a gift above all gifts to reign with. But as you wish, so mote it be."
The cloaked arm of the center witch reached upwards and the silvery blade of an atheme was extended to touch Emma's forehead. As the cold blade made contact an icicle of cold searing pain shot into her head. She saw stars.

"Blessed be, Emma Silver Lock," the trio gave their benediction and Emma could remember no more.


* * *


Willard and Johnny sat at breakfast with mouths agape when Emma entered the kitchen. Their eyes fastened to her forehead, or more specifically her forelock. Her reflection in the window over the sink revealed a startling streak of silver in her iron black tresses in the top and center of her forehead. It had not been there when she went to bed last night.

"Did you do something to your hair?" Willard asked, clearly puzzled.

"It looks... special," said Johnny with a note of wonder in his voice.

Emma poured herself a cup of coffee from the pot that Willard had prepared on the stove and sat down tiredly with her amazed men folk.

"It would appear the poets were correct about life being but a dream within a dream," she remarked cryptically on the topic.

Her head was buzzing strangely and the coffee seemed to help her find her wits again. She had much to ponder over her grandson, who had just turned five years old and would be starting at public school in a few weeks. He was growing fast and smart as a whip, but he had to learn there were some things one