The Lavandula Dance

The Dula witches wore sprigs of lavender in their hair as they danced in the clearing on the night of Samhain.

Their movements were smooth, fluid and swirling. They brought their hands up, summoning starlight and flame. Smoke billowed from the little bonfires of their own creation.

Whereas the water fae gained their magic from the moon, the witches gained theirs from the stars. And it was for the stars, they were forever thankful. For the stars held their magic, their history, and their origin. The very first witch, Tala, was believed to have been birthed from the ashes of a fallen star.

And it was the descendent of that first witch, now a coven heir who danced quickly and surely. Her hands and arms moved like snakes, her long dark braids swaying like vipers about to make a kill. The others followed her lead. It was a vicious, enchanting, night. The scent of lavender and smoke filled the air.

Their dark clothing was like smoke on the wind. Their dresses swept the floor and la They danced to the melancholic whistle of the bone flute played by the witch elders.

Various familiars lingered in a circle around the edge of the clearing, by the coven’s complex of cottages. The animals watched their masters and the witch heir as she led. Her eyes were like living flames. Seven freckles flickered over her brown cheeks, shot with golden firelight. She twisted her wrists and her magical flame flew towards the willows. Quickly, she drew her fingers in tight and the flame defused before it could reach the trees. The smoke from it lingered in the air for a moment before falling as hot ash. The heir waved her fingers and the ash spun through the coven like black snow. Then disappeared.

As the night wore on, the dancing slowed and many sought to rest. The bone flute whispered an ensnaring tune. It was the heir’s duty to offer herbal teas and ointments to the elderly. Tea was drunk and bitter herbs applied to stiff joints. Some witches downed theirs rapidly, aching to return to dancing. To celebrate the night Tala was given life.

The heir savoured her tea. She gazed into the cup, once empty. At her future hidden in the tea leaves there – abstract shapes and patterns that would guide her next movements. She listened to the sounds of the bone flute, and waited for dawn to crest over the hills.

The Dula heir took the lavender sprig from behind her ear and breathed in its sweet aroma, tinged with so many other wild smells.

It was the start of a New Witch Year…