Grandma Magic

“So this is all tea, you sell tea.” Allyson was naturally assertive, but not particularly confident in her assertions.

The shopkeeper, a tall slender woman appearing to be in her late twenties with long straight snow-white hair smiled. She had been surreptitiously watching them with heavy interest, “This wall and the jars on the display over there are teas. I also have incense, lotions, essential oils, tinctures, candles, and so on. We’re all about holistic wellness and self-care ranging from modern broad-spectrum CBD to all manner of folk wisdom handed down over generations here in the valley. I literally have hundreds of base ingredients from which I can make many thousands of solutions, custom made for your specific journey.” The apothecary’s keeper truly enjoyed her role.

Old Town Winchester,[MP1]  Virginia’s brick-surfaced pedestrian mall was alive, as all things are. Musicians busked, children ran amok, and hand holding couples shared lunch. Inside Grandma Magic, people found relief from anxieties, digestive issues, crises of confidence, and sometimes found hope – to offer a little control over a dire situation is the real magic. The keeper read her clients’ needs and guided those with faith to healing, it was as much psychology as pharmacology. Those who would abuse or disrespect the Traditions though found speciousness, fallacy, and in the most dangerous instances, the anger of the magic’s source.

“Leaves and mushrooms got me in a lot of trouble in college.” Alan was naturally confident, but not particularly accurate in his confidence.

“Take your time and let me know if you have any questions.” She heard the verdict of the Fae in the couple’s voices. It wasn’t in their words, or even their tone, but in the aura of intention carried by the timbre of their being. The curiosity mixed with disdain was a bit insulting, but more of a venial offense. The cardinal charge of wanton desperation and greed would have once been enough for conviction, but now it was a sin which marked every human – a sin of disconnection from source, from the earth that bore them. Humans have cycled through deities they themselves create in an attempt to connect to a source while fighting to remain oblivious to the obvious. Alan and Allyson’s violation of divine law was their intention to feed this greed above need from the well of other’s desperation. Tradition dictates they must first be tested and even warned.

“Well actually,” Alan continued, “we own a small craft distillery just outside of town near Belle Grove called Twin Cedar Creek, and we’re looking to extend our brand into the wellness space. Did you know gin was actually originally a medicine? The Dutch called it Genever and used various botanicals like juniper, coriander, cloves, and licorice. With the recent boom in gin sales, the explosion of wellness influencers on the Internet, and the reduced burden of needless complex regulations and standards now…”

Allyson could see he was about to go on one of his rants, “Hon, get to the point. We’re making gin. What do you think we could add into it?”

Alan specified. “Yeah, something different and maybe edgy. Maybe it heals something, it just needs to sound good on the label. Something local if possible.”

The keeper smiled. “Wow, that’s quite an ask. I can walk you through some ingredients. Licorice, turmeric, cinnamon and other anti-inflammatory, antimicrobial, and antioxidant herbs work great, but I feel you’re looking for something more exotic but still local to the Shenandoah valley.”

“Exactly!”

“Ginger, elderberry, and thyme are great.” Pausing to place a hand on Alan’s upper arm the keeper glanced between them as if looking out over the Shenandoah valley from within herself, “Once, long ago our Appalachian Mountains were as tall as the Rockies and were joined in a single range with the Atlas Mountains of North Africa and the Scottish Highlands.” She smiled as if thinking of her own children and looked deeply into Allyson’s eyes, “The flora of Toubkal outside Marrakesh, Ben Nevis in Lochaber Scotland, and your Twin Cedar Creek farm were once the same. Perhaps bringing them back together after 200 million years would look good on a label?”

Alan looked at Allyson, “Holy crap. That sounds very cool.”

“Many common ancestor plants from this period exist, Willows, Foxgloves, Bellflowers, Grasses and Sedges. Finding the right ingredients just requires a simple test.” Allyson began to interject, but the keeper placed her other hand on Allyson’s upper arm and continued. “A question. You mentioned Oude Genever as medicine earlier. You have two sets of ingredients to choose from. One brings healing, as you claim your gin as medicine will do, it invigorates but tastes bitter and may not sell well. The other, simply put, will make money. What is your intent?”

“We’re a business, obviously the bottom line is to make money. I don’t really give a crap if some leaves, twigs, and berries raise the dead or just taste good. Can you provide what we need?”

When the keeper removed her hands from their arms, Alan and Allyson hadn’t realized how close together they were standing. Alan felt a warmth beneath his waist and wished for more. Allyson felt a longing in her chest and reached for Alan’s hand. The keeper stepped back and spoke, ”In Gaelic myth, this greatest of all mountain ranges, greater than the Himalayas, was created by Cailleach, the Hag of Beira, the Queen of Winter. White hair, indigo skin, and earthen teeth. She was powerful, from Samhainn to Bealltainn, Halloween to May Day, none could stand against or control her. Even the Fae themselves had come to trust Cailleach and made her mountains their home. But, with age came loneliness and perhaps greed. Caithighearn, a mystic from the east, suggested that if she were to break her mountains into a trinity of ranges her influence could expand to half the world and her loneliness would be satisfied. The Gods had become enamored with the humans, greedy for their fielty when once they were satisfied with just being. She joyously complied not seeing the trap. Her power eroded as the mountains drifted apart. In her hubris and need to be loved she had forgotten about those who needed her and had broken her duty to the Fae, who knowing her name bound her into service as Caithighearn stole her influence with all the peoples of the northern lands. I merely bring this up to warn you that careful consideration needs to be given when combining the long-separated flora of her mountains together into a potion. Your intentions, like Cailleach’s matter.”

“Cool story. Cool. But uh, can you provide what we need or not?” “Of course.”

---

The White Lady

“Jerry you absolute cave man! That steak’s redder than roadkill!” Alan clapped his cousin on the back nearly spilling his potato salad and baked beans onto the outdoor party pavilion’s floor.

“Haven’t you heard? This stuff’s good for you now. What can I say Al, I’m a carnivore and proud of it. I tell ya, every ten years we find out everything we thought was good for ya is bad for ya and the bad is good for ya. They had it right back in the old times. But more importantly, congratulations on a fine product. This gin’s a game changer. I swear, no hangover, and I’ve never felt better!”

“Thanks brother, me and Allyson are real proud of it. And the viral marketing campaign your girl Ali set us up with is going crazy. People all over the Internet are talking about it and we didn’t even pay most of them. There’s this one girl in Amsterdam who swears it cured her IBS, her husband’s GERD, and her son’s food allergies, and it didn’t cost me a dime. This chiropractor gym rat body coach caught wind of Ali’s posts and started talking about how the fermentation process improves the body’s nutrient absorption, boosts cellular energy, and so on. It’s gin dude! Chill out! But I tell ya, one thing it really has done is given me a heck of an appetite, I think I’ve had more red meat in the past couple weeks than all of last year. Ya know, we got orders from all over the Valley shipping out tomorrow and we’re ready to start expanding thanks to all these people, what a great group we have here.”

The party celebrating the launch of Fachan Gin (named after a one-legged, one-eyed, one-handed monster of Scottish folk lore and pronounced just like you think it is when not around the little ones, members of clergy, or your mother) was in full swing.  The label promised renewed health and vitality for all those of age to enjoy it. Not only could it calm nerves and settle the stomach, but this elixir improved attentiveness, relieved chronic anxiety, eliminated inflammation, improved appetite, and provided much needed rare antioxidants key to fighting cancer, regulating blood pressure, and decreasing arterial plaque. Please drink and share responsibly.

When Alan announced they were out of fish, beef, rabbit, and venison there was a collective groan from the group. The caterer was gobsmacked as they had torn through it all like it was just appetizers. The revelers danced and sang around the fire as humans have done since the beginning. More than just the fire and community warmed their bodies and minds though. The gin felt like a philter, a love potion. They smiled at each other, held hands as they danced, blending together. But it was not love.

Later into the night the staff and family party really got into full swing. After the band left the blue tooth speakers kept the tribal rhythms jumping. The kids, teetotalers, and lightweights had long gone off to bed in tents or spare rooms in the house while the magic flowed around the bonfire.

There’s nothing quite like a roaring campfire in the Shenandoah valley on a cool fall night. The moonless sky was filled with stars, distant suns burning patterns into the darkness like a well-behaved audience in a darkened theater. The hunter Orion, the vain queen Cassiopeia, the great Bear and her cub, and all seven sisters sat quietly watching revelers around a fire from deep within ages of the past. Allyson held Alan’s hand, and he kissed her forehead. About to speak of love she caught her breath at a distant sound. She thought about her grandmother. A tiny force of nature who held generations of Appalachian wisdom. Someone was whistling at night in the woods. Her grandmother would have scolded the person, but Allyson couldn’t have remembered why. Her grandmother was full of what Allyson called spooky wisdom, like how distant noises in the woods might be nearly upon you.

The sound continued, but it wasn’t whistling. From within the darkness of the forest line marking the edge of their property there was a faint light.

Startled, Allyson asked her husband, “Did you hear that?” Facing the woods where a small trail led, she blinked hard and tried to stare deeply into the dark. A white mist covered the forest floor as the cool night air would soon give way to a cold dark winter. The faint glow of the fog brightened at the center of the trailhead and the sound fulminated into a hollow scream. Staring into the void she heard the wail calling to her.

Alan stood next to her to calm her, “It’s a fox getting frisky.”

“No, I know what a fox sounds like. That’s not this. I can feel it in my chest.”

“You OK? How much have you had to drink?”

“I always assumed she was trying to scare us into being good.” The glow formed into a body and sharpened into a white gowned figure. “A great aunt or something, she lost her children in a fire.” It held at the edge of the pasture gaining strength, it’s sallow unfocused face twisted in agony with the amplifying screams of her pain. The White Lady’s hand reached out towards Allyson, their eyes locked across the distance and together they screamed as Allyson reached out to her, tears welled and then bled down Allyson’s face in cold lines around her open mouth. They screamed not with terror but together with lament for the dead and for those who soon would be.

Alan jumped back, “What the hell!”

Allyson broke away and grabbed at Alan’s chest. “She’s here! It’s a warning Alan. It’s death. The kids!” Allyson turned and sped to the house nearly falling over, outpacing her own steps.

The White Lady’s figure came out into the pasture but did not touch the ground continuing her scream. Above the mist, she rose higher into the air screaming sorrow into the heart of everyone around the fire. People fell to their knees clutching themselves and each other, reaching out for any human protection. The Banshee’s body lifted up as a strong whirlwind gathered up the fire and smoke. It snuffed and choked out the fire in a violent crush of air, as smoke and ash spiraled up from the pit flowing around her.  The being glowed hot within the smoke and exploded into a rush of silence and darkness.  Slowly the stars returned as the people lay collapsed and unconscious on the ground as motes of ash lazily rested down upon them.

Allyson had run into the house and up the stairs. The kids were asleep on the couch in the upstairs TV room, and awoke as she rushed in. “Mom! Gah! What’s going on?” Al Jr. asked.

“I’m sorry baby. Nothing’s wrong. You OK?”

“Mommy, you interrupted the best dream ever!” Kimberly pouted. “Barbie was real and we flew through the sky!”

“I’m sorry sweetie. You’re OK, you’re ok. Go back to sleep.” She hugged her twins tightly but then felt the ice in her spine.

“She was all dressed in white mommy.”

Outside among the unconscious bodies, a few of the men began to stir. Rising to their feet they silently walked into the woods.

---

A Parliament of Owls

“Well that was a hell of a party.” Alan said to his bagel. “I don’t even remember going to bed.”

Leaning back against the kitchen sink, Allyson’s straightened herself with resolve, “What did happen list night? I literally can’t remember, and I don’t black out. The kids and I are going to visit my mom until this whole business is over. I just don’t feel right here. I don’t know why. Something happened last night.”

“It’s fine honey, I’m feeling pretty anxious myself. Call me when you get there. We’ve got the product launch to prep for today in the Barn and the drivers will be here early tomorrow morning.”

Throughout the previous night, people awoke from the ground within the mist and rose like zombies. They brushed themselves off and crawled into their tents to finish off the night in fitful fetal sleep. As dawn broke, most of the party-goers broke camp and gathered their things in shame. Few remembered exactly how the night ended except for their collective feeling of self-loathing and fear. Something had flayed them bare uncovering millennia of sapient reason. The cold air slapped their nervous systems awake for their drives home.

There were those who did remember though. They collected at the point where the Banshee had first appeared and watched with a hunter’s canthal tilt from the edge of the woods before gathering at the Barn to prepare.

He who was still Alan, took a short detour from his regular eight-minute walking commute to the distillery product storage building, nicknamed the Barn. He first walked out to the party pavilion fire pit to try and piece together his memory of what happened. It was a little bit of a mess, but not too bad he thought. Along the fence some owls perched watching him. He realized he had never actually seen an owl in the wild before. Something about their eyes debased him. He felt caught or humiliated like locking eyes with someone across a stadium or large crowd. Each owl seemed locked on to somewhere deep within him. After all the weirdness and drinking he figured he was just being paranoid. A night of drinking will do that.

He walked the path to the woods. As he approached, his paranoia weighed down into dread, he realized awe and horror, and astonishment and terror, were other words for hunger. In the bloodied grass, two carcasses, deer?, were laid out at the entrance to the wooded path. Their bodies twisted and eviscerated. They looked torn open, with blood covering the ground. “Wolves, Alan. It’s wolves. You’re freaking out.” Instead of following the trail into the woods he quickly walked to the Barn to see if James, his Master Distiller, was in and could come look. James was an avid hunter and knew a lot more about this sort of thing.

A raven perched on the barn’s ridge above the gable. A glint from its feathers, iridescent obsidian shards, was caught in Alan’s eye. As the owls stillness glared into him the raven paid him nothing. It instead watched the mountains.

In the barn surrounded by pallets of Fachan Gin wrapped in clear 80-gauge stretch wrap ready for transport, the Master Distiller inspected his crew, a smaller lot than would normally attend. Alan entered through the office side door and into the main area. “Well, that was weird. But we’ve got work to do. Where is everybody?”

James was a stout outdoorsman of 53. His resting hangry face was on full display. “We’re a little short-handed, but we can take care of things. Maybe they stayed up a little too late last night.” There was something new in James’ voice. An authority and bluntness Alan hadn’t noticed before. James was a quiet man who minded his tasks, but here he seemed to command the very air around him. “After that weird storm came through some folks just kinda really got into it. I’m surprised we’ve got product left to ship out.”

“Yeah, maybe it was one of those ball lightning things I heard about. Really freaked out Allyson. She’s heading off with the kids to her mom’s for the weekend. But James, I’m glad to see you. On top of everything else there are a couple dead deer out by the forest trail entrance leading into the park. It’s pretty gruesome, they look like they were torn open.”

“Deer? Well, animals don’t typically use a knife and fork. They probably got hit by a truck and ended up there before getting pecked at. I don’t know if you noticed, but we’re getting surrounded.”

“What do you mean?”

“Owls sir. They’re everywhere.”

Alan looked out at the parking lot and saw the eyes.  Hundreds of sets of them were settled on cars, lining the fences and perched on the roof line of the house. All were still and all were seeing him.

“Those are all owls?”

“Yes sir.”

Alan stepped out through the big barn door and yelled and clapped at a group huddled close by in a small crabapple tree, but they disregarded him as an impatient child and Alan returned to his crew feeling slightly embarrassed.

One of the technicians, a one-eyed Cuban with curly hair named Henry, tapped Alan on the shoulder. “Sir, I don’t know much about stuff, but I don’t think this’s a good thing. All these owls.”

“And a raven or blackbird up on the roof too. No Henry, it definitely adds to the weirdness around here. But it’s just a bunch of birds and we’ve got work to do. We’re almost finished and ready for tomorrow’s deliveries. This product’s heading out to hundreds of stores, wineries, breweries, event spaces, bars, across the whole valley. If things keep going like they have been, we could go global with the Internet marketing campaign. Perhaps we could add another line called Banshee Spirits!”

A loud knock rattled the giant sliding barn door. “You have not disappointed.” Standing at the door opening was a tall slender woman appearing to be in her late twenties with long straight snow-white hair. She wore a dramatic long iridescent-black veil open around her face and was adorned with gold and silver chains around her neck, wrists, and waist. Her arms were covered in small tattoos, a Witch’s knot, Triple moon, Ankh, Hecate’s wheel, Triskelion, Triquetra, and several divine feminine symbols lost to time. Symbols whose meanings were stolen in Roman, British, Celtic, and Iberomaurusian purges of more ancient cultures.

Alan recognized her from the shop. She had provided at least some of the inspiration for the final formula. “I remember you.” But he did not remember her being so inked up. “Welcome, I’m glad you finally came by. What was your name again?”

“It’s an unusual one. Pronounced Cal-yak, but I go by Callie.” Cailleach walked further into the Barn and traced her finger along a couple of the pallets of Gin. “The botanicals you chose are working as you hoped?”

“Yes, my friend James here is our Master Distiller. He’s spent the better part of a month figuring it out. I suppose nobody’s drank more of the stuff than him and he swears by it, everybody does. I’m surprised to see you, I wish you had called so I could arrange a tour but we’re very busy right now.”

“Of course. I don’t want to get in the way. I just wanted to catch you before the big launch. Using the waters that spring from the rock beneath this land provides additional unique qualities as well.”

James was visibly annoyed at the woman’s presence. A couple of the other workers also had come down from the lofts with tools in hand as if to fight off a threat.

She smiled, “The owls are a nice touch. I just had to see for myself.”

James stepped forward, “I don’t think you should be here. We have work to do.”

With a blink, her gaze switched to James. He stood tall in a leather apron gripping a heavy flat pry bar. His stance implied war, but at her unyielding gaze she saw the spell break in his eyes for a brief moment. “Are you prepared?” She stepped close to him and folded her veil back fully uncovering her pale face and ice-blue and grey eyes, “Tomorrow is the day of the fourth Earth, the solstice. It is the darkest day, but each day from there forward grows longer with the return of the light.” James stepped back and lowering his head placed the pry-bar on the table. He looked to Henry and quickly walked out the back of the barn.

Alan shouted after him, “James! What the hell’s wrong with you. Where are you going!”

“I guess I’m just hungry!” He removed and tossed his apron on the ground. Henry and the other workers followed. Through the windows Alan watched as they ranked into a single-file and marched past the pavilion towards the opening in the forest.

“Where the hell is everyone going? Maybe they’re cleaning up that mess, but hey, I’m sorry for the way they’re acting.” Cailleach had returned to the doorway.  Alan felt a sliver of the truth finally break into his obstinance, “Please. Again, I apologize about James’ rudeness. We threw a big party yesterday and I think folks got a little ya’ know carried away. ”

“You don’t remember. Wow, you got it bad. That’s a powerful concoction you boys cooked up.”

“I’m not that hungover, it was just a fun thank-you for the employees and their families. Perhaps you could come back another time?”

“And a banshee.”

“A storm.” Alan’s head began to throb and sway. He gripped the edge of a table but kept his balance. “My wife freaked out. You should go.”

“The bodies at the trail head.”

“Deer hit by a car and torn up by animals. They were deer, but there was a torn shirt? You should go.”

“A parliament of owls. They are here to bear witness.”

“You will witness. No, you should go.”

“I’m under no contract to explain things to you. Fairness is a modern concept, ask your deer what is fair. But if it increases the entertainment value for my keepers then what the hell. You were tested and have been warned, but still, you persist in your needs. James and the rest of your people have turned, their souls spoiled like milk and still you don’t see it. You would have turned by now too, but you’re protected by your greed and selfishness – at least until I leave. Then you will join them.”

“Enough crazy for today lady, thanks for coming, I’m going back to work.”

“Then it is done. Thank you, Alan.” Cailleach Bheur, the dethroned queen of Winter, the ancient creator of the Central mountains, the Hag of Beira who was tricked into servitude by the Fae at the loss of her children the great Central Mountains, paused at the door with a final question pushing Alan to his fate, “Hungry?”

Yes. Very.

A Rout of Men

7:00 AM, December 22nd, launch day. Drivers arrive through the heavy morning mist to receive their route assignments. The Shenandoah air is crisp and clean. The frost on the remaining distillery staff’s parked cars traces elegant fractal patterns following microscopic imperfections in the seemingly flat surfaces.

One of the delivery drivers, David Lee, hops out of his box truck and attempts a smoke ring with his frosted breath. It never works of course. The drivers gather in the barn around the assignment board. David and others discuss how early mornings are typically calm and quiet, but there should still be some pointless a-hole to boss them around. The staff’s cars are in the lot, but there’s no staff. Seeing the pallets they grumble at the prospect of having to load their own trucks.

“I’m not doing it,” several of the drivers agree.

“This is not my job.”

David finds his clipboard with his route and shipping instructions. He’s to deliver to eight locations between Edinburg on route 11 and around Stanley out 340. It should be under 150 miles. First stop is scheduled for 8:00 AM and if he’s lucky he might be done by 2 or 3. “For $300 plus,” he says, “I’ll load this crap myself and get going. We got about a half-hour ‘till sunup. Where’s the pallet jack?” The others grumble but pick up their clipboards and follow suit.

Truck loaded and warmed up David follows the advice of his father and does not miss a chance to take a leak before hitting the road. Other drivers having the same idea have created a bit of a line, but knowing the world provides opportunity to the bold, David heads out back to pee on a shrub. Finishing up in the dim early morning mountain sunlight, he sees a flickering in the darkness beyond the forest tree line. “Hey, I think I see somebody!”

The path to the edge of the woods is paved and dimly lit. He stops at where the carcasses had been, which now remains only a slick-black patch of matted grass. The trail turns to dirt here and he ventures in. Fortune favors the bold, man.

A ring of stones surrounds the source of the flickering light, a dying fire. There are no Adirondack chairs pulled up around the pit like the nice metal bowl fire pit he saw up at the pavilion. Shredded clothing was discarded along with a few bottles of the new Gin. Teenagers living it up, maybe a little too much.

In the dying light of the fire, he can see a red mark placed on a tree at a break in the dense Virginia undergrowth. The trail continues, but it’s not well cleared. It looks more like a game trail. He pulls out his phone and switches on the flashlight. The bright light lengthens shadows around him in every direction. The harsh lit brush now seems baleful and hostile to him. The light allows him to see what is directly by him but obfuscates shapes a few feet away. There is another tree with a blood red marking like the blazes on a hiking trail. He follows into the game run stepping on a clump of sticks and breaking the silence. David calls out, “Is anyone out there?”

James, once a master distiller and now master to his pack, stands on a rock outcropping above the snaking roadway leading to the Twin Cedar Creek Distillery. He watches as trucks filled with the degenerative gin begin advancing into the mist. He is flanked by his men, with Alan kneeling on the ground rubbing dirt into his skin and hair trying to remove the blood. A few hours earlier, in the deep mist of the Shenandoah night, they shed and shredded their clothing around a small fire. They drank elixir and ate the last of their quarry. The black blood had dried thick into their chests and beards. The sins of humanity fell from their minds. Guilt, shame, and regret were antiseptically wiped away. Dominance, not survival was all that mattered.

On the rock, Alan looked up at his master, James. “Hungry.”

The others nod and huff, groan, grunt, and growl their approval. They turn in unison at a crack of sticks and a lone voice. “Is anyone out there?”

The rout begins the hunt.

---

Afterward

Gaia is balance, all things connected – as words on paper. Epochs upon periods upon eras upon eons all linked as words in paragraphs, sections, and chapters. Four cycles each year telling small tales built on ages of cycles before. In darkness, in fading to sleep, to dream and renew, so that in dawn, to vow and to pledge, to bring light, to carry new burdens, to bull and bear in strength renewed, to fall to our knees, to build our den, to sleep out the darkness, to turn the page again.