As the initiates chatted, insulted, and brooded, something was happening on the southern edge of the field. Several witches clad in the black-and-gold robes of the coven wheeled a small podium out of the house and onto the grass. They fiddled with a microphone and a speaker for a bit, not actually utilizing the speaker but ensuring that the microphone was at a comfortable height and that the speaker would actually work. This happened progressively over an hour or so- they seemed to be taking their time in getting the equipment out.
Finally, just as the sun was beginning to set in the sky, a woman stepped up to the podium. Any member of the Sisters of the Dying Branch coven worth their salt would immediately recognize her as Sister Deborah Ledoux- the head of the coven. Most know her as a charismatic, loving, and motherly leader, yet also a scary woman with a real temper. Today, she stood in the light of the setting sun confidently, straight-backed. She was a rather middle-aged looking woman. Her lightly curled brown hair had chunky streaks of gray running through it and hung down to her back. For all intents and purposes, she appeared to be in her late 40s, although her eyes betrayed something entirely different. They were ageless, infinite. Anyone would be hard-pressed to guess her true age.
She tapped the microphone, creating a feedback that reverberated through the field. Almost immediately, every witch at the party shut their mouths and turned their eyes to the podium, watching attentively. Sister Deborah surveyed the field for a few moments, letting the silence simmer before she spoke.
“Good evening my fellow witches,” she began, voice silky and confident.
“Good evening, Sister Deborah,” the crowd echoed back.
She smiled, pleased.
“Today we gather to celebrate the summer solstice- the longest day of the year. It’s also when spring turns to summer. But enough about astronomy.” This elicited a chuckle from the audience.
“Today is a holy day for us witches. We spend most of the year fending back the night; defending humans, magic, and our own livelihoods from the creatures that lurk in the dark. But today is our day to celebrate! To gather amongst ourselves, to have a bit of fun, and to eat good!” Several people cheered.
“But this gathering also has another purpose,” continued Sister Deborah once the cheering had ended.
“Every three years, we welcome new witches into our ranks! Witchlings turn to full-fledged witches. They take on the blessings of our wellspring and join the ranks of the hundreds of witches in our coven defending the world from ever-encroaching evil.” Sister Deborah gestured to the initiate table.
“Tonight is meant to welcome our children into full-fledged witchery and into adulthood. Please, everyone, give a worthwhile welcome to our witchlings. They are truly brave and dedicated to embark upon this path.” At this, all the witches in the field (including Sister Deborah) turned to the initiates’ table and began clapping and whooping. Some particularly proud parents wiped tears from their eyes, and other, younger witchlings looked at them with envy.
Once the applause died down, Sister Deborah began speaking again.
“I call our witchlings brave and dedicated for a reason. As we all know, this path has its dangers and downfalls. So many of our fellows lose their lives each year. That’s why I would like to take a moment to honor our fallen.” The crowd went silent again, a sad feeling seeping into the air. With a somber expression, she unfolded a piece of paper and began to read off names.
“Phoebe Graves. Xiu Rossingeau. Marc Norwood. Helen Whitmore. Dylan Blackman. Elias Cross. Piper Blankley.” Once she finished, she folded the piece of paper back up and tucked it into the pockets of her robes. There were a few audible sniffles from the crowd.
“By keeping up our fight, we honor those who died for it.”She was silent for about 15 seconds, surveying the mood of the crowd again. Then, she clapped her hands together and smiled.
“Well, on a happier note! Sunset is approaching. I think in about 10 minutes or so, actually. At sunset, the other elders and I will take the initiates down through the forest to the wellspring for the bonding ritual. The witchlings going through their rite of passage this year are…” She pulled out another, larger piece of paper.
“Summer Abernathy. Iris Aderast. Calypso Barnes. Cassandra Black. Alayna Castellano. Uaithne Cináed Fearghal Orvar. Rebecca Delacroix. Dante Erie. Charles Hamlyn. Alex Holcroft. James Kelce. Juniper Krauss. Seren Gallagher. Reagan Graves. Dakota Lawson. Jeremy Lindall. Soren Lockhart. Erin McKay. Rowan Moore. Regina Norwood. Aaron Thornton. Kate Shuang. Hana Song. Arken Stone. Maggie Wilson. Chloe Wright.” Once she finished with the obscenely long list of names, she tucked the piece of paper back into her pocket.
“If your name was just called, I’ll see you by the house in 10 minutes. Otherwise, please continue having a good time! I’ll see you all again in an hour or so with our new witches.” With that, she stepped down from the podium to furious applause and headed back into the house, evidently to prepare for the initiation.
Calypso’s lips twitched into a challenging smirk as Dakota spoke.
“Oh, really?” she challenged, hands on hips.
“Screw going back to the table. I’m way better at climbing trees than you. I’ll bet you ten bucks that I can get to the top before you.” She put her plate of food down on the grass and then held out her right hand as if to shake on it. But, before they could shake on it, a microphone feedback sounded from the southern edge of the field. Calypso turned her head and, seeing that Sister Deborah was speaking, shook her head subtly at Dakota. Tree climbing would have to wait for another day, it seemed.
She listened attentively to the speech. She clapped when she was supposed to, spoke when she was supposed to… she even blushed when the other witches started to applaud the initiates. Calypso felt a bubble of trepidation rise in her chest at the deadline- she hadn’t even eaten yet! And in 10 minutes… well, in 10 minutes, she’d be a witch. A real witch. As Sister Deborah finished, she had to balance herself on the oak tree for a moment, resting her hand on it and leaning against it.
“Well,” she said to Dakota, breathlessly,
“I guess we should go and guzzle down some food?” She chuckled and removed her hand from the tree.
“C’mon. We have, like, ten minutes.” Squatting down to pick up her plate and cup, Calypso walked back to the initiates’ table.
But, when she got there, there was… someone in her seat? A boy she had never seen before. Which was odd, considering she had seen nearly every person there before except for him. There weren’t usually many newcomers to the coven, especially initiates. She bit her lip. Oh boy. She didn’t want to be mean, but she also wanted to sit in her seat and eat. Even if it was across from Summer. So, she tapped him on the shoulder. Once he turned around, she said,
“Uh, hi! I’m Calypso Barnes. It’s great to meet you and all, but you’re kind of sitting in my seat… so if you could find your own seat, that’d be great. You see, all of the seats have these name tags on them, and mine is right there.” She pointed to her name tag, spelling out her name in fancy cursive lettering.
“I promise I’m not mad, but if you could, like,find your own name tag, that’d be great.” She ended with a kind yet confused smile.
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