Whitney Writes…

Over the coming days and weeks, Agatha’s household began to fall into a routine. Estelle had assured Agatha that it was the quickest way to get things in hand. Children, and infants especially, thrived on routines and schedules. So, that first night, after returning from Vestaburg, Agatha had stayed awake into all hours of the night plotting and planning the things she would teach Cassian. Much as she was determined to let the boy form himself, Agatha knew Jacques was right. Cassian was a Dreamwalker, and left to his own devices…

Every morning, Agatha awoke with the coming of dawn. Cassian would still be sleeping soundly in his little basinet beside her bed, so she would tip-toe downstairs to brew her morning tea and conduct her morning incantations. Fenrick always landing on his perch above her spell book, just as she cracked the spine, there to offer his steadying, fluid magic. She would give his soft, white feathers a stroke once she was finished.

Following the morning’s incantations, and her tea, Agatha would return upstairs to collect Cassian. Usually he would be lying awake, his large, sapphire eyes staring longingly at Islette, who always sat just out of his reach. One chubby, pale finger would be outstretched towards the fire-gecko. Only once did Agatha catch Islette sparking at him. She had scolded her familiar, but a small voice in the back of her mind had wondered what Cassian had done to provoke the usually docile reptile.

After selecting his outfit for the day – of course, with Cassian’s input – the pair would return back downstairs where Agatha would ready him a bottle. It always seemed Cassian inhaled his breakfast in less time than it took Agatha to make it. Once he had eaten, she would fry herself some eggs and bell peppers before she settled him into play on his tummy by the hearth while she brewed potions.

By mid-morning, Agatha determined it was time for fresh air. In the early weeks with Cassian, while it was in the deepest of winter, she would bundle him up nice and tight in the things she had purchased from Estelle, and then they would set off into the woods. Fenrick usually accompanied them, always keeping his witch and her child within his sights, but not always theirs. Agatha would take this time to show Cassian all the things the forests around their home had to offer. For now, until he was old enough to understand, Agatha kept the brass dial beside her front door locked in the pine-green pie slice, the forests that surrounded Vestaburg. She didn’t need to worry about losing a child – her child – in a different realm.

She showed Cassian what plants were good for alchemy. Which were good for eating. And which were good for dying. She showed him the beauty in all of her favorite things. The way the water made different sounds running across the pebbles in the stream’s shallow bed, making it a babbling brook. The way the snow sparkled in the sunlight. How the clouds made different shapes. The way the wind whispered through the naked branches of the trees, and the swishing sounds the evergreens made.

He watched everything with intensity, absorbing everything Agatha said like a sponge. His eyes wide, drinking in the sights she brought him to see. His little hands reaching out from his wrappings to touch barks and leaves. Agatha loved watching the discovery of her world through his eyes. She understood now how Estelle had so many children. Who could ever tire of witnessing such a beautiful act?

On one of their morning walks, Agatha and Cassian came across a wounded sparrow. The poor thing’s wing stuck out at an alarming angle. Cassian pointed to it urgently, making a gurgling-coo sound. Agatha commented on the cruelty that could also be found in nature, and Cassian pointed at it wildly his other hand beating against her chest and his little feet attempting to kick.

“Alright, alright,” Agatha murmured, kneeling down near the sparrow. The tiny bird hopped clumsily away from her, and Agatha murmured a gentle calming spell to it before gently lifting it into the palm of her hand. Cassian had quieted dramatically. She saw the crinkle of worry in his little forhead.  She released a heavy sigh, and began to do a thing she had vowed never to do: perform magic directly in the human world.

Slowly, so as not to alarm it further, she began passing her hand back-and-forth in the air above the sparrow. She whispered a healing spell onto the sparrow, Cassian flicking his eyes back to look at her, before looking back to the bird, watching it’s wing straighten. His eyes widened in surprise, his hands clapping with joy. Agatha stroked the sparrow’s head. Cassian waved his arms wildly, his hand poised to smack.

Her reflexes were faster. Agatha had the bird well out of Cassian’s reach before he could blink in confusion. He looked back at her.

“No,” she said firmly. “All living creatures are friends,” she said, her tone softening as she brought the sparrow back down to Cassian’s level. “We treat them with kindness and respect.” She took his hand and moved it through the air to mime stroking the sparrow’s feathers. Then, slowly, she lowered his hand until his fingers touched the bird. “Calm and gentle,” she said. She felt his muscles relax, and slowly she released his hand so Cassian was petting the sparrow on his own. His face lit up as he looked back at her again.

Friend.

After their outdoor adventures, Agatha would return them home, her belly howling for lunch, so she always imagined Cassian’s was as well. But he never fussed on their morning outings. She liked to think he loved them as much as she did.

After a hearty lunch, Agatha would lay Cassian down for a nap. He would typically be asleep before he was even firmly out of Agatha’s arms. Somedays, she would join him; melting into sleep herself, curled around her sleeping boy. Other days she would work on household chores; mending, dishes, cleaning. Other days still, she would work on bits of magic. Fortifying protection spells across her realms, distributing her potions through her dispensing mechanisms across her realms, reapplying weakening wards.

Jacques had once joined her for these activities, but lately she had found it difficult to find him in the same room as her. So, she had to corral Fenrick and Islette to help her. Together. Which was always an adventure in and of itself, as the pair of them did not typically work well together. Not that they did not want to, the two familiars’ magics were just, by and large, incompatible.

Cassian’s afternoon naps usually lasted a few hours, and by late afternoon he was just beginning to wake. The hours that led up to dinner time, Agatha allowed to be a bit more flexible. Some days they finger-painted, some days they played with blocks, or read books, or tended the garden, went for walks, or even went to town. On the days they went to town, they would eat dinner in town. Either at the pub, or with Estelle and her family. After their dinner, it was straight to the copper sink for a bath for Cassian. Agatha wondered how long before he would outgrow bathing in the sink. At each bath, Cassian’s face lit up when the bubbles appeared, sometimes Agatha could not resist magically enhancing them for him – and she often felt as though she would melt into a puddle on the floor. After bath time, Agatha would dress him in his pajamas and they would read stories as Cassian would slowly drift off to sleep.

Her evenings were typically quiet once she had put Cassian to bed. Agatha would get caught up on whatever tasks had gone neglected throughout the day. She would also make an effort to spend time with Jacques. The old cat would usually continue on avoiding her, occasionally obliging her and sitting at her feet if she gave up and picked up some knitting. He would lazily bat at the yarn, trying to remain sulking, but not quite being capable. Agatha had taken up knitting again, making a variety of hats for Cassian, to help hide the glow of his hair. She had not quite decided how she would accomplish this once it became too warm for him to continue on wearing his hats.

When her own head would finally rest upon her pillow, Agatha was spent. Estelle had not warned her that children were properly draining. But in the best way… Cassian had brought her a sense of fulfillment in her life that she had not realized was missing. A thought that thoroughly annoyed her, as she had always thought of herself as living a fulfilled and worthy life. And having a child had never occurred to her, never crossed her mind.

In her dreams, the Dreamwalker Sorceress would almost always appear. Agatha began a practice of replaying her day with Cassian in her mind as she fell asleep so it would be readily available for his mother. She knew, deep down, it was a dangerous thing to be doing, openly giving a Dreamwalker access to her mind. But Agatha knew the attachment to Cassian she was already forming, after only a handful of weeks. She could not even fathom the connection, and the heartbreak and yearning, his actual birth-mother would be feeling for him. It was the least Agatha could do for the sorceress.

Besides raising her child for her… ? Jacques would always chime in, unbidden. They are Dreamwalkers, he would chide, they will turn on you. He was relentless with his lecturing of Agatha on the topic of Dreamwalkers.

While she hoped her nurturing would out-weigh Cassian’s nature, Agatha was not a naïve woman. Nor was she a sad lump of a witch. She knew what Cassian was, what he was destined to become, even more so than Jacques. She had been present when the council received the prophecy, and the prophecy had been clear.

…the destroyer of worlds…

When the snows were transitioning from the light and fluffy snows of winter to the wet and slushy snows of early spring, Agatha and Cassian received a letter. Jacques bristled, determined it was the council summoning Agatha for harboring a Dreamwalker. She dismissed him with a flippant wave of her hand; Agatha recognized the handwriting. It belonged to Garreth, which only meant one thing: Estelle had had their baby finally.

Agatha cracked the seal and unfolded the parchment. The baby had indeed been born, a girl, two days prior. They were being invited for dinner in a week’s time.

“We’d best finish that gift,” Agatha said to Cassian. He clacked two blocks together in agreement.

Over the next week, Agatha continued working on the woodland scene tapestry she had begun after their first visit to Vestaburg. She had pulled her loom out from the cupboard beneath the stairs and Cassian had stared in wonder at it. Some days she carried him in his sling on her chest as she worked, as he loved to watch row after row appear on the loom. But some days, he was far too curious for his own safety, nearly having his fingers pinched by the shuttles.

Today, however, as Agatha began to set it up to continue her work, she looked down to see Cassian had crawled across the stone floor and sat at her feet. When she met his gaze, he held up his arms. Agatha smiled, and bent to scoop him up. It had been quite a streak where he had not been allowed to be near the loom in any capacity.

“What do you think,” she asked, “are you going to help today?” He grinned a big, gummy grin at her. “Alright,” she sighed, reaching for his sling. Cassian settled in quickly, and he willingly tucked his own hands into his sling.

Agatha began humming as she started moving the various colored shuttles across the piece, weaving in her various protection, prosperity, long life, good health, and luck spells. There was a strange nudging sensation within her. She paused. It felt similar to when her familiars lent her their power to assist with her various magical endeavors. But none of them were around. And this felt… different; new, foreign. She was about to begin again, when she felt the nudge again.

She glanced down towards to Cassian, only to see him staring up at her expectantly. Her head cocked to the side as she gazed at him.

“Are you… helping me?” she asked. “Are you giving me magic for the tapestry?” He gave her an eager nod with that big, gummy grin that melted her heart. Only now there was the tip of a tooth on his bottom jaw starting to poke through. “Well, alright then.”

With Cassian’s help, they were able to complete the tapestry the next afternoon instead of Agatha working on it late into the night every day until they went to see Estelle. Part of her wondered about the effects of a Dreamwalker’s magic woven into the tapestry. Granted, it was far too late to worry about that. But the only way Agatha could see any of the spells going wrong, would be if Cassian had put his own intent into the spells. Which, given he had only shared his power with Agatha, he had not put anything directly into the tapestry, it had all run through her first.

The following week, as Agatha and Cassian sludged through the slushy snows towards Vestaburg, her heart was light and joyous. She was feeling better than she had in years. It amazed her how looking forward to seeing someone had such a positive effect on her. Agatha had always avoided making any personal connections in the human world. She was the caretaker, after all. It wouldn’t do if she became attached to certain ones. But she had lived a life of solitude. One she had enjoyed, but simply because she had not known the joys that could be had. There was the council, yes, but Agatha was no longer a member, and she had not seen the others in… how many centuries had it been now?

It didn’t matter. She was happier than she could ever remember being. Her magic was better than it had ever been, stronger.

Through the trees, Agatha could see the warm orange-hued glow of the torchlights of Vestaburg. It was still a peculiar sensation for Agatha as they got further into the village proper, that the townsfolk would smile at her in recognition – one woman even stopped to ask how Cassian’s teething was fairing – instead of how they had once cast confused glances at this stranger in their midst, crossing to the other sides of the streets to avoid passing her directly. She supposed there would one day be the questions of why she did not age like the rest of them – she wondered if there would ever be a time where she felt she would be able to disclose to them who and what she really was to them – but that would be a problem for Future Agatha.

The sound of children and the smell of delicious food enveloped Agatha when Garreth swept open the door to his and Estelle’s home. He smiled, but Agatha couldn’t help but notice that it was weak and did not quite reach his eyes. She gave him a questioning look.

Garreth’s face fell, his brows furrowing and his lips twitching to keep the smile plastered to his face. Agatha noted the children gathered close to him, and understood.

“Where is she,” she asked. He gave a nod towards the back of the house. As she moved past him, Agatha put a reassuring hand on Garreth’s shoulder.

When she opened the door, Agatha was not fully prepared for what awaited her. Estelle was in bed, her skin dangerously pale and translucent. Her normally luscious, brown hair was stringy with sweat. The room smelled of sickness. This delivery had not been kind to Estelle. She barely even stirred when Agatha moved further into the room, letting the door close softly behind her.

Agatha swallowed as she approached the bed, her heart hammering in her chest. She felt the room sway as she lowered herself onto the edge of the bed. Estelle looked so close to death.

Cassian’s little fingers wrapped around her own.

She glanced down at him, tears blurring him. His gaze went from Agatha, to Estelle, and back again. A question forming as he looked back at Estelle.

“I can’t,” Agatha whispered weakly. Cassian looked back up at her, his fingers squeezing hers. “It is forbidden to interfere,” she said again, her voice breaking. An image of the sparrow came to her and Cassian looked at her questioningly, one little red brow rising.

Agatha let out the breath she had been holding. He was right. She had done it once before already. And for something far less dear to her. What would be once more? Who would know? How would they know?

She stood, rolling up her sleeves. And for the second time, Agatha interfered in the world of man. The wall of sickness was bigger than she had imagined, Agatha realized as her magic began swirling around her as she drew it in. This would be taxing…

And then Cassian’s magic joined hers, flowing through his tiny little hand into her. She felt his overwhelming desire to help her, and Estelle. As their spell poured into Estelle, Agatha could see the color begin to return to the woman’s pallid face. Estelle’s ragged breath began to even out; her chest rising and falling more smoothly, the wheeze dissipating.

Estelle stirred in the bed. Her eyes fluttered, then opened. The dark circles remained beneath them, and she was still considerably paler than normal, but Agatha could see the healing taking hold. “You came early,” Estelle said, attempting to sit more upright in the bed. Agatha reached quickly to help her weakened friend. “Bring her over and I’ll introduce you,” Estelle continued once the pillows were resituated behind her. For the first time, Agatha noticed the basinet beside the bed, with a small bundle tucked into it. She leaned down for the baby, Cassian’s hands eagerly going to the infant’s face, softly touching her cheeks. She turned back to Estelle, passing the babe over as she sank back down onto the edge of the bed beside her friend.

Before Agatha could get a word in, there were dozens of footsteps in the hall and the bedroom door flung open. A wave of children burst in, six in total, some dark-haired like their mother, some golden like their father. Garreth was on their heels, alarm etched deeply on his face. But when he saw his flock of children crawling onto the bed with his wife, who was sitting up for the first time in days, the look of anguish melted from his face, replaced with deep relief and tears flowed from his dark eyes. His gaze – which was caught somewhere between confusion and gratefulness – landed heavily on Agatha, and she gave it all her effort to pretend she didn’t notice.

The children were all clamoring for looks at the new baby. Agatha began to understand that Estelle had been ill for some time, perhaps even before the birth of the child, and the children had been kept at bay.

Estelle cast worried glances at her husband who was still sobbing quietly in the doorway as their children milled about her and their new sibling in the bed.  There was Astrid, the eldest, at ten years, then Nico, who was nine, and Darrin, who was seven, then the twins, Fiona and Sophia, who were four, and Sarina, who was three.

“And this,” Estelle said dramatically, pulling back the blanket, “is Enid.” Agatha noted the way Cassian’s attention was yanked away from Sarina, who had been playing with him, and fixated on Estelle and baby Enid.

“She has a name, does she?” Garreth finally said, having finally calmed himself.

“Yes,” Estelle said, a bit dreamily, looking down at the newborn in her arms, “it came to me in a dream.” Agatha’s hand froze above Sophia’s – or was it Fiona? – head as she stroked the girl’s hair. Her gaze slid to Cassian, unease gripping her.