Chapter 77 - 7-14

Chapter 7 The Astralscope Tool Assembly [Day 4]

I woke up feeling groggy and disoriented after my dream conversation with Yaga Grandhilda. Her words about meditation and connecting with the spiritual aspects of my domain echoed in my mind.

Despite my skepticism, I decided to give it an honest try. 

I opened all of the windows of the pub, sat down on my blessed relocated earth, and closed my eyes. All I could focus on was the whooshing wind trying to claw against the walls of the pub and the softness and the odd warmth of the earth beneath me. My mind constantly wandered, thinking about the crystallization of materials and all the samples I had collected.

I shook my head, trying to clear my mind. I even took deep breaths, attempting to feel the sun on my skin and become "one with the glade" as she had instructed. 

There was no sun inside the pub to speak of, it was cloudy out and fat snowflakes occasionally drifted through the open windows.

For what felt like hours, I sat there, breathing and trying to sense...something. Anything. But all I felt was increasingly numb behind and a growing frustration.

I stood up from my earth pile and stretched.

"Well, I gave it a good try," I said to nobody in particular. "Alas, both of my attempts at meditation have resulted in complete failure. Time to try something else."

If I didn't have the necessary organ or perhaps simply lacked the gender-specific innate talent to perceive spirits, I would just have to construct a tool to observe them.

I carefully examined the samples I had placed in my magical earth pile the night before. To my fascination, I noticed that certain materials had indeed begun to crystallize faster than others.

The metals showed minute signs of transformation. The silver spoon and gold nugget were definitely shinier. The iron nails and steel scraps weren't far behind, their surfaces glittering with microscopic crystalline formations upon magnification.

Among the stones, the marble and granite pieces showed the most change, with microscopic crystal structures forming along their edges. The river rocks and sandstone, however, showed almost no alteration.

The wood samples showed zero change.

The gemstones in the jewelry pieces seemed to be greatly amplifying the effect, crystallizing faster than the metal, becoming more transparent.

I noted these observations in my codex, theorizing that materials with more ordered internal structures seemed to crystallize more readily. This aligned with my understanding of entropy and crystallization processes from my previous life.

[Greater Syntropy = faster crystallization] I wrote in the Codex.

Syntropy was a term I liked quite a bit. It was coined in 1974 by biochemist Albert Szent-Györgyi who proposed the word to replace the term 'negentropy' aka the opposite of entropy.

Sadly there were no diamonds among the jewellery pieces. However, the next most crystallized gemstone candidate was likely a ruby or sapphire which were both forms of corundum, with a hardness of 9 on the Mohs scale.

I carefully examined each gemstone in my possession, measuring their dimensions with the crude caliper I had pilfered from the smithy. After meticulous comparison, I selected the widest stones: amethyst, ruby, sapphire, citrine, peridot, and the round garnet.

I went to the smithy and set about the painstaking process grinding softer gems into rectangular shapes of similar size.

The work was slow and meticulous. I frequently paused to check my progress, ensuring that I was maintaining an even surface. 

Hours passed as I tirelessly carefully shaped each gemstone. The softer stones like the citrine and peridot were easier to work with, but I had to be extra careful not to apply too much pressure.

As I ground away the last of the edges on the garnet, I held up my handiwork to the light.

Five flat, somewhat even polished rectangular planes of varying colors and sizes lay before me.

Wait. How did I just do that? Was it supposed to be this easy to grind gems? Were all witches experts at lapidary or was that just me? Hypothesis: Crystals and gems grown or altered by a witch's domain may be easier for a witch to manipulate or shape compared to regular gems/crystals.

I grabbed the other garnet that I left in the drawer and tried to grind it. It simply didn't work. The grinder wheel didn't do anything whatsoever to the non-witch affected garnet. 

Damn!

I tried the same with other duplicate or split stones for another hour. It was painfully difficult to work with non-witch affected materials, they just didn't want to cooperate, were too hard or too brittle, shattering as I tried to shape them.

Witch affected amethyst definitely wasn't as brittle as the amethyst piece I left in the smithy!

I returned to the pub, my hands aching from hours of meticulous work, my mind buzzing with anticipation. Carefully, one by one, I affixed each witch-gem-lens I made to various iron pliers, securing it in place with a strand of rope.

With bated breath, I peered through the ruby lens at my relocated glade. Nothing. Just the same pile of earth and plants I'd been staring at for days. Disappointment gnawed at me, but I pressed on.

I cycled through each lens - sapphire, citrine, peridot, garnet. Each time, I was met with the same view, devoid of any spiritual or otherworldly phenomena. Frustration mounted as I realized that perhaps Yaga was right–maybe magic wasn't something that could be measured or observed through physical means.

But I wasn't ready to give up just yet. In a final, desperate attempt, I placed all of the gemstone lenses into the pliers atop of each other, creating a kaleidoscope of colors. I pressed my eye against the makeshift viewfinder to see… nothing more than a blurry, rainbow-tinted version of my glade.

So much for the experiment of seeing spirits through crystal lenses. Oh well. 

I began to pace across the pub.

Maybe the lenses needed more exposure time to my domain? Or, maybe… I wasn't using them to look at the right thing? I thought about the earth, about what witches represented as the catalyst that made mundane rocks magical. 

What was the most magical thing here? 

As I paced across the pub again, frustration gnawing at me, a sudden realization struck me like a bolt of lightning. I stopped in my tracks.

Of course! Eureka! I was the most magical thing in this entire pub all along!

Hypothesis: A witch's blood, being intrinsically connected to their domain, may possess heightened magical properties or serve as a catalyst for magical phenomena.

Without hesitation, I grabbed a small knife from the table and, with a quick, decisive motion, pricked my finger. A droplet of blood welled up, glistening in the dim light of the pub. I quickly prepared my water drop microscope, carefully placing the blood sample on the glass shard.

With trembling hands, I positioned my newly crafted multi-lens apparatus in front of the microscope, lighting a candle to produce light for the mirror shard to reflect as it was quite dark outside now. 

Taking a deep breath, I leaned in and peered through the kaleidoscope of crystallized gemstones and the microscope.

What I saw took my breath away.

Through the view of the combined gemstone lenses, my blood was no longer just a red liquid. It pulsed with an otherworldly violet light, each cell a miniature galaxy swirling with radiant energy. Tiny motes of light danced between the cells, connecting them in intricate patterns that shifted and changed as I watched.

The longer I stared at the blurry motes, squinting through the lenses, I began to see... something else. Shadowy something flickered at the edges of my vision, just barely perceptible as if the violet shimmers held otherness within them, akin to doorway, an impossible fold into elsewhere. 

Something moved with fluid, alien grace, an impossible pattern danced between the blood cells like ethereal fish in a cosmic sea.

My heart pounded in my chest. Were these the spirits Yaga had spoken of? 

Had I actually managed to glimpse the Astral realm through sheer scientific ingenuity?

I pulled back from the microscope, my mind reeling from what I'd just witnessed. It was incredible, paradigm-shifting, and utterly terrifying all at once. 

I had done it.

Science: 2, Witchy Meditation: 0

Take that, Grandhilda! Who needs meditation when you've got a gemstone lens Astralscope and a reckless disregard for personal safety?

But my triumph was short-lived as a new thought occurred to me. What if these 'spirits' were actually some kind of local parasite now inhabiting my blood courtesy of the local Goddess Zemy or whatever? 

Or worse, what if they were always there, in everyone's blood, and I'd just invented a way to see our microscopic overlords?

Paranoia: 1, Common Sense: 0

I sat back down onto the blessed earth and watched as the cut on my finger slowly sealed itself.

Wait. How was I doing this? Was I doing this, or were the questionable things in my blood responsible?

I adjusted the candle and the mirror and pointed the Astralscope at the cut on my finger and watched, mesmerized by the dancing blurry microscopic motes of violet light. 

The shimmering motes swarmed around the cut, weaving themselves in and out of my skin with an eerie intelligence and purpose. As I watched, the wound closed before my eyes, leaving no trace of the injury. Something odd was happening in the wake of their motion, skewering space and introducing an extra dimension to the view, making my head throb.

I reached for the knife once again and dipped my finger in alcohol. Science required sacrifice. Further testing was necessary to observe this phenomenon.

Chapter 8 Blood Magic

I blinked, finding myself once again in the familiar dreamscape of Yaga Grandhilda's hut. The old witch sat before me, her wrinkled face adorned with a smug grin that made me want to roll my eyes.

"Well, well, well," she drawled, her blue eyes twinkling with amusement. "Look who decided to grace my humble abode with his presence. Did you have fun playing with pretty rocks, my darling witch-boy or did you meditate as I had advised you to?"

I bit back a retort, reminding myself that I had, in fact, made a significant breakthrough. 

"Actually," I began, trying to keep the pride from my voice, "I did both and managed to see something…"

Grandhilda raised an eyebrow, her expression sceptical. "Oh? Do tell. Did you perhaps catch a glimpse of your own cold breath in the air and mistake it for a spirit?"

I ignored her jab and pressed on. 

"I was able to see... something in my blood. Tiny motes of light, moving with purpose. And in their wake, shadowy forms that seemed to exist in some other dimension."

The witch's smug grin faltered for a moment, replaced by a look of genuine surprise. "You... what?"

"I watched them repair a cut on my finger," I said. "Repeatedly."

"You cut yourself on purpose?" Yaga's voice suddenly grew serious.

"I did," I nodded. "What? Is there something…"

"Foolish boy," she hissed, her voice low and dangerous. "Do you have any idea what you've done?"

I felt a chill run down my spine. "I... I was just trying to see the spirits you talked about," I stammered, suddenly feeling like a child caught doing something they shouldn't.

Yaga leaned forward, her gnarled fingers gripping the arms of her chair. "Blood magic is not something to be trifled with, Ioan. It is ancient, powerful, and incredibly dangerous."

"Dangerous how?" I blinked.

"How long did you stare at your own blood, exactly?" She asked.

I rubbed the back of my head, feeling a mix of pride and growing unease. "Uhh... at least half of the night. It was really interesting, honestly. I could barely fall asleep because I was trying to—"

"By Zemy's roots!" Yaga exploded, her face contorting with a mixture of anger and concern. "You addlepated sapling! Do you have any idea what you've done?"

I flinched at her outburst, my earlier confidence evaporating. "I... I was just trying to see—"

"See what? The inside of your own grave?" she spat. "Blood magic isn't some trifling matter to be toyed with like a child's rattle! It's as dangerous as dancing with a starving bear outside of your domain!"

Her words sent a chill down my spine. "What's going to happen to me?"

Yaga's eyes narrowed, scrutinizing me. "You've opened a door and kept it open for a long time. A door that shouldn't be opened without proper preparation and protection of wards and runes. Those spirits you saw? They saw you too and they can tell others about it."

"I don't…" I began.

"Intent and desire is important in matters of blood magic," she cut me off. "Simply bleeding is one thing, but cutting yourself in order to observe spirits is incredibly dangerous. What you've done is akin to shouting your name into the void of the Astral. Every entity that hungers for the essence of a witch will have heard your call."

"Meaning what?" I swallowed.

Yaga's expression softened slightly, though concern still etched deep lines in her face. "It means, my foolish apprentice, that the protection of your domain is now more crucial than ever. You must learn to conceal yourself sooner than later."

I nodded, feeling a weight settle in my stomach. "How do I do that?"

"First," she said, her voice regaining some of its usual strength, "you must promise me that you will not experiment with blood magic again."

"Right," I nodded. "No looking at my own blood."

"That's a start. Now, listen carefully, for I will not repeat this," she began, "blood of a witch is power, Ioan. It is life itself, and in the wrong hands, it can be a terrible weapon. Never, under any circumstances, should you willingly give your blood to another. Not a drop, not a smear, not even a hair with a speck of blood on it."

"Do not write with your blood, do not mix it into potions, do not use it to water plants or feed animals. Do not spill it on shiny rocks hoping to make them more magical. Do not write with it on anything! Each of these acts can create a link between you and something else, a link that can be exploited, a link that attracts… Jotuns."

"Jotuns?" I asked. "What is a Jotun?" 

"A Jotun is an eldritch beast," the witch said darkly. "They are monstrous creatures born from fallen heroes whose flesh warped into a mockery of great beasts which they had feasted upon throughout their life." 

She paused, her eyes distant. 

"Jotuns often bear massive elk antlers atop their misshapen heads. Their hands are many and end in wicked black claws, harder than steel and sharp enough to slice through the toughest armor as if it were parchment. They are trapped between man, cursed spirit and beast, never able to find peace, possessing the cunning of a man with the instincts of a wolfhound. Few who face them in battle live to tell the tale. A witch that spills her blood will sooner or later encounter a Jotun and will inevitably be hunted down by these abominations... And when they're done with her, her near-dead body is dragged into the Void to be wielded by the Abyss itself, never knowing peace!"

"Are they as dangerous as dragons?" I gulped. 

"Nay," the Yaga shook her head. "Almost nothing can drive a dragon away from a feast, while a banner woven by a virgin maiden during her Zemy's Band ritual will keep a cursed beast from entering her family's home at night."

I nodded. 

So, Zemy's Band was an artifact of sorts that opposed cursed creatures. I would have to locate one or more in the ruins and try to understand exactly how it functioned.

"Okay so…" I began.

"Let me guess," Grandhilda rubbed her temple, interrupting me. "You went out of the glade and acquired a knife?"

I nodded.

"Don't do that!" she ordered sternly. "Do not ever venture out of your domain! Do you have a death wish? Do you want a Jotun to eat you?"

"Not particularly," I said.

"Then stay inside your glade!" the Yaga banged a fist on the arm of her chair, causing it to creak ominously. "A witch's domain is her sanctuary! The moment you step outside, you're vulnerable."

"I understand," I replied. "But what if I accidentally cut myself while inside my domain?"

"In all my seven hundred and twelve years of life have I never encountered a witch that cut herself accidentally in her own bloody domain!" Grandhilda barked. "A witch shouldn't suffer cuts on her domain, unless she does it to herself!"

"So, what should I do now?" I asked. "How do I protect myself from these... Jotuns and other entities that might have heard my 'call'?"

"You are far too inexperienced to weave runes," the witch tapped her chair. "And you have no nearby living trees to weave them on. Your only option now is to hide in your glade until danger passes."

"How?" I asked.

"Hug the ground and wish to be unseen. You'll sink into the verdant earth, and nobody will be able to find you," the Yaga explained. "Mother Zemliya will protect you even against a Jotun's claws."

"What?" I sputtered. "I'll be able to breathe... underground?" 

"You'll breathe and sense if someone is near," she confirmed. "Your glade is the source of your power, unless you've already forgotten everything I've taught you." 

She eyed me wearily.

"Right," I said, momentarily pondering whether I had made a miscalculation by digging up my domain. Sinking into the earth sounded like pulling a reverse Jesus, the opposite of walking on water. 

"Won't the circle of fresh plants look like an obvious target in winter?" I asked, refusing to confess that I had relocated my entire glade into a pub like some sort of a raging alcoholic.

"Many odd things happen in the forests," Grandhilda shrugged. "Mortals and clever beasts will likely think it's a fairy circle and simply avoid stepping on it. Fairies can pull a mortal or a hero right out of existence if one steps onto their circle." 

"And I can... what, drown someone in my earth?" I raised an eyebrow. 

"Yes," Grandhilda nodded. "You can absolutely drown a Jotun in your domain."

"How does that even work?" I asked. 

"Learn to master your domain," she said, leaving the details vague. "Learn to see its spirits and command them to obey you!"

"How?" I asked. 

"That I cannot teach you," she yawned. "It is simply a natural process, one that every witch reaches… herself. If you were able to see the spirits of your blood, then you should be able to see spirits of the land too and commune with them."

The Yaga let out a weary sigh, her eyes heavy with exhaustion. "Alas, I grow tired, young Ioan. Remember what I've told you, and for the love of all that is sacred, don't do anything else stupid!"

Before I could ask any more questions about what was a stupid thing to do, she clapped her hands together. The dream shattered like a broken mirror, and I found myself jolted back to consciousness.

Chapter 9 Witchy Hoarding [Day 5]

Day 5

I woke with a start, my heart pounding in my chest. Yaga's warnings about questionable things sniffing my blood magic filled me with a maddening sense of urgency. 

I needed to protect myself, and I needed to do it now.

Remembering what Yaga had said about the Zemy's Band banners, I realized I had a potential solution right at my fingertips. The village had been home to hundreds of people, each family likely possessing at least one of these protective tapestries woven by girls on the cusp of adulthood.

Without wasting another moment, I grabbed my earth-filled backpack and set out into the ruins of Svalbard. My breath danced in the cold air turning white as I moved from house to house, searching for the telltale signs of the Zemy's Band banners.

In the first home I entered, I found two banners hanging on the walls. They were beautiful works of art, each unique in its design but all sharing a common thread of intricate patterns and symbols woven into the fabric. I carefully took them down and rolled them up, placing them gently in a sack I had brought for this purpose.

As I moved through the village, I found more and more banners. Some homes had three or four, while others had only one. Some had older banners hidden inside dusty chests. I took them all.

In what must have been the home of the village elder or the hall of records, I found an entire room dedicated to these tapestries. The walls were adorned with dozens of Zemy's Band banners, each more intricate and beautiful than the last. My heart raced with excitement as I realized the treasure trove I had stumbled upon.

I carefully and quickly removed each banner from the wall. Some were clearly ancient, their edges frayed and colors faded, while others looked fresh and vibrant, likely woven by the most recent generation of young women in Svalbard.

I had noticed the banners before but paid them no mind as I was unaware of their value. Now that I was looking at them up close, they didn't seem to be damaged at all by dragonfire.

As I filled my sack with banners, I couldn't help but wonder about the stories behind each tapestry. Who were the girls who had woven them? What hopes and dreams had they poured into each thread? And more importantly, how exactly did these banners ward off malevolent entities?

I spent the day combing through the village, collecting every banner I could find. By the time I finished, my sack was bulging with rolled-up tapestries. 

Returning to the pub, I felt a sense of accomplishment and, more importantly, a glimmer of hope for my safety. Once inside, I hammered nails into walls and covered every available surface with the banners, making the pub look like some sort of a bizarre textile museum.

Science: 3, Paranoia: 2, Interior Decorating: -5

I mentally tabulated my personal score. 

Was banner hoarding science though? It's not like I made the banners, but then again many scientists simply made discoveries based on the discoveries and tools of others that came before them.

Some of the banners were definitely hanging a bit lopsided.

"Well," I muttered to myself as I admired my banner fortress of absolute safety, "if these banners work as Yaga advertised, then I should be the most protected witch in all of Thornwild. And if not, at least I'll have the most festive death in history."

"I do wonder if these things stack? Like, do more banners equal more protection, or is it a one-and-done deal?" I mused aloud as I made myself dinner. "Eh can't be too paranoid when your magic blood is basically Jotun-chow."

. . .

After filling my belly with another portion of dry meat and pickled vegetables, I turned my attention to the banners adorning the walls of the pub. My curiosity about their protective properties had been gnawing at me since I'd hung them up. With mild trepidation, I retrieved my makeshift Astralscope and settled down to examine the tapestries more closely.

I started with the oldest banner I could find, its edges frayed and colors faded with age. 

Peering through my Astralscope/microscope combination, I expected to see something extraordinary, perhaps shimmering motes of light or shadowy forms like I had observed in my blood. To my disappointment, I saw nothing out of the ordinary. The banner remained just that - an old piece of fabric.

Undeterred, I moved on to examine other banners, working my way through the collection from oldest looking banners to newest. Banner after banner yielded no results, and I began to feel a creeping sense of doubt. Had Yaga been exaggerating the power of these tapestries?

Finally, I came to the newest banner, its colors still vibrant and threads unmarred by time. As I focused my Astralscope on its surface, I noticed something different. It wasn't the dramatic revelation I had hoped for, but there was definitely... something.

A faint, blurry, microscopic shimmer seemed to hover just above the fabric, like heat rising from sun-baked stones. It was barely perceptible, and I found myself squinting and adjusting the lenses repeatedly, trying to bring it into focus. But no matter how I tried, the effect remained stubbornly unclear, dancing at the edge of visibility.

I set aside my tools. The faint shimmer I'd observed on the newest banner was intriguing, but I couldn't help feeling that I was missing something crucial.

I sighed, setting aside my Astralscope and rubbing my weary eyes. Feeling frustrated, I turned my attention to the pile of books and scrolls I had salvaged from the ruins.

Picking up the first tome, I opened it eagerly, only to be met with an incomprehensible jumble of symbols. I flipped through page after page, hoping to find something I could understand, but it was no use. The writing system was completely foreign to me, a stark reminder of the gaps in my knowledge of this new world.

Undeterred, I moved on to the next book, and the next. Every volume presented the same challenge – rows upon rows of indecipherable text. Alas, my Master could not teach me to read for she too was an illiterate witch.

Just as I was about to give up, I came across a large, leather-bound book that felt heavier than the others. Its cover was adorned with intricate embossing that depicted what looked like stylized beasts locked in combat with men wielding long spears. 

Intrigued, I carefully opened it.

To my delight, this book was different. Instead of dense text, its pages were filled with detailed illustrations.

These weren't just simple sketches; they were detailed, almost lifelike depictions of creatures that seemed to have sprung from the darkest corners of imagination.

The first image that caught my attention was of a massive, hulking beast with the body of a man fused somehow to the body of an elk, grotesquely distorted, stretched and misshapen. Its head bore enormous elk antlers, and its hands - of which there were six - ended in wicked claws. The creature's eyes, even in the illustration, seemed to hold a terrible intelligence. Below the image, a single word was written in an alphabet I couldn't read, but I knew instinctively that this was a Jotun.

Turning the page, I found myself face to face with a creature that seemed to be made entirely of shadows. Its form was vaguely humanoid, but it lacked distinct features, appearing more like a hole in reality than a physical being. Tendrils of darkness swirled around it, and the artist had somehow managed to convey a sense of cold dread emanating from the figure.

The next illustration showed a being that appeared to be half-woman, half-tree.

As I continued to flip through the pages, my eyes widened at the array of fantastical and terrifying creatures depicted within. One illustration showed a beautiful woman with emerald skin, writhing snakes for hair, her gaze so sharp that I found myself momentarily frozen. The caption beneath, though unreadable to me, likely identified her as some sort of Medusa.

Other Gorgon-like things followed, each more bewildering than the last.

Another page revealed a massive serpent, its coils seeming to stretch beyond the confines of the illustration. 

Another revealed a girl that was half human half cat, her silver-blue eyes slitted like a pair of diamonds. She was wearing a simple pale dress. Unlike the other beasts she didn't look spooky, just harmless and cute.

I turned the page to find a creature that appeared to be made of living flame. Its form was vaguely humanoid, but its body flickered and danced like a bonfire. Where its eyes should have been, there were only pits of intense, white-hot fire.

The last page of the book depicted a pale, wrinkled woman wearing a skull mask, wearing a dress made from red-tinted bones. I could guess that the label beneath tagged her as a Volva-Yaga witch.

I shut the book with a shudder. Why was my Master wearing bones? Was there some sort of magical protection within such? 

There was an old animal bone within my pile pilfered from the tannery. I picked it up and examined it. It was becoming crystalline too, albeit quite slowly.

Remembering Yaga's instructions about sinking into the earth for protection, I decided to give it a try. I walked onto my pile of blessed earth and plants, feeling slightly ridiculous as I prepared to attempt this feat.

"Alright," I muttered to myself, "here goes nothing."

I lay down on the earth on my back, spreading my arms and legs out as if I were making a snow angel. Closing my eyes, I tried to focus on the feeling of the soil beneath me. I imagined myself becoming one with the earth, sinking down into its protective embrace.

Nothing happened.

I opened one eye, peeking around the pub. I was still very much on top of the earth mound, not in it.

"Come on," I grumbled, closing my eyes again. 

This time, I tried to visualize the process more vividly. I pictured the earth softening beneath me, welcoming me into its depths, hugging me. I even wiggled my fingers and toes, as if that might help me burrow down somehow.

Still nothing.

Having given up on further earth-diving attempts I manually buried myself in cosy, blessed soil, hoping that my witchy Master would provide me greater insights tonight to work with.

Chapter 10 Spiritual Inquiries

I found myself once again in the familiar dreamscape of Yaga Grandhilda's hut. The old witch sat before me, her wrinkled face composed in an expression of forced calm. Her piercing blue eyes studied me intently, as if trying to peer into my very soul.

"So, young Ioan," she began, her voice measured and careful, "have you done anything else I should be... concerned about?"

"I've been.. proactive in my approach to protection."

Grandhilda's eyebrow arched slightly "Oh? Do tell."

"I… surrounded myself in Zemy's Band banners," I revealed, expecting to be yelled at.

For a moment, Yaga just stared at me, her face unreadable. Then, to my surprise, she burst into an explosion of uncontained laughter. 

"Forgive me, I can't help but be entertained by your unorthodox creativity," she finally stopped laughing after a minute. "It is a rather novel approach, not available to the common wilderness-bound witch such as myself. I suppose I should be grateful you didn't try to wear them as clothing."

"I was considering that," I said. "It seems like a good idea, no?"

"Have you no respect for your dead kin?" She arched an eyebrow.

"They aren't using it," I pointed out. 

She simply stared at me.

"Hey, in my defense, you didn't exactly give me a 'Witch's Guide to Not Getting Eaten by Monsters'. I had to improvise."

Yaga rolled her eyes so hard I was worried they might get stuck that way. "Improvise, he says. Next thing I know, you'll be trying to brew potions in a chamber pot! Do you even listen to me, boy? I told you not to wander out of your domain, yet you seem to be doing just that!"

"Look," I said. "Just tell me–if I have more of these virgin-woven banners near me, am I safer from flesh-eating abominations? Also, do the banners become weaker with age?"

"I suppose I can't fault you entirely for your resourcefulness," she sighed, even though her eyes were filled with amusement. "To answer your questions: yes, having more banners near you does offer more protection. The power of a banner lies in the intent and skill of its creator, not just its age. A banner woven by a gifted maiden will retain its potency for decades or even longer, while one made halfheartedly might lose its power within a year."

"Great," I relaxed.

"How many banners did you liberate from the dead exactly?" She asked curiously.

"Enough to keep Jotuns away, hopefully," I said.

The Yaga tried very hard not to laugh, making a coughing noise. I wondered if she was picturing my out-in-the-open glade covered in randomly strewn layers upon layers of banners. 

Having calmed herself in another minute with a sip of her tea, she waved a hand at me to resume.

"Will my domain get bigger?" I asked. 

"Yes," Grandhilda nodded. "A witch's domain slowly grows in power, just as she does, with the enriched earth, grasses and tree roots spreading outward." 

"Is the spread circular... or can I direct it?" 

"Sleep on the edge of your glade and domain to grow more in that specific direction," the Yaga said.

"Got it," I nodded. "And what if I don't sleep on my domain, roll off it accidentally?" 

"You will never roll off it by accident," the Yaga said. "Your body is tied to your glade by a spiritual bond, it will take you considerable effort to simply step away from your garden. If a wild beast or a man attempts to push you off your earth while you're asleep, you will wake up instantly from an awful nightmare, your senses amplified and accelerated by the spirits."

"I see," I said. "Is there any point to me trying more meditation? I feel like I'm getting conflicting information here. You said that males cannot see spirits when we met... and yet I should meditate to see spirits?"

"Female witches meditate to empower their existing spiritual sight," the Yaga sighed. "I don't know whether you will be able to do that at all. I'm only telling you what worked great for me, but it doesn't mean that it will necessarily work for you. Making you into a witch was a huge gamble, I had no idea whether it would even work... What I've done is a bit of a violation of natural order. You are a flower growing on poisoned ground and I don't know what you will grow into exactly and how. I am simply doing my best here to accommodate for your ridiculous desire to be a witch. The truth is that you might never be able to see or interact with nature spirits because doing so requires a female body and soul."

"Right," I said.

The witch took another sip of her tea, awaiting further questions.

"Master, you seemed… very insistent that I become a hero," I said. "Do you make heroes because you want the dragon gone from this land?" 

"An apt question," the witch sighed. "Many tried to stand up to Zarnitza and failed. I was hoping that the sacrifice of Svalbard would make a hero strong enough to someday take the dragon down, but Glinka only let you live and you… chose a different path. Thus, it will fall to you to someday help produce heroes to stop the ancient abomination."

"Will you teach me how to make witches and heroes?" I asked. 

"In time," Grandhilda nodded. "Perhaps in two centuries, once you've demonstrated patience and wisdom in ample measure." 

"How did you learn to create heroes and witches?" I asked. 

"Yaga Baga taught me the basics centuries after she made me," the witch said with a smile, as if recalling something from long ago. "The rest I figured out on my own." 

"So, witches don't meet up in covens to exchange spell ideas?" I inquired. 

"Not Volva-Yaga," Grandhilda shrugged. "We, the guardians of forests, are something between a nature spirit and a human. We prefer seclusion to human companionship, and because of it, our lives are exceptionally long and fruitful."

"What are nature spirits?"

"They're the avatars of the land personified by belief, woven from magic itself," the witch explained.

"Do they manifest often?"

"It depends entirely on how much magic is in the land and how much meaning mortals attribute to it," the witch elaborated. "Belief in the personification of a place sometimes creates a human-like or an animalistic spirit. Those with powers of Astral sight, such as witches, can communicate with these spiritual manifestations and even trade with them."

I nodded.

"The most potent spirit closest to you is the River Glinka. You'll be able to speak with her once the ice thaws," Grandhilda added. "Remember - don't put more than one foot into the river, and don't make trades carelessly. Because your domain is Mother Earth, a river will be able to kill you with ease."

"Sooooo, no fishing for me?" I asked.

"Never!" The witch intoned, her voice sharp. "Stay on your land, damn it! Outside of your domain you are weaker than a baby bird, easy prey for all manner of things. Away from your glade a single poisoned bug could bring you down and water is your greatest enemy!"

"Witches should avoid… water?" I stared at the old crone, expecting more words of witchy wisdom, perhaps a rational explanation of why the Wicked Witch of Oz melted.

"Witches should stay put and be wary of floods. Yaga Shinga drowned even when she was on her land," the witch sighed. "Foolish men dammed a river uphill of her domain to protect their city. When their city fell a century later, the dam broke and flooded her land. She was washed away along with most of her grove by the tide and drowned. A most untidy way to go for someone who survived two hundred years."

Ah, that's not that scary then. No melting for me. Phew.

"So, Master," I said. "About the river. What sort of trades can I make with it?" 

"Don't make any trades with it at all! You're a young Yaga, easy prey for a clever spirit. Requesting incredible power or great knowledge without being able to pay the price could result in the river taking your entire soul as payment," Yaga warned with a serious expression. "All trades with Nature Spirits are unbreakable magic pacts that must be fulfilled to the letter." 

I nodded, wondering if that was how young Ioan had met his end, seeking knowledge to slay the dragon from Glinka and unable to pay the price to keep his memories intact. 

"Why would a river need souls?" I asked. 

"A river spirit, like a person or a clever beast, wants to extend its life and power," Grandhilda explained. "By taking magic from us, it strengthens its own persistence in this world." 

"But how can a river trade power or information? Where does it even get knowledge from?" 

"A spirit is better connected to the Astral Ocean, which links to everything that has ever lived or died," the witch replied. "The currents of the Astral abyss are deep and limitless."

"Right," I nodded. "So my domain is powered by…"

"Your domain is akin to a vessel holding four hundred and seventeen soul shards of your kin tied to it by your pact with Goddess Zemlya," the witch revealed. 

"Soul shards?" I asked. "Is that what dragons and rivers feed on? Human souls?" 

"Indeed," the witch concurred. "The vital life force of Svalbard's people was divided between you and the dragon. Had River Glinka not sheltered you, had she not enfolded you in her protective current, the dragon would have feasted more sumptuously and slumbered far longer until her next assault. Many of your village's adults cultivated their strength or wisdom following their forefather's tradition, so their souls were quite potent." 

"Non-heroes can… cultivate strength too?" I asked curiously. 

"Mortals can cultivate their muscles with physical labour," the witch affirmed. "Sometimes, unintentionally, through prayers and greater focus or a spiritual pact they can embark on a deeper journey... that of cultivation, which in turn bolsters their physical form beyond the mundane. Each time a man fells a tree or hunts a beast, he assimilates a fragment of their life essence into his soul. Similarly, when a woman nurtures a garden or gives birth, she absorbs the magic of wisdom, life and creation. There's a reservoir of vital energy and magic in everything around you. Because of the sacrifice of your kin and my guidance you now stand on a higher tier than your parents ever will." 

"Does everything have a spirit?" I asked. "Do rocks have spirits? What about flowers and trees?"

"Everything can house a spirit," the witch affirmed. "It requires a great deal of magical focus to spot the weaker, smaller ones. Some spirits are nice, some neutral and some are incredibly dangerous. Death-bound or vengeful spirits haunt blighted lands. When a mighty beast, an abomination or a leviathan like the dragon, is slain, leaving behind decaying magic-infused flesh, it births a malevolent spirit on the spot its corpse rots." 

"I see," I said, "Is it possible to cultivate spirits to do different jobs?" 

"Certainly," Grandhilda said. "A witch who can see spirits can cultivate and guide their growth, just like a mortal would cultivate a tree. Perhaps in a century or two you'll get there... Or not."

"Gee thanks," I said. "I can't wait."

The witch simply smiled at me, amused with my impatience.

"Are there evil witches that make pacts with cursed spirits or witches that produce murderous heroes?" I asked. 

"Regrettably, some of our kind yield to dark temptation, forging pacts with cursed spirits of death," Grandhilda confirmed. "And yes, certain heroes descend into villainy, slaughtering indiscriminately in their thirst for power. They don't last very long. Murder begets murder. Evil deeds manifest curses which are impossible to remove and gradually corrupt a witch or a hero, turning her into a Nightwalker or a Jotun or another cursed eldritch abomination."

"Why didn't the people of Svalbard hide themselves or their kids in the cold storage wells during the attack of the dragon?" I asked.

"Those of age stood their ground and met the beast head-on with whatever weapons they could muster. Zal-Slavi doesn't entertain those who flee the fight or fail to protect their homestead," the witch explained. "The younglings sought the River Glinka, pleading for strength. Sadly, all were consumed by the dragon or were taken by the river's merciless, icy current, leaving you the sole survivor after the dragon's departure." 

"What is Zal-Slavi?" I asked. 

"The halls of eternity is a place where souls go after death," Grandhilda replied. 

"Heaven is real then?"

"Many believe that the palace of heroes and legends exists somewhere beyond the veil," the witch shrugged. "Belief births spirits, hence it isn't far-fetched to imagine Zal-Slavi existing somewhere in the Astral, as a grand sanctuary for departed souls. The Astral Ocean is boundless and the souls that drown therein are but droplets." 

"Unless they're used as kindling to forge heroes and witches?" I asked. 

"Yes," Grandhilda replied, squinting at me. "Well… on that dreary note… I shall end our joint dream. Be wary–the connection between us has frayed quite a bit so I am uncertain how soon I'll be able to find you next time."

"Thank you for educating me as a witch, Master," I said. As frustrating as our conversations could be, I realized I would definitely miss her guidance, cryptic as it often was.

"Before you go," I said quickly, "can you tell me more about how to actually sink into the earth for protection? I tried, but nothing happened."

Yaga sighed. "Oh, Ioan. It's not about physically sinking into the soil like some overgrown earthworm. It's a spiritual act, a dance of partners, a merging of your essence with that of your domain."

Having said that, Grandhilda clapped her hands with a sigh and the dreamscape around me began to dissolve. The walls of her hut melted away like wax, and her figure blurred into a swirl of colors. 

I felt a sudden vertigo, as if I was falling backwards through endless space.

Chapter 11 Witchy Companion

Day 6

When I woke up, I went into the forest with the sharpest axe I could find and started to chop down trees. 

Paranoia jolted by the book of monsters and Grandhilda's words about evil heroes was driving me onwards.

The most basic, rapidly built defense I could think of was laying a bunch of trees on their side with sharp branches sticking outwards. Thankfully, due to the magic backpack of earth on my back my stamina was nearly infinite.

After the entire day of fortifying, the pub started to turn into a pincushion-like defense of dead trees surrounding it. Many of the trees were quite easy to bring down, their interiors hollow and covered in white dust. Upon closer examination I concluded that a lot of the trees had died in the range of one to two decades ago from a fungal infection, potentially the white blight that the Yaga mentioned.

When I went to sleep, I expected to speak to Yaga Grandhilda, but the old witch did not show up in my dreams. Perhaps our joined connection had come apart and that was it–I was on my own from here.

When I got up the next morning, I was greeted by the singing of songbirds.

As I looked at the birds outside, I noted that animals started to return to the village.

When I stepped out of my pub-fort into the village, I spotted a black, adorable kitten sitting on a ruined step of my pub and looking lost.

"Mew," it said, staring up at me with big, pale silver eyes.

I reached out with my hand and the kitten immediately melted into it with a loud purr. I wondered if it was someone's pet that had escaped the village before the dragon struck it. The poor thing was all bones and fur and must have spent nearly a week trying to survive in the forest.

Cats certainly seemed to possess a sixth sense of danger. According to what I knew, cats could feel minimal tremors not perceptible to humans that allowed them to escape earthquakes far more effectively than people. Perhaps, the same case had applied here. 

Regardless of how the kitten stayed alive, I took the cutie in and carried him into the pub, offering the small pet a bowl of water and some meat.

"I'm going to call you Stormy," I said as I eyed the dark kitten. 

The kitten devoured the offered meat quickly, offering me a purr in exchange.

As the dark furball settled on my lap, I dug into my pocket and pulled out my Astralscope. The gemstone lenses seemed to have grown clearer and more purple.

Moving slowly so as not to disturb the happy kitten I peered at the nearest plant.

Doing so nearly made me drop the lenses because I saw something truly bewildering.

Odd, blurry, barely discernible, tiny things were moving in irregular patterns over the witch-blessed earth and plants. 

The shapes were nothing like the microscopic life I was used to seeing. They traversed right through solid rocks and leaves as if they weren't even there. If I had to hazard a guess… it was spirits!

"Science 4, Witch-Senses 0," I jubilantly tabulated my victory, waking up Stormy and accidentally making him roll off my lap.

I rewarded myself and Stormy with dried meat and some ice I boiled in a metal pot over the fire.

I could see spirits, but I had no way to affect them, since trying to poke them with anything was impossible. 

The silver-violet spoon from my pile of things went through the ghostly creatures as if they weren't even there at all for example.

Stumped with the impossibility of interacting with the spirits, I turned to more mundane matters that required my attention.

I ventured out of the pub and collected more foodstuffs from the cold storage of ruined houses. The pub had the biggest cold storage under its floorboards, so I slowly filled it with various harvested preserved items.

I wrapped a few dry meats in leather pouches and slid them into the depths of the magical earth pile, hoping that this action would somehow improve the quality of the meat. If the Yaga was to be believed, everything within a radius of about 4 meters was affected by my magic life-rad, while things actually touching the earth were most affected.

The village possessed several glass jars, which I immediately filled with boiled and organism-filled standing water and buried them in the earth to see how liquids and microorganisms would be affected.

Stormy watched my machinations with wide gray eyes.

Day 20

Two weeks flew by as I meditated every morning and evening, fortified my home and meticulously tracked the changes occurring within my test jars and crystals.

As I unburied various items and materials out of my earth pile, I noted that their molecular structure was somehow changing. Everything inorganic within the pub was becoming more crystalline and anything organic grew rapidly or became fresher. A small jar with green algae inside it bloomed like mad. Boiled water that I kept in a large jar now tasted absolutely sublime, invigorating me like the best coffee or energy drink that I've ever had. Pickled food jars that lay beneath the pile of earth in the cold storage somehow tasted fresher and more filling. A bar of soap became a more effective cleaning agent. An iron dagger became tougher, a spot of rust vanishing completely off it.

I could discern no patterns within the change of the items and food, except for one - some things buried within my earth became more useful to me, their primary functions amplified.

I emptied the pub from its former furniture and added more earth from outside. Slowly but surely, the newly added earth became irradiated with life-rad, turning violet.

I also discovered that my kitten was female.

Stormy didn't leave my side once, spending her days either sleeping lazily next to me as I worked or running up and down my earth piles chasing or pawing at things that I could not see with the naked eye.

I wondered if the kitten saw spirits too.

Looking at her activities through my improved Astralscope goggles made from layered crystal lenses and twenty stones ground down into crystalline lenses confirmed my theory. The kitten could indeed somehow see spirit life and was trying to play with it!

"Mew," the kitten turned to me.

"What?" I asked.

The kitten walked up to the dry meat, sniffed it and sneezed and then smacked it away, looking at me.

"You want fresh meat?" I asked her.

"Merw," the kitten replied.

"Fine," I said. "Let's go on a hunt."

Day 21

I crept through the forest with as much silence as I could muster, my backpack filled with earth. Hundreds of crystalline rocks covered my body tied into a mesh, keeping me invigorated and exceptionally comfortable and warm. A tunic sewn from patchwork of the most spiritually potent Zemy's Band banners hung atop me.

Stormy sat on my shoulder peering into the fog ahead.

I spotted an elk. 

The majestic creature looked down at me, raising its massive antlers and stomping its feet. I raised the arbalest, moving faster than the beast could and pressed the trigger. 

Time seemed to pause for a brief moment as I watched the arrow's flight. It struck the elk in slow motion. The elk reared up on its hind legs. I pulled another armed arbalest from my side and let a second iron-tipped arrow fly.

The elk fell at my feet, bleeding out before it could pincushion me with its sharp head-bones.

"Mrewl," Stormy commented.

"There," I said, my hands shaking from the stress of getting nearly plowed over by a 300kg beast. "That's enough fresh meat for both of us for a while. Are you happy now?"

"Mrrrmwwl," the kitten commented conversationally. 

I wasn't sure, but perhaps sleeping on my domain and drinking water irradiated with witch magic was making my pet smarter. 

"You're a bad influence you know," I told her. "My witch-Master definitely wouldn't approve of me roaming the forests with an arbalest."

The kitten sneezed.

"Yeah," I said. "You're right. She can't stop us–she's not the boss of us!"

Taking the elk apart and storing the meat in the cold room now packed with fresh ice from the river was making me feel content. Stormy watched as I cooked elk belly on a frying pan utilizing the oversized iron stove.

Day 23

I whistled the 'Don't Worry Be Happy' melody as bacon spluttered on the pan, wishing that I had some eggs to go with it. Alas, the chickens did not survive dragon fire.

As I slid the frying pan off the stove, about to indulge in delicious fried meats, Stormy started to paw at my face.

"Hold on, I'll get you a plate," I said, but then the kitten suddenly leapt off my shoulder and rushed to a window, staring at something in the distance.

I approached the stained glass and looked at where she was peering at.

There were three men on horseback riding through the snow covered village ruins, their stern faces looking at the village. They were dressed in simple metal chainmail and leather armor, swords glinting at their sides. They must have spotted the smoke coming from the chimney of the pub, because they stopped in front of my impassable tree-barricade and were saying something amongst each other, pointing at the pub.

Due to my monster-related paranoid preparations, there was no way of approaching the place on horseback. Short of setting it on fire, the barrier of trees would be exceptionally difficult to penetrate quickly by a large predator. I left a hidden, narrow path to get into the pub safely for myself and Stormy from the side, weaving through the barricade, and it wasn't easy to spot.

"Rrwrrrr," Stormy commented from the windowsill.

"Yeah, the vultures are finally here," I said with a sigh.

Chapter 12 Confrontation [Day 23]

I pulled the stained glass window open, pointing an arbalest at my unexpected visitors. My face was now hidden behind several layers of cloth and concealed by a thick leather hood and a metal helmet from the smithy. A second set of chainmail sat on my body atop of a few coats to make me appear bulkier.

"Who goes there?" I asked in the scruffiest voice that my young body could muster.

The trio of men looked at me from their mounts. One of them trotted forward, closer to my tree-barrier. The other two followed.

"I am Cecil, we hail from the village Bernt," the lanky man at the front said, his thin moustache twitching. "A travelling merchant saw from yonder mountain that Svabald lay in ruin and we were sent to investigate. What happened here?"

"We got attacked by a dragon," I said.

"How many survivors?" Cecil asked.

"Enough to run the pub," I replied briskly.

I didn't like the look of the trio. Their scruffy, patchwork armor, sunken faces and greedy glint in their eyes told me that if I took a step outside of the pub, I would be in for a very bad time.

"What is your name?" the man at the front inquired, his voice a bit nasal, as cold air crystallized his breath.

"Ioan," I replied.

"You should come with us to Bernt, Ioan," Cecil offered. "This village is lost. You cannot survive here for long. The palisade is gone. We can collect whatever is left of value in the village and…"

"We'll manage," I said sharply, not lowering my arbalest. "This is our village and nobody is collecting anything."

They didn't need to know that 'we' meant Stormy and me.

"I say we rush him from three sides and take everything," the man on the right leaned in and whispered to Cecil. 

It would be impossible for a mundane human to overhear the barely discernible whisper from this distance, but I was a witch who was standing on his domain, which had gradually magnified all of my senses over the past three weeks to the point of being superhuman.

"Look here, Ioan," the bald man on the right of Cecil growled. "I only spotted one set of footsteps in the snow around the village. You're here alone. Just come out of the pub and we will take you to safet..."

My heartbeat intensified tenfold. 

Time slowed once again as I aimed the arbalest and pulled the trigger. The arrow released from my weapon went right through the bald man's right eye. As his body started to fall, I pulled the second arbalest from my side belt and shot the man on the left of Cecil.

"Get off the horse, Cecil," I ordered, pointing a third arbalest at the man's head.

"Wha…" he blinked, seeing that both of his men were dead.

"Off the horse," I repeated. "You three ruffians clearly came here to take what is rightfully mine. You can die right now or walk away and let any others know that any future banditry on my property will not be tolerated."

"You can't just…" Cecil muttered.

"I can do whatever the hell I like to blackguards like you," I said. "I'm counting to ten and then you're either off the horse or can enjoy an arrow through the eye. Ten… nine…"

The man quickly jumped off the horse as his face paled.

"Think you can catch up to the merchant?" I asked.

"She will be staying in Bernt for a few days, ye," Cecil nodded.

"Very good," I said. "Tell her to bring me eggs and any seeds. I'll need to replant the fields come spring. Oh... and I want glass bottles."

"N-nothing will grow here if dragon-flame cursed this land!" Cecil uttered, staring at the corpses of his associates.

"That's not your problem to worry about," I pointed out. "Your job is to contact the merchant and tell her to head here. That's the only reason you're alive now. Got it?"

The lanky man nodded.

"Off you go then," I said, pointing at the forest.

"The wolves will eat me," he said, looking dejected. "I need a horse… I won't make it back to the Bernt alive if I go on foot."

"Take the scraggier stallion but leave the bags behind," I offered. "I'm keeping your mare and stallion."

"You can't possibly… survive out here alone!" Cecil blinked. "You'll just end up eating them!"

"Maybe I'll have them for lunch," I shrugged. "None of this is your business anymore. Get on that black spotted horse and be gone from my village."

I watched as Cecil took the bags off the horse and departed rapidly, not looking back.

"Mrrwl," Stormy commented from the windowsill.

"Yeah," I rubbed the back of my head. "I killed someone. I wonder if their souls will head to Zal-Slavi or whatever for being arrowed. Does this count as a battle?"

"Mrrmrm," the kitten replied, rolling her eyes at me.

"Well, Mrmr right back at you, lass," I said. "I've got horses now. Horses means I can go a lot farther out in my quest for unique specimens. I'm not fishing plants out of the Astral, as I still can't sense or see the damn spirit world without my Astralscope."

"Mryaw," Stormy said.

"Yes," I sighed. "I know, I'm being impatient."

In a few minutes I stood over the downed bodies of the bandits, with Stormy sitting on my shoulder.

"You know, now I really feel like an embodiment of a wicked witch," I told her as I examined the meagre contents of their bags.

"Mrmr," Stormy agreed.

I slowly approached the nearest horse and offered it some grass from my chest garden.

The horse gobbled up the offered greenery quickly; it looked quite hungry. I fed some grass to the second horse and led both of them into the smithy. The animals turned docile very quickly. Nobody could resist witch-made grass. Stormy nibbled on it herself several times a day, which made her fur extra silky and plush.

I returned to the two bodies and looked at them.

"If heroes can absorb power from the villains they eliminate, then why can't I?" I asked.

"Mrmrmmmr," Stormy commented.

"True. I don't see why the garden can't eat them," I said. "From my tests with a few meat slabs from the elk, stuff decomposes extremely rapidly under the assault of the life-rad empowered microorganisms."

"Mrawr," the kitten said.

"It's a dog eat dog world," I shrugged. "I do feel a bit bad for shooting them, but they would have probably killed or more likely… enslaved me. See that?" I pulled a pair of rust-covered, metal manacles out of one of the saddlebags on the ground. "That's a collar made for putting on people, my fuzzy friend. In a world without machines people serve as the general workforce. I'm honestly quite lucky that these guys are such piss-poor bandits and aren't magically augmented like me."

I had no idea if the kitten understood what I was saying. 

I was mostly chatting with Stormy to keep from going crazy. Maybe I was already a bit crazy. 

I grabbed the nearest body by its boots and began to drag it into the pub.

Chapter 13 Witchy Familiars

The first half of the night featured a blurry nightmare in which a black spider was chasing me. The spider was quite determined to catch up to me. For some reason, it had a pentagram cut in half painted on its back. I wasn't sure what it all meant. Wasn't my domain and the virgin banners supposed to protect me against everything including bad dreams or did I have to make a dreamcatcher to avoid such things?

When the irksome spider caught up to me, jumping onto my face, fangs sinking into my nose, I did not wake with a scream.

Instead, I found myself jolting into existence inside Yaga Grandhilda's familiar hut once again.

"Ah, young Ioan," she said, eyeing me critically. "It seems you've managed to survive two weeks without my guidance. Well done."

"Did you miss the entertainment I provide you with?" I shot back, my heart still pounding due to spider-related nightmare.

"Oh, you have no idea," Grandhilda cackled. "I've definitely been on the edge of my seat wondering what sort of trouble you'd get yourself into next."

I rolled my eyes at her teasing. "No trouble. I did get a…"

"A kitten," Grandhilda said before I finished. 

"How did you…?" I sputtered, fearing that the witch was watching me in the Astral or something and already knew that I was roaming all over Svalbard murdering Elks and people with arrows.

Grandhilda pointed a long, dark nail at my lap. I looked down to discover a warm, fuzzy, black ball there radiating warmth and purring ever so slightly in her sleep.

"W-what?" I blinked, unsure of how the kitten had followed me into the shared dream of the witch-communion. 

Was Stormy secretly a witch or…

"It seems you've acquired a familiar without even trying," Yaga commented. "How... quaint."

"Familiar?" I blinked. "You mean Stormy? She's just a cat I found sitting on the steps of a pub that I adopted."

The old witch cackled again, slapping her moss-covered armrest. "Oh, you naive boy. There's no such thing as 'just a cat' when it comes to witches!"

"You've got a familiar too then?" I asked.

The Yaga snapped her finger and a black raven suddenly materialized on her shoulder. The raven examined me and Stormy with brilliant green eyes, nodded and vanished as if it had never existed to begin with.

"Acorn's a little shy 'round other witches," the Yaga commented. "He prefers to stay out of the dream, but he's always watching out for trouble and occasionally flies over my land to keep an eye out for Jotuns."

"Are Jotuns a problem for you then?" I asked.

"This one was," Grandhilda tapped her elk skull. 

I stared at her skull mask, a realization dawning on me. The skull wasn't exactly shaped like that of an elk. It was longer, and misshapen, had an extra pair of eye-holes in it that definitely didn't belong to an elk.

"Took me four hundred years to trap and drown this bastard," she said with a smug look. "His brother is a lot more clever and is still quite the bother."

"Why are Jotuns targeting you specifically?" I asked.

Grandhilda's expression darkened, her eyes taking on a haunted look. "It's not just me they're after, young Ioan. There's a Gygr living at the North-West edge of the Shalish wood. She's the one sending these Jotuns after me, and likely will target you as well, especially after your... ill-advised blood magic experiments."

I felt a chill of unease run down my spine. "Gygr?"

The old witch sighed heavily, picking up a cup of tea from a moss-covered table. "A Gygr is a witch who has strayed from the path of balance and wisdom. She's forsaken her connection to Mother Earth and instead draws power from death and decay, from Nox, the Goddess of the Void. This particular Gygr was once a sister witch to me long ago, but she became obsessed with extending her power beyond natural means… using rather nasty methods."

"And now she's after other witches?" I asked.

"Yes," Grandhilda nodded. "She seeks to harvest the blood of other witches and bones of men to fuel her own twisted desires."

"You know, this sounds like something important that would be nice to tell me earlier," I commented.

"Speaking of her existence in the Astral would only permit her to target you sooner," the Yaga sighed. "Thankfully, you've got a familiar now, which will delay her search for you. Your fuzzy cloud is the only reason I have spoken of the threat of the Gygr now."

"How exactly is a kitten supposed to protect me from a powerful dark witch and her oversized monster minions?" I demanded.

"Your little 'Stormy' is now bound to you magically. She'll be able to chase tracker-spirits away from your domain, grow in power as you do, live as long as you do, and likely develop abilities beyond those of a normal cat as her eyes change color," Grandhilda explained. "Familiars are conduits for magic, protectors, and companions all rolled into one fuzzy package. She will be able to sense Jotuns too before they arrive!"

Stormy wiggled on my lap and opened a single, violet eye to look at the Yaga.

"Since when are your eyes violet?" I asked her.

"Mr-mrrw," Stormy yawned, stretching.

"So… how do I... train her to detect Jotuns or whatever?" I turned my head back to the witch.

Grandhilda laughed. "Train her? Oh, my dear boy. You don't train a familiar like some common house pet. You nurture them, care for them, and most importantly, you trust them. The magic will do the rest."

She was being irritatingly vague again.

Grandhilda chuckled at my expression. "Even mundane cats can perceive the Astral to some degree, young Ioan. They're natural Seers, capable of observing spirits and glimpsing potential futures. Even mortal Nordstaii women sometimes notice this when they observe their pet cat staring at absolutely nothing on a wall."

"Is that so?" I petted my ball of fur, producing a deeper purr.

"Yes," the witch nodded sagely. "Have you ever wondered why cats are so indecisive at doors? They're not just being fickle. They're perceiving multiple potential futures, weighing the outcomes of each choice."

I raised an eyebrow skeptically. "You're telling me that when a cat sits in a doorway, meowing to go out, then changing its mind when you open the door, it's... calculating the future?"

Grandhilda laughed heartily. "In a manner of speaking, yes. Cats are deeply connected to the spiritual, for them there is no need for any grand complex reasoning. Cats just know the best outcome. Why do you think they suddenly jump sometimes for no apparent reason? That is because they get spooked by a future spiritual encounter, see something dangerous that didn't happen yet."

I glanced down at Stormy, who was now awake and watching our conversation with unsettlingly violet eyes. "So, you're saying Stormy here can see the future just like a witch, knows how everything ends and begins? How does that even work?"

"Not quite," Grandhilda corrected. "A familiar, especially one as young as yours, doesn't have perfect future sight. But they have... Incredible intuition. They know where they are because they know where they aren't. By subtracting where they are from where they aren't, or where they aren't from where they are - whichever is greater - they obtain a difference, a deviation from the expected path of fate."

I blinked, trying to wrap my head around her words.

"You're still thinking like a mortal boy Ioan." Grandhilda sighed. "A cat's actions, seemingly random to an ordinary human, are perfectly aligned with the ebb and flow of fate and the Astral currents they sense innately."

"Mrow," Stormy commented, as if to confirm the witch's words.

"Do remember this, Ioan," Grandhilda warned, "a familiar is not just a tool. They're your partner in your magical journey. Treat Stormy with respect and love, and she'll be your most loyal ally against the void-afflicted eldritch shadows that lurk in the Underside of our world."

"How precisely can you see the future as a Volva-Yaga?" I asked her.

"There is no precision when it comes to foresight," the witch said. "Mainly, a Yaga's connection to the Astral in her dreams can reveal how she will die. It is the chorus of the garden itself, warning its caretaker of the danger. If you know what kind of an enemy threatens your life in the future, you can figure out when to hide or even how to make a potion or to make a deal with the spirits to protect yourself and your land. The level of dream-sight depends entirely on the skills, domain size and age of the witch."

"Will I learn to see the future and have precognitive dreams?" I asked.

"Since you are a man I am uncertain if you will ever manifest precognition," the Yaga said. "Quite frankly, creating you was a big gamble on my part. Had it not been for the cold and white blight ravaging the trees and fields, then you would have grown up less feeble and more like a proper warrior worthy of Perun." 

I shrugged, not feeling any shame from her biting words. Anorexia was an easily curable condition for a fully mobile witch with the access to Svalbard's entire winter storage food supply. Was it even winter now? I wasn't sure, since I had no idea how north Svalbard was.

"Familiars are your helpers who would be willing to do anything for you," the Yaga added.

"Anything like…?" 

"Developing potions and finding seeds," the witch said. "A familiar is quite handy for a young witch as it can travel outside of her domain to fetch her things. I was quite concerned about your lack of spiritual progress but with a helpful familiar you can get your garden to bloom sooner."

"Can any animal become my familiar?" I asked.

"Once an animal begins to eat food grown in your garden, they'll become stronger and bind themselves to you. As long as a beast consumes the fruit of your making, they will become addicted to the power your land provides and won't be able to leave your side," the Yaga explained.

I nodded. Were the fruits of my land addictive? Were the potions witches made… addictive too? 

"If potions are made from the fruits of the witch's garden can a person become the witch's familiar if they drink enough of them?" I asked. 

Grandhilda barked a dry laugh. "You must learn how to make your potions taste vile," she said. "Dilute all potions with dirty water, rotting flesh and mud just enough so that mortals do not become addicted to them." 

"And if I don't?" I asked. 

"Then mortals will come and attempt to take the tasty potions by force," she said. "That's when you'll have to drown them all in your glade and also be forced to deal with the consequences of their kin seeking vengeance. It is unpleasant and mortals take centuries to forget such things. I don't recommend this course of action. Always dilute whatever you sell or gift to the mortals." 

"I see," I said. 

"My garden is different from yours, so I can't give you exact instructions, only general advice," she shrugged. "But I can help you with the basics. Your first step is to examine the unique flowers, grasses, and bugs in your glade and figure out what special properties they might possess." 

"How?" 

"Taste them," she smiled. "Most likely, they'll have basic invigorating or calming effects. Feed a variety of your garden's produce to your familiar. It shouldn't hurt her and she'll know if something is poisonous to boot."

I pursed my lips, not sure how Stormy would communicate to me about how poisonous something was.

"If your kitten is smart enough she might even be able to guide your potion-making!" The Yaga said. "Just tell her what you want made and she will help you pick out the best ingredients."

Great now I have to listen to a kitten about how to make potions.

"If you crush specific grasses from your domain into a powder and dilute them properly, then you can make pills or teas and sell them to Dyrkjarls and mortals who will eventually come by. Be a benevolent witch and you'll be able to trade what you need and be treated with great reverence in turn. Be a malicious, unforgiving witch and you will be left in peace, while your forest will be respected and avoided by human hunters." 

I rubbed my chin, unsure if I was about to embark on a journey to becoming a local potion guru or a drug kingpin. Both had their appealing sides. The only problem was location–the wild arboreal forest I inhabited didn't seem to have much traffic. 

Eh, I could always relocate down south. Upon consideration, the equatorial rainforest seemed like the place most ripe for witches to exist in due to year-long sunshine and massive biodiversity.

"Wait, so is Stormy going to live longer because of me?" I asked.

"Stormy will remain a kitten forever if you so desire it," the witch replied.

"Forever kitten…" I whispered as Stormy rubbed her adorable, pink button nose against my fingers.

"Can I just keep collecting kittens endlessly, make an infinite number of familiars?" I asked.

"No," the Yaga laughed. "You're far too young for that. The spirits in the witch's garden will naturally align themselves with a single familiar or two... maybe more as your domain grows. A witch cannot link herself with nor truly care for an infinite number of familiars. Stormy is your familiar because you care about her and she constantly spends her time together with you."

"Got it," I said.

"The sun rises. I believe that I have imparted sufficient wisdom for you to survive," Grandhilda put her tree-grown cup of tea onto a table made from roots. "Good luck, young Ioan. I hope that by the next time we commune, be it in a few winters time or a few decades, you will learn how to meditate upon your earth and dip your fingers into the Astral.

"Do take care of your Master, Stormy," she addressed the kitten directly. "He may be just a foolhardy boy, but he's our little fool now. Keep him out of trouble, won't you, darling?"

"Mrow," Stormy replied, her violet eyes gleaming with what seemed like amusement.

The Yaga rose from her seat and slapped her hands and the dream shattered into green and violet stardust.

Chapter 14 The Astralgraph Theory [Day 26]

Day 26

Meditation attempt 42 - no changes, no improvement, still can't sense nor see spirits when I close my eyes.

I opened my eyes and watched as Stormy sat atop a large barrel and nibbled on the brilliantly glowing, violet-shimmering grass birthed from the body of one of the bandits. 

Judging by the unnaturally vibrant way the grass glowed and how it grew overnight, my hypothesis had been correct. The witch's garden fed on people. This is probably how witches turned evil - it was far too easy to gain power by feeding my glade people. 

The concept of an evil witch was simple: make some heroes, get them to bring dead bodies in droves and you're in business.

I momentarily wondered if I was going to turn into a nerdy florist protagonist from the Little Shop of Horrors who got tricked into feeding people to an alien plant monster. Remembering the 1986 American horror comedy musical film made me smile.

"You know, if I can feed people to the garden and get this much power back," I mused to Stormy. "Then it stands to reason that anything big and organic can be fed to the garden to increase its potency. I think the next elk we hunt is going to go into a barrel in its entirety… too bad I skinned the last one in the forest as it was too big to lug home."

"Mrmrm," Stormy replied, settling atop of the barrel and staring down at me.

I stood up and placed my palm on the earth that filled the barrel. It felt warm to my touch. The 3 cubic feet of soil covering up the body of the bald raider practically shined with life-rad energy like a space heater.

"I'm going to need a way bigger barrel," I said. "No way an entire elk would fit into one of these, even if I chop it up."

"Mrayaw," Stormy said, pawing at the grass playfully.

"You're right, I don't understand the conversion metric or the process itself yet." I nodded, rubbing my chin. "I know that the domain soil absorbs spiritual energy from living things and somehow converts it into magical power..."

I grabbed the Codex and outlined my thoughts.

Domain power conversion process:

Organic life > Extracted spiritual essence > Crystalline microstructures

Results in:

[1] Rapid microbial proliferation

[2] Rapid vegetative propagation

[3] Material Augmentation:

[strain hardening][higher saponification][increased nutrition, food & liquid fortification][4] Personal Benefits: improved stamina, strength & faster response time

[5] Improved familiar intelligence [?]

"You're more intelligent, right? If you can understand what I'm saying, lift your left paw," I eyed the kitten.

Stormy nodded, wiggling her left paw in the air.

"Thought so," I smiled and gave the kitten a pet.

I began to pace around the barrel, crystal chainmail twinkling atop my body, my mind going over everything I had learned over the brief duration of my new life in Svalbard.

"If my theory is correct, then the life-rad contained within these crystals is able to grant me personal power, augmenting my stamina and response time." I paused in front of my captivated audience of a single, wide-eyed kitten and tapped the crystal strands hanging all over my body.

"The question is–what is the trigger mechanism for its activation?"

Stormy hung on my every word, keen on delving into the vast mysteries at the heart of my exposition or perhaps she was simply attracted by the spiritual light sparkling on the violet gemstones.

"Twice now, I experienced what I would call bullet-time. The first time happened when the elk almost mowed me down and the second in the moment when the bandits discussed my enslavement," I said. "Several times this morning, I attempted to purposefully slow down time... It didn't work. Just like my numerous failed attempts at meditation over the past two weeks, I seem to be missing some vital activation trigger."

I tapped my chin.

"Perhaps the flight or fight response somehow pulls life-rad from the crystals," I said.

The kitten tilted her head at me.

"The fight or flight reaction, also known as the stress response, happens when hormones are released that either make us want to stay and face an enemy or run away from it," I clarified. "During the fight or flight response, rapid changes occur in our bodies to prepare us for facing danger. When we feel threatened, our brains release chemicals like adrenaline, which increases our heart rate and breathing, and cortisol, which raises our blood sugar levels."

I eyed Stormy. She looked bored. It was probably too many big words for her kitten brain to process. I resumed my pacing around the barrel.

"If a witch's domain is a spiritual extension of her or in my case, his body," I pondered. "Then the blurry shapes crawling or dancing atop of these crystals are perhaps spiritual extensions of me, or… better yet, spirits aligned to me. If everything living here on Thornwild possesses a quantum imprint, an energy matrix of some sort, then the witch's garden acts as a conversion… or perhaps a realignment agent for the spiritual essence that inhabits all organic life."

The kitten yawned. 

I grabbed my Astralscope and peered through it out the window at the ice-covered river.

Silver-blue radiance danced atop of the river, like a strange, enchanting aurora. I aimed the Astralscope at the barrel. Distinctively violet aurora-like, blurry, semi-distinctive shapes moved from one leaf to another.

"River Glinka is a potent spirit not aligned to me," I concluded. "Spirits born in my garden on the other hand are aligned to my own… auric signature? Yeah, let's go with that term."

Stormy resumed chewing on the purple grass.

"Trading with Glinka is dangerous because she has her own desires, while the spirits residing in my domain don't require any kind of a trade. Presumably, some of them give up their energy willingly to me when I am threatened. If I had to hazard a guess, the violet-tinted crystal matrices are in some way able to create astral projections, which manifest as these ethereal entities." I pointed my finger at the biggest spirit that was slowly crawling up a plant stem. "If the Astral Ocean contains the memories of everything that ever lived, then these astral projections are simply borrowing the shapes of long dead creatures that fossilized into the rock long ago. That would explain why the spirits residing in my garden take on these random shapes."

Stormy lazily pawed at the fat, blurry, crab-like spirit with a star-shaped shell that I was pointing at.

"Whatever these auric constructs are… they're mindless imprints that are replicating the motions of some primordial critter." I pushed the plant away and the crab-spirit simply remained floating in the air. "See? It's just floating there. It has no idea what it's doing and shows no response to my stimuli."

The kitten leapt at the floating crab, slashing through it. She tumbled through the air and nearly rolled off the barrel. I smiled, amused by Stormy's playful antics.

"Presumably, if I am able to hunt down and kill a magical beast, my garden will be able to convert it into much more distinctive, more powerful spirits," I mulled. "If common rocks are able to crystallize to house a spiritual matrix, then maybe it would be more effective if I procure a large crystal and insert that into the barrel as it converts life to energy? Maybe a bigger crystal will have an easier time listening to me? I can't keep relying on a fight-or-flight response as the only means of pulling energy from my crystal matrices."

"Mrrm-mrm," Stormy tilted her head curiously.

"Minerals have highly ordered and repetitive atomic arrangements. X-ray diffraction and polarizing microscopy helped mineralogists and chemists investigate their nature. Breaking a single crystal into chunks, for instance, still retains its internal atomic pattern," I went into narration mode. "But why does syntropy, aka a repetitive atomic pattern, produce magic?"

Stormy's eyes glazed over. She clearly had no idea who mineralogists were.

"I think that the witch's domain or any kind of a magical domain… produces some kind of a stable field," I stipulated. "A type of a persistent energy-wave, which somehow overwrites and amplifies existing crystalline patterns within various minerals and materials. The best reference I can think of... is a phonograph, a recording mechanism invented by Thomas Edison in 1877, which recorded sound on a cylinder coated with wax or tinfoil. My domain, located in the interior of this pub, is a three metre diameter sphere populated by plants and powered by the dead souls… acts as a large Astralgraph. Yeah, that's a great word for it, don't you think?"

"Mrmr," Stormy rolled her eyes. The kitten probably didn't care why or how things worked.

"My theory is that a sleeping witch acts akin to a recording pin which embeds astral imprints into nearby crystals!" I declared, adding another line to my Codex chart.

[6] The witch and her domain form The Astralgraph > The Astralgraph projects a field The Auric Signature > field creates a crystalline matrix via Syntropic Crystallization > Syntropic Gems manifests an Astral Projection aka Auric Construct > Auric Construct preforms a specific job. 

"It would also be an interesting experiment to find a fairy circle or a cursed domain and procure crystals from it to see if my garden can use them in some manner," I pondered. "I have no idea if it will be easier or harder to overwrite crystalline structures that already have a set imprint in them."

The kitten looked in the direction of the river.

"That is an option," I nodded. "I could grab a few pebbles from Glinka. No doubt, they will have Glinka's Auric Signature embedded in them for me to analyze. If I'm right, then they should be aligned to the river. Magic is theoretically everywhere, I just need to start using my Astralscope to look for spots in the forest that are packed full of life-rad or perhaps death-rad if the place is cursed..."

"Meow!" the kitten shook her head, clearly not eager to visit highly questionable, cursed locations.

"I know," I responded. "It might be dangerous, but science often involves taking some risks. Marie Curie didn't win Nobel Prizes in Chemistry and Physics by playing it safe."

"Brrrr?" Stormy demanded.

"Marie died at the age of 66 due to aplastic anemia, which was caused by her long-term exposure to radiation…" I pursed my lips. "Radiation is nasty business. Okay... fine. I won't try to handle death-rad crystals with my bare hands. You got a point there, I'll use tongs!"