As the Crone Flies

Smiling toothlessly to herself, the plump, old woman shuffles out of the filthy pig-shed where a young woman was being held. A special young woman, though she barely knows it herself. The nearby farmhouse is empty now. Empty, except for the corpses of the Farmer, his wife and his two other teenage daughters.

Whispering into the hidden ear of a beckoned crow, the old, mad-haired Witch; Bronwen smugly shares a secret message.

“I’ve found the thirteenth member of our baker’s dozen. With this poor, recently and… Tragically orphaned; Alwina, we’ve finally gotten our Witch’s coven!”

The crow then spreads out its oily, black wings and takes to the air, heading straight back to Megarna to share the news.

Thirteen Witches.Thirteen Sisters from the eager young to the shrewd old. A magical number. The sum at which the combination of their various powers unlock greater gifts. Gifts to rival Grand-Wizards and High-Priests!

Which Witch is Which?

The two wrinkled old women, one short and stout, the other surprisingly tall and thin, regard each-other suspiciously. 

From the safety of their Mistress’s hemlines, two correspondingly proportioned cats, one short-limbed, well padded and ginger, the other more resembling an angular, furry, black bag of bones, hiss at each other. Their backs arched, their tattered ears flattened down and their sharp fangs bared. 

After an agonisingly long pause, the fat, old woman finally breaks the silence.

“It’s been over twenty years since I last saw your warty face. Why have you sought me out after all this time? What do you want Megarna?”

The taller woman forces a smile, mostly just to show that, out of the two of them, she still possesses the majority of her own teeth.

“What do you think I want Bronwen? I’m putting the Coven back together.”

Bronwen chokes with bitter laughter.

“The Coven? Of the original thirteen of us, only you and I survived Lord Urdurel’s purge!”

Megarna shrugs skeletally.

“That’s mostly true, but I didn’t travel all this way on a whim. My charge of the last forty years; Sir Briefadel has finally found his Mother and is currently raising an inhuman army to defeat his aged Father.”

Bronwen’s rheumy eyes widen in surprise as she suppresses a tiny shudder.

“Our Mistress; Hetzabah is still alive? How, after all these years?!”

This time, Megarna’s smile is genuine.

“Yes, Hetzabah’s alive and free once more. It was she herself who issued this command.”

After recovering her composure, Bronwen gathers up her skirt and attempts to take control.

“Hurry then Sister, there’s lots to be done in preparation for her return.”

Megarna though, merely scoffs and proceeds, very deliberately, to take her own sour time.

“Don’t forget your place Sister; even after all these lost seasons, you’re still only number two.”