For Whom the Elm Toad by Leila Allison

Ancient starlight is a key ingredient in Magick. Forget sunshine; aged roughly eight minutes upon arriving at Earth, it’s too raw and is to starlight what prison wine is to hundred-year-old cognac. And culling the rays that bounce back off something like Saturn only adds a few meaningless hours to the photons. Yes, the older the better, all the way from Deneb and Andromeda, Rigel and Beteguese, the maniacal red-shifted glimmers that howl silently through the endless now, the insane shine of forever.

HeXopatha, a thirteenth level Wiccan, and a bit of a pill on occasion, used gathering spells to capture ancient starlight and stored it in an Elm Tree she had Enchanted on Earth and smuggled into our make believe realm of Saragun Springs.*

(*The Saragun sky contains just two-hundred-thirty odd stars made mostly from paper and aluminum foil, which are pasted to our firmament, about a mile up. HeXy makes frequent trips to realms that have open skies, and brings home Enchanted Saplings and Acorns to populate her Enchanted Wood.)

Only a Witch of HeXopatha’s stature would dare to Enchant an Elm. Oaks and Cherries “take” best, while Evergreens are next to useless. Elms are especially powerful, but risky; every now and then an Enchanted Elm will sour on the Master for no reason and “go Evilmost.” Word around the cauldron says Enchanted Elms are Pit Bulls of the forest.

But, being a pill, HeXy Enchanted the Elm (“Ernie”) to go Evilmost on purpose (Ernie’s a he whose gender was decided by the flip of the Canadian dollar coin called the loony). She had gone to the step of drawing in neutron star radiation and the extreme rays cast by pulsars when Ernie was an Earthly sapling. You see, HeXy loves her devoted Legions of Minions, but aside from a particularly mouthy Flying Weasel named Penrose, her Children of the Night are a tad on the obsequious side. She figured that an Evilmost Enchanted Elm would be like a pinch of curry in peasant stew.

Yet even a thirteenth level Wiccan should be careful of what she wants. And after catching hell for a rather puerile Magickal stunt pulled in Saragun Springs she was not responsible for, HeXy, who instantly recognized the situation, visited Ernie at his location in the Enchanted Wood, near the Witching Hour (at Earth it’s Three to four in the morning; in Saragun Springs a miscalculation in setting the realm’s “clock” means a starting time of 9: 07 PM, and only on Wednesdays).

Upon reaching Ernie’s clearing (Evilmost Enchanted Elms cannot stand within ninety-nine paces of any other Enchanted Tree for risk of fomenting mutiny), there, bathed in the greenish light of the realm’s drunken Moon, Ping, HeXopatha saw Penrose the Flying Weasel’s silhouette hovering beside Ernie; both Ernie and Penrose were snickering like thirteen-year-old children telling fart jokes (Enchanted Trees don’t speak, but get across by creating noises, like laughter, by rubbing branches and leaves together). HeXopatha is the sort of person who needs very little evidence to convict, so It made sense that her mouthy Flying Weasel would be an enabler. Sort of goes with the species.

“Ernie and Penrose! My, what a lovely surprise. I didn’t know you cavorted close to the Witching hour,” she said. Being Elvilmost and immature, Ernie didn’t give a rip, but Penrose, being a Weasel, Flying or Otherwise, knew that the gag was up and quickly assumed his Stoatly nature.

“Good evening, Magnificent Master,” Penrose said. “Fine night for a flight. I guess I’ll be off and let you and Ernie conduct…”

“I think I’d rather you remain, darling Penrose, if that’s alright with you,” HeXopahtha said, with a certain smile that annihilated the inferred possibility of choice.

“Your wish is my command, Magnificent Master.”

Ernie wriggled his branches and was able to make a loud smacking noise, consistent with that of a butt being kissed.

“I was in the Barnyard today and was instantly accused of turning half the population in Saragun Springs into Toads. I spent most of the day undoing the childish trick–my favorite wand damn near overheated. But for the reversal to stick, I have brought the last Toad to be transformed. Only a kiss precisely at the stroke of the Witching Hour, thirty seconds from now, will bring this tawdry little melodrama to a conclusion.”

Ernie crossed two branches like a petulant child showing his displeasure with his mother. Penrose, longer acquainted with the Magnificent Master and her way of problem solving, was glad she wasn’t as mad as she could have been, but s/he (the loony always lands and stays on edge when the Weasel’s gender is flipped for) also knew that something moderately to very “sucky” lay ahead in the immediate future as means of her/his comeuppance.

Deftly, HeXopatha snatched a leaf off Ernie and placed it in her palm. It dissolved into her hand. “From here on I will always know what you are up to, darling,” she said to Ernie, who got extra pouty about the current turn of events.

Then HeXopatha extracted a box from her robe and opened it. Inside was a large green Toad with an extremely peeved expression on (hold up a second…okay the loonie landed Loon side up…) her face.

HeXy smiled lovingly at Penrose. “Someone whose mouth gets plenty of exercise must kiss this individual back to normal in three, two, one…”

Penrose didn’t protest. As far as a comeuppance goes, it was a bit disgusting but at least it was brief. Penrose kissed the top of the Toad’s head. This created two flashes. One marked HeXy’s exit and the other heralded the transformation of the second in command of Saragun Springs’, Miss Renfield, from a Toad to herself once more.

Renfield and HeXopatha do not like each other. And they never appear “on stage” together in any of Saragun Springs’ literary productions. And although it is neither here nor there, some say that they bear a remarkable resemblance to each other.

The peeved expression she had whilst a Toad was still on Renfield’s face. She motioned Penrose over with her finger.

Nose to nose with the little fiend, she said, “Next time you try to kiss me you’d better bring candy and flowers–now shoo!”

Penrose shooed.

Renfield walked a circle around Ernie who was pretending not to be sentient, which was a pretty lame act, all things considered.

“Listen Ernie, I like you well enough,” she said, “but do that to me again and they’ll be notifying your next of kindling…If you catch my drift.”

And so it goes another day in the Enchanted Wood.

Leila