FREE EBOOK 10th-12th Tales of a Texas Boy
How do you handle a crazy jackass? Eddie knows. If you ask Eddie, he'll tell you pigs can fly and show you where to find real mammoth bones. Take his word for it when he tells you always to bet on the bear.
In TALES OF A TEXAS BOY, I included stories up through my father's high school career as the star quarterback and President of the student body. He was trying to decide what to do next, so he and his best buddy, Red, decided, as teenagers will, to go on a road trip instead. I wrote this poem, which is not in the book, to commemorate my father's decision to defend his country as a soldier just as his father had. This poem was published in a magazine written by and for veterans.
The Witches of Galdorheim series is about a witch named Katrina (fondly known as Katwitch by her Orca buddy) who feels she can't stay on the little Arctic Island, Galdorheim. Protected by the community of witches, the island is a sanctuary for any witch who's just had enough of real world nonsense.
Kat has a brother. His name is Rune. He's cute, funny, and can spell up a storm (literally), but must constantly be on guard against his father's legacy. Rune is half-vampire and half-witch. Kat thinks he has all the breaks.
Kat, on the other hand, has difficulty learning and executing even the simplest spells. She blames this lack on her human father. She feels if she can't succeed as a witch, she should go find her father's family and see if they'll take her in. As nomadic Sami fishermen, they might be a bit hard to find. She gets help from an unlikely source or two. Mordita, the local crabby old witch, helps Kat and Rune prepare to cross the icy arctic seas to Norway. Why is Rune going? He finds his sister to be very entertaining in her magical failures and he loves her. He wants to help. The siblings get last minute directions from Kat's not-quite-dead father (frozen in a ice cave...don't ask, it's a long story).
NOW, you can get the rest of the setup to Kat's adventures in BAD SPELLING. Then, you can follow Kat, Rune, and her grandfather seek the mysterious MIDNIGHT OIL. At last, Kat is ready to go on her summer abroad to visit Stonehenge for Samhain. She just has to drop off a note to the Trow King in SCOTCH BROOM. As with all Kat's adventures, her little brother just has to come along. This trip that might be a horrid mistake.
That's a heck of a lot of set-up to let you know about the COMPLEAT AND TRUE HISTORY OF THE WITCHES OF GALDORHEIM. One volume with all three books, a bonus prequel short story (SPELLSLINGER), and what happens to Rune once Kat has left the island (BLOOD TIES TESTED).
Excerpt:
Turning away from Merry, Kat finished the final leg of her pentagram and set the bunny in the center. “Stay right there, Teddy,” she whispered to her little brown rabbit, setting a chunk of carrot in front of him. He made a dash for the edge of the desk. Kat hauled him back. “Cut it out. You’ll smear my chalk lines.” She stroked his soft fur for a moment. “Hope this works.” He twitched his nose twice, closed his eyes, and hunkered down.
Kat checked her spell book one last time, took a deep breath, and completed the spell with a loud “Fullgerður!” and a dramatic sweep of her arms, just missing Merry’s head with her wand.
Merry shrieked and jumped out of her chair. She glared at Kat while wiping green goo off the side of her face. “Your rabbit stinks. Just like your spellcasting!”
Kat’s mouth hung open for a moment; then she clamped it shut when she glanced down at what was left of Teddy sitting in a pool of slime dripping onto the floor. Merry was right about one thing. The goo smelled like pond scum.
* * *
For the rest of the story, get the Compleat and True History free on Amazon through Halloween.
SPELLSLINGER - A Witches of Galdorheim Short StoryFREE SCOTCH BROOM OCTOBER 15TH-19TH
Book 3 of the Witches of Galdorheim Series
HALLOWEEN IS FOR LEGENDS – HART AND HOUND
Researching Celtic mythology, I knew I wanted to use some of the lesser-known magical creatures. I also decided that they needed to be “like” animals, but not quite. The reason for this is obvious to readers who’ve been following Kat’s story from the beginning. Kat’s magical ability is to talk with animals. She has greater or lesser success depending on the innate brainpower of a natural animal. For example, she chats along nicely with Salmon the Orca since a killer whale is the largest of the dolphins and is at the top of the IQ charts. I believe the ability to communicate with others shows greater intelligence. Sorry. Don’t want to offend any fish out there, but you guys just aren’t that bright.
I found two mythic creatures who met my criteria. Sianach, a huge stag (possibly a Red Deer), and Cusith, a giant-sized green dog with a braided tail.
From my favorite source, Encyclopedia Mythica https://pantheon.org/articles/c/cu_sith.html).
Cusith
The cù sìth was usually kept tied as a watchdog in the brugh, the fairy dwelling, but at times accompanied the women on their expeditions. It also wandered about alone, making its lair in clefts of the rocks. The dog moved silently, although some said that it made a noise like a horse galloping. Its bark was described as a rude clamor, or like that of another dog, only louder. There was a considerable interval between each bark, and at the third (it only barks thrice) the hearer was overtaken and killed, unless he had found a place of safety.
"Monster." In Scottish Gaelic oral tradition, a large, malevolent, predatory deer.
That’s to the point. Other research indicated that the basis for Sianach might be the Irish Elk, which is now extinct.
Now that I’d identified a couple of mythical critters, all I had to do was get them together with Kat. Since she was tricked into entering the Otherworld (land of fey), she has been searching for the hall of the Trow King. She meets Sianach first, and he agrees to guide her to King Connor’s hall. What Kat finds strange is that she can’t look into Sianach’s mind; he can close off his thoughts from her. This makes Kat a bit nervous since Sianach, while seeming to be amenable to helping Kat, is also very vague as to his reasons for doing so.
The two begin their search for the Trow Hall, although Sianach claims, reasonably, that in the Otherworld, there is no such thing as a map to anyplace. They’ll have to seek the Hall in other ways. Apparently, Sianach’s method is to simply wander around through the swamps.
They camp for the night, and the next morning, Kat meets another denizen of the Otherworld, the giant green hound, Cusith.
Excerpt:
Sianach grazed near the edge of the small clearing. When the lean-to disappeared, he raised his head. “Good morning. I thought you were going to sleep all day.”
“You sound just like my mom.” Kat let out an exasperated snort. “Besides, it can’t be past eight o’clock.”
“I do not carry a timepiece.”
“Of course, you don’t.” Kat opened her pack and rummaged through it. “Cool. I’ve still got the granola bar.” Her head snapped up when she heard something large crashing through the underbrush. Sianach stood stock still, staring toward the ruckus.
“HHHHRRRRROOOOOWWW!”
“Omigosh, what’s that?” Kat’s voice trembled as she looked to Sianach for an answer. The hairs on her neck and arms stood at attention.
Sianach turned toward a nearby tree and struck his antlers against it. The clash of antler against bark rang like a warning bell. Kat didn’t expect the loud clang coming from horn against wood.
“HHHHRRRRROOOOOWWW!”
“Hide,” Sianach said in a breathy whisper. His head raised now and pointed toward the howl that sounded closer than before.
Kat did as he told her but had to ask, “What is it?” just before she crouched behind a bush.
“The Hound from Hell,” Sianach replied. He dashed into the woods with antlers thrust forward to meet the howling canine. Kat heard a sharp yip from the dog. Sianach must have scored the first strike. Sianach bugled, and the hound yowled. Thuds punctuated the vocalizing when one or the other creature struck a blow.
“I have to help,” Kat muttered. She jogged across the clearing and pushed her way through the saplings and undergrowth blocking the way. She followed the battle sounds—bugling stag, baying hound, splintering of small trees being knocked aside. She darted around another large tree and saw the combatants squared off in an area beaten down by their fighting. She stopped still, her eyes widened. A huge green dog faced Sianach, its fangs exposed from under snarling lips. Kat gulped and stood frozen with fear.
Sianach’s head lowered, and he charged the hound with out-thrust antlers. The dog jumped aside at the last second and leapt on Sianach’s back. The monstrous creature bit down hard on the stag’s neck. Kat heard the sickening crunch of breaking bones. Blood gushed high, and Kat gasped at the sheer volume. Kat screamed. “Sianach!”
The hound jumped off Sianach and stood aside, panting and watching the deer fall to the ground on his side. Sianach’s head dropped, held up only by his antlers, then the mighty rack shrank, and his head hit the ground with a thud.
“No!” Kat screamed and raced toward the two. The dog looked away from the dying stag toward Kat. His lips peeled back in a slathering snarl. His muscles tensed to leap on her, and she cast her eyes around trying to find a defensive weapon. “Of course!” She cast a defense spell around herself. The hound lunged toward her and smashed into the fragile shield. It shattered, and pale yellow splinters like glass scattered through the air. However, it protected Kat for a moment. The hound rolled aside, yelping in pain.
Gathering her strength, she blasted the dog with a clear message: “Sit! Stay!” The hound rose to his feet then plopped his rear end on the forest floor. His tongue lolled from the side of his open mouth, and his tail thumped on the ground.
Kat’s jaw dropped. “Oh! Um, that’s better.” Kat was amazed her command worked at all. “You stay. That’s a good dog.” She stepped slowly toward Sianach but kept her attention on the dog, watching for any change in his now friendly demeanor.
“Oh, no! Sianach?” She dropped to one knee by the deer and placed her hand on his brow. Eyelids fluttered and then opened. Sianach looked up at her. In a weak voice, he said, “That was fun.” He then jerked himself upright and stood. Kat jumped back, astounded as she watched the wound close, the blood slow, and then stop.
Kat glanced at the dog and saw that he stayed put. She didn’t know whether to keep watch on the mutt or try to do something to help Sianach. However, the stag was rapidly healing and soon seemed unharmed, except for the drying blood on his neck.
“What? How?” Kat stammered. But Sianach was not your average, everyday red deer; he was a creature of magic. It shouldn’t surprise her he couldn’t be killed.
Turning her attention back to the dog, she looked him over with interest. His shoulder was as tall as her own. The dog’s shaggy fur coat was a startling and quite attractive forest green, and he sported a long, braided tail. By the shape of his blocky head and the size of his jowls, Kat thought he must be a mastiff.
“Just what is going on here?” she asked, planting her fists on her hips and glaring at both creatures.
Sianach stepped toward Kat and pointed his rack toward the dog. “Our apologies, Kat. We did not mean to frighten you.”
Kat looked back and forth at the two legendary beings. She closed her mouth when she realized she’d been gaping. “You scared the stuffing out of me!”
“I would not want to do that. I imagine you need your stuffing. Meet my good friend, Cusith. Cusith, this is Kat, a witch from a far-off land.”
The dog raised his right paw. Kat hesitated, her adrenaline still pumping.
“I would not have harmed you,” Cusith said. Kat took his paw and shook it.
Kat shrugged off the scare and nodded to the big dog. “I’m pleased to meet you, Cusith.”
“Pleased to meet you, young witch.”
Sianach said, “We’ve been good friends for years. Since neither of us has any of our own kind to match ourselves against, we fight with each other for practice. All in good fun, naturally.”
“Yeah, right. Good fun. You nearly gave me a heart attack. I thought Cusith killed you, Sianach.”
Both hound and stag broke out in laughter. Cusith with woofs coming up from deep in his chest. Sianach with a weird combination between a snort and a bugle.
“I am truly sorry. I assumed you’d know the creatures of the magic realm cannot slay each other; only an outsider can kill us.”
“Well, I didn’t know,” Kat replied grumpily. But then she tried to laugh with them. Why not? Everybody was fine, and she learned something new about how the Otherworld worked. She briefly considered asking whether an Otherworld creature could kill an outsider. Sianach began to tell Cusith of their quest, and the thought disappeared as she filled in details. The giant dog nodded. “Aye, I could help. After all, my nose is much better than either of yours. I can probably pick up the scent of the Trow Hall from several miles away.”
“I’d love to have you come along, Cusith. I’d never realized there was so much more to the Highlands than beautiful scenery.” Kat loosened her tense muscles, relieved the dog was friendly and could be a big help in the search.
* * * *
A magical trip to Stonehenge lands a witch in the Otherworld where an ancient goddess is up to no good.
Kat expects to have a great time on her graduation trip to Stonehenge. However, from the moment she leaves the witches’ Arctic island, Galdorheim, she gets into nothing but trouble. Her younger half-brother tries to horn in on her trip; she gets lost in the magical Otherworld realm, is led astray by a supposed friend, and then she has to confront a Scottish goddess who’s fallen on hard times.
While dodging the goddess’ minions and trying to find her way out of the Otherworld, Kat soon learns she shouldn’t underestimate the old has-been for one second; the crone still has a few tricks that can drain a witch’s magic in a flash. To make matters worse, Kat's brother secretly followed her into the Otherworld. Now he’s in danger too. Kat has to go one-on-one with the goddess to save herself and her brother.
She is depicted as as having an eye in the middle of a blue-black face, long red teeth, and matted hair. In several stories she appears before a hero as a repulsive hag and suddenly transforms herself into a beautiful girl. At winter’s end, some accounts say the Cailleach turned into a grey boulder at Beltane until the warm days were over. The boulder was said to be “always moist’, because it contained “life substance’. The Cailleach Beara is ever-renewing and passes through many lifetimes going from old age to youth or flesh to stone in a cyclic fashion.
The Cailleach is seen as a seasonal deity or spirit, ruling the winter months between Samhain (October 31st) and Beltaine (April 30th), while Bride rules the summer months between Beltaine and Samhain. Some interpretations have the Cailleach and Brìde as two faces of the same goddess.
She is a bringer of snows, death, and sharp storms. On Samhain the Cailleach leaves her mountains and walks the Land. The Cailleach then proceeds to "wash her plaid". Her plaid represents the sand. When the Cailleach is done the plaid is white and the Land is covered with snow. She is said to ride on the back of a wolf carrying a wand made of human skin, that she uses to strike down all signs of growth. Behind her follows cold winds, blizzards, and ice. In Scotland, she is also known as Beira, Queen of Winter.
Book 2 of the Witches of Galdorheim
MIDNIGHT OIL – FREE October 10th - 14th
Ceto nee Nessie In the second book of the Witches of Galdorheim series, our erstwhile heroine gets a little help from an unusual source. Did you ever wonder why there are so few sightings of the Loch Ness monster? Well, Nessie vacations on Ultima Thule, which may be the remnants of Atlantis.
She's not fond of the name Nessie or Loch Ness Monster and prefers to go by Ceto. From http://encyclopedia.thefreedictionary.com/Ceto :
In Greek mythology, Ceto or Keto (Greek: English translation: "sea monster") was a hideous aquatic monster, a daughter of Gaia and Pontus. The asteroid (65489) Ceto was named after her, and its satellite (65489) Ceto I Phorcys after her husband. She was the personification of the dangers of the sea, unknown terrors, and bizarre creatures. Eventually, the word "ceto" became simple shorthand for any sea monster. The term cetacean represents a case in point. Her husband was Phorcys and they had many children, collectively known as the Phorcydes or Phorcydides. In Greek art, Ceto was drawn as a serpentine fish. Ceto also gave name to the constellation Cetus.
Ceto in Midnight Oil
Ceto and Nessie become one. She’s not a bad, um, person, but much misunderstood. She finds my heroine adrift in the northern seas sitting on a block of ice. Oh, yeah, I should mention that the block contains the body of her father. Ceto finds this all fascinating and helps my heroine dock the ice block at Ultima Thule and find a messenger to send for help from the Witches' Island of Galdorheim in the Barents Sea.Excerpt
Kat sat cross-legged on the ice, one hand clutching the rope, and looked down at her father’s face. His eyes were open but unseeing. The deep gash on his forehead didn’t do much for his appearance. She hoped when he reached Siberia for his final burial, the Samis would fix him up a bit. She knew it didn’t matter, but it would make her feel better.
A wave came out of nowhere; the ice block rose and fell almost knocking Kat into the water. She clutched at the ropes and looked in all directions, but the sea remained calm. She frowned, wondering how… Then, a light bulb blazed inside her head when she sensed something large passing under her makeshift boat.
Kat edged herself up on her knees, keeping a tight hold on the ropes. She scanned the water closely, and to her right, she saw a dark shape under the water. A whale, perhaps. Maybe her calls finally got results.
The shape turned and came back toward the ice block. It stayed several feet below, so Kat could only make out a dark shadow as it glided beneath her. The ice block lifted and dropped again. She looked to her left to see a long neck stretched out, followed by a bulky, black body. A short tail emerged from under the block and slapped down on the water. It sprayed Kat’s face with icy droplets but didn’t drench her.
The dark shape rose slowly upward. First, a small head appeared, and Kat thought it might be a seal, and then the long neck emerged. Her mouth dropped open, and her eyes followed the head upward until she had her neck bent back as far as she could. The creature regarded her with huge, dark eyes, seeming too big for the little nob of a head. Its skin was dark gray, almost black. Kat noticed how smooth it appeared. She wanted to reach out to touch it. She thought better of that notion when the creature’s mouth opened and revealed rows of sharp teeth.
A voice spoke inside her mind. “Who are you, little girl?”
“Little girl? Why, I’m almost…” Then, thinking it’d be rude to argue with her only potential rescuer, she finished, “I mean, I’m a witch, from an island…” Kat looked around and waved her hand, “somewhere out there.”
“You wear the skin of a seal, and you can speak to creatures of the sea. Are you, perhaps, a selkie in human form?”
“Selkie? No, I’m just a witch from Galdorheim.”
“Hmm. How came you to be on that block of ice?”
“I’ve answered your questions,” Kat said, peeved at being grilled by a sea monster. “Now you answer one for me. What are you? And where did you come from?”
“That’s two questions.”
“Well, you asked two, so answer up!” Kat sensed she need not be afraid. The sea monster, as she now thought it to be, did not send any warning signals. It was simply curious.
“I am me.”
Kat frowned. While harmless, the creature seemed to have an evasive streak. Why did it show itself to her if it didn’t want to talk?
As if it heard Kat’s thoughts, the creature said, “Very well. The world has called me many names. Sometimes Nessie from where I once lived.”
“You’re the Loch Ness monster? I thought that was just a legend.” Kat stared in wide-eyed wonder at the mythical creature who might, if she could work it out, be her rescuer.
“No legend, but I left the loch years ago. Too many curious people.”
* * *
MIDNIGHT OIL Book 2 of the Witches of Galdorheim SeriesShipwrecked on a legendary island, how can a witch rescue her boyfriend if she can’t even phone home?
Kat discovers that an evil forest spirit has kidnapped her brand-new boyfriend. She sets out with her brother, Rune, from her Arctic island home on a mission to rescue the boy. Things go wrong from the start. Kat is thrown overboard during a violent storm, while her brother and his girlfriend are captured by a mutant island tribe. The mutants hold the girlfriend hostage, demanding that the teens recover the only thing that can make the mutants human again–the magical Midnight Oil.
Mustering every bit of her Wiccan magic, Kat rises to the challenge. She invokes her magical skills, learns to fly an ultralight, meets a legendary sea serpent, rescues her boyfriend, and helps a friendly air spirit win the battle against her spiteful sibling. On top of it all, she’s able to recover the Midnight Oil and help the hapless mutants in the nick of time.
SPELLING BY RUNES (today's free ebook: Bad Spelling)
What is a rune? Besides my second most important character in the Witches of Galdorheim series, that is. Briefly, runes make up the oldest Norse alphabet. Yes, those Vikings were busy writers as well as raiders and looters. The Eddas are Norse adventure novels (okay, they’re generally written in poetry form). But well-known books such as Beowulf weren’t written in runes. Believe it or not, Beowulf was written in Old English, not Old Norse. Or maybe that’s the only translation that lasted through the centuries.
Many fantasy novels based on Euro-centric mythologies use runes in their plots, be it a tattooed rune on the hero’s chest, the discovery of a runic tablet that leads a worthy band of heros on a quest for dragon’s gold, or a villain who casts his dark spells in the ancient runic language. All very cool stuff.
Runes are not just fantasy made up by Tolkien. I researched runes and found a few I could use to give some depth to the magical language of the witches.
Elder Futhark is the oldest known runic alphabet. Each rune has a name. Each rune is also a word of power. The Rune markings in the graphic (see below) match the interpreted Elder Futhark (the Runes in spoken form) shown in the excerpt. The name of the language comes from the first six letters that make up the Runic alphabet.
In one sense, Futhark is simply an alphabet like ours. But in terms of magic, runes are like hieroglyphics in that each rune stands for a word or concept rather than simply a letter of the alphabet. They can be used either way. In magic, the runes are used as words of power which enhance or direct a spell. I found a handy phrase chart and used some real runes in the series, but had to use the interpreted spelling in a form one can sound out even if you don’t know what they mean.As language developed, written runes were set aside for the more modern Roman alphabet. But the use of runes as words of power survived even Roman conquest thanks to the Druids, the ancient pantheistic religion later smeared by accusations of witchcraft and magic.
Well, witchcraft and magic are fine by me. I wish they really existed. Considering the popularity of fantasy books incorporating magic, I’d say a lot of people wish magic was real.
In the Witches of Galdorheim books, I decided to use runes as the magic language. I call it Old Runish. Kat, in Bad Spelling, just can't get the pronunciation of the runes right, mistaking îgwaz for perßô. The results are often spectacularly wrong. In other words, she is a really bad speller. Who can blame her? This is not the easiest language to learn.
Aunt Thordis is the top witch on Galdorheim and a master of Old Runish spells. If magic can be done, she’s the one who can do it. In the following excerpt, Thordis seeks information from Kat’s flash-frozen father. She wants to know why Kat is such a lousy speller and suspects the girl’s father has something to do with it. Thordis invokes a runic spell to break through to the man’s frozen brain for answers. She must be careful, however, since the spell is used to re-animate the dead. At the end of the excerpt, you can read the translation of the spell. It’s pretty creepy.
Excerpt from Bad Spelling: Chapter 4-Bell, Book, and Candle
Hands on her hips, Kat’s Aunt Thordis stood in the glacier cave regarding the icebound figure of Boris, the wandering Siberian. She tsked and shook her head.
“You poor, dumb—” She stopped, thinking better of it. Speaking ill to the dead was rarely a good idea. You never knew if they’d come back to get even.
“Boris,” she said, trying a different tack, “we need to talk. Despite the fact you couldn’t navigate your way around a bathtub and were so foolish you tried to dig out an ice cave, my sister did fancy you, and you’re still my niece’s father.”
She held her hand up with the palm facing Boris. Thordis frowned. This might be harder than she thought. Even though Thordis was the strongest witch in Galdorheim, she felt a counter spell pushing at her, like a wall she couldn’t see but only sense. Something around Boris repelled magic.
Thordis squared her shoulders and put real effort into her second sight. Yes, she felt a slight tingle. As she suspected, the icy grip of the glacier suspended the man between life and death. If the witches thawed him out, he’d be d-e-a-d, dead. As it was, he had frozen solid in the instant before he died—the process of death incomplete.
“Ah, you’re still alive. Good.” If Boris were truly dead, she’d not be able to have a conversation with him. No matter what the circumstances, she wouldn’t delve into the black arts. Necromancy—raising the dead—was near the top of the black list.
Thordis removed Ferro, her ferret familiar, from the top of her carryall and set him aside. He chittered at her, then hunched down on the ice, shivering. She opened the bag and rummaged through its contents. She drew out a little silver bell, a black candle, and a copy of the Magical Book of Runic Spelling.
The fifteenth-century Church, Thordis chuckled at the thought, believed they originated the rite of bell, book, and candle. Equally humorous, they thought the items were for an excommunication ceremony. Little did they know the monk who created the ritual was one of her own—a warlock gone deep undercover to keep a close eye on the Church. The very fact it took twelve priests and a bishop to perform the rite didn’t ring any bells with those silly men. Obviously, thirteen people gathered to perform magic made a coven. The long-dead monk probably got a good laugh at that.
Never mind what the Church thought, the true purpose of the ceremony was to communicate with, not excommunicate, the dead. Although Boris was pre-dead, it would serve the same purpose. At least Thordis hoped so. Boris knew things Thordis wanted to know, and she was determined to pry them from his icy-cold brain. Thordis lit the candle, rang the bell, and prepared herself to chant the spell to wake Boris. She’d never talked to him when he was alive, since he was a mundane, and any non-magical person was simply not worth her time. Now, she had to find out a few things. Specifically, why was her niece so powerful, yet so incompetent as a witch? If her spells just fizzled, she could believe the girl just wasn’t trying.
Instead, they failed spectacularly, and often messily, like her recent attempt to transform the rabbit. Perhaps she could get some answers out of Boris, even though she doubted he was intelligent enough to even realize he had them.
When she felt her magic to be at its peak, Thordis opened the book to the chapter titled Speaking to the Dead. The incantation woke the dead, so waking Boris should be a piece of cake. It also provided translation services. After all, why try to speak to the dead if they can’t understand what you’re saying?
“Þat kann ec iþ tolpta,
ef ec se a tre vppi
vafa virgilná:
sva ec rist oc i rvnom fác,
at sa gengr gvmi
oc melir viþ mic.”
But nothing happened. She slowed down and spoke the spell with precision, putting as much magical force as she could into it. Finally, she felt the spell break through the barrier.
“Boris, do you hear me?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Your daughter is having…trouble becoming a proper witch. Of course, I believe it’s your fault; well, maybe fault is too strong a word. I suspect her poor performance has to do with having a mundane father, but now I feel…something more.”
* * *
Translation of the rune spell:
I know a twelfth one if I see,
up in a tree,
a dangling corpse in a noose,
I can so carve and colour the runes,
that the man walks
And talks with me.
--From the Hávamál, an Old Norse Edda (collection of proverbs) from the 10th Century