The drums sounded.

The feast drums echoed up from the village, through the forest, and into the hollowed out great oak, where there lived the crone Karreki and her apprentice Latgalay.

Latgalay rested her ink brush and sighed. Away from the cramped room, down in the village square, there the fires burned and the mead poured. The chief’s son would be there. And there would be dancing.

Karreki’s wolf whined and woke the crone Karreki. She had previously fallen asleep by the hearth and had let drool dribble down her chin.

“Those runes won’t practice themselves,” Karreki chastised. “You must focus! Who will speak for our people after I’m gone?”

“I have finished,” Latgalay said.

Karreki used her cane to get up. She shuffled over to the table. She squinted down at the runes that Latgalay had drawn upon the unrolled birch bark. Karreki put a long and withered finger against each marking and muttered under her breath.

Karreki searched for the slightest fault so that she could throw the work in the fire and force Latgalay to start anew. But after three years of exacting practice, Latgalay knew her runes. Another rune passed Karreki’s exam, and then another, each edging Latgalay one step closer to the door, to the feast.

“Fie. You call this done?” Karreki said, pointing to a space between two marks. A space left blank by Latgalay.

“Check your eyes,” Latgalay said through gritted teeth.

“What did you say?” Karreki asked, as she swung her cane up and under Latgalay’s chit. The cane pressed into Latgalay’s neck and required her to tilt her head back.

“Check the original,” Latgalay said. “The rune was smeared out.”

Karreki went to the parchment and brought her face down until her nose almost touched. She moved back and forth muttering until she found the mark. And then she scowled.

“Fool girl,” Karreki said. “Teach her to read, and she thinks she knows everything…”

Karreki raised and adjusted her necklace—a metal chain with granite beads and a single uncut ruby. She reached into a pocket, felt around a bit, and then grinned.

“…Prove how much you know”—Karreki held up a withered acorn—“Tell me why it’ll never bear its autumn fruit.”

Latgalay took the seed in her hands and turned it over. Dried up by the years, it could have been in Karreki’s pockets all this time, from the long ago when she had faced the mists. Latgalay wanted to groan: If Karreki had her way, they’d waste the entire night.

“Shouldn’t we get to the dance?” Latgalay asked.

“Wha—Dance??” Karreki frowned. “You must practice the old ways, for our people. Not twirl and bend for them.”

Latgalay bit back a retort and decided to finish quickly. So Latgalay focused on the seed in her mind and with her eye.

“Drougos swiljayjomu,” in the old tongue, Latgalay commanded her dusjos to search. Each word, she powered with her soitos, her power.

She felt the seed from within: The nutrient granules had hardened and dried, but the seed was dormant—not dead—for within the seed she found a germ of life, a tiny bead that gleamed still, despite the decades.

“Well?” Karreki asked. “What do you see? Do you know all?” The old woman chuckled and held out her hand to collect her seed.

Latgalay didn’t give the acorn up, not yet. “It could sprout,” she said as she pushed even more dusjos through the confines of the seed. The walls of the seed bulged and firmed. Latgalay pushed harder. Her legs wobbled and her hands numbed. The seed wall cracked and a small shoot pushed through, the smallest of tendrils snaking upwards. The shoot grew into a leafed stem before Latgalay. She handed the sproutling back to the crone with a smug face.

“It seems fine to—“ Latgalay started, but Karreki swung her cane sideways at Latgalay’s ribs. And Karreki didn’t hold this blow back. Latgalay lost her breath and keeled over in pain. The second blow hit her shoulder and sent her rolling onto her back. Karreki used both hands to deliver a third blow, but this one Latgalay caught from where she lay. Pain laced up Latgalay’s palms.

“Fool girl!” Karreki screeched. “Do you seek death? I told you to delve—naught else. Know you the danger? The power of growth belongs to the spirits.”

“Then teach me to summon spirits,” Latgalay said. “Teach me to shake the earth as you do.”

Karreki stared at Latgalay for seconds. The rheumy and yellowed eyes squinted. Latgalay could almost see where Karreki’s eyes had once been blue.

“We have but a small portion of the power girl,” Karreki said. “Never forget that. Ours is to request and beseech. Never can we command. True, you are stronger than most, but even the strongest mortal shall never rival the weakest of spirits.”

“But I’m ready,” Latgalay said. “Grant me the druid’s right!”

After a long pause and a labored breath, Karreki’s joints creaked as she went to the pantry stocked full of tubers and lyed heads that dangled from strings. She got up on a stool and reached for a polished box on the top shelf.

The wolf whined.

Karreki put the box before Latgalay.

“Open it,” Karreki said. “They do not bite.”

Latgalay took the box which was heavier than she thought. And inside were handfuls of figurines, clay statues of beasts. She picked up one, a bear, and turned it over. Well made, but hardly worth saving for so long.

“Are these toys yours?” Latgalay asked.

“Think I would keep mere trinkets?” Karreki asked with scorn.

Latgalay put the bear back and picked up a fox. The clay fur almost bristled. For a second, and only a second, Latgalay thought the figurine alive.

“Before you bind a spirit,” Karreki said, “you must seduce one. And before you risk your soul in the mists, you must have a guide, a companion to draw you back from the abyss.”

“And that’s these figurines?” Latgalay asked. The animals were well made, but they were only plain and unadorned clay.

Karreki coughed and stabilized herself with a hand on the wolf’s mane. After she caught her breath she scolded Latgalay. “Look beneath the surface. The realm of spirits. Have I taught you—“ She stopped mid word to cough again. Latgalay poured Karreki a cup of nettle tea.

Latgalay turned back towards the box. She saw a bit of black stick up from the rest, mostly covered by the eagle and the snake. Latgalay pulled out the midnight obsidian and examined the carving. It was a bird, a large raven, with sunken eyes that she thought followed her.

“This one’s as black as my hair,” Latgalay said, bringing a lock of hair close to the raven. “Perhaps darker.”

“Yes, it is—“ Karreki said absentmindedly. Then she looked up from her tea and sputtered, “—Put that down—put that away—Now!”

The raven dropped. It landed hard among the clay figurines and chipped one of the eagle’s wings.

Karreki shook her head. Her hands trembled. “He shouldn’t be in there,” she said as she shut the lid to the box and pulled it away. “Brekekay Branay.” She swore in the old tongue.

“Will you grant me a guide then?” Latgalay asked finally.

“What?” Karreki asked.

“The spirits, to bind one, you said I needed a guide. I know the dance and the words, but I need a—“

“No.” Karreki said. “You’ve years before you’re ready.”

But Karreki had been so close. If not for that raven, Karreki might have promoted Latgalay.

“But I am ready! Show me how to bind a spirit. Or do you think you’ll last forever?”

Karreki swung her cane at Latgalay. Latgalay anticipated the move and sidestepped the first blow and then caught the second.

“Or maybe, you’re too old to remember how—“

“You’d challenge me?” Karreki shrieked. “You’d be nothing if not for me, a worthless nothing—“A coughing fit stopped Karreki. She doubled over, holding herself up with her cane, and gasped for air. Latgalay took a step to help, but the wolf came between them.

“You need to teach me,” Latgalay tried again. “Who else—“

“Fie!” Karreki spat and shook. “Get out. Go lift your skirts. Bare your legs. Be you gone!”

Latgalay stopped at the door. Karreki still coughed, but when she saw Latgalay linger, she threw her cup. Hot nettle tea sprayed Latgalay.

“Go!” Karreki screeched.