Pif splashed in the deep warm pool of the Fae style bathroom Raelea had created in the annex to her tent of many hides, it was a truly decadent thing a Fae style bath and something Raelea still marvelled at. Aignew had taught her the magic needed for it and it had been… more than a little difficult to cast, even with Aignew’s aid as a strong spirit offsetting the majority of the corruption witches were not suited to that style of magic. But she had managed and would never regret the week or so afterward that she’d felt drained and listless as her body recovered with the aid of her brews.

Her tent itself included the original masonry as one wall with it’s huge hearth and now tightly shuttered windows, with the door being the skin of a particularly annoying, and huge, tiger that had actively stalked her, Horse, and Pif for a season a few turnings back, stretched tight over a frame of timber.

The tent and the Fae style bath were directly due to Pif (as she’d ended up naming him after the only vocalisation he ever made, the Pffbt sound), he’d outdone himself when he’d burned out the cellar and the slight smell of scorched stone and ashes had never faded making it unlivable. Instead it held all of her ritual materials and circles, her brewing setup, and the anchors for the wards she’d laid over the island. The Fae bath was because the first night after he’d saved her she’d woken up with a small, warm, but incredibly stinky body in her sleeping robe with her.

After the third time she’d just accepted he was going to sleep in her robe with her but she had to do something about the smell.

Once she’d managed to coax him down from the trees he’d teleported into a few times he’d discovered that being clean was actually nice, especially when it meant he got to have a nice splashy bath in water that was hot enough to scald but he was seemingly immune to the heat.

Now she was a Witch in the fullness of her power, the bargains were made, her skills were honed, her preparations complete but the Unmentioned Beloved Fae Chanar and her former tribe hadn’t bothered to show up!

Grease popped and sizzled under the thick chunks of fat streaked meat on her heavy cast griddle. Cracking half a dozen eggs she plopped them down next to it with a sizzle, making sure there was plenty because Pif was a gluttonous little creature.

Inside she said, “I want this over and with already! Where are they?”

Inside as he had been most of the last five turnings Aignew said, “I do not know my Witch I had thought we would be interrupted long before you could reach this level of skill. I had been afraid we would not have time.”

In the private part of her mind that she’d developed to hide some of her thoughts from him she was certain Aignew’s mortal fear was why she’d trained so obsessively, egged on by his terror and dread. But if she ever mentioned that he became… difficult.

But just as she was certain not all of her fear was her own, she was just as certain some was. Now that she was trained she knew just how out matched she was, the false god was false but was still close in power to a god and she was not.

Serving up two plates of meat and eggs as a small green\grey blur flew over to the table inside she said, “I’m ready to face them, I have a plan, I just want to execute that plan and have this stress finished. One way or another. I’ve been ready since summer and now winter is almost over, in only a few more days the ice and snow will begin to melt. If our foes were normal people that would afford some breathing room as the swamp will become impassable by normal means but they aren’t.”

“All we can do is wait my Witch, all we can do is wait.”

*******

It was nearly two weeks later and the snow was reduced to small scattered drifts hiding in the shadows when Raelea felt her left hand itch, the feeling of her spirit ward telling her a spirit was present.

Surreptitiously she twitched her fingers in the pattern to activate her scrying ward and took a good look around the island, she quickly spotted the intruding spirit and her heartbeat quickened. She knew it and knew it well it was her former master’s familiar, it was floating by her tent and carefully scrutinising everything it saw.

Inside she said, “Aignew, they’re here. A spiri-”

Aignew boiled out of her like a silver streaked black cloud which reeked of hunger, he whipped through the wall of the tent and the familiar fled squalling loudly. Aignew pursued it but the tiny thing was faster than him.

He came back through the wall of the tent and angrily said, “Bah! The morsel eluded me, my Witch! But now we know they will come and they will come arrayed in the fullness of their power. Activate your wards, checks your rituals, your salves, your potions and your ointments, ready your weapons because when they come they will not come to talk.”

Raelea felt a release of a tension long held and she said, “Thanks the Gods. The waiting was wearing on me, I’d better let Pif know so he can prepare for his part.”

Aignew’s face was colder than usual as he said, “Yes the fat dog will be useful for once rather than just eating twice his share and sleeping all day.”

Shaking her head she said, “Don’t speak of him like that! Without his aid I wouldn’t be anywhere near as sure of beating the Fae Chanar and whoever she brings with her, even as little as that is. The Fae Chanar controls Death itself and he can ward us all from it.”

Aignew snorted and said, “Careful, you stray toward territory that threatens your vow.”

A cold feeling ran through her and she said, “I know my vow Aignew, you bring it up often enough. He will be highly useful, nothing more.”

The next few days passed in a blur as Raelea checked and triple checked her weapons, rituals, and wards. Then she was as prepared as only a Witch can be and a prepared Witch’s place was not something to ever take lightly. A few turnings ago before she’d even made her final bargains or learned some of the stronger rituals a small group of tribesmen form the other side of the mountains had attacked her place during the night. When she awoke in the morning their blind, mute, and unconscious bodies lay where they’d fallen, exactly one step past the ward that had triggered her curses.

Then it was back to waiting, even Pif noticed that it was wearing on Raelea because she snapped at him. She apologised instantly because it was like kicking a puppy and tried to control herself better. Thankfully it was only two and a half days before she felt the itch of the spirit ward warning her there were spirits around.

Aignew was lounging on the rug in front of the crackling fire in the hearth and who had been spending most of his time outside of her head lately looked up at her tongue click and she waved her left hand at him simply saying, “Spirits.”

An evil grin lit his disturbing face and he shot out of the tent, there were some faint screams carried through the astral and she felt a rush of energy.

When he returned he had a satisfied grin on his face and was carrying a thrashing and bleating spirit she recognised, he said, “This one was the strongest of the spirits poking around the island. It carries the stink of servitude, one of the witches familiars I’d warrant. If it is you can let them know we are waiting.”

She nodded and said, “Yes it’s Suipo’s familiar. I know you can hear me you fat bloated cow, you should know I am ready for you and any who support the false god in their attack on my place. Flee and I will not chase you down once I destroy that false and hateful thing.”

Message sent she motioned to Aignew who stuffed the now fearfully wailing spirit in his mouth and chewed briefly, she felt a small rush of energy as it disappeared. Siupo would not be a factor in the coming battle now, losing your familiar was like going deaf, going blind, and becoming paralysed, all at once.

She sat down abruptly on the floor as the strength fled from her legs, panting a little as the enormity of what was about to happen hit her. She said, “I’m terrified Aignew! They’re coming and nothing I can do will stop them now! I’m as ready as I can be but this is still a being my tribe has worshipped for generations as a literal God! How can I withstand her? Her and the rest of my tribe, though only the Witches and Shaman will dare set foot on the island because all know the danger of a witches place.”

Aignew’s voice was calm as he said, “My Witch don’t speak so, we will prevail because we must. With every one of my Witches who goes on to whatever awaits I can feel my sanity slipping further away, I would rather you had a long life and learned so much more before that time.”

She scooted over and leaned against the wall under one of the windows and said, “I agree with that! Though perhaps a little less learning, I am fully trained now.”

His voice was sardonic under it’s usual frosty tone as he said, “You know as well as I do that your hunger for learning every truth you can will drive you to study until the day you are no more.”

Shaking her head but then as she rolled her eyes she said, “Hmmmph, true enough.”

Reaching out she touched the chaotic jumble of Pif’s thoughts. She was momentarily taken aback by the images of toothily mouthed melons that chased him in his dreams. Sighing she knew that if they survived she’d have to talk to him, again, about leaving her melons alone, again. She sent, “Pffbt, we need the strength of the Death Realm you carry. Protect us from the devouring grey, the bad-old-master comes.”

She felt him start awake and the images in his thoughts faded out as he grumpily sent, “Ok, nice-nice. The grey will not touch Horsie, Cold-cloud, nice-nice or Pffbt! Pffbt ready to fight, helm on! Fire burn!”

The images of bodies bursting into flames quickly quelled her mirth at the image of Pif with a pumpkin on his head. Soon she felt the continual ‘shiver down the spine’ feeling of an active Death ward and unless the false god was significantly stronger than Pif they would be protected from her Death Realm attuned magic. Her being stronger was very unlikely because even though she was strong enough to pose for hundreds of turnings as a God, Pif himself was just as strong in Death as he was in Fire.

She muttered the small casting which would conceal her from observation by spirits, ducking out the tent flap she ran across the stone flags to her old friend the thickly branched willow. Pushing the trailing branches aside she crawled into a narrow stone lined tunnel that ran deep under it’s roots. A few touches of magic and the small rituals woven into the hide activated, any observer not physically looking at her would now find a water rat sound asleep in it’s burrow, dreaming ratty dreams.

Reaching out she activated the big scrying ritual in the cellar and a pulse of magic rolled across the island lighting up every living thing on it on her mental map. Finding nothing larger than insects and small animals she ignored them instead focusing on Pif and Aignew. Aignew was at the bottom of a deep slime filled sinkhole swarming with tiny bitey creatures just off the island and Pif was in a well hidden side room they’d dug in the cellar. Somehow even though she knew she wasn’t growing pumpkins and had never even seen on in the swamp she wasn’t surprised to see he did indeed have a pumpkin on his head. She should have been surprised, but she really wasn’t.

The first sign that things had started was a leaden grey cloud of Death Realm energy that blanketed the island with a tainted and oily looking fog. Filled with half seen things, muting sound and draining energy, wearing at the nerves of anyone who was in it.

She judged that the warding ritual she knew would have protected even though the Death realm energy was stronger than expected but thankfully it wasn’t even able to slightly stress Pif’s warding.

Screams rang out in the spirit Realm again and a rush of energy ran through her as dozen of small spirits were trapped and drained in her now fully activated spirit wards. A mistake? They had to have known she had spirit wards, sending them in had just fed her enough energy to more than offset the drain of the fog.

Mentally she shrugged, the Fae Chanar’s mistake was her gain.

Almost too fast for notice, a figure appeared in her scrying net, cast something, then disappeared just as quickly. Exactly as she’d expected not a single one of her defensive rituals or curses were able to bite before the figure was gone.

The spell’s energy radiated out in several pulsing waves and splashed against her wards, tracing out their structure. Guessing what was coming next she severed her connections to the wards immediately and completely.

A net of crackling lightning crawled along hidden paths in the fog to slice into her wards, leaving them shattered as a few low rumbling explosions rattled the cellar when their hidden anchors released their energy explosively. It was a good thing she didn’t have to rely on a ward to protect herself from Death, she’d be in a lot of trouble right now if she had been.

Speaking of which she quickly checked in on Pif finding him sneezing from the dust that drifted down from the rattled ceiling but otherwise unharmed, she was glad both because he was a friend and because he still had a major part to play.

The scrying ritual grabbed her attention because a small group of women surrounded by floating spirits had appeared in the middle of the stone flagged floor, just outside her tent. In the centre of that group was the false god.