Chapter 7

Morg sat on the cushy rug in front of the unlit fireplace of Maisha’s hut, taking a break from Songbai’s teachings. As she played with the fraying ends of her dress and watched the wooly wolf Baigu sleeping soundly next to her, her mind wandered to the topic of her parents. Nearly two weeks had passed since Morg had come to reside in Maisha’s home. She had visited her parents twice since then, but with each reunion her feelings only grew more complicated.

The first time Morg went back, she still held some sort of hope that she would be able to return home then and there. That her parents would have had time to really mull things over and reach the most rational conclusions- that Morg was a witch, that she needed a little help to properly control her magic, and that she was still the same Morg she had always been. But this was not the case, and by the second visit, even as she explained over and over again the situation, Morg realized that her parents would rather break their backs looking for nonsensical scapegoats than accept who she was.

Morg’s father, though usually a rational man, seemed to think that Morg had been tricked and kidnapped by the witches. He would explain fervently to Morg and her mother that witches were women who had been tempted by the powers of evil, that these witches were trying to tempt Morg and that she would become an evil witch, too, if she let such sinful creatures kidnap her again.

“After all,” her father had said sternly “women are more likely to succumb to the temptations of evil than men are.”

Her mother, on the other hand, seemed to want Morg to have been kidnapped, her eyes taking on a crazed delight whenever her husband mentioned his theories. But her overall demeanor towards Morg had become similar to that of a rabbit’s towards a predator; frightened, trembling, an almost pleading look in her eyes…

Morg clenched and unclenched her fists around the fabric of her dress. How could they not see the truth? It wasn’t as if this were an isolated incident, Morg had lost control countless times before, just in ways less serious than turning people into frogs. And in every other incident, she had come out the other side as exactly the same Morg that they knew and cherished. Of course it had never been so obviously Morg’s doing before now- not even Morg knew she had magic. But those strange and uncanny occurrences had followed Morg’s family around like a plague. Morg had thought they would be happy for her to have found a solution to her problems, to their shared family problems. But such was not the case.

Listening to Morg heave yet another sigh, Baigu peeped her eyes open and shuffled over to the little girl’s side. Morg couldn’t help but smile at the wolf’s company. As soon as the wooly wolf rested her head on Morg’s lap, all unsavory recollections were pushed to the back of her mind. Morg happily scratched the wolf’s ears and chin. She had grown rather fond of Songbai’s familiar, and the white wolf, too, seemed to have a particular affinity for the girls. As she continued rubbing Baigu’s head, Morg found herself wondering when she and her own familiar would meet. Morg couldn’t help but recall Maisha’s words just yesterday as the elder witch explained the relationship between a witch and their familiar.

“A familiar usually finds their witch within the first 15 years of the witch’s life. Sometimes they find them faster,” Maisha gestured at the frog resting on Xisa’s head, “and sometimes slower. The two share an unbreakable bond, accompanying each other throughout their entire lives.”

Xisa happily stroked Yuzan’s slimy frog head.

“A witch and their familiar can even communicate within their minds! I’ll teach you in a couple years, when you’re ready,” Maisha said to Xisa affectionately. Xisa’s eyes lit up.

“What… what if I don’t have a familiar?” Morg asked, nervously glancing at Yuzan.

“Ha! That would be ridiculous! Every witch has a familiar,” Maisha declared jovially, “yours will find you in time, little Morg.”

Morg smiled excitedly at the thought.

Giving Baigu a final pat, Morg returned to the matter at hand. Though Maisha’s hut was tiny, Morg had been able to bring back from her parents’ house a full trunk of clothes and toys, as well as her harp. Having been too distracted with her suddenly upturned life and the strange training regimens of Maisha and Songbai, Morg hadn’t found the chance to practice during these past two weeks. But now, with Songbai instructing Xisa outside and Maisha off who-knows-where, Morg found herself with a moment of peace. She dragged the small triangle backpack over from where it leaned against the headboard of the bed and pulled the harp out. The hand-held 15-string instrument had a dark stain finish and a simple design carved on the soundbox. Her’s was not so grand and elegant as her instructors' harpsichords- her parents simply couldn’t afford such luxuries- but she could practice well on it all the same.

Morg stroked a finger across the strings, the glissando reverberating through the quiet hut. She smiled. After roughly tuning the more off-key notes by ear, Morg began to play, her fingers dancing like little fairies across the strings. She hadn’t gotten but a quarter through her warm-up song, however, when a puff of soot blasted out of the fireplace and simultaneously the front door slammed open.

“Stop! Stop playing!”

“What is this music?!”

Having been sitting in front of the fireplace, Morg coughed and spluttered, soot gathering in her throat. She felt a pair of hands tightly grab her own and looked up at the worried face in front of hers. Maisha had a smear of ash across her cheek, a pair of large round glasses outlining her concerned gaze. Morg wrestled a hand out of Maisha’s grasp and rubbed her stinging eyes. She felt another hand rest on her shoulder and looked up.

“Ms. Song? Ms. Maisha? What’s wrong…?” Morg asked, looking back and forth between the elder witches, confused.

“Morg,” Maisha spoke slowly, each word enunciated, “Playing your harp is very very dangerous. I first want to make that abundantly clear. Promise me. Promise you won’t play any music until you are properly trained to do so safely.”

Morg neither understood how harp music could be dangerous nor what proper training entailed, but she nonetheless nodded earnestly at Maisha’s solemn entreaty. Maisha smiled with relief and tousled Morg’s hair.

“Alright,” she continued in a gentler tone, pointing her chin at the harp, “Pack that up for now.” With a disappointed look, Morg began packing up her beloved harp. Sensing her distress, Baigu once again plopped her head down on Morg’s lap.

Behind Morg, Songbai tapped her chin thoughtfully with her folding fan.

“Fireplace?” she finally asked. Morg looked up at the witch again but quickly realized her question was directed at Maisha. Maisha tossed a look behind her shoulder at the fireplace she had ceremoniously entered through before turning back to Songbai and remarking dryly,

“There’s another room back there. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed these past two weeks? Where did you think I’ve been sleeping, in the woods like a vagabond?”

Songbai fought against the blood rushing to her face. In truth, she hadn’t given it much thought. But since she said it, it was true that Maisha frequently disappeared for several hours at a time, especially in the evenings. A hidden room made a lot of sense.

“What’s a vagabond?” Morg asked curiously, not waiting for a response before continuing, “Ms. Song sleeps in the woods, does that make her a vagabond?”

“I’d say so,” Maisha replied in a laughing tone, the upward quirk of her lips making Songbai think the woman was picking fun at her. Songbai cleared her throat and rushed to change the subject.

“Laoshi,” she corrected Morg, patting her on the shoulder, “ Song Laoshi.”

“Oh!” Morg exclaimed, wide-eyed, “Yes, Song Laoshi!”

Since arriving, Songbai had begun teaching Morg Mandarin and Xisa English. Morg had been instructed to call Songbai ‘Song Laoshi’ as a form of passive practice, ‘laoshi’ being the title generally given to teachers.

“Are there more?” Songbai asked, walking up to the fireplace and peeking her head in.

“More? More what?” Maisha tilted her head, following Songbai with her eyes. “Ah, more hidden rooms? No, this is the only one in the house.” Maisha slipped past Songbai, ducking her head as she stepped into the fireplace before standing up again, her head and shoulders part way up the chimney.

“Here, I’ll show you,” she grinned, her voice echoing up the chimney. The excitement layered within her words made her sound like a child showing off an exciting toy. She pressed a palm against the back of the fireplace, the hidden cobblestone door swinging open with her touch. A cool draft sent another gust of soot into the hut, making someone sneeze. Maisha and Songbai both started at the newcomer’s sudden appearance.

“Ah! When did you get here?!” Songbai half shouted in surprise at the ghost-like girl lurking behind them. Ignoring her question, Xisa stared down the dark staircase in wonder, amazed that there could be a door so well hidden that she hadn’t noticed even while living in the house for over two weeks.

“Alright, enough of that!” Maisha declared, closing the door back up and ushering the onlookers out of the fireplace. She then removed a stone from the door to reveal a keyhole and, fishing out a golden key hiding beneath her shirt, locked the door with a satisfying click!

*

Days passed and the nights grew longer. The trees surrounding Maisha’s house were mostly pines and evergreens, but the handful of deciduous trees in the area gradually began to lose their leaves. Xisa twirled a pencil between her fingers and stared out the window at Morg, wishing she were outside, too. She looked down at the worksheets in front of her; times tables… ugh. They were BOTH supposed to be learning magic, according to Maisha, so why was Xisa stuck inside working on asinine math problems? Morg’s shrill voice suddenly cut through the air, making Xisa jump.

“I am trying my best, so stop PRESSURING ME!”

Maisha’s soft voice followed, calming Morg back down. Xisa frowned. She was also trying her best, but she was sick of multiplying, counting on her fingers and trying to figure out little tricks to remember the patterns better. After a brief reprieve, Morg’s voice cracked through the silence again, her tantrum growing louder. Songbai’s stern voice appeared as well. Xisa gripped her pencil, struggling to concentrate as the symbols began swimming and floating disorientingly across the page. She wished someone would come in and help her.

Xisa jumped when a zap of pain shot through her palm. She looked down at the splintered pencil in her hands, realizing that she, too, was losing her temper. Xisa closed her eyes and pushed all her emotions into the back of her mind.

Sometimes, when she felt overwhelmed, Xisa would picture an endlessly dark abyss floating just at the edge of her consciousness. Whatever it was that bothered her- anger, sadness, hopelessness, pain- she would drag them all over and dump them into that abyss, letting them drift away on the breeze without a second thought. Xisa felt her tense body relax as she sank once again into a state of unfeeling bliss.

Suddenly Morg let out an ear-piercing shriek, a grating pitch only small children seemed capable of hitting. Xisa peeked back out the window just in time to watch Morg lift a rock about the size of her palm and fling it with an unnatural strength at a tree across the clearing.

There was a sickening crack followed by an eerie creaking. Then all at once, the massive tree crashed to the ground, sending up a panicked flock of birds. The three outside fell into silence. Xisa strained her ears, thinking Maisha might have muttered something before Morg suddenly broke out into sobs.

“I-I-I d-di-didn’t mean t-to” she hiccupped, “I-I don’t-don’t want t-to be th-this ang-ry a-all the t-time, I c-can’t he-lp it.”

Maisha made no move to comfort the child, looking at the felled tree with a pensive expression. Sōngbǎi rushed over to Morg and wrapped the sobbing girl in her arms protectively, patting her back kindly if somewhat awkwardly. Even Baigu sauntered up to lick the girl comfortingly in the face. Xisa thought that Morg should try to control her emotions better, picture the abyss and let them wash away like she did.

Maisha cast a sidelong glance at Morg before escaping inside the house with the excuse of getting water and checking on Xīsà. Though Xisa could see clearly on her mentor’s tired face when she walked in through the door; Morg’s temperament was exhausting. Of course she would want to escape for a moment.

Maisha set a cup of water by Xīsà and tousled her hair, then paused for a moment. Xīsà looked up curiously at the elder witch, whose eyes had glazed over as she stared blankly at the desk. Maisha’s gaze shifted to Xisa.

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“I want you to know,” Maisha said in clumsy Chinese, “that you can talk to me any time, about any thing.”

Xisa stared at her blankly. She still hadn’t said a word since arriving here. Sometimes she wanted to, but the sounds would all get caught up in her throat, sticking on the tip of her tongue, refusing to escape.

Xisa grabbed a new pencil and turned back to the paper before her. She heard Maisha heave a sigh and mutter something pensively under her breath as the elder witch made her way back outdoors.

*

Days later, Morg and Xisa sat practicing together in the garden. Xisa peeked through her curtain of hair at the green-eyed child sitting next to her, diligently focusing on the rock in her palm. The spell was a basic transformation spell meant to help young witches practice; turn a rock into a perfect cube. Xīsà spoke all the words properly, did everything exactly as Maisha and Sōngbǎi said, but no matter how hard she concentrated, the rock remained unchanged. Morg on the other hand, didn’t have to say a single word, she would just look at the thing and it would start changing shapes rapidly, as if it were a fluid.

Seeing that Morg still hadn’t managed to make a cube amongst all the other uncontrollable shapes she had created, Xisa breathed a sigh of relief. She wanted to be the first to get this one. Morg could almost work the Wandering Runes, split a stone in two with just a couple of words… heck, she had even turned humans into frogs once! Meanwhile Xisa hadn’t managed to do any such things. Sometimes she suspected that she didn’t have any magic at all. That they had gotten the wrong person. That perhaps she wasn’t even a witch, just some girl with a pet frog! And what would Maisha do if she found out that Xisa wasn’t a witch? Send her back to her hometown? To her parents? Xīsà shuddered and focused harder on the rock in her palm.

“I got it!” Morg then exclaimed, proudly holding the perfect cube in her hands. A fire flared up in Xīsà’s chest at the sight of it, her own rock remaining completely unchanged. She quickly extinguished the feeling. So what if Morg had once again completed the task before she could? Why should she care about such trivial things? It was better not to. Xisa stamped all her emotions down, pushing them into the back of her mind until they completely disappeared, sinking into that imagined void.

The rock in Morg’s hand then began to melt, cool magma-like goo dripping messily down the child’s palm and forearm. Morg stared at her deformed cube and burst into tears, her sobs wretched and childish as she began babbling near incoherently.

“Imma terribbble witch, maybe I’m not e-even a witch ad all bud some sorta mon-nster, I’m never gon-na geb this r-right, please don send me b-b-back home ye-et!”

Xisa scowled as Maisha rushed to comfort the stuttering child. Shouldn’t she be the one to be upset? Morg had succeeded, even if only for a second! But there she went, throwing yet another tantrum. Unsavory emotions began welling up within Xisa like a brewing storm, but she once again stamped them out and pushed them away.

“GO AWAY!”

Morg shoved Maisha off, screeching, before breaking down into sobs once more. Xisa decided to ignore the nuisance beside her and stared intently at her rock, but she couldn’t help the feelings of annoyance that kept bubbling up. Xīsà couldn’t get the rock to change in the slightest, but this dramatic girl had succeeded and was still complaining? Even Xisa knew how to keep her emotions in check, it just took a bit of effort and self-control.

Suddenly Xisa felt her world topple over and she found herself face-first in the dirt. Xisa looked up in dismay at the green-eyed menace staring coldly at her.

“STOP looking down on me!” Morg shouted, her eyes rimmed red with fury and a light wind whipping her golden locks around. Xisa’s heart skipped a beat. She could… understand Morg?

She had been studying English in the evenings, just as Morg had been studying Chinese, but even so, they were far from fluent. But… she understood Morg’s words clearly, had been understanding her words for the past several minutes. Xīsà shook her head in disbelief. Did Morg learn the translation spell?

“I’M TRYING MY BEST! AND AT LEAST I SHOW MY EMOTIONS! AT LEAST I COMMUNICATE THEM! YOU CAN’T EVEN MANAGE TO SPEAK!”

Morg screeched, tackling Xisa into the dirt once again. Songbai rushed to try and restrain the wild girl and calm her down, wrapping her arms around the child. Maisha stared at the scene thoughtfully, as if watching a play.

“Get OFF OF ME!” Morg shouted, her 9 year old monkey limbs flailing and wriggling until she wrestled her way out of Songbai’s grasp. With a sob, Morg sprinted off into the woods, immediately hidden within the dense forest of pines.

Xisa stared after Morg, feeling a little shocked by her words. What was so wrong about not always wanting to interact with other people? Not wanting to communicate, not wanting to be observed? Brushing the dirt off her face, Xisa sat back up and focused again on the rock in her palm.

*

Morg ran without stopping, occasionally looking behind her shoulder to make sure she wasn’t being followed. She wanted to be alone- no- she needed to be alone. Every time she felt herself losing control of her temper, even just a little, anxiety bloomed in her chest like some sort of poisonous flower. What would happen if she accidentally turned Maisha and Songbai into frogs? Who would be able to turn them back?! Morg wiped away a cold tear seeping out the corner of her eye.

Or what if… she did something worse?

As Morg continued to run through the woods, she mulled over the things she said and the way she’d acted, feeling regretful especially at pushing her fellow young witch into the dirt… twice. At least Xisa probably had no idea what she’d been screeching. Morg slowed to a walk, her chest heaving up and down, the burning in her lungs displacing her anger and frustration. She looked around at the trees looming over her and the fern fronds scattered across the ground. The pattern of trees, bushes, rocks, and fallen logs repeated itself in every direction.

“Hummmmm.”

She had no idea where she was.

Morg pulled her coat tight against her torso, warding off the chill in the air. She wasn’t ready to go back to the house but she thought she should at least return to a more familiar region of the forest. Turning on her heel, Morg backtracked a ways before stumbling upon Maisha’s hut much sooner than expected. The back of the brick and wood structure just barely peeked out through the trees. She must have somehow circled around and found herself at the backside of the house. Morg squinted her eyes in confusion- that couldn’t be right!

Creeping closer through the brambles, Morg suddenly realized- this wasn’t Maisha’s hut at all! She scrambled out of the brush and made her way around to the front of the abode. Sitting in front of her was a shabby, run-down shack, the roof partially caved in and the windows half-filled with jagged, broken glass. In front of the shack lay a small field overrun with grasses and weeds and a straw-filled scarecrow standing lopsided at the center. Morg gingerly stepped into the ‘house,’ peeking up at the vines and wasp nests clinging to the broken rafters.

Littering the floor were splintery planks and pieces of brick, animal droppings and the stringy remnants of some sort of carpet. Thorny shrubs leaned in through the window and green and brown undergrowth snaked across the floor. Morg picked her way through the ruins of the little home and found a somewhat cleared corner of the floor. Warily eyeing the exceptionally large spider web in the opposite corner, she sat down and stared up at the cloudy sky through the incomplete roof and crawling ivy. A stellar jay swooped down, landing in a nest not far from her. Morg smiled, feeling lucky to have stumbled across such a place.

*

A week or so later, Morg was once again practicing menial spells with Xisa; change the shape of a rock, freeze a cup of water, levitate a blade of grass, etc., etc. And as per usual, Xisa seemed unable to use even the slightest bit of magic while Morg’s power seemed utterly out of control. It was like they were off balance- like their mana had been horribly misdistributed. Morg heard Xisa heave a deep sigh beside her, her disappointment palpable. Morg felt frustration for the both of them. She stared down at the pile of rubbish at her feet. She was supposed to be splitting a leaf perfectly down the middle, but with each try, she would end up slicing the leaves in seven or eight separate parts, sometimes disintegrating it completely.

“Xiaoha,” Maisha said in Chinese, “Try and let your mind wander a bit. Relax and let your energies flow.”

Xisa frowned, thinking she was already perfectly relaxed.

“Morg, stop fidgeting. Try to be a bit more like Xiaoha. Focus. Concentrate. Discipline your mind.”

Morg sighed.

“Maisha, how come you always call Xisa ‘Xiaoha’ instead of ‘Xisa?’ It keeps confusing me.”

Maisha cocked her head, her eyes boring into Morg, “Why would I call her ‘Xisa?’”

“Isn’t that her name?” Morg asked, looking genuinely confused. Maisha’s brows twitched.

“She… told you that?”

“Well… no, but-”

“Stop speaking and focus.”

Morg pursed her lips together and focused back on her rock. Maisha wandered off, muttering under her breath in a language Morg didn’t recognize.

Morg glanced over at Xisa, crouching in front of the garden. The frighteningly pale girl still held the same leaf she had started with, staring at it intently, desperately. Morg wished she had less power, like Xisa. Then maybe she’d still be living happily with her parents. All sorts of emotions began parading about Morg’s chest; frustration, anger, sadness, nostalgia, hopefulness, bitterness. Why couldn’t things just go back to normal?! Morg quelled her surging emotions with a deep breath and focused on yet another leaf. Maybe things could eventually go back to normal, she just needed to keep practicing to control her magic. Morg watched, focusing with all her might, as the orange-green leaf pinched between her fingers shredded itself before disintegrating into fine powder.

“UGH!” Morg exclaimed shrilly, letting out the frustration pent up in her chest as she smacked the pile of fragmented leaves in front of her with all her might. The ground shifted and rumbled beneath her palm and little cracks began appearing beneath Morg’s feet. Morg’s heart dropped to her stomach, her eyes growing wide. With a yelp, Morg scrambled away from the unstable ground, accidentally toppling roughly into Xisa and pinning her fellow witch to the ground. A bolt of pain shot through her arm, but she paid it no mind, her eyes glued to the ground where she had just been sitting.

Five large fissures materialized in the dirt right where Morg’s fingers had been. The cracks growing and spreading, rattling and shaking the earth as they joined together to create one massive gash in the earth. The two wide-eyed girls sat, sprawled in the dirt, as they watched the rift lengthening and widening with every passing second. First just little shrubs and rocks, then whole trees in the path of the ever growing rift were overturned and swallowed, disappearing into a darkening, deepening chasm.

“M-m-m-MAISHA!!!” Morg shouted with a cracking voice just before Songbai and Baigu appeared by their side. The woman glanced at the two frightened girls, then at the gradually widening rift in front of the house eating away at anything in its path. Cursing herself for stepping away from the girls while they practiced magic, Songbai waved her arms over her head in two sweeping, powerful motions and uttered a string of spells under her breath.

“kkwaᶇʔ tthaʔ dak kǝ-rrak-s, ljaʔ. kkwaᶇʔ tthaʔ dak kǝ-rrak-s, ljaʔ. kkwaᶇʔ tthaʔ dak kǝ-rrak-s, ljaʔ…”

Morg and Xisa watched in awe as Songbai stitched the earth back up, the gully Morg had created with just a slap of her palm gradually disappearing. With the crisis averted, Songbai brusquely pulled out her folding fan and began gently fanning herself. Even with the frosty weather of the season, she suddenly felt overly warm.

With Baigu trailing behind her, Songbai walked across the clearing, investigating the area. It was lucky that the fissure in the earth had spread out away from the house- otherwise their home could have been split apart, or worse, swallowed whole. Songbai grimaced at the thought, the situation far too easy of a reality to imagine.

Having caught sight of the cluster of trees in front of her, Songbai stopped in her tracks. Had she been mere moments later in closing the rift, this patch of trees would have been engulfed by the earth. Instead, something stranger had happened; the trees were completely covered, crawling… with eyes. Eyes a shade of green eerily similar to Morg’s own.

“Ooooh… what is that?!” came Maisha’s curious voice, making Songbai jump. She snapped her fan shut and turned to face the woman behind her.

“Where’ve you been?!” Songbai scolded the smirking woman. Maisha shrugged unhelpfully.

“Good thing you were here in time to fix things up! What would I do without you, Songbai!”

Songbai rolled her eyes in response as Maisha walked up to one of the trees, jabbing at one of its malachite green eyes with her slender finger. The eye blinked furiously, and a dark, syrupy tear leaked out of its edge. Letting out a series of ‘huh’s and ‘hmmm’s, Maisha walked back and forth in front of the tree, mesmerized by the gazes that followed her movements. So transfixed, she accidentally tripped over a root and would have fallen, too, had Sōngbǎi not grabbed her by the collar and yanked her back upright.

“Thank-”

“Be more careful!” Sōngbǎi whacked her on the head with her fan.

“Song Laoshi… Maisha… I think something’s wrong with my arm,” Morg’s sniffling voice appeared behind them. Songbai turned around and knelt down beside Morg. As she gently probed and prodded the teary child’s arms, the young girl began crying and babbling uncontrollably.

“I-I’m really sorry, I really didn’t mean to, I d-don’t even know h-how it hap-pened, I didn’t mean t-to hurt anybody, I’m really s-sorry…”

“Hmm… Your arm seems perfectly healthy to me…” Songbai mused.

“Oh… B-but it really hurts.” Morg whimpered through her tears and hiccups. Songbai began ushering the young girl back into the house, intending to get her to lie down and calm herself first, when Baigu’s energetic voice floated through her mind.

Songbai! Look at Xisa’s arm!

The dark-eyed girl had wandered her way up to Maisha’s side, staring at the eye-covered tree Maisha still found herself engrossed in. And hanging limply at her side was her right arm, swollen to twice its size, black and blue and purple and green, and changing color still. Baigu stood next to her, sniffing the discolored arm with concern.

“Ah! Xiaoha! Why didn’t you say you were hurt, too?!”

Xīsà looked surprised at her statement, and even more surprised when she noticed her arm. She hadn’t felt anything at all! Sōngbǎi put her hands over the girl’s swollen arm and used a transformation spell to heal it. Then, after a moment of thought, she turned back to Morg.

“Does it hurt anymore?”

Morg blinked slowly and shook her head, rubbing her right arm as if to erase any memory of the pain. Songbai glanced up at Maisha, who had torn her gaze away from the tree to watch the scene. Maisha narrowed her eyes, her gaze sweeping between the girls and the strange tree. Then, without a word, she returned to the house and disappeared inside.