The Lantern Witch: A Wishfire Tale
A cozy companion tale to The Wishfire. Every New Year's Eve, Edmona the Lantern Witch secretly uses magic to help answer wishes cast into the Wishfire.
The bells chimed as the shop door swung open and a short woman shuffled in. The owner peered through foggy glasses to make out her face. Edmona. Her small frame floated toward the counter. Once a year she placed a large order of crystals to be delivered to her cottage. Always green crystals: fluorite, aventurine, jade, malachite, serpentine.
“Hello, Claren,” her voice carried mirth and sweetness.
“Edmona, same time every year. Same order, too?”
“Same order. Same as every year,” she smiled.
“I’ll write it up,” he responded. Edmona nodded and roamed silently through the store. Picking up this and that, placing it gently back on its shelf.
He watched her intently as she perused. Footsteps like feathers, she made no sound as she moved around the aisles. In the silence, Claren realized he could hear his own breathing and snapped his mouth shut. Scribbling on the pad, he became overly aware of the scrawling quill on parchment and slowed his writing as to not disrupt the stillness.
How many years have we placed this order? he thought. He had been taking her crystal order since he was a child, well before his father handed down the shop. His father had been taught the same order by his father.
She looked the same now as she did back then. Curly hair fell far down her back. Her eyes glowed a metallic gray. Wrinkles suggested decades of laughter and mischief.
The Lantern Witch, they called her. She mostly kept to her herself, away from the town. But on this night, she would wheel her cart of lanterns to the Wishfire. The lanterns invoked a sense of hope among the wish casters.
Far outside of town, her cottage was overlooked by most. But those who paid attention said they felt the difference. A patch of rose bushes bloomed year-round, despite the summer drought or the winter snow. A faint haze cast a warm glow over her front door. And occasionally a visitor would befall her. She sought none out, it happened by chance. Yet those who were graced by her gifts were revived.
Claren thought of the whispers that would spread through the town: a widow healed from heart ache, a soldier whose wounds disappeared, a sleepwalker rid of nighttime ailments.
He brought his mind back to the parchment, finished writing up the order, double checking the items and quantity.
Cuckoo! Cuckoo!
At the sound, Claren jumped and a splat of ink stained the order. 11:44. Every hour, on the forty-fourth minute, the sound went off. And every hour, at this odd time, his heart was sent into a frenzy. He let out a shout of profanity as he began to clean up the ink. The counter was stained, trinkets on display were ruined. He threw his arms up in a huff.
“Everything okay?” Edmona offered, seeing his distress.
“Just this damn clock, it always goes off at the wrong time—on the forty-four—and loud too and—” he spread his arms, exasperated, among the mess.
“I can help,” she approached the counter. With swift hands and a rag, she quickly sopped up the ink off the counter and trinkets.
“How...?” Claren trailed. The rag was spotless of ink or stain.
“Oh it’s, um—” Edmona started, “I carry it on me. I’m clumsy myself! Just some firm scrubbing…”
Claren looked from the counter to the clean rag that she was quickly stuffing back into her pocket.
“Anyways!” she exclaimed, “Would it be too much trouble to write up a new order?”
“Of course not,” Claren shook his head to focus.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Edmona by the faulty clock. Examining it from all sides, she set her palm on its face.
“I’ve tried to find the noise maker, I’ve tried to reset the hands, no use,” he said.
A smirk flickered on her lips, her hand still on the clock’s face. Claren thought he saw a purple gleam in his periphery but looked over only to see Edmona wandering back through the aisles.
Within minutes, the order was completed and signed.
“Happy New Years!” Edmona called as she stepped out of the shop into the snow. Claren waved.
Sitting back on a stool, he scanned a document on different types of knots as a delicate, pleasant sound rang in his ears. He turned in amazement to the clock. It had struck 12:00 with the jingle of soft bells. He felt a tug at the corner of his lips. A gift from the Lantern Witch.
*****
On New Years Eve at nightfall, Edmona ignited the Wishfire. None witnessed her do it. The change of the fire, that burned every other day a hot vermilion, signaled to the village that it was time for celebration.
The tradition predated the villagers and their ancestors, and new rumors circulated every year about how the Wishfire came to be. But all knew that once the fire shifted to its annual vibrant green, the festival began, and it was time to cast wishes into the fire.
Edmona settled into the corner of the square with her cart as villagers were drawn to the celebration by the gleaming, green Wishfire. She worked all year on the glass lanterns. The crystals she ordered from Claren, for luck and wishes granted, were ground into dust and infused into melted glass for the panels. The panels emitted enchanting shades of viridian, emerald, evergreen, chartreuse, and were inlaid sporadically with small gems of reds, blues, and pinks. Special oil, one she brewed from a blend of rare herbs and salves, was designed to burn until the next celebration.
Her cart drew a line of villagers looking to purchase lanterns, some for themselves, some as gifts for others. They would cast their wish, touch a stick to the Wishfire, and then light their oil, feeding the lantern with the flame’s magic. They were set on front steps as sigils, willing the wishes into existence.
The line dwindled toward the end of the celebration, as the clock tower gonged closer to midnight, the close of the Wishfire, and the beginning of the New Year.
Watching from a distance throughout the night, villagers hobbled, skipped, sprinted, dawdled up to the flame. A disheveled looking military man approached the fire, blushing. A little girl in tattered, snow-dampened clothes crouched down to drop her wish in, looking tired but hopeful. A man known as the town gambler tossed a stubby object into the fire and his face fell flat.
She had come to know many wishes, and she helped them all in any way she could. The one wish Edmona seemed to not be able to answer was her own, the wish for a child. For years she, too, had placed her wish into the Wishfire. It had been some time since she cast a wish. Tonight she would not.
The clock tower gonged, one hour until midnight. A buzz emanated through the crowd as the villagers became watchful of the time. Stragglers entered the square placing last-minute wishes. As the time drew near, those who had been hesitant or scared scurried quickly to cast into the Wishfire. A countdown began out loud in the final minute.
Edmona joined into the chant at the end.
Three, two, one...
Gong.
Midnight.
The Wishfire glowed a brilliant green and rose, circling high into the air. It paused, pulsing, above the heads of the villagers. Breaths were held, the square was silent. With a flash the flame returned to its familiar vermilion and descended to the ground. Transfixed on the flame, the crowd stood motionless. With a loud crack, the villagers snapped to attention and the fire settled into its usual state.
All filed out of the square, back to their homes, through the snowy streets.
When none were left, she wheeled her cart over to the flame. She felt a watching, a presence, and looked around the square. Neither animal nor human revealed itself, so she carried on. Pulling a heavy metal bucket from her cart, Edmona pried the lid off with a creak. Using a small hand spade, she gathered the ashes at the base of the fire, scooping them into the bucket.
Rustling at a nearby bench caught her attention when the bucket was almost full. A girl had appeared, soundlessly, watching her. It was the little girl who had crouched to put her wish into the fire earlier. The same tired, hopeful eyes now watched Edmona intently. She smiled back at the girl. She had gone this far. Edmona continued to fill the bucket.
Once the ashes were to the brim, she secured the lid and tucked it back into her cart behind a latched door.
The little girl approached Edmona, scanning the cart, the lanterns, the door where the bucket of ashes was secured. Her hair was matted and wet, booties caked in snow and soaked through. Edmona felt her longing, her loneliness. And yet her spark, her joy, her hope that enclosed them in a warmth surpassing the fire.
“What do you do with the ashes?” the girl tilted her head.
Edmona considered her carefully. She was just a young girl, and Edmona had never shared the truth behind her work before.
Bending down on one knee, she met the girl’s gaze, “Can you keep a secret?”
The little girl nodded, an eager grin playing on her lips.
“I take the ashes from the Wishfire home with me to... work on the wishes,” Edmona offered.
“What do you mean?” the little girl implored, confused.
“I collect what is remaining of the ashes among the wood. These ashes contain the essence of the wishes,” she paused for a moment as the girl focused, “I use magic to pull the wishes from the ashes. I help answer them.”
The little girl pursed her lips, thinking hard, “Can you help with my wish?”
Edmona didn’t need to root her hands into the ashes to feel what the girl had wished.
“What is your name?”
“Mariel,” the little girl replied quietly.
“What happened to your family? Where have you been living?”
“My parents died last year, I’ve been sleeping in the Sowerby’s barn. They don’t know. I take food from their animals when they come to feed before it’s all gone. The lambs are warm at night,” she shrugged heavily.
A fire Edmona thought had been snuffed out rose up in her stomach reaching her throat. She wanted to pick up the little girl, cradle her in her arms. Promise her warmth and safety.
“Well, I don’t have lambs.” Edmona paused. “But I have an extra room, with a bed and blankets that should keep you at least as warm. And fresh bread.”
Mariel’s eyes twinkled briefly then dropped to the ground as she knocked snow off one boot with the other.
“I can come with you?” she asked timidly.
“If you wish, I would be happy for you to stay with me,” Edmona extended her hand. A twinge pricked at her chest like a baby bird freeing itself from its egg.
Mariel beamed, reaching up. Edmona took Mariel’s hand, warm in her own, placing both on the cart handle.
They wheeled the cart with silent steps through the soft padding of snow. Edmona’s wish granted, after all this time, under the magic of the Wishfire.
*****