A couple quarantined telling each other stories to pass the time. We ended with:
“That’s it? That’s the story? You have to tell me what his story is now. You can’t just leave it there. What happens next? How did they know there was going to be treasure there? “
“You tell me,” he said.
Ok, she said. Can you make popcorn while I think about it?
I think we’re out. Last night’s Netflix binge.
“Is there still chocolate? Wine?”
“Ah, the magic elixir, coming right up.”
He poured 2 glasses of wine and handed her one.
She took a sip and began her story. “Alright. The woman was a witch.”
“Your mother thinks she’s a witch. All that burning sage and chanting and mushroom broth. Ugh.”
“This is about a real witch. Her name is Serine.”
“Your mother’s name was Serina.”
“It’s not my mother. Serina isn’t my mother’s real name. It’s the one she chose when she got into wicca.”
“What’s her real name? How come I don’t know this?” “My mother’s real name is Anne. She never tells anybody that. The witch in my story was named Serine by her mother. I can name the characters anything I want since you didn’t give them any names.”
She stuck her tongue out at him and continued, “Serine’s mother was a witch and taught her everything she knew. All the ancient languages and spells to fix things and spells to break things. They lived deep in the woods surrounded by forest creatures real and magical. Serine and her mother walked through the woods in the spring gathering mushrooms and willow bark. Serine loved to watch the baby animals play under the flowering trees. The unicorn came out of hiding then. Sometimes if Serine sat very quiet and still on the grassy slope to the pond, the unicorn would put it’s head in her lap.”
“Summer was for fruit and honey. Serine’s mother used her magic to charm the bees into giving them honey. The fall was for nuts and herbs to see them through the winter. In the winter, they gathered holly berries and pine nuts and watched the ice sprites dance on the frozen pond.”
“Ok, ok, I get it. Magic woods. Does she ever do anything but gather nuts and cuddle unicorns?”
“Be patient, I’m telling this story. You’ve watched too many action movies.”
“Serine and her mother would tell each other stories as they sat by the fire on winter evenings. One of the stories that Serine loved to hear was about her great-grandmother who sailed here from an island in the middle of the sea.”
“The island was a marvelous place, according to Serine’s mother. There were tall towers made of crystal where sages charted the stars and predicted the future. Everyone who lived there could do magic and all the animals could talk. Gemstones were plentiful and wise women used them to heal and mend.”
He eyed the cat who glanced at him with an evil eye before grooming herself. “I don’t think I want to know what talking animals have to say.”
She gave him the same look as the cat and went on, “The sages predicted that a giant wave would crash over the island and destroy it. Not everyone wanted to believe this and there was much discussion in the marketplaces and forums about what to do. But Serine’s great great-grandmother had read the omens and knew them to be true so she made preparations to leave the island before the catastrophe.”
“Her great great-grandmother found three ships, each one bound for a different place. One was going North to the land of snow-capped mountains ruled by a king with power over ice. One was going South a world covered in sand where people lived in caves underground to escape the heat. Serine’s great great-grandmother kissed her two sisters, gave each something in a little bag, and put one on the North bound ship and one on the South bound ship. Serine’s great-grandmother cried then—
“Of course she did,” he said rolling his eyes. “That’s what women do. It goes without saying.”
“And you don’t? You cry if you stub your toe.”
“With good reason. You cry looking at puppies on the internet.”
“Well she had a good reason too. Her sisters were leaving her behind. You know, I’m hungry. What should we make for dinner?”
“You can’t stop there.”
“I can. I think there’s some pesto in the fridge and we still have some pasta and besides if you’re going to pick on my story…”
“Ok, but this isn’t over.”
“No, but it’s your turn next.”
Tangletale 