The Warlock

A Mushroom Hunt

I'd already stayed with the Warlock, studied with him and learned from him, for about a month when he first took me on a hike out into the hills around the village of Kadagv. A witch's relationship with nature is complex. Magick is natural, it is nature itself, as any novice witch knows. Nevertheless, witches work with magic, they bend it, change it in the same way a blacksmith works metal or a seamstress works cloth. Therefore, for any witch, a balance and a relationship with nature is absolutely necessary. Speaking with nature, seeking to understand it, listen, learn its desires and whims is a fundamental aspect of witchcraft. It is also a complex relationship which takes many years to foster. And though I had a deft hand with the workings of druid magick, there was still much for me to learn and much patience to exercise.

Often, the Warlock would leave me alone in the hut to work as he went off to fetch ingredients, herbs, and any other necessities. I spent hours upon hours sitting around the cauldron, toiling away in the kitchen or out in the small garden, growing, preparing, caring for the various ingredients that went into the potions and dusts, ashes and medleys we concocted. Though I knew the anatomy and logic of potions well enough, the Warlock taught me many new methods of alchemy, strange ways of brewing potions I had never even heard of, let alone tried.

A potion, like anything else magickal, is a malleable and multifaceted object. To brew a potion according to a recipe, adhering to all the methods and markings, the timings and instructions, is a necessity for cultivating a wise patience in yourself. But to brew a potion without instruction, having already understood the meanings of each motion, each addition, each second of timing, and using your creativity and knowledge to make potions, this is already the mark of a master alchemist.

Though I was far from a master yet, I could already see that, in the coming years, I would be well on my way.

In the meantime, when I had free time I would often come down to the village and visit a few people I had gotten to know. Though I was still a little apprehensive to visit Kirra regularly, we did see each other quite often, and talked even more often. Though it was mostly about trivial matters, such as the well-being of his parents, the news of the town, I enjoyed spending time with him. There was something sharp, and obviously deeply astute underneath the veneer of a simple blacksmith's boy I had seen in him on that first day. In his questions about the art and life of a witch, my life, I felt a longing for adventure, for exploration, for some change in his life. But just as clearly, I also saw that he had almost no potential for magick—his aura was weak, and so I had nothing to give him beyond abstract metaphors (which, in fairness, he tried earnestly to understand, and I grew to respect him deeply for it).

I had spent one particular morning, late in that first month talking to Kirra at the market, and haggling prices with the lumberjack's wife, Inagra. After coming back to the hut, around midday, I found the Warlock dressed in wandering robes (nothing more than a witch's regular robes, except with extra pockets), thick-soled boots and holding a lithe, wooden walking-stick. He stood waiting for me at the entrance to the hut, eyes closed, his blonde ponytail wafting in the wind, tied around his right temple.

"We're going mushroom-hunting," he told me.

Right away I went inside and settled all the groceries in their proper places. I had no wandering robes, or extra boots, but I did get a large woven basket and emptied my backpack for the journey. I had no idea where we were going but I knew we would need all the space we had. Mushrooms were an essential aspect of a lot of ashes and potions.

Outside, I told the Warlock I was ready, and right away (without even opening his eyes, I think) he started walking south. I followed.

We walked at least ten kilometers before he said anything to me. I was used to the silences by now—the Warlock was not necessarily a haughty or unpleasant man, but he was a deeply introspective one, who would only talk to you if you asked him, but who could be animated as anyone else when speaking passionately about something. Most of the time, I was happy to be left with my own thoughts, and he was happy to be with himself.