“You’re going to love Spellvale.” She told the others. “There’s always something to see. They have huge festivals to celebrate the changing of the seasons and phases of the moon. Their biggest event is the pumpkin festival they hold in the heart of autumn. There’s always lots of singing, dancing, and there’s too much food to eat. Everyone eats and it’s joyous for all who attend.”

  “And you’ve seen this?” Prince Damron asked.

  “I was at the pumpkin festival last year.” Hoxley grinned as she reminisced. “I don’t think I’ve ever had so much fun as I had on that night. Spellvale should be full of smiling faces and plenty of tasty things to eat.”

  “I sure could go for a full meal.” Morell commented. “Mushrooms are always good but they taste better if you put them with something.”

  “Agreed.” said Hoxley. “But it’s important to be grateful for what you have. If we didn’t have your mushrooms, we’d have grumbling stomachs to slow our path.”

  “Yes, thank you.” added the prince.

  “I’m glad it helps.” Morell said. “I don’t have too many more. The rest of the samples in my inventory aren’t edible at all.”

  “Then it will have to be enough.” On they traveled, the scenery slowly shifting its green panorama of trees and hills to guide them along the path to Spellvale. But as the three moved along, the prince spied ominous dark clouds of rain gathering far on the horizon to the North.

  “Look there.” He pointed to them. “I hope we can find shelter before those clouds arrive.”

  “The plains are flat here.” Hoxley observed. “I wouldn’t be too worried. Those clouds are still a day or two away. If they are headed in this direction, we’ll either have shelter in Spellvale or carried on far enough west to be out of its path.” When she was sure the rest of the path was clear, Hoxley led the boys out of the tree line and started up the long path to the home of the witches. But no sooner than they’d crested the first major hill, a disturbing sight came into view; witches by the hundreds were exiting Spellvale en masse, their belongings being carried and rolled on push carts. Some of the smaller loads dangled from the brooms of children as they hovered next to their parents. A procession of black clothes, pained expressions, and wide brimmed, pointed hats led all the way back to their settlement. As they moved closer, the prince pulled the hood of his cloak over his head

  “Merry meet!” Hoxley hailed to a passing woman holding a small child against her chest. “Where is everyone going?”

  “Merry meet.” She said without stopping. “A dangerous storm is approaching. It’s best not to linger here. “Come away with us if you like.”

  “There’s someone I need to find first.” Said the faun girl. “I’m looking for a pair of twins about 13 summers old. One is a girl who bubbles like a cauldron and the other is a boy, quiet as a ghost.”

  “Those two?” Asked the woman. “Yes, I saw them. They’re still in the town square helping people pack their belongings. Do you know how to play their tones?”

  “I do!” said Hoxley. “Thank you. Be safe on your trip. Merry part!”

  “Until we merry meet again.” Said the woman. Morell and the prince gathered close as they continued on toward to the witch settlement.

  “What’s all this talk about a storm?” the prince asked.

  “I have no idea. I’d imagine it concerns those dark clouds to the north.”

  “She asked you about tones?” said Morell

  “Yes, witch tones. Each witch always carries a witch whistle, or ‘witchle’, around their neck. It’s how they can call to one another over long distances. Since witches use brooms to get around, they cover more ground more quickly and shouting doesn’t pierce the air as fast or as far. When a witch is born, they’re given a tone, a select number of notes to be played on any instrument. Some of these are new tones, but most are handed down from generation to generation. A boy or girl might carry the tone of their great, great, grandparent long after they’ve passed on. It’s a family thing. Playing the tones loudly summons the witch the tone belongs to.

  “And you have a witchle?”

  “I have my ocarina.” Hoxley said, producing a small potato sized gourd from her saddle bag. Closer inspection showed the gourd had a series of holes cut into it so that it could be played as a wind instrument, almost like a squat, oblong flute. “Let’s see if I can’t get those two to appear.” Hoxley lifted the ocarina to her lips and gave a series of strong puffs instead of soft sweet notes one might expect from an ocarina. There were eight notes total, each pairing was the same note but moved up and down together.

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  “That’s it?” asked the prince. “They’ll hear that?”

  “Hopefully. It’s awfully loud today and a witchle’s tones carry much further than an ocarina.”

  “I don’t see anything.” said Morell, looking to the sky in all directions.

  “Look toward the settlement. That’s the direction they’ll be coming from.” A few moments passed before a pair of black dots appeared in the air above the village. Closer they got until the dots grew into images of black clad kids their age riding brooms. Hoxley waved her hands wildly over her head and the pair dropped out of the sky in free fall…right on top of them! Morell and the prince tried to get away and fell over one another to keep from being hit. The two boys tumbled to the ground but Hoxley stood firm with her arms crossed. The twins dropped from the sky and came to an abrupt halt just above Hoxley’s horns only to turn sideways on their brooms and flip backwards onto their feet.

  “Who dares summon the terrible twosome?” The girl said in an ominous growling voice with her arms raised to the sky. The two wore witchy garb from head to toe; draped black clothes covered them from head to toe, the fabric interwoven with more belts and buckles than could be counted at a glance. Her skin was pale, her hair long and brown, teased to be frizzy. The color of her eyes and those of her brother hinted something special in their heterochromia; the left eye being yellow and the other being bright blue. Black leather winklepickers with even more buckles peeked out from beneath to cover their feet.

  “It is I, Hoxley of the eastern plains who have called you to me.” The faun girl said stoically.

  “Then it is you who shall bear my wrath and die a gruesome and horrible death!” The girl accentuated her words by pointing her broom directly at Hoxley’s face, the tip resting a mere inch from the faun girl’s nose. Hoxley didn’t move.

  “Merry meet, Siouxsie.” Upon saying this, the witch girl’s expression melted to one of absolute joy.

  “Hoxley!” the girl squealed with joy as her voice took on a happier tone. “Merry, merry, meet! I’ve missed you so much!” The witch dropped her broom and threw her arms around Hoxley who delightedly returned the gesture by lifting the girl and spinning her around, two, three, four times before setting her back down in the same spot. Siouxsie wobbled with dizziness. Seeing the boy standing behind her covered from head to toe in flowing black lightweight garbs, Hoxley gave a small but friendly nod to him.

  “Merry meet, Robert.” She said.

  “Merry meet, Hoxley. Welcome back.” he said. Hoxley noted to herself that Robert had gotten a little taller than when she saw him just over one hundred days ago. He was still Siouxsie’s doppelganger, even under the garments that hid every part of him save for the horizontal slit that showed his eyes and eyebrows. With the brim of his wide brimmed pointed hat dipped low, it was hard to see even that much. She also noted that he’d taken to wearing gloves over his hands as to show all but the smallest amount of his identity. Always quiet and lurking behind Siouxsie like a shadow, she was surprised she even received the ‘welcome back’ part of the greeting.

  “What’s happening here, Siouxsie?” Hoxley asked. “Where is everyone going?”

  “A dangerous unnatural storm is advancing from the northeast.” she said. “Robert and some of other scouts found it a few days ago and raced back to warn us.”

  “What’s so dangerous about a rainstorm?

  “It’s not a normal rainstorm.” Robert said, again surprising Hoxley that he’d broken his usual silence. “It has rolling green lightning swirling within its confines and the rain it drops upon those found in the open or come into contact with it go mad or become mindless.”

  “You’ve seen this?” Morell asked.

  “With my own eyes. Two of the scouts got too far ahead of the rest of us and entered the rain that fell from it. When they returned, they’d barely landed when they began attacking one another. We begged them to stop but it was too late. They’d already engaged one another with the blades on their brooms and ended one another there on the spot. I have never seen or heard of anything like it.”

  “That’s horrific.”

  “What’s worse, is that there’s news coming from more and more sources.” Added Siouxsie. “We believe the storm originated in the eastern kingdom.”

  “That’s why I’m wondering why you brought him.” Roberts said, raising a gloved finger at the prince. “Why is the prince of the eastern throne here upon the hungry acre?”

  “The prince?” Siouxsie and Morell asked at the same time.