The enchantress placed a wide silver bowl on the windowsill, filled to the brim with spring water. Colorful glints of distorted light shimmered along the bowl’s edges.
The ancient forest loomed over the small house, which nestled at the edge of a steep bank above a dried-up riverbed.
The ancient forest peered curiously through the window with its dark green, twilight eyes, resembling some enormous, bark-and-moss-covered creature from forgotten legends.
“Did you feel it too, how the underground rivers shifted their course?” the enchantress asked, tilting the bowl so the water’s surface caught the reflection of the full moon, just rising over the winding treetops.
The forest offered no reply, only a deep, uneasy sigh.
The moon obediently slipped into the waiting bowl, sinking into its silvery depths.
The enchantress smiled thoughtfully to herself, pulling a small vial of wood ash from the folds of her dress. She slowly poured it into the water, stirring with a long, delicate finger.
“From the black womb, from beneath the roots of trees, from the dust of bygone eras, let the ancient and forgotten soul return, one who knew and saw all that I, for now, cannot see or know…”
The water in the bowl began to swirl, blending the ash and the moon’s reflection into a single, indivisible vortex.
A gust of wind blew through, extinguishing the candle flickering on the floor beside the cold hearth.
The thick, heavy darkness of night filled the small room, while the water in the bowl continued to glow with a faint, ghostly light.
The enchantress stared intently into its depths, whispering and calling out—with hope, with pleading.
This wasn’t the first time she had turned to the spirits of water and earth, but so far, the elements had remained silent. Still, she held onto hope, and on this night of the full moon, she tried once more to open a path from the past into the present.
All the signs had aligned: the underground waters had changed their flow, roots that had burrowed into the earth for centuries began to rise, exposing their thick, wrinkled forms, and the morning star had appeared not in the east, but in the west. The enchantress had glimpsed its light for only a moment, but that was enough to know: the boundary had thinned, and what seemed gone forever might return.
“Rise again, be reborn!” the enchantress whispered fiercely.
Her eyes burned with a crimson fire, her lips trembled, parting in an involuntary, pained grimace.
“Rise again, be reborn…”
The water in the bowl ceased its spinning and grew still.
The moon’s reflection vanished from its surface, and in its place, as if rising from an abyss, appeared the face of a young girl with closed eyes and tightly pressed lips. Strands of dull auburn hair framed her pale, sunken cheeks.
The dark arrows of her lashes quivered and opened. Green eyes gazed out, playful and sly, as the beautiful, cold face flushed with color.
“Your spells won’t stop the march of time,” she said softly, “nor will they alter the essence of prophecies…”
Her insinuating, gentle voice resonated deep within the enchantress’s heart.
“I don’t wish to change anything. Not yet. I don’t have the strength for that. But beneath the earth, there is movement. What was dead is beginning to stir,” she replied.
“I understand the direction of your thoughts. I know what you seek. It’s easy to predict events, but to proclaim them—that’s far harder.”
“Hope doesn’t fade, even after such a long wait,” the enchantress replied with a faint smile, “and you know that better than I do. Only now, you sleep in the midst of oblivion, while I continue to live and guard this land from unknown dangers.”
“Underground springs may refill the dried-up riverbed, or they may vanish forever. Who can fathom the intentions of Mother Water?”
The enchantress’s expression darkened. She gazed into the night’s darkness and felt a faint breeze, carrying the scent of damp, bittersweet herbs and fresh water—a distant, almost forgotten smell.
That scent had lingered in the air many years ago, when the radiant, enchanted waters of the Great River flowed here.
“There is only one path, and you know it well,” the enchantress said, turning her gaze back to the face of her companion, “those who walk it to the end and manage to return will reclaim the primal strength…”
Her words were cut off by a light, scornful laugh.
“So, what is it you truly want? To flood the earth with water, or to reclaim your lost power for yourself?”
“What happens to me will happen to you as well. Have you forgotten that?”
“No, I haven’t forgotten. But my fate is immortality, while you, sooner or later, will turn to dust.”
“I don’t regret my choice. The world can’t exist without those willing to care for it. Even if it means enduring this body—an uncomfortable garment that frays and wears thinner with each passing year, no longer shielding me from the cold and wind.”
“Listen to you now! You weren’t so willing to sacrifice yourself before!”
The candle by the hearth crackled and flared to life on its own. A massive shadow darted from it toward the door. The door creaked and slowly swung open.
The enchantress heard the trickle of water and the rustle of sleepy leaves.
“Much has happened over these endless years. I’ve closed and opened paths, woven and unraveled them, but none have become straight and true like an arrow. To reach what I desire, I must confuse, tread the same tracks over and over…”
“Are you sure this time the path will lead where you need it to?”
“We’ll see. But I feel it: the time has come for forgotten rituals and ancient magic.”
“Well then, I wish you success in completing what you’ve started. Perhaps I’ll return when all the paths converge into one.”
“You’ll return when I call for you…”
The enchantress blew across the water, grasped the bowl with both hands, and swiftly flung its contents out through the open window.
The droplets fell into the thick grass and transformed into serpents. Silently, they slithered away, their greenish skin glinting in the moonlight, before vanishing into the murky white patches of fog.