Theirs was a peaceful forest, until the Briar Witch arrived. One day, the clearing near the center had of the woods been open, the stream running alongside it clear and giving. The next, there was a little cottage surrounded by large hedges, encircling the clearing and damming the cheerful brook, diverting the water away from the citizens of the forest to instead grow and nourish the prickly bushes. For these were no ordinary hedges, but oversized, vicious plants, with jagged thorns and creeping vines.
At first, the creatures of the forest were curious. Who was this new being, with her small den and unusual vegetation? The mice were the first to investigate the new arrival, and were horrified by what they discovered.
“She feeds beings like us to the plants!” they squeaked in horror when they returned from the clearing and the cottage. “The plants eat like a snake, slowly catching their prey and holding them in place, until they die and can feed the plant above them.”
The denizens of the forest were worried. What kind of being would bring such plants into their beautiful wood? The decided that the best course of action was to ignore the new inhabitant, to find a new stream for their water. The creatures of the forest lived happily, for a while, until one day a brave young fox decided to explore the old clearing.
The news she brought back was worrying. “The bushes have grown!” the young fox yipped. “There are some of us who weren’t aware that the bushes were dangerous, and have been sniffing around, only to be captured and eaten by the hedges. The hedges are leaving the clearing, and making their way out into our woods! What are we to do?”
The animals of the forest deliberated. The bear suggested that they break down the hedges, and eat the owner of the cottage. The eagles reminded him that the thorns would pierce even his fur. The wolves suggested digging a tunnel under the hedges, and the moles confirmed that the roots went deep, deep into the earth, deeper than even the mightiest of wolves could dig. The swans suggested calling for another of the cottager’s kind to come and deal with their kin, but all the animals laughed. Even if they could speak to such a creature, why would it help them?
Unseen by the debating forest folk, just such a creature was watching their meeting with wide eyes. If she hadn’t heard the arguing for herself, she never would have believed such a meeting could take place. She watched as rabbits and foxes, wolves and deer, spoke civilly, without threat or fear.
She took a step back, wanting to leave them to their meeting, but a twig snapped under her foot, and all the creatures turned with a start, staring at her. She froze under their gaze, unable to move.
“I-I’m sorry for interrupting,” she stammered, “I didn’t mean to intrude.”
The creatures glanced at each other, seeming to confer.
“You can understand us?” a large stag asked, his head held high.
“Y-yes, somehow.”
He considered her for a moment. “One of your kind has taken up residence in our forest. Their den is surrounded by dangerous hedges that threaten our beautiful home.”
She nodded. “I heard.”
“Can you stop the bad plants?” a thin voice at her feet said, and she looked down at a small fox kit at her feet.
“I could try,” she said reluctantly. What could she do about invasive hedges? It sounded like there was a witch nearby, and she knew not to bother witches. Then she thought about all the work that awaited her at home, of the bleak future she saw of labor and service she did not want for an unfeeling world. Well, she thought, if I can make this place safer and peaceful, at least I would have done something good with my life.
“Where is this cottage, and these hedges?” she asked.
“The foxes will show you the way,” the stag replied, and she watched the kit at her feet bound off the join his family, and with a glance over their shoulders, they trotted away from the meeting, and she hurried to follow.
They walked through the woods for some time, but she wasn’t worried about being lost. The foxes walked with confident steps, and not too fast so that she couldn’t follow. Finally, they reached the place where the hedges grew, and she began to worry. How can I get through such tangled branches? she thought. And what I am to do after? The foxes watched her with sad eyes, as if expecting her to tuck her tail and run. She stood a little straighter, looking back the hedge before her. She could do this. She could help these creatures feel safe in their own home again.
“Do you know where the best place to start might be?” she asked, and the foxes looked relieved.
“The plants seem thinner over here,” the mother fox said, leading her to the side of the once-merry stream. She could see some gaps in the bushes, and the plants seemed a little less spiky here.
“We will wait for you to return,” the mother fox informed her.
“Thank you,” she replied, and took a deep breath before stepping forward, into the brambles.
It wasn’t so bad, at first. The plants were further apart than they seemed, and the thorns easy enough to avoid. As she continued through the hedge, however, her way got trickier and trickier. Soon the branches caught on her clothing and skin, her feet tangled in the thick vines. Her skin was cut and burning from the scratches, and at one point, after stubbing her toe, she looked down and saw the skull of something small, gleaming white in the gloom.
After spying that macabre totem, she struggled on, faster and faster, thorns scoring her face and arms, branches twisting into her clothing, until she found that she could not move forward. She fought the hedges around her, but only succeeded in getting more caught up in their suffocating embrace.
She finally stopped, and stood alone in the hedge. Tears dropped from her eyes, stinging as they landed in the scrapes on her face. I will be lost here, forever, she thought, and someday, my bones will join the other victims of these cursed plants. She wept, feeling more helpless and hopeless than she ever did back in her village.
She jumped as a high voice came from near her feet.
“Why are you dripping?”
She looked down, and saw a small weasel looking up at her.
“It is called crying,” she said, sniffing, “and my kin cry when we are upset.”
“Why are you upset?”
“Because I am never getting out of this hedge,” she replied. “I will be stuck here until I die, and I become just another set of bones lost to the bushes.”
“Come, now,” the weasel replied, and it trilled in a way that made her think it was laughing. “You are almost there! The cottage is just a few steps ahead of you. You just need to calm yourself, and stop fighting every little branch and bramble in your way.”
“What?”
“You are fighting everything, when you really only need to fight some things,” the weasel explained. “Find the big branches that are in your way, and move those first. Or if there are many branches tangled together, find the bottom one and lift that, moving the others out of your way. You don’t need to fight them all.” The weasel said all of this as if it were perfectly obvious.
She took some steadying breaths, and looked around once more. The hedge did seem to thin ahead of her, now that she looked, and she could see the patterns the weasel had described.
“Thank you, friend,” she said, and the weasel nodded in approval.
“You will make it,” the weasel replied. “Remember – there is more than one way of being stuck, but the answer to all is to breathe, and reassess. Not all is as lost as it appears.”
She had the feeling the weasel was talking about more than the hedges, but before she could ask, she saw a furry tail disappear into the undergrowth.
Taking the advice, she worked through the remaining hedge calmly, considerately, until she finally broke out into the clearing, leaving the grasping plants behind her.
She walked toward the cottage, noticing the drawn shutters, the lack of smoke coming from the little chimney. She knocked gently on the door.
“Hello?”
The door swung open abruptly, and she almost tumbled inside.
“What do you want?” a creaky voice asked her.
She recovered her balance, and looked at the occupant of the cottage. It was a woman, not old, yet not young, with a scowl scrawled across her face. The witch glared at her.
“I asked, what do you want?”
She stammered again. “I was sent, you see, by the forest folk. They are worried about your-”
“What do they want with me? I keep to myself. I don’t bother anyone. I just have my hedges, you see, to keep things like them, like you, out of my home,” the witch snarled.
“But your hedges are hurting them!” she cried. “You have taken away their fresh water, and your plants are eating them, and going deeper and deeper into the forest!”
The witch glared at her. “So what?”
She began to get angry. “You don’t care that you are hurting innocent creatures? You don’t care that you are causing fear and destruction with your walls?”
The witch took a small step back. “I’m just trying to keep to myself.”
The weasel’s words floated across her mind. She looked at the witch again, really looked, and saw worry, fatigue, and resignation etched in her face. Her eyes held the hunted look of a doe that heard the baying of dogs on her heels.
“What are you hiding from?” she asked softly, and it was the witch’s turn to look scared.
“What could I possibly be hiding from?” the witch hissed.
“I don’t know. You tell me.”
The witch considered her for a moment. “Come in,” she said abruptly, turning and disappearing into the shadowy house.
She followed, and to her surprise, the inside of the cottage was not as dismal as she had anticipated.
The witch walked over to a small table, with cards spread on its surface. The witch gestured to the cards, eyes on her.
“I read the cards, and the future they tell me is bleak. No hope, no joy, no contentment, even. Just greed, and despair, and destruction. That is why I came here. That is why I build my hedges. To keep all that misery away from me.”
She considered what the witch said. “Can you show me?”
The witch laughed, not a cackle, but a more melodious sound, thought still tinged with melancholy. She flipped a card from the top of the deck. It showed a bird the color of fire, wrestling a cool-toned dragon. “Death,” the witch said simply.
She considered the card, and again, she heard a whisper in her mind. Not all is as lost as it appears. Breathe and reassess. “Maybe,” she said slowly, eyes on the twisting shapes on the card. “Maybe it doesn’t actually mean dying. Maybe it means change. Transformation. Moving from one state to another, or maybe it means there is a cycle to be followed.” She looked up at the witch. “Maybe it means you are stuck, and need to find a way to move past it.”
The witch stared at her. “Where did you get such ideas?”
She smiled. “A new friend of mine gave me some advice. You can’t fight everything. You just need to fight the things that matter, that are within your reach. Maybe that is what your cards are telling you. You need to transform, move away from the person who fears and fights everything in her path, and become someone else, someone who can see the patterns of the world, can see what fights really need to be fought, and work on those. Make a change in the world, make it a better place.”
The witch stood frozen, watching her. Finally, she spoke quietly. “Interesting advice.”
She shrugged. “It helped me through your thicket. Maybe it will help you, too.”
The witch closed her eyes, taking a deep, even breath.
She watched as the witch seemed to soften, as the lines on her face smoothed, as the streaks of white in her hair vanished. In a moment, a much younger woman stood before her.
The witch opened her eyes, shaking out her hair, examining her hands. “That’s better,” she said to herself, then looked up. “Thank you, young one. I had been stuck here, in my own head, for far too long.” She gestured to the door. “You will see that my hedges are gone, and the stream is clear again. Please,” and she sounded a little uncertain, “please send my apologies to the forest folk. I meant them no harm, and I grieve to know that I have caused it anyway.”
She nodded in assent, turning to leave the cottage.
“Wait!”
She paused, turning back to the witch.
The now beautiful witch held out her hand, and a small blue stone balanced on her palm. “Take this,” she said. “If you ever need help, or a reading, or even,” she blushed slightly, “just to chat, hold this stone and think of me, and I will know how to find you.”
She accepted the stone with thanks, and left the cottage. As she crossed the threshold, it felt as though she had stepped into a brilliant sunbeam, even though the trees dappled the light through the trees. She looked down at her arms, and was surprised to see her scrapes and cuts had vanished.
She looked around the clearing, and as the witch had said, it was now free of twisted hedges. The stream sang as it ran past her, clear and bright. The family of foxes was watching, and wagged their tails on her approach.
“I knew you could do it!” the kit chirped, and he raced in circles around her feet.
“Thank you,” his father said, looking at her with bright eyes. “If those bushes had made their way further into the forest, who knows what could have happened.”
“You have our thanks, and the thanks of the forest folk,” the mother fox added. “If you shall ever need our services, just ask the blackbirds. They will pass along your message.”
With a swish of their tails, the fox family vanished into the forest.
She began to walk back the way she had come, back to her home, and the duties that awaited her. She had felt stuck in her life before today, but now, she thought she might be able to see more clearly. She could see that not everything needed to be a battle, and that if she stopped for a moment, breathed, and really looked around her, she would be able to find her way through any situation.
Inspired by the Eight of Swords from the Shadowscapes Companion tarot deck, by Stephanie Pui-Mun Law and Barbara Moore.
© The Lightning Tower, 2020