a White Lotus Story and an Epilogue

Willow Daheed closed her spellbook, set it aside, and stood from her chair in the small library. Through the walls of the cloister where she and the others were staying, she could hear the old paladin's mild grumble raised in irritation. In the two months she had known him, the only thing that irritated him were the pair of elemental monks they'd picked up on their way to this troubled little hamlet of Inkewell. She imagined there would be a rucks next and she wasn't interested in hanging around for that.

Willow had garnered a reputation with the White Lotus Council of Arcane Developments. She had created a variety of spells from Fuse Forms to Split Form, Quickpack to Helping Hand, [X to Y], some of which were useful, some of which solved problems, some of which were just unlike anything the Council had seen before. So when the city council of Inkwell had informed the White Lotus elders of "their little undead situation", someone on the Council of Arcane Development had suggested Willow's penchant for creating new spells might be a way to solve the problem.

They hadn't sent her on her own, of course, but had assigned her protection. The first was a grizzled old paladin of Mount Holy Divine, with pale skin and fine white hair, who communicated more in bass grunts and flat looks than actual words. The others were a pair of monks from the Monastery of Elemental Mastery. The boys fought and teased like adolescent lovers. Onella, in his orange robes, was a caldumancer, able to access and channel energy from the elemental plane of heat. Talish, in greenish blue, was a limumancer, channeling energy from the elemental plane of slime.

The paladin was a martial paragon wielding sword, shield, and armor with such practiced skill he made it seem rote. The man could channel limited energy from the positive energy plane to harm undead or heal the living. The elemental monks, while they didn't have the paladin's expertise more than made up for it with enthusiasm and raw power. Neither heat nor slime was specifically effective against undead, but enough heat could burn rotting flesh and dissipate ectoplasm while slime could be shaped into any useful form: blades, rams, walls and so on.

The variety of undead, from ghost to zombies to vampire to wights to ghouls to specters were no match for those three. She should have been happy to have them.

Instead she found their presence irritating.

The grumbling turned into a ruckus, as predicted. Willow left the small library and headed down the hall for the door, irritated with the distraction, biting her tongue on a caustic remark. She was sick of those two boys arguing with each other, and sick of the paternal attitude the paladin had taken with them. It grated at the inside of her skull and she had to get out of there.

"But he started it!" Willow recognized the plaintive voice of Onella, the cauldumancer. Willow knew the objection would do him no good and a few moments later the boy squawked. She could imagine how he flailed as the gruff, old paladin took the young monk over his knee. Only moments later the sound of a heavy spanking filled the small cloister.

Willow pushed her way outside.

The city of Inkwell was small by White Lotus standards. Still, it had cobbled streets and a large town hall and a sturdy stone church. Some of the smaller homes were still thatched, but most buildings were roofed in clay shingles. The city filled most of its little vale in the foothills of the Nayathan mountain range. To the north of city the broad, slow, Black Lotus River wound through the foothills making small lakes here and there where the valleys were deep enough. Upriver, in the wild Nayathan range, the Black Lotus River spilled over, around, and past Mount St. Fawkes, a grumbly sort of volcano with a perpetual cloud of ash hanging about.

Much of the ash made its way into the Black Lotus River. Harvesting the mix of silt, clay, and ash from riverbanks and lakebeds produced some of the finest ink in the world, vital to the White Lotus because it absorbed magic easily, allowing for writing of spellbooks. It was the primary financial force of Inkwell.

Willow had gone through pots and pots of the ink herself.

The sturdy stone church and adjoining cloister stood on the east end of town and wasn't far from the surrounding hills. Willow made her way to the newly constructed gate on the east side of town. The gate was rude and constructed of fresh wood. It was only temporary. When he wasn't discipline the monk boys, the old paladin was overseeing construction of defensive structure to encircle the city. The folk of Inkwell were busy hauling and shaping stone for a more permanent structure.

Once out of town, Willow followed a well-worn path switched up the side of a hillock overlooking the city. She made her way to the trunk of a broad, leafy tree that provided welcome shade from the midsummer sun. Even though it was early, just past breakfast, the sun was already plenty warm.

It was fortunate this sudden outbreak of undead had come at the height of summer. Long, hot days and short, mild nights made for less time that the undead could menace Inkwell.

But it wouldn't be enough.

Even with every able-bodied adult taking a shift as guardsfolk, even pouring all their resources into building walls, even with the help of the paladin and the monks, it was getting harder for Inkwell to keep up. Each night, more and more undead menaced the city of Inkwell.

She sat on the soft grass and leaned back against eh rough bark of the tree.

Willow had spent two weeks in Inkwell, two weeks on the problem, and had no solution. Only a bigger problem. Willow didn't think she could handle this on her own and she didn't think there was time to call for support from the White Lotus. She'd sent them a letter, but Inkwell needed a solution now if not sooner.

On an excursion to the south, where most of the undead seemed to be coming from, a few local trackers had taken them to a place devoid of life, both plant and animal, where the earth was cracked and dusty, where the air smelled dead. The trackers took them to an abandoned copper mine. A few basic divination spells told her the old mine was pulsing with infernal energy.

It was a hellmouth.

• • •

Dor drifted aimlessly through L-Space clad only in her pale yellow Hufflepuff nightie. It was light upon her shoulders and loose about her hips leaving much of her legs and all of her arms bare to the quiet, comfortable air of the book-lined passageways. She had no particular destination, no particular purpose, only to let her mind wander, or, perhaps, to wander through her mind.

She paused when the mood took her and skimmed titles on bookspines nearest her: The Toadstool-Koopa Wars, A Rhapsody for Bohemia, The Wheel of Time. She felt at peace with the return of Excalibur and Ravenclaw's Diadem to their homeplanes. And though the weight of the rest of the artifacts held in her grimoire still pressed upon her mind, she knew, now, how to right Mr. Quillon's irresponsible wrong. And she felt up to the task.

She wandered on, paused to peruse a few more (The Lion and the Five Deadly Serpents, Lives of Unforgetting, Flying the Heart of the Lafayette Escadrille) and wandered on again.

She came upon one in particular that caught attention. The cover was pale lavender with a stark, white flower stamped upon the spine. She pulled it from the shelf and opened it: A Cosmology of Lotusvale and its Elemental Planes.

The book tugged at her, insistent, but not demanding, and a corridor folded open before her, the book-packed shelves making way and leading to a new place.

Dor closed the book and tapped her chin thoughtfully, then nodded and followed the path.

• • •

She stepped onto a grassy hillock under a shady tree to find a young woman in a plain, worn dress spotted with ink. She had pale grey eyes and dark brown skin and springy black hair.

"Hello," said Dor gently, trying not to startle the woman. "I was wandering around the library and felt a… pull."

Willow straightened, startled, but the girl obviously wasn't undead, so she relaxed again. She supposed the girl must be a citizen of Inkwell. But then why was she dressed in only a nightgown and why had she mentioned the library? Distracted from her train of thought, again, Willow frowned at the girl.

Dor swallowed and put her hands behind her back, but she didn't cringe. "My name is Dorothy. I'm a planeswalker. I was in L-Space when I was tugged this way. I got the impression someone here wanted my attention. If I've bothered you…"

"A planeswalker? Are you a mage?"

Dor nodded.

"And you felt my need."

Dor bit her lower lip and shrugged. "I suppose so. I'm still fairly new to all this."

"Well, unless you're an expert at crafting new spells, I'm not sure you'll be of much help to me."

Dor found herself smiling. "I wouldn't say I'm an expert, but I've got seventeen spells in my mental grimoire."

Willow was impressed. This girl seemed quite young to have developed seventeen spells. Perhaps she could help after all. In the next moment, she found the words spilling from her.

"Inkwell is plagued by a hellmouth excreting undead. I'm supposed to do something about it. I've come up with dozens of spells over the years, but I have no idea what I could come up with that will outlast a hellmouth." Willow looked at her lap, embarrassed.

Dor sucked at her lips for several moments. On the one hand, there was nothing holding her here, to this place or this plane of existence. On the other, Willow's need had pulled her here and she wanted to help.

"May I sit with you?" Dor asked.

Willow shrugged and gestured. Dor sat on the grass, smoothing her Hufflepuff nightie under her backside. They were the only two on the hill, so she didn't worry about being immodest. She stretched her legs and pointed her toes and crossed her ankles.

"If you don't mind, could we start at the beginning?" Dor asked.

"What do you mean?"

"What's a hellmouth?"

Willow chuckled. "I thought you said you were familiar with the planes. A planeswalker?"

"I'm familiar with some of them."

"All right. Fair enough. A hellmouth is any portal to the Infernal Plane. This one seems connected specifically to a region of necromantic energy, summoning and creating zombies and ghosts and any variation thereof."

Dor shivered. She'd yet to encounter such creatures on her planeswalking. "All right. What does it take to close a hellmouth?"

"Elemental portals are fickle things, but the Infernal Plane in particular hungers for those of us born to the Prime Material plane, so it tends to be harder to get rid of. A dedicated priest with items infused with energy from the Celestial Plane, daily applications of holy water, that sort of thing, can contain the energies of a hellmouth. Even close it eventually. But I'm not a priest. We haven't got a priest of that caliber with us. And the undead are getting stronger. We need something soon."

"So it won't be as simple as finding and casting the right enchantment."

"I've tried that, but the opposing magics wear at each other, and since the hellmouth is a portal and an enchantment is finite, the hellmouth wins out."

"You need something to anchor this celestial energy to," Dor said, thinking out loud. "Something that won't wear away. Which is why you said you need help from someone who can create spells."

Willow nodded. "I'm pretty good at it, but usually I'm working in a library, in my own practice room. Developing a new spell requires months of research at least."

"Not for me it doesn't."

Willow gave her a skeptical look.

"I'm being serious. I'm still new at it, still figuring it out, but my magic depends upon observing others. Sometimes it takes weeks of training and observation, but sometimes I'll see something and develop a spell instantaneously." Dor looked into her mindpocket took hold of her grimoire, and pulled it out.

"When I develop a spell, it comes easiest if my mind, body, and emotions are united somehow." She opened the book to reveal plastic, nine-pocket pages, each pocket holding a playing card. She withdrew [Minwu's Cura] and handed it to Willow.

Willow took the card. The first thing she noticed was the weight, not that the card was heavy, but that it was more than it seemed, like looking at the surface of the ocean on a clear, calm day. It might appear nothing more than a blue reflection, but it was wide and deep and could change in an instant. The art of the card depicted a serene, pink-haired woman in white robes. The writing was in a language she didn't know, but looking at or was like reading an entire spell's background and theory all at once.

Willow closed her eyes and looked away, fearing a headache. She handed the card back. "That's impressive, but I don't know if it helps."

"You said you've developed all kinds of spells. Maybe working together, I can help you make it faster."

Again, Willow was skeptical.

"What spell would you write to fix this problem, given all the time and resources you need?" Dor prompted.

"Like you said, something to anchor the celestial energies. But something not easily worn away. Something that's tough and can repair itself.

Dor put her grimoire back in her mindpocket, pulled her knees to her chest, and pushed back against the tree, letting the rough bark press through her nightie, considering.

"But even then," Willow continued, "It would have to be something I could fill with the energy, somehow. A receptacle."

Dor looked up into the summer canopy of the tree. She smiled at what seemed like too simple an answer.

"How about a tree?"

Willow followed Dor's gaze and felt a faint smile twitch at her lips. "A tree. Hmm… how would that work? But there are no trees about the hellmouth, the infernal energy has killed all life nearby. But… Hmm…"

An idea began taking form in Dor's thoughts. Her grimoire fluttered open in her mindpocket. An empty, grey-scale card flickered onto the pages.

"You'd have to grow the tree," Dor said. "You'd have to plant it and grow it with magic. It'd have to be fully grown, so it'd be tough. And it'd have to be made from celestial energy, so it could counter the hellmouth."

Willow gasped with sudden excitement. She grabbed Dor's shoulder as possibilities scattered through her mind, organizing and reorganizing, moving faster than she could articulate. "We have to expand the scope. I mean, the spell's scope. Not just celestial. Any seed. Any tree. I mean for this, yes, celestial, but the spell: anything."

Dor nodded. "I see. An anything tree, as it were."

The grinned at each other; then Willow frowned.

"This is an extraordinarily ambitious spell. It'll take research, preparation, testing and retesting."

But Dor could see color easing into the border of the empty playing card in her mind. She could hear the clacking of type at the edge of hearing. She could feel the tingle of power along her shoulders and knew if she could just focus, just align her thoughts and emotions, she could make this happen. She'd managed it with Twilight Sparkle in the Everfree Forest, she should be able to do it again.

"May I have permission to use telepathy with you?" Dor asked.

Willow's frown faltered. "You're a psionicist too?"

Dor shook her head. "I've trained with one, though, and have a spell. You?"

Willow nodded. "I'm a mage, monk, and psionicist, but not terribly good at any of the three. Still, it's a rare combination and has served me well in developing spells." She shifted and sat up straight, folding her legs over each other in lotus position.

Dor mimicked the woman as best she could. She reached into her mindpocket, put her finger on [Jean's Telepathy], and cast the spell.

Their minds reached for each other gently, carefully, tentatively. They had only just met, after all, and though their shared enthusiasm for the creation of a brand new spell pushed at them eagerly, both were shy of strangers.

From Willow, Dor got a sense of study, knowledge, and experience. Willow had dedicated her life to studying all forms of aetheric manipulation: from arcane manipulation unaligned elemental to the divine channeling of moral and chaotic energies to the flow of chi within a body to the disciplined mind effecting the physical.

From Dor, Willow got a sense of deep well of potential, a struggle to align body, mind, and soul, a trio of philosophies that, should she manage it, would allow her to grasp the greatest powers in this universe and any other. Willow sensed Dor's uncertainty. It was a familiar feeling.

Most importantly to the task at hand, Willow could see the blank playing card slowly gaining a golden hue about its edges. That would be let to creating the spell. Dor had developed a remarkable shortcut to the meticulous research of background, philosophy, and context Willow engaged to create spells. Evening from the color of the border to the vocabulary, to the tempting, to the art, accomplished on a playing card what Willow did on page after page of careful writing.

"It just… came to me," Dor said, apologetic.

"Don't apologize. This is a gift. Just strive to use it well."

Willow did not have a mindpocket like Dor did. Even so, her thoughts were practiced, organized. She already had a dozen and a half ideas for how the spell would work.

"Somehow, we've got to get all that…" Dor gestured telepathically at Willow's ideas.

Willow nodded and gestured at Dor's playing card. "... into that."

Dor couldn't help but think on the spells she'd created. They'd almost all been upon observing someone else.

"That's not a negative," said Willow.

"I feel like a cheater," said Dor.

"The distillation off complex aetheric formulae is a rare skill. Can you do it on purpose?"

But they both knew the answer. She had, but only rarely, when at focused pace or furious distress. Each other time seemed to have been accidental. Which was frustrating to the point of distraction.

"We could address that, given time. You struggle to align three forces: white, blue, and red. The white and blue, though with differences, are allied. But the red opposes them both. You could seek to excise the red. It would hurt but then you'd be aligned. Or you could find common ground. The white is your center; the blue is your mind; the red is your passion. I think you fear that passion. Embrace it or remove it. Either will help you find clarity. But do not sit in indecision."

The realization passed from Willow to Dor in a moment. Most distressingly that she would be unable to help Willow create this spell on purpose.

"How did you do it on purpose before?"

Dor tried very hard not to think of being spanked. She remembered the relative ease of [Dor's Mindpocket], the week of training for [Kya's Waterbending], the careful meditation of [Rainbow's Dash].

"But one was personal and the others you were with someone you love. We've only just met."

Willow's frank insight startled Dor. The thoughts she tried to hide exploded from her: Sister Mary Margaret spanking her until she teleported, Master Finnaolin threatening her until she transformed into a dragon, Starswirl the Bearded spanking her until she developed telepathy.

"I see. Very well."

"Wait," said Dor. But even as she hesitated, she knew she'd allow herself to be spanked if it meant she could help. Willow stood and raised a hand to the tree above. She spoke a quick chant and green energy coalesced in the shape of a hand to pluck a thin branch, a switch, Dor realized, from the tree, quickly stripping out of extraneous twigs and trees. Dor felt her middle had gone huh hollow. She tried to swallow and found her mouth dry. She's willingly submitted to spankings, but it hasn't gotten easier.

As her magic worked, Willow pulled her dress over her head. Underneath, she wore a simple, grey shift. It, too, was ink spotted, and Willow pulled that off next, leaving her bare but for a pair of simple drawers, like Dor had worn at St. Bridget's.

Stunned, Dor stared. Willow was a mother woman, smoothly muscled, and attractive if the situation hasn't been so sudden. Dor blushed and knew she couldn't hide her thoughts.

"I've never done this before, but I gather you'll need to be thorough and rhythmic." Willow held the newly prepared switch out to Dor.

Numb, Dor took the switch. " You've never been spanked?"

Willow laughed. "No, no. I've been spanked. A lot. But not in an attempt to induce spontaneous spell creation while telepathically connected to an interdimentional Wizard I've only just met."

Willow knelt before Dor. Her her eyes were bright with excitement. Her dark, springy hair swayed in a gentle breeze. Behind her clouds built against the peaks of a distant mountain range.

"Remember, we're trying to align your thoughts and emotions. My guess is spanking works because it's so overwhelming to mind, body, and soul. Keep your mind tied to mine."

Dor looked at the switch in her hand, then held it out to Willow. "I should be the one…"

Willow shook her head. "I'm not a terribly powerful psionicist, but I am practiced. I saw what it was like to grow up for you. You've got a… complicated relationship with corporal punishment. I'm not going to ask you to go through that for our sake." She grimaced. "Not that I'm especially excited to, but sometimes expediency is important."

Willow conjured a thick-legged stool, and Dor sat. Willow arranged herself over Dor's lap, her naked torso against Dor's bare thighs. Dor put the palm of her left hand on Willow's back and gripped the switch right with her right.

And Dor spanked her with the switch.

The switch cut through the air. Dor's bare arms shivered. The wood bit into Willow's bare backside, the woman's dark skin showing a thin pale line for a moment. Willow grunted. A cool zephyr blew over their little hillock, rustling the leaves of the tree and promising a hint of rain. Dor raised the switch again.

With their minds connected, Dor winced and tensed even as it was she who brought the switch down with a swip. Dor gave a breathy little gasp even as it was Willow's bottom that felt the sting. Dor felt her heartbeat increasing, thumping in her throat as she raised the swtich again.

This wasn't like spanking Kya. She'd spanked Kya for lying to her, for putting them in danger without consent. Spanking Kya had been done with excitement and love and frustration. This wasn't like spanking Ben. She'd snaked Ben for misusing his powers, for harassing his cousin. Spanking Ben had been done with righteous fury tempered by uncertainty. Now was it like spanking the dragon boys, a pair of spoiled, is goodhearted, children.

But this was an attempt to create an experience to achieve an end. So she kept her movements rhythmic and her mind tied to Willow's and tried to empty herself of anything resembling fear or doubt or (third) so the tingling power could fill her.

A flash of light flickered just outside her field of vision on the storm clouds in the distance. In the shade of their tree, the vanguard tendrils of the coming storm were like icy fingers even in the building summer morning.

The swip-bite, swip-bite, swip-bite of the switch marched stripes down Willow's naked bottom building…

building…

building…

A pressure in their collective chest. The card in their mind changed from grey to gold. In the upper right, a familiar alabaster sunburst, but also an emerald tree, a symbol not present on any of her other spells. The was a disconcordant moment when Dor tried to pull away from the unfamiliar magic and Willow tried to embrace it. Then the switch landed and they were in the moment again.

Thunder rumbled far distant, but rolling closer.

A title appeared in the top left of the golden playing card in her mind: Anything Tree. And with the title, it was like the pressure in their chest was released, flooding throughout them in a gasping wave. She let it, accepting the shuddering tears, the burning pain, the gasps for breath, alternately summer hot and rainstorm cold.

A depiction of a tree grew in the center of the playing card: a large-boled, solid looking tree with dark green foliage and thick bark. It was unclear what kind of tree it was, but that was the point. It would grow from any seed and would stand patiently against whatever might push against it.

Anything Tree

Cost: 1GGW

Type: Tribal Sorcery – Tree

Text: Exile a non-creature, non-planeswalker permanent in your hand, on your battlefield, or in your graveyard.

Create an Anything Tree, a 0/X Tree creature token with defender (it can't attack.) The Anything Tree's toughness is equal to the exiled permanent's converted mana cost. It has all the colors and rules text of the exiled permanent.

The green symbols in the upper right were strange to her, but not off-putting. Initially, Dor had feared the red spells of Elmira Gulch, but had come to understand them as resonating with passion and emotion. This, though, she didn't understand, and she rolled the idea of green magic in her mind like an unfamiliar kind of food.

Dor thought she felt a smattering of rain on one arm.

Willow pushed to her feet, wiping away tears with one hand and rubbing at her backside with the other. Her eyes were wide and her smile broad, even though Dor knew her backside was a stinging fire.

"It worked," Willow said, stunned and distracted, like she was reading pages and pages of notes all at once.

"Thank goodness," said Dor.

"This… yes, this could work. We just need a seed." Willow grasped Dor's hand. "You're… you're amazing. Come on."

They hurried down the hill even as dark stormclouds boiled overhead, churning and folding, lightning dancing through their crenelations. Thunder grumbled insistently. By the time they reached the bottom of the hill, rain felt gently about them, spattering on grass and filling the air with its smell.

The people of Inkwell stared at them as they passed, the eccentric mage woman of the White Lotus, ostensibly sent to help them with their problem, and a girl they'd never seen before, dashing about like madfolk. They stared until the two were lost the corners of the city, and returned to work. At least the cool of the rain was better than the pounding heat of summer, and the wall certainly wasn't going to build itself.

By the time Willow and Dor approached the cloister off the church, the rain was coming down hard and they were thoroughly damp and buzzing with the excitement of success and a pressure to take all the next steps at once.

When they burst into the front room of the cloister, then found the old paladin sitting upon a cushioned, leather chair by the window, reading from a little, leather-bound book. Onella, the monk boy in orange sat cross-legged on the floor in front of Talish, the monk boy in teal. Talish sat upon a simple stool and ran a comb through Onella's hair. Dor realized she knew these three because she was still connected to Willow through [Jean's Telepathy]. The men looked up at two of them, startled, and that's when Dor realized she was still clad in nothing but her Hufflepuff nightie, and Willow was without clothes entirely. Their shared excitement had blinded them to all else.

Dor blushed and let the telepathy drop. She called upon [Dor's Mindpocket] and dressed in an instant in her Hogwartian uniform, complete with vest and tie.

Willow seemed unconcerned with her nakedness. She pointed at the paladin. "I need runes of warding, light, and positive energy. As many as you know and in every translation you can think of." The paladin nodded without hesitation. He stood and went down the hallway to the library. Willow pointed at the monk boys. "Go find Nun Doyle. We need her most powerful holy objects, preferable silver. And if one of them is a cup, that would be ideal. The boys blinked at her, uncertain, and Willow clapped her hands sharply. "Now!" The boys scrambled to obey.

• • •

The storm settled over Inkwell for the night. It made things difficult on the guardsfolk serving a shift at the makeshift and incomplete walls of the city. But Nun Doyle had put out word that the spellmaker of the White Lotus had come up with a solution, that they had to hold on for just one more night, so there were many in the city who volunteered. The held back the zombies and slayed the vampires and dispersed the ghosts with their silver weapons, the simple incantations, their candle lanterns enhanced with silver mirrors.

In the little cloister off the church, Willow directed the creation of the seed of their very first Anything Tree. Nun Doyle had provided a silver flask. It was a pentagonal prism, about the size of a melon, made from silver and set with pearl, sapphire, jet, ruby, and emerald. The top fluted into a thick neck in which could be screwed a cap in the shape of a thick ring. It had to be the gaudiest, most expensive item in all of Inkwell, an otherwise grey and staid sort of place. It was a flask for creating holy water, Non Doyle had explained. Filling it to the brim with any sort of liquid would infuse that liquid with positive celestial energy.

She directed Onella to channel his heat finely so as to impress celestial words for protection and light and life, line after line, into each of the five silver faces of the flask. The paladin provided each line, each word, each character from books he pulled from the cloister's library. And when they were finished, Talish pulled at the elemental plane of ooze and pulled a thin, gentle stream to pour into the flask. It was a thick, translucent gel with a faint teal sheen and smelled faintly of succulents. When the flask was full, it glowed with gentle, holy light.

• • •

When morning came, the storm had passed, washing away the grit and dust of summer, the ashy taste of a distant volcano, the stink and itch of undead. The guardsfolk of Inkwell and their volunteers had held back the night. There were several injuries, a smattering of them serious, but no one had died.

The paladin carried the silver flask, flanked by Onella and Talish, the boys thick with pride. Willow trailed behind, muttering to herself and flicking her fingers as though she held a sheaf of papers. Dor walked next to her. When Willow suddenly stopped, expression uncertain, Dor put a hand on her shoulder.

"It will work," Dor said.

"What if it doesn't? I haven't done any tests."

"I've got the spell too. We've got more than one try."

Willow smiled. They'd met only yesterday morning, but already they'd shared more than most.

As they walked from the church to the south gate, they collected a gathering. Guardsfolk, exhausted from the night's fighting, children exhausted from fearful sleep, people of all stripes and kind curious at what the representatives of the White Lotus had come up with, hopeful but cautious. And by the time they left the city they had a sizable following.

The hellmouth was a dark hole in a dead landscape. A stinking cold breeze emanated it, like breath from the back end of a skunk long dead. Dor felt the infernal energy itching along her skin. The group stopped, and all eyes were on Willow.

Willow swallowed hard.

"Do you want me to go with you?" Dor asked.

Willow's jaw set, but she nodded.

Together, they approached the hellmouth until they stood just outside it. The line between the summer morning and the dark of the cave was stark, like a solid thing.

"Right here," Willow said. She dropped to her knees.

Dor did the same. "Shall I…"

Willow nodded, so Dor pulled her wand from its sheath at her belt and cast [Pince's Catalogue] or order her thoughts, then [Jean's Telepathy] to connect hers to Willow's. They felt the paladin approach, carrying the flask in both arms, the elemental monks flanking him. Willow pointed and the paladin set the silver flask between them, then retreated, giving them space. Willow and Dor breathed for several moments before Willow began to chant. It was a careful chant of steady, inevitable growth, of stalwart harmony, of unshakable purpose.

Dor felt the tingle along her shoulders, the sun on her back, and the harmony of the chant. At its conclusion, the grimoire shuffled open in her mind and [Anything Tree] shone bright. She let the power tingle down her arm to her wand and channeled it through the spell.

The silver flask pushed into the dead earth.

For several moments, it must have seemed to anyone watching that nothing had happened. But Willow and Dor could feel the rapid growth of the seed as it shifted and split, sending roots deep, seeking the living soil beneath this dead crust, sending shoots up, seeking the sun. When it broke through, it was little more than a silvery stick, little more than a branch, but as soon as the roots found purchase in the soil of the foothills, the tree grew so rapidly Willow and Dor had to scramble out of the way.

The trunk was roughly pentagonal, with smooth, silvery bark, crenelated with what might have been holy symbols or might have been happenstance. It was thicker around than even the paladin could have encircled with his arms and twice as tall as the church. Its limbs spread in a wide canopy in five distinct parts but intertwined. It lowest limbs were thick and inviting and Dor felt an urge to climb into it. The leaves were so vibrant as to be startling. They were green, as expected, but also white and blue and red and even black. It was a sturdy tree within moments and a bulwark within minutes and half an hour later, it was an arboreal titan exuding an aura protection and light and life, holy sap beading upon its leaf tips.

Just past the tree's trunk, the dark of the hellmouth was barely visible.

• • •

Dor and Willow sat under the tree they'd grown with their jointly created spell, meditating in unison, aided by telepath and careful breathing. The cave beyond the tree was still dark and dank and musty, but it no longer exuded infernal menace. The earth under the tree's canopy wasn't so dry and cracked.

They weren't the only visitors to the tree, others sat here and there in quiet contemplation. Nun Doyle had declared the tree a holy site and visiting it had become a kind of pilgrimage. Dor had grown up in a religious orphanage. She'd read the bible and been spanked for daring to believe in anything else. She hadn't thought much on religion since leaving. She half expected to have no patience for, but found she didn't mind what little she'd seen of the White Lotus style of faith.

"Your understanding of magic divides the multiverse into five distinct philosophies," Willow said, voice quite under the gentle susurrus of the tree's multicolored canopy. Another summer storm grumbled from the south, making its way through the wild Nayathan mountain range, stirring up Mount St. Fawkes, and promising heavy rain.

Dor knew the tree would protect all under its canopy from the storm.

"And yet," Willow continued, "each of those five is part of a greater whole. I think the solution to your inability to purposely create spells is dependent upon your lack of integration. Earlier I recommended you seek to exercise or embrace the red aspect, now I think you would be best served to understand and integrate all five colors."

Dor let the words wash over her, dancing through her thoughts, kissing at her skin, tingling at her shoulders.

The back of each playing card of her grimoire featured a leather-brown field emblazoned with five colored orbs like the points of a pentagon: white at the apex and, moving clockwise, blue, black, red, and green. White resonated with her as naturally as breathing, blue was a simple thought and red she was growing accustomed to. But green felt foreign, like an unfamiliar taste, and black made her itch.

"It won't be easy," Willow conceded. "It may well be the work of a lifetime. You know where you're comfortable, and that's fine, but if you want to master your power, if you want to master yourself, you must understand the whole."

They breathed together. The scent of thick mountain summer rain filled the air. Some hurried to return to the city of Inkwell and the sheltering roofs it provided, but they stayed. A few droplets plopped to the earth at the edges of the canopy's reach.