They needed light. Ladine had said they needed all the light they could find. Where had the candles gone? They were supposed to be here, in this little box on the shelf. It’s my job to tend to these and I haven’t been… She thought, feeling her chest constrict as if a cold hand were gripping her heart from behind. I’m meant to be the keeper of these supplies, this whole closet, and look what a fine job I’ve done.

    The rustling continued, Ruairi struggling to look through every corner of every shelf, pushing aside bottles and small baskets that were meant to be filled with all manner of magical things but were mostly half-empty or completely empty.

Oh, I’ve failed, Ladine will surely sever my bond with the coven… Her thoughts raced alongside her heart, and she finally sighed and sat back on her heels, staring into the depths of the little closet. They’d all been a coven for scarcely four months, and already Ruairi was failing at it all. Instead of keeping inventory and making sure all the supplies were always ready to go, she’d been laying in front of Ladine’s hearth, reading her big grimoire, mooching off her pantry. It was a wonder Ladine hadn’t kicked Ruairi out of the little house already, let alone out of the coven.

The young woman’s hands pushed into her curly hair, copper strands tangling around pale fingers. Her eyes closed as she let out a slow breath, imagining all of the tension and panic settling into the cool floor below her. The earth took it, and Ruairi shifted to sit fully on the floor instead of her heels. There was a way to fix this in time, before the ritual at sunrise. She just had to figure it out. She could figure it out. Right?

No, you can’t, you’re just as lazy and useless as you’ve always been. Her father’s voice was in her head now, and she cringed away from it. He’d given her a boy’s name in hopes that she’d be the son he’d wanted, instead of the daughter he’d gotten. He’d been the one to drag her from the kitchen when she was but eleven and make her do the harder farm chores that she didn’t have the muscles or stamina for. And instead of listening to her when she tried to tearfully explain, he’d just shoved her back to her mother, insisting she was lazy and worthless and he’d rather spend what little money they had on hiring farmhands.

It’s your fault, you went and played in the garden instead of doing what was asked of you. Just like always. He spoke in her head again, and Ruairi pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes. He’d been gone, buried, for six years now. Why was he still haunting her? So what if she wanted to go work in the garden rather than stock a pantry? She was good with the plants! Ladine’s garden had seen the largest harvest it ever had under Ruairi’s hands! Even now in the middle of winter the mullein stalks were tall, even if dried… Wait…

Ruairi lowered her hands, looking to the middle shelf in the little closet. A precious glass jar, big as her head, had sat there since before the coven had commandeered this space for their supplies. It was full of beeswax, melted and cleaned and melted again to make it as pure as possible. The same stuff their most precious candles were made of. Ruairi had an idea.

Cloak wrapped loosely around her shoulders, snow sticking to the hem of her skirts, Ruairi hacked away at the mullein stalks in the garden. They were dry and almost brittle, and should have been cut down months ago to use for mulch, but they’d be of use now. She didn’t feel the cold as much as she thought, the glow of her idea and the excitement of making something new fueling her work. Half an hour later, her apron was full of stalks and she was making her way back to the hearth she’d spent so many hours in front of.

Ladine’s old soup pot would be perfect. It wasn’t used for food anymore, only randomly for rituals that involved burning something. It had already been marked for the craft. About half the beeswax would probably be alright to use, it had been sitting at the same level ever since Ruairi had first laid eyes on it. If Ladine asked her to buy more, she would.

Once the wax was soft and reminiscent of honey, Ruairi twirled the mullein stalks she’d trimmed into it, leaving a few inches to grab onto at the end of each one. The main room of Ladine’s little house smelled like spring, warm and slightly floral. When all was said and done, Ruairi had enough makeshift candles for each member of the coven, and more to last them until she restocked the supply closet.

The work took her until Ladine returned home from her own work, out helping the townsfolk with various illnesses and injuries. Ceangal didn’t have a proper physician quite yet.

“What are you up to over there, girl?” The old woman called, unwrapping her scarf and cloak, hanging them on the pegs by the door.

“My work!” Ruairi called cheerfully, and Ladine nodded, and that was all that needed said.

At sunrise, the coven gathered in the clearing of the woods near Ladine’s house, singing softly as they watched the sun make its slow ascent over the tops of the trees. Each member held a candle, handmade by one of their own at the last minute, and smelling of the spring they were heralding in.

The night after, Ruairi retrieved the beeswax container from the closet and took it to Ladine, who was at her workbench counting out individual seeds from one of her many jars of herbs. “What is it, girl?”

“I used some of this, I wouldn’t have needed to if I’d kept up on my duties. So, I’m sorry. If you want me to replace it, I will.” Ruairi set the jar on the edge of the workbench, then stepped back with her hands clasped behind her. Ladine’s counting paused, and she looked at the jar, squinting. Her eyes weren’t what they used to be, but that wasn’t shocking for a seventy-three year old woman.

“Hah! Girl! You used coven supplies for coven business, why would you feel bad about it?” Ladine laughed, returning to her counting. Ruairi fidgeted.

“I wouldn’t have needed to if we’d had our normal candles, if I hadn’t been so lazy-“

“Hush. You made right by yourself, and our ritual was all the more pleasant for it.” Ladine finished her count, put the seeds into a different bottle, and stoppered both it and the jar. She dusted her hands off and turned to face Ruairi, hands on her hips and looking every bit the Coven Mother she was. “I don’t ever want to hear you call yourself lazy again. There’s work that’s suited to you, and work that isn’t. And if you think I’m ever going to tell you to do something you’re not capable of, well you haven’t been paying attention.” Ladine’s smile was small but fond, and Ruairi’s fidgeting stopped. Her shoulders slumped, tension running off her like a waterfall.

“I’m sorry ma’am, I’ll remember that.”

“Yes you will. Now go get started on some candles before we run out of your nice mullein ones. Angus brought us back some wicks.” Ladine’s dismissal was as fond as her smile, and Ruairi’s grin as bright as her makeshift candles.

“Yes ma’am!”