Alie's Enchanted Halloween Recipes - Alie's Part

Two years ago, Alie invited me to a Halloween gathering at her home. I want to share this story, as it wasn't just Alie there, but also her close friends, Nora and Sirena. Though I had never met them in person, I knew that many of the tales Alie told me and the mixtures we prepared had roots in what she learned from friends in distant lands.

For the gathering, I chose a nice outfit, grabbed a bottle of champagne, and walked over to visit my neighbour. It was a cloudy, chilly night, with a hint of sleet in the air—a kind of evening I quite enjoyed. Alie had invited me over at ten, but since she’d reminded me to rest well, I had a feeling it would be a long night.

As I walked down the dark, damp path in her garden, laughter and voices filled with excitement echoed from her winter veranda. The space was lit by Alie's magical candles, their glow revealing how carefully she’d prepared. Shelves of books nestled among plants that had, over the years, come to dominate the area. In the centre was a round table laden with assorted ingredients, a red ember heater to keep us warm, and palo santo incense drifting around—truly, a scene more magical and enchanted than words can capture.

Nora and Sirena were as distinct as night and day in both appearance and character—one from the north, the other from the east. Before we gathered around the table, each was served a glass of the champagne I’d brought. As we sat, Alie wore her familiar, mischievous, and eager expression. “Welcome, friends! Tonight, we’ll be refreshed by the night’s energy and, more importantly, channel it through the mixtures we create.” She asked me to sit on the west side, herself on the south, and her friends in the directions they had travelled from, aligning us to the earth’s powerful energy points to harness them through our bodies for the blends.

Our first mixture was to be a protective charm. Of course, it was no ordinary concoction; it carried a legacy, a tale rooted in the past, as ancient as the ancestors. While we examined the ingredients, Alie began to recount its legend.

“This charm’s recipe reaches back nearly 5,000 years, to a time before maps and kingdoms, when people roamed untamed lands and women harnessed the forces of nature. In those times, a girl named Pythia was born. Not long after her birth, her mother passed from a cruel illness. She stayed with her father through her youth, but village life could not contain her. A calling to the world's unknown lands stirred within her.

From the day she first spoke, Pythia’s mother knew she was different. She hid her daughter’s gifts from others, fearing what they might think. Pythia’s abilities sometimes foretold events; at times, her insights unmasked liars and thieves. Her foresight didn’t always bring good news, as it foretold her mother’s passing, but it revealed a world beyond her known borders.

One dream, one vision, haunted her for years. Over time, she grew certain it had meaning: a small wooden house, leaning against the cliff’s edge, isolated. No living soul, only this little cabin. Determined to find it, she promised her father she’d return, then set out on her journey at seventeen.

She traversed the forest she once visited to gather fruit and herbs, scaled high cliffs, and finally reached the furthest boundaries she had ever explored. Before her stretched the darkest forest she had ever seen, surrounded by high stone slopes. Her father had warned her of spirits dwelling there, advising her to avoid the forest and take the nearby path, though it would cost her a few days’ delay. But Pythia’s instincts drew her directly to it, trusting her gifts to guide her.

She ventured into the misty, silent woods. Soon, she met an elderly woman, her eyes concealed by a piece of old cloth, holding a worn stick and carrying a small bundle. The woman invited her to stay the night, and Pythia, fearless, accepted.

That night, she slept on a simple mat and joined her host for supper. The old woman spoke little, only asking Pythia to mend the torn seams of her clothes in return for her hospitality. There were more than just one or two, though. And so, Pythia stayed with the woman for a while, helping with the mixtures she brewed and her daily chores.

As the days passed, Pythia realized the tasks—the endless mending of clothes, curtains, and covers—were all part of a plan to keep her bound to the cabin. One night, when the woman returned weary from her gathering, Pythia waited until she fell asleep. Before dawn, she took the woman’s forest charm, a small vial that would strengthen her visions and keep her safe, and quietly left the cabin.

Inside the vial were dried cloves and ginger to sharpen her focus, cinnamon for protection and foresight, fern to enhance luck, and wheat for clarity of vision.”

With that, Alie placed the ingredients in the centre of the table, inviting us to hold hands, focus on them, and join in her chant, bringing our energies into harmony. “On this dark night, let the moon rise bright. With this charm’s might, the essence shall take flight. North, south, east, and west, my words will cast the spell. My breath shall empower its strength.” I don’t know if she made up the chant, but as our voices repeated it with the cadence of an ancient prayer, I felt a tingling in my mind. After what felt like an eternity, we finally stopped.

Alie handed each of us a tiny bottle with a leather cord. Once filled with the herb mixture, we wore them around our necks. We exchanged silent smiles. “This is a seasonal talisman,” she explained. “It will protect you until winter’s end. After that, you may return the herbs to the earth.”

Our next blend was to be a lip balm. Sirena would continue with Pythia’s tale and share the recipe. Midnight was approaching, and we needed a break before refocusing. We moved to the cozy chairs in the veranda’s corner and let our conversation drift.

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