Below, the village of Brocken was a mere smudge of orange light. She was not alone in the sky; shadowy figures mounted on goats and broomsticks streaked across the dark hemisphere, all drawn toward the same remote peak far from civilization.
As she landed on the windswept summit, the was already in full, chaotic swing: The Witch's Sabbath
: At the center sat a colossal figure with black fur and symmetrical, twisted horns—the Great Goat. Witches approached to offer personal sacrifices or perform the osculum infame (the shameful kiss) beneath his tail as a sign of loyalty. Below, the village of Brocken was a mere
: A crowd of thousands—some say as many as 10,000—milled about in the firelight. Contorted faces, more possessed than human, expressed a terrifying joy. Witches approached to offer personal sacrifices or perform
: Small cauldrons bubbled with pseudo-runes etched into their sides, while black cats and frogs flitted through the shadows. The air vibrated with a dissonant music—a "Dream of a Witches’ Sabbath"—where screeching laughter replaced melody.
: They feasted and danced with "joyful abandon," a dark inversion of the somber church rites they had fled.
The moon hung like a jagged bone over the Harz Mountains as Elspeth applied the foul-smelling ointment—a mixture of grease and "nasty ingredients"—to her skin. The world shifted, the air thick with the scent of pine and something ancient. With a sudden, sickening jolt of weightlessness, she felt herself ascending above the treetops.