Thief, Witch, & Liar
An Excerpt from the First 6 Chapters
* * *
- Casenga
- Together Again
- A Visit to the Apothecary
- The Witch’s Son
- The Plum Tree
- Stolen
* * *
A Note to the Reader
The story you are about to read is based on a fairy tale. As evidenced by the title, you will find elements common to fairy tales such as witches, magic, deception, and peril. This is a departure from the literature I have produced thus far, and due to my personal convictions I want to make it clear before you begin that this book is by no means intended to romanticize or glorify any real-life occult practices. It is a work of total fantasy meant solely for entertainment. And if there is anything real to be found within these pages, let it be in the complicated nature of the pride, humility, bitterness, courage, and love that war inside the hearts of all humankind.
—Emmarayn
* * *
Love is patient and kind. It does not envy or boast, and it is not proud. It does not dishonor others; it is not self-serving, nor is it easily angered. Love keeps no record of wrongs.Love delights not in evil, but rejoices in Truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, and always perseveres. Love never fails.
—1st Corinthians 13:4-8
* * *
CHAPTER
ONE
Casenga
* * *
MY HOMETOWN, CASENGA, had in its location both the great advantage of being in a wonderfully scenic place (nestled between the arms of two mighty mountains and sheltered by a deep and lush forest) and the stark disadvantage of being in the remotest part of our kingdom. The war with Galland overseas kept King Stefano’s attention—and his resources—stretched thin. This left our town in a peculiar situation, awkwardly straddling the proud and civilized country of Romí, and the wild, perilous no-man’s-land that was the Doloria mountain range… the territory of witches.
When the blight swept over the land and killed half of our crops, aid was slow to arrive. The next year, it took even longer for help to come. Finally in the third year, our village elders received a letter from the king, gleaming bright with its golden seal, which said ever so politely that while the king sympathized with our plight, the larger coastal cities were in greater need of resources, particularly since the royal military academy was busy training up young men to join the sailors and defend our trade ships from Galland’s privateers.
“We hope Casenga will understand and support us in our efforts against Galland, as when they are vanquished, we shall restore our beautiful nation to its former glory. We truly regret that we cannot offer further aid at this time.”
That was why, when the fourth year came and our crops sickened once again, the village elders made the scandalous decision to ask for help from the Witch of the Wood. Swearing all of us to secrecy, they braved the dark shadows of her ominous forest and sent her a hefty sum of silver in return for seeds that would grow healthy and soil that resisted blight. After that, the Witch sent a wagon of seed every spring, and a box of strange powders and tinctures to feed our plants once every two months.
That all happened when I was rather young. I don’t remember very much before the three terrible years of blight and famine. But I do know that once the deal was made, life changed in Casenga. We had food again, but only just enough. And we lived under the constant strain of knowing that our lives were at the mercy of a Witch who relished our dependence.
My parents had five children. First, my older brother Iulio, whom I adored, and who died of an illness when I was little, during the blights. Later, when I had almost grown accustomed to being alone, my parents were blessed with three more daughters, Magena, Benetta, and Iseppa. I soon adored them too, and took them as my special charges; they were mine to keep and to care for, I being the eldest now.
My mother was wonderfully tender. I never knew a more gentle and loving heart than hers. She had a way of nourishing hope in herself and those around her, even when the loss of my brother darkened her spirits. There were many times, in the turbulent days of my youth, when I was overwhelmed by the trials our family faced and too young to understand them, that she would notice my quiet distress and take me by the hand. She led me out into the garden and showed me the moss that grew on the trees, and the little berry bushes and forest flowers, exquisite and magical in appearance, and taught me to look for small blessings when I had no other source of joy.
“These are the little beauties, Daniela,” she told me while we searched the woods for wild herbs and mushrooms. “The small, precious moments that bring us light. Do you understand?”
With her help, I did.
My father was a good, hard worker. He was as honorable a man as any I’ve ever known, who never let our hardships dampen his pride or spoil his joy. He continually gave of himself, working hard in the fields during the warm months, taking on whatever work others had for him during the cold months, helping those who were even more needy than us, and spending every scrap of time he had left with my mother and sisters and me. He entertained us with songs of heroes and frightening tales of ghosts and enchantment, helping us laugh and dream, no matter how tired he was.
Given these shining paragons of parenthood, and the extenuating circumstances of our household and our village, I knew from an early age how much responsibility lay before me. When I went from being the youngest of two to the oldest of four, I knew I must rise to honor that position. Though I quailed for a time in my childhood, I found my strength, and built my reserves, and resolved to become whatever it was my family needed me to be.
* * *
“Daniela, your father will be here any moment! Have you finished the milking?”
I set down the milk pail and covered it with a cloth, dusting off my hands and giving Bluebell, our goat, a scratch behind her ears.
“Yes Mami! I’ll be in shortly,” I called as I led the goat back to her stall. I cast my eyes about the stable, making certain that all was as it should be; the cobwebs swept down, the straw neatly in its crib, the grain sacks tied tight and neatly stacked, each creature’s stall stocked and locked for the night. Satisfied that I had done my work well, I took the lantern and the milk and hurried toward the cottage. Papa would be pleased.
It was a short walk across our meager yard from the stable to the cottage. We had not much land to our name, but we were very thankful for what we did possess. There was a decent road that passed quite close by, so we seldom had trouble with the cart when it came time to bring the produce of our gardens to market. A branch of the forest stood some quarter mile off, and in between here and there was plenty of open grass where we could let Bluebell and the geese forage during the warm months. All this I surveyed with care, reassuring myself that all was well, and that we had once again managed to hold steady until Papa’s return.
When I reached the house, I quickly set the milk aside and brushed off my skirts, adjusting my hair and looking to my sisters and mother. Mami beckoned us all to stand with her on the front step, where we waited in wordless anticipation. Little Iseppa looked at me with big eyes, her little body jittering with excitement. The others remained focused on the road, which had begun to gleam pale in the light of the rising moon, like a silken ribbon that curved behind the forest arm. In the stillness of the eve, we could hear the faint sound of his whistling, but he had not come into view yet. Mami spared a tender smile for me, which I returned quickly. We had not seen Papa in almost three weeks; that was how long his shift in the mines lasted now.
At last, Papa rounded the bend, and his tall and lanky form came into view. He was filthy from head to toe, his worn-out clothes gray and shabby beneath the layers of dust. Relief filled me at the sight of him—three weeks without word, three weeks missing his presence among us! And all that time, hoping the king’s men would not discover the illegal mine, hoping no disaster would befall Papa in those dark caverns… now he was safe with us again.
I could see the weariness in Papa’s tread immediately, but as soon as he saw us, his shoulders straightened, and he quickened his step to a jog.
“Papa!” Benetta and Iseppa screeched, rushing forward. We all followed, meeting him just as he entered the yard.
“Hello, my gioias[1]! Come, quickly, I need your help!” Papa exclaimed, spreading his arms wide. His smile was bright against the dark dust on his handsome face, and his blue eyes crinkled with a familiar warmth. “It has been almost a month, and I have had no hugs at all.”
Magena, at fourteen, carried herself with reserved and deliberate grace at all times, no doubt to appear grown up, but her hugs were no less affectionate than Benetta and Iseppa, who at nine and eight, respectively, still jumped into his arms and climbed up on his back whenever they could.
We all embraced him, not caring about the grime that came off on our clothes. After claiming several hugs and kisses from each of us, Papa straightened and looked at Mami, who pulled him into her arms and kissed him right in front of us all. The younger girls groaned and hid their eyes, but I felt a tug on my heart at the sight of their affection, and turned only to grant them the privacy such a reunion deserved.
“Supper is ready, Helias,” Mami said after a moment, squeezing Papa’s arms and pulling back a little. “It will be cold, soon!”
“Mmm, stuffed cabbage rolls and fresh bread, by the smell of it… I suppose I’d better wash up, then, hadn’t I?” Papa replied, reluctantly letting her go. He laughed ruefully as he looked her over again. “Well, perhaps I’d have better done it before soiling all of you!”
* * *
CHAPTER
TWO
Together Again
* * *
WE ATE TOGETHER shortly after. It was much later than our usual supper, so we were all ravenous—which made the savory meal of tender, meat-stuffed cabbage rolls drowned in garlic and tomato sauce all the more delectable. I watched carefully as we took seconds and thirds, anxious that there should be enough for everyone to be satisfied. Mami and I had planned carefully to make a big meal tonight, wanting Papa’s homecoming to be special. We still were not used to him having this extra work that took him from us for so long. I tried not to be resentful toward the village council for drafting him to miners’ work; they truly had been apologetic when they called on him. But with the war taxes rising, the village could no longer afford to pay both the king and the witch, so we had resorted, at last, to mining silver in secret for our harsh, magical benefactor.
Papa finished off his bowl and leaned back in his chair. “My word…” he said, rolling his eyes with delight. “Madiana, that must be the best supper you’ve ever made in your life.”
Mami smiled, pleased. “I had help. Benetta and Iseppa picked all the vegetables, and Magena cut up all the tomatoes and cooked the sauce while Daniela and I made the rolls.”
“Daniela also brought plums from the forest, and Mami stewed them for dessert! They’ve got lots of nice spices and honey.” Iseppa added breathily, licking her lips and turning big, sparkling eyes on me. “Can we have them now? Please?”
I smirked. She had been asking all day since I brought them home. I looked to Mami, who nodded her assent.
“Very well, you’ve waited long enough, I suppose!” I laughed, and went to fetch them.
Papa looked suitably impressed, and nodded in approval to us all. “Well done, my gioias! I’m a blessed man, to have such a family. Your mother has raised you well.”
He paused, a troubled look briefly crossing his face. My heart panged; I knew it pained him to think of us working so hard without him. He spoke sometimes as if he’d abandoned us, instead of working to save us all in a different way. I touched his arm gently.
Papa quickly smoothed the look away and smiled briefly, then busied himself with dabbing up the last of the sauce from his plate with a morsel of bread. “And you’re all still keeping up with your studies, I hope?”
Magena nodded. “Of course! Master Dante said to tell you that he’s most pleased with our progress. He expects I may finish early this year, if I keep working as I have been.”
“I can read long poems now, Papa!” Benetta announced proudly. “I was reading Giado’s Quest to Iseppa today!”
Mama beamed. “She did very well, too. They made it all the way to the second canto.”
Papa’s eyes lit up. “Really! Can you remember any of it?”
Benetta nodded, beaming. I’d heard her repeating various lines, hoping to have an opportunity to recite them like the village storytellers did on festival days. Which one would she choose now that she had her audience?
Getting up from her chair, Benetta held her delicate little hands out dramatically before her, as if bracing us all for a mighty tale.
“So bright the gleam of Giado’s beauty,
to look on him was purest bliss,
made purer by his faith and duty
Yet fairest in our hero was this;
despite every maidens’ yearning
his young mouth still held a virgin kiss
Though he—unaware—set hearts to burning,
no guile nor pride was found in him
In his heart, no shadow of turning.”
“Well now, that is impressive!” Papa applauded slowly. “And you chose your stanza well, for therein lies the secret to the young knight’s power… ah, but you’ll learn that later in the tale!”
Benetta grinned and took a bow, letting Papa ruffle her hair. “You’ll be a storyteller yet.”
He turned to me as he dished up a helping of plums, addressing me by my nickname. “And you, Ela? How is it, being Master Dante’s assistant?”
The look on his face was eager and expectant; I knew how proud he was that I had been asked to help with the schoolchildren. To be clever and studied enough to catch the attention of an experienced scholar like Master Dante, that was a high honor indeed. Men of learning, like him, were never called to the difficult labor in the mines, for the village knew all too well that if our children were not educated, we would soon be totally helpless. The crown would overlook us for our ignorance as well as our distance.
“It’s everything we hoped, Papa,” I answered, smiling, careful not to let my anxiety ruin the truth of the statement. Helping to teach the students was delightful and rewarding, and the opportunity to use Master Dante’s personal library was thrilling, but all too often I found my mind preoccupied with worries for my family. I knew neither of my parents wanted me to bear such burdens, but I could not help it. It was part of why (and how) I had found the plum tree years ago—I could not even walk from the school to my home without scanning the woods and the fields for some resource which might help us all.
Papa shook his head, a proud, relieved smile on his face. “I am so happy for you, Ela. Keep up your good work, you’ve done well.”
Mami’s glance told me that she heard the deflection in my reply, but she made no comment on it, and I was grateful. It was late, and despite my joy to be with Papa again, I wanted nothing more than to sink into bed and forget my worry for a little while; I certainly did not want to discuss it. So I welcomed the distraction when Papa picked up his mandolin and tuned it, treating us to a winsome, familiar melody to send us off to sweet dreams.
* * *
The next morning, Papa was already in the garden when I awoke. I thought he should have stayed in bed to rest late, if only for today since he was so newly returned, but Mami told me he wouldn’t be deterred. I could see the dust of the plow from the window, though he himself was obscured by the rows of corn.
I went out and milked Bluebell, and returned to find Mami setting bowls of porridge out for the four of us girls. Magena’s hair was tied in a lovely, pale green ribbon, which beautifully complemented the sleek black hair she’d inherited from Papa. No sooner had I noticed her new adornment than I also saw that Benetta and Iseppa each had a new ribbon; Benetta’s a golden-rod yellow, and Iseppa’s sky-blue. They both took after Mami, with their freckled noses and dimpled cheeks, and honey-color locks, and they shared her love for the bright colors of summer.
“Your father brought one for you as well, Daniela,” said Mami, gesturing to the place she’d just set for me at the table. Folded neatly in front of my bowl was a ribbon of a rich, blushed red color, like wine-stains.
I gazed at it in surprise, fingering its silky surface gently; they were all made of such fine material, they must have cost a pretty penny each.
“Oh, Mami…” I began, my voice soft. She silenced me with a firm kiss on my forehead, then turned me around by my shoulders and gathered my darkish auburn curls into a braid. She tugged it a bit to loosen it, then twisted the fly-away wisps into a single lock and let it drape down over my collar bone.
“This is the way all the girls wore their hair when I was your age,” she told me. “I always thought it so romantic.”
Magena smirked and arched her eyebrows at me. “Let’s hope the young men think so too!”
“Ha! That’s assuming there are any left to see me. They’re all either slaving in the fields or wallowing in the mines,” I scoffed.
“All the better,” said Mami, sitting down to eat, “for when they come, you’ll be like clear sunlight and fresh air to them after their hard labor.”
Once we had done with breakfast, we set out right away for school, the girls for their classes and I to help teach.
Mami hugged us each at the door, and cupped my face in her hand before she let me go. “Remember to look for the little beauties, cuore mio[2],” she said with a knowing wink. I nodded, accepting her gentle reproof and encouragement. She always had a way of saying a good deal with only a few words.
We paused at the end of the garden to wave goodbye to Papa. I noted the empty packet of witching-powder by one of the fenceposts and understood at once why he’d wanted to get an early start; Papa didn’t like using magic things around us. He told me once it was all fine in tales of heroes and monsters, but the real stuff was perilous and untrustworthy, even though we needed it.
By now, Papa had paused his tilling, and was bent over, resting his hands on his knees, finishing a bout of coughing. To my alarm, the cough had a deep rattle that sounded painful.
“Ah, pardon me,” Papa said, stifling the last of his coughs with his elbow. “Just got a bit of this nasty dust down my throat. Good heavens, the soil’s dry here.”
I offered him a drink from my water flask, but he waved me off. “I’ve some of my own, Ela. Work well today, and keep safe, all of you!”
We waved goodbye and set off down the road. Iseppa slipped her hand into mine while Benetta balanced on the ruts as we walked, until Magena told her to stop it lest she twist her ankle. Benetta looked to me as if to complain, and as reluctant as I was to quash her fun, I nodded my support of Magena’s wish.
“It won’t do if you get hurt. Wait and play instead on the steppingstones in the school yard.”
She pouted, but obeyed after a moment. Only a few minutes later, she tagged Iseppa and challenged her to race to the next bend, so I let them run ahead of us.
“Do you think you can walk them home on your own today, Magena?”
She looked at me quizzically. “Yes, why? You haven’t got a young fellow in mind already, have you?”
She elbowed me at this, and I pushed her off, rolling my eyes. “Of course not. I have an errand to do after work, that’s all. You don’t mind?”
Magena shook her head, then grew quiet. After we had walked a few minutes more, she said, “I would be lonely, if you got married, you know.”
I smiled softly. “It’s not as if it would happen in a day.”
“Isabela got married this spring, and she’s twenty-two, just the same as you! It seemed to happen quite suddenly for her.”
I had to agree—my dear friend Isabela’s marriage had seemed to come out of the blue, but I suspected there was an unfortunate reason for that. Before settling on a husband, Isabela had grown a little apart from me when she received attentions from three or four of the young men our age. I had privately thought her rather too flirtatious. The announcement that she was with child had come so soon after her hurried marriage that it was terribly suspicious. I heard the mothers whispering about it when they gathered their children from school, and had seen others making captious looks when Isabela passed by in the streets.
I said nothing of this to Magena, but felt a pang as I thought of Isabela. I couldn’t fathom giving so much of myself to a man in that way; I did not give affection easily to anyone outside of my family. Nor were handsome looks of particular importance to me. Though I could see the appeal, I had never had much interest in any of the men from my village—a little to my disappointment, for I did relish the idea of marriage eventually. For now, I was far too taken with my family to risk gadding around with the men as Isabela had. And even beyond that, such things as true love and first kisses were regarded as precious among my people, considering the power they held against the dark magics that lurked right at our door.
I cleared my throat and linked my arm through Magena’s. “Well, a quick marriage is not my way, and you know it. Don’t worry, I have no plans to go romancing anyone just because of this pretty new ribbon. We have far too much to do, anyway.”
I bumped her hip with mine, shooting her a playful smile.
Magena nodded, her serious look fading. She squeezed my arm and quickened our pace to catch up with the little girls. “Good! But of course, you mustn’t hold back just on my account. If you see any bright young fellow, you should snap him up right away. Goodness knows we need the help at home!”
* * *
CHAPTER
THREE
A Visit to the Apothecary
* * *
WORK THAT DAY passed very slowly for me. I did not like the sound of Papa’s cough. I had heard it before in this village, a sure symptom of the miner’s croup. Fino Berardi, our neighbor, had died of it just last month, and he was not the first. I worried for Papa, going back to the mines in this condition. If he was not better by the time they called him back…
I had not said anything to the girls, but I planned to stop by the apothecary after school let out. I had a few copper liris[3] saved up for myself, so I could afford to buy some good medicine. Perhaps that would do the trick.
I helped Iseppa’s classmates with their reading and handwriting, gave a history lesson to Benetta’s age group, then assisted Master Dante as he taught arithmetic to the older students, walking about to answer their questions while he was busy with others. I had to suppress a smile of pity and amusement as I listened to the students’ befuddled muttering. Today’s lesson was particularly challenging; I could recall feeling some frustration myself when I had begun this level of figures.
“I still don’t know why we need to learn these big figures when simple sums are all we’ll ever need here,” grumbled Gabriel, a boy about Magena’s age. “Why can’t you teach us something useful, like magic? That’s what this town really needs.”
Master Dante chuckled, his spectacles sliding down his long, thin nose. “Teach you thaumaturgy[4]? My dear boy, what nonsense. Even if I could, you’d have to have it in your blood first. And we’d have to get a license from the Crown, and once the king got word of a citizen with magic, you’d be snapped up to Venicci to become a royal mage. Of course, we’d all be very proud of you, but Casenga would never have the direct benefit of your help.”
He walked over to the slate board and took up a piece of chalk, and began drawing a diagram. “What you should concentrate on are the figures you’re learning now. Once you learn the theory, you can apply it to nearly everything—look at what you can build, using the arithmetic I’m teaching you! The Ancients’ aqueducts moved more water than any witch ever did, and that’s the truth…”
I smiled, admiring his enthusiasm, yet thinking that Gabriel was right, at least in part. Mathematics could not stop blight, however many wondrous inventions it might make possible. Though the boy was mistaken in dismissing all of it as useless, I could not deny that I myself had once secretly wished for the ability to study the rare and noble thaumaturgical arts. If I only had mage-blood in my veins, I could do so much for my family, for my village… but alas, I was not blessed with that innate well of power which resided within the depths of only a few fortunate individuals. And, truthfully, it was just as well; for when I let myself dwell on it, the whole idea of magic terrified me—to possess it was to walk a precarious moral slope: one slip in the wrong direction could send you tumbling down from the noble peaks of magecraft and into the dark, dread shades of witchery.
* * *
When school finally let out, Magena took the girls, leaving me free to fetch the medicine for Papa without worrying any of them. I hurried to the apothecary, not wishing to dally.
“Good afternoon, Mistress Ripaldi,” I greeted her as I entered the shop. My family and she were no strangers; during Iulio’s illness, Mistress Ripaldi had become quite a familiar guest at our cottage. Though her efforts had ultimately been futile then, I still remembered her kindness to my parents and me.
Today, however, her kind, creased face wore a look of concern when she saw me enter. She swept a strand of graying hair behind her ear and mopped her brow. “Daniela, child, what brings you here?”
“Nothing serious, I hope,” I said lightly. “I came for a cough solution.”
Mistress Ripaldi pressed her lips together and removed her spectacles, turning to look through her shelves. “Poor Helias is coming down with the miner’s croup, I imagine?”
“Yes, I think so, ma’am.”
“Right. Let me see…”
I frowned. She seemed to be rushed, and distracted. “Have I come at a bad time, ma’am?”
“Er, no! No, it’s quite alright, child. It’s just…” Mistress Ripaldi hesitated, glancing out the window over my shoulder. “It’s just that the Witch’s son is here in town today. I’m expecting an order any moment now.”
I tensed in surprise. I had not realized this was a Delivery Day. I was so seldom in town after school hours, and when I was young, my parents had always made sure to keep me at home whenever there was witch-business happening. It had been more than twenty-five years since there had been any rumors of witches taking firstborn children as payment, but one could never be too careful where they were concerned. I was certainly no longer a child, yet the idea of being in the same vicinity as the Witch’s son made me shiver internally.
Witches were not like the mages of the royal academy. Everyone knew that mages were noble, honorable people who used their natural-born abilities to aid those in need. They were licensed by the Crown, and worked only within the confines of nature, enhancing it rather than twisting it. These days, the rare few mages we had in Romí mostly served in the royal navy, to protect our trade ships and give us an edge against Galland’s sorcerers.
Witches, on the other hand, were inherently wicked. Their powers were said to go beyond the natural limitations of magic and stretched into the realm of perversion, using their powers to corrupt and defile, to terrify the innocent with their twisted spells and bitter curses. The worst of them sought to increase their power by claiming dominions for themselves and leeching off the power of their lands. In times long ago, during the Earth Wars, kings and witches had striven against each other on a grand and devastating scale that had left common folk cold and desolate, vulnerable to the whims of the powerful. Those days were long past, however, so distant that our history books held only scant details. Witches and their unchecked wickedness were outlawed now, and had been so for generations—which was why they mostly lived in the deep wilderlands and inhospitable mountain peaks. Though their magic was still powerful, it always came with a price, which was often too steep to pay. As such, the witches who remained seemed to take special, cruel delight in eking misery out of those unfortunate souls who crossed them.
Mistress Ripaldi’s voice interrupted the rapid flow of my thoughts. “Don’t fear, child. I’ll find you that solution soon,” she assured me with a quick smile, before bending to search the rest of the shelves.
“Perhaps I’d better help,” I said, and was about to slip behind the counter to join her efforts when the door swung open.
Startled, I turned, and was met with the sight of a tall, slim young man dressed in fine, dark clothing and a knee length cape. His glossy, shoulder-length black hair was tied haphazardly at the nape of his neck, and a wavy forelock hung over his brow, dipping down fetchingly over one eye. His skin was richly tanned. His handsome face bore a keen, arch expression as his eyes flickered over the shop. With one hand and seemingly little effort, he gripped the leather handle of a large wooden box which was slung over his shoulder.
“Mistress Ripaldi,” he said smoothly, coming in and shutting the door behind him with a nudge of his polished boot. “Your wares, as requested.”
I stepped aside, bowing my head respectfully. So this was the Witch’s son? I had never seen him until now. What I had expected, I could not say, but it had not been this lanky, careless figure. I would have taken him for a nobleman from out of town, had Mistress Ripaldi not told me whom she expected.
I kept my eyes on the floor as he passed me, though it was tempting to stare. He was even taller than Papa, who already stood taller than most of the men in our village, and in the brief moment that I dared look on his face, I was struck by his uncommon, unnerving beauty. A flutter of nerves went through me. He was like no one I had ever seen before.
* * *
CHAPTER
FOUR
The Witch’s Son
* * *
THE YOUNG MAN swung his wooden box around his shoulder and set it firmly on the counter, then leaned on his elbows as he waited expectantly.
Mistress Ripaldi’s eyes darted to me for only an instant—she was holding the medicine I needed in one hand, and in the other, the pouch of silver to pay for the Witch’s wares. However, no doubt wishing to hurry her perilous visitor along, she set the vial to the side and unlatched the box.
“My gratitude, Master Bensiabel. I-I’ll just take stock, if you please…” she muttered.
“By all means,” he replied, pushing the box forward to allow her access.
It seemed Mistress Ripaldi’s brief hesitation at the start of their conversation had not gone unnoticed, for as she opened the box, the young man’s eyes suddenly landed on me, and he brightened, lifting himself from the counter.
“What’s this! Have I ignored a customer of yours? And such a pretty one too, shame on me. I beg your pardon, maiden, for my carelessness.”
I shook my head quickly. “It’s no bother, sir.”
“As gracious as you are lovely, thank the Fates. I shan’t be long.” With a wink, the Witch’s son deftly took the pouch of silver up and turned his attention back to Mistress Ripaldi, whose face darkened as she counted the contents of the box.
“There’s been a mistake, sir,” she said stiffly. “There are twelve extra vials of the elderbead tincture, and twenty packets of lyssum I did not order.”
The young man glanced at the box, weighing the silver in his hands. “Is there? Ah, so there is. No trouble—another fifty liris ought to cover it.”
“But—”
“—Or one silver piece, if you prefer.”
“I can’t pay for this, sir! Bring your wares back in a few months!” Mistress Ripaldi seemed as if she would reach for the silver to take it back and give up the whole order, but he snatched the pouch away.
“You know I don’t take things back. Do you wish to offend my mother by suggesting her wares are unsatisfactory?”
Mistress Ripaldi blanched. “No, I—of course not. I never meant—”
“Then take what I have brought you, madam shopkeeper! If you cannot pay in copper or silver, find another way.”
I had not seen Mistress Ripaldi look so grim in years. “What would you have, then?” she asked in a low voice.
The Witch’s son smiled then, a thin, secretive smile that sounded warning bells in my mind. “A favor.”
Mistress Ripaldi’s face went wooden as he continued.
“A favor of equal value, to be paid at some point in the future. You’ll know when I want it.”
With that, he reached across the counter and picked up my medicine. Startled by his presumptuous action, I was caught off guard when he approached me with it, extending it gracefully between two elegant fingers.
“For you, I think.” His smooth voice seemed to slither into my ears and set my pulse racing. There was something unnatural about how inviting that voice sounded.
Not wishing to make an impression, either good or bad, I kept my eyes down and reached out to accept the vial, only to have my fingers lose all strength and ability as I tried to grasp it. The vial slipped through my fingers and shattered on the floor, spilling its contents into the boards.
“Oh!” I cried, and immediately dropped down to collect the pieces.
The young man’s hand suddenly blocked mine, startling me—I had not realized he had knelt with me.
“Allow me, maiden.”
I stifled my surprise. Kneeling had brought him much closer to me than before, and now a heady aroma of sage and lemongrass engulfed me as it drifted from him. Yet it was not his scent that held my attention, it was what he did! Beneath his splayed hand, the spilled medicine began to pull itself from the floorboards, while the glass shards assembled themselves back into the shape of a vial around the liquid. Within only a few heartbeats, they were fused together once more, as if the vial had never been broken.
I gaped, stunned. I had never seen magic performed directly, not like that. When Papa applied the witching-powder to the soil, it glimmered a bit as it sank into the ground, but nothing more than that. The only way to know it had done anything was that the blight did not spoil the produce before harvest. But this was instantaneous, and so obviously impossible that there could be no denying that witchcraft had been done. Before I could react, the Witch’s son took my hand and turned it upward, dropping the vial into my palm before closing my fingers around it.
“Better than before, I think,” he said.
I looked at him, flustered both by the magic and by his nearness. He returned my gaze with a captivating pair of pale hazel eyes, framed by thick dark lashes. From here, I could see that though he appeared to be in his mid-to-late twenties, his black hair held a myriad of silver strands. Were his looks merely a façade? I’d heard of witches living for centuries… who knew how old this man was, beneath that unnaturally alluring face?
“You need not think of payment for this service, dolcezza[5],” he said, the corner of his lips rising slyly, “not when you reward me with such an enchanting glance as this.”
There was some sort of insinuation in that tone which made me blush. Blinking rapidly, I gathered my wits and stood, putting space between him and myself with a deft step backward, ashamed of having stared so openly. I nodded a quick thanks to him, keeping my eyes down. “I’m grateful, sir.”
I could feel his leering eyes on me, as if he were waiting for something, though I could not fathom what. My insides squirmed, but I maintained my composure.
“Ahem… that, er, that vial is seven liris, miss,” Mistress Ripaldi called, mercifully giving me an avenue of escape. I hurried to the counter to pay, realizing I would have forgotten her entirely, had she remained silent.
“Good day, Mistress Ripaldi. I’ll see you again in three months,” said the unsettling man. I heard his cape flutter as he bowed, then the door as it opened and shut.
The moment he was gone, both Mistress Ripaldi and I breathed sighs of relief. The air seemed to change, emptying itself of a tension which I had unwittingly shared.
“The nerve of that fellow,” Mistress Ripaldi said heatedly. “Flirting so brazenly with a respectable young lady! If he’d been anyone else, I’d have given him an earful… but now he’s got me in his debt after all, just like all the rest.”
Flirting! I felt a blush warm my cheeks. So that was what it was like to be flirted with! Good heavens, I hoped I had not given him any offense with my flabbergasted response. But the very idea of accepting the advances of a witch—for he certainly was as much a witch as his mother—made my very skin crawl.
“What do you mean, like all the rest?” I asked, not feeling quite ready to leave the shop and be on my own yet.
Mistress Ripaldi sighed, rubbing a hand on her brow. “For a while now, Master Bensiabel has been going about, getting people to take more than what they ought, and garnering promised favors as payment. He does it by tricks or clever wording, or sometimes bare-faced bullying, so that you have no choice but to accept his terms. It doesn’t bode well at all to be in the debt of a witch. But you saw how it was with me, how could I help it? And now I’ve got to give him whatever he wants, whenever he wants it in the future. Thank the Fates I’m past my child-bearing years.”
She shuddered, and began to unpack the herbs and bottles from the box he had brought her, handling everything gingerly, as if she were loath to touch it. I felt a wave of pity and guilt; I had been too wrapped up in my own presentiment to even attempt to support her during her interaction with him. I wasn’t sure if my interference would have accomplished anything in her favor, but I felt I owed her something, after our long acquaintance.
“Write down the value for all these things here and send it with me, so that I know how much this extra is worth. He told you fifty liris or a silver piece, I heard it with my own ears. If he tries to ask a favor worth more than that, I’ll take your side,” I told her earnestly.
Mistress Ripaldi chuckled sadly. “Bless you, Daniela. There’s no need for that. It’s all between the Witch and I now. Go home now, and give my regards to Madiana. May good health be with you all.”
* * *
The bright, pleasant sun had faded behind a mask of bleak gray clouds during my brief interlude in the apothecary. A gust of wind swirled around me, throwing my hair about as I hurried down the street for home. I tried to quell the anxiety that still thrummed within me after my encounter.
It’s nothing, I told myself firmly. It will all come to nothing. Why should I worry about it? The Witch and her son had their money, and I’d neither said nor done anything that should have given offense, other than perhaps offering a clumsy response to petty flirtation. And anyway, the more my mind replayed it all, I wasn’t sure my response had been so clumsy after all. I hadn’t been rude; I simply hadn’t been clever or eager. I’d heard that a lot of men liked their women blushing and silent, as I had been, so perhaps the Witch’s son had gotten just what he wanted from me. Whatever the case, I purposed never to be in town on a Payment Day again, just to avoid any awkward future meetings. Not that I believed he’d give me a second glance when there were plenty of other fine girls besides me… just that I wanted to be safe.
At least he does not know my name, I thought, clinging to the thin protection of anonymity. Names were said to have a strange sort of power, and thankfully Mistress Ripaldi’d had the sense not to utter mine in his presence. No sense giving him anything he didn’t need.
Even though I did my best to convince myself that I hadn’t been a complete fool, a violent shudder passed through me as soon as I left the village, telling me that my body knew the truth, whatever excuses my mind might spin. It was bad luck, dealing with witches. I should have left that shop the moment I heard who was expected.
I touched the vial of medicine in my pocket, drawing comfort from it. At least I could give it to Papa right away. The sooner the better, so that he had time to recover before his next shift in the mines.
At that thought, a wave of anger rose to take the place of my anxious self-reproach, and I welcomed it. It was not I who was to blame for my distress. And it was not the village elders who deserved my ire for calling our men into the secret mines. It was the Witch who’d earned that blame. She, who demanded such a steep price from a people who were already downtrodden, and forced them to steal from their own land just to afford to live another year.
Well, the Witch and the king were both equally to blame, I supposed, since the king had so politely refused to help us, while still requiring regular and increasingly expensive tax payments.
I gritted my teeth, torn between my indignation at the injustice of it all, and the sense of disloyalty for feeling anger toward our sovereign. Mami and Papa had always taught me to respect authority, saying those who held it were given it for a purpose.
I turned my thoughts back to hating the Witch instead, for any power she had was both stolen and perverted, and therefore there could be no harm in despising her. Especially not when she deserved it.
Yet as I trekked home, my tumultuous feelings cooled into sadness. I did not like being angry or resentful. They were easy, almost pleasurable emotions for a moment, but feeding them felt wrong. Mami never would have approved.
Closing my eyes and wrapping my arms around myself to fend off the slight chill that had entered the air, I took several deep breaths to calm myself. It would never do to arrive home in such a flustered, restless state. It would invite questions that I was by no means prepared to answer without tears.
Look for the small beauties, Mami’s advice came back to me. Right. Look for the small beauties.
I glanced at the sky. It was difficult to tell when the skies were so overcast, but I thought it was not so late that I could not spare a brief moment in the forest.
Making a quick decision, I turned abruptly from the road and entered the woods beside it, making for the plum tree. There had been lots of fruit left when I picked from it last, and I knew my sisters would be delighted to have a nice treat again.
* * *
CHAPTER
FIVE
The Plum Tree
* * *
THE PLUM TREE was the most precious of all my special places. It was one of perhaps a few hundred in the land surrounding Casenga, but unlike the others, which stood in rather sorry-looking orchards that barely produced enough fruit to keep, this tree of mine was magnificent. It was to other fruit trees like a wild swan would be to my family’s dusty geese, as if this were the tree from which all the other plums had first sprouted, and still none had achieved its beauty. Growing tall in the midst of a glade some quarter-mile into the forest, the plum tree stood alone and perfectly formed in the gentle, filtered light of the woods. In spring, when branches blossomed with thousands of snow-white blossoms, it was among the most exquisite of sights I had ever beheld. I could just remember when I first found it, walking home from school before Magena was old enough to go with me. I had been upset, much like today, and had wandered off alone, both to have the satisfaction of some minor rebellion, and to seek solace in the shelter of the trees that had so often been the object of my daydreams. While exploring, I had come across this very tree, and been utterly taken with its beauty.
Since then, I had come here as often as I could, though always alone. It did not seem right, somehow, to bring anyone with me, not even my sisters. This was my private sanctuary. When I was a child, it had been my magical kingdom, where all my adventures were set. I had played with dragons and unicorns, daring princes, scheming princesses, wayward pirates… and during the early days after losing my brother, I had played with his ghost here under its shade. As I grew older, I put aside my games and instead sought the sweet, nourishing fruit that the tree provided. The plums I found here were better than anywhere else, and always seemed to grow earlier and longer than any other tree I’d found.
Today, I set my satchel down to free up both my arms, and held out my overskirt to catch the plums as I gently plucked them from the branches over my head. No larger than my thumb, they were nevertheless flavorful, being firm and flushed and full of succulent juices that made my mouth water for more after every bite.
I never stopped myself from eating when I was here. At home, I always worried about taking too much and leaving someone else hungry, but here, the fruit was so plentiful it was impossible to worry. I popped plum after plum into my mouth as I gathered, confident that I would still be hungry enough for supper when the time came.
Gradually, my agitation began to recede. The incident at the apothecary seemed far less harrowing now, and the burning resentment that had surfaced in my heart sank back into the depths where it usually hid, and probably would not surface again until some new injustice occurred to rankle me.
With my overskirt heavy with plums, I held the hem in one fist and bent to fetch my satchel and return home at last. I gave one last look to my tree, filling the reservoirs of my spirit with peace until I could come here again.
Then the earth shook, and a brilliant light burst in my mind, blotting out my vision with searing brightness.
I fell to the ground—felt plums squelch beneath me—gasped as the breath was knocked from my lungs. My head crashed into the dirt so hard that it bounced, and I lay there stunned.
As I struggled to redraw my breath, a loud, seething voice filled my ears.
“Thieving wench! How dare you take from me, when you and all your ilk owe me your very lives already?”
Panic numbed my brain as I writhed. I could not breathe. Some memory of when Magena fell from a tree flickered in my mind, and I lifted my hips, as Mami had done for her back then. My lungs reopened, and I sucked in air desperately.
Rolling over, I found myself staring at a pair of weathered boots and the hem of a long black gown.
Before I could look up to see whom they belonged to, something hard drove itself between my shoulder blades, forcing me to remain on the ground.
“Be still, wretch! Have you no shame? Will you not beg for forgiveness and pardon?”
“I—I don’t—” Terror and confusion gripped me like a vice; I hardly knew how to respond.
“Speak!” the voice shouted, bringing a clap of thunder in my ears.
“I’m sorry!” I yelped instinctively, covering my head with my arms. “I’m sorry! I don’t understand! What do you mean, take from you?”
“Do you not know?”
The hard thing left my back and went instead under my chin, forcing me to look up.
A woman stood above me, glowering like a storm cloud, her lips curled in contempt. Her face was framed by thick, jet-black hair that had fallen loose from an elaborate coif. Her weathered features had a strange, ageless quality about them; she might have been anywhere from fifty to seventy years old—yet in some moments she looked younger. Her knobbed fingers clutched a long wooden staff, which was what held my chin at ransom this very moment.
“Witless chit. Do you lack brains as well as morals? Do you not know your mistress when you see her?” the woman asked disdainfully, forcing my chin even higher with her staff.
The realization dawned, and a strangled cry escaped me as I gripped the soil beneath me in horror. It was the Witch! She who held the fate of our whole village in the palm of her hand. I squeezed my eyes shut against her visage.
“Please,” I quavered, forcing myself to speak. “Please, mistress. I did not know this was your tree.”
The Witch scoffed, and with a flick she removed the staff from under my chin. “Did not know this was my tree,” she repeated in a mocking tone, stalking a few paces away. “Did not know, when every green and living tree in this forest is mine?”
I opened my eyes to find her with her arms spread wide, gesturing with a proud grandeur to the wooded world around us.
Still trembling, I elevated myself to a kneeling position. “I swear it on my life, mistress witch. I did not know this was your tree, or I would not have taken from it.”
Without replying, the Witch approached me, and I cringed. However, instead of unleashing another barrage of magic on me, she seized my hand and raised it, pinching the flesh between my thumb and palm until it throbbed. I gritted my teeth to keep from yelping.
A tingling wave of energy passed through my arm and out through my fingertips, and the Witch dropped my hand in disgust. “You have eaten these plums for years! How many times have you stolen from me?”
I shook my head, not daring to look up. “Too many to count, mistress.”
An idea occurred to me and I spoke again, heedless of caution now. “You will want payment, I’m sure!”
I searched my mind for anything that might be worth years of rich plum harvests. I hadn’t much to offer at all, but perhaps if my parents would give me their money to add to mine…
“You cannot buy such fruit as this with mere silver, child,” the Witch said with a note of amusement. “This tree is magically sustained through drought and blight and the harshest of winters, all at a dear cost. Its worth must be reckoned beyond the means of any of your pitiful people.”
“Not silver, then. What would you have? Tell me, please mistress! I would repay what I have stolen,” I cried. “I am not a thief by design. I stole in ignorance only, and now I would right my wrongs, if you would allow it. Please believe me.”
The witch’s eyes narrowed into cruel slits. She came closer and stooped over me, peering into my eyes as if searching the very depths of my soul.
There was no color in her eyes, only a deep, inky blackness that seemed to swallow me the longer I looked at them. I felt suddenly squeamish, and wrestled with my own will in an effort to return her gaze and not flinch.
“A strong, hale young thing,” the Witch murmured after a long moment, and the corners of her mouth flickered briefly into a predatory smile. “Diligence I see as well. You’ve a petty pride about you, and a sour trace of priggishness… but that all comes from a piety which may suit us well.”
She straightened with an indignant sniff. “So be it. If you wish to repay me, child, you shall do so with your life.”
The horror of those words had only time to grip my mind with a blinding panic before the tremendous flash of light that pierced my mind and brought my world to a fiery end.
* * *
CHAPTER
SIX
Stolen
* * *
I DO NOT know how long it was before I awoke. When I did, there was a moment of terror as I opened my eyes and saw nothing but darkness, and felt dirt beneath my fingertips. The last thing I remembered was that horrifying blast of light; had she killed me? Was I buried, cursed to be aware of my body even after death? Or… had she blinded me as a punishment?
Yet presently, as I schooled my breath and suppressed my dismay, I became aware that my shawl had fallen over my head, and that was what blocked the light. I saw a thin seam of sunlight where the shawl met the ground.
Feeling stupid for my momentary panic, I pushed up from the ground and righted my clothing, brushing pebbles and debris from where they had embedded themselves into my elbows.
“She wakes,” said the Witch’s wry and raspy voice behind me.
My shoulders jerked in surprise, and I whirled around to find her watching me with an expression of strong distaste, though her eyes lacked the murderous glint they had held when I first met her.
I did not trust myself to speak. Clenching my fists to keep from trembling, I stood upright and watched her warily. When she said nothing for several moments, I swallowed, and dared to look at my surroundings.
It must have been some time since I’d lost consciousness; for it was morning, and the sky was bright and sunny. We were no longer in the glen, but in a large clearing. All around me, the hills were thick with trees, rising to such heights that I knew we must be in the heart of the Dolorias. I could see the snowy cap of the highest peak, Mount Sommo, far closer now than I had ever seen it.
The clearing around us seemed to be a farm, much to my surprise. We stood on a gravelly path next to a large vegetable garden, and on the other side of us was a modest patch of wheat, just beginning to turn golden. Up ahead, there was a well, after which the ground began to slope steadily upward to a grand stone cottage, beset with ivy vines, and surrounded by more gardens that seemed to contain flowers and herbs rather than vegetables. Beside the cottage was a small, low-lying stable; I could hear the cackle of chickens and geese, and the plaintive cry of a goat.
“This is my home,” said the Witch, approaching to stand beside me. She swept her staff around, gesturing to the farm. “As you can see, there is plenty of work to be done for it, and my son and I’ve better tasks to attend. Since you have pilfered my riches for years, you may serve as my slave until that debt is repaid.”
My heart sank as I listened in disbelief. This was too sudden—it was nightmarish! Snatched like a hapless maiden from the old songs, stolen like the knight in The Lay of the Lost, trapped in this green, mountainous prison…I had to get home to my family. I still had my father’s medicine in my skirt pocket! Or did I? In a flash of alarm, I reached into my skirt, and only just felt the smooth glass vial on my fingertips before the Witch rapped my wrist sharply with her staff.
Yelping, I snatched my hand away and looked up to find her glaring at me with her teeth bared.
“Listen, wench! Have you no respect for your elders?”
“I—”
“Silence! Attend to me carefully, for this is your very life at stake.”
She stepped closer, holding my gaze with her deep black eyes. “You have cast yourself upon my mercy, do you understand? I could have killed you for your crime, and I would have been right to do so. But I… have taken certain vows.”
“Vows?” I echoed, mystified.
“Yes,” the Witch sneered bitterly. “Vows which have nothing to do with you, only that I may not harm anyone unless they have wronged me in truth.”
It clicked suddenly in my mind. “You cannot kill me because I offered to pay; I’m not a thief, I’m just a debtor!”
“You’re a thief, and make no mistake—technicalities be hanged,” the Witch snapped. “And know this: now that you are my slave, all disobedience is a crime worthy of punishment. Try to leave this place, speak out of turn, violate one of my strictures, or fail one of my commands, and I may do to you what I wished the moment your thieving fingers touched my beautiful plums.”
Seizing my arm, the Witch turned me so that I faced the line of trees where the forest met the clearing. The edge of the clearing was hedged by enormous, stately ash trees, their trunks thicker and straighter than any I had seen growing naturally.
“Do you see those trees, girl?”
I nodded, rubbing my sore wrist.
“They are guardian trees. I’ve watched over them since I planted them as seeds, and fed them my magic faithfully. They eat more than earth, my dear little thief.”
She pressed on the small of my back, pushing me to walk toward the trees. As I passed beneath their shadow, a heavy feeling of foreboding descended on me, and I had to make a conscious choice to continue.
At last, we stood only a few paces away from where the ash trunks met the ground. I was surprised to see their roots piled waist high in a thick, knotted mess, intertwining with each other between each tree, so that they created a bizarre and twisted wall all around the perimeter of the clearing.
Pointing a finger into the eaves of the tree directly before us, the Witch smiled. “Look there.”
I peered upward, and immediately spotted a large black squirrel creeping along the branches. Puzzled, I looked back at the Witch just as she tapped her staff on the ground.
A tremor went up beneath my feet, and the trees shuddered. The squirrel was taken by surprise, lost its grip on the branch, and fell, tail whirling, down into the tangled wall of roots.
No sooner had the creature touched the gnarled mess when the roots suddenly sprang to life, writhing and rearing like great wooden serpents. The squirrel scrambled for purchase amidst the undulating trap, but in a moment it was lost, swallowed into the depths of the wall. I heard a crunch and caught up my breath in horror.
The roots went still, and for a moment, so did I. The Witch and I stood silent for several heartbeats, as all around us the forest sounds resumed, and a few crimson leaves drifted to the grass.
“Fail me in any way,” the Witch spoke quietly, “and you shall follow that creature, and many others who have gone before you.”
Nausea roiled in my stomach, and I found myself clutching my throat as if to stem a bout of illness. My heart rattled in the confines of my chest, begging me to flee, while my rational mind insisted, with absolute clarity, that to do so would be madness. There was no escape, not yet. I would have to do as the Witch required until some new means of freedom became apparent.
“I understand,” I said, inclining my head respectfully. “I am an honorable woman… you may trust me to serve you.”
The Witch nodded, and seemed surprisingly mollified. She stepped away and straightened her gown, tucking strands of her hair back into her coif.
“Your promise is accepted,” she replied. “Now then, you shall call me Mistress Iacoma, is that clear?”
“Yes, Mistress Iacoma.”
“Good. Give me your name, child.”
* * *
[1] Term of endearment; “joys”
[2] Term of endearment; “my heart”
[3] Small currency used by the working class in Romí
[4] Scholarly term for magic
[5] Term of endearment: “sweetness”
END OF THE EXCERPT
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