The Witch of Webs: Book 12 (The Wandering Inn), page 32
“Is that how you really think?”
“Yes. No. Okay, fine! I would like to come, happy?”
The Centauress stamped one hoof. She glared at Ryoka.
“Don’t take it personally! I know I made fun of you a bit. But I do that all the time with my Centaur friends. In…Baleros. I guess it’s different here.”
She hesitated. And Ryoka realized that Centaurs really were different. Like any other culture, really. She wondered if anyone else had realized that. Slowly, Ryoka smiled and shook her head, pretending not to notice Charlay’s anxious look.
“Hey, I don’t mind. Just don’t do it all the time. You know how thin-skinned we Humans are.”
“Yeah, and touchy. But insulting each other is what friends do. We are friends, aren’t we?”
Charlay’s question took Ryoka off guard. But then Ryoka nodded. And Charlay’s smile provoked one of Ryoka’s as well. Without a word, the Centauress trotted forwards and then into a run.
“Well, that was obvious. Why did you need to spell it out? Come on, Ryoka! Let’s go!”
She beckoned, and Ryoka followed. The young woman stared at Charlay’s back as the Centaur laughed, running with all four legs, and shook her head, mystified, happy—she turned her head up towards the sky.
“It’s so easy, Erin. Why didn’t you tell me that? Why didn’t I listen?”
And then she ran off, south. With a new friend. As they ran towards Riverfarm, Charlay’s voice echoed back towards her.
“…Hey! Do you know if we’re going the right way?”
——
If Ryoka Griffin’s first encounter with a [Witch] left her less than impressed with Alevica, well, like Charlay, there was more depth to the odd class than Ryoka first thought.
It seemed like [Witches] were on the mind, and not just hers. Charlay and Ryoka were stopping for directions—just so Ryoka could stop Charlay from asking—when they heard people talking about [Witches].
“Five with broken arms. Men and women no less! At least they burnt down that wretched place. [Witches].”
“Witches?”
Ryoka and Charlay turned to a knot of distressed men talking in a marketplace of the town they were in—Totiled. It wasn’t large, and Ryoka first thought they were discussing Alevica, given Charlay’s description of her. But instead—
Well, the first thing the cluster of townsfolk did was clam up, but when they were introduced to two City Runners, they relaxed. Charlay was certainly novel to them, and they stared up at her and asked questions of the Centaur, who clearly loved the attention.
“What’s this about [Witches]?”
“Psht. They’re all about, Miss Runner. Going here and there. Run out of villages. And good riddance, I say!”
One of the townsfolk who’d been listening to the other men spat, but the group who’d actually run into another objectionable [Witch] turned out to be from a village, not the town itself.
“It’s not all like that! We had a good [Witch]—in Ecedale, twenty miles yonder. But it’s all gone bad. Terribly so! First one [Witch] dies in the streets, the next, our [Witch] throws down, and then her schoolhouse burns down and she’s gone!”
What was this about? Schoolhouse? Ryoka had to get some clarity here, and the story, when deciphered, worked out like this. Charlay chewed on some flatbread as she listened.
“It all began…oh, I can’t say how long back. There was talk about, well, bad witches. That’s how it all began. You hear stories of ‘em.”
Everyone nodded, from townsfolk to villagers. Ryoka scratched her head.
“But you have one.”
The man from Ecedale protested.
“We had a good one! Very normal, she was! No warts or hexes; she kept a clean place, had a bunch of little ones in training—Miss Agratha, she was. But you hear stories about the bad ones, now and then. There was some business in Terandria…I don’t want to tell stories or run my mouth. I figure they’re bad enough not to spread.”
The villager actually took something from a pouch at his neck and tossed some over his shoulder. The others did likewise. The townsfolk looked amused at this quaint superstition, but the Ecedale folk went on.
“Miss Agratha was telling everyone it was pure nonsense. She’s well liked for the little magics she does. Not by all! But I never had anything but politeness from her, and she always paid for anything she bought.”
“Not like some folks.”
The dour mutter gave Ryoka an odd impression of ‘Witch Agratha’.
“So where’d the dead [Witch] come from?”
The men looked at each other nervously.
“Well, that’s just it. It happened one night: Miss Agratha was out travelling. Witches do that sort of thing, you know? A stranger comes pounding on our doors, shouting for help. Says she’s been chased! Hunted! Now, most folk were ready to take her in, but then they realized she was a [Witch]. Pointed hat? So they turned her away. They didn’t want trouble. Miss Agratha has a schoolhouse, and they pointed her there. The poor woman must’ve made it, but Agratha and her apprentices were all gone. We didn’t know it, but when someone went to check…she’d expired in the schoolhouse. Leg infected, worn to death. Poor woman.”
The street went silent as Ryoka swallowed hard, and Charlay lost her appetite. Poor woman indeed.
“Sounds like bad business. Who was after her?”
Even the townsfolk looked slightly shaken. The villagers’ spokesman spread his hands.
“No one knows. Perhaps she was a…bad witch. There was a vote that very evening on whether or not we should kick Miss Agratha out. You know, just in case? Obviously, most people were set against—until Agratha returned. When she found out one of her kin had died there, well, she caused havoc.”
Another man cut in, looking wide-eyed with respect as much as regret.
“She laid into the folk who wouldn’t open their doors! All of us! She has a tongue like—well, some of them who didn’t like her got a bit pushy and stroppy. The next thing you know, there’s a full brawl in the middle of town and she’s laying about with a club!”
“What? A club? I thought it’d be with witchcraft!”
Charlay burst out laughing, but the villagers gave her dark looks.
“Yeah, well, who needs magic when you can hit someone that hard? After all was said and done, it was a lot harder to vote for her, but it didn’t matter either way; someone burned her schoolhouse down in the night. The next thing you know, Agratha’s gone, and all her apprentices run off too. Even some of the children she was tutoring!”
“She’s kidnapped children?”
That brought the townsfolk against the [Witch], but from what Ryoka had heard, it was all a mess. The Wind Runner shook her head as the villagers clarified.
“It might be kidnapping—”
“She was tutoring the girls, two of whom had no proper parenting—”
“One family’s put a bounty on her—”
“Agratha’s the right sort. She set my leg when it was broken better than a [Healer]. If some idiot hadn’t torched her schoolhouse—”
The townsfolk of Totiled were a lot less sympathetic. One spat.
“Well, I’ve heard similar rumors about witches of late. I say, run them out everywhere. I’m glad this one’s gone! As for one running a schoolhouse, hah! Who needs that sort of thing?”
Ryoka stared at him for a while until she remembered [Teacher] wasn’t even a class on Izril, really. People did apprenticeships instead. She had never been the biggest proponent of education herself, growing up. But still…Charlay went back to eating and added a comment.
“Witches. Huh? Are they just a pain or are they useful?”
That provoked a long silence from all. One of the townsfolk answered airily.
“Oh, they’re useful sometimes, but you can’t trust a lot of them. Good for villages. Not a town or city. And there’s always a bad witch.”
“Ever met one?”
Ryoka got a glower from one of the townsfolk and shrugs from the villagers of Ecedale. No…not personally. But there was always one.
And it seemed like everyone had heard something about a ‘bad witch’ of late. Maybe it was something like the witch hunts of Salem, that paranoia that swept over people for a while. Or the inquisition. Or…Ryoka saw a few of the villagers touching the charm that Witch Agratha had apparently made for them. She heard a whisper.
“...Helpful Servants in Noelictus. I heard…”
But they fell silent when others looked at them and did not want to say it out loud. And Ryoka and Charlay had to be going. They were running down the road when Charlay pointed something out.
“I still think you don’t know where you’re going, Ryoka.”
The Wind Runner sighed.
6.36 E
Day 55 – Durene
Help was on the way. That was the thought that Durene held in her head when she woke in her cottage. It propelled her out of bed and had her rummaging through the pack of food that Prost had provided her with last night. It made eggs, fresh from Riverfarm’s chickens, fried new potatoes grown from Riverfarm’s fields, and, uh, got water from the creek that fed Riverfarm’s river.
Okay, it was just a good mood. But Durene welcomed it. She had spoken to Laken. Not face-to-face, and he was yet far away, doing things with Goblin prisoners, and she was not happy about that. But she’d missed him. It felt like, now, she knew that he remembered her. Was thinking of her.
It mattered a lot. Durene dumped a bucket of water in what was supposed to be her pig’s trough. It was her bucket, so it filled the trough halfway and woke the new occupant of her cottage’s fenced-in perimeter. Bismarck yawned, exposing rows of yellowed teeth, and padded over to the trough for a drink. Durene eyed him, and the Mossbear sniffed the air. He tried to proceed towards the cottage for breakfast—Durene caught him.
“No. That’s my breakfast, Bismarck. You can have these potatoes.”
She dumped a small pile on the ground, and the bear sniffed them. Then he sniffed the air and decided fried potatoes and eggs sounded a lot better. He padded towards the cottage—this time, Durene wrapped her arms around his midsection.
“I said no.”
The Mossbear, affronted and surprised, looked back at Durene. He made a gaoing sound and pulled. Durene, her feet slipping in the wet soil, pulled back. And both she and Bismarck had an unpleasant surprise.
He was strong! Durene had met few things in the world that could really bother her. Wagons, trees, even Hobgoblins had felt weaker than her. But Bismarck was a Mossbear, bigger than regular bears. And he—Durene slipped across the ground, then pulled back harder.
The bear was surprised too. He wasn’t used to anything being able to hold him in place or get in his way, come to that. He strained to go forwards, and Durene hauled him back.
“Stay. Bad Bismarck! Stay—”
That was when it began to rain. Again. Both the Mossbear and half-Troll girl looked up as the clouds opened up. A downpour instantly soaked both and the potatoes. Bismarck eyed Durene and the cottage and then the pile of wet potatoes on the ground. Durene bared her teeth. The Mossbear considered his chances of getting into the hut, then dejectedly padded over to his potatoes and began wolfing them down. Durene sighed.
It was the beginning of another day.
—–
Another day. But a better one. The last two days hadn’t been the worst, all things considered, and Durene was feeling optimistic. By the time Wiskeria entered the cottage, dripping with water, Frostwing was eating her raw meat, and Durene had food.
“Morning, Wiskeria.”
“Hello, Durene. It’s another rainy day.”
The [Witch] sighed as she shook water from her clothes and hat onto the floor. Durene was about to ask if she needed a towel when she noticed Wiskeria wasn’t actually wet. The water slid from her garments, leaving a dry, if hungry, [Witch] behind.
“Wow. Is that magic? Here. Want some eggs and potatoes?”
Wiskeria sat down at the table, smiling slightly. She accepted the food and ate ravenously; Durene joined her a moment later with a much larger plate of her own food. Frostwing pecked at her bowl of meat and balefully eyed the egg-eaters.
“It’s magic. Not magic robes; just a little charm against water. Good thing I put it on the tent, or I’d have been soaked this morning. I think it’s wearing off, though; I got a few drips.”
Wiskeria pointed out Durene’s window. The half-Troll [Farmer] glanced outside.
“Huh. Charms? Is that like regular spells? I don’t know much about magic.”
“It’s small magic. Spells are quick to cast and last…hours at best, usually. Charms require a bit more work. For a charm against water, I sprinkle some dust over the tent and make it deflect water. It lasts for a few days, so if I forget to apply it, I get soaked. Same for the hat and clothes.”
“That’s so handy.”
Not powerful, though. Just handy. Durene could be as happily dry as Wiskeria with a towel and a minute of work. The [Witch] nodded, eating fast.
“Small magics. I have a lot of them. It’s not as good as casting [Barrier of Air] or something like a [Mage], but it’s pretty good. That’s how my class does magic, anyways. We get other things in return.”
“You mean like bringing dead crow heads back to life?”
Durene stared across the table. Wiskeria paused with some potato stuffed into her mouth. She chewed, swallowed, and slowly looked outside.
“Uh…yes. If we want to. [Witches] learn a lot of disciplines. General magic, alchemy, hexes, charms, beast taming, even fighting Skills—”
“Necromancy.”
“I don’t know any spells to raise the dead.”
“Oh. Okay.”
“I really don’t. Look, [Witches] aren’t all the same, Durene. We’re—it’s a wide class.”
Flustered, Wiskeria adjusted the hat on her head. She never took it off, even indoors. She wiped her spectacles on her robes, and Durene let the matter drop.
“So what’re you going to do today? Prost and Rie say they’re going to make an announcement this morning. In the village. Want to come?”
The [Witch] hesitated, and her good mood palpably faded a bit. Durene just stared at her. Wiskeria mumbled as she finished her plate.
“Maybe. I could…come by.”
“Laken asked you to.”
Another pause.
“Yes, he did. I’ll think about it.”
And there was another thing. Two days ago, Wiskeria’s answer would have been a flat rejection, Durene was sure. But she’d been in the room with Durene and heard Laken’s [Message]. He’d asked her to help, and the [Witch] looked bothered as she glanced out Durene’s window again. Because, as different as she was from Durene, with her quick wits, magic, and now deep guilt, she and Durene shared the same thing that bound them together in unlikely ways.
Loyalty. Durene had been glad to see it—surprised that she’d seen it in Rie’s face—and she was relieved herself. Something, someone was coming that would make things better. But just as importantly, Durene had realized what she needed to do while Laken was away: keep Riverfarm safe. With that in mind, she felt energized today. Durene got up and put both plates away. She looked at Wiskeria.
“If you’re coming, do it soon. I’m going into the village. With Frostwing. If she behaves herself.”
She reached for the bird, and Frostwing squawked, but slowly hopped onto Durene’s arm. The bird pecked at a loose thread on Durene’s clothing, but didn’t scream or protest this time as Durene picked up an oiled cloak and held it over the bird. She walked over to the door.
“See you later?”
“Yeah.”
Wiskeria smiled as Durene left the cottage. She watched as the door closed, and the sudden shower of rain began to let up a tiny bit. The [Witch] stared around the cottage, sighed, then stood up as well.
—–
This morning, the people of Riverfarm broke from their routine for a gathering in the one building large enough to hold them. The village’s center, the meeting hall that doubled as the throne room of sorts. The carved throne that sat on a small dais at the other end of the room was unoccupied. And it had been for nearly two months.
Even so, the people who came to listen to Prost speak stared at it with the same expectant stare they had on day one. They were Riverfarm’s original folk, Windrest’s, the people of the villages who’d first come here. Not all of them; there were six hundred ‘original’ people. Loyal to their [Emperor].
Many had duties that called them away even before this early hour, but it still felt good to Durene to see the rest here. She stood next to the throne, listening to Prost speak. The [Steward] was a simple public speaker, but an efficient one; he wasted no one’s time.
“His Majesty is but two weeks away. Maybe a bit more, maybe less—he’s still got all the [Engineer] teams with him. We just have to wait for him. He is being escorted by two [Lords] after all.”
The people in the meeting hall nodded reluctantly. They’d been hopeful, but not exactly unpleasantly surprised by the [Message] from Laken. Durene gathered that this update on his progress wasn’t new by now. Prost let the murmurs die down before turning to Durene.
“One last thing. Our Durene’s awake and fully recovered from her injury. You may have seen her on her feet these last few days—she can be hard to miss. She’ll be helping around Riverfarm as she might—and it’ll be a help, you can be sure! Three days ago, she and Beniar caught the [Thief] who’d been stealing for the last few weeks!”
That garnered a lot more interest. Everyone turned to Durene, and she blushed as a small cheer rose from the crowd. But then a man shouted from the crowd. It was Mister Ram, the [Rancher].
“We finally caught that bastard! When’re we giving him a beating, Prost? Or is it just exile? He deserves more than that if you ask me!”
There was a swell of agreement from the crowd. Prost grimaced as he raised a hand. Rie wasn’t here; Durene guessed she was tending to the rest of the village.
