The forest surrounding the crooked stone tower was flooded with light from the early morning sun. The mists of the night but a memory reflected on the droplets on the moon-leaves growing among the roots of the willow-trees, down by the edge of the river. Their silver-green leaves were easily spotted against the murky moss ever so present here. I was struck by a faint memory. Tall dark stems with rough brown bark, branches almost as thick as grown men with leaves as thin as needles and as many as the stars on a cloudless night. Red-brown dirt covered in yellow needle-leaves and the strange taste of salt. Cold shivers despite an itchy coating of fur and wool.

I reopened my eyes. All trails of the dark stems gone, replaced by the lush green willow I was resting my back against. The river surged behind me, bringing the water up and around the roots and moon-leaves closest to it. To my left a branch snapped. Standing in the shade of the next willow over was a man. A big blonde beard, woven into three distinct braids covered his pale skin. Icy blue eyes staring back into mine.

“Var hälsad!” he exclaimed, the rough-sounding tongue sounding somewhat familiar, but I failed to grasp the meaning behind his words. He must have seen the confusion written over my face.

“Vad var det nu det hette…” he muttered underneath his breath before continuing. “Hello there!” His accent was heavy but this time I understood.

“What business do you have in Witchcraft Woods?” I shot back, defensively aggressive.

“Seeking safe passage downriver. Mind if I step closer? Wouldn’t want to disturb the witches here in” he paused for a moment. “Witchcraft Woods was it?” he said as he stepped closer. Defensively I pulled the bundle of moon-leaves I had gathered close to me and stood up. He stopped. Suddenly I felt a surge of essence behind me. The river moved, willed into the shape of a giant serpent. It snaked its way through the air towards the strange foreigner, coiling around him until he was completely inside of it. A voice spoke behind me.

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“Boy! Get behind me. Quickly now”. Master sounded strained. I quickly spun but stopped. Behind me wasn’t the Master from this morning. This was not the lighthearted but gruff Master who strained to move his porridge. No. This was a force of nature. The thin gray hair on his hair floated around him and the very essence from within him felt insurmountable. From behind I heard the splashing of the now drowned man stop, but I didn’t dare turn to look. Master seemed to age before my very eyes. His body grew thin and frail and his skin turned a sickly gray color. With a splash the serpent of water behind me collapsed back into the river, and Master collapsed. The strange man was gone.

Master finally sat up. I had dragged him back to the tower and bundled him with all the fur and blankets I could manage, before lighting the fireplace. With a gurgle he drew a deep breath, held it for a bit before slowly letting it out.

“Master, who was th…” I started before master interrupted.

“Thorvald, my boy, go to my study and fetch me the red bottle from the locked cabinet” he said and pulled out a small brass key.

I had only ever seen the inside of this cabinet once. I knew this was where master kept his most dangerous and rare concoctions. The cabinet itself was a big oak construction, bolted to the floor. Detailed carvings of branches and leaves covered every conceivable surface. The brass key fit perfectly in the small keyhole and the doors unlocked easily. The cabinet was filled to the brim with different bottles and powders. Tucked away in a corner were 4 small vials with corks shaped as spreading wings containing a red liquid. Grabbing two I hurried back down the stairs.

Master had shaken loose from under the mountain of blankets was examining himself in a small pocket mirror. I handed him the vials. He downed them. Both. Without hesitation. I could feel the essence of the brews spreading within him before it settled down. Slowly Masters exterior recovered. Almost.

“Boy, I think it’s time I started teaching you real magic” Master said after a while. “That there was no regular wanderer. That there was a Viking.”