Chapter 3 — Witch

Rína’s body awoke exhausted, albeit warm and alive. Her mind was still half asleep as she reluctantly pushed off the fur blanket and made ready for the day. Mr. Quincy would be by for a poppy refill, the hibisk stalks still needed to be processed and—

The fur blanket, more commonly referred to as a wolf, disagreed with her waking up so early.

The previous night’s events shot into Rína’s mind. Now fully awake, she stared wide-eyed. She was still laying on her back from the night prior, but a great wolf had laid its head and most of one of its front legs atop nearly her entire body; as if she were little more than a throw pillow. And most notably, the wolf’s muzzle and paws were coated in dried blood. She didn’t know if it was the same wolf from last night, but at the moment it didn’t really matter.

Thankfully, a comatose huff was the only reply Rína received from her own stirring.

Rína’s breath was trapped in her chest as her heart sought to burst out of it. A quick survey of her surroundings granted no salvation. She was still in the same dell, though it—and the wolf—were now covered in centimeters of sparkling snow, lit by the morning sun.

Left to her own devices, Rína began making the most minute of movements. A shallow breath here, a leg shift there. Each movement brought a fresh shot of pain from her ankle. She was on the verge of tears, but didn’t dare make a sound. So by centimeters, she shimmied towards freedom. All she needed was to free her leg and with it her boot knife. As much as her body was screaming for her to run, Rína knew the beast wouldn’t be nearly as intimidating if it had a knife in its neck. Furthermore, one never knew when one might be promoted from pillow to morning snack.

Between the slow bass breathing of the wolf and the haze of pain, Rína didn’t hear the sound of footsteps on fresh snow until the perpetrator made themselves known.

“He has a habit of doing that. Falling asleep on you as if he were a lap dog, that is. Picking up local strays is new…”

Hearing a woman’s voice was so far from Rína’s expectations that she simply froze and didn’t respond. Instead the reply came from the beast that was currently smothering her, and was not as asleep as she thought. The wolf’s reply was akin to a war horn and just as ear ringing for its proximity.

“I don’t much care,” returned the woman, “Now get up so I can get a proper look at our little intruder.” The words were punctuated by the unmistakable sound of a hand smacking a rump. The wolf reluctantly rose and shook off its kilos of snow. Revealed beneath was a coat not dissimilar to an ordinary gray wolf, except for the speckles of brilliant green that dotted its body.

Finally freed, Rína now had an unobstructed view of the woman.

She was tall, statuesque even, with tight muscles like marble. Her hair was pitch black with traces of gray running through it, which she had in an unkept bun. Her eyes were sharp, focused on Rína, yet the rest of her body seemed relaxed and at ease, as if being among the giant wolf in the middle of the woods was only natural. The woman reminded Rína of some woodland spirit queen that she had heard stories of while a child. Though far from a queen’s regalia, the woman dressed in light, casual, morning clothes, as if she had been interrupted while making breakfast.

“You control that thing?” was all Rína could force out of her suddenly parched throat. She tried to keep eye contact with the woman, but Rína’s eyes kept snapping to the beast that had casually laid back down only a meter away.

The woman scowled, “His name is Felix, and no I do not control him, but he is with me. It would be more accurate to say we’re friends than that I control him. The more pertinent question is why is there a battered settler-ling stumbling this deep in the forest?”

At this Rína turned her attention towards herself and the throbbing pain her adrenaline had mostly kept to the background. It wasn’t a pretty sight. The rope burns on her palms were covered in dirt and dried blood—beneath that it was easy to see the wounds had become an angry red. She still wore her boots but she could feel her ankle swelling up against its confines. Besides that, she traced a dozen scratches and a few bruises across various spots of exposed skin.

“I... Men were after me. The forest was the only place I thought I could lose them in,” Rína let the tears flow freely, helped along by a flex of her sprained ankle, “I think they were kidnappers or bandits or worse.”

“And your burns?”

“They, well, they attacked the town. I had to slide down a rope to escape the outer wall” Rína gave an all too genuine wince while indicating her palms, palms she was sure would become infected, if not already. “Uh, I never got your name, ma’am.”

The woman didn’t answer immediately, instead continuing her assessment of Rína, letting the air fall to awkward silence. Finally she replied. “My name is Yvette, and you aren’t the worst liar under pressure, I’ll give you that. The bandit angle was a faulty one, though it certainly added authenticity, explaining how a portion of the town caught fire—”

“What!? It was only the manor that burned.”

“Fire does have a tendency to spread. And you just gave away that you expected exactly one building to burn, by the way.” The older woman’s stern demeanor was breached by a thin smirk.

“Where was I? Right: the best lies are mostly true. There are a couple of reasons why, the most immediately relevant being that you don’t know what the other person knows. Specifically, I know that the fire only affected the center of town—not very indicative of bandits. So how about you try that one again: why are you this deep into the forest?”

Rína was momentarily dumbstruck, more from the surprise of being lectured to as if she were a poorly performing student, especially given the venue.

“You’re a witch, aren’t you?” Rína eventually said.

“As a pejorative for female mages, most women would take that as an insult. But you’re ignoring my question, and when you mean to not answer a question, ignoring it just draws more attention to it. It’s better to just make a vague or general comment that implies a particular answer but doesn’t ultimately say anything. Then, you should say the word ‘but’ and change the topic. Most people are acclimated to discounting everything preceding that word.”

Rína grit her teeth, and nearly spat her next words, “Well if lectures are what are called for right now, then I’ve got one for you: interrogations are about rapport, and you won’t do yourself any favors by acting like a condescending witch! Case in point!”

Rína regretted the outburst the moment it left her. Her eyes went wide, involuntarily snapping between the wolf and the probable witch. Instead of any act of violence, Yvette scowled and broke eye contact, while the wolf seemed content to simply lay and observe the two women. Yvette set her hands on her hips and sighed.

“Hmm, I suppose I deserved that. Here, let’s start over. My name—damn, I never even asked for your name. My name is Yvette, and what might yours be?”

“...Rína,” she hesitantly replied, uncomfortable with the idea of giving the woman her name, but just as reluctant to be caught in another lie.

“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Rína. Now I’m afraid I really do need to know why you’re here, and also what you intend to do going forward.”

Given her most recent stretching of the truth, Rína discarded duplicity for diplomacy, “The ‘why’ is a bit of a long story. Though I didn’t come looking for you, or even knew you were out here, if that’s what you’re worried about. Originally my plan was to skirt the forest heading east, but there were some... complications. For the full story, maybe we could trade? Say, in exchange for a bath and some first aid?”

“Damnit. Sorry, yes, medical attention does take priority, doesn’t it?” the woman seemed uncomfortable, but eventually said, “You can stay at my home for a few days and I can get you patched up, but only on the condition of your complete discretion. You didn’t meet me, nor Felix, and you didn’t come this deep into the forest, understood?”

“Understood, and... thanks. I’d be a goner out here otherwise.”

“Well... Let’s just get you cleaned up. First you need to get off the forest floor, then we can see about getting the forest floor off of you,” Yvette said, smirking at her own wordplay, and offering Rína a hand up.

Taking Yvette’s hand, Rína winced as she stood and tried putting weight on her ankle. The spike of pain that greeted her dispelled any aspirations of mobility. Rína retreated back to the ground, keeping her bad ankle from any form of contact.

“Is your house nearby, by any chance?”

Yvette tsked, “No, and definitely not at a limping pace. It’s a ways deeper into the forest. Felix, would you give her a ride? She’s not getting anywhere without one.”

The lupine monster had at this point laid out on its side and started dozing again.

“Come on, I know you’re still awake. You can nap when we get home,” Yvette said, kneeling beside the beast and applying a generous serving of scratches behind the beast’s ears. It refused to be bought so easily, and, still half asleep, rolled into its back revealing an expansive belly bereft of rubs, its counter offer made clear.

Rína was jarred by the simple mundanity of the scene. She’d seen it played out by household dogs hundreds of times, but the creature’s size and the blood still caking its muzzle and forepaws dispelled any illusions of innocent domesticity.

“Is that safe? It—him giving me a ride, I mean?”

“You would be hard pressed to find a safer one. Even without me, nothing for a hundred kilometers could threaten him, or his passenger by extension.”

“It wasn’t external threats I was worried about.”

“What, you mean Felix? You have nothing to worry about. He’s a sentimental old softy.” Yvette said, her hands finishing their circuit around the beast’s belly, “When he chooses to be, that is. In truth, it’s the only reason you are still alive. Now, you stop being so nervous, and you stop being so lazy.”

Both Rína and the wolf grumbled in reply, but acquiesced regardless. The wolf for its part stood, then laid alongside Rína, its back within her reach, and gave her an expectant look. Rína for her part gave Yvette one last glance before taking a steadying breath and throwing her bad leg over the beast’s back.

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Rína spent the next hour with her arms around the wolf’s neck, her fingers dug into its fur, and her knees pressed into its flanks as hard as she could manage despite the pain from her jostled ankle. And behind her sat the woman, whose hands were similarly woven into the fur. The wolf for its part turned the forest into a blur as it wove its way through the underbrush. Though for all the speed the monster kept, its breathing was just as steady as when it was lounging. In fact it showed no signs at all that it was under any strain. It slowed only twice, both times right as Rína adjusted her grip, seeming to be cognizant of its passengers.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Rína could feel her mind wanting to protest at the oddity of the situation, but given the events of the night prior and that morning, Rína simply couldn’t be bothered. She instead resolved to leave such concerns to a future version of herself, one that had had a nice bath, a pleasant meal, fresh bandages over cleaned wounds, and above all a good night’s rest. Rína could still feel the soreness from her escape the night prior and neither sleeping on the forest floor nor the wolf’s mad dash was helping the matter.

Blessedly, the latter came to an end as the dense forest gave way to a modest clearing that was perhaps only thirty meters wide, and still fully shaded by the canopy of the surrounding trees. Contained within was a small cottage that would not have looked out of place were it on the outskirts of any village.

The cottage was a two story affair made of tightly interlocked stones that had never been acquainted with neither right angles, nor mortar. Upon them lichen and moss ranged as far as they pleased, from the slab foundation to the few window frames and up to the stout chimney and shale roof. Abutting the cottage was some manner of garden whose contents Rína couldn’t identify under the snow that covered the entire scene. The clearing was girded by a chest high wattle fence that the wolf jumped over with the ease of someone stepping over a fallen twig.

“There’s no way you aren’t a witch.” Rína said as the beast lowered itself to the ground.

“You should certainly hope not. As I recall from children’s stories, the casualty rate of those who entered a witch’s hovel was frighteningly high.” Yvette retorted as she put Rína’s arm over her shoulder and helped her across the garden.

“That only applies to small children. Besides, I was invited, so I can expect all the protection afforded by a witch’s hospitality,” Rína said, nearly appending ‘right?’, and eyeing the impending doorway. Feeling almost as if she were bargaining, Rína continued, “Furthermore, I’m a young innocent maiden of marrying age. A witch would be honor bound to solve all my problems and turn me into a princess, or something.”

“Ha! Well you’re right about the hospitality, but you’re on your own if you’re looking for prince charming.”

“That’s probably for the better. I never liked romance stories, it was always dragon slaying or bust for me.”

“Now dragon slaying I might be able to help you with. The trick is to go for the eyes, it’s a straight shot from there to the brain. The eyes are a dragon’s biggest weakness. A rather obvious one, too. You might even call it a... glaring weakness.”

Rína paused, not quite sure she heard her correctly.

“Your hospitality is shit so far.” she finally said, continuing the rhythm of banter. Rína still certainly had her apprehensions, but at the moment amicable conversation was the only tenable path she saw forward.

“Ha, you haven’t seen half of it. Speaking of which,” Yvette said, having reached and opened the door to the stone cottage. Putting on an air of formality, she intoned, “I bid you welcome into my home. I bid you comfort as a guest. And I bid you at ease under the aegis of this household.”

The older woman paused for a moment before appending, “I suppose, traditionally, I should have said that before crossing the fence, but a front garden isn’t exactly a household. I always thought it made more sense to say it at the front door…”

Unsure how to respond, Rína took a steadying breath and hobbled in after the definitely-a-witch, her arm still around the woman’s shoulder. The first sensation that met her was the warmth. The biting chill of an autumn’s morning was simply gone, replaced instead with the echoes of a roaring fire, of steaming cider, and thick blankets. As Rína passed the doorway, she could practically smell the cinnamon and hear the crackle of wood. In fact, she did. The quiet crackle of a smoldering fireplace was the only sound in the cottage that seemed to have just woken up as well. The air inside was filled with the faint smells of a breakfast gone by, one of eggs, bacon, and toast with a mug of malted cider. The smell of the space itself that laid beneath that of the food was one of lacquered wood, the leather of fur rugs, and something else Rína couldn’t quite place.

Rína stood just inside the doorway taking the space in. The cottage was roughly twelve meters long, about half that wide, and with a steeply sloped roof. Though the exterior was entirely stone, the interior was made almost entirely of wood and seemed to nearly be a single large space. To Rína’s left she saw that a second floor ran a third of the length of the cottage, appearing almost to be a great balcony overlooking the opposite side. Beneath the second story was a small kitchen and equally small dining table, both with evidence of food having been made and enjoyed in recent hours. Next to the kitchen, beneath the second floor, was a small walled off area with a single door. In front of Rína and against the back wall was a particularly large spiral staircase that came down from the second floor to the ground floor and continued underground. The right two thirds of the cottage was a living room with a single massive brown leather couch covered in gray and green hairs that was situated in front of the fireplace that occupied the far right wall.

A large, wet nose pressed into Rína’s back as the wolf tried to squeeze past her through the door Rína noticed to be particularly wide.

“Ay!” Yvette objected, “No blood in the house, you know the rules. Go and clean yourself up before you come inside.”

The large beast chuffed indignantly in Rína’s direction.

“How would her being here change that? If anything, it’s all the more reason to adhere to the rule. Now go.”

The wolf whined in defeat as it turned from the doorway and quickly disappeared into the forest.

Rína was then promptly led to, and left alone in a small washroom. It was the likes of which she had only heard rumors of wealthy city folk owning. Awaiting her was not some wooden tub of cold water and a rough bar of soap. Instead, before her was a white enamel bath fed by faucets of crystal clear water - one for actual hot water and another for cold. The bath, sculpted to appear to have four small legs, stood along the back wall with adjacent shelves bearing everything from a puffy ball of lace to soap smelling of flowers and a bottle of honey scented oils. The side walls were occupied by what could have been a noble’s version of a mirror, washbasin, and chamberpot; the latter two being plumbed with actual running water.

Rína tested the facilities only briefly before fully throwing caution to the wind. Soon she was submerged from the chin down in a sea of lavender bubbles and muscle-soothing hot water. Laying there with her head resting against the lip of the tub, Rína felt the tension slowly ease. She was still exhausted, but she managed to force herself to take stock of not just her immediate surroundings but also of her situation as a whole.

She still had her coin purse and forged identity papers, but just about nothing else. She could still make for the nearest city, but by the time she was healed and could make the trip, a wanted poster of hers would be waiting for her in all the nearby towns. And if she was ever to be identified, she’d be looking at arson charges at best and a pardon and marriage at worst.

Then there was the witch. Yvette seemed mostly ambivalent towards her, but that could change in a moment for all Rína knew. As much as she hated to admit it to herself, her immediate circumstances were entirely out of her hands. There was a certain freedom in admitting that; that there was no point worrying if the worrying couldn’t accomplish anything. Instead, Rína focused on what she could do at that very moment which, for better or worse, was limited to simply enjoying what was easily the most relaxing bath she had ever taken.

Her sense of danger was slowly smothered as her physical aches melted away.

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A knock at the washroom door jerked Rína awake. She couldn’t have been asleep for more than a few minutes based on the water temperature and her personal lack of pruniness.

“May I come in?”

“Uh, sure,” Rína replied, still buried in bubbles. Through the door came Yvette, still dressed in her morning attire, holding a chair in one hand, and in her other she was carrying a small crate with a number of opaque jars and spray bottles sticking out the top.

“How are you feeling?”

“Uh, well, a lot better, surprisingly.”

“Surprisingly? Your palms, please.” Yvette commanded, having set the chair next to the bath and beginning to open the jars.

“What’s all that? And yeah, this place, it’s cozy. Not really what I was expecting, to be honest.” Rína replied, her injured and now suds covered hands emerging from the bubbles.

“Don’t worry, the giant cauldron and all the other naughty child eating paraphernalia is downstairs.

“Now this is just some general first aid: numbing spray, a few T-cell and virophage creams of varying strengths, as well as cutaneous gel for after the ropeburn and cuts have been cleaned—oh, and something I cobbled together for your leg,” Yvette said, pressing a finger right into Rína’s palm, eliciting a whimper from Rína. The whimper itself elicited a raised eyebrow from Yvette in return.

“It looks like you have a few minor viral infections that your body should be able to shrug off, assuming it can be arsed. Though there is a bacterial infection that is slightly more worrisome,” Yvette said, staring into the middle distance. The woman got to work with practiced ease, first spraying Rína’s open wounds with a bottle that immediately made the affected areas numb and limp.

“Hwu du oou nah zaht? An whas a ee ell?” Rína slurred. The cuts on her face had earned their own sprays which had made her jaw muscles immediately feel sluggish.

Yvette froze for a moment, “You can call it a witch’s intuition and her tools, if you like,” she grabbed one of the bath brushes and began scrubbing the injuries clean of scabs, blisters, and what little detritus Rína missed. Rína was immensely glad she couldn’t feel any of it, but was more than a little disconcerted as she watched Yvette casually draw blood along the burns.

“Uhh, iz zaht nasasari?”

“Strictly speaking, no, but the human body’s healing mechanisms leave much to be desired. It’s simpler to remove what shoddy work it’s already done and give it better scaffolding to rebuild around.” Yvette then began spreading a lite green, acrid cream across her bleeding palms. After only a minute she wiped the wounds clean once more and spread a clear gel over the burns. On contact with the air, the gel quickly began to solidify into a wax-like substance, sealing the burns over. The woman then repeated the process for each of Rína’s small cuts across her arms and face.

“Ankle next,” Yvette commanded, moving her chair to the foot of the bath, “oh, and you can put your arm back in the water.”

“Whu rh oou ooing thas?”

“What do you mean ‘why’? Weren’t you listening when you stepped over the doorway? You are a guest of this household.” Yvette countered as she took Rína’s proffered ankle and began staring it down as if intimidation were a valid form of healing. “Just a normal sprain. Usual swelling, no internal bleeding, no loose bone fragments, nothing to worry about.

“The little speech I gave you wasn’t off the cuff.” Yvette continued, “It’s called the Blessing of Hospitality. It’s no aether construct, but it might as well be for all its weight. I presume you’re unfamiliar with it.”

“Neva har of it.” Rína shrugged, feeling slowly coming back to her face.

From the tray, beneath the jars, Yvette pulled out what looked like a thick sheet of dark leather that she then draped over Rína’s foot. With a pencil from her pocket she then began making markings along the leather’s exterior as if she were planning on making a boot out of it.

“I suppose even the old traditions aren’t immune to the passage of time. To give a more complete answer then: I’m doing this because I chose to be obligated to do so,” Yvette said, locking eyes with Rína, “and I chose that because you were an otherwise doomed child in the middle of the woods, and because Felix isn’t the only sentimental one in this house.”

“Not that I’m ungrateful, but just for the record: I’m twenty years old, I’m not—”

“Wait,” Yvette interrupted, raising her hand, “before you finish that sentence, you should remember that few things appear more childish than insisting on not being a child.”

“Wh—” Rína bit back her protest, silently conceding the point before a wicked grin spread across her face, “I just mean to say that perhaps in your extreme age, your mental facilities have failed you and you misidentified my age.”

“Nice try, but I’m not walking into that one. I respect the attempt though.”

The conversation fell into a lull as Yvette continued her work on the leather. To Rína, it looked like the woman was working on some kind of knee high boot, except she was also cutting large sections out of the material, making it look like some kind of scaffolding or frame.

“It’s something between a splint and a prosthetic,” Yvette said, answering Rína’s unspoken question. “It will keep your ankle locked in place and redistribute your weight from the ankle to your mid and upper leg. It’s thin, so you should be able to wear it beneath footwear like a thick sock. You might even forget that your ankle is injured.”

“And how is soft leather supposed to do that?” Rína asked incredulously, still eyeing the material.

“The witchiest of witchcrafts.”

“And which witch tradition would that be, exactly?”

“An older one, but it’s rather rude to be asking for such personal information, especially from someone to whom you in fact owe similar information. At least, I presume the cause of your woodland appearance is linked to rather personal factors.”

“Your evasions could use some variety, by the way,” Rína said, narrowing her eyes at the witch.

“Duly noted, but I believe you were about to tell me the story you owe me.”

Rína grimaced, “Right, well...”