CHAPTER II - Guilty

"Oh my god, she's throwing a tantrum."

Vilja was not in the mood for this. She had only just freshly cleaned the kitchen, wiped down the cobblestone floors and dusted the high shelves. Herbs and dried plants, all bitter and sweet, were lined up neatly upon them, each organised by the first letter of their name in alphabetical order. Many people took Vilja as the messy or scruffy type, for her hair was untamed as a woodland shrub, and her personality resembled that of a big bear’s. But at home, she was as organised as any bored mother, perhaps even more so than Mei herself.

But in spite of Vilja’s well-kept mannerisms, there was something in the house that could undo all of her washing and wiping and dusting within the matter of a moment. And that thing, was of course, her most beloved apprentice, whose footsteps could be heard pacing back and forth the kitchen, like a restless insect, scuttling from one corner to another. Aurae grumbled and muttered ghastly curses, which Vilja could not hear clearly. Though if she were honest, she did not want to.

"I can't believe you're not letting me go. I don't understand."

"It's not my decision, Aurae. The Arakya decided it herself."

"Oh? And you are just going to listen to everything that old hag says?" Aurae spat, her words heavy with hatefulness, "I have been waiting so long for Stenmaya! Everybody has! It only happens once every 8 years and yet-"

"I'm aware. You don't have to fill me in on the history of Stenmaya," Vilja spoke, dryly.

And that was it. Vilja’s words had sent the girl into a spiral of rage. Her fingers began to emit a blood-red glow and flames sparked from atop her head. Here we go, the red witch thought. Veifa help us all.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

See, when Aurae was mad, or upset, or overwhelmed in any way at all, one could easily tell. Not only by her behaviour of course, but by a little fire that would always flicker into existence upon her blonde head. It was always in the same spot, at a little blackened patch at the top of her hair.

Vilja spoke some words of magic. A strong wind glided in from the open kitchen window, and blew out the fire at Aurae’s hands and head. The girl started pacing back and forth faster, Vilja could see that the spirit within her was hungry for destruction.

“I will go, I am not staying here! You cannot make me!” the flame atop her head reappeared.

“It is not your choice,” Vilja sent through a second gust of winter wind, and the flame was gone.

“I always have a choice.”

“Aurae, if you go to the festival, you might just set something else up in flames. You must stay at home until your spirit has calmed.”

“So, you’re just going to leave me here while you go and enjoy the festival yourself?”

Vilja sighed, and softened her voice, “I would stay,” by now, her apprentice had looked away, as if unwilling to listen, “But the Arakya has appointed me to some tasks during the festival that I need to look over. You will be alone.”

She didn’t receive a response. Aurae’s anger seemed to have boiled down to something else, for her expression looked hollow, like an empty glacier, in which words echoed and became lost. For a moment, Vilja felt a pang of guilt, perhaps she should have spoken more kindly. But it was difficult for her to speak in flowery language, she was not a mother. She was a huntsman, and her words hit directly like arrows.

“Look,” she pulled up a chair. The wooden legs scratched against the cobblestone floors, and Vilja sat.

“Freya will need a large stag for the feast on Stenmaya. If you’d like,” she began, “You can come with me when I go hunting for one tomorrow.”

Aurae’s eyes lit up that moment, “You- ...Really?”

“Yes, but you must be awake as soon as the sun is up. We cannot waste any time.”

“Just you wait!” Aurae had darted out the room by now to prepare her things for tomorrow, “I’ll be awake before even the earliest of birds.”