“Now, If I remember correctly, you swore you would never ask for my aid again?” She spoke, her voice was as smooth as the blue cascades of ice that lined the frozen waterfalls of the Zorkain Mountains. She stared at him with piercing eyes, she was expecting the young revenge seeker who used to spit witty banter, but instead, all she saw was a broken old man bleeding on her front steps.
“This is no time for games Circi, the girl, the girl needs your help.” Martin winced in pain as he stood up and quickly hobbled toward Zofia. The Witch almost frowned, disappointed in the circumstances in which she got to see him again. Martin Scooped her up being careful not to be too rough.
“Well... What’s wrong with her?” She said with a bit of reluctance and only a dash of annoyance. She walked towards them slowly.
“She was bitten... by a Poly-hob…” Martin choked out the words in between each painful step. The Volvas face became concerned, perhaps even motherly.
“Inside, Now! How long has it been? How far along is she? ” She was meticulous in her questioning and care of the situation. She saw Zofia's transformed arm and swore, her black hair bouncing from the string of profanities. They rushed her inside the cottage. The stairs led underground, at least six feet deep. The inside of the Witches residents was large and well lit, a thousand dripping candles lined the walls of the cottage interior. Glass jars and vials, with strange liquids, preserved organisms, strange beakers of all shapes and sizes cluttered her cabinet space. Moss was tightly packed in all corners of the residence keeping it unnaturally warm for this time of year. The cottage was made up of the main living space and a loft where the witch slept. On the far side of the living space, there was A dark cast iron cauldron over a crackling fire. In the center of the living space was a large wooden table with all sorts of odd rituals and papers, strange diagrams and words scribbled on them with blood, ink, or some other unknown compounds. Circi rolled them up and moved them as fast as she could, clearing the table. She ran to a large elaborate bookshelf, made from twisted branches and planks of oak wood. On the shelf were thick volumes of ancient manuscripts and instruction manuals. She rapidly tapped her fingers against each tome until she found the one she wanted.
“Ah, found it!” Removing it with two hands, heaving it up and dropping it on the table with a loud thump. She opened the book on the table and quickly flipped to a page with unreadable text scratched on it.
“lay her down. Help me unwrap her.” She commanded Martin, and he obeyed. They unwrapped the girl, her poor body looked frail and her clothes were visibly wet. Her arm was monstrous and smelt rotten, not even the sweet honey aroma of the Witches hut could mask the sour tang.
“Oh, by the night! Shes so far along. When was she bitten, last week?!” She scolded.
“Only this morning, If it were easier to find you we wouldn't be in this mess! Then the damn Klude chased me for hours! You took your sweet ass time Circi, I swear you did it to vex me!” He raised his voice.
“Well, there's no sense in fighting about the past. Martin, please tell me you at least had enough sense to keep the Tongue?” She looked at him sharply.
“Of course I do, what do I look like, some third-rate page?” Martin quipped and reached inside his traveling pack pulling out the rubbery barbed tongue of the Poly-hob. The witch took it and began to butterfly the tongue with a small paring knife and scrapped out the small black bulbs that were inside directly into the cauldron already Filled with purified water. She then began to dice the different herbs and ingredients for the mixture, Martin noticed that some of these were deadly, even in small doses.
“Is this belladonna... and this, foxglove? I think you misunderstood me, I’m trying to cure her, not kill her.” He said poking at the small black berries and the pink tube flower.
“You may not be a third-rate page Martin, but you're certainly a third-rate Sentinel.” She mocked him, pushing just a little too much perhaps.
“The only third-rate Sentinel…” Martin became serious and characteristically glum.
“Yes, yes. It was over twelve years ago Martin, get over it. Anyway, it says the effects of the poison are nulled by the glands from the tongue. So, in theory, it should allow the healing properties of each of the herbs and fruits to take effect.” She said reading from the book as she waved her hands through the air.
“In theory?” Martin questioned.
“I’ve never actually cured anyone whos been this infected with the Poly-hob toxin. This is a very rare case. I didn’t know how to treat it, so I had to use my sister's manuals as reference.” She said gesturing at the massive book. He looked at Zofia lovingly, his eyes showed worry and unmistakable compassion.
“Martin, I might be able to save the girl, but we need to remove the arm. It’ll spread if we don't do something about it soon.” She softly spoke. The Volva rested her hand on his and brushed her thumb against it, not grasping it or patting it out of wellbeing or pity, not a light touch, but a well-placed gesture of intimacy. Martin quickly removed it, not because he didn't enjoy the warmth or compassion, but, because of the feeling of uneasiness about the past emotions that he had hoarded of her, deep within himself like a dragon coveting its gold.
“This isn't the time Circi, the girl needs attention.” He spoke trying to deflect his true intentions. She pulled back and collected herself, she was feeling rejected and that hurt.
“Your right, I'm sorry. I was carried away. So, I can brew the potion in an hour to aid in the reversal of the Mutation, but in the meantime, I’ll fix a potent numbing agent for the girl. I would clean and sharpen the saw that rests in the corner of the room, over there.” Circi spoke solemnly and nodded to a saw hanging on the far wall.
“I haven't forgotten.” He said peering for a moment into her eyes that were as large and orange as a pair of hunter moons. She smiled and then seemed cool and unphased by the events that were at hand, her hands worked swiftly, and were precise. She began breaking down and grinding opioids, ginger root, peppermint and splashed a clear liquid that made a terrible hiss when it touched the ground herbs. She mixed it with a small wooden spoon until the ingredients formed a brown paste. Martin watched her, his eyes yearningly devoured her as he sharpened the blade of the Saw. With a linen cloth he buffed the saw blade with a strong-smelling spirit trying to cleanse what he could, it reeked of juniper and orange, he couldn't imagine anyone possibly drinking it.
“The numbing agent is ready, how's the blade coming?” She said.
“It's ready.” He spoke with a small shake in his voice. Martin walked over to the table and the Volva took out a box of long needles. She began to dip the needles in the Numbing concoction and inserted them on key spots across the girls mutated arm and shoulder. With every pin prick, the girl jolted and flinched.
“Is she ok?” Martin asked concerned for her safety.
“Don't you trust me?” She teased with a smirk, but Martin wasn't smiling, he was dead serious.
“She will be fine, it’s just an initial shock of the chemicals. In a moment they will seep into her bloodstream and she won't be able to feel much for hours.” Circi comforted.
“Ok. Thank you.” Martin was gracious, he knew she was the right person to take the girl to, even if it brought up past melodramas, intensities, and warmth. They waited a moment in silence for the concoction to take effect, Zofia began to toss and become restless.
“We should get to work before she becomes conscience.” Circi pushed. Martin let out a breath and positioned himself over her. Circi held the arm out next to him. Martin rested his left hand on Zofias chest and pressed down to hold her in place. He took the saw and lined it up a little past her shoulder joint, just outside of the mutated area. He readied himself, and pushed, the blade cut into her soft deformed arm. Cream-colored puss ran down to the table and dripped on the floor, it smelt foul.
Zofia felt tugging and jerking at her side, her body was being pulled, she didn't know by what. She could have sworn she was in the lair of the frog beast, slowly being eaten, or worse, saved for the winter. But when she opened her eyes she saw Martin sawing at her arm, puss and dark blood leaking from the wound. She didn't panic, it had to be a dream, she didn't feel any pain because it was simply a dream. She stared around the room and it frightened her for it seemed so foreign. Her sight fell upon a terrifyingly beautiful woman with smoldering eyes of honey.
“Martin…” Circi quickly nodded at Zofia who was now awake. The Man looked over at the young girl blankly staring at him as he sawed through her bone.
“Can you make her look away? This is hard to do with her looking at me.” Martin said uncomfortably as pus and blood squirted on his jerkin. Circi let go of Zofias arm and let it rest as Martin made small cuts into the bone, not wanting to tear away healthy tissue. The Witch gently turned the girls head and whispered a soft word that sent the girl into a trance-like state.
Martin knew first hand of the hypnotic powers of the Witches of the woods, born from chaos, with unimaginable strength over a person's soul. Once upon a time, It was said the dividing of Kingdoms were caused by the interference of such Witches. They slept with great men of power. They talked and persuaded their way into the realm of men, always playing the hearts and never the sword. Until a binding of warriors joined forces and drove them far from this world, far, far, away. But then again, those are just tales to scare children.
Martin was nearly through the arm, just one more clean-cut and it would be severed.
“Done… We need to seal it somehow. Can you light an iron?” He said putting the saw down and picking up a bandage.
“That’s Barbaric Martin. Hold her still, this will hurt. Even with the Numbing agent.” The witch said as she began to rub her hands together. Martin did as she said and pressed down harder on the girl's chest not looking at her, not wanting to see the girl in pain. Circi closed her eyes and began to mutter words incoherently, none of it made sense, none of it was the human tongue. But then again, she wasn't human. She rubbed her hands until they became as red as coals. When she opened her eyes they glowed with vibrant color, her hair began to float off her shoulders, and the sound of a raging tornado came from her sharp lips. The girl began to struggle on the table, afraid of this awful nightmare. The Volva held out her hands toward the girl's amputated stump, chanting inaudible words that shook the cottage. From the wound; skin, sinew, and tendons slowly formed and twisted from her, covering the exposed pieces of bone and muscle. They wrapped tightly to her stump like a hundred twine bandages, sewing themselves through her flesh till they were tuat. The girl bucked and kicked, screaming as hard as she could, but her cries were drowned out by the deafening incantation of the Witch. When Circi was through her hands dropped to her side and she fell to the floor. Zofia laid motionless panting and moaning in discomfort. Martin stood there breathing heavily from the intensity of Circi’s spell. His vision had come back to him and he rushed to the Volvas side to help her up.
Stolen story; please report.
“Here,” he said, offering his arm for support. Circi grabbed ahold and he was shocked at how cold she felt. Her touch was the frosty touch of death.
“Circi, your freezing, let me get you a blanket!” He petitioned with care.
“Oh, no. I’ll be fine. A side effect of Black magic. Just a tad chilly, I’ll warm up momentarily.” Her comforting didn't convince him this time and he rushed to get her a blanket anyway. He draped the purple and white woven blanket over her shoulders, and all she could do was accept it with a blush as pastel as a sunrise.
“Always a gentleman.” She said humbly. They stared at each other with ardent eyes. They were close to each other and he could feel the heat come back to her body. Her eyes were a wildfire and his a dense woodland she wished to get lost in.
“Don't stare at me like that Martin… You’re making me uncomfortable.” She glanced away, a strange, vulnerable feeling rising in her chest… almost like she was mortal. The cauldron began to bubble and almost boil over, causing them to jump.
“Oh, damn it! The remedy!” Circi exploded as she bounded over to the cauldron, dropping the blanket. She swung the pivoted arm that the cauldron was hanging on, moving it off the flame.
“Will it be all right? “ Martin sheepishly asked, embarrassed by the circumstances in which he got to see her again.
“The potion will be fine, just needs to cool. We need her to be awake so she can drink the Medicine. Could you wake her? You could use some water and a cloth, It should comfort her, I’m sure I don't need to remind you where the water pal is?” She quipped smirkingly. She was right, he knew almost every square inch of the Cottage. His stay wasn't long, but it was no doubt memorable. He dipped the rag into the lukewarm water and rung it out until it was damp. He walked over to the little girl who was lying, now, unconscious on the wooden table. Her skin was warm and clammy, she didn't look well, and Martin wasn't sure if she would last the night. He gently patted her head and face, trying to wipe up the mucous membrane that had begun to coat her skin. As Circi prepared the tonic for Zofia, she watched Martin from the corner of her eye, it was strange to see him so gentle and kind with her. The person she knew in the past was a charred man searching for the Devil, longing for vindication, for bloody revenge. But he seemed to care deeply for this little girl and she wondered why.
“So, I thought you said you would never actually settle down? Whos the lucky lady?” Circi asked, trying to put up an air of nonchalance. She mixed in a few dry ingredients into the medicine, for taste.
“She's not mine Circi. I found her on the road north of Trent. Her mother was being rapped, I couldn't save her, but luckily the girl was hiding. So I promised i’d escort her to safety, I'm taking her to her aunt in Morn Awolon. I’m just a warden, for now, that’s all.” He said as he gently patted her. Circi breathed out a small sigh of relief but felt disappointed, the idea of him being a father somehow made him more handsome, even in his old age.
“Can you prop her up Martin?” She said walking over with the small vile as large as a pointer finger. The vile was filled to the top with something so dark and thick it might as well have been oil. Martin sat Zophia up and began to rub her back as he nudged her awake. The girl wearily opened her black eyes and shook from chills.
“Hey…” She weakly spoke. She blinked slowly and looked around. She looked at her amputated arm and gasped.
“That wasn't a dream?” She was shocked but overcame her anxiety.
“Hello, My names Circi. I’m here to help you, you were bitten by a bad creature called a Poly-Hob. I need you to drink this. It’s very important so you can get better.” She said to the young girl.
“Is it Medicine?” The young girl asked nervously.
“That’s exactly what it is. Now, drink up.” Circi confirmed as she lifted the small vile to the girl's lips. As soon as the rim of the vile touched Zofia's icy blue mouth the Witch tilted it back, making sure to get every last drop in the girl.
It was a repugnant taste Zofia instantly wanted to spit out, but Martin had covered her mouth as soon as the concoction was in. She shook her head refusing to accept it. It burned her tongue, the taste was bitter and thick, coating her cheeks and the roof of her mouth.
“Swallow,” Martin commanded. She gagged on it before most of it slid down her throat. With some effort, she ingested whatever was left. It only took a moment for the Chemicals to take effect. The girl trembled and jerked in Martins's arms for a moment before he let her down where she laid motionless on the table.
“Is she all right?!” Martin asked Circi, concerned about Zophias condition.
“Yes, perfectly.” The Volva said with confidence as she began to check the girl's vitals.
“The deadlier ingredients and poisons have taken effect. She has a good shot to survive the night. I’ve got to give it to her, she's got spirit...” Circi was saying.
“Moxy,” Martin interjected.
“Excuse me?”
“She has Moxy,” Martin said with tears welling in his eyes. He rested his hand on her greasy head and was able to bare a weak smile. The room was silent until Martin began to shake and stumbled, startling the Witch. She rushed to his side. With closer observation, she could see he was wounded in multiple places.
“Martin your hurt! Why didn’t you say something?” She said, helping him up and leading him to a stool.
“I didn't notice...” he tried to lie as he clutched his side. She peered at him, laying hands on his shoulders.
“Martin, your clothes are soaked! Let's remove them and get you bandaged, ok?” He silently nodded. She helped him up and sat him on a wooden stool that was no more than a half-cut log with four sticks for legs. Circi began to unbuckle the leather jerkin taking it off him, the leather was worn in and wrinkled, practically useless with the slash across the ribs, leaving a gaping hole. His shirt was soaked through with sweat, rain, and blood. She pulled it up and off his torso. She unbuttoned the long johns and peeled them off his body. Martin sat nude and exposed inside the Woman's den. As the Witch Looked him over, she noticed how his body had not atrophied as much as she had thought. He was skinny and his scars had all but healed from the last time they met but he still looked formidable. On his side were three long gashes, each beginning to fester, red with inflammation.
“Lift your arm up and hold still.” She ordered. She took out a small sewing kit and began to cleanse the wound with stinging alcohol, startling Martin, making him flinch. She began to sew the wound with surgical precision.
“Just like old times, huh?” He muttered as she dragged the string through his skin.
“I said hold still.” She said smiling. She playfully jabbed at his side with the needle. Her sewing was far superior to Martins, he could barely feel the piercing of the needle or hear the slurp of the thread. Before he had time to speak again she had closed all three wounds, near painlessly.
“Do you, um… have anything dry for me to wear?” He asked. She threw him a plain linen shirt from a bin of clothes.
“Thank you, but can I trouble you for some stockings, or a pair of trousers perhaps?” he asked sheepishly.
“I'm a Witch of chaos and discontent, Martin, I can mend a wound not craft you trousers on request.” She sharply said as she began to pack away the sewing kit. He huffed and tied a long loose blanket around his naked waist. Martin sat back down, groaning as he clutched his side. The wound still burned and that was fine for now, at least he felt safe. Circi draped an oddly patterned woolen blanket over the little girl.
“All we can do is wait it out, it may only take a day or it may take a few weeks. I’ll allow you two to stay in my home, Martin. I may even allow you to stay in my bed, but we shall see.” She said with a powerful gaze.
“For your payment...” Martin uttered apprehensively. He picked up a knife near the stool and brought it close to his green eye. She watched with enthusiasm. His heart pounded in his chest and he felt cold chills of pain scrape down his spine. He dug the tip of the blade into the corner of his eye, letting a drop of blood splat to the ground.
“Martin, stop!” She shouted. He stared at her with a dumbfounded glare. The woman couldn't help herself as she laughed cruelly at him, her orange eyes mocking life itself. “That payment is far to grave for the favor you have asked me. This time I have something else in mind. But, if you want to blind yourself for my amusement, then go right ahead.” The witch said as she grabbed two wooden cups between her fingers and took the bottle of spirits that Martin used to disinfect the saw. She drank a sizable swig of it. Martin stared at her not believing she could drink such poison. She walked past him grabbing ahold of his hand, leading him up to her loft.
“If we're going to talk we best do it upstairs, not to disturb the girl... of course.”She said invitingly. They sat down on wicker chairs that were close by her bedside. The dim candlelight up in the Witches loft made her incandescent eyes glow like cat eyes deep within the night. She poured two full glasses from the large bottle and handed one to Martin. He looked inside, the alcohol was so clear he could see to the bottom of his cup.
“Here’s to love, the sickness,” Circi smirked with wry sarcasm and a sense of real misanthropy as she raised her glass in the air.
“Ha, Yes, The great martyr of the soul.” Martin sardonically chuckled raising his glass and clanking it against her’s.
They both took large gulps from there mugs. He didn't mind the burn so much as he hated the taste, It was bittersweet and oily and tasted like pine with a twist of fruit, it was truly an offensive drink. But nonetheless he took another sip, and another, not before long he asked for another glass. The liquors bitter flame warmed his languid body and the witches wicked eyes began to scorch his wretched soul. She stared at him ravenously all night as the alcohol had begun to take effect on both of them, there tongues loose from the spirit. Perhaps an hour had gone by when they both stopped talking and looked at each other amorously, deeply, ignoring every wrinkle and blemish on there faces.
“Oh, don't stare at me like that Circi…” Martin felt uneasy with this old god of the woods looking into his soul. He feared the piercing gaze of her churning amber eyes, they were never satiated and wanton. He could feel them probing him, searching him, absorbing his essence. Her pupils constricted to pins and she gasped, bringing her hand to her mouth. Martin knew it was too late to explain himself and that she had seen the cold chill of the black mark within him.
“Was it worth it...?” She said with disheartened alarm as she lurched back from the revolting shame she had witnessed.
“Damnit, Circi… I asked you not to look at me like that...” He said ashamed as he dropped his eyes from her’s.
“I knew you meant revenge, I knew the being you sought, but I didn't know you would go to such lengths when you found him, Martin. So, was it worth it?” She muttered dispirited and mortified.
“No.” He choked as he began to cry with drunken abandon. “It’s so empty and alone, yet the weight is so heavy, Circi. I should have stayed. I'm sorry.”
She stared at him with pity for she couldn't imagine the torment that was inside of him, and knew that his existence through all of time could only be pain and suffering. Martin was hunched over himself crying, drowning in his misery. Sinking deeper into his sorrow.
He was smitten with the way the waves forced his body down, there was no hope, there never was. Her voice, the ebb and tide, the push and pull, was enough to break and drown his soul inside this ancient underwater tomb. His unreserved waters of woe held him like a child, silent, caressed and safe, deep within this familiar mercurial womb. He was smitten with the way the waves, washed his weary soul away and buried him in his grave, his pit of sorrow, his underwater tomb.
Martin was pulled from the depths of his stopper of dread with Circi’s velvet hand lifting his head up and a familiar kiss from her enchanting lips. She began to wipe his eyes with her thumbs, clearing away the rogue tears.
“Forgive me Circi… the alcohol is too strong for me perhaps. What do I owe you for the girls' life? Name it, anything...” He said wiping away snot and trying to contain a sniffle. She leaned in grabbing ahold of his shoulders. Her lips touched his ear as she whispered her grim request. Martins's eyes grew large with surprise. He looked at her.
“...Then it shall be…” He said with some hesitation. She smiled and rubbed his chin that had not been shaved in a few days.
‘Come.’ Her eyes seductively called. Circi brought him to her bed and laid him down. She removed the straps of her black dress and it fell to the floor. And with a flick of her hand, the candles were snuffed and together they dove into the salty brine of the ocean.