A Nameless Witch

7

Gwurm hetdup a handful of berries.

I popp ed one in my mouth and spat it on the ground. "No. They're only blueberries."

"Isn't that what we're looking for?" Newt asked.

"We're looking for berries that are blue. Not blueberries. I'm not baking a pie."

Gwurm shoved his handful into his mouth. He spoke while chewing. Juice dribbled down his chin. "I think I saw some over this way."

"You think?" Newt said.

"Well, they're blue."

"If you're going to be snippy, Newt," I said, "you can just go home."

My familiar grumbled. He'd always grumbled, even in Ghastly Edna's service, but the tendency had grown worse of late. When he wasn't complaining, he was muttering. Or glowering with unspoken irritation. There wasn't much for a ferocious, part demon duck to do in this village. There hadn't been much in Ghastly Edna's isolated cabin either, but that was before he'd gotten his taste for blood.

He'd tried applying his killing lust to more productive ends by hunting game for the village. It just wasn't the same. I gave him credit for trying and allowed him his muttering.

Gwurm led us to the blue berries that yet again proved to be blueberries. I did find some scraps of moss though that would help treat infections.

"What do you need these for anyway?" Newt asked.

"I'm mixing a poison."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"You're going to kill someone?"

"Perhaps."

"Who? Don't tell me. Let me guess. That fat man, the smithy! No, not him. I know. That snooty woman with the six children. The one who said I had a silly walk." His eyes shone with enthusiasm for the first time in months.

"I haven't decided yet."

Gwurm brought some more berries. "How about these?"

"Those are just blueberries," Newt said. "Can't you tell the difference? I think there's some this way." He dashed into some bushes. "Over here! I think I've found them."

The berries were the exact ones I needed. He watched me collect them with a sinister glee.

"What's next?"

"I need some black crickets for a potion of itching boils. I'm thinking of pouring it into the village well. Just for amusement."

Newt practically squealed with delight and began his bug hunt.

"You aren't going to kill anyone," said Gwurm.

"Hush. Don't ruin it for him."

After Newt had brought the crickets, I sent him after some tree sap to sicken the beasts. Then pinecones to bring nightmares to the children and roots to send the soldiers into murderous rage. Once he realized they were all ingredients for salves, tonics, and ointments, he'd be very disappointed and return to his grumbling. But he was happy for the moment.

"Now this is more like it, mistress. Nothing against the healing, but it's only proper you finally inflict some woe on these people. Just to keep in practice for when you really need it."

We walked back to the village. I entertained Newt with tales of curses and afflictions I intended to send down on Fort Stalwart. Plagues of projectile vomiting and exploding skulls, and other maladies. He skipped along, offering suggestions of his own. Gwurm put forth a few as well, and Penelope twitched in my hand at approval of the truly dreadful ones.

"Rot all the food," Gwurm proposed.

"No," Newt said. "Don't just rot it. Fill it with maggots. But not so anyone can see by looking. That way, they'll bite into an apple and get a mouthful of worms."

"Poisonous worms," Gwurm added.

"Poisonous, screaming worms. Big gooey white ones full of veins that shriek when you bite into them."

"Excellent suggestion," I said. "I shall have to remember that one." And I would, as it was a very good idea, should I ever desire to inflict a true plague.

Newt and Gwurm played their game and came up with several other worthwhile possibilities. Newt was the most excited I'd ever seen him, including our years with Ghastly Edna. The demon in him delighted in thoughts of cruel mischief, and I was truly sorry that this trick would only work once.

Gwurm pointed down the road. "Somebody's coming."

We stopped and observed a horse and a rider coming our way at a brisk trot. His appearance surprised me. No one ever came from the west. No one but me. It was unsettled land, the kind of country where a witch and her charge might live unmolested.

"Are we going to kill him?" Newt asked.

"We'll see."

"If we kill him before he gets to the village, no one will ever know."

"I said, we'll see."

A powerful aura of magic covered the rider and his horse. It was not witch magic, but there were many varieties. I had only a passing familiarity with all but the witching kind, but I couldn't perceive its exact purpose.

Despite the enchantment upon him, I didn't think him a disciple of the arcane. He didn't look like a wizard or sorcerer. He was tall and lean, adorned in a chain mail vest and casual garb. A sword hung on his hip. This too possessed some unfamiliar enchantment. He was a very dark man. I didn't know men came in such a dark shade. His hair, cropped short, was black as coal. His eyes were even darker if such a thing were possible. His horse should have been black, or at least a deep, rich brown. But it was gray and a very light gray at that, almost white.

An invisible sign marked his forehead. I could see it through a witch's vision. The brand was the source of his enchanted aura.

Newt winced and belched softly. "I don't feel so good." The rider drew closer, and Newt gurgled. "I think I'm going to be ill." When the man was but a few feet away, the duck mumbled a curse and ran, retching, into the deeper forest.

The man wasn't handsome in a traditional sense. At least, I didn't think so. Yet he was pleasing to look upon, and I could not get myself to look away. Especially from those eyes. Finally, I gathered enough sense to lower my head and hide most of him behind my brim.

Distantly, the heaves of a vomiting duck reached my ears. It was an odd sound, beginning as a quack and ending in a hoarse gasp.

The man brought his horse to a halt. "Ho there, my good woman. Is this troll bothering you?" He loosely gripped his sword hilt.

"Actually, he's with me." I raised my head enough that everything below his nose fell below my brim. He had a strong, round jaw.

Newt stumbled to the road, smacking his bill and moaning. He glimpsed the man and gagged. My familiar dashed back into the bushes and commenced vomiting anew.

"Is that your duck as well?" the rider asked.

"He is."

"Is he ill?"

"Apparently so. Nothing serious, I suspect."

I raised my hat to glimpse the man's eyes. He met my gaze without blinking. I was unaccustomed to that. Most people turned from my sight. Either because they thought I was a madwoman, not to risk antagonizing, or knew I was a witch, and feared the evil I might inflict through my stare. But he didn't, and neither did I.

I couldn't sort through all the dark whisperings of my curse. I wanted to devour this man as I had none before. I didn't know why. He was a healthy specimen, but there were many healthy specimens at the settlement. Yet, even as I imagined sinking my teeth into his flesh, an inexplicable nausea seized me. Nothing so serious as the sickness Newt was suffering. In fact, it was not an entirely displeasing sensation.

We stared into each other's eyes for what seemed a very long time. He turned away finally and broke whatever strange spell held me. I quickly lowered my gaze away from those hypnotic eyes.

He cleared his throat and avoided looking directly at me. "Is this the way to Fort Stalwart?"

"Yes. Just keep to the road, and you'll be upon it in another mile."

"Thank you. Good day, good woman, troll. I hope your duck feels better."

He spurred his horse to a gallop. I watched him go. I had no choice. Something, perhaps his magic aura, made me. I noticed the fullness of his shoulders and wondered what it might be to nibble at the flesh with soft, gentle nips. Then to tear it away to savory mouthfuls. Then I would turn him over and split his chest, scooping out the delicacies within. I'd lap up the blood for dessert.

I wouldn't eat his eyes. Those, for reasons not entirely clear to me, I wanted to save.

As if sensing my thoughts, the man glanced back with a severe frown across his face. I wanted to look away, but I didn't. I stared without bothering to hide it until he disappeared around a bend in the forest.

Newt dragged himself from the bushes.

"Dark gods, such purity of heart. The demon in me was unprepared for it."

"You've never met a White Knight before then," Gwurm explained. "They're famous for their virtue."

"He seemed very dark for a White Knight," I said.

"They enjoy a small but diverse membership."

I bent down on one knee and wiped Newt's bill with the hem of my dress. "Feeling better now?"

"Now that he's gone, I'll be okay."

"Come along then. We have much to do."

"Oh, right. The boils. I'd nearly forgotten."

"Yes," I agreed. "The boils and the rotting food."

We started back to the fort, and I dallied, preserving Newt's happiness as long as I could.