A Nameless Witch

3

Newt splashed around ina barrel of fresh rainwater. Though he disliked his waterfowl origins, he was duck enough to enjoy a good bath. I shaded my eyes from the light of day.

He stopped preening his wing long enough to raise his head and ask, "Well?"

"She's gone."

"I assumed as much, but what did she say?"

I told him of the path and the choice I must make.

"That's it?"

"No. She also told me to be careful of feeding trolls."

"That's just common sense." He briefly dipped his head below the water. "Anything else?"

"She said she loved me."

Newt frowned. "That's it?"

"Yes."

"Nothing for me?"

I shook my head.

"That's a fine thing." He jumped from the barrel and shook dry. "I was her familiar. I'd known her a good many years longer than you. And she breaks witchly protocol by admitting she loves you and doesn't even say a word to me. Not an 'I'll miss you' or 'Thanks for the years of loyal service.'"

UP » Sorry.

"That's quite all right. I'm used to it. Life of a familiar. Always get taken for granted. Still, I'll miss the old bat."

My eyes followed the trail of blood from the cabin door to the corpses of Ghastly Edna's killers. Newt had finished them off before they'd gotten twenty paces. I was surprised they'd made it that far, given the severed body parts Newt had sliced away. An ear here. A nose there. One forearm had been torn away with enough force to fling it onto the cabin's roof. The bodies were hardly recognizable, hacked and mutilated as they were. I was impressed with how thoroughly Newt had done away with them in such a short time.

"You did an excellent job," I complimented.

His inner demon flashed a pleased grin, hampered only by his lack of teeth. "They're the first men Fve killed. I slew a bear once. And a couple of badgers too. Purely for reasons of self-defense, I assure you. These two were a good deal easier. If I'd been here, I could've saved her."

I didn't contradict him, but I didn't think this true. Something told me Ghastly Edna's death couldn't have been averted. Perhaps it was the magic that told me this. Perhaps the simple logic that my mistress wouldn't have sent Newt and I away if we could have been of some help.

A witch was to die here this day I supposed this meant that if I'd stayed behind, I would've perished. I couldn't know this for certain, but I suspected it was true. Ghastly Edna had sacrificed herself for me.

Again, I wondered if the magic told me this. I listened. Hard. All I heard was the wind rustling the leaves.

"So I guess I'm yours now," said Newt.

"Yes."

"What now, mistress?" He chuckled lightly at the title. I ignored that for the moment.

I glanced back to the darkened cabin. It was the only home I'd known since crawling from my parents' musty cellar. But now it seemed an empty box without Ghastly Edna's cool, comforting presence. Leaving it behind would not be so difficult. Only fear of what lay outside these woods held me back.

"Fear is not a bad thing," Ghastly Edna had once explained. "Among everyday creatures, it is a great motivation. Fear of being eaten, or of not getting enough to eat, are why men gather together in villages. Villages which become towns. Towns which become cities. Cities which become countries. Countries which become civilizations. Remember this, child. Even the greatest kingdoms are founded, however distantly, on fear.

"But we are witches, and we are not of civilization. Not the mundane civilization of men at least. We understand fear. We know when to listen to its whispers and when to ignore its shouts."

Remembering this put a smile on my lips. Ghastly Edna was not gone. She was always with me now. If it wasn't technically magic, it should have been.

"We leave within the hour. Get your things together."

Newt quacked. "Things? What things? I'm a duck."

I ignored him again and went inside to prepare. I stuffed as much as I could into two old satchels. Mostly clothes, a handful of herbs, a small box of witchly implements, the locket my mother had thrown lovingly down the stairs on my fifth birthday, and a moldy squirrel hide Ghastly Edna had tacked on the wall to brighten my room. Witches travel light.

I spent the rest of the hour getting dressed. I buried myself beneath layers of clothing. Any traces of the svelte creature underneath were soon obscured to my satisfaction. I put on my crooked, pointed hat and smeared some soot on my face. I grabbed a broom and held it, handle down, as if necessary to balance my weight. For a finishing touch, I wrapped a billowing vomit green cloak around my shoulders. I measured myself in the mirror. It was adequate, but I would never be as good a witch as Ghastly Edna.

I cast one last glance at my mistress, sprawled facedown across the table. I was proper this time and didn't weep.

I limped from the cabin. There was no one around to appreciate the act, but it was good practice. Newt waited by the door, and a pack of wolves had gathered around the mangled bodies of Ghastly Edna's killers. They had not been drawn here by the scent of blood.

The leader, a thick brown hound, approached. "It is time for another to return to the earth."

Talking to beasts was the first trick Ghastly Edna had taught me. "She's inside."

"Very good."

The leader barked, and his pack filed into the cabin. The sounds of tearing flesh issued forth.

"I would ask a favor of you. Please do not eat those two." I nodded toward the dead killers. "They do not deserve the honor of your stomachs."

The wolf bowed his head. "As you request, but you need not have asked. They are false flesh, not true men at all."

"What do you mean?"

"Just as I say." He shrugged. "I cannot explain. I am, after all, only a wolf, and can only understand the world through a wolf's eyes. And nose. They do not smell of men. Or of anything natural. I would not eat them if I were starved half to death."

A good witch heeds the wisdom of beasts, and I thanked him for his insight.

"You're quite welcome. My sympathies for your loss. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm famished."

"Certainly."

He strode inside and joined his family in their meal.

I checked the bodies. They looked of real flesh and blood. But then again, not quite. It was hard to tell with the condition Newt had left them in, but I trusted the wolf's nose. Something larger was at work here than two thugs happening upon a cabin in the middle of nowhere. Something more sinister.

"Perhaps you should try to raise them," Newt suggested.

"Too late for that. Their souls must be gone already. Even if they remain, you left little to work with."

"Sorry. Guess I got a little carried away."

"Quite all right."

He milled about in an embarrassed fashion. "It's the demon in me. I can't always control it."

"I understand."

"I'll try to be more careful in the future."

"Very good. Come along, Newt."

I limped away from the cabin and my old life. And I didn't look back.

WE WALKED IN SILENCE. The woods were deathly quiet. There was no wind off the lake, no singing birds, not even the rustling of leaves. The forest mourned Ghastly Edna. Neither Newt nor I broke the silence. Only after the wind returned did we know it respectful to speak.

"Nice limp," he said.

"Thank you."

"Have you decided yet? The path, I mean."

"I haven't really thought about it."

"No rush, I suppose."

We walked awhile more without speaking. I didn't think about the fork ahead. It was a decision I wasn't ready to make.

"What would you do?" I asked.

Newt stopped. "You're asking my opinion?"

"Yes."

He squinted at the sun. "Strange. All those years, the mistress never asked my opinion on anything. It was always 'Newt, do this,' 'Newt, fetch that,' 'Newt, find my woolen socks.' But never once did she ask my advice."

"You're my familiar now, and I'm asking for it."

He rubbed his bill with the tip of a wing. "I don't know. Give me a minute to think it over."

We walked around the lake and into the hills, knowing that each step brought me closer to a decision I was no more ready to make than before.

"I'd go west," Newt finally said.

"That wasn't one of the choices."

"Exactly."

I got an inkling of why Ghastly Edna had never asked his opinion.

"That's me though," he said. "I'm part demon, and demons despise being told what to do. They aren't very fond of fate either. And they greatly enjoy being contrary for its own sake."

"I'm not a demon. Nor even part demon."

"True enough. In which case, if I were not part demon, and a witch, and in your position, I suppose, taking everything into consideration, then I would go east."

"Any reasons?"

"Seems a simple decision. North, you'll find happiness. Nothing against happiness, and there's no rule saying a witch must be miserable. But, ultimately, it isn't a very witchly reason to do anything. But east, you'll get a chance to avenge your mistress. Vengeance. Now there is a witchly motivation."

"Or horrible death," I added.

"Exactly. A horrible death seems a goal every witch should aspire to. In fact, it seems to me that too many people are neglectful of their deaths. It is the last act of their lives. Give me a memorably gruesome demise over a long, boring life any day. Just ask Skewered Bob."

"Who?"

Newt hopped in front of me, turned, and walked backward. An impressive feat for a duck.

"You've never heard of Skewered Bob?"

"No."

"He was a soldier. Fought in some battle somewhere. No one remembers who was battling who or why anymore. Don't even know anything about old Bob's life. Other than this was his first real battle. A small skirmish of no real importance. The kind that pops up all the time over land rights or a maiden's honor or some other triviality."

He waved a wing. "Like I said. Unimportant. So Bob, he's just a young grunt, one of dozens of boys looking to kill each other. But Bob's so eager, he wants to be at the head of the battle. Like he's a great hero or some such nonsense. He's so enthusiastic, in fact, that when the bugler blows the assembly call, Bob thinks it's the call to charge. So he dashes onto the field, all by himself, and he's so eager to slaughter his enemies that he doesn't even realize until he's halfway there."

"What happened?"

"These were military men and great believers in excessive force. So a rain of arrows comes down on Bob's head, and he's thoroughly punctured. Pierced from every possible angle and two or four impossible angles as well. Falls dead to the ground on the spot."

"And the battle?"

"Who knows? Who cares? Of every man that fought on that field of honor, amid all the bravery and blood-soaked savagery, only Skewered Bob is remembered. Not because he was a great hero. Not because he fought well. Not even for his foolhardy courage. But because he was wise enough to die in memorable fashion."

Newt flapped his wings and skipped a few steps. "You see my point? Obviously, Skewered Bob wasn't all that bright. Had he not died as he had, he would've no doubt lived a perfectly dreary life, hardly worth remembering. But now he's famous. He lives forever."

"I'd never heard of him," I remarked.

"Now you have, and one day you'll tell somebody else, and his name will go on."

"How do you know he even existed at all?"

"I don't. But that's not important either because even if he didn't, even if he's just a story, then he only illustrates my point further. A horrible demise, even an imaginary one, beats an ordinary, real life."

"There's more to life than being remembered," I said.

"I guess."

"And I am capable of living forever. In theory."

Newt shook his head. "That doesn't mean you shouldn't give the matter serious consideration. Just in case."

I tested a more exaggerated limp. It slowed my walk and gave me time to think. Much of what Newt said made sense.

Ghastly Edna spoke from my memory. "You must remember, child, that death is not something to be frightened by. Everything dies. Well, not everything, but most things. And this is as it should be because if everything lasted forever, the world would soon become a very boring place. Death is merely nature's way of mixing things up.

"Not that there's anything wrong with living forever. I myself wouldn't care to, but I suppose it wouldn't be all that bad. Just remember to keep yourself busy, and I suspect forever will pass surprisingly quickly. Time is like that. Even endless lengths of it tend to go by faster than we'd like when we're enjoying ourselves."

Ghastly Edna was right, of course, but I had to admit a small and unwitchly fear of death. It was difficult enough for mortal creatures to face death's inevitable kiss when they knew it must come. But endless centuries lay before me, and oblivion was a companion I could easily avoid with care and foresight.

When the fork in the path finally sprang up before me, appearing as if by magic around the curve of a hill, I'd made my decision.

"Well?" Newt asked.

I held little fear of either death or eternity. And I did not crave the promise of quiet contentment. Ghastly Edna had not been the kind to bear a grudge, even against her own murderers, but I was not so witchly. If it was within my power to avenge her death, then I really had no choice but to do so. And though I did not wish to die myself in the process, it was just one possibility of many. And it seemed to me that no matter how it came out, the many possibilities of the east were far more interesting than the singular fate to the north.

"We go east."

Newt muttered. "I still think we should have gone west."

And, once again, I ignored him.