Part 7
1026 Words
SEVEN
"There she goes! The witch! She murdered her family one Midwinter and drank their blood with the devil and that's where she gets her powers from. Don't look her in the eye or you'll be next!"
Children shrieked and ran. All but one – a boy of perhaps nine or ten years, who dared to look her in the eye.
"Witch!" he taunted, even as he ignored his own warning.
Rosa gritted her teeth, hefting her bag higher on her shoulder, and said nothing.
It would be so easy to summon a gust of wind to lift the boy off his feet and deposit him at the top of the nearest tree, or on the roof of his equally ignorant parents' cottage, but she would not use her power for something so petty.
But surely no one would blame her for closing her eyes for just a moment and imagining the boy's panicked screams as he sat in that tree or thatch, before he begged for her help in getting him down.
The whole village might hate her, taunt her, and whisper rumours that only children dared repeat in her hearing, but when they needed help, they would still come to the cottage, hat in hand, and she would give it.
Her grandmother's cottage in the woods, since the night her parents' home had burned, but it was the best place for her now.
For in the forest's isolation, she did not have to listen to the taunts every day.
"Ah, there you are! Are the boots as pretty as the Baron promised?" Grandmother asked, climbing laboriously to her feet and brushing the dirt from her skirt. She lived in the garden most days, talking more to her plants than she did to Rosa.
Rosa's heart sank. "I'm sorry, Grandmother, I forgot the boots. I was talking to Alard, who needs another of your elixirs, and I was so lost in thought when I left the Great House..."
Grandmother's eyes were sharp, seeing into Rosa's very soul. "Is that boy of the Baron's begetting more bastards? Who is it this time?"
Rosa sighed. "Piroska, who else? It seems he cannot help himself around her."
Grandmother snorted. "Oh, I think he helps himself all to readily, and that's the problem. He should marry the girl and be done with it. Not like anyone better will have him."
Did Rosa imagine it, or did Grandmother's eyes dart toward her as she said that? "The problem is that Alard still hopes, Grandmother. No matter what I say...he is adamant that the best baroness should be a skilled healer."
"Then I shall go into town to fetch my boots myself on the morrow, and have a word with the boy while I'm at it. The best baroness is one who'll give him babies, and Piroska's as fertile as they come. His father's not getting any younger, after all." Grandmother led the way into the house, holding the door open for Rosa.
Rosa followed her in, and thumped her sack on the table. "I remembered your honey, though. Now we should have enough to start a new batch of mead. I'll make a start on it on the morrow, when you go into town."
"You're not coming with me?"
More than ever, Grandmother's eyes seemed to read Rosa's soul.
"You're not in love with that silly boy, are you?"
Rosa shook her head. "No! Alard is...perhaps the only friend I have in town, that's all. Everyone else hates me, calling me a witch and saying I murdered my parents."
"You are a witch. Their witch." When Grandmother said it, it sounded like an honourable occupation, instead of an insult.
"No, that's you, Grandmother. You cure their ills. I just deliver things, and collect the payment."
Grandmother waved away her doubts. "I do nothing that you cannot. And while my magic is waning, yours grows stronger every day. Why, with a wave of your hand, you could clear the whole village of tonight's snowfall. They'd pay attention to you then!"
"They'd still call me a witch, only louder," Rosa grumbled, before her grandmother's words sank in. "Wait...snow? It has not snowed here since the winter my parents died! That was the coldest winter in living memory, you said, the sort that we won't see again for a hundred years. It's only been six!"
"The weather does not count the years. It merely is. And I fear this winter will be colder than any we have yet known. I think we have waited long enough. The snow is a sign from the gods, that it is time I initiated a new priestess. Will you be ready for the Midwinter rites?"
With Grandmother's eyes reading her very soul, Rosa could not lie. "No. I had thought to ask Alard, but now...I cannot imagine any man in the village I would want to share the ceremony with."
Grandmother patted her hand. "If the gods want you for their priestess, they will provide. Who knows? Perhaps the folktales your mother loved so much will come true, and a knight will come riding into town in pursuit of some noble quest. No man could fail to notice you."
Yes, notice her and label her a witch, his voice full of venom as he spat the words. Yet, "Yes, Grandmother," was all Rosa said.
"It's settled, then. At Midwinter, you will pledge yourself fully to the goddess, as her priestess. The snow will come, and we must guard against it as best we can." Grandmother clapped her hands. "Which is why I need new boots. You don't feel the cold as I do, but when you are my age, you'll know!"
Rosa nodded numbly. Snow brought the wolves down from the mountains. Perhaps she would have her chance at vengeance this winter. If she killed the wolf who'd killed her family, then the men of the village might look on her with admiration instead. She only needed one who was willing to worship the goddess...but she had little hope of even one as things stood now. Once she'd slayed the beast, though...
There was no doubt in her mind that she could kill the wolf. It was merely a matter of how, and when.
As an untrained girl, she'd sent the wolf running all those years ago. Now, with her magic completely under her command, he'd be no match for her.
- Writer
