Chapter 21

“Attention, everyone!” Lady Brockrote rose from her chair, her mug held high. Her armor had been taken off, but still wore her riding outfit. The crowd quieted down, and all eyes turned to her. “I would like to thank you all for your attendance. Mighty foes were vanquished today, by even mightier heroes. Tonight, we feast on their flesh!” She rose her mug in triumph, and received a round of cheers and whoops.

Once they calmed down again, she spoke once more. “I would like to announce tonight’s winners. For the first boar slain, I would like to congratulate Baron Ayrith.”

A young man rose from his seat, his arrogant face red from the alcohol, and bowed to the crowd. “Thank you, thank you,” he said. He bowed a few more times before sitting down.

“For the largest boar slain at 240 pounds, I would like to congratulate Sir Saerus of Glaenar.”

A man in full knight armor, with blond sweaty hair clinging to his face, stood and bowed. His voice boomed over the cheers. “You have my utmost appreciation for hosting such a wonderful hunt, Lady Brockrote.”

She smiled. “You flatter me. And last, but certainly not least, I would like to congratulate Baron Tiebaut for most boars slain, at seven.”

An older man, but not as old as gramps, stood up and bowed gracefully. Scars covered his hands and face, from what could be seen. A well-worn battle veteran. “It has been an honor,” was all he said.

It seemed that the man who still stared at her didn’t win anything. That made her feel better. “And I would like to thank all who participated in today’s hunt during such times of war and turmoil. Have a wonderful night, everyone.” She rose her mug once more to a round of cheering and clapping.

Atraeya went to refill her pitcher, and yawned. “Poe, why don’t you take Atraeya home? And head to bed after. I’ll just clean up here and be right behind you, OK?”

Poe nodded, then gramps came up to them. “Actually, it’s about time I head out too. I’ll make sure he gets home.”

“You don’t mind?”

“No, take your time.”

Mira smiled and handed them their leftovers. They waved goodbye to the folks still in the tents. Everyone seemed tired but most didn’t leave just yet. The crowd faded into the distance as they crossed the bridge. A few folks followed behind, dimly lit by the torches. Their entire group was silent and dragged their feet down the dirt road. Beside her, Poe attempted to stifle a yawn, but failed and set off a chain reaction.

Poe made it home safe, and soon enough, Atraeya was free to sleep. Her head hit the pillow, and she was out before the torches could get snuffed.

The morning early morning had long since passed by the time she woke up, groggy and disheveled. She didn’t even hear gramps leave for the day. A cold bowl of porridge was waiting for her, and she briefly wondered if there was a potion that could warm up her food in times like these. She let the broom do it’s work while she ate.

Then once done, dunked the bowl and spoon in the basin of water and added a splash of the cleaning potion. All that was needed was a quick stir, and the leftover grime and chunks of food disappeared, leaving behind clean utensils. She placed them near the magic dish rag to dry them, and put them away.

Atraeya got herself ready for the day, now slightly more awake. Blackie waited on the laundry line, watching the area like the dutiful familiar it was. No weeds to pull today, so she put the scythe away before it started to work on something she didn’t need to do just yet. Laundry was dry though, so she folded them, inhaling the fresh aroma on each piece of clothing as she did. Was there a potion or charm that could dry laundry instantly? What about making the clothes fold themselves? Atraeya fantasized about ways she could make it work.

Finally, she could go to the cottage. Atraeya placed the glass jars carefully in the basket, and her wand as well, and headed out. Close to the bridge, a stranger on a wagon passed by. Even more strange, this wagon was hardly covered, and instead featured an empty cage. Big enough for a sheep or two. Maybe a cow, but it would be a real squeeze to fit it in there. Maybe she could make a potion that would shrink animals, then they could be transported better. The man tipped his bycocket hat in acknowledgment, and she smiled back.

She crossed the empty grass and into the forest. Poe’s group was gathering today, it seemed. She waved at a few of them on the way to the cottage. Inside was the same as always. Blackie was already standing on the cauldron, as if to ask what they were going to make today. “Today is the day I finally make Mrs. Mira’s sleeping potion. I already have all the ingredients ready.”

She showed it the glass bottles before placing them on the counter. It cawed in response. She got the water boiling, and once ready, dropped the woolen balls in. They both watched as she stirred. The potion took on a more thick consistency and once done, turned a deep purple. Pouring mana to make potions was second nature by now.

Atraeya pulled her wand out, ready to grab one of the glass bottles when a thump at the door startled the both of them. She glanced at Blackie, who flew to the window. It stared, and tilted its head at the ground. Whoever it was, Blackie deemed them no danger. Still, it was rude to leave someone waiting. “Just a minute!” she shouted as she poured the potion into the bottles and corked them.

She opened the door with a peak. To her complete horror, the noble from before had collapsed on his knees, and was reaching out toward her. Two others behind him had already fallen from the mana exposure. She gasped and stepped back.

“W… witch…” the noble coughed out.

He had followed her all the way out here. Watched her. Waited for her to make a fatal mistake, even at risk of his own self. She needed to leave. Get out of here before he caught her. Blackie, sensing her rising panic, began to peck at the noble’s eyes while she gathered her things. It wasn’t much. Just her basket, wand, and sleeping potions.

The noble had managed to cover his face, but his hands were now free pickings. She stepped over the group, and ran back home. By the time she had cleared the forest, Blackie flew above her. It cawed in a panic. The noble would soon be following her. She needed to get rid of the potions, but she couldn’t just toss them away.

Against her own better judgment, Atraeya bee-lined to Mira. She was on her porch churning butter. “Mrs. Mira! Mrs. Mira!” she called out with what little breath she had left. Mira glanced up, then turned surprised. She ran up to them, and shoved the still warm sleeping potions towards her. “Here! For you! I made them to replace the ones you used.” Atraeya’s heart beat in her ears, her lungs gasped for breath.

Mira glanced down, her face pale. “Calm down, dear. You didn’t need to do that. Don’t tell me you ran all the way here just to give me these?”

“I—I need to—”

Mira quickly set the potions down and got up to grab her shoulders. “Breath, Atraeya. Breath. In and out.”

She had no time to breathe! She needed to leave before the creepy noble man caught up to her! “You need to… hide those… before… he comes….” Atraeya managed to get out. She tried to wiggle out of Mira’s grasp, but she held tighter.

“Who? Is someone after you?” Mira looked around. When she didn’t find anything, she turned back to Atraeya, frowning. “Are you and Poe playing a game?”

She shook her head. “No! Someone found me at… at the cottage. When I made those!” Atraeya pointed at the potions. “I made you sleeping potions to replace the one you used on me, and repay you back for all the help you’ve given me. But now one of the nobles from last night followed me and—”

Footsteps rounded the corner, and she locked eyes with the noble who had followed her. His face contorted in rage, sprinting towards her. Before there were two people at his side, and now there was only one. Mira spotted them and stood up to shove Atraeya behind her.

“Witch!” the noble screeched out. “Surrender her now or else you’ll be marked the same as her!” he commanded.

“She hasn’t done anything wrong,” Mira replied, head held high.

Atraeya turned to her familiar, and whispered, “Get help.” It flew off at once.

The man looked around, and spotted the bottles. “You two are colluding… Iohne, grab the woman.” The man behind him stepped out in front, and grabbed Mira’s arm, yanking her forward. At the same time, the noble pried Atraeya from her by the collar of her dress. She gasped and choked at the forcefulness. She toppled back, and scratched at her collar to breath.

The noble began to drag them down the street, the both of them screaming and yelling to let them go. They were beginning to draw a crowd. The only thing that stopped them from interfering was the fact that it was clearly a noble barking orders and yelling insults. He even shouted a few mentions of “witch” to really seal the deal.

Everyone was too afraid to intervene. Atraeya watched through teary eyes, neighbors with concerned faces following as she was dragged to the square in front of Chief Trina’s house, barely able to keep herself standing, much less even have enough air to yell for help. Not that it would do much.

Once they were at some agreed upon spot, Iohne dropped Mira to the ground. She tried to rush to Atraeya’s aid, only to be stopped by the glint of his sword against her throat. Tears streaked down her face as she watched Atraeya get thrown to the ground.

Atraeya coughed and gasped, filling her lungs with much-needed air. This was what they do to witches. This was what gramps warned her about. She was careless. It was all her fault. She exhaled with a wail, snot and drool and tears dripping from every orifice on her face. Another sword was drawn, and pointed right at her face. “Shut up, witch!” the noble shouted.

She did.

“She’s not a witch!” Mira shouted, even under threat of death.

“Silence! Both of you!” He turned to the crowd. “Citizens of Verdantvale! Your puny little village harbors not one, but two witches! You all should be hanged!”

Whispers rippled through the crowd gathered before them: They didn’t know. How could they report it? The witches should die, not them.

“Well, I am a generous noble, so I won’t kill you all.” The crowed sighed in relief as a wicked smirk grew on the man’s face. “But I will do my duty as your protector, and execute justice for you!” Now cheers. Just like that, all hope left her. The crowd had turned so easily against her. Even after seeing her around the village for the past few weeks.

A few weeks. She only last this long before she got caught. Was this why witches always moved around?

The noble turned his sword to Mira. “You must have been her teacher. A wicked witch, spreading her filth and lies, poisoning our young children.” He angled his sword just so, and—

“NO! It was me! Only me!” The noble paused and looked down. Atraeya now clung to his leg, tears streaming down her face. She gulped. Her mouth felt like it was full of sawdust. “I’m the only witch. Mrs. Mira knew, but I… I threatened to poison her family if she told anyone.”

Atraeya couldn’t even recognize the words coming out of her mouth. But she couldn’t let Mira take the blame for her problems. It was all her fault. She helped her, so much. Much more than her mother did. Cared for her in a way her mother no longer did.

Atraeya bit her lip to stop herself from crying more, though fresh tears and snot still flowed. “Well, then. Is this true?” The noble turned to Mira, whose eyes were locked on Atraeya. She could tell what Atraeya was trying to ask of her. It was all her fault.

Mira bit her trembling lip, tears refusing to fall. Then nodded. The crowd gasped, fully engrossed in the drama. Atraeya now faced the pointed end of the sword.

The thump of galloping horses interrupted them. They all turned to see Lady Brockrote leading a group, and she promptly dismounted once she arrived. “What is the meaning of this, Lord Cirrane?” She marched right up to him and shoved the sword away from Atraeya, still crying.

“It is of no concern to you, Lady Brockrote. I am merely doing my duty as a noble of Uthington to dispose of any witches I see,” he shrugged.

“Can’t you see the poor girl is terrified? You are no judge.”

“A judge is not needed. Not only have I seen her plainly handing out potions, I saw her familiar give her wand, and collapsed, along with my entourage, to mana exposure. I also have suspicions that she modified the carts we all used yesterday.”

Lady Brockrote halted at the charges brought up. The crowd, less trained in the noble ways of tempering their emotions in public, gasped. Most everyone had heard of the carts by now, at least. They glared at her, betrayal all too clear on their faces. In the crowd, she spotted gramps and Poe, horrified but powerless to stop anything. Blackie rested on a nearby tree.

“Be that as it may, Verdantvale is under my jurisdiction with my husband’s absence. You have no right to execute anyone without my explicit permission.”

Lord Cirrane glowered at her, before eventually giving way to her. “The laws of Uthington are clear. If you want to execute her so badly, be my guest,” he said.

Lady Brockrote turned to her. Atraeya could see, even through her tears, that she didn’t want to do that. She sniffled. She was dead either way. What does it matter who killed her? It was all her fault. As Lady Brockrote hesitated, the crowd became a restless.

“Execute her!” one shouted.

“Kill the witch!” another yelled. The crowd joined in. “Kill the witch! Kill the witch!”

“The Lady Brockrote I know wouldn’t have hesitated,” Lord Cirrane muttered. Atraeya was barely close enough to hear them. “Have you been charmed by the witch? Then allow me,” he rose his sword once more.

In the chaos of it all they hadn’t noticed a stranger appear in their midst. “Is this witch’s name Atraeya?”

Those paying attention, and not just shouting for her to die, turned to see the newcomer. Atraeya recognized him as the man from before, with the bycocket hat.

“What is it to you?” Lord Cirrane asked, frowning.

“It is,” Lady Brockrote answered at the same time.

The stranger held up a medal. Gold. Atraeya didn’t recognize it but the two nobles did. Their eyebrows raised in surprised. “I am the royal courier. The king has posted a warrant for her arrest.”

“Huh? My arrest? But I’ve never met the king before.”

His eyes turned towards Atraeya. Unlike almost everyone here, he held no malice in his eyes. He was simply doing his job. “Your parents have turned you in, upon hearing of the reward the king will bestow after each verified arrest of a witch.”

Her whole world came crashing down. Not only had her mother kicked her out, but she also alerted the authorities? For money? Fresh hot tears dripped down her cheeks, her mouth hung open. Even now her mother had ways to hurt her, hundreds of miles away. Instinctively she searched for Mira. The woman stood across from her, staring at her with sad, wet eyes and a sword still waiting across her throat. If she could get just one hug…

“Is the King to execute her, then?” Lady Brockrote crossed her arms. “Am I no longer allowed to enact judgment on my own lands?”

“No, My Lady. You may continue to execute witches at your pleasure. But this one is to be sent to Fort Aclar.” The adults of the crowd gasped in fear a this. Even the two nobles seemed surprised.

“He is sending her to a war zone?”

“What does the king intend to do with a child at a siege?”

“I am afraid I have no official knowledge of the meaning behind these actions.”

“And unofficially…?” Lord Cirrane asked, reading between the lines.

The messenger took a moment to gather his thoughts. “The siege is not going as well as Duke Hellare commands, and it has made a mockery of the King on an international scale. He intends to rectify this by using witches to win Fort Aclar.”

Lady Brockrote sighed, and rubbed her temples. “What is my useless husband doing?” she mumbled to herself.

The explanation seemed to soothe Lord Cirrane though, as he sheathed his sword. “Well, that is that, then. With luck, she will die in the siege. Come along, Iohne.” His craving for violence now satisfied, he began to walk off.

Iohne’s sword retreated from Mira’s neck. Now no longer threatened with her life, her and Atraeya rushed to each other. Mira reached out her arms first, and she jumped into her arms, nearly topping Mira over. She couldn’t keep her cries at bay any longer. Her tears and snot stained Mira’s apron but neither cared. Mira clung on tightly, smoothing her hair down.

“Will she… be safe?” Lady Brockrote asked. Atraeya forced herself to calm down. This conversation pertained to her, and she wouldn’t be able to hear if she cried through it as loud as she has been. She felt another hand on her back and turned. Gramps, frowning.

“It is my duty to see her safe to Fort Aclar. After she arrives, however, her survival rests in her hands,” the courier stated.

Gramps’ lip trembled. They would likely never see each other again. She could get hit by a stray cannon, or a disease that ran through the siege camps, or assassins and spies sneaking into camp. It was a death sentence. The only way she could survive was to use her witch status as a shield. And to do that, she would need to learn more potions.

The courier must have seen the look on her face. “I have been told, through other couriers, a few witches also help with the siege at Fort Aclar. Either through capture, similar to your situation, or looking for a pardon themselves.”

Her eyes lit up at the insinuation. There were others she could learn from. Others that could help her, or protect her. As long as she was friendly enough. She nodded to him. “Alright. I’ll go. But I dropped my wand when Lord Cirrane found me. And my grimoire is back in the cottage in the forest.”

“The forest..?” The courier blinked, taken aback by her request. “Is it truly necessary for you to get it?”

“Yes. Without my grimoire or wand, I won’t be able to make any potions.”

They entered some sort of staring contest, until Poe shoved his way to the front of the crowd. His hand shot up, commanding all attention. “I can get it!”

The man nodded, and Poe broke into a sprint. “You have until he gets back to say your goodbyes.” With that, he took a few steps back. Though his eyes followed Atraeya, ready to stop or grab her should the moment arise.

Atraeya latched on to gramps, hugging him tightly. “I’m sorry. It’s all my fault. I didn’t mean to. I just wanted to help.”

Large hands rubbed her back. “I know. You tried your best. But this is what happens to witches. I’m just glad you’re alive.” His voice cracked in the last sentence, and he cleared his throat.

She sniffed, and tried her best to blink away the tears. It was all her fault. Mira placed a hand on her shoulder, and she turned to face her. “Just because the soldiers will know you’re a witch when you arrive, doesn’t mean you can relax. Do not let your guard down. They are soldiers, stressed from the violence and lack of supplies. They…” Mira closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. Then stared directly into her eyes, determined. “They likely haven’t seen a woman in a long time. Do not keep to yourself. Always travel the camp with a trusted friend. Do you understand?”

Atraeya gasped at the insinuation. Her mother had made complaints of leering eyes before. It didn’t occur to her that she would now need to look out for such untoward looks. She was only a head shorter than Mira, but her body had not yet started turning into a woman, and neither had her courses started. But they could start. Any day now, in fact.

It terrified her.

She turned back to gramps in the hopes he would tell her Mira was wrong. Unfortunately, he nodded. “Mira is right. Stay with the other witches if you can. If there are any potions or charms you can use to protect yourself, make those first. And don’t hesitate to use them.”

Atraeya nodded. When her mother kicked her out, she knew she could rely on her grandfather to help and protect her. She didn’t have to worry about such things. Instead, she devoted her time to helping her grandfather in return. Now, she will be all alone. No one will look out for her. No one will be obligated to ensure she survives. Strangers will want to harm her.

Mira wiped her tears away. “You’re a brave girl. I know you can do it,” she said.

“Crying won’t solve your problems. Face them head on,” gramps said. Atraeya nodded, and they continued to give her various pieces of advice, overloading her brain to the point where she was sure she would forget most of it come tomorrow morning.

All too soon Poe came back. He stood on the edge of the crowd, obviously hoping to not be seen. Her book clutched across his chest and her wand balanced between the leather covers on top. The charm she had made him still on his wrist. The courier was first to notice him, and motioned him forward.

She could tell he was trying not to cry. His lip wobbled, and his face was all red. She wrapped him in a hug, as best as she could with the book between them. She heard a sniffle, then, “It’s no fair.”

“It’s my fault, Poe. I deserve to be sent away. It’s my punishment for being a bad witch.”

Poe opened his mouth, ready to retort whatever it was she said, but closed it a moment later. He kicked at the dirt for a bit before he spoke again. “I hope you come back. When the fort gets taken. They’ll have to let you go then.”

“I hope so too. Goodbye, Poe.” Atraeya took her grimoire and wand from him, stuffing it in her stays. Then she turned to gramps and Mira. “Thank you for having me. Come on, Blackie.”

The bird swooped down from the tree, startling some of nearby folk, and landed on her shoulder. The royal courier raised his eyebrow at it, but seemed to accept it as her familiar. Seeing she was ready, he turned around, and guided her to the carriage he rode in on. The cage was not for animals, as she originally thought. Blackie hopped on top of the cage, and she climbed in. The courier closed it, but strangely didn’t lock it. Perhaps she was being agreeable enough that he didn’t think she would run off.

“It’s about a three weeks trip to Fort Aclar. We will stop in towns for the night for food and sleep. All other times we will be traveling.”

She nodded. Not like she could object anyway. The courier climbed in the front, and whipped the reins. When she turned back, Poe, gramps, and Mira waved her goodbye. Most of the crowd was dissipating, but the few who stood to watch glared at her. Her heart ached. She wanted to stay. She wanted to help gramps, and make tons of potions to hand off to her neighbors.

Maybe once she got the king’s pardon, she could come back like Poe said. And start an official business to sell potions. Everything would be legal, and no one would be able to send her away ever again.