Commissions of Witches

V.
Commissions of Witches

Witches are not treated particularly well. I have touched briefly on how mana operates, but I should offer a proper elaboration to explain the distrust of our time. To become who we are, a ritual is performed to transform our heart into a ‘gateway’ to one of the Outer Planes, from which it siphons a distinct flavour of crude, Aetherized Mana (aether for brevity.) Through contact with human blood, aether undergoes a type of metabolisis, a refining process with an imperfect yield. Bits of aether break away during, leaving our bodies as Mana Radicals, referred to as mana radiation. The rest settles into our hair. It stymies growth until it cools down, thus finally becoming True Mana (what I’ve been calling ‘mana’ all along.) Mana radiation can damage tissue. Usually though, the amount of radicals is quite negligible; not even prolonged exposure will cause any notable harm to non-witches. Yet, aside from granting power to groups society often deems unworthy, they also declare it a slow-killing poison. Laionne’s own heart draws on an impossible amount of aether, a floodwell so mighty even a witch’s immunity cannot keep up. There’s so much of it that it doesn’t get properly metabolised before flowing to her locks, leaving her to spend the primordial form of mana on her spells. Tragically, it still spews out radiation as it decays in there. It’s an anomaly that shouldn’t have happened.

Ordinary witches endanger order, not lives. We’re also amazing enough for keepers of said order to come crawling on their knees regardless, because there are many feats only we can perform. Eventually, even Cerulea had its first gloomy-faced scion knocking at the gates. He arrived on a dark day kept cold by a tempest, pelting his heavy cloak with rain and whipping it fiercely behind his back. The iron lantern he held swayed with similar rigor from its handle, a dancing light fluttering with uneasy steps across the basalt bridge. Wind howled through the stone walls of the castle. He must’ve thought himself a fearless knight, taking on a sombre quest within imposing, death-touched grounds. It certainly would’ve been more dignified than trudging through such violent weather to enlist the help of two little girls. He barged in through the front gatehouse of the outer courtyard which we never bothered to close, his oafish boots trampling on the already battered flowers. Then, making his way past a series of marble arches, he arrived at Cerulea’s inner gate. He knocked on it as one would when expecting to be received by a guard or a servant, but the castle could provide no such welcome. In the stead of a human reception, crimson light flashed with each knock upon the wood, filling in the shape of a complex sigil I had carved there. Its activation alerted me to the presence of a visitor—handy repurposing of a combat-oriented signal ward.

The warning took me by surprise. At the time I must’ve been pouring Laionne a cup of tea from a clay teapot, because I vividly remember reeling back and dropping something precious when I felt scalding hot water splash against my hand. It was a pot hand-painted by the two of us, and thankfully it had only fallen into the embrace of a thick, furry rug. Staring up at me from the ground… must’ve been a sleepy, derpy lion, and a shifty-looking fox. I lifted it while Laionne watched with mild concern (a stranger would miss it, but her lips were very slightly parted in a gasp), placing it upon the table before scratching the back of my head.

“Whoops! Silly me, huh? Is it time for your delivery already? That can’t be. Not in this weather.”

“No, twelve days have passed since the last, and the servants only come once a month since your arrival.” Her eyes narrowed imperceptibly, and she inched closer to me. In a needlessly slow gesture, like you might do when approaching a scared animal, she extended her hand towards mine and laid her palm atop it, giving me plenty of time to jerk away had I wanted. “Does it hurt? You wet yourself with the tea-water.”

“D–Different word, please. There’s only so many you should simplify…” I chuckled awkwardly, subconsciously moving to pry my hand away, but I suddenly felt it held in place. Hers was a gentle touch, but it still pushed against the admittedly sensitive, burned flecks on my skin. She tilted her head, inspecting me.

“So it does. Your fingers twitched when they brushed against mine. I’m sorry for touching you; I know I shouldn’t; yet… I’d like to aid—to help you.”

“I told you, there’s really no danger.” There was another knock at the gate, and it caused me to tremble. What horrible timing, I cursed to myself. Laionne immediately took it as a bad sign and let go of my hand, though she nevertheless kept a flat palm pointed at it. Muttering a few ancient words I had taught her during our last witching lesson, blue light streamed from her fingers and enveloped my injured flesh, seeping into it like water into a sponge. Laionne, who was so afraid of hurting others… naturally, the first witchcraft she wished to learn from me was mending—the hastening of natural healing. I smiled at her, ruffling her hair. “Thanks, Lai-o.”

The aching had vanished, as did the signs of an impending cold I’d been feeling.

Of course, not all pains had been successfully abated. There still remained unresolved the issue of the dour visitor, who kept battering the gates with his fists with an increasingly frustrated force and insistence, until my mind began flashing white with alarm like a fishing bobber over a streaming school of fish. I clutched my forehead, nearly reeling in guilt as I saw the despairing concern crawling over Laionne’s features. Shaking my head, I made towards the door.

“It’s not what you think! There’s just this pest buzzing in my ears. I mean, we’ve a guest.”

“Guest?” She blinked, her posture turning rather uncomfortable. “Ah, so it’s your barrier. I was scared that—“

“—Nonono! Nothing of the sort.” I cried out, draping a fur coat over my shoulders and pulling up the hood. “Let’s see what’s up, it might be news from your parents.”

“Visitors. How unusual.” She mumbled. “Unexpected reactions are a bad omen; it means the alchemist wasn’t following the recipe. I hope it isn’t dark knights seeking to ravage, loot and claim our castle.”

“Those are just fairy tales, you know. The country’s at peace.”

I must’ve chuckled as I watched her put on the same kind of coat as I, for they were coats not quite meant for children. I assumed they were left there as a relic of the time the castle sheltered servants, being as simple and large as they were. The coat practically swallowed Laionne’s form. Her arms reached only half-way through the sleeves, leaving them hanging off limply when she tried to grab things, and the lower end of it draped behind her like a flowing dress, causing her a deal of trouble walking without tripping. In contrast I had already grown tall enough not to be overly burdened, though the sight of me must’ve been similarly comical.

In our oversized get-ups we braved the inner courtyard, shrinking under the weight of the rain. I held Laionne’s hand for safety’s sake as we struggled, leading her to the gatehouse while avoiding a scenario where she found herself blown away by the storm, or in a face-first impact with the wet, stone-laden path. When we finally neared our destination, she refused to take another step forward. She stood still like a scarecrow, her eyes downcast, not budging at any verbal or physical insistence. It bugged me, because it was her own words that spoke of visiting the outside with me, and she could afford to do so for at least a few dozen minutes without inflicting any harm, but her legs had been frozen by the fear and the kindness in her heart. So I went to open the gate without her.

“Niccolina Artelli, Laionne of Cerulea Castle,” the man in dark armour covered by a haughty cloak called out. Heavy steel painted black with lead, fluttering seals hanging from his shoulder, and a helmet in the shape of a raven’s beak; it was my first time seeing a Commission Emissary in the flesh. He held a scroll wrapped in thin leather, and handed it to me without a proper introduction. “Roich is being haunted by a river monster. They claim its scales can’t be broken with a weapon. We can’t risk the lives of the kingdom’s soldiers. Since the commissioned witch of this area fell in her duty recently, we are assigning the request to you. Take care of it, if you value your citizenship status.”

His contemptuous tone and disregard irked me to no end. They couldn’t risk the lives of grown men who signed up for their jobs, but two children were just fine to deal with their problems. He was practically saying, ‘Deal with the nuisance we can’t be bothered with, or die. Either way there’ll be fewer monsters to worry about.’ Peering back at Laionne, who had never seen the world beyond the walls, I scowled and snapped at the man. Raising the scroll into the air, I nearly hurled it at him.

“It’s not really a request, is it then? I bet you feel so full of yourself, you ogre. Tsk! I should just blast you away and pretend you didn’t make it—!“

My threats were disrupted by a poke to my side, causing me to jump in surprise. It had been Laionne's finger that struck me, frankly an even bigger shock than the jab itself. She gazed up at the emissary without a hint of fear, anger, or really any other emotion, and opened her lips, which were the only part of her face unshadowed by her hood. I swear I heard that good-for-nothing chuckle behind his visor. Did he think he had a right to mock her?

“I’d like to help, Niccolina. The people of the town don’t deserve to be preyed upon, and I don’t want you to get into trouble either. Let’s do as he says. It’s the process that will generate the most good.” She was surprisingly determined. The knight sighed and responded with a demeaning drawl.

“See, that’s more like it.” The tip of his beak pointed at me. “Don’t blame me for rules I didn’t write, kid. Shooting the messenger wouldn’t be the best choice either. Listen to your pal and be glad you’re getting paid for it. If witches could do whatever they wanted, society would fall apart. You get that, right? Good witches would suffer too. I’d ask you to keep me until the storm passes, but your sour look ruined my mood. Go with Dignity.”

“Go to hell,” I grumbled at his back. It was a bitter way of receiving our first Commission from the Church, but it opened a pathway to Laionne’s excited journey. She had a strong drive to make the world a better place—much like the heroes I had taught her about—and now she could pursue it without being punished as ‘uncommissioned’ witches oftentimes are. At the same time, we could start combing the world for signs of the Mage, and I could teach her about the outside she didn’t know. With a new purpose and courage… well, I’d never thank that rude emissary for his part in unlocking them. It just goes to show even bad things can possess silver linings.

“Doesn’t change the fact he really pissed me off! ‘Good witches,’ huh? Bastard! As if we need to earn the right to be accepted. Don’t you think he deserves to trip and eat dirt?”

She gazed at the sky, contemplating something.

“As it is above, so it is below. The Heavens will not change until the Earth does.”

“Haah, I don’t really follow…”