Strife of Witches I

VII.
Strife of Witches I

“Niccolina, what’s your report?” After a few years, we had established a routine. I would find her sitting under a pergola of marble pillars—which loomed over the courtyard flowers, all the while cradling beds of them in their hair—and upon lowering the cup pressed against her lips, she would ask me that question. By the time I’d realized this act had become a repetition, she had already grown so much. I can’t honestly say that the growth happened substantially in the department of height, but as a witch her progress had truly been magnificent. We had taken on hundreds of commissions by then, and it had been left up to me to manage new ones.

“The mayor of Laecht has fallen ill. His physician claims it’s an incurable disease, and in desperation the mayor visited a druid. As you can imagine, now he thinks his syphilis is an ancestral curse. Always the same story with his type. ‘Worldly men,’ they say.” I chortled at the notion of some minor richling, refusing to accept the price of his lechery, by deluding himself into a sense of being important enough for ancient ghosts to bother cursing him. Laionne was never too pleased with me for my sneering or chidings. To her, striving for good was the natural thing. It mattered not who had put up the commission; when she perceived someone as suffering, she would try to help them. Sometimes I wish the world would allow her to keep a heart so pure, but… I’m getting ahead of myself.

“Don’t be mean. I shall heal the man of what ails him.” She took another sip of her tea, enjoying the flavour with her eyes closed, and her legs crossed in a chair of wicker, supplanted by a table woven of the same rattan. She had twisted the furniture into shape herself with her witchcraft. It almost made me jealous at times—her universal talent. My staff boasted its own versatility, but I could only ever rely on spells tailored for combat. Though I taught her at first using grimoires and tomes to account for what I myself could not do, she quickly outpaced my book knowledge with mere intuition. Bending cords into chairs and tables… even such small, simple spells were a part of her monstrous repertoire of six-hundred and seventeen spells.

“Sincere apologies, milady.” I bowed my head with one arm behind my back, and the other slack at my side.

“Niccolina… You’ve been acting strange recently. Who is this milady you speak of?” She sighed, laying the now empty teacup on the table. It sat by the side of our painted teapot.

“Hehe. It’s just—how to say? I can’t help it, y’know? You’re so elegant and proper, Lai-o. When did I ever teach you to hold out your pinky when drinking your tea?”

“I did?” She halted all movement. As if looking at someone else’s body, she inspected the fingers still holding onto the table-bound cup; and indeed; her little finger had been stuck out. She made a hum of observation, before tilting her head. “I must’ve learned it from one of our patrons.”

“Or maybe it’s the noble blood running in your veins. Hence, milady.”

“My blood is… No, it’s anything but noble. I don’t believe the word applies to these venomous dregs.”

“Come now, Lai-o. A noble heart pumps noble blood.” I tried my best to smile for her, but my eyes were undeniably downcast. Her constant self-deprecation had affected even me. When would she finally see what I could? Alas, the best I could do was distract us both. I spoke again, “Aside from the mayor, I can only report on hearsay. There’s word that a Church inquisitor’s gone rogue. Ain’t that interesting?”

She blinked, head tilting lazily to the other side. “An apostate?”

“He’s caused a deal of damage if the accounts are true. The Church obviously isn’t happy, but that’s not the whole story. Some are calling him the ‘dark saint,’ and claim he’s a hero of the downtrodden.”

“That’s no good,” she made a tiny frown. “Saints and heroes shouldn’t hide in the darkness. It clouds over the soul.”

“Hm. It’s the Church of Excision we’re talking about. I’m sure if we met their golden, upright saints, we wouldn’t be able to shoot the breeze over tea.”

“One day, I’m sure even the Church… Never mind. What of the Mage of Miracles?”

At the mention of those words, I squirmed uncomfortably in place. It took me a bit to force on my unconvincing smile again. “Nothing concrete, sorry Lai-o. I did find a lead, though! They say an older man is travelling south from Ravalia; that he lives solely on pine needles and drinks the morning dew. That sounds miraculous, doesn’t it?”

“Ravalia? I’ve heard of it. It’s a mountainous country on the northern border, so perhaps that’s where the story takes place. We should visit it one day.”

“Yeah, let’s. For now, shall we depart for Laecht?

We travelled as light as always, with only a rucksack and a pouch of gold. Mostly avoiding the towns along the way, we stopped every now and then to appreciate the scenery; I bought an interesting scroll from a wandering merchant we met on the road; Laionne insisted we sit down and watch a family of deer she spotted hopping in the forest. When we finally arrived in Laecht, the welcome we received had been identical to the ones we were used to. Most of the villagers regarded us with hushed whispers, pointing their fingers at Laionne from behind half-opened shutters in their thatched-roof houses, all the while yelling at their curious children to head inside. Those that were too busy with work to fuss over us simply turned up their noses, as if to ask what the big deal is, and a few waved or hollered, more open to the visit of the commissioned Ashen Witch and her companion. Eventually we were welcomed by the only daughter of the mayor, and much to our surprise, her heritage wasn’t entirely human. She had very pale skin, an almost violet hue to her platinum hair, and though she attempted to hide them under a contrastingly dark bonnet matched by an expensive dress, her ears were noticeably pointed. The blood of the Tuatha Dion—Ælves as our ancestors called them—coursed through her.

“My name is Deichtire Con Laecht,” she introduced herself, “First-born of the Laecht bloodline. Thank you for coming, this way please.” She gestured with her hand for us to follow. Her voice was pleasant and breathy, and she carried herself with a lackadaisical poise. She seemed like a perfectly normal girl, and yet that didn’t stop unsavoury murmurs from reaching my ears.

“It’s the Tuatha girl, look. Mayor Con Laecht caught a disease from her mother, and now she’s dragging in a witch. I can’t believe the Church tolerates these devils.” Vitriol of some such variety was carried by the wind, like an annoying cicada buzzing outside your window. I did what I do best, and cut through the buzzing with conversation.

“So, um… Young miss Deichtire? What should we expect?” I prodded with a completely inane question.

“I’m thirty-six years old, thank you. My mother’s blood may be thin, but it still has a great impact on my lifespan.” She retorted.

“Hm, then those idiots really are stupid. Why would a disease surface after thirty-six years? He obviously caught it from a fully human mistress.”

“Niccolina.” Laionne interjected, jabbing a finger into my ribcage. She usurped leadership of the conversation, partaking in a tone that must’ve felt incredibly golem-like to a stranger like Deichtire. “I ask that you excuse my companion’s poor manners. Rest assured that we shall carry out our task in a timely manner… so as not to tarry and overstay, or bother you.”

“Hurrying to scamper from your host’s hospitality is also rude, don’t you know?” Deichtire clearly made an attempt to mess with Laionne, which annoyed me like no other. Worst of all, it worked.

“Is that so?” Taking it seriously, her mind absconded to solemn contemplation. “My apologies, I didn’t intend to insult you.” I really had to stop myself from throwing around a few choice words.

“More importantly!” I stepped in again. “Laecht is the farthest we’ve ever gone for a commission. Shouldn’t this area have its own commissioned witch? I dread to think why a mayor so powerful, as to parade a Tuatha on his arm like candy, could be in bad graces with the local witch? Made the wrong move and came on too strong, perchance?”

“Niccolina, please.” Laionne pleaded. “How did you arrive at this conclusion in the first place?”

Deichtire, however, ignored my brazen taunt, and answered is a surprisingly honest way. “To tell you the truth, we’ve lost contact with her. In fact, I’d like to ask you to investigate the matter once you’re finished with our initial triviality. I’ve put together both paperwork and reward, so please; we’re very worried.”

“Very well, we shall do it.” Laionne proclaimed without thinking for a second.

“Thank you, Miss Laionne. The witch lives at Ridge Point. We’ve sent messengers, but neither they nor any merchants who set out there have returned. We’re starting to fear the worst.”

“Ridge Point?” I hummed aloud. “Must be a recent settlement with a name like that. It doesn’t have any Tuathan history?”

Deichtire took an uncharacteristically long breath, as if preparing to speak an uncomfortable truth, but in the end she merely shrugged. “It’s been renamed recently into Galean. I don’t think it’s a bad idea. The Tuatha Dion of King Nuád’s time were cruel oppressors, just as now we tend to be oppressed by you Galeans. One day, Ridge Point might become Druim again, or Laecht shall be Dawntime. The only change is the side of the coin.”

“Yes,” Laionne added, “Both sides of a coin are ultimately the same. In other words…”

“As it is above, so it is below. Am I finally getting it?” I butted in, and I do think I truly was starting to understand. Like an eerie pair of synchronised twins, the both of them acknowledged my point by nodding at the same time.

As the curtains closed on our conversation, we arrived in front of a small but haughty manor, fenced off from the rest of the town by a short wall of cobblestone. It stood atop a stocky hillock, and consisted of a front garden, a two-story house of stone, and two additional structures, perhaps for housing guests and the servants. I saw a group of servants with sickles, commanded by an older gentleman wielding a scythe, trimming the length of the grass or alternatively tending to the fruit trees growing on the lawn. Only Laionne joined Deichtire in entering the manor to carry out the commission, leaving me to loiter outside. Being the caring and responsible friend that I am (and I mean this sincerely!), I quickly found a window to peek through. Laionne, Deichtire, and a chubby man in his twilight years were talking in a living room nearly as gaudy as his elaborate outfit. The words they exchanged were very brief. Following their greetings, Laionne reached out with her palm and cast a spell similar to the one she’d used to tend to my burns, washing over the man I presumed to be the mayor with a miniscule amount of her mana. Deichtire and her father looked incredibly at ease. They must’ve perceived Laionne as calm and fully in control, but I could easily discern she was uncomfortable and nervous. Regardless, once the soft blue light subsided, the commission concluded and that was that. It would make for an unsatisfying chapter in her story, had it not been a mere set-off point.