"And stay away from the ivy."
"Yes, Miss Agartha."
"Friedi Shepherd saw it stirring just last week. That boy is jumpier than a spider on coffee, but you know it's not worth the risk."
"I know." Cedwyn nodded eagerly. The apprentice was already packing his satchel at the front door of the stilted hut.
Agartha hopped off her stool and limped over, using the wall to support her left side, since she'd forgotten her crutch by the front door again. The walls of the hut creaked ominously, speaking to long years in the sagging village of Moist. She tapped his shoulder. "Do you have the list?"
Cedwyn sighed and gave his master a long-suffering smile, holding up the wadded sheet of paper in his hand. "Yes, Miss Agartha." He straightened and reached over, handing the aging witch her crutch. "I wouldn't forget it. But I know all these herbs by heart, anyways. I go out there, like, every other week for you."
Agartha tsk'd, reluctantly accepting her crutch. "Mind your manners, Cedwyn. No need for snideness. I'm only making sure." She tousled his frizzy copper-red hair. "Just remember to imprint it. We don't want a repeat of that incident with the transformation potion, do we?"
"No." He laughed, limply trying to brush her hand away. He held up the parchment and chirped an incantation. With a hiss, the paper dissolved into smoke, settling on the back of his hand like a tattoo. "There."
"Very good!" Agartha gave a gap-toothed grin. The old witch hobbled back to her cauldron and hopped up back onto her stool. "Be back after sunset, don't speak to strangers, and only call on Crafts if you're in danger." She paused, tilting her head to one side. "And remember to be civil. No scandals, no being short with people, mind your pleases and thank-yous. Remember, when you're out there, you're the—"
"Representative of the Craft to these people." Cedwyn nodded quickly, leaning against the door. "I know, Miss Agartha. It's not like I go out there and just start shoving old ladies around."
"I should hope not! The Craft likes elders, you know." Agartha gave a shrill cackle, spinning in her stool. "But I know you aren't a punk, Cedwyn. Just don't pick today to break that streak. The new moon is tomorrow night. It's a bad time to be making enemies."
"
Yes
, Miss Agartha." Cedwyn bit his lip, trying very hard to keep his tone from projecting sarcasm. "Can I please go?"
"Oh, very well." She waved a hand. "Go forth, my apprentice!"
Suppressing a sigh of relief, Cedwyn swung open the door and took one step out.
"Oh, and don't waste time talking to that Gilders girl!" he heard the witch call after him. "That girl is a hen in a hurricane—
you mark my marks on this one
!"
He shook his head ruefully and trotted down the steps, entering into the wildflower-strewn clearing in the Briarwoods.
"Yes, Miss Agartha," he said under his breath.
~~~~
"And where are
you
off to, boy?"
Cedwyn stopped in his tracks as the voice sounded from behind him. He bit his lip, cheeks heating up slightly.
"I'm... off collecting reagents for my master, Miss Gilders."
"What's that? Master Miss Gilders?" A giggle. "Am
I
your master?"
Cedwyn groaned a little. But he couldn't very well just walk away when he was being spoken to, so he turned to face his assailant.
The Briarwoods was an intensely green deciduous rainforest overrun by rose briars, berry brambles, and the especially troublesome hamadryads of both plants. But this current speaker was not a fey.
No, this was the farmer's daughter, Emelien Gilders. She wasn't on the same trail as Cedwyn—while he had to use the public path, Emelien trotted on the other side of a wooden fence covered in charms and runes (as part of a futile effort to keep the aforementioned hamadryads out), using her family's private trail. She held a large pail of water, indicating she'd just been out to the ley well.
Emilien was a knockout by any measure. Tall and thin, and extremely busty, the thin white shirt she wore barely reached her bellybutton. She wore over it an unbuttoned leather coat. Her hair was the same color as her family's hay fields, long, wavy and elegant.
"Young man." She put her hands on her hips. "I asked you a question!"
He gave an embarrassed little laugh. "Yes, Miss. Good one!"
"Where are you off to, boy?" She skipped over to the fence, and cedwyn struggled not to stare at her breasts—which really weren't meant to be subjected to gravity, or a t-shirt that tight.
Cedwyn blinked. "I just said."
"No, I meant, where
exactly
!" She pointed a finger at him, looking annoyed. "I'm not deaf, boy."
Emilien was only five years older than Cedwyn, at twenty-five. She never let him forget it.
"No, Miss."
"So, where?"
"I'm heading to the old Whisper Oak for galls," Cedwyn said, biting his lip. "And the old fern patch. For ferns."
"And?" She leaned over the fence, and Cedwyn desperately tried to pretend he didn't notice how the fence was pushing her breasts up into view. "Is that
all
?"
"No, Miss," he said, sighing. "The old creek and the mushroom dark areas."
"Are you going near the old Witch's Gallows?" Emelien's eyes narrowed. "You'd better not be."
"No, Miss." He shook his head emphatically. "Definitely not."
"You stay away from those gallows. The old witch isn't sending you there, is she?" She sniffed. "My father says it's a sorry idea to even have a witch so close by.
"No, Miss, she didn't send me there."
"Hm." The farmer's daughter's lips quirked. "Well, you just be careful. Don't get lost!"
"No, Miss." He smiled and gave a little salute, hoping his face wasn't too red. "I never do get lost. But , um, really should be going."
"Oh, let me guess..." She raised an eyebrow. "Your master doesn't like you talking to me?"
Cedwyn bit his lip.
She smirked. "Am I a
distraction
?"
"No, Miss."
"Come here, then, boy."
Cedwyn slowly advanced, looking up at the taller woman like a snake that might bite him. He came up level with the fence.
She leaned in. "I can see you staring at my breasts," she whispered, a coy smile flickering across her face. "I can tell you can't help it."
His face went beet red.
And she darted in and kissed him on the cheek.
Cedwyn recoiled like he'd been bitten. Ignoring her shrieks of laughter, he backed away, returning to the path.
"S-sorry, Miss," he said, desperately trying to stay polite, "I... I, um... um..." He reached up to his cheek and felt the lipstick mark.
"Ooh, I dare you to wash that off." She grinned.
"I..." He hesitated, then lowered his hand. "G-Good day. Miss."
He turned and hurried away, eager to be deeper into the woods and away from this teasing.
"Don't you get lost, now, boy!" she called after him.
"I never do," he muttered under his breath. But he didn't dare say it aloud. That would
definitely
be considered 'rude'.
~~~~
Cedwyn let out a heavy sigh, wiping his forehead of sweat.
Yeah.
This was a 'lost' feeling, definitely.
He cast about in the forest for landmarks. All around him stood tall, proud, clearly ancient trees covered in lichen. He was in the old-growth part of the forest. But what did that mean? He didn't recognize any of it.
Damn it, I never get lost!
He flicked his fingers, mumbling a half-remembered incantation for finding the way. A tiny star appeared, uttered what appeared to be an obscenity, then burst in a flash of light.
He really wasn't very good at the divination spells.
Cedwyn let out a half-groan, half-moan, hitting his head against a moss-covered tree in frustration. He was already running late, and it was a sweltering, humid summer day. He wanted to be
back home
.
He kicked the ground and whispered a simpler spell, clearing the way again of briars. He'd already gotten pricked more than twice, but luckily, no hamadryads had bothered him yet. They probably knew better by now than to mess with the apprentice of the local witch.
As Cedwyn stepped over the cleared ground, he caught a glimpse of something in the distance.
He squinted. It looked like some sort of wooden structure.
Oh, thank the gods. He'd somehow wandered his way back home! With a sigh of relief, Cedwyn hurried through the briars.
But as he drew nearer, Cedwyn's wits returned to him. Wasn't it a bit odd that these trees were so old? His master didn't keep her hut in the old-growth forest. Plus, shouldn't he have come by the ley well by now? This couldn't be the hut.
And as he exited into a small clearing overgrown with brambles, Cedwyn's heart stopped.
This was not the hut. This was not home at all.
A great set of moss-and-mold-eaten gallows stood in the center of this clearing. There were no trees, and the sun shown directly down, almost blinding in its radiance.
Cedwyn stopped short in amazement.
He didn't dare take one step further. People said they were haunted, and while Cedwyn doubted it—ghosts and wraiths and the like rarely lasted long in a forest this full of life—he was reluctant to go directly against the instructions of Emelien.
The gallows were totally overgrown. Blackberries and roses vied for dominance all throughout the clearing—Cedwyn doubted he could reach the edifice if he tried, it was so thick. The gallows themselves were covered in stranger plants. Moss climbed nearly a half-foot in height—Cedwyn recognized it as "pillow moss"—and curious blooms and colorful mushrooms grew all around.
He found himself already breaking his rule, taking one step closer and marveling at the bizarre ecosystem. It was almost artistic, in a way. The ropes still swung—mercifully empty of passengers—but they were covered in algae such that they were an even brighter green than the trees above. Cedwyn couldn't believe how utterly green the whole gallows were, really, from the mold and algae and moss to the enormous plant growing in the center of it.
At first, Cedwyn mistook the plant for some sort of enormous skunk cabbage, as it had a vaguely similar shape and appearance—a set of great leaves encircling some sort of large blossom.
But no. This was not a skunk cabbage. He was quite certain of that.
Because he had never, ever smelled anything so...
good
.
The wildflowers all around smelled fragrant, but this enormous pink rose-like bud released a smell that nearly overpowered all the rest, nearly overpowered Cedwyn immediately. It wasn't just sweet. It smelled like a mix of herbs he couldn't quite place—minty and yet reminiscent of vanilla or nutmeg. Cedwyn took a deep breath, appreciating the sweet scent.
Then he smiled broadly and turned away. Pretty as the place was, it also creeped him out to no end. Besides, to his excitement, he now knew where he was—the Witch's Gallows was one hell of a landmark. Now he could find his way back to the hut.
