Magic has waned in the world. In the past, magic was a prevalent and powerful force, wielded by individuals and groups who held significant influence and power. However, as time has passed, the use and practice of magic has diminished greatly. The number of individuals who possess magical abilities has greatly decreased. The remaining practitioners of magic are mainly limited to a small group of women, known as witches.
***
Two events shook the foundations of the mountainside inn within a week. Firstly it was rocked by an earthquake, and secondly, the witch arrived.
Colm had been working at the River and Stone Inn for as long as he could remember and it was second nature for him to be able to anticipate the guest's needs. One look at someone as they approached the counter was usually enough for him to make a summary judgement, around here there were only two types of guests, those travelling down the White Ridge Mountains towards the capital city of Stockton, or those leaving the city and heading up into the mountains. Foothill Rest was a fitting name for the town, it was only ever a rest stop for travellers, never a destination.
One of the more well-travelled guests had called him a true concierge, which the guest had explained was someone a little bit better than an innkeeper, someone who assisted the guests, not just let them in and take their coin. Colm was very proud of his work in anticipating guests' needs and privately thought of himself as a concierge, not that he'd ever tell anyone that.
In his years working here, he'd rarely had a witch stay at the Inn though. Colm remembered that once a witch from somewhere uphill in the hinterland or mountains had stayed here on her way down to the city below for some supplies, but she only stopped here because of the Inn's convenient location.
But now a very different type of witch was strolling towards him and he did his best to try and assess who she was, and what she might need. Her long black dress and pointed black hat told him her profession. Unlike the prior visitor, the mountain witch, who'd worn practical, hard-wearing woollen dresses and a wide-brimmed black hat, this new witch wore what appeared to be silk. And unlike the previous witch, her hat was small and fashionable. Her dress also had a red fringe and accents which appeared to give her dark brown hair a matching soft red glow. Being this fashionably dressed, she was clearly a city witch on her way up the mountains, he concluded. Not a local then, he thought, I should ask if she needs a guide.
Colm tried to estimate her age, but her looks confounded him. Her face was that of a mature woman, possibly anywhere in her 30s to her 40s. But her skin was as smooth and flawless as someone in their early 20s. It gave her an ageless appearance.
"Can I have a room for the night, and possibly for the whole week? I'm willing to pay for the week upfront, but I'm not sure which day I'll be leaving" she said.
She introduced herself as Meridin Semira but offered very little additional detail about who she was, and where she was going. When he subtly asked about her plans, she didn't offer much detail beyond saying she was waiting. With no mention of what she was waiting for, be it a person or a thing.
The perfect kind of guest, Colm thought to himself. He didn't like a guest who tried to be your friend. He insisted on keeping a well-defined barrier between himself and others, guests especially. Relying on others was a recipe for disaster, he thought to himself.
The next week passed quickly. Word of the witch had spread through the town, and the Inn's common room had never had more locals in it. All sorts of people who'd never stay for a meal suddenly found an excuse to drop in, in hopes of catching a glimpse of the witch.
Colm noticed that there was one group of locals who were staying away though. Save for himself and a couple of married men there were no young men in the crowded common room. Colm assumed that all the young men had heard the same rumours he had. Rumours of witches taking young men in their thrall, forcing them into service as personal protectors or servants. Some of the rumours were far more salacious, only ever mentioned in hushed whispers. Rumours about witches who used their thralls for sex, witches who had more than one thrall at a time, making them do sex acts that would turn your hair white.
Colm was shocked from his thoughts by Bridgid, the baker's wife, who plonked down a tray of bread and said, "You carried her bags in, how many dresses do you think she has?" Ordinarily, the Inn baked enough of its own bread, but the sudden rush of people wanting to eat here left them short.
The witch had been there for a week and had worn a new dress each day. It was a mystery that the regulars at the Inn discussed in depth.
Although many of the black dresses that the witch wore looked the same to Colm. Bridget and the local ladies insisted that each day's dress was entirely different. They had begun to take notes, writing down each cut, colour and material that they saw. Some days she wore long flowing dresses, on warmer days she wore mid-length summer dresses. Once, on her first day, she wore a divided riding dress. And it wasn't just the style of dress that changed either. The colours changed too. Usually the dresses were black, but sometimes they had a red fringe, sometimes a green. Sometimes she wore brightly coloured petticoats, sometimes entirely black. To Colm's eye, the different colours of the dress seemed to make her hair come alive in that colour too, sometimes highlights of green or blue flicked through her hair to match whichever colour she was wearing that day.
Colm gave the same answer he had all week. "She only had two cases, and the one with clothes in it was the lightest, no larger than a regular chest." He struggled to imagine her fitting any more than three dresses in the clothes chest he carried in for her. The other chest, the one Colm imagined held her magical supplies was the only heavy one. It was so full of glass bottles it had rattled louder than the Inn's liquor cabinet had during the last earthquake.
As the week progressed, the Inn settled into a new rhythm. Meridin continued to stay at the Inn, without ever letting on why she was there. Onlookers and stickybeaks still popped into the common room to try and sneak a peek at her. That was until Mrs Stone, the Innkeeper, called Colm to her office.
Mrs Stone, sat down in her chair behind her desk, sighing deeply as she did. Her sigh was so long it made her appear to shrink even further in height from her already short stature. As Colm sat in the chair opposite she told him down and told him that his time working at the Inn was drawing to an end. "I don't regret taking you in, you've always been a good worker, but it's time for someone with the family name to run this place."
Colm tried to mask his sadness. He'd know this day was coming, but her choice of words to frame him as just a worker, and not part of the family struck him in the heart.
You did this to yourself, he thought bitterly. The circumstances of his life had forced him to be reliant on Mrs Stone, and look where that had left him. Never again would he allow himself to be reliant on anyone, he promised himself.
Judging solely by appearance, no one would ever mistake them as family. His height and skinny frame had always made him stand out from the short and round Stones. People around town had always joked he was a stick among pebbles rather than them being a family of Stones. But they had been the only family he'd ever known. He remembered sitting around this very same desk when he was a young child and hearing the same woman offer to take him in and raise him. His parents had just died, and so had her husband. It was an arrangement that suited them both, for a time. He needed someone to raise him and she had more work than she could handle running an Inn. She had three daughters and she didn't want them to do the heavy lifting parts of running an Inn. So it went, Colm came to live in the Inn, work in the Inn and eventually ran the Inn himself.
The fact that he'd known this day was coming for quite a while, provided little to no comfort for Colm. Three months previously Mrs Stone's eldest daughter, Ethel, became betrothed, and she and her new husband-to-be had clear plans to run the Inn themselves. Colm knew his usefulness was drawing an end.
"Of course, I understand perfectly. I'll make arrangements to leave as soon as possible." Colm said calmly, then excused himself, and stood to leave. Mrs Stone thanked him for making their parting easy but made no mention in her thanks of the years of work that Colm had provided.
As soon as the door closed behind him an intense unsettled feeling washed over him. He had no idea where to go next. He had no skills that would help him on the road. Being able to serve drinks and show people to their rooms were useful skills to be sure, but not ones that were easy to find work for. Most inns were family businesses, with no need for outsiders to help.
He set off toward his room. He had very few belongings but he still needed to pack them. As he walked down the hall towards the witch's room a thought occurred to him, causing him to pause outside the door. He shook his head as if trying to shake the thought from his head and set off again.
