Chapter 7
Elise walked alongside Morgaine through the city.
The witch strolled through the streets as if she owned the entire place.
Elise found herself more at ease in her company.
There was something about Morgaine that was both captivating and even winsome, if she allowed herself the thought.
The weather was worsening, and they hastened their pace, leaving little opportunity for talk during their trek around Metz.
The new city appeared charming enough to Elise, though its people had proven far less appealing than its architecture.
Thankfully, she was not someone to be discouraged by a few frowns and grimaces.
Besides, she had already seen proof that kindness had not been entirely chased out of the walls of Metz.
Already two people had been charitable enough to her: the duke and Morgaine.
Perhaps she had been unreasonable in expecting a different sort of welcome.
She recognized she was still frightened at Morgaine’s side, though her instincts stubbornly refused to flee the situation.
A witch.
Elise’s mind was filled to the brim with questions and suspicions, but she was not one to spoil a free lodging, especially when the townspeople had already turned cold toward her during her wandering through the northern side.
She occupied herself imagining the worst possible outcomes of having followed a witch.
But, generous of spirit and possessed of a most optimistic sort of judgment, she soon calmed herself with the hope that she could find her way out of almost any inconvenient situation.
Besides, regrettably curious as she was, the idea of setting foot in a witch’s house suddenly caught her interest greatly.
When they reached one of the thick city walls, Elise began to look over the humble houses, wondering in which of them she might finally change her wet clothes.
But instead of burdening herself with the search for a key, Morgaine walked straight to the wall and, after wrestling with a large dry bush, revealed a gap in the old fortification.
“Come on.” The woman gestured for Elise to follow.
Elise could hardly refuse the courtesy. Her eyes widened at the prospect of leaving the city, but she was in no position to look down on any offer of shelter, and with her chin tucked low, she followed her new acquaintance.
She had no sooner entered a narrow road lined with old trees than Elise began to feel less afraid and more grateful for Morgaine’s invitation.
The rain settled over her shoulders, and the only warmth she felt came from the torch Morgaine had helped herself to from one of the iron brackets in the city.
She had yanked it so hard the entire bracket had come loose with it, though thankfully no guard had been nearby to object.
The mere sight of the bread in Morgaine’s basket sent Elise’s stomach into insistent protest. She was so hungry she considered reaching for it and tearing off a piece of the hefty loaf, but just as she gathered the resolve, they reached a clearing.
A cottage emerged among small trees with white foliage.
Elise had imagined the witch lived in a tree, beneath a mountain, or in some hut, but this house looked entirely reasonable to her.
It was very much like the home of any God-fearing soul.
Elise’s first impression of the house, however, suffered some alteration upon closer inspection when Morgaine guided her to the front door.
There was a bone serving as a bolt—an animal bone, she hoped.
Small lights flickered to life as Morgaine drew back the bolt, as if some sort of magic had sensed the owner’s very presence.
Elise gasped and briefly considered running away, but she had come this far, and the meat and bread looked too tempting to ignore.
Besides, if Morgaine had meant to do something to her, she would have done so by now.
In the streets, the attention of scoundrels was nearly guaranteed.
Here, danger remained only a possibility.
She decided to trust her luck. If Morgaine were an evil witch, surely the whole town would have heard of it. Instead, Elise had seen her walking without shame or remorse. The witch seemed to know the city folk quite well, as many had greeted her warmly along the way.
And as if the heavens meant to reassure her that she was safe in Morgaine’s dwelling, the moment the door of her house opened, a young man sprang into the witch’s arms.
Elise jumped back as he embraced Morgaine with such enthusiasm that she seemed in real danger of being crushed under all that muscle and bare skin. The man wore pants, but his shirt was nowhere to be seen; no coat, no decency to speak of, his well-defined torso entirely on display.
“Volker, what are you doing still here?” the witch sighed.
“I couldn’t leave knowing I might never see you again.” The young man’s eyes shone with tears as he spoke.
Elise stood at a respectable distance, keeping a keen eye on the proceedings between Morgaine and her guest. The man appeared healthy and reasonably sane, which she took as a reassuring sign. If Morgaine kept company like this, Elise might be safe in her house as well.
“Please marry me,” the man said. He was about Elise’s age, and undeniably handsome.
“Volker, we have talked about this,” Morgaine sighed, letting out a heavy breath.
The man was truly in a desperate state, staring at Morgaine with pleading eyes and holding her so tightly that Elise wondered if the witch might require assistance.
But in Elise’s eyes Morgaine appeared entirely unfazed, and she was, after all, a witch.
She resisted the faint urge to intervene and kept silent.
“Morgaine, I can’t live without you,” Volker continued. “I’m your slave.”
“Ahhh,” Morgaine grumbled. “Wait here.”
She gave Elise a quick glance. “It will only be a moment.”
Elise remained at a careful distance from Volker. She paid her respects by glancing in his direction and nodding, politely ignoring his lack of clothing. The brief exchange, however, had been enough to make her blush.
The men in Metz were a noticeable improvement over those in Noldrin, but Elise was still smarting from Edward. She had the unfortunate gift of a good memory, which insisted on recalling every word, every promise, as if any of it still mattered.
Morgaine reemerged shortly, to Volker’s great pleasure. She held a small vial of red liquid, the blessed substance bubbling and steaming as if it had been drawn from some infernal lake. Morgaine plucked one of her hairs and dropped it into the small glass container.
“Drink this.”
The handsome man, though unable to look anywhere but Morgaine’s face, followed the instruction all the same.
“By leaf and bone, leave me alone,” Morgaine whispered.
After just a few moments, Volker began to choke.
Elise glanced at Morgaine in horror, but the witch merely nodded. “He’s fine. It’s a memory potion so he can forget about me for good.”
Volker’s violent coughing ceased, and all at once he looked bewildered, like a lost deer in the woods. He glanced between Elise and Morgaine. Morgaine raised an arm toward the city.
“You were lost. Go home.”
He bolted and was gone in a matter of seconds.
“I apologize for this. I would never have thought Volker would be so taken with an old woman like myself.”
“Old woman?”
“Never mind. Let’s get inside.”
Once there, Elise marveled at every corner of the witch’s house.
The humble size from the outside proved deceiving; the interior was far more ample than expected.
There were gold candleholders, handsome finishes in thick oak, and the finest furniture Elise had ever seen.
Not even at Lady Patrice’s estate had she encountered such wealth.
They walked into the dining room, which opened onto a richly adorned kitchen. The handles on the cabinets and cupboards were made of gold, and there was just as much silver in the utensils laid out on the counter.
“What a beautiful house you have, madam,” Elise said sincerely.
Morgaine softened her gaze. She had been in a most visible state of annoyance over the recent inconvenience.
The witch laid the basket on the counter and began to unfold the meat and bread. The sight proved so irresistible that Elise was quick to offer her services in the kitchen, if only to repay the generosity and perhaps secure an early sample of the provisions.
“Please let me prepare supper,” Elise said. “If you tell me your preferred way of cooking and show me where the pantry is, I can have everything ready shortly.”
Morgaine seemed pleased with Elise’s good attitude and showed her all she might need to prepare a pork roast. She lit a fire with some chant and something that looked like magic dust.
Elise set to cooking as if commissioned to prepare a banquet for a king.
In less than an hour, she had the pork over the open hearth and a soup so thick it could pass for oats.
She refused to waste a single ingredient in the pantry, and the pot was full to the brim, boiling and filling the house with such fragrance that Morgaine quickly regained her good mood.
Elise ate her supper with a measure of caution, filling herself with only a small portion since she had already sampled the bread and meat rather generously during the preparation of the meal. Even the witch saw fit to comment on her modest appetite.
Morgaine set the table so nicely, with so much gold and silver that Elise felt like royalty. The witch said little at first, being fully committed to emptying her plate. Not long after she began, she asked for a second serving, complimenting Elise’s skills and talents.
Feeling already somewhat at home, and with her fears and worries lifted, Elise decided to indulge in conversation. “What kind of magic do you practice?” She wondered whether the woman flew on a broom or turned people into animals, as the tales in Noldrin claimed.
Morgaine lifted her head with a smirk on her fair face. “Ah, well,” she began. “Let me tell you that after a bit of ale and wine.”
The witch showed Elise a small door that led to a narrow set of stairs below the main floor.
Morgaine handed her one of the golden candleholders to guide her way, and as soon as Elise stepped into the cellar, she marveled once more at its size.
She would have expected a modest room, but found instead a place so ample it seemed to belong to a castle.
Elise, quick and smart as she was, took a large jug and poured enough ale for a crew of men. She then selected a bottle of wine finer than any she had seen before. The gold shimmered on the cap as she pulled it from the rack.
When she returned, the pork was almost gone and only a few drops of soup remained in the pot. The witch’s creaturely habits differed somewhat from Lady Patrice’s, but Elise found herself far more comfortable with Morgaine...provided nothing unexpected occurred during the night.
After what Morgaine called a bit of ale and wine, Elise gathered the empty jug and bottle and sat beside the witch by the fireplace next to the dining room, ready at last to hear what she had to say about her magic.
Morgaine settled into the only chair, a wide seat with a high back draped in a tapestry of colorful sigils and heraldry. The arms were made of wood and carved in the shape of human limbs, ending in small fists. Elise sat on the floor upon a white pelt to warm herself by the fire.
Elise waited patiently as Morgaine stared into the fire. Then she finally began.
“The magic that I perform is a forgotten art. An ancient thing. Only a couple hundred in the world know it.”
Elise listened intently. She wanted more.
She wanted to know everything: when and how Morgaine had started, how old she was, how many other witches there were, but Elise was clever enough not to push beyond what her host seemed willing to share.
She held her tongue and focused on what she had already witnessed.
“Besides the Memory Potion, what other potions are there?” Elise asked softly.
Morgaine chuckled. “There are potions for any imaginable thing, but the ones people care about rarely amount to more than three.”
Three?
“Which three?”
Morgaine sighed. “I’ll answer you, but I must warn you that if you learn too much, I cannot let you go back into the world knowing about witchcraft.”
Elise nodded. If her curiosity could have taken shape, it would have matched the fire before her, but she did not want Morgaine to give her the Memory Potion she had administered to Volker, so she chose not to be greedy.
“I promise I won’t tell a soul,” Elise whispered.
And as if to inspire some confidence in the witch, she offered a piece of her own life.
She began with Lady Patrice and went on to recount her heartbreak with Edward with all the sincerity she could manage, though not in such detail as to invite tears.
“They were bound to reject you, dear, aunt or no aunt. If anything, the aunt did you a favor by saving you time,” Morgaine said plainly. “Their circle called for a simple woman, an ornament. And you, you are too bold to play such a small part.”
“But?”
Morgaine continued. “Do you think Lady Patrice or that liar of a fiancé would have risked their whole lives for the chance of improving them?”
Elise did not need to think long before shaking her head. It was impossible to imagine Lady Patrice or Edward confronting even obvious injustice, let alone traveling without the security of their titles and wealth.
“You are young. A maid?” Morgaine said.
“I beg your pardon?”
“You are only just beginning your cycle of life. The Maid is the first face, then comes the second, and if you are lucky, you are granted a third.”
Whether it was the ale and wine speaking or not, Elise could not say, but what she heard seemed important enough. A thought settled in her mind with unusual confidence.
“Would you take me under your ward?”
Morgaine coughed. “What?”
“I must earn my living somehow, and I can be of some use in making your days more agreeable.”
Morgaine grumbled, and after a moment of consideration, said, “Do you know more dishes like the one you made today?”
Elise nodded at once and began to recount the many skills she had gathered in recent months. The witch showed particular interest in her sewing and spinning, already measuring her for tailoring work.
“For now, bring me another jug of ale. Tomorrow, if you have not reconsidered, we may speak of it.”