To Drown a Witch

Before The Witch

Before

The Witch

The trees have their eyes on me.

I can feel them on my back, on the hood over my head, on my careful feet as I step over the twigs and bits of brush littering the forest floor.

I leave my clothes at the base of a tall, majestic evergreen.

I know they will still be there when I return.

No one ever crosses this forest path. It’s why I take it.

Still, my gaze creeps over my shoulder, eyes skittering to shadows, searching for movement. There have been many a night when my eyes deceive me, crafting movement where there is none.

But not tonight. I am alone. No soul dares delve this far into the forest, not with creatures of warning on the prowl. And yet, I itch with the need to check again and again. I cannot be caught.

Not with magic.

No one knows where magic came from. They say it found a home in the trees.

They say the trees reached their long limbs into the air and allowed the magic to fall upon their leaves.

The magic took to the trees just as quickly, seeping in through their many veins and cascading through their grooves.

They say magic is what keeps trees alive, why they live through each tumultuous season.

They say it’s why trees stand tall, grow taller, and reach higher than anyone else. Magic is the trees’ best friend.

It is not mine.

I was four when I learned about the trees. About the dangerous magic residing within them.

I was five when I learned I was just like them, a husk for magic to hide in. And six when I learned to hide.

Magic is not my friend. It is my fear. My shame. I keep it locked away.

But no living thing can spend its life in a cage. It pulses, beats, thrashes against me.

It wants out.

Out. Out. Out.

Magic is a living thing I cannot kill. It does not die.

But I can die. And I know magic will be the death of me one day.

The ache in my veins tells me when it’s at the edge. When a vicious spectacle of otherworldly power might burst from me. So I come to the river.

When I submerge, the brackish water is frigid. The magic inside me coils tight, fighting against the coming expulsion. It knows this is different from if I were to willingly use it. It can sense I have no purpose to give it, none but to leave me.

I grit my teeth and pluck at the coil.

Above, the trees watch me, judge me. They revere magic, but I am not as strong as them.

The magic resists my pull, so I give it a sharp yank and a piece breaks free. I spread it through my veins, weighing the heaviness of it in my blood. This portion, though small, is enough for today. It should be enough to last me before I need to return and repeat this ritual.

I spread my limbs—arms, legs, fingers, toes, and neck—until I am a star in the water. The current lingers around me, playing with the space I’ve taken, eager to take me away. It can take something else.

I push the bit of magic from my veins. It tingles, burns, and skates through my skin. Once it is on the surface—dancing, teasing me with promises of virtue—I let go.

The magic rebels.

Ice forms in an instant, floating in chunks around my head, then bubbles and bursts, as if boiling without heat. The fish at my feet freeze, die, and keep on swimming. Reeds grow so strong and fast they push rocks out of their way.

I wait for everything to settle. For the current to sweep the magic out to sea. When it does, I break the surface and sigh.

Water sloshing at my ankles, I climb back up the bank of the river. Though the air is bitter with cold, I don’t shiver.

I feel the trees’ glares on me as surely as I feel the haunting laughter knocking against my lungs. I turn my back, shoving the remaining magic down deep within me until my insides are still. I am not like the trees. I did not call the magic to me.

Only I know the true danger of magic. The world thinks they know. But they’ve forgotten. One day magic will see fit to remind them.

Once dry, I dress and gather my things. The forest is heavy around me, but I feel lighter.

My footsteps make imprints in the dirt leading away from the river. I leave the woods behind, making my way back to my friends, to my family. Back to the people who would execute me if they knew—

I am the Witch they hunt.