Chapter 40 The Marsh Witch
Morning came. We stumbled out of the tent to a surprisingly mild day, with the sun shining.
The marshes took on a totally different look; the grasses sparkled with dew.
Even though the stench remained, and the midges were as thick and annoying as they had been the day before, somehow, the air felt a little fresher, and my mood had lightened.
Maybe I just needed to get used to being here.
We went back into the tent to eat so that the bugs wouldn’t bother us. Ray was covered with welts from the bites, and he tried his best to keep from scratching.
“I think I have some generic salve in my pack,” he said. “It might help. I hesitate to use it for bug bites when we might need it later, though.”
“I know this sounds gross, but let me try something,” Brynn said. “Let me see your arm.”
He held out his arm, and she studied the bites. Three were swollen and looked painfully red. She took a deep breath and—using her thumbnails—squeezed it from both sides.
“Youch!” Ray yelped, but a second later, a clear drop of liquid squirted out of the welt. Brynn wiped it away with a torn cloth. Ray waited for a second, then added, “That doesn’t itch as bad.”
“I thought so. Get their venom out and it will itch a lot less.”
“I’m going to have a lot of nail scars on me,” Ray said.
“Better than scarring from scratching too much,” I said. “Reggie, do you have anything to deflect insect bites?”
He shook his head. “I don’t think so. We didn’t expect to come here when we registered to enter the game.”
“Then we’ll have to cloak up as best we can. If you have gloves, wear them.”
As Brynn set to dealing with the worst of the bites—thankfully there weren’t too many of those—Reggie, Thornhold, and I finished repacking our packs.
Then, moving out of the tent, Reggie and Thornhold took it down while we found a couple of bushes private enough to do our business behind.
After we were done, we used the hand sanitizer we had—water was too precious in the marshes to waste for washing hands—and we set off, making certain we were headed in the right direction.
Once again, we slogged our way through the cordgrass and fens.
We kept going until nearly dusk, stopping only for a break here or there.
But we were going at a slow enough pace that we were able to eat as we went.
The going was rough, though, and according to Reggie’s pedometer, we had traveled eighteen miles in nine hours.
Exhausted, we began to look for a dry enough spot to spend the night.
Luckily, we’d avoided anything or anyone that might be out and about so far.
Given that I’d be suspicious of anybody who lived in the marshes, I was relieved that we were essentially alone.
Thanks to the mountain silhouettes in the distance, we were fairly certain we were still on track.
As I cast a look around, searching for a patch of dry ground, I noticed what looked like a hut about five hundred feet to the left. I froze, motioning for the others to join me.
“Who do you think lives there?” I asked.
“I don’t have the faintest idea. I never set foot in the marshes in the game,” Reggie said.
“Here either, and I know for a fact that—as a group—we didn’t make it this far,” Thornhold added.
“I guess there’s only one way to find out,” I said. “We go over and knock on the door.”
“Why would we want to do that?” Reggie asked. “Maybe we'll just hide here until morning and vanish before whoever lives there finds us.”
He had a point, I thought. We had no idea whether the owner of the hut was friendly. They could be friends…or foes. And if they were foes, they could be lethal. However, there was also the question of camping near the hut. Whoever it was might find us if we didn’t go over first.
“Okay, let’s go,” I said. “The enemy you know is better than the one you don’t.”
I led the way as we traversed the sparse path toward the hut, which was actually in the marsh, up on stilts. I prayed the game devs hadn’t decided to pull a Baba Yaga on us.
I paused at the bottom of the steps that led up to the door. “Well, nothing so far.”
“They might not be home,” Reggie said.
“Maybe not, but we can’t leave it up to chance.
” I began ascending the steps, cautiously listening as I approached the porch that wound around the little hut.
A rocking chair sat on one side, and to the left of the steps were several boxes.
I left them alone, although I both wanted to know what was in them and didn’t want to know.
As I stood in front of the door, Thornhold joined me. The others waited at the bottom of the steps. I steeled myself, reached out, and knocked.
The moment my knuckles touched wood, a shriek echoed around me, and I froze. What the hell had I unleashed? What was coming after us?
But all that happened was the sound of shuffling from inside, and then the door creaked open and a short, squat woman peeked out.
She had green hair and brown eyes, and she didn’t look quite human.
I started to think, Sym, but then what Otsiano had said echoed through my mind.
Regardless of her race, she wasn’t a construct.
She was very real, in this very real world of Abarria.
She gazed at us, her brow furrowing. After a moment, she cleared her throat. “Who be you and what do you want?” She didn’t sound friendly, but at least she hadn’t sent a fireball at us—so far.
I straightened my shoulders. “My name is Erenye, and these are my companions. We’re passing through and we were wondering, do you mind if we camp out there, near your home? We mean no harm. We want nothing…we just need a safe space to rest for the night.” I tried to be as polite as I could.
The woman arched her eyebrows, looking me up and down. “You’re a scrawny wench,” she said.
“I’m strong enough. I’m an Elf.” I wondered if she had some cauldron in the back just waiting for meat for a stew. And I didn’t intend to volunteer.
“Aye, you are at that.” She glanced at Thornhold. “Very well. You don’t look like a scroungy bunch. Are you hungry?”
I felt too nervous to take anything from her, but didn’t want to seem rude. “We’ve eaten, thank you.”
“Don’t be so frightened, child. I don’t eat meat. I have vegetable stew and plenty of it. I may not be the most cordial of marsh-dwellers, but I don’t mind gracious visitors who mind their own business.” She smiled, then, for the first time.
I closed my eyes, reaching out to her energy. I didn’t fully trust her, but neither did I sense any lies. “Thank you,” I said. “Will you join us?”
“You’d best join me,” she said. “No good lighting fires out in the marsh—there are too many gases. And there are spirits who feed on life-force. They’re attracted to fires, and can find you all the easier.”
She opened the door, backing away. I turned and motioned the others and then, entered her house. As she watched us file in, she said, “Welcome, travelers, to the home of the Marsh Witch. Sit yourselves down and rest.”