Anagha Baheti

Gelda pressed her hand against Manza’s shoulder for support as she peered into the shallow grave.

“Could’ve been deeper.”

“Could’ve.” Manza gently peeled her hand off his shoulder, forcing her to step back. “Hey, Gelda, did you know witches are much better at digging ditches in the snow than normal humans?”

“And dogs are even better. What’s your point?”

“The point, sister,” Arida interjected before the man could reply, “is that it is time to return home. The potions won’t brew themselves, and we are already behind on rent. Oh, by the way, the chief has raised our rent to twelve hundred since the first of the coming month.”

Gelda let out a deep grunt. She pinched her black gown between the thumb and index finger of each hand and walked away cursing the village and its chief, who kept increasing the rent every time a ditch needed to be dug. As they walked out of the village, they felt the weight of eyes filled with everything from disapproval to contempt on their back.

The long trek back home was mostly silent, except for the crunch of snow under their feet. Only a century ago, Arida would have been impossible to shut up. She had a habit of enquiring about all sorts of spells and potions, often to the detriment of her companion’s mental peace.

They grow up so fast! Gelda thought to herself as she wiped away a non-existent tear. Witches never cried. People thought it was because emotions were as alien to witches as bathing was to juvenile men. The reality was that prolonged exposure to toxic fumes from potions day in and day out destroyed their tear glands over time.

Under the winding tree, deep within the forest, it dawned upon Arida that their pantry was devoid of sustenance. She shared her thoughts with Gelda, and the two sisters promptly began collecting anything poking out of the snow they deemed edible or medicinal. No sooner had Arida wrapped her hand around a turmeric branch, than an interruption presented itself.

“Good evening, witches! My apologies for interrupting what seems like an evening spent well, but I require guidance.”

Arida pulled the sapling out of the muddy snow, inspecting the root and discarding the weed.

“Leave us alone,” she spoke with an irritation that piqued Gelda’s interest. Gelda put away the leaves she was sorting through and looked up to find a strapping young squire in shiny metal armour, holding a lance too large for his frame. The stubble around his chin couldn’t have been over two years old.

“Arida, mind your manners.” Gelda turned to the squire. “What do you seek, adventurer?”

The youth opened his mouth, but Arida’s voice drowned his own.

“Leave us be, and abandon your quest. Slaying the dragon may or may not lead to knighthood being bestowed upon you, but seeking it will surely lead you to death. Worry for the women who await your return. Perhaps a mother, a sister, or maybe a beloved? Seek their happiness rather than selfish glory.”

The boy stared at Arida with a baffled look.

“Excuse my little sister, young man. She deeply dislikes men ever since our father left us to fend for ourselves. State your quest.”

“Your beautiful sister shows the wisdom beneath those golden eyes, wise witch. Could you point me to the dragon’s lair?” He moved his eyes from Gelda to her sister and continued, “I know my experience hardly invokes trust, pretty witch, but I have been told by reliable sources that I am the scourge of the dragon. A prophecy accompanies my birth.”

“Of course, there is, gallant squire. Come, let me show you the way to the ditch.”

“Gelda!”

“Gather dinner, Arida. I will see you at home.”

As she trudged through the village, with the enthusiastic squire jaunting chirpily beside her, she could feel hatred as thick as fog. People mostly ignored her while begging, bargaining, and yelling at the squire to leave, but the boy was ever so enthusiastic to meet his maker. He happily explained to all who would listen how he was the child of prophecy, and hence, could not be killed by a mere dragon. The constant chats made the walk through the village too glacial for Gelda’s liking.

An egg landed by her foot. The impact broke the shell and a foul smell invaded Gelda’s nose. The witch looked around for the source of the egg and found the chief’s wife looking down at her with contempt. She shared some choice words with Gelda – words that would have made a sailor blush – and promptly turned to the lad. In far too many words, she informed him of the number of children that had died to the false prophecy. The squire tried his best to reassure her, but when he realised the futility of the task, he quickly wished the lady a good day and urged Gelda to take him away. She did just that, swearing vengeance for the egg under her breath.

“What is the cause of this malice amongst these people?” The boy asked as they left the village behind. “Why must they treat you so poorly?”

“Cerebral capacity is somewhat lacking within this town.”

“Even so, such behaviour is unbecoming of a citizen of this kingdom. Why do you not depart in search of a better dwelling?”

“Witches don’t get the warmest welcome wherever we go.”

“There is grave injustice in this world. As a Knight, I plan to correct that.” He balled his fist and slammed it against his breastplate. “To that end, the first mission I must accomplish is to rid this land of the dragon. Once these villagers learn of your assistance in my mission, they will fall to your feet and beg for forgiveness. I shall see it be so.”

“If you insist… Hey, here’s an idea. What if, instead of taking a shortcut, you finish your training and become a knight through your valour and strength of character?”

Gelda didn’t care either way. She was only asking to clear her conscience. If the boy wasn’t completely consumed by the ego that his parents had fanned into him, her question would have made him think.

“Had I not been burdened with the divine blessings, sweet witch, I would have trudged the path worn by my predecessors. Alas, I must honour the gift I have received. For this is the Lord’s honest truth: I am a child of prophecy.”

Gelda snorted. These overconfident children annoyed her as much as the asinine villagers. Years of training yet a complete lack of experience gave them this sense of smug superiority. They thought themselves invincible, right until they stared death in its toothy jaw. By then, the realisation did nothing.

“The dragon lives in a cave within the womb of this mountain. The mouth of his lair is just behind these bushes. Carry my best wishes with you, young squire.”

“I mean no offence, sweet witch, but I have no need for those. I come from a long lineage of distinguished knights. Hunting is in my blood. Besides, the Lord’s blessings will keep me safe.”