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The Power of Words: Part One

A Story of Love, Magic, and Voices

By ThatWriterWomanPublished 2 years ago 11 min read
2
A/N: The prompt for this story was: 'Never Cheat a Witch' I decided to write a medieval fiction, Enjoy!

Chapter One: The Witch

I knew something was awry when a grand nobleman arrived in the village. There would be no reason for such a man to frequent the place other than marriage. There were several women in Fimblefoot who could make eligible brides. Young women of childbearing years which he would spend the first days in Fimblefoot pursuing categorically. It was no more than a week before Brigid caught his eye.

I would be a fool not to admit that Brigid had grown into a beauty. Her skin was delicate white, as it had been since we were children. Her curls of orange had grown in volume, framing her face. But none of that compared to her eyes. While they were a simple blue, common as the sky, they gave entrance to her feeling. When she smiled, they disappeared behind wrinkled lids. When she frowned, they pierced as harshly as a sword. None compared to her look of interest. Her curiosity saw her eyes become wide and listening. They could be as deep as the river, waiting to embrace knowledge in a wonderful splash of clarity.

The truth was, Brigid never looked at the nobleman like that. She kept her eyes averted and shielded against his own, not once letting his own gaze fix to hers if she could avoid it.

Brigid was unaware that her mother and the nobleman had made a deal. One that would secure their matrimony within the year. What she did know was that she was required to marry soon. Without her father’s income, Brigid was required to marry to support herself and her mother. I felt sorry for her. Fernin and I had offered her gold and silver on several occasions but it was always met with frosty refusal.

The day I realized both the problem, and the solution, was in late Spring. My father was teaching me how to temper steel when Brigid and the nobleman walked past. Between my father hammering metal on metal, I managed to hear their conversation in part.

‘Yes, we used to play in the forest’

‘We?’

‘Two local boys and myself. Fernin -------- fisherman and Dag is learning smithing’

‘What a ------ name. I am glad those days of childishness are behind you. I don’t think -------- my children to run unsafely without my protection. Your father should not have ----------- such behaviour’ H e sounded rather pleased with this, expecting it to be impressive.

Brigid’s eyes became dark. ‘Oh yes’, I thought excitedly ‘this poor nobleman was about to experience my friend’s scorching temper to full flame’. Turning back to watch my father, I eagerly awaited the flurry of insults that the nobleman was about to fall victim to. Brigid had a razor-sharp tongue when she wanted to.

My father's anvil rang three times before I realised that Brigid wasn’t going to say anything. I turned around to see the couple walking towards the bank of the river, arms linked. To say I was confused was an understatement.

That night I took a long walk of frustration on the outskirts of the village to burn through my emotions.

‘How could she not challenge him on the way he spoke of her father?’ I thought angrily, branches snapping under my feet as I stomped my way up to the forest. ‘Her father was a brave and honourable man. I looked up to him! He was good to me and my father’ I reminisced on my time spent with the man. Shadows clouded my face as I walked into the trees. ‘How could she pretend to like him to support her mother’s luxurious taste in living?’ I was bittered by her situation, and with her.

The truth was, I was more than angered by the circumstances, my heart was stung. I’m not sure when friendship had turned to affection, but it simply had. It was a calm and slow realization which occurred over several years. Fernin had teased me over it, of course, but other than that, there had been no actions taken. I was a deer, stuck in fear. If I courted her, I could lose her friendship. That was enough to keep my feelings at bay. ‘Friend or not, I cannot let her marry the nobleman’ I stated in my head, with no real idea of how to stop it. The truth was that there was a large difference between the confidence in my ideas, and the scope of my abilities. ‘If only I had some help..’ I trailed off as the trees parted, revealing a clearing.

The clearing was blatantly the same one I had visited as a child with Brigid and Fernin. This time, I didn’t have to look at the shape, or the grass to determine its familiarity. All I needed to see was the stone house at the center. Moss had spread to the walls and the ivy now cloaked the door entirely, but it was unmistakable – this was the same house Brigid and I had discovered all those years ago. But how could it be here again? It was impossible! I stood, stunned. My feet had taken root into the ground, unwilling to move. Eyes unwilling to accept what they were seeing. My body was still, its nerves were not. Every hair stood on alert, my insides churned, and my throat seemed to collapse in on itself. My hand found itself on the hilt of my sword, taking comfort in the blade’s companionship. I stooped low on my weak knees, daring to take a step towards the house.

The wind seemed to blow me forwards, encouraging my approach. Wood creaked as the door began to open. I recalled Brigid and I seeing the same before we ran back home. This time, I didn’t run; standing my ground stubbornly against my instincts as the door opened slowly.

An old woman shuffled out of the house. Low, hunched, and slow, she carried a basket and a knife. She walked to the far end of the clearing and bowed down to collect something from the forest floor; appearing to struggle when cutting through her prize before placing it in her basket.

She returned to the door in the same manner in which she left – slow but steady. However, she stopped next to her door, turning in my direction, and saying, “You there, boy, come forwards!”.

Unsure of how to respond, I chose to continue my slow approach, fingers tightening around my sword’s hilt. Soon, I stood at the threshold into the woman’s home. One room, a straw bed at one end and a rack of drying herbs on the other. She stood examining them with thought and adding her recent foraging prize to the mess.

“Well, what will it be then, boy? A salve for healing, a soup for growth…” she turned to face me before adding “poison, perhaps?”

“I don’t underst-“ I started

“What? What is your tribulation?” she pressed

I said nothing, she looked at me as if I were the crazy one in the room. I fought the urge to remind her that she was the one living in a vanishing house. She tutted at my blank expression, crossing the room and grabbing a leaf from a nearby jar. Handing it to me, she raised an eyebrow and said quickly “Eat it then!”

It looked as if it was a clover. I started to think she may have been absent in the mind. ‘Well’, I thought ‘I’ve come this far’. I placed the clover between my teeth, cringing at the bitter grassy taste before swallowing.

“What now?” I asked.

“What do you need?” She asked in response.

Before I could think, my mouth was moving, betraying the privacy of my mind.

“She’s one of my best friends, and she’s going to marry that…that…man! There’s no way I can give her and her mother the life they want, not as a smithee! I cannot offer my hand in marriage without better circumstances and before I can achieve that, she will be a nobleman’s wife! I wish I had more time, I wish I had more gold and I wish she loved me the way I love her!” I had been shouting, filling the house will a voice I didn’t recognise. Silence fell quickly, leaving me in shock and anger.

“I see.” she stated, starting to shuffle around the room, collecting small sprigs of herbs and a small cauldron into her arms.

She was lighting a fire underneath the pot-sized cauldron when the curiosity of the situation ran through my senses.

“Witch!” I bellowed, drawing my sword and pointing it in her direction.

She took no notice of me, instead choosing to add water from a nearby jug into the cauldron and hanging it above the smoldering fire. Hands still full of herbs, she kicked a wooden stool in my direction, wordlessly ordering me to sit.

“Put that sword away and I will say what I can while your remedy brews” she suggested calmly, adding some of the leaves into the water.

It took me until three more ingredients were added to accept her offer. I placed my sword in its sheath and sat on the stool, feeling the splinters scratch my legs. She took that as her command to begin talking.

“I appear to anyone in need of assistance” she started, while grabbing a pestle and mortar and begging to grind something within. I thought back to the first time I saw the house, we didn’t need assistance, not really. I opened my mouth to protest before she continued.

“Feelings of fear are what summons this house, with me within, to take away what is causing the feeling. It is not always an easy task, I will admit. I cannot always banish the cause. I cannot treat all illnesses, I cannot slay enemies, nor can I summon resources previously inaccessible” she chose this moment to pause, feeding the fire a small log.

“Why help people in this way?” I asked, wondering her motivation in her quest. She smirked in response.

“I will say this. Fear is the product of disturbance and discontent. These problems are the enemies of myself and my sisters” she began to look saddened at the thought of her family. “We have tasked ourselves with the protection of those in need” she finished.

I thought before speaking this time. “That is kind” I said softly, internally punishing myself for drawing my sword on her.

She considered my words, smirking to herself before replying. “It is not kind. It is necessary” she sounded saddened, and I decided to drop the subject.

I sat in silence as she finished her work, cauldron bubbling, seeping vapours across its surface.

“You have given me a difficult task, boy. Your fear stems from the loss of another’s presence in your life. I cannot change her heart, nor create the means by which her mother’s demands can be met” she paused, letting me absorb her words while she filled a small green bottle with the contents of the cauldron.

“However, this…” she held up the little bottle, stopper in place. “This, can turn your tongue to silver, giving you the voice of the nobleman you must compete with” she finished.

My mind was racing ‘the voice of a nobleman? That was the greatest idea! I could finally admit my feelings to Brigid and articulate praises and compliments sure to make any woman swoon!’. I chuckled at the thought before reaching for the bottle.

“Ah, ah, ah” she snatched it away into her hand. “This is a powerful spell, I expect payment!” she said incredulously.

“Right, of course” I said reaching for the leather pouch of silver hanging from my belt.

“No, mindless boy, not silver, nor gold! It must be an equal trade in value.”

“What is equal to the voice of a nobleman?”

“A voice for a voice, perhaps? Your own for a new one, yes?”

At first, the idea seemed frightening. To give up a voice is to give up freedom, but did that matter if I was receiving one in return… How often was I going to use my original voice if I had the voice of a nobleman? I could win Brigid’s approval and become a confident smithy worth much gold with an articulate mouth.

“Deal!” I decided quickly.

As soon as the words left my lips, I was stood back at the village, where the path meets the forests edge. I had the bottle in my hand. I pulled out the stopper before I could ponder the inner workings of being taken back home in an instant and drank its contents in one small gulp.

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A/N: Hello there reader, I hope you enjoyed part one of The Power of Words! I am so excited to share this story with you all and will be releasing the last part next week!

For more updates on the adventures of Dag, Brigid, and Fernin, please follow me here on Twitter!

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ThatWriterWoman

Fantasy
2

About the Creator

ThatWriterWoman

Welcome!

Writer from the UK (she/her, 25) specializing in fictional tales of the most fantastical kind! Often seen posting fables, myths, and poetry!

See my pinned for the works I am most proud of!

Proud member of the LGBT+ community!

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Outstanding

Excellent work. Looking forward to reading more!

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  1. Compelling and original writing

    Creative use of language & vocab

  2. Easy to read and follow

    Well-structured & engaging content

  3. Excellent storytelling

    Original narrative & well developed characters

  1. Masterful proofreading

    Zero grammar & spelling mistakes

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  • RJ Lyons2 years ago

    I read this last night before bed and you have me hooked!! Can't wait for the next chapter!

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