the witch of dorchest road

The witch had no name. She did not want one. Names were dangerous. They could lead to mistakes and misdeeds; they could also attract unwanted attention. So I found her not by name but by sight: the tall figure walking alone on a windswept moor, the long hair streaming in the wind like a banner of silver; her pale hands clasped around a book that she held tight against her breast.

The wind blew through my body, as if I too were made of mist or smoke. I watched from the shadows at the edge of the moor while she walked into the sunset. Her feet were bare and hard-skinned with use. Her dress was dark red, cut high in front and low in back, revealing lean legs covered in white scars where leather thongs crossed each other and bound them together. A belt about her waist carried a knife in its scabbard. Her face looked like something carved out of wood—a mask, almost. So hauntingly familiar.

When she turned to look over her shoulder at me, it took all my strength to stay hidden. My skin prickled with cold. I forced myself to remain motionless. Her gaze fell upon me like an arrow shot from a bow. It was like a physical manifestation; a tangible entity which seemed to be able to touch and influence everything around it in its vicinity. The eyes were like twin pits of blackness into which anything unfortunate enough to fall could not possibly hope to escape alive. They had an eerie glow to them that was at once hypnotic and terrifying, as if their mere existence alone would cause me to forget all else and give myself over completely to their seductive pull.

I found myself paralyzed; unable even to turn away from those awful eyes, though I tried desperately for several moments to avert my own glance. I couldn't bring myself to do so, however. Something within me simply refused, despite the fact that every fiber of my being cried out against what they demanded of me. Instead, I felt compelled to meet her gaze directly, though my body trembled violently beneath the weight of such an uncharacteristic act. I stared right back at her, and willed my face to stay expressionless, but fear still gripped me by the throat and prevented me from doing more than merely staring mutely.

She smiled again. It didn't look nearly so pleasant this time. Her mouth stretched wide open and displayed two rows of small, pointed teeth with blood-red gums lining each gap between the bared fangs, while her cheeks jutted upward unnaturally to display the full extent of her long tongue as it curled itself around the bottom of her lips. There was something obscene about that grotesque smile. I wanted nothing more than to flee. To just walk away without looking back, or giving her another thought, yet some force inside me held me captive and forced me forward. She watched me approach, smiling maliciously all the while, until she reached up and grabbed hold of my chin, tilting my head downward so that I looked straight down into her red-stained eyes. Oh, how she made my heart beat faster! I felt dizzy. My breath came fast, short gasps that threatened to erupt in panicked sobs, yet I kept silent, trying desperately to maintain my composure.

"You're afraid," she whispered. "Why are you here?"

I opened my mouth to reply but found myself unable to form any words, let alone make a sound. All I managed was a pathetic whimper, barely audible even to my own ears.

"Why are you here?" the witch asked again. Her grip on my chin tightened ever so slightly. Her fingernails bit into my flesh, leaving behind tiny pinpricks of pain. Yet, I felt no real sense of injury, rather a strange sort of numbness. I wasn't really sure whether I should feel it or not. The only sensation that did register was the feeling of her fingers brushing lightly across my cheekbone before she drew them away. Then she spoke again. This time she sounded angry, or perhaps frustrated, as though my presence somehow offended her in some way. "Tell me!"

"I am sorry—" I started, but then suddenly realized what I was going to say and cut myself off quickly. A cold sweat broke out upon my brow. I swallowed hard, but I couldn't get the lump stuck in my throat down, causing me to choke.

"Speak up!" the witch commanded. "Do you know who I am? Do you have any idea of the power I wield? You are in grave danger, little boy." Her eyes narrowed menacingly, and her tone grew dark and sinister. "Now answer my question. Why are you here?"

My legs, my poor, weak, helpless legs...they began shaking uncontrollably, threatening to collapse under me. I struggled mightily to regain control of them, fighting the impulse to faint or vomit. I could see now why the villagers had been frightened. No one dared come close to her for fear of attracting her wrath. But, oh, the things she could do! How many of them were actually possible? Was she capable of turning someone into stone? What else was there? What other magic could she work? Could she curse people? Or bind them with spells? Something that could destroy a person's soul?

"I’m here to learn your ways," I said softly, speaking barely above a whisper. My voice shook badly, and I had to fight to keep it steady. "To study the craft."

The witch regarded me with renewed interest. I could almost hear her mind working furiously behind her crimson eyes. "And what makes you think you can do that?" she asked, leaning closer still. "What is it that you believe I can teach you?"

Her hot breath blew over my skin like burning wind, stinging me. "Everything," I replied, managing to squeeze out a single word. "I want to be taught everything."

For a moment, she studied me silently. I waited anxiously, expecting to feel a sharp slap or a gush of fire raining down upon me. I expected to hear a harsh command to leave immediately. But instead, after a few moments, the witch smiled again, sharp teeth gleaming wickedly in the flickering torchlight.

"Your name," she hissed, drawing back from me once more. "Give me your name."

A surge of relief flooded through me. For the first time since I'd entered the village, she appeared willing to talk to me. And I knew then, beyond any shadow of doubt, that whatever her reasons for allowing me access to her secrets might be, they would prove to be worth every risk I took. She would teach me all manner of sorcery. Everything she knew. Every last spell. I would be able to protect myself. I would become powerful beyond anything I could possibly imagine. With such knowledge at my disposal, I could finally put an end to my life of endless wandering, always looking over my shoulder, waiting for the next monster or demon to jump out of the darkness and try to kill me. I could take revenge on those who hunted me mercilessly, knowing full well how futile their efforts truly were. I would find a way to destroy them utterly.

"Arthur," I said simply. “I am Arthur Pendragon."