Before the Fairytale: The Girl With No Name (Seventh Night)

by Iscah

  The officials asked her if she had filed permits that she did not know she needed and wanted her to produce records she didn't keep. One of the city guards took pity on her when she broke down into tears and walked her through the process.

  His name was Swarf, and to buy her time to adjust, he arranged for a very official looking sign to hang on the door, saying the business was closed pending proper permits.

  While the girl could understand math, she found no joy in it, so Swarf found her a bookkeeper to establish her records and figure her taxes. She had never dreamed buying and selling could be so complicated. The office that issued permits got locked in a debate over whether her healing of a blind man should qualify her as a doctor despite her lack of appropriate schooling, which meant they could not decide which permit to offer her.

  Her landlord was generous enough to let her rent slide until they had sorted it out, but the girl regretted not having kept more back from her earnings. The Pillarists or Polytheists...she could not keep them straight...kept leaving her gifts of flowers, which she tried to explain she could not return any favors for until the permit situation was sorted out, but they insisted she could bless them without documentation. Swarf saw to it that she didn't starve and soon made it clear his attentions were not disinterested.

  He was not good looking or clever like Leifhound had been, but he spoke respectfully to her and was not offensive to the eyes or other senses. He was patient but made it clear that he wanted to marry her. As he was assigned to the city guard, there was less risk of her dealing with the lonely periods a soldier's wife is often subject, and the stress of her permit situation made the promise of being taken care of sound appealing. Her heart was free, but she was reluctant to let Swarf kiss her.

  While the thought of Leifhound no longer pained her, she had not forgotten her promise to the prince. There was enough of a Urite still in her to respect a law, or in this case a promise, because it was wise and practical. She was uncertain if marrying a man who had pledged loyalty to the Emperor of Gourlin was the same as giving that loyalty herself, and as to Swarf's worthiness, she was not clear how to measure her own merit much less his.

  So she stalled, which only seemed to increase Swarf's attentions. She tried to continue her studies but found it more and more difficult to concentrate. The people at the Library had changed the way they look at her. Young and old began approaching her with every rumor and question they had ever had concerning magic and witchcraft. Some were quite pleasant conversations, but others were not. And this too soon became tiresome. She was intrigued by a rumor of a witch in Netheriaden that she heard from multiple sources. She wondered if the woman was really a witch or just mislabeled as she had been.

  To seek relief, she returned home to reread her book of fairytales. She understood them differently now that she was older and knew more of world. There were truths and lessons deeply woven into the myths that she came to recognize, even shifters like herself. A story of an old woman who tested a woodcutter in the forest gave her an idea for trying the goodness of Swarf.

  She changed herself to look like a bent, withered old woman, put on her rattiest cloak, and went looking for her suitor. She found Swarf walking with his soldier buddies and placed herself in his path. "Can you spare a coin for this hungry soul?" she asked extending a palm out to him.

  Swarf knocked her hand away. "Find a way to be useful old woman," he barked. "And don't block the path of guardsmen." His fellows, already a little tipsy, laughed and pushed past her, forcibly knocking her into the wall.

  Her disappointment was quickly overshadowed by anger and a sense of outrage. She restored her own face and screamed an insult at him, which stopped all the men in their tracks. She ignored the others and stared directly at Swarf. "Do not come by my wagon again! I can no longer stand the sight of you!"

  Had Swarf offered an apology or attempted appeasement, her anger might have cooled. But he was far too disturbed by seeing the girl he had been courting in the old hags clothes. His silence sealed her disgust, and the girl ran back home to fume quietly.

  A few days later, she returned to find the side of her wagon had been pelted with rotten fruits and the words "BE GONE WITCH" written on the side in mud. She had sealed her door with magic, but it was clear from the broken handles that entry had been attempted.

  As she washed the mess away, she decided she no longer had any desire to wait for permits. She went to some of her old customers and offered them unsold cures they might want. With this she raised enough money to buy a fresh ox and left the city.

  Chapter 28

  To still her anger as she rode out of the city, the sorceress forced herself to think of every kind man or woman she had ever met. This left her sad but less prone to revenge or murder. She wondered if she had been foolish to leave Uritz but could not muster the desire to return. She hated the feeling of having nowhere to go, so she decided to follow the rumor and find out if this witch of Netheriaden existed.

  Her time in the Library had left her more familiar with Gourlin's geography. She knew Netheriaden was a country to the east, between Gourlin and the eastern pass through the High Mountains. It was flanked by two rivers that emptied into Gourlin on the north and south. And like many of Gourlin's neighbors, it paid a tribute to avoid invasion.

  It was two days journey down the stone road towards Passin and another two to the outpost that sat on Gourlin's border. The journey gave her time to calm down and think. When she reached Passin, she bought a brush and paints and emblazoned the side of her wagon with the word SORCERESS in large, bold letters the same way traveling showmen often painted MAGICIAN on their wagons.

  Since she was in no great hurry, she allowed the ox to set the pace again as long as it stayed on course. She lost her desire to be courted, but in case it returned, she made a list of essential qualities before she would consider a man. Between her own list and Leifhound's request, she figured he would be a rare fellow and most likely unavailable, but she was starting to suspect she might be wasted as a wife after all.

  She stopped at the next tavern and performed a show much like she had when first making her way through Uritz, only with a few fresh additions such as keeping several utensils and a plate spinning at once. This was merely a magically enhanced act of balance, but it brought applause and some appreciative coins.

  She did the same at Postsix on the edge of Gourlin, and they gave her no trouble, only papers to help prove her nationality when she returned. Not that any of the soldiers were likely to forget the beautiful traveling sorceress with the red hair and quick wit, but it was procedure.

  It took weeks of rolling down the dirt roads, stopping at every tavern, pub, and small town to find the information she sought. People took her for a traveling entertainer, and she had learned enough discretion not to announce that she was looking for a witch.

  In Neiceden, she heard tell of the witch at Haiden and followed the road, if one could call it a road, in that direction. The bumpy dirt paths that passed for roads in Netheriaden made the going slow and full of potholes. While Haiden was almost directly east of Neiceden along the path of the river, no one had seen fit to make a road connecting the two. Instead she bumped along the dirt road north to Folden before heading south to Haiden.

  She might have missed Haiden if the road had not ended there. It was a tiny little village just bigger than a hamlet. There would be no pubs or taverns here, though there was a crude little wooden structure she took to be a townmeet. She tied her ox to a post on the fence before it and tried to decide which of the few curious people eyeing her to approach first. She settled on a man with a brown cap and white mustache, took a deep breath, and prepared herself for another onslaught of the Eastern Mountain tongue.

  It was not quite another language but had a bad habit of replacing familiar letters with strange neighbors and distant cousins. Hoping she was near the end of her quest, she decided to try the direct approach. "Hello, sir. I heard a rumor that you had a witch in thes
e parts."

  "Aye, we hat a wich. See be dere ouvfyde de tillage," replied the man with a tip of his chin in the right direction. "Whav chu wan wid hy?"

  "Just a talk, I think," the young sorceress said. "To see if she is what they say."

  "See be dav, buv chu bevf be vfayin' away."

  The girl nodded to pretend she understood and untied her ox. She rode in the direction the man had indicated, eager to be in and out of Haiden soon as possible. She soon came to a modest hut of a similar construction to the townmeet. Compared to Gourlin, Netheriaden was a very poor country. Stone construction was rare, and the wood was dark with wear and age. There was nothing particularly ominous about the appearance of this hut, except perhaps a few small animal bones that dangled like a wind chime by twine from the edge of the roof, but the wary sorceress pulled up short. There was something off in the sound of the wind.

  A woman in a faded black dress and grey apron looked up at her with strange eyes that were both shiny and hollow. She was a spare woman with wild hair in a messy bun. Her worn face might have been pretty once or could be with greater care. "What chu want?" the woman shouted out to her.

  Since the woman had left her Ts intact, the young sorceress called back, "Are you from Gourlin?"

  "Long go," the woman said. "Didn't like it."

  "May I talk to you?"

  The woman nodded, tilted her head towards the door, and walked inside carrying a bucket of water. The cautious sorceress took this as an invitation. She hummed a tune of calm to the ox but did not try to tie him down. The creature was already busy grazing. It did not seem to share her apprehension.

  The sorceress made her way to the door, trying to get a hold on what troubled her. By the threshold she realized there was no song here. The house was filled with something beyond silence, nothingness, a horrible gaping void. Fear crept into her. She was more frightened than she could ever remember, not even when the old man had died. There had been silence then, a warm body gone still and peaceful, but this... there was no peace here.

  "Come in, child," the woman said, taking a seat on a stool by the back wall. "I won't hurt you."

  Despite her fear, she stepped inside. "Are you a witch?" she asked.

  "Some would call me that," said the woman with a strange smile. "You've come a long way to seek me out."

  There was shrill scraping like carpentry nails across a slate board. Though it was not a sound per say, the sorceress covered her ears to ward it off.

  "You can hear them too?" the witch asked. "A real magic user, as well as a beauty. The spirits tell me you have been offered a crown."

  The sorceress allowed a bitter chuckle. "Your spirits are wrong. It was quite the opposite."

  The witch laughed in a different tone. The nails screeched again. "You did not listen closely. He told you how to have him."

  Though the words were spoken years ago, the girl remembered them well. "He said a nameless girl with no father will not do. He must marry a woman with political connections."

  The witch smiled kindly. "And he also told you that you could be anything you wanted to be, anyone. Use your imagination."

  "I can look like anyone," the sorceress admitted. "But that's not the same as being someone."

  "If you were to replace a nobleman's daughter, who would know the difference?" the witch asked.

  "The daughter for one," the sorceress replied. "I can't just take someone's life away from them."

  "Couldn't you?" the witch asked. "If you fail to act, your prince will marry another."

  The sorceress did not want to even contemplate what the witch was suggesting. When had locking up the princess to take her place ever worked out for a fairytale enchantress? "My happiness is not worth another's sorrow. Leifhound is free to marry as he pleases. A good heart is won through honesty, not deception."

  The witch sniffed, while the scrapping and scraping grew more shrill. "Men's hearts are fickle, but a crown is a prize worthy of certain sacrifices."

  "A crown is a heavy burden," the sorceress retorted, ready to turn on her heels. "I wouldn't want it. I'm sorry I came and bothered you. I'll go now."

  "Wait!" the witch yelled to halt her. "I have something else you'll want."

  Chapter 29

  The witch rose from her stool and took a dusty book from the shelf. "I thought I might try my hand at magic years ago, so I acquired this. But I could not work it. The spirits tell me you have something to trade for it."

  The sorceress knew what the witch wanted but was reluctant to hand it over. She had kept the book on witchcraft from the shop in Uritz, for she had not had the heart to burn or discard it and thought it too dark and dangerous to sell.

  Still the magic book called to her like a prisoner from a dark cell. She went to her wagon, took the other book from where it was buried under others in a chest, and returned with it. They exchanged the books like trading hostages.

  The sorceress hurried away with her rescued book, vowing to never again seek out such a person. She drove her wagon on the most direct route out of Netheriaden and back to Gourlin. By the time, many days later, when she reached the border and the smiling soldiers of Postsix with her papers, she had stopped shivering and left her fear behind.

  Her solitude now seemed complete, but she understood there were worse things than loneliness. The soldiers flirted with her to earn her smile, and she smiled for them but guarded her heart. Short term friends were better than none.

  She grew tired of marketing herself as an entertainer, and when she rolled her wagon again through Passin decided to add the words "Purveyor of Medicinal Cures" under the word SORCERESS. She returned to her old trade of peddling magical potions. While she knew many would think her no better than the other swindlers with their elixirs, at least she had the comfort that hers would do actual good.

  The wagon allowed her to avoid any trouble with permits. She found a way to secure little pots to the wagon roof, so she could grow the herbs not easily found by the roadside. Her talents allowed her to dine with both the highborn and low, but she formed no new friendships. The poor were too uneducated, and the nobility too insufferable to hold her interest. Sometimes she would come across a case which excited her pity, and she stayed in one place for a while to perform a more complicated cure. She toured Gourlin with her ox and wagon, following each of the stone roads to its end and beyond. When she had exhausted every other road, she returned to Ellsworth.

  She rolled her ox and wagon straight through the center of town. People gawked, but no one told her that animals were not allowed. She was quite grown now, taller than most men because she wanted to be. Though her clothes were still appropriate to a traveling merchant, she held herself like a noblewoman. This seemed to give people pause.

  She had changed so much and so often the bookseller did not recognize her when she entered his shop, but she was glad to find him well. His son was now old enough to help in the bookstore. The sorceress, who still had no name, had come back with the idea of telling the bookseller about her adventures, but seeing the boy sweep the floor under his father's watchful gaze made her hesitant to disrupt their steady lives. She took her time choosing two books and made no attempt to haggle over price. She complimented the workmanship on the binding as she counted her coins out on the counter.

  The bookseller swept up her coins with his long fingers, and as she turned to go asked, "Did you find your father?"

  With the bright smile of a young girl, she asked, "How did you know me?"

  The bookseller glanced out the open window, where her wagon and the word SORCERESS were well visible, even though the paint had started to fade.

  "Ah."

  So the young sorceress told the bookseller and his son about riding the flying caravan, finding her father's grave, kissing a prince, studying at the great Library, and a few of the other things that had happened to her along the way. While it did the bookseller good to hear, it planted a seed of adventure in the boy's heart, which is sometimes a good
thing and sometimes not. But they parted company in good spirits.

  The stone road ended at Ellsworth, and the sorceress was tempted to turn back. But beyond her village was another outpost of soldiers that she had yet to visit, and they often proved good customers. Her reunion with the bookseller reminded her of the kind family who owned the tavern, so she decided to visit them at least.

  She had been gone too long for them to remember her clearly, but they had remained kind and welcomed her again. She was surprised to learn that their daughter had married recently, at sixteen, to a young man of eighteen from the village, so the sorceress determined if nothing else, she would visit this first friend of her journey.

  While it was more often her habit to listen to the world than make up songs, she sang quietly to herself as she rolled down the dirt road.

  "I am not the girl you banished,

  But are you the town I left?

  Will you throw your mud and sticks again

  Or lay them down to rest?

  Will you recognize me

  If I don't change my face?

  Am I coming home again,

  Or is this just another place?"

  The forest was still thick and tall here, so there was no one to hear her. The trees sang the same ancient song, but the road was not so long as the sorceress remembered. She arrived in the village before the sun had set.

  Chapter 30

  Nettle, for that was the name of the village, had changed little since girl had been away, but her experience with it had been so limited, it seemed strange to her. It was a quaint little village. The town hall was still painted the same dull yellow from her memory, but it seemed smaller. The scattering of shops were the same that could be found in any small village: a butcher, a blacksmith, a tailor, a carpenter, a tanner. There was an empty space where the farmers came to sell their produce, but they had already packed up and gone for the day. The only new building was a small pub, but as the sorceress had spent so little time in town, she did not realize it was an addition.