by Ruby Duvall
“If you please, Madam Akki—” Shumei tried to say, hoping to leave soon, but Akki easily interrupted her.
“Dear child, you forget that you should never interrupt when a Touched One is speaking. As I was saying, this village may have lost many of its finest members thanks to that cursed disease, and we may be temporarily abandoned by our neighboring villages who are too cowardly to even trade with us, but of those men left, three have made it clear that they are willing to take you to wife.
“Since he asked to be mentioned first,” she paused, sighing and rolling her eyes as she quoted him, “Akiji has begged that you ‘accept his undying love and unending passions’ when choosing a husband.” Shumei forced her face to keep still, though she wanted to laugh aloud. “The miller’s two sons have also agreed to be candidates, though it was difficult to garner their acceptance. I actually had to praise you once to make them say yes,” she sneered, shifting uncomfortably. Shumei once again had to suppress her reaction, smothering the disbelieving scoff that rose in her throat.
“Madam Akki, I greatly appreciate your efforts, but right now, my mother and brother are at critical stages of the dis—”
“By the gods, child, calm down. We can talk of this next week; it doesn’t matter, but be sure to save that darling brother of yours. If you fail, and a Touched One is lost to the Burning, I doubt that even my husband and I could find or approve of any match between you and another villager,” Akki threatened. Shumei nodded slowly.
She silently fumed at Akki’s coldness to the state of her brother’s health. The Touched Ones cooed at each other constantly for being so wonderful, but even that selfish image was only in public. She was one of the few that knew…blondies hated other blondies. The fewer of them there were, the more they were loved, appreciated and worshipped. A spoiled blondie hated competition.
“I will take my leave then, Leader and Madam,” she respectfully uttered as she stood, her hand still secretly holding the disrespectful gesture beneath the bag she held.
“Yes, you should be off to deliver those medicines, I’m sure. Perhaps you’ll be able to afford some meat this week,” Akki said with a grimacing smile, one that didn’t reach her eyes. Shumei suppressed the dirty look that almost rose to her features, and turned away, walking quickly to the front door.
Stepping down to the entryway floor and pushing open the door, she breathed in the fresh morning air that came in with the breeze, and was only a little saddened that it was now drizzling. However, she would rather be chilled and wet than remain in that house another minute.
Huddling over her pouch of medicines to keep it as dry as possible, she left the leaders’ premises and chose a path running just beyond the edge of the village since it had the most trees over it and would keep her drier. Heading to her next destination, she was only a few houses away from the leaders’ home when she turned into the village, finding the door of a family whose oldest daughter was pregnant and needed medicines for her morning sickness. After exchanging the medicine and fee, only two kols, the door was all but slammed in her face, but she paid it no heed. Two more families earned her six kols, and finally, it was time to visit her biggest customer.
The witch.
Or rather, everyone said she was a witch, but so far, no one had revealed any solid evidence to support such an accusation, or even any evidence to suggest it. The leaders also believed that she was practicing the Arts of the Damned, but they could do nothing without evidence or witnesses.
What Shumei knew about magic could be summed up in about one second—nothing. After a dozen weekly visits to the witch’s hut, a place that almost no one entered, whether they wanted to or had to, she had never seen anything that she might think was any sort of magic, despite her very limited knowledge.
This wasn’t to say that the witch wasn’t a strange person. She always asked for an odd assortment of herbs, fungi and roots. When Shumei once asked why, the witch had merely smiled and said she liked to cook. For a woman of her years, she was rather beautiful and slim compared to anyone else her age. Of course, no one knew her exact age, but no one was brave enough to ask, directly or indirectly.
Her hut was on the west side of the village ring and, like Shumei’s house, was set farther back. This was because the witch was the only other person in the village with black hair besides Shumei and her mother.
She didn’t know where the witch earned her income, but she always paid for her delivery in full and purchased more per week than the entire village did in three. Yet Shumei had never seen her working on anything. She thought that perhaps the witch made and sold secondary medicines from what she provided, but evidently not to anyone in the village, as far as she could tell, because no one had ever mentioned buying anything from the witch.
Not that anyone would announce such a thing.
The witch’s home was the same size as Shumei’s but much more sturdily built. It was entirely constructed of Damp Birch, a type of wood that was more difficult to set fire to than others. It was a strange and paranoid choice. Other people would choose a long-lasting, pretty wood. Damp Birch was unfortunately vulnerable to rotting, and it was also an odd shade of yellowish-green, which made for a home that stuck out like mold on a piece of bread. Her front door was also made of the same wood, and it was decorated with a strange arrangement of dried flowers. The pattern didn’t look at all artistic, and appeared to be random.
Shumei raised her hand to knock on the door, but the sickly green door clicked and shuddered as it was pulled free of a catch in the doorjamb. Slowly but steadily, the door swung inward.
“On time as always,” Majo purred, posing herself by draping one hand over the top of the door. Shumei made no comment, though perhaps visibly swallowing could be considered commenting. Strangest of all of Majo’s habits was her manner of dress, and it was doubly so today.
Their village, despite the wide gaps of wealth between some members, was actually relatively poor, even when including the leaders’ lavish home. Therefore, their fashion was rather limited. Men wore bland-colored but traditional clothing, which consisted of loose, dark pants that cinched tightly around the ankle, and dark shirts that reached to mid-thigh and had two ties to keep them shut. The only real difference between what any of the men wore, including Leader Kimen, was the quality of the fabric. The same went for women’s clothing.
Women wore ankle-length, robe-like dresses that were held shut with a wide belt around the waist. The sleeves were full-length and a little loose, and generally women wore another under-robe to hide the bit of flesh that showed at the vee of the outer robe’s neck. The richer women wore brighter and finer materials, some even with intricate embroidery, but they usually didn’t wear their most expensive dresses.
Majo, on the other hand, had somehow acquired enough wealth to garb herself extremely well. She always forewent the under-robe, tying her belt so that her robe sat loosely and showed off the swell of her breasts. Her dresses, always red or black or both, usually boasted beautifully embroidered designs, such as red butterflies or white roses.
Shumei was unavoidably jealous, but she wasn’t alone. All of the other village women sulked about how the village witch had better clothing than they, and this, however petty, was the real reason they had first accused her of being a witch.
Today, Majo was dressed in a red robe covered with a peculiar pattern. Shumei had never seen anyone wear such a pattern before, and wondered why Majo would choose spider webs. The embroidered webs were black, though a few of the thicker strands used golden thread for highlights. It was, in reality, a very beautiful dress, but the pattern disturbed her, as wary as she was of the eight-legged creatures.
“Do you have time to visit with me this week?” she smiled, taking the hand that Shumei had left hanging in the air and pulling her inside. “I have a couple of surprises for you.”
“I’m sorry, Madam Majo, but my mother and brother are both very ill today. I cannot stay away from them for too long. Should they
recover in a couple of days, I shall be glad to return and visit with you,” she offered, even though she truthfully disliked visits with the witch. It wasn’t that the witch ever insulted her, but something about Majo and her home felt awkward and wrong.
Majo closed the door behind her, and Shumei felt the full effect of the hut’s atmosphere. The witch’s home had no windows, only a small hole in the roof to let out smoke. So the solution for creating light was obviously candles. Not just one candle, though—at least a dozen red candles, more expensive than half of Shumei’s string of money buried at home, were always burning. She had never seen them burned lower than halfway and had never seen Majo actively replace any of them.
The floor of the hut was a cheap but smooth wood, and one threadbare rug covered a large, open area near the entrance. Her cooking pot sat to the left beneath the roof’s smoke hole, and her narrow but comfortable sleeping mat laid to the right. All around were large cabinets and shelves, filled with baskets of different plants and a couple of books. A small, locked trunk sat in a far corner of the room.
Shumei had often gazed at the books near the back of the hut, wondering what was inside. She knew she couldn’t read very well, but she wanted to look inside them anyway.
“Can you spare fifteen minutes? That’s all I ask, dear,” Majo pleaded, sandwiching her hand between her own. Not wanting to upset her best customer, she hesitated, wondering why she couldn’t bring forth her meager supply of courage in such a simple social situation.
She had been away from her home only about forty-five minutes at this point, and she had five more deliveries. If she stayed at the witch’s house for fifteen minutes then made her deliveries, she guessed that she would be home within two hours. Surely, she thought to herself, her mother and brother could be by themselves for two hours.
“All right then,” she agreed, giving in to Majo’s cajoling. The woman smiled in relief, leading her farther inside.
“Have a seat here then,” she offered, gesturing toward her sleeping mat, which was made up with a thick, black woolen blanket. “But mind your feet, okay?” she gently advised. Sitting with her feet lying on the wood and her backside resting on the soft mat, Shumei let her body lose some of its rigidity.
Majo retrieved a medium-sized jug from one of her cabinets and brought along a cup. She sat on her ankles on a small, flat pillow close to where Shumei sat, setting down the jug and cup next to the still-steaming cup of tea she must have been drinking before Shumei had arrived.
“I recently wanted to try distilling spirits and managed to make rice wine. I wanted you to be the first to taste it,” she effused, her long black hair swooping over her shoulders as she leaned forward to smile at the younger woman.
She looked at the witch more closely, seeing only a couple of laugh lines around her eyes. Many people guessed that she was near fifty, but she seemed closer to thirty. Her eyes were nearly black, and they looked exotic and secretive, as if she knew something you did not. Majo’s skin was clear and soft, with a hint of an olive tan, and while her own full lips never had or would sport any sort of makeup, Majo’s scandalously full lips were usually painted blood red. She was tempted to wipe her finger across Majo’s lower lip to study the red paint, wondering how she might look with red lips.
She did not return Majo’s smile, merely nodding, but she felt a bit mischievous since she was about to try alcohol. Her mother had always strictly forbidden it, even during the village festivals, one of which black-haired members were allowed to attend. To have an opportunity like this made her feel lucky but also a little sinful. She always tried to deny temptation in an effort to buck the bad reputation automatically cast upon her, but she had so easily nodded her head.
Carefully pouring the clear liquid, Majo presented the rice wine to her with polite courtesy, watching her with eager eyes. Shumei took the proffered cup and brought it close for inspection, barely seeing the reflection of candlelight on the surface of the liquid. From this close, the scent of the rice wine filled her nostrils, and she was amazed that the scent wasn’t repugnant at all, just strong.
She looked up at Majo, whose eyebrows were raised slightly in question. “Do I sip it?” Majo’s eyebrows came down again as a smile melted onto her face.
“Sipping is fine, especially since you don’t drink liquors much.” She nodded again, raising the cup to her lips. Taking a small sip, she swallowed and was surprised that it had such a smooth taste.
“It’s wonderful,” she said with a slight hint of happy intonation as she looked at Majo. The witch looked positively exultant and said her thanks. After all, getting anything but a monotone response from Shumei meant that you had touched her emotions.
“Feel free to drink all of that cup, dear,” she said.
Once Shumei had finished the cup, she set it down on the floor again and reached into her medicine pouch. Pulling out the largest packet, which was filled with roots, small bags of medicine powders and bundles of herbs, she set the bag in front of Majo, who picked it up with yet another smile and inspected the goods.
“Wonderfully prepared, as usual,” she praised, setting the bag to the side. Standing again, she walked to the chest in the corner, produced a small key from inside the belt of her dress and opened the chest. Pulling out a very heavy bag that was no doubt filled with more money than Shumei could ever hope to have, Majo counted out the payment and locked the chest again before returning to sit on the flat pillow, her dress rustling softly.
“Hold out your hand, dear,” she said, a small smile on her face. Shumei did so, her head bowed a bit. Majo spilled twenty-five kols into her hand, eight more kols than the actual fee. Gasping in surprise, she looked at the three coins in her hand with disbelief.
“For trying my wine and always doing such a wonderful job with my order, I wanted to give you a tip this week. Save it for yourself, okay?” she said, smiling sweetly. Shumei felt her eyes sting and wondered why Majo was so kind to her. Moreover, she wondered why she felt so awkward around the woman. Though she probably didn’t show her aversion on the outside, she felt bad for feeling any sort of dislike for such a kind woman, especially a black-haired woman.
Majo patted her shoulder and then poured more rice wine into her cup. Softly saying thank you, she put the money away into her medicine pouch, setting the bag to the side.
“Have another before you leave,” Majo suggested, holding the cup out to her. Bowing her head in thanks, she took the cup and tasted the sweet, smooth flavor again, marveling at how light her body was starting to feel.
“It really is delicious. Thank you for sharing it with me.” The witch smiled again, a little too slowly. Looking at Majo’s eyes in another attempt to gauge the woman’s age, she noticed that the woman’s gaze was resting on her chest. Looking down, she wondered if she had spilled any of the wine, but there were no wet spots on her clothes.
“I wonder why you haven’t yet purchased yourself new shoes, Shumei. You surely have enough money to afford a pair, don’t you? I hate to see your pretty feet in the mud all the time.” Now looking at her feet, she re-confirmed how calloused and dirty her feet had become since she had last outgrown her previous pair of shoes. Her toes curled self-consciously, and she set down the empty cup.
“Oh don’t worry too much about it, dear, though I do hope that you use my tip to buy some shoes. I’ll be happy as long as you use the money on yourself.”
“Yes, madam,” she quietly responded. She felt strange, both physically and mentally. She was certain that she was now a little drunk, which made her feel terrible since her mother and brother were waiting at home for her return, but if she wanted to leave Majo’s home in a respectful manner, she had to wait just a bit longer. She and Majo were silent for a while, and she felt a minute pass before another word was spoken. Even then, she was lost in her own guilty thoughts.
“Shumei?” the witch softly called. Looking up, a bit startled, Shumei straightened in confusion as Majo’s hands came forward. The woman l
eaned forward, already sitting quite close, and her hands cupped Shumei’s breasts as if it were the most natural thing to do in the world.
Her mouth fell open in surprise, for even Majo was not known for this sort of behavior, and she was so shocked that she didn’t even move as the witch squeezed and tested the weight of her breasts with a thoughtful and determined look on her face.
She couldn’t help the incredulous look that came over her face, and after about ten seconds of groping, the witch looked up at her shocked face, giving her a sly smile. The woman’s thumbs brushed over her nipples, slowly rolling her breasts and squeezing them gently.
“Does this feel good?” she whispered huskily. Shumei was galvanized to push the woman’s hands away, and wrapped her hands around her upper arms as she turned slightly away out of embarrassment. The witch sat back in her original position.
“Why did you do that?” she asked, her voice shaking.
“Just call it curiosity, dear. You’re going to be twenty soon, right?” Shumei nodded. “Then no doubt the leader and his wife have mentioned the subject of marriage to you,” she conjectured, emphasizing a couple of words with venom.
“Just this morning,” she confirmed.
“A man has not yet taken your body, as your reaction suggests, so I wonder what you will do on your wedding night. They will probably force you to choose that fool Akiji and I can already tell that despite his gentle manner, he won’t be gentle with you…at night.”
Shumei swallowed, ill at ease now. Like all the younger, unmarried people in the village, not just girls, she was immensely curious about what the other young ladies of the village referred to as “the marital act”. She had heard wild stories, such as body parts on men that moved on their own and “positions” that the couple took. She wondered if any of it was true.
