by Liz McCraine
The Witch’s Reward
A Young Adult Novel
by Liz McCraine
Chapter 1
There were three rules that governed Larra’s peaceful existence in the village of Farr: first, always go directly to the destination—no lollygagging; second, don’t talk to strangers; and the third and most important rule of all, no discussing magic.
Thankfully, milking the cow didn’t break any of those rules.
“There you go, Bess,” Larra said softly, giving the ancient brown cow a final pat on the haunches before rising. Quickly, she dragged the three-legged wooden stool and pail of milk away from the animal’s unpredictable hooves. Loosening the rope around its neck, she released the bovine into the wide, fenced field at the back of the property. As the animal slowly walked away, Larra took one last look at the majestic Krymean Mountains that outlined the northern boundaries of the kingdom of Aggadorn.
Some of the kingdom’s richest farming and grazing land lay at the mountains’ base. Even at summer’s end, snow capped the mountaintops and provided ample fresh water to the valley, where the quaint village of Farr was found. It was a beautiful place to live, Larra thought, as she watched the mountain shadows slowly retreat from the morning sun. From her angle at the top of the valley, she could make out the large pastures of sheep and cattle, plots of wheat and corn, and the tiny village center with its neat, log homes and cobblestone streets.
A soft mooing from the cow reminded Larra that she had things to do. With a last glance to the mountains, she turned to the small, stone cottage with its lively yellow flowers in the windowsills, picked up the pail of warm milk, and began the short walk to the door.
“Elane! Larra!”
It was a cry of distress, and one that had her spinning around, heedless of the milk that splashed onto the ground. Emerging from the trees was a man, and he was carrying a child. Even from the distance of the cottage, Larra could see that there was blood.
“Grandmother!” she cried over her shoulder, dropping the pail. She rushed forward and met the man at the gate. It was Jonas Black, the village blacksmith. The child was his five-year-old son, Eddy.
“He was playing with my tools. My back was turned and he must have tripped. I heard him cry out—” he couldn’t finish.
Larra quickly assessed the situation. There was some kind of long, metal rod sticking out of the boy’s calf. Jonas had wrapped a rag around the wound, which had once been white, but now was soaked red with blood. The child’s eyes were glassy, his breathing shallow, and she knew they didn’t have a lot of time.
“Inside. Hurry.”
Her grandmother was ready for them. She opened the door and Larra could see the supplies already spread out on one of the counters in the workroom behind her. A clean sheet had been placed over the bed used by patients.
“Set him down, quickly,” the older lady briskly ordered.
“Mary was upstairs with the new baby. I was supposed to look after him,” the father grieved. “He knew he wasn’t supposed to play with the tools.”
Larra knew that Jonas wasn’t blaming his son, but himself for the accident. “We’ll do everything we can for him. But we’ll need you to hold him down while we remove the rod.”
“He’s my only boy. Three girls and him.”
“He’s no use to us, Larra. Not like this. Get him out,” ordered Elane, as she tied a tourniquet high and tight around the boy’s leg.
Larra grasped the blacksmith by the arm and pulled him away from the table. “You should wait outside. We’ll do everything we can.”
The man didn’t appear to have even heard her. Tears were streaming down his leathered cheeks. “He’s my only boy,” he repeated.
“Mr. Black, you need to leave. Now,” Larra commanded, then used all of her weight—which wasn’t much—to push him outside. She closed the door with a snap.
Elane looked up only briefly from her patient, her clear blue eyes pinning on Larra. “He just passed out, thank goodness. But hold him down, anyway.”
The two worked together quickly and efficiently, years of experience aiding them in saving the little boy. They removed the rod with precise care, then began to disinfect the wound.
“It’s a good thing that rod wasn’t any bigger,” remarked Elane, tossing the piece onto a tray on the counter.
“Would we have had to amputate?”
“Almost definitely. He’s a lucky boy. Hopefully he’ll only have a small limp to show for the accident.” The older lady finished applying the disinfectant. “Would you like to stitch him up? You have the steadier hands, and he’ll be less likely to scar.”
Most seventeen-year-old girls would have shied away from so much blood, but not Larra. Her grandmother was the village healer, and had been for decades. It was a trade she had learned from her mother, who in turn had learned from her mother, and so on for several generations. To Larra, who had been orphaned as a baby when her parents were killed in a carriage accident in the city, it was more than a trade—it was her way of life. She loved to help people, to administer to their needs and watch as their pains and ailments faded. There was nothing as satisfying as seeing that her work had made a difference in someone’s life.
And yes, she had very steady hands.
“Done,” she exclaimed, and reached for the scissors to cut the thread.
“Good work. I’ll get Jonas and tell him he can come in. Hopefully he’s pulled himself together. This was tough on him, but Mary will be even tougher once she finds out what happened, if she hasn’t already.”
While Elane was instructing Jonas on how to care for the wound and the fever that would invariably follow, Larra sat with the boy, who was just beginning to stir. She spoke softly to keep him calm, tenderly rubbing his shoulder. They had applied a poultice with numbing properties, but it wasn’t always effective, and Larra knew the boy had to be feeling some pain.
“Thank you,” Jonas approached her and stretched out a hand.
She took it and smiled. “Glad to help, Mr. Black. I’m just relieved he’ll be okay.”
“I owe you both. If there’s ever anything you need, you let me know.” He tenderly picked up his son. “And if I don’t have what you need, I can have somebody get it from the market when they go next week.”
Though the village of Farr was isolated, the people were not entirely cut off from the rest of the kingdom. At the beginning of each autumn, a group of villagers made the week-long trek to participate in the annual market held at the palace. It was the biggest event of the year, and a way for small communities like Farr to earn coin, as well as buy and trade for items that couldn’t be found locally. Farmers would send their best produce and herders their best animals, and the villagers who went to the market returned with lavish tales of all they had seen and done. It was these tales of exotic foods, crowded dances, and glittering lords and ladies that begged Larra to attend and see for herself. But her grandmother would never permit it.
In the deepest recesses of her heart, Larra dreamed of the same things as any girl: adventure, romance, excitement. But unlike most girls, Larra knew such dreams were unlikely to come true for her. She had a duty to her village and to her grandmother, and that meant staying in Farr. Still, to be able to attend the market! Such an experience would give her memories that she could dwell on happily for years. If she could go just once…
“You just take care of that boy, Jonas,” called her grandmother as the two exited the cottage. “And you,” she turned to her granddaughter, “before you start making plans on how to circumnavigate my rules in order to attend the market—oh yes, I can see that gleam in your eye—you make sure to run along to that berry patch on the other side of town. It’s late enough that those berries should be r
ipe for the picking, so long as the Allyn boys haven’t gotten to them first. If we can’t have fresh milk for breakfast, we’ll at least have fresh berries for supper.”
Larra bit back her argument, knowing now wasn’t a good time. Later, when she was more prepared, she would press the matter. “I’ll stop by for Kiera along the way.”
Elane nodded. “Yes, that would be fine. I’m sure she’s been driving her father and brother crazy, as usual. I’ll finish cleaning up here, you go on ahead before those berries are picked clean.” She handed Larra two woven baskets. “And remember—”
“Go straight to the berry patch, don’t stop to talk with strangers, and above all, no discussing magic,” Larra spoke for her, good-naturedly. With a kiss to the older woman’s forehead and a cheeky wave goodbye, she sailed out the door.
From inside the kitchen, Elane watched through the window as her granddaughter made her way down the gravel path to the road. She looks so much like her mother, Elane remembered how lovely her own daughter had been at seventeen. They both had the same slender build and the same thick, dark hair; though Larra’s was wavy where her daughter’s had been stick straight. The blue-green eyes Larra must have inherited from her father’s side, Elane supposed, remembering how light blue her daughter’s had been. But those high cheekbones and that graceful, natural way of moving were all from her side of the family. The girl didn’t recognize her own beauty, or didn’t seem to care. The only thing she really cares about is medicine, which is my fault, I suppose.
Sometimes Elane wondered if she had been too controlling over the years, but the girl’s spirit seemed to have survived well enough. There had been a moment or two when Larra had questioned Elane’s odd rules, but for the most part she was amiably obedient, seemingly content to go with the flow so long as the flow was moving towards practicing medicine. But Elane was sure it wouldn’t last. The girl had spirit, and just enough spunk that she wouldn’t be satisfied living in Farr for much longer. She craved adventure, Elane knew, having seen the girl gazing up at the clouds on more than one occasion. And eventually, she would crave love. Elane just hoped she had made the right decision in keeping the truth from Larra all this time.
Go straight to the destination, no strangers, no talk of magic. It had been enough to keep the girl safe thus far, as it had failed to keep the girl’s mother.
If only it could keep her safe forever.
Larra turned off the dirt road onto the gravel pathway that led to the Samsen farm, struggling to contain her grin. The Samsens were their closest neighbors and good friends of the family. Besides the fact that Larra had grown up with Jess, who was only a little older than she was, Elane had been good friends with Jess’s grandmother, who had passed on years earlier. They were hardworking, kind, and trustworthy people, and since they hadn’t been able to attend the market last year because of the death of Jess and Kiera’s mother, their attendance this year was almost a guaranteed thing. And Larra was finally old enough that her grandmother might allow her to go with them. She’d have to ask the Samsens first, to make sure she would be welcome, but she didn’t foresee any obstacles there.
Larra reached the front door and knocked, careful not to step on the black cat that was lazily soaking up the morning sun. The smell of deep soil and recently harvested produce was thick in the warm air. It was the healthy smell of nature and life.
The door swung open and a stocky, good-looking young man appeared on the other side.
“Well, well, well. To what do we owe this great honor? Have you finally come to request my hand in marriage?” he asked, brown eyes laughing and a crooked smile broadening his square face.
“Jess, my grandmother would skin you alive if she heard you talking that way to me,” she replied. “I have half a mind to skin you myself.” Despite her words, she couldn’t help grinning.
“You know I can’t help it. I’ve been in love with you since we were children. Yet every time I try to get near, you play the elusive lady and retreat to your flowered castle near the mountain. You are guarded night and day by a wicked old lady who is always smiling and sweet and likes to help people who are sick. She must truly be villainous to be so nice,” he joked.
“Alright, enough with that now,” Larra said, playfully swatting him on the arm. “I’ve come with a purpose. And one that doesn’t involve you.”
Jess crossed his arms, regarding her with suspicion. “And what sort of purpose is this?”
“One that involves your wonderful little sister, of course. Is she around?”
“Kiera!” he yelled over his shoulder. Turning back to Larra, his eyes narrowed marginally as he considered her.
“What?” she asked.
“You know I’m only half joking when I talk about marriage.”
Larra sighed. “I realize that. But you know I don’t feel that way about you. You’re my best friend, Jess, but that’s all there is.”
They’d had this conversation a thousand times, which was the only reason Jess wasn’t offended at her rejection. At seventeen, she was old enough to marry and have a home of her own, as did many of the village girls her age.
“You’re like an angel, you know.”
“What?”
“Gazing down on life from the clouds, but not willing to descend and experience it for yourself.”
She slumped a little, and turned her head to look out the window. “That’s not true. There’s so much out there that I long to see. To feel. But I—”
“But you don’t want to leave your grandmother. And you don’t have the kind of feelings for me that you’d need to be married to me. You crave more than just being here in Farr,” he stated astutely.
“You probably think I don’t have much of a backbone, being so obedient to her sometimes absurd rules.” She didn’t bother to address her lack of feelings for him. His assessment was spot on and he knew it. If she ever did get married, it would be to someone that made her feel…well, alive. And Jess, as wonderful as he was, didn’t do that.
“Oh, I think you have a backbone. I just don’t think you always know where it is.”
Kiera chose that moment to make her debut—straggly, pale hair falling out of a long, messy braid, wrinkled red shirt over faded trousers, and scratched slippers on her feet. They were no poorer than any other family in the village, but no one would guess it by the way the eight-year-old looked. Caring how to dress or do her hair was as confining to her as a cage to a wild bird. She desired only to live outdoors and play, to fantasize, and to drive her father and brother crazy with worry over her escapades.
“Larra!” she shouted in greeting, running and throwing her skinny arms around the older girl in a big hug. “I can’t spend another moment inside. Father is already on the hunt with the men from the village, and Jess is off to join them. They want to keep me in the house all day! They say it’s not safe for me to go with them, even though I already know how to shoot a bow and arrow.”
Larra turned toward Jess in disbelief. “You were going to let her stay here all alone?”
He rolled his eyes. “Of course not. Rosie already agreed to watch her. I was going to knock on her door on my way into the village so that she knew when to come out. I figured the scamp could survive a few minutes on her own until Rosie got here. But if you’re planning on taking Kiera, I’ll tell her not to bother coming at all.”
“Have you come to rescue me?”
Larra looked down at the girl she considered a little sister. “Perhaps. In fact, I heard a little rumor that summer berries are ripe for picking. I thought I’d check out the patches and see. Of course, if I found a volunteer to help me—”
“Oh, me! Me!” Kiera interrupted. “You must rescue me. Rosie will make me stay in the house, and if I have to stay here all day, I’ll just die!” Her desperation made Larra smile. She was trouble. Eight-year-old trouble on fast moving, skinny legs. And her family had every right to worry about her, especially since the last time they’d left her alone they’d ended up
organizing a search party because Kiera had fallen asleep in the hayloft with the kittens and hadn’t heard them calling.
“Well, let’s see if Jess will let you go,” said Larra. “I sure could use your help.”
Jess, who had been watching the exchange, stepped away from the wall where he’d been leaning. He pretended to consider it, though Larra knew he was relieved at the offer. “I suppose we could survive if we knew she was out doing something productive, and with a chaperone, no less.”
“Hoorah!” Kiera jumped up and down, clapping her hands in excitement.
“Is it the big hunt?” Larra directed her question at Jess. Every year before the market, the men of Farr would designate a hunting day to make sure the families had enough food while they were gone to the city.
“You know it is.”
It was the opening Larra had been looking for. “And those going to the market participate in the hunt, right?” she asked eagerly, already knowing the answer.
“That’s right.”
A hopeful smile slowly spread across Larra’s face.
“Listen, I’ve got to get going or I’d answer the other questions I can see brewing in your head,” he said intuitively. “I’m meeting the other men just inside the forest and I’m already late, since I had to come back to retrieve my skinning knife,” he nodded at a pack by the door that held a bow, several arrows, and a leather-covered blade. “Do you suppose you could endure the company of a manly hunter during your womanly stroll?” He struck a pose, puffing out his chest and lifting his head. Larra and Kiera both laughed at him, and he bent down to lift his weapons, strapping the pack to his back.
“I suppose we might survive your company. But only if you will protect us from any wild animals,” joked Larra, handing Kiera a basket as they exited the house and began the walk to town, the gently woven baskets in the girls’ hands contrasting with the harsh weapons on Jess’ back.
“And the carnies!” added Kiera. “Do you think we’ll see any? Their magic is the blackest of all.”
