The Witch of the Woods

THE WITCH OF THE WOODS

If you asked anyone about the witch of the woods, they would say to stay away. It was just a known thing. No one strayed in the depths of Cellandre anyway because bad things had happened there. Villages had been wiped out, burned, the citizens slaughtered. Monsters had ranged there, shadow kin the size of which had never been seen anywhere else. There were darkwoods where bargains could be made and lives destroyed. Although since the Nox was gone no one seemed entirely sure what people might be bargaining with anymore. But old knowledge died hard.

The forest had changed since the witch had returned. She had calmed the trees and the old magic she brought with her had surely driven all the lingering darkness from it.

But you never knew. Especially not with witchkind.

The world was changing. That was also known. Witchkind were part of the government of Asteroth now, not just the maidens, but all kinds, the rebels and the College and all those hidden in between.

They had come out of exile, and revealed themselves again – healers and diviners, seers and growers, all kinds of workers of wonders who could ply their trade in the open now. It turned out that when the witchkind you encountered could actually help you, trade with you, and live alongside you, and were just normal people, everyone was much less suspicious about them.

The queen helped as well, of course. And so too did the knights. They sought out witchkind still, but not to hunt them down or expel them. Some even joined their ranks of the knights themselves and rose high among them.

Asteroth was changing.

The forest didn’t change and never had, although it was greener and brighter, and awash with new life. The air sang with birdsong. It was eternally wild and sometimes still very dangerous.

Tales spread rapidly that if someone found themselves in trouble in the forest now, a woman might appear, slender as a young birch, with long hair as black as a raven’s wing and eyes as green as spring itself. She set people back on the right path, healed the injured and returned the lost. She was gentle and kind and those who spoke of her did so with a wistful look in their eyes.

Others went in search of her, some driven by curiosity – who would return bemused and dizzy with tales of wonder – and others with more malice in their minds. No one spoke of them. They did not tend to return at all. Sometimes the laughter of children married with the sounds of birds, with rustling in the undergrowth, and with the sighing of the trees. It wasn’t a threat. Not as such. But it was perhaps a warning.

There are many powers, the people who lived in the edges of the forest said. None of them are to be trifled with. None should be dismissed.

And a hedge witch should always be respected.