The Sorcerer's Tome

Chapter 4: The Witch

"My feet are freezing," complained Tom as he and Garren walked down the road.

"It's for your own safety," Garren replied. "You would have been captured before we were halfway there."

"I could have kept my socks and trainers on. No one goes around looking at people's feet."

"Blue stockings with images of oddly shaped yellow faces on them, and red and white slippers are enough to capture anyone's attention at several yards. Now remain quiet before your complaining calls similar attention. The two men who passed us on the brow of the hill were guardians."

"You said hello to them," Tom said, looking over his shoulder to see if the men had turned to follow.

"Yes, I know them. They were in my order when I was at the monastery," Garren replied indifferently.

"Why did they go bad?" Tom asked.

"I don't think they did," said Garren. "I think they are enchanted. When Balfour came to Iragoth, I was on an errand in Tolph, a small village several leagues to the north. When I returned three months later, Balfour was in charge of the monastery. The brethren became his security force. Fortunately, I ran into some of them before I reached the monastery. It was after curfew, and they tried to arrest me," Garren smiled at Tom. "They didn't manage it."

They walked on in silence for a while. Tom had been made to wear a brown woollen robe over his clothes. Garren had insisted that he would stick out like a troll at a tea party if he wandered around the village in his own, rather odd-looking attire. So, with his jeans rolled up to the knees, the robe was donned over the top of his hoody, and to complete the ensemble, his socks and trainers had been replaced with a pair of sandals. But with snow packed hard underfoot, by the prolific passing of pedestrians, it made for painfully cold feet.

On either side of the track were small, single-floor dwellings made of wood and rendered with clay and stones. Most had glass in the windows, though a few of the older, shabbier-looking ones just had openings with a muslin screen to let in a little light and keep out even less draught. The cottages were all thatched with chimneys standing high above them, most of which were belching grey smoke into the overcast sky.

There were a lot of people going about their business. This road seemed to be the main thoroughfare. There were small groups of people chatting to each other as they made their way, some were standing in doorways talking. Some were pulling carts laden and covered with tarpaulins, others empty having already delivered their loads or on their way to collect new ones. A few people were carrying bundles of sticks for kindling, and one or two were accompanied by animals, a pig, a goat, a... something that looked like a dog but had a bird's head. But as Tom looked closer at the people themselves, he noticed that many of them were not people at all; or at least not human. From under the hoods of their cloaks, long pointed ears could be seen on some, or a distinct green pallor to the skin accompanied by piercing red eyes on others. Some were short, only about three feet with large heads and long beards. He was amazed at their strange appearance and the variety of species all going about their daily lives as if it were perfectly natural, which of course, to the locals, it was.

"Stop staring," Garren whispered.

"Sorry," Tom said, looking down at the road and remembering his aching feet.

"Try to act as if you belong here,"

"I'll try, but we don't exactly get such weird-looking people in Marsham High Street; well, apart from a few Punks, oh and the odd Goth."

"Try to take it all in your stride, you'll get used to it soon enough. We are almost there now."

Tom thought they must be getting to the centre of the village. The buildings were beginning to change. The squat little cottages were now becoming larger and grander looking. These buildings were made out of stone, and many had an upper floor. The thatch had been replaced by wooden tiles with several chimneys instead of just the one. Many of these larger buildings had shop frontages, displaying their goods to passers-by. Bells could be heard tinkling as doors were opened for shoppers to come and go. Though most of the shops were decorated with brightly coloured paper chains and wreaths of holly with red berries and painted pine cones, there was very little in the way of stock in the windows.