Never Trust the Wicked

Part One

"Never trust the wicked," her mother told her.

She tucked one vial of thick, dark liquid into the bodice of her dress and rolled the other vial between her long, bony fingers. To Sabina, both vials looked the same.

"What does this one want?" she asked. They never used names when speaking of the buyers.
Margarath swatted her on the back of the head.

"Never you mind," she said. "Get back to your aunt and help her clean out the goat pen."

Sabina headed down the hill. She hated goats. The way they watched her with their vacant, bulging eyes. The way they nibbled on the cuffs of her sleeves if she wasn't looking. Most of all, she hated their mess. She kicked her skirts as she walked, dirty, blackened feet connecting with rough brown wool in tiny, satisfying thumps. Stupid goat eyes. Thump, Thump. Stupid bony heads. Thump, thump. Stupid goat sh--

Her aunt barged out of the tiny single-room shack they shared. Beefy hands on ample hips, she glowered at Sabina.

"Off gallivanting were you?" she demanded.

Without giving Sabina a chance to answer, she strode forward and seized a handful of Sabina's hair.

"Come, girl," she said, yanking Sabina along behind her.

Sabina howled in protest, and tried to wrench herself free, but the woman had an iron grip.

Gretcha was fat, but it was a strong fat. She claimed to have once crushed a man's skull with her thighs but Sabina had her doubts. She couldn't imagine a man wanting to be anywhere near Gretcha's hairy, trunk-like thighs. As well as being fat, she was ugly. Beady pig eyes, a flat, squashed nose and a large, fleshy mouth. She was ugliest when she smiled though, her few remaining teeth browned and broken. Fist still knotted in her hair, Gretcha hauled Sabina's face up towards her own, and subjected Sabina to one of these rare smiles now.

"I want two buckets of goat shit by noon," she said.

The scent of her stale breath was fetid, as though something had died. Sabina spit into Gretcha's open mouth.

Gretcha dropped her, spat and scrubbed her own mouth. She raised her hand and backhanded Sabina across the face.

"Vile brat," she said.

She turned and marched back towards the house, leaving Sabina sitting in the mud. Sabina laughed to herself.

'Fat, old cow,' she thought to herself. 'Should let her get her own goat shit, I should.'

There were worse things than a slap though, and Sabina knew better than to voice that thought aloud. Instead, she grabbed a bucket from the stall and set to work.

***

By the fire that night, Sabina's mother measured horse hairs in the flickering light. Her bony fingers held up each strand one at a time. Gretcha, her large bottom barely contained in her chair, spat another fish bone onto the floor and squinted at her sister.

"That for the same one?" he asked.

"It is," Margarath replied, twirling one thread around her fingers. With a jerk, she snapped the hair in two and let the halves fall into her lap.

Gretcha cackled. "No snap left in his turtle, eh? That wife of his shrivels it right up, I bet. Old dried up stick, that one. It's no wonder he's got that roaming eye. You keep giving him that same potion though, Marg and it's gonna do him more harm than good. Heart will give right out, and wouldn't that be a right shame?"

"Not for his nieces, no," Margarath replied.

"Ha," Gretcha laughed. "Little whores can take a wee bit more, and a wee bit it is too. It's his gold I'm thinking about."