The Witch & the Nomad

I.

The setting sun was already beginning to paint the Lapland skies a brilliant tangerine, yet my basket was nearly empty. I knew that the shortening days always meant less and less foraged treasures, but this autumn had been dismally barren, even for the far north. Winter was but a few short weeks away, and I was dreading those dark, icy months. The past summer had been a glorious one, providing me with heaps of vegetables, baskets of berries, and bundles of herbs to preserve. I was confident that my supply would last me the winter, but I knew I would miss being able to harvest plump mushrooms or roots from the woods surrounding my home.

I trudged back up the path to my cabin, my boots crunched over the last of the fallen leaves. I stopped dead in my tracks in the clearing at a peculiar sound- far away but whimsical. It almost sounded like a low fiddle, coupled with high tingling chimes. I stood there listening at the threshold of my front garden until the bitter chill became unbearable. I pushed my wooden front gate open, the sight of my dwelling perking up my weary form.

My home, built a century ago by my great-great-grandmother, had been built into the side of a hill. The front wall and doorway was made of sturdy wood and stone, and the rest of my walls were just the earth, which inclined a good ten feet up, and was covered in mossy green grass. My chimney stuck up out of the hill top, and would billow smoke into the Northern forests like a signal fire.

It was quite a sight in the warmer months, especially the summer. The path that led from my gate to my door was lined by yellow and white roses, which guarded the precious herb and vegetable gardens on either side. Bees and butterflies would hover over my greenery, pollinating and drinking the sweet nectar of squash blossoms. The "roof" of my cottage was smattered in yellow, blue, and purple wildflowers, and often deer and foxes would sleep in the sun. On the summer solstice, I would decorate the fence that surrounded my front gardens in garlands of flowers and homemade ribbon.

In this dreary November cold, often called the "Samhain Slump" by my sisters, my gardens were barren and only the thickets of my roses remained. The pumpkins and squash that I had set out by my front door and sunken in on themselves from rot, and were being ignored by even the most ravenous of scavengers.

I pushed open the door, and stepped into my kitchen. Laxmi, my familiar and pet cat, awoke from her nap on my kitchen table at the sound of my entrance. I unlaced my leather boots, then removed my heavy but threadbare cloak, and unwound the long wool scarf from around my neck and head, hanging them on the iron hooks on the back of my door. My fire was burning low, and the dark house was beginning to acquire a damp chill. Laxmi meowed in approval as I grabbed a bundle of chopped logs from my entryway, and crossed my small living space to place it in the fireplace. As I nurtured the dying flames back to life, she purred and rubbed her self along my back and legs.

She nosed the edge of my wicker basket, which sat on the wood paneled floor besides me. "Not much today, Lacks." I sighed, holding up one of the mushrooms- a rather deformed and slender looking one- up to the crackling light of my fire. "Looks like foraging season's really over."

I went about lighting various lamps around my cabin, and preparing to make a hearty autumnal stew for dinner. Just as I was dragging my heavy iron pot from my kitchen cabinet, there was a rapid knocking at my door. My heart lurched, as random visitors almost never had come to my door in the three years I had been living in seclusion. My sisters weren't due for a visit until Yule, and the townspeople rarely traveled out this far into the woods.

I inched towards the door as the knocking continued. I should really make a peep-hole, I noted to myself. My hand hesitated, tremoring slightly over the latch. I opened the door a few centimeters and peered out, and was surprised to find a young woman, seemingly my own age, shivering in the dark.

"H-Hello," I stammered, confused and concerned all at once.

"Miss! I mean you know harm," She said, her voice tinged with a strange accent. "I have a request, but first, please let me in from the cold."

I looked her up and down, and saw that this poor wanderer was barefoot. A shabby fur was draped over her shoulders, and her arms were bare and covered in scratches. Her hair, black as the sky behind her, hung in three thick plaits down her back. She had no pouch, no weapons in sight, and I quickly ushered her into the warmth of my home.

She rushed to the hearth, and seemed to bathe in the firelight. The fur from around her shoulders slipped to the ground, revealing bare, strong shoulders covered in intricate tattoos. I fetched her a glass of goat's milk, stirring in some nutmeg for taste, and joined her by the flames.

She looked at me with a most appreciative expression, bringing the cup up to her full but roughly chapped lips, drinking down the milk quickly. "Thank you," She warbled, handing me the empty cup. "I am Varushna, of the Guardijik clan."

"And I'm Juno," I responded, smiling at her softly, "It's a pleasure to make your acquatintance, Var- Vara-" My lips fumbled over the foriegn name.

"Varushna," She laughed, helping me with pronunciation.

"I have to say, I've never heard of your people before. I've never seen anyone like you at all." I gestured to the beaded necklaces that were stacked up her neck, the deep, nearly blue-black waves on her head, and her chestnut complexion. She had a unique face, as well, so unlike the Lappish people I grew up around. She had a short, round face, with chubby cheeks despite her adult demeanor, deep dimples on either side of her wide, full mouth, and a nose that curved down at the tip. Her eyes were large and round, certainly her most prominent feature. Surrounded by long black lashes, the color of them was similar to her skin, a golden, light brown.

"My people are a traveling clan." She replied, "We come from far south, where the lands are dry and mountainous, with little green and almost no cold. It is a land of eternal summer."

I tilted my head to one side, "Why would you leave a land of eternal summer?" I asked her. "What are you doing so far north?"

"My people have not returned home in hundreds of years," She told me, her hazel eyes glimmering with the light of ancient ghosts. "We travel nonstop, exploring the ends of the earth. Our late oracle advised us to head to the Lapland, but... we feel as though it was a mistake. The night comes far too early here, and we weren't prepared for the cold. Our animals have run off into the woods, our people are weary and sick from the temperatures... We should have never come here."

I listened to Varushna intently, watching the sadness cross over her doll-like face. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

She glanced up at me pointedly. "That's why I'm here- my father sent me. A man we crossed paths with said you can give us answers, that you are an oracle yourself."

I flushed, knowing that rumors of my secret work had been circulating amongst the townspeople for months now. Varushna, though, didn't seem fearful or trepidatious- instead hopeful and trusting. I placed my hands over hers, which were chapped and raw.

"What sort of answers do you need?" I asked, watching her eyes light up.