The True Story Of The Original Witch

Chapter 2: The Prince

A few days later, we were already trying out our newfound abilities on the townspeople. Julia's mother burnt the bread, Julia was right on it. She discovered that by mixing a series of herbs in water, cooking them, and adding magic, she created a foolproof (minor) restoration spell. She tried it on a cut that Clara had on her knee, and it cleared up the next morning.

However, it didn't work on my hands. Turns out that burns that literally come from the pits of hell can't be cured with minor restoration spells. Clara worked day and night to create a light magic strong enough to fix it, but nothing worked. My blackened and blistered hands were a mark of my hubris. So I accepted by burns as what they were; a mark of my power.

Clara and I tried limiting ourselves to random acts of kindness. When a wolf came in to threaten Clara's chickens, I whipped up a quick illusion to scare it off. And when Mr. Jones, (my boss, a blacksmith,) broke some of the metal in half on a new hammer to work with, Clara peeked into the window and fixed it right up.

But this drew some unwanted attention. The threat of witches came back, though now it was all too real. Granted, it was met with more confusion than anger, but still the same fear as before. This is what lead me to Prince Joseph.

I was standing at the front counter, waiting for Mr. Jones to come out from the back, all the while staring at my gloved hands. When people saw my hands I was met with pity or disgust. Either way, I kept them covered in one way or another.

Mr. Jones, a widower, only around 50, came out from the back and brushed his hands off on his apron. I looked over my shoulder casually. "Finished Sir Henry's sword?" I asked him.

"The handle, yes. Still working on the tip." he said. He looked at my hands. "How are they doing?" He said.

"Pain is getting easier to handle. Still hurts, though." I said.

"That's what you get for tending the fire without gloves." he said, chuckling. He bent over to one of the lower cupboards where he kept herbal solutions. I had told people that I burned my hands while tending the fire and they got stuck in the fire. People believed it, seeing as how I was a blacksmith's apprentice.

He pulled out and herbal balm-like substance and handed it to me. "Refilled the supply. Mrs. Lake put lavender in it for the smell." he said.

"Thank you." I nodded and took the balm. Mr. Jones nodded and went into the back to finish the sword. After a few seconds, the clanging resumed. Once I was sure he was working and that I was alone, I pulled off my gloves to see my charred hands in all their ugliness. Slowly, I unscrewed the lid from the tin container, wincing slightly from the mild pain. It didn't help heal my hands; the burns were permanent. But it did help with the pain. I dipped a finger into the tin, when a hand placed itself over mine. I looked up.

The man lifted up my hand, the one without the balm on it, and examined it. "These are some horrible burns. Are you okay?" Slowly and carefully, I twisted my hand out of his soft grip. The man was young, about 18. He was tall, with blond hair and icy blue eyes. Based on his clothing, he was clearly of a high station.

"I'm fine. Thank you." I said. "Do you need something made? Mr. Jones is in the back right now, but I'll be happy to pass on any request you make."

"Um, no. I'm here to investigate a series of disturbances," he said. "There's been reports of witches in the area."

"Oh, really?" I said. "Well, I heard the rumors, but I'm surprised that a man of your stature his investigating on his own."

"I'm not alone. I have a few of my men with me. They're asking at some of the other shops." he explained.