The Witch of Northester

Return to Ash

The ride into town isn't long. It's close enough, in fact, to walk, but taking the horse sounded like a far better option. Fresca told me she would meet up with me later, returning home for a brief hour or so to tend her mother.

I didn't like to think about Julianne laid up in bed. She had been sick for the past week, and nothing I gave Fresca seemed to be working. She wanted to insist that the last remedies I sent her home with were having an affect, but I didn't want to tell her even I had given up. The woman was dying. The only thing left to give was something to numb the pain.

I urged Helda forward, a brown mare Julianne had given me in exchange for all the remedies they wouldn't be able to pay for otherwise. They knew I do a lot of walking, and Helda has certainly helped to get more work and travel done in a shorter amount of time. When I refused to accept her for payment, Fresca said to take her as a gift instead. They weren't exactly able to pay to keep three horses anymore, and the other had been sold to the butcher after a broken leg.

"C'mon," I murmured, guiding her past the resurrected sign to market 'Northester'. The shops were starting to open up, people waking the town before the sun had risen fully. Pumpkins and gourds were placed decoratively along a pyramid of hay in the town square, scarecrows with random attire standing guard at each corner.

Pumpkinfest was a time for the townspeople to come together, to set aside differences to participate in games and contests and uplift each other through sales and services. This year was especially going to be a big event, since wagon rides would be bringing up tourists from the city of Sommerton 50 miles away. We had just gotten word of it from the halfway inn, where they had stopped to break the journey overnight.

Everyone was excited. I could tell, even as banners were raised, leaves brushed religiously off of porches, and the bonfire being resurrected toward the east end of town, next to the pub.

It had been a good year, a great harvest. There was a lot to celebrate.

Tying Julianne to a post near the water trough, I entered the public stalls. "Hey, Bren? Bren!"

A familiar face smudged with dirt, hay sticking out of the tufts of caramel colored hair, stretched around from the back of the stalls. "Zelda."

Smiling, I picked up the hem of my dress to make my way over, never minding the plumes of dirt clouding my skirts with every step. "Ready for the festival?"

"No," he grunted, continuing to muck out one of the stalls. "There's no way this town is big enough to hold all those people from Summerton. It's going to be crazy."

I stopped smiling. "Are you afraid of a brawling?"

"A bonfire next to the pub, and all-nighters from out of town? Whatever gave you that idea." But he wasn't looking at me.

Something's wrong. "I'm sure the sheriff can handle it."

Another grunt.

Reaching out, I put a hand to his arm. He stopped moving, finally raising his eyes to mine. I didn't expect the anger I found in them. My fingers tingled as I removed my hand. "What's wrong?"

Bren looked back down to his work. He looked tense while doing it. "Dad thinks you're a witch."

I stiffened. "A lot of people in town think I'm a witch."

"Yeah, but...I kind of have to agree with him."

My face drained of all color. The only other friend I'd had besides Fresca was Bren. Only recently did I want to see him as more than a friend. I'd hoped we could turn this into a courtship, eventually marry, have kids. Live a normal life.