The Monsters of Stephen Enchanter (17 page)

The giant held it dumbly out.  She took it by the wrist, removed a long flint knife from her belt, and lopped off the hand.

The giant—Stump—dropped to his knees, clutching his arm, gasping with pain, tears running down his face.  Lucky raised the crossbow, hands trembling.

“Don’t be an idiot,” said the witch.  “I just saved his life—or did you want him to end up like that?  Hold still.”  She knelt by Stump and removed a long roll of white linen from her bag and began wrapping the arm.  “You’ll be fine.  There are herbs in this that’ll kill any infection.”

“Do something,” Lucky told Stephen.

Stephen raised his hands helplessly.

Stump staggered to his feet, white-faced.  “We’ll take her to the Jolly Executioner,” he gasped.  “He’ll deal with her.”

What about Tinkerfingers’s body?
Stephen thought, but did not say. 

This is the tale that the witch told.

I don’t entirely believe it
.  Do you?

The Witch of the Wood was a harsh mistress, both unkind and unforgiving, and yet Letitia found her compelling
.  Perhaps this was because Letitia did not dare betray her.

Letitia often thought about leaving the witch.  As she swept or cooked or gardened, she fantasized about stealing food and running away.  She would find a little town and buy a home of her own and decorate it in yellow and white—bright, friendly colors. 

Had she lived in a house like that, before she had entered the witch’s service?  She couldn’t remember.

Letitia could remember nothing before the witch, and her recent memory felt full of holes.  Sometimes, she couldn’t remember what had happened the day or the week before.  Sometimes, she stopped her work and tried hard to remember—but not for long.  That would be lazy, and the witch did not approve of laziness.

There was always a lot of work to be done in and around the witch’s cottage.  No matter how hard Letitia worked, there was always more.  The witch made the most extraordinary messes, for a little old woman with arthritis. 

Letitia did not protest when the witch blamed Letitia for the stains and soot on the floor.  Letitia had no right to complain; she was a servant, working off a great debt.  That was what the witch had told her.  Letitia had not dared ask any more—not even if she would ever be able to pay off the debt.

Letitia was a poor cook (the witch informed her), and did not deserve any supper.  “But I am a kind and forgiving mistress,” said the witch, “and you may eat with me tonight.”

The witch sat nearest the fire—“to warm my poor delicate bones”—and Letitia sat by her knee.  When they had eaten and set their plates aside, the witch bent forward, stroked Letitia’s golden hair with gnarled fingers, and told her things.

“I once had beautiful hair,” the witch said.  “It was not unlike yours, my dear, except that it was red.  All the most powerful magic-users have red hair, and mine was the reddest of all.

“I was beautiful, then.  You would have cried with envy to see me.  All the women did, and all the men asked for my hand in marriage.  No man ever met me but fell in love with me on the instant.  How they groveled and begged me and promised me worlds if only they could touch my hand or brush my hair or give me a kiss.

“I scorned them all, of course.  Can you imagine—me, the wife of a simpleton cobbler or farmer?”

“Was this before you became a witch?” Letitia asked.  It was the wrong thing to say.  The witch dug her fingers in Letitia’s hair and twisted until Letitia cried.  “I’m sorry,” she gasped.  “I didn’t mean anything by it, I swear!  Please, go on.  I’d like to hear more.”

Mollified, the witch relaxed her grip.  “You shouldn’t interrupt people,” she said.  “They don’t like it.  And you shouldn’t make impertinent assumptions. 

“As I was saying, I decided that I would not marry any ordinary man.  And why should I?  I was already a powerful witch in my own right.  I could bend the very elements to my will.  What would I do with a weak husband?  Keep house for him?  Never.

“I did, however, accept my suitors’ gifts—especially when they offered me their hearts.  Hearts are such useful things to have around, if you know what to do with them.

“Then I set out to find a worthy husband.

“I went about my task with the same tenacity and brilliance with which I face every difficulty.  I considered my options carefully: fairies, sorcerers, princes, ancient powers.  Those I approached turned eagerly toward me, and I found them dull and wearisome.  It was all too easy.  How could I find a suitor who was as strong as I, if each man I approached fell at my feet?

“It would not do.  I demanded someone proud and strong and mysterious, someone who would give me more than ordinary love—and all I got were slaves.

“After five long years, I heard tell of the one I sought.  He was called the Green Man, master of all woods in all human lands.  I recognized his name; the foolish women of my village had told stories about him, fragments of legend.  The few who believed the tales were derided as superstitious; I myself had scorned their foolishness.  But now, I wondered.”

“Did he exist?” Letitia asked, unable to resist.

“Certainly he exists!  I wouldn’t set my heart on a myth.”  The witch tugged on Letitia’s hair to vent her feelings.  “Still,” she added thoughtfully, “I admit that he was not what I had expected.  The Green Man, you see, is neither human nor fairy.  He is unique, and his mind moves in ways beyond ordinary comprehension.  He is as much tree as anything, and trees do not value what humans value.  And he is old, old as the woods.

“Finally, I had found exactly what I wanted—and I set out to get it.  No faint and quivering maiden, I.  I brewed a potion to lend me strength and allure, brushed my beautiful red hair, and put on my finest dress—green as the forest, the shade of my eyes.

“Perhaps if you are very good, one day I might let you see the dress.  I won’t let you put it on, mind—you’d look ridiculous wearing it, what with your coloring.  Besides, you couldn’t pull it off.  You aren’t nearly as pretty as I was.

“Where was I?  Ah, yes.

“I put on the dress, walked deep in the woods, and waited.  With the help of my potions, I divined the right area, but he was too old and powerful to pinpoint more exactly.

“No matter.  I knew what would attract him.

“I began to draw in magic from the woods, masses of it, more than I could hold.  I made the magic into potions and, when they could hold no more, I released it in bolts of air and fire and wind, as I had seen battle-wizards do.

“He came quickly enough once his beloved trees were aflame!  He did nothing to stop the fire; just stood and watched.  And then he saw me.  As soon as I had his attention, I waved my hand and the fires were gone.

“I turned to him and smiled.  That hooked him.  Human, fairy, tree—none can resist me.  But he did not fall at my feet, and I respected him for that.

“He led me to a copse and commanded the trees to bend over my head and form this house.  He commanded thorny branches to protect me and my garden to bloom and bear fruit all the year round; he commanded the wild animals to protect me when there was need, and submit to me when I was hungry.”

“Where is he now?” Letitia asked carefully—but for once, the witch was not offended.

“He is here still, in these woods.  He watches me from the trees.  When I go out, I can feel his eyes.  And he leaves presents, sometimes.

“I don’t go out much anymore.  I have grown too old and ugly.

“Ah—but now I have you, my dear!  You are young and will keep me company in my last years.  You obey me and care for me.  Why, you have become practically a daughter to me!  When I am dead and gone, I shall leave you this cottage.

“Now sit still and I’ll braid your hair and tie it with ribbons, just like a real mother.  You’ll like that.  Put another log in the fire, my dear; it’s low.”

Letitia obeyed, then sat patiently while the witch brushed and braided and twisted to her satisfaction.  Letitia’s skull ached by the time the witch fell asleep against her.  Letitia stood on numb legs and covered the witch with a thick blanket, before going upstairs to her bed.

Letitia awoke before the sun and levered herself out of bed.  Her braids had loosened during the night, but she did not dare remove them.

Letitia went outside to the garden and knelt.  All around her, the woods were thick with snow, but here in the garden, the Green Man had kept his promise: the ground was always soft and grew mint and strawberries and potatoes all the year round.

It also grew weeds and poisonous flowers—the first of which Letitia threw into the snow and the second of which she collected in a pail for the witch’s use.  It was not an unpleasant task; this early, she had the world to herself, and could think without the witch’s interruptions.

“Flowers wither in winter’s wind,” said someone in a voice that might have been like the creak of old bark, or like the patter of animals’ feet, or like the hush of the deep, dark place beyond human ken—or like none of these, or like all.

“Not all flowers,” said Letitia, “and never in this garden.”  She raised her head and looked into the eyes of the Green Man.

He was tall, much taller than she had expected.  Unmelted snow rested upon his head and shoulders, but the rest of him was brown and knotted as a centuries-old oak.  But with his age came wisdom and kindness and gentleness.  He was not like the witch.

“You are not the one to whom I gave the house,” he said.

“She’s inside.  Shall I fetch her?  She’ll still be asleep.”

The Green Man swayed a little on his feet—or were they roots?—in deep, treeish thoughts.  Letitia rose to her feet to fetch the witch—but he spoke at last.  “Tell me who you are.”

“I’m nobody—a servant.  I work for the witch.  I’m repaying a debt.  I can get her for you.  She’s not like you remember her.  She’s old and ugly and wicked.”

“She always was,” said the Green Man, in a voice like a gentle breeze rustling through pine needles, or perhaps like the settling of leaves or the cries of a tiny animal being devoured alive.  “Tell me what she has done for you.”

“I—I don’t know,” Letitia admitted.

“Shouldn’t you?”

“I suppose—and I’m sure I did know, once.  But I can’t remember, and she hasn’t told me.  She’d know.  Shall I bring her?”

“No,” said the Green Man.  He said nothing more and, after a time, Letitia returned to her gardening.  When she looked up again, he was gone.

Letitia saw the Green Man off and on after that.  He seldom spoke to her, but he watched: still and solemn and silent.

Two years had passed before Letitia again met someone new.  It was the end of January, and the land sulked in winter’s frozen stomach.

The sun had not yet risen, but Letitia was already outside, a bucket in either hand.  She was on her sixth and final trip to the creek to fetch water.  She hated being out this early, in the dark, where no one would find her if she fell down in the snow and never got up.  But the witch demanded a hot bath every morning, with water from the creek, and Letitia could not refuse her.  The bath took ten bucketsful to fill; the water for heating it as many more.  The final two bucketsful would serve as the base for soup or tea or whatever potions the witch cared to create.

Letitia broke the ice over the edge of the creek for the sixth time, filled the buckets, and began the final three-quarters of a mile back to the witches hut.  She hadn’t been walking five minutes when two men appeared, both of them young and thickly dressed against the cold.

“Whimsy—it’s a girl!” exclaimed the larger of the two.  “There’s a girl out here!”

“Yes, Arm, I see that,” the second replied dryly.  “You’d note she didn’t exclaim, ‘Look—men!’”

“Well,” Arm sniffed, “she didn’t exactly have anyone to exclaim to, did she?  I mean, she was hardly going to exclaim ‘Look—men,’ to us.  Poor thing—she looks half-frozen.  Have you ever seen anyone bluer?”

Letitia listened to this exchange in fascination.  She was not afraid; these two were too ridiculous to be capable of real harm.  She wondered how they had gotten into the woods.  Had the witch summoned them?

The witch.  She had better get back.  “Please,” she began, and found she didn’t know how to continue.  She didn’t want to be rude, but they were in the way, and the witch would awaken soon.  “Please,” she said, “the witch won’t like that you’re here.”

“A witch lives around here?” said Arm.  “A real witch?”

“Yes.  She is my mistress.  I’m repaying a debt.”

“And she’s really a witch?  She does magic?”