Waking the Witch

I Ate'nt Dead

Eskel stares at the piece of wood in the hands of the old woman.

He can tell she isn't, but her breathing and heartbeat are like that of a hibernating bear.

Breathe in.

Nothing.

Still nothing.

Heartbeat, breathe out.

Eskel has never known anyone to breathe like that and wake up again. But he also has never known anyone to declare in writing that they are not dead. So he decides to take her word for it and wait outside.

The herb patch outside waves at him as he passes by. The plants were huge and lush, and Eskel recognises most of them. It surprises him that he can't name all of them, even more so than the vigorous movement of the plants. This is not the herb patch of someone who needs to season a chicken. It is the herb patch of someone who means business. There are plants in there that can kill or heal a person. Eskel approves.

A baaing draws Eskel past the busy beehives. The bees fly around him, coming to look at him and then going about their day. None of them think him worth a sting. The air around the hives smells of wax and honey in the warmth of the day. Behind the cottage, three goats lift their heads to stare Eskel down from slitted pupils.

They are unimpressed.

Eskel is delighted.

He leans on the fence and watches them. The goats watch him back. When no food is forthcoming, they return to grazing and chewing cud, giving the distinct impression that Eskel has deeply disappointed them.

The sun has wandered noticeably in the sky when Eskel hears the breathing from inside the hut pick up speed. A while after that, the woman gets up and walks directly outside, turning the corner of the cottage just in time to meet Eskel coming the other way.

'The villagers sent you.' It isn't a question. 'I'm Granny Weatherwax, the witch in these parts.'

The hat, even worn in bed, makes sure everyone knows that. But she wouldn't have needed it. The woman has a commanding presence that makes Eskel want to stand up straight. Her gaze wanders over him, taking in the swords and then meeting his eyes again, unwavering and as unimpressed as the goats have been. But not unkind.

'I'm Eskel. The villagers hired me to fight a monster, and I need a rare herb, Feainewedd. You grow it. Would you let me harvest what I need?' Eskel has the feeling that Granny appreciates it when people don't waste her time.

'Moon Clary?' Granny squints at him, her blue eyes even more piercing than before. 'You know well how it looks, yet you didn't take it while I was— out. Why?'

It's a test, and they both know it. Eskel has the feeling that with Granny Weatherwax, everything is.

''cause it's not mine to take.' Simple as that.

'Right. You can have it, and take care of what you need to do. I'll see you again once you're done, I have work for you.' She states it as fact.

'Witchers don't work for free.'

'Neither do witches.'

They stare at each other. Eskel blinks first. Granny Weatherwax has the right to ask this, and he knows it. And she does trust him to keep his word, a rare thing.

'Agreed.' They nod at each other, a contract agreed upon. Granny goes to harvest the flower, the overgrown herb patch parting before her. She gives Eskel a generous helping, and he thanks her for it. When he gets up on Scorpion's back and rides off, the door of the cottage falls shut. Not long after, an owl sails past Eskel into the gathering dusk on silent wings.

When he comes back, Granny Weatherwax is busy harvesting honey. She does that without smoke, or hat, or gloves. She does it surrounded by a thick swarm of bees, all whirling and diving around her but never stinging. They don't even smell very alarmed to Eskel, only excited.

He tethers Scorpion to a tree to graze and sits down at a respectful distance to watch. You don't approach a beekeeper unless invited, even more so when said beekeeper is a witch.

The bees settle into their hives again once Granny is done, and Eskel follows when she waves him closer.

'You can help me carry these.' Eskel is handed two buckets filled with honey comb, and walks behind Granny to the shed. They work together mostly in silence, crushing the combs and and tipping it all into closely woven cloth to strain. The silence is comfortable, and Eskel enjoys the work. It isn't all that often he gets to do something like this.

When they are done, they sit in front of the cottage and eat honey drizzled on buttered bread, fresh from the comb. That also isn't something Eskel gets to do all that often, and he savours both the honey and the company.

'What was it you wanted a witcher for?' He looks at Granny from the side, honestly curious for the answer.

"There's strange goings on in a village north of here. They had a monster roaming the area, and there's no witch there because they don't believe they need one. We don't go where we're not wanted. I'm not one to intrude on peoples' life.' Granny sniffs haughtily.

'They believe in witchers, apparently, and so one came. And never left. Plenty of work for him, monsters keep coming.' Granny sits bolt upright on the bench, watching the bees swirling around the hives. 'Witchers are not wanted anywhere, so they can go everywhere. Will you go there and see what you can see?'

'Mmh. I will. It's strange, how the monsters keep turning up. I can see why this might need another witcher.' Eskel is intrigued by the whole thing. It is strange indeed.

He takes his leave of Granny and rides north. The village is easy enough to find, and he has heard the name before but never has had a reason to be here. It is nestled into a narrow valley, steep mountains covered in firs and pines on either side and a small river running through it. The village lies along the river, stretched out and thin. Fishing and a little farming keeps its people alive.

Eskel keeps his distance for now. He chooses a campsite with a good view of the village a little way up the mountain, and watches. It all looks pretty normal, people going about their business. Not for the first time, Eskel wishes he could hide his eyes the way he can hide his medallion. But he can't, and wishing has never gotten him anywhere.

He lets the night pass, and with the break of dawn and the first stirring of life in the village, he leaves Scorpion and his campsite and makes his way down the steep, stony trail to the village.

People look up when he walks up to the huddle of houses, with distrust but not with hate. One of them leaves his work of gutting the first catch of the day and hurries ahead of Eskel to a whitewashed cottage in slightly better shape than the others.

Eskel stands studying the noticeboard. No contracts, only notes from the villagers about the harvest, about piglets to barter, and odd jobs to be done. Strange, considering Granny's words that the monsters keep coming.

The man's steps are loud in the mud of the street, even without a witcher's hearing. Eskel turns when it is clear they are coming up to him and faces him.

Two swords. Decent armour, well-kept. A witcher's medallion. Bear. Brown eyes. Not a lot of scars Eskel can see. Some flasks on his belt that smelled of pepper vodka and herbs, not like any potion Eskel has ever brewed.

"I'm sorry to disappoint, but there's not enough work here for two witchers. These folk won't b needing your services." The man stands his ground while Eskel stares at him. He smells of fear but not as much as he might have. He has guts, Eskel gives him that.

Eskel is interrupted in his answer by one of the peasants, coming at them at a hasty run. He skids to a halt, looking from one to the other.

'Master Witch- eerrs, there's monster tracks again! Right by the pond!'

'Again?' Eskel raises his good eyebrow at the other witcher. 'Looks like it's work for both of us after all. I'm happy to lend a hand, and maybe you can teach me a thing or two.'

The small crowd that has started to gather, drawn by the news of monsters, is murmuring approvingly. Under their curious glances, Eskel turns in the direction the peasant came from, and the fake witcher follows him, striding past him in a show of confidence Eskel is sure he does not feel.

When they are out of earshot and hidden by a small copse of trees, Eskel stops. 'What's you're name? I'm Eskel.'

'Tomas.' The man keeps his distance, but stands his ground.

'Where'd you get the medallion and the swords? Don't lie.' Eskel keeps his voice level. He relies on his presence to be enough of a threat to make Tomas tell the truth, and not do something stupid.

'A witcher came to my village, for a contract. Never caught his name. He killed the monster, but it killed him right back. I snuck out to watch. I buried him. And I took the swords and the medallion. Thought to sell those.' Tomas looks straight at Eskel while he talks. He's afraid, but Eskel cannot smell a lie.

'There's no one back home with use for swords, so I packed them up to go to the city to sell them. On the way, I got attacked by two ghouls. And I killed them. So I thought, I might do some good. It sure beat staying home. There's nothing for me there.' Defiantly, Tomas stands his ground. Eskel is impressed.

'Really. You killed two ghouls? Just like that?' It's not impossible.

'I learned my way around a sword. Had to. There were bandits around, and I got tired of having them take what little we had." Tomas has lost some of his tension. Eskel hasn't tried to kill him yet, and he doesn't plan to. He can't help but like the man. But he needs to get to the bottom of the whole monster problem.

'And you decided to be a witcher? Like it's nothing? What's going on in this village?' Eskel leans against a tree trunk. For a distance, this probably looks like a chat between colleagues.

Tomas shrugs. Not dismissive, it's pure confusion. Eskel can relate.

'I don't know. I— Look, they paid me to get rid of some drowners. Those blue bastards almost killed me, but they are curious. So they did nicely gather round the small keg of gunpowder I had rolled down the hill for them. I know I was lucky with that. But it worked and the villagers were so grateful. They said I could stay. So I did. I had planned to move on, but— Well. You saw how it is. There's bandits, and I helped them take care of some boars, and there was a nekker trying to nest in their fields. And now the drowners are back.' Tomas shrugs again.

Eskel doesn't know what to say. In all the years, no village had ever told him he could stay. He wouldn't have wanted but still. The principle of the thing.

'Let's see what's with the monsters.' He decides on the practical way of going about this. Take care of the threat first.

They head for the pond, Tomas leading the way until Eskel can smell the stagnant water. Then he takes the lead and they sneak up to it through the undergrowth. There's tracks there and Eskel hunkers down for a closer look.

They kind of look like drowners, but this is all wrong. Drowners don't walk like that and it seems to be only one. And the tracks lead off into the forest from the water, like the drowner decided to go look for mushrooms.

'Did you make these?' Eskel squints up at Tomas.

'No! I swear I didn't!' Tomas raises his hands, and there's still no scent of lies from him.

'Let's see where they lead.' Focusing, Eskel starts to walk next to the tracks. They show up clear as day for a while, but then peter out. There's more tracks though, of shoes. Those are not quite as easy to follow. Eskel has to cast about a few times to pick them up again. Tomas can't see them at all.

Eventually, the tracks end behind one of the huts. Tomas and Eskel look at each other, Tomas with confusion and Eskel with exasperation.

'What is going on here, you want to tell me?' He glares at Tomas but he can already see he won't be getting his answers from him. 'Nevermind. Go home. I'll come see you later.'

He knocks on the back door of the hut, and it is opened by a man with a weathered face and gnarled hands that speak of a lifetime of tying nets and working in the cold water of the river.

'How'd you make the drowner tracks? You smell of them, of drowner skin.' Eskel doesn't mince words.

He can see the lies lining up as the man opens his mouth to protest. Then he thinks better of it, and steps aside to wave Eskel inside. His home is small, the ceilings low enough that Eskel's head brushes the ceiling beams, and there's barely more in it than a bed, a table and the hearth. But it's all kept meticulously clean.

Rummaging in a chest under the table, the man straightens and puts two drowner feet on the table. They are made into stilts, and Eskel cannot help but be impressed by the craftsmanship. A man might, if he were so inclined, walk for a length on them, leaving behind tracks, and then step off.

'Got them when Tomas blew up the pack of those buggers at the lake. A stroke of luck, really, getting two feet. There wasn't all that much left, and he burned most of it.'

Eskel stares.

'The fuck?' He can't do any better. But it seems plenty for the old man, who pours him a drink of some clear liquid that clears Eskel's sinuses from six feet away, and goes down his throat in an explosion of fire with a delicate aftertaste of sloe.

The old man shakes himself after taking a drink himself, and it seems to fire up his courage to answer Eskel. 'The people here had a hard couple of years. Now, everyone has, I know that. But with a witcher living here, weeelll. Things got better. No bandits to raid our granary or demand food or coin we don't have or can't spare. They don't dare it. And witchers only stay where there's work. So—', he gestured at the drowner stilts.

'So you thought you'd keep him here. You do know he-' he's not gonna fall for that long, Eskel wanted to say, not quite ready to give away Tomas' secret.

'He's not a real witcher? We may be just farmers and fishers, but we're not stupid. We know. But he's not gotten cocky about it. And he seems happy enough to stay.'

Eskel rubbed his face with a groan and wished for a whole bottle of that sloe spirit. Together with some White Gull, it might be enough to forget all of this.

'Listen, you cannot keep this up. You cannot go telling people he's a witcher, it's gonna get him killed. A bunch of bandits trying to find out if your witcher is all that, or another witcher is gonna come along and take it personally. Tomas won't stand a chance. You need to find another solution. Talk to him.' The growl in Eskel's voice at the last sentence made it clear it was no request.

The old man deflates, his face falling. 'Right. You're right. No one here wants him to die. He's a good lad. Means well. We'll talk to him.'

Eskel goes to find Tomas, who is in his hut, packing a bag. The bear medallion and the swords are sitting on the table. He jumps when Eskel pushes open the door, looking ready to bolt.

'Don't bother, I'm not gonna do anything. And the villagers already know. They wanna keep you here, but you cannot pretend you're a witcher. That stops now. I'm taking the medallion. Keep the swords. But don't get too confident, they don't make you a witcher.' Eskel picks up the medallion, closing his fingers around it and squinting at the swords, memorizing their design. Maybe he can find out who the medallion belonged to.

Tomas nods and follows Eskel to the inn where the villagers have gathered. He has to give Tomas a push to get him to cross the threshold, but the crowd doesn't seem hostile. There's some murmurs, but Eskel only hears people making suggestions on how to make this work. Tomas joins in, offering to teach them how to fight.

Weaving through the crowd, Eskel steps up to the bar and asks for some supplies. He gets what he wants from the innkeep, and he also gets his wish of a bottle of sloe gin, for free. Without attracting much attention, he slips out and makes his way to his campsite.

Maybe this would work out. Maybe it wouldn't. At the very least, Tomas won't get killed over a lie. And maybe he can teach them to defend themselves, at least against a handful of bandits looking for easy prey. But it's out of Eskel's hands now.

He makes his way back to Granny Weatherwax, leisurely following the Path and picking up a few contracts along the way. The bottle of sloe brandy stays in his pack, untouched.

When he arrives, bees swirl around him even before the cottage comes into view. One or two bonk into him in flight, and he slowly waves them away, following their buzzing into the clearing. The hives are busy, bees coming and going in a dense cloud. They know as well as Eskel does that the warm days will soon end and the first frosts are right around the corner.

Granny Weatherwax is busy mucking out her goats and Eskel grabs a shovel to help. He gets a nod in return, and they work together cleaning out the pens, adding fresh bedding and giving the goats their feed. It's just as satisfying as harvesting the honey has been, even though Eskel will do the same work many times over the winter and he has to admit he'll be glad to see the end of it come spring.

When it's all done, they sit on the bench in front of the house, watching the sun disappear behind the trees. There's bread and crumbly goat cheese, and the sloe brandy to go after. Eskel tells Granny about the fake witcher while they drink. Before he knows it, half the bottle is empty and he is mildly buzzed, while Granny still sits bolt upright, fixing him with her sapphire stare.

'D'you think it'll work out for them?' Eskel fills their glasses again and watches as Granny takes a drink, her hand perfectly steady.

'What you want is a fortune teller. I think there's one with the traveling circus over in Slice.' Granny shoots him a Look, and Eskel returns it calmly. He spots the tiny smile curling her lips before it's gone. 'But since you ask: I like their chances. Better than I liked their lies.'

'Mmm. Me too.' He drains his glass and gives Granny a nod. 'I'm headed out. Full moon tonight, makes good traveling.'

He has a ways to go still to Kaer Morhen, and the pull is already there. Of seeing his brothers again, and hunkering down for the winter, taking care of the keep, telling stories and waiting for spring and a new year on the Path, with the old one behind them.

Granny returns the nod, and hands him a package. It smells of honey and sharp goat cheese. The bottle that comes with it has a clear liquid in it and that smells mainly of apples. In the same innocent way the brandy he brought smells of sloe. Eskel decides to be very careful with it, and stores everything in the saddle bags before swinging himself onto Scorpion.

'You did well.' Granny stands tall, and gives him another solemn nod from witch to witcher. For someone who treats words like other people gold, that is high praise. It leaves Eskel lighter in the saddle. He doesn't really know what to say but really, there's nothing that needs to be said.

'I'll try and swing by next year. Be well until then.' He clicks his tongue at Scorpion.

'You'll be welcome. Good luck on the Path.'

The forest soon hides the cottage from view, and Scorpion finds his way along the trail with little guidance from Eskel. They are headed home, and they both know it. When a barn owl glides by on silent wings, only a whisper even for Eskel's ears, he gives a waves.

Just in case.