The rumour buzzed through the forest like wildfire, sparking hope in the hearts of those who heard. For decades, the evil crone had cast her dark and cruel shadow over the land and the denizens had lived in fear of her hateful magics. Now the young ones whispered of a light that would follow her passing, of the promise of a brighter future.
For the elders, this hope was held in check. There was a time before, a distant memory it seemed, that the woman’s imminent death had been proclaimed. The forest had held it's collective breath, waiting for the moment her soul would be released from her earthy form and their freedom granted.
But salvation was not to be theirs. Remote kin of the witch had received word of her ailment and rallied to her aid, delivering balms and elixirs. Before the elders could permit the jollity of hope to take root again, they needed to determine the veracity of the rumour.
Of the many volunteers, Lou was chosen to voyage deep into the heart of the forest and glean the necessary information. Though his wife was proud of this accolade, she could not quell the fear in her breast. Stifling her tears, she whispered her earnest farewell: ‘Mind that you come back to me, Mr Pine.’
Lou had been trekking through the underbrush for four hours, pacing himself as he knew the journey to the witch’s den would take a full day, when he first became aware of a nearby being. From his left came the sounds of trudging feet, the snap of breaking twigs and a curious light melody. Diverting from his path, Lou silently crept forward to investigate.
About a hundred yards later, he encountered a muddy trail which meandered beside a trickling stream. Ahead of him traipsed a small figure. From the muddied skirts and the high-voiced singing, Lou guessed this was a girl, perhaps no more than ten or twelve. Swaddled in a drab cloak, with a knapsack over one shoulder, the only colour she sported was the vivid scarlet of her long hair.
Who would allow a small child to wander alone in the woods? Lou thought. Could it be that she was oblivious to the danger the witch represented?
Afraid for the girl’s wellbeing, Lou listened to his conscience and called out.
‘Ho there, fellow traveller. To where do you journey?’
The girl stopped in her tracks and froze. She answered without turning.
‘To the cottage at the end of the path.’
‘I would advise against that. Only danger lies ahead.’
‘Perhaps,’ she said in a steady voice. ‘Or perhaps a more immediate danger is behind me.’
‘I will not harm you,’ Lou assured her.
Slowly, the figure turned to face him and Lou felt his soul shudder at the sight.
‘What are you?’ Lou said with a tremor.
The face that looked up at him was pale as a cadaver. He barely took in the high cheekbones and button nose before his gaze was drawn to the other’s eyes; oval irises the same shade of red as her hair.
‘Are you afraid of little old Blanchette?’ she mocked with a sing-song tone. Her lips curled upward though there was no joy in that smile.
‘Would you set upon me?’ Lou asked.
Blanchette paused as if considering. Finally, she said, ‘No. My errand would not allow the delay.’
‘Errand?’
‘Of grave import,’ she replied. ‘I bring medicines to the Woman of the Woods.’
Lou felt the breath forced from him. It was true then. The witch was in ill health. The forest-dwellers’ long-awaited freedom from her terror was close. Except for this solitary child who carried remedies to the old woman.
When discussing his task with the elders, Lou had imagined that any aid sent to the crone would be in the form of a procession of healers protected by battle-hardened warriors. Instead, her salvation was to be delivered by this one small being.
Could he waylay her? Lou wondered.
He was much taller and stronger than Blanchette. In physical contest, he had no doubt he could easily best her. Yet the fact that she was wandering the forest path alone gave him pause. Coupled with the assured sense of presence she portrayed, Lou had to consider that she may not be as fragile as she appeared. A sprite or other magical creature, maybe?
Unsure of his chances against such a foe, he was left with only one option. Without a word, he hastily retreated into the darkness amongst the trees.
Once more embraced by the gloom of the forest, Lou found himself in query. His mission had been fulfilled; he had learned the truth of the witch’s dire health. He could return to the elders and report as much. But he would also have to inform them of the flame-haired creature and her goal. Though his quest would have been a success, he would be ultimately delivering news that no joy lay in their immediate future.
Lou had spent his whole life within the forest and he knew the path the sprite followed twisted through the undergrowth. The journey would be long, and her short legs would do little to lessen the time she required.
In contrast, Lou could forge a direct route to the crone, devouring the ground with his longer strides. That he could reach the witch’s lair before her saviour, he had no doubt. But what would he do once there? Was the old woman in such a poor state that he could overcome her?
Though he did not know the answer, he knew his mind was set. To return with the news he had learned would be to shackle his people to further years of oppression. But to approach the witch in her weakened condition, there was a chance – however slim – that he could finally free the land from her evil.
Breathless and with aching limbs, Lou approached the cottage cautiously. Weeds ruled in what had once been a herb garden. The building’s window was so coated in grime it was no longer transparent. Yet despite the deserted look of the place, a thin trail of smoke drifted from the squat chimney.
He was unnerved by the silence. No birdsong nor rustle of passing wildlife disturbed the clearing. The only sound he could detect was the thudding of his heart.
Walking the overgrown path, Lou carefully pushed at the door which swung open a few inches before it wedged fast. There was enough room for him to squeeze through if he breathed in. Lou did so and stepped across the threshold and into the witch’s domain.
To his left lay an untidy kitchen area, every surface cluttered with crusty dishes and dirty plates, stained pots and blackened pans. A weak fire spluttered in the grate on the far right, barely illuminating a weathered rocking chair which sat amidst a carnage of tapestries, smudge sticks and half-burned candles of all sizes. Ahead of him, against the back wall, Lou could make out a narrow cot upon which a frail figure rested.
‘Who’s there?’ a brittle voice rasped from the darkness.
Taking slow, tentative steps, Lou crept forward. The wooden floor beneath him creaked.
‘Be it you, Blanchette?’
Now that he was here, Lou wondered if he had the resolve to act. Contemplating taking a life in cold blood had been fine in the abstract when he had been many miles from the evil crone. But as he drew closer to the woman’s frail body, as the fetid stench of her wrapped itself around him, as the heat of her fever radiated out to caress his skin, the intention suddenly seemed cruel and malign. The death of this tyrant witch would release his family from her terrible reign, of that he had no doubt. But what would be the cost to his soul?
As Lou stood debilitated with indecision, the woman rose from the bed and sprang forward.
With the light melody falling from her lips, Blanchette skipped up the path to the cottage and entered. Through the gloom, she saw the Woman of the Woods resting against her bed. The witch belched loudly as she rubbed her gruesomely distended stomach.
‘Oh my,’ Blanchette said. ‘What a big belly you have, Grandma.’
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