The Witch's Cursed Daughter

78. The Witch's Cottage

Through the vast oceans of the inky sky, Voster rode towards Hoiren. The chill of the late spring air was potent so high in the clouds; the silence of uninterrupted flight had left Voster time with his thoughts. Hours of peace had allowed him to imagine Evianna in many situations where she suffered pain, torture, or manipulation.

As the sun licked at the distant hills and the bright tips of Cielo's antlers began to fade, the village came into view. The journey had been shortened by at least a days-worth of travelling; Voster felt the uncomfortable weight of his heavy bag become increasingly useless. The sight of Hoiren was a conflicting one. The village was where he had first gained Evianna's acquaintance; however, it was the home she had been glad to flee from, as well as the destination of Julian's kidnapping.

Realising that the villagers would not take kindly to those involved in magic due to their history with the Witch, Voster decided to land Cielo behind a small hill and then walk on foot to his goal. The Peryton landed gracefully, tucking in his wings after shimmying the residue of the night from his feathers. Aware of the strange appearance of a winged deer, Voster removed his cloak and laid it over Cielo's back, which earned a rather huffed response of nibbling at his tunic.

Voster leading the way, the two strolled through the sleeping village. Only the muted rustles of the townspeople rousing from their beds could be heard accompanied by the occasional puffing of smoke from chimneys as the morning embers were lit. Passing the same way Evianna had led the guards, Voster came face to face with the Witch's cottage. The outer appearance had changed very little; the events on the night of the Witch's death remained in shards of smashed glass and splintered wood. The dead garden had become tired of being disregarded and had grown thickly over the walls and was stretching into the unliveable space within.

Voster stepped carefully over the dew-speckled grass towards the doorway; leaving Cielo tied to a broken frame, he treaded over the threshold. Inside was a rotted recreation of past events. The Witch's blood had dried where it landed. The chair Julian had been nailed to was also gruesomely painted in crusty brown. Cinders, mud, splinters, and dust filled the room with a sense of doom.

Pulling on his sleeve, Voster covered his nose with his tunic's thin material as he searched through the Witch's belongings, which seemed to have not been touched by the villagers in fear of her curse. Bookshelves of recipes and maps, flowers and remedies, a mantle lined with trinkets of magical qualities only accessible to another Witch, and steps leading to a raised room which appeared to be a sleeping quarters. As Voster slowly climbed the stairs, they creaked gloomily as his weight threatened to break them. Reaching the penultimate step, there was no creak, no cry from the wood.

Voster examined the step with curiosity, running his fingers delicately along the top and sides of the boards, a small latch hidden in a knot poked at his fingertip. Applying pressure to the point caused dust to exhale powerfully from under the top as it opened, a sign it had been long forgotten. Coughing as the unclean air entered his lungs, Voster carefully lifted the lid before looking at the hidden contents.

The stale taste of mould latched onto his lips as Voster gaped at the stairway's treasures. A musty, leather-bound book, two glass vials – one housing a wilted flower and the other a liquid which appeared to be water, a single baby-sized shoe and a dagger wrapped with a lock of long blonde hair. Unsure of the importance of the other objects hidden inside, Voster reached for the book, taken aback by the weight of the pages. He positioned himself to face the doorway from the stairs to keep an eye on the time based on the brightness of the creeping sunlight, and Cielo's behaviour.

A large copper buckle held the book closed; fortunately, no magic had been cast to further bar prying eyes, so Voster opened the book and began reading. At first, the lettering seemed unfamiliar, with its arching patterns and harsh lines; however, Voster recognised the arrangement. The dying language of Kahmalan, belonging to a lost nation that existed before Waldemyre became a kingdom and a place which few relics referenced. Recalling nights of study, lost in cycles of memorisation and intense analysis, the Mage was silently pleased that his past efforts were finally of use. It did not take Voster long to realise that the book was the Witch's diary, an extensive one at that, covering events he could not fathom and did not believe Evianna had knowledge of either. The more he read, the more Voster's emotions danced with the handwritten retelling of the Witch's life. The sound of flicking pages was crisp in the early hours and the occasional sniff as Voster breathed in the mould-perforated air.

Reaching a blank page Voster was distraught as he had read what that would mean. Slamming the book closed, the bang reverberating around the small cottage, he opened the hidden compartment in the step again, this time taking everything from inside.

Placing the wooden lid back, Voster thundered toward the Peryton, whose eyes were large as if before two torches. "Cielo, we're returning," Voster ordered as he fumbled to force the objects into his already tightly packed bag.