Bellarke One Shots Book 2

74) Your Heart and Your Mind (They Are Mine, and They're Lovely)

The first time Bellamy goes to the witch, he's thirteen, and his mother is dying.

He knows where the witch lives because everyone knows, and everyone knows that if someone is ill, or a child isn't coming, or too many children are coming, or the garden won't grow, you go to the witch, and she'll make it better and ask a price for it. That's what witches do.

The witch herself is just as he expected, old and gray and wild-haired, with a bright spark in her eyes that feels like possibility. What he doesn't expect is the girl behind her, only nine or ten, golden hair and blue eyes, with fair, delicate skin. She looks like one of his sister's dolls.

"Can you heal people?" he blurts out. It's impolite, but he needs her to come now.

She doesn't comment on his rudeness. "Some people."

"It's my mother," he says. "She's--please. I'll give you anything."

"Take me to her, and we'll see what can be done." She looks back at the girl. "You'll come too."

She bows her head. "Yes, mistress."

Bellamy leads them back to his family's cottage in silence. The witch doesn't have a horse either, and it's almost an hour's walk, but he's too anxious to try for conversation. The closest he comes to it is nearly asking if the girl can manage, but she doesn't complain and doesn't fall behind, even though she's carrying the witch's bag. He thinks about offering to take it too, but she looks so fierce, he doesn't dare. She can clearly handle herself.

His family's cottage is the smallest in the town, but he doesn't have the heart to be embarrassed like he usually is when someone new sees it, not when he's so frightened.

"It's just her here," he tells the witch, as she inspects his mother. She's asleep, but restless, a fine sheen of sweat over her skin. "I didn't know if it was catching, so I sent my sister to stay with my aunt."

She nods. "That was good of you. Smart. What's your name, boy?"

"Bellamy."

"I'll stay for five days, Bellamy. If she responds to my treatment before then, she'll be saved, and we will discuss a payment. But she may not respond. The sickness is a strong one. But you've done well."

He swallows hard. "I understand."

"My apprentice, Clarke, will take you back to my home. I need you to care for it while I'm here. Tend the garden and the hearth. Clarke will help anyone who comes looking for my services. Do we have a deal?"

"Yes," he says. And then, helpless, "Please, she's--"

Her smile is gentle, understanding. "I will do everything I can."

Clarke leads him back to the witch's cottage in silence; once they arrive, she tells him what must be done in the garden and then disappears into the cottage. He doesn't mind the work; he keeps the garden at home as well, and the witch has many more plants than he does, strange flowers and herbs he hasn't seen before. And the work keeps his mind occupied.

He's surprised when Clarke interrupts him with, "I made supper. You should eat." He hadn't even realized it was evening, but now that he looks up, he sees it's dark. Clarke is regarding him with something like concern. "I know how difficult this is. But starving yourself won't help." He stands and makes to come in with her, and she wrinkles her nose. "You're covered in dirt. Wash off in the stream first."

He has to smile, just a little. She's very proper, for a witch's apprentice.

She's dishing up stew when he comes in; he hasn't smelled anything so delicious in a long time. The witch eats well.