The Jack of Souls (Multi-award winner!)

Chapter 25b - The Witch

At the iron-bound door, Caris lifted a knocker shaped like a female hand clasping an agate the size of an egg, and clapped it three times on the strike plate.

Willard peered at an engraved plaque beneath the knocker. "Read it, boy." Harric glanced at Willard. The old man wasn't even trying to pretend it was a test. Was it possible Willard couldn't read? The notion surprised Harric. Many knights lacked letters, but he'd always assumed it was because of their full-time martial training that kept them from it. Willard had no such excuse, as he'd had seven lives in which to learn them.

Harric read aloud:

Here abides Mistress Abellia Pergrossi

by express proclamation of Her Royal Majesty, Chasia

in the 27th year of her reign:

licensed fire-cone warden

with all powers appertaining.

A second plaque, just below, was much more ornate, and of obvious Iberg style, featured fat farm animals and children, encircled by rivers and grain fields; outside this was a ring decorated with crescents and half circles and circles, the phases of the Bright Mother. "The words along the top, are Iberg. This one says, Poverty. Then Chastity and Service."

A faint smile raised ghosted over Willard's mouth. "You're too clever by half, boy. Where'd you learn Iberg?"

"My mother. She worked abroad for the queen."

Willard snorted. "Explains your looseness toward magic."

The door opened a crack, then swung outward, and the pale ghost of a drowned girl peered up at them from within. A thrill of fear swept Harric before he realized it was not a girl or a ghost, but a tiny old woman in cloud-white robes, a figure so frail she seemed nothing more than crisp papers in danger of blowing away.

Yet there was kindness in the lines of the ancient face, and her eyes, like wet black pebbles, were clear and alive, as if the spirit behind them were indeed a child's, and an observant one.

"Mama," Caris murmured, lowering her eyes and touching one knee to the stone.

The watery eyes squinted at the blue-armored knight, who was Caris, in confusion. Then her wrinkled mouth made an O of surprise, and her attention flitted from Harric to Willard and back to Caris with astonishment. Brolli, Harric noticed, had donned a hood and kept his head down.

"My Caris!" Abellia cried, in a voice thin to cracking and an accent as thick as any Harric had heard. "My Caris! Mio doso!"

Caris laughed and carefully embraced the tiny woman as if her steel limbs might crack her to pieces. The sunken eyes went wide, and she drew away, staring in surprise. "You wearing the hard britches! All is well? These steel panty not so comforting, no? Haha! You have the mentor! Yes? O! You must to tell! You must to eat. All your friends. We having plenty spaces. Plenty foods. You must coming in!"

"Mama, my mentor, Sir Willard, is hurt."

The old woman blinked near-sightedly at Willard. Laying her hands on Caris's arm for balance. She scanned his face and bloodied armor with gentle eyes.

"You are dying, Sir."

Willard bowed with his head. "Lady. I fear we bring danger on our heels."

She dismissed the notion with a wave.  "You are this Willard they sing of?" Her black eyes glistened with pleasure. "I am always knowing Caris is mentored by a great man. You and your dangers are welcome."