Witch

“A drop of grease, a blade of cilantro, two chicken wings…”

The flames under the cauldron chatted with excitement, awaiting for the moment to infuse the content of the boiler with their infinite power.

The woman put another log in the fire, barely avoiding the hellish blazes. She was stirring the mixture, when two nestlings entered the kitchen. They shoved some strange-looking plants on the table, grabbed two plates and sat down on the ground, expecting a little recompense for the treasure they had found. The woman, without looking down at the sprouts, served two other portions of the soup from the cauldron. Right when she filled the platters of the other two with the same food, heavy banging echoed from outside the door.

“Your father is here,” announced the woman with a smile on her face.

A man twice the size of an average human being, stepped inside.

“I met the blacksmith on the way back from the miller," he revealed. “He asked whether you had something for his wife’s pain.”

As the father sat down to eat, the mother searched for something in the abnormally huge cabinet in the neighboring room. It was crowded with various glass bottles of diverse sizes, all filled with fluids of different shades of either green or red. The containers were organized by colour, the lighter ones at the top and the darker ones at the bottom, green on one side and red on the other. The woman searched the glasses with a practiced look. She grabbed one with a medium red liquid in it, and shook until some interesting shade of blue appeared, which made the juice seem slightly purple.

“Oh, and the shopkeeper wants another portion of that luck draught that you gave him!” shouted the man from the kitchen.

“That was solely a soother for his nerves,” whispered the woman, overly amused, however, she grabbed another bottle, with fluid of the colour of emerald.

The jars clicked at each other in her basket with her every step. The first stop was the forge, where the blacksmith’s wife acquired her comforting medicine in exchange for a half-dozen gold coins. Her second stop was the shop. The shopkeeper traded three bags of salt for both the lucky potion and a greenish liquid for his mother-in-law.

“I did not know that he liked her so much,” the woman thought as she left the shop. “She will have better health than him. However, his choice will solely make his life more miserable. I was friends with his mother-in-law, she is terrible.”

Two dozen plus two people were waiting for her to provide their essential plant juices. To the woman’s surprise, the twelfth happened to be a royal messenger with the local governor. The court member wanted to investigate this suspicious healer. As he didn’t want to risk his life, he convinced the ruler to take a sip from one of the dark red fluids.

“There is nothing lethal in it,” he declared. What he did not have any knowledge about was one ingredient, a spice that he was severely allergic to. Only outside did he notice an strange feeling in his stomach. He dropped to the ground, shaking. The woman noticed this from the window and, grabbing a glass filled with a yellow-red liquid inside, she rushed outside.

“Witch!” yelled the messenger as he spotted the woman. All nearby men sprinted to catch the woman. They brought her to the judge to receive her punishment.

Only after three years did they realize what they had done. However, it was far too late. They did not have a healer, and the plague was decimating them.

Fülöp Csenge   X. H