The Witcher

******

I was curled up on a bench, watching calloused, steady hands flying over the block of wood. There was a carving knife, and it slowly formed two long ears, followed by twin beady eyes, a small snout, a round body, four paws, and a spherical tail.

He couldn't have taken more than ten minutes to finish the entire project. Papa Gunter set the carving knife onto his worktable, dusted a few stray wood shavings from the piece and lifted it up, inspecting it under the lamp. The hare looked so lifelike, I thought it would blink, twitched its nose and hop about any moment.

"Well, what do you think, mäuschen? Not too bad for an old man, eh?" Papa Gunter grinned at me, dark brown eyes sparkling with happiness. His brown hair, streaked with grey, was messy and coated in a light layer of dust. This was one of the moments when I loved him best, when he was carefree and fun and unburdened by the hard, cruel world.

"It's beautiful, Papa," I replied, "but I don't see why you keep making these things for me. I'm ten now, hardly the age for this."

With a weary sigh, he placed the carving onto the table and clapped his hands together, plumes of wood-dust rising into the air. I inhaled some and coughed. He flashed me a wicked smile, putting his hands before my face and beginning to clap them vigorously.

"Papa, enough!" I half-shrieked, half-sputtered. I batted the wood-dust out of my eyes, and saw him guffawing at my comical state. Despite the fact that my dress and my curls were now stained with a dirty, earthy colour, I laughed too.

"Still, I don't understand why you keep making them," I resumed once I regained control over myself. "Wouldn't it be better if you just sold them as firewood?"

"I like to keep my hand in, mäuschen. Can't let my skill slip into decay. Besides, you're the only one around here who's young enough to appreciate them." I winced. Although he stated it as a matter of fact, it didn't erase the sting of being the only child left behind in Hamelin. And it was only because I was crippled, unable to follow the Pied Piper.

Noticing the slight shift in my mood, Papa Gunter nudged my shoulder playfully. Not for the first time, I was aware of how small I was compared to him. Even when standing beside regular townsmen, he was still considered a giant. I playfully shoved him back.

"I'm not that young, Papa," I protested, folding my arms across my chest.

"You are, and you should appreciate it. Only too true when they say that youth is wasted on the young."

"Not true, Papa. I still do play with the carvings you give me."

"Ah, so you admit you're not as mature as you'd like to be!"

I gave an indignant huff, refusing to answer. He grinned in response. I reached over and took the hare carving in my hands, gently stroking it, testing out its every fall and curve and indent. So lifelike. "It's wonderful, Papa. This might be your best work yet."

"Ah, this is nothing like what the Tinkers could do. I remember that they could literally breathe life into their creations, bring so much joy in such simple ways. If only you could see them..."

He trailed off, the way he did whenever he talked about the past. He always told me stories about sorcerers, of Magi, and of magic long gone. They served in place of the usual faerie stories that would send even full-grown adults shuddering in their blankets. I suspected that he had once been a Tinker himself, from the way his eyes would gleam after he finished a project, or from the way his fingers moved so deftly and professionally with wood. But I didn't have much to confirm my suspicions. So I never pressed him on the matter. It would be painful for him anyway, to revisit his life before the plague.

A knock on the door interrupted anything else Papa Gunter wanted to say. "Open up!" A voice growled from the front door, sounding like it had just been dragged through a bed of nails.

Papa Gunter stiffened visibly; my blood chilled. It was the thugs.

"Don't come out until I tell you it's safe, mäuschen," was all Papa Gunter said before he rushed towards the door. I got off the bench and squeezed myself into a corner, privy to every word that was being exchanged.

The door creaked open. The heavy stomps of boots falling upon ground echoed in my ears. "What more do you want?" floated Papa Gunter's voice through the wall that sat in between us.

"In a bit of a tight spot here. I need to borrow two silver coins, just for the week," said the stranger.

"You all always do," Papa Gunter said bitterly.

"Well, what do you expect? Come now, Gunter, for old time's sake."

"Please, I barely have enough to eat for the week. Can't you find someone else to pester this once?"

"Maybe if you turn that little girl out and let her die like she's supposed to, you wouldn't be half-starving yourself to death."

"I can't do that, Bran."

"Then how's about the extra two silver coins?"

"I can't give you that."

"Then what can you give, you bloody old fool?" Bran roared. I held back a whimper, wanting to sob, but knowing that if I did so, it would only cause more trouble.

"I—I have wood carvings. That's all I have. I swear by the saints above."

"Nobody wants your stupid carvings anymore, Gunter! Stop dwelling in the past! We've moved on, and it's high time you did too."

A long pause followed after that. "I can't. I made a promise to take care of her."

"Promises are always meant to be broken. They don't mean nothing in this world anymore."

"That's where you and I are different, Bran." Papa Gunter's voice was low, trembling with emotion.

Bran released a feral snarl. "Always so high and mighty, yeah? Guess what now, you're just as downtrodden as the rest of us are, and if you don't give me that two silver coins I swear I will turn this saints-forsaken house upside down."

"Please, Bran. It doesn't have to be this way--"

"Sod off!"

The cry was followed by a loud crash. Then the dull thud of knuckles meeting flesh. Then muffled screams of pain, and more crashes. I froze in my corner, terror surging in my head. I should move. I should do something—anything. But I was glued in my spot, muscles locked into place.

The terrible sounds continued. I clamped my hands over my ears, not sobbing but letting tears trickle freely down my cheeks. Why? Why did it always have to come to this? Why couldn't a week pass by without having someone disturbing us? Why couldn't they just leave us alone?

The sounds died down. I heard someone groan in pain. "I'm sorry that it has to come to this, but you have to wake up someday, Gunter," said Bran.

Then I heard the door shut.

As though that was the trigger, my limbs leaped into life and I was scrambling for the foreroom. I absorbed the whole scene with shock, clutching onto the hare carving with desperate, shaking fingers.

All around, chairs and tables and everything were upturned. They were all strewn over the floor in such a tangled heap that it was hard to discern where the mess started and where the mess ended. Almost everything was wrecked. But that wasn't what made my heart break.

It was the bloody, bruised figure lying in the middle of the mess. For one dreadful moment, pure terror seized me. Then he moved a bit and emitted a small groan. I gave a cry of relief, wading through broken items to reach Papa Gunter.

"Papa, are you all right?" He had a bloody nose, a split lip, bruises on his neck, and the like. I forced myself to stop crying; it wouldn't help in this situation.

He heaved another groan, before trying to sit up. I quickly supported his shoulder, his heavy weight almost crushing my small frame. "I'm fine," he croaked. He then spat out blood from his mouth. "I think."

"We have to get Doctor Vannlich," I said, alarmed.

"No need. Just a bit bruised, that's all."

We sat in silence for a moment. It was unfair, to have all these terrible things happening to us. What was the point of having saints, if they did nothing but watch and laugh at our misfortune?

It's all your fault, an alien voice whispered in my mind.

My head drooped guiltily. It was my fault. I was the one they were targeting; Papa Gunter just happened to be an extra serving on the side. If only I weren't crippled, if only I weren't the only child left in Hamelin, if only the Pied Piper had taken me away...

"Bran was right. You should just toss me out into the streets," I said suddenly. "It's because of me they're pestering you."

Calloused, steady hands took my cheeks, gently urging me to look into their owner's eyes. A soft, dark brown, holding nothing but pure, pure love in them. "Don't say things like that. You know you'll always be my mäuschen."

Tears began to spill out again. Papa Gunter wiped them away with his thumbs. "Why? How can you still...after everything?"

"Because one needs not understand love to experience it, and love makes us do all sorts of mad things, including getting beaten up by fools."

Though there was dry humour interlaced in his tone, an invisible spike was driven into my heart. I wailed, and wailed and wailed and wailed. Trying to understand, but unable to understand. Papa Gunter said nothing further, gathering me into his warm, powerful arms and stroking my hair.

He wept too. We wept together, the hare carving lying beside us on the floor.

******

My eyes fluttered open to meet a single ray of sunlight peeking through the curtains. Groggily, and with a groan, I sat up rubbing my forehead.

Another nightmare. Yet it was not quite a nightmare. It was one of the times when I had doubts about myself, when I thought it would be better if I were cast into the streets. It was one of the times when Papa Gunter would hear my grievances, draw me into a hug and assure me that it was all right, that it would all get better soon.

It never did.

But I stayed behind anyway.

Now, I wondered how he was doing in Hamelin. Had the thugs stop coming after him? Or were they still bullying him out of habit? My nose started to feel itchy. I sniffled and threw the blankets away, getting out of bed.

The past was past. It was time to face a new day.

******

Exactly one week after I'd seen Lord Himmel in his office—I still couldn't think of him as Markus—we were all packed up and ready to go. The breeze, bordering on the edges of spring and summer, danced around my skirts. We were all gathered at the castle gates: Lord Himmel, me and the elite group of sorcerers he had decided to bring along.

I stared at our mounts uneasily. No carriages were going to be used. After all, it was cumbersome in need of a quick escape. However, I couldn't help but be a little dubious of the horses' flaming nostrils and hard, powerful teeth. I felt like they could send me flying across the city whenever they wished.

The leader of the sorcerers, Kaiser, a prickly-looking man with a pricklier moustache, was barking orders to his subordinates. Meanwhile, Lord Himmel paced around the area, making sure everything was in order. He looked completely calm and at ease. Unlike me.

"Klaudia!" A familiar figure with dark hair coiled ruthlessly at the nape of her neck came towards me.

"Mistress Elise," I greeted her cordially.

"I've come to see you off." She gave an approving nod at her surroundings. Then she turned her full attention onto me. "Your very first cleansing ritual. Well, you've certainly come a long way from the girl who'd fainted after the first time she'd used magic."

A smile curved the corners of my lips upwards. Indeed, I was a far cry from the girl who'd first arrived from Hamelin. Then I took note of Elise's attire—a simple day gown, like what she usually wore. The smile faded, and a frown took its place. "You're not coming with us?" I asked.

"Oh no. I never come along for the cleansing ritual," she replied lightly. My brows drew together in confusion. "Someone always needs to stay back and make sure everything is in order, no?"

And yet, I still felt that it was strange. From what I knew, a cleansing ritual was an extremely tiring procedure every lord needed to do every three months, during the interchanging of seasons. It was to ensure that the borders of their lands wouldn't be breached by monsters. It used to be only done once a year, or so Papa Gunter told me, but ever since the Pied Piper stole our magic it had to be done more frequently. Otherwise the barriers would weaken and the province would be at risk of being breached by monsters. It would be logical of Lord Himmel to bring the only other Magus along.

I shook off a foreboding chill running up my spine—telling myself that it was just the wind playing with my mind—and managed another smile. "All right. Stay safe."

She chuckled, but there was no humour in it. It rang mirthlessly, like the hollow of a tree that was rotten at its core. "I am not the one who's venturing into the wastelands," she said dryly.

"True." I peered into her eyes. They were old, powerful, containing a thousand hidden depths. I had grown somewhat used to the idea of her being a forty-four year old, but now, I felt frightened. There were so many things I didn't know about her, although she was the closest person I could call an acquaintance so far.

"Remember to keep your Medium by your side at all times." She tugged on the pouch that she had made for me. "Never lose it."

The chills came back. There was something in her tone that made my muscles tense. Perhaps it was worry that I wouldn't survive my very first fight with real monsters. "I won't," I reassured her.

She pressed her lips together uncertainly, then she gave one terse nod before wheeling around and heading towards Lord Himmel. He looked slightly surprised at the sight of her. They started to conspire in low, hushed tones. His eyes actually looked brighter while he was talking to her. I looked away. After all this while, I still couldn't figure out the nature of their relationship. But I did know one thing: they were very close. So close, that I began to doubt if Lord Himmel was sincere in his words to me, that he wanted to make our marriage work.

Yet some small, foolish part of my heart clung onto that promise, willing to believe that in him so wholeheartedly.

"All right, sorcerers, move out!" cried Lord Himmel. I nearly jumped out of my skin at the order. I whipped my head around; Elise was nowhere to be seen.

I was to ride with Lord Himmel. His steed, a mare with a coat the colour of freshly fallen snow, was pawing the ground furiously. Apparently it had been bred for war, hence its edginess. I approached it warily. The beast's shoulder was right at my eye level; I felt insignificant compared to it.

Light footsteps sounded beside me, eventually coming to a stop. Lord Himmel looked regal and poised, even if he was only clothed in a plain leather jerkin and sturdy workman's boots. He stroked the neck of his horse tenderly, while checking that the stirrups were in working order. "Need help mounting?" he asked.

"Yes, please." I pursed my lips in irritation. Of course I couldn't mount a horse without a boost, could I? His eyes were glittering with amusement, however. Some of the annoyance melted away.

He helped me climb onto the horse's back. The world seemed so high from atop it. It was huffing unsteadily beneath me; I felt like I would tumble off any moment. In one fluid motion, Lord Himmel joined me on the saddle, easily sliding himself before me. The others were already ready to go; I realised with heated embarrassment that they had been watching my clumsy attempt. "Hold on to me so that you don't fall off," Lord Himmel said practically.

It seemed like I had no choice in the matter. Gritting my teeth, I relented, hesitatingly slipping my arms around Lord Himmel's waist. I could feel his heat burning through the layers of his clothing. "Forward!" he cried. He kicked his horse gently in the ribs.

We finally headed out for the wastelands.

******