The Witch
There were powerful witches.
A handful every generation. Displaying enormous strength at a young age. Like burning down a village during a nightmare. Or manifesting a whole forest when looking for a place to hide. Usually, the coven came to claim them soon after. Sometimes they were raised in isolation by their sires or dames if they happened to be powerful witches too. But the covens raised the best of them. Training them in battle, creation and healing - the three pillars of the Craft. Powerful witches could communicate with animals, they could see in to the future, bring down dragons and raise up empires. Some could even travel through time. You might go through your whole life without ever having seen one. But you sure heard about them. Because powerful witches sooner or later became legends.
There were travelling witches.
They were very good. But not great. They worked within covens if it suited them. But mostly they travelled the land. Lending a hand where it was needed. A bad harvest here. A plague situation there. A local rebellion somewhere else. Murderers, hauntings, possessions. They did what they could. Earned their keep. Marked their place in history. Remembered for a generation, maybe longer. There were a lot of folktales and stories about country witches. Some of them were even true.
There were hedge witches.
They loved nature and lived in natural spaces. Sometimes they were mistaken for spirits. Very often when drunk men and women returned with tales of mermaids or woodnymphs or even faeries, they would simply be talking about hedge witches who took pity on them in a moment of crisis. Hedge witches preferred isolation and stayed away from humans, who they claimed ruined their Craft. They were rarely talked about.
There were country witches.
These were the least powerful yet most popular of all witches. They preferred staying in natural spaces too - a day’s walk into the woods, the hard-to-access cave by the leeward side of the cliff, the abandoned, overgrown ruins - but always close enough to human settlements to keep an eye on things. They were perhaps the only kind of witch an everyday human ever had access to. You could turn to a country witch when your child got the pox or when the cow was having a difficult labour or when the village well had gone dry. They would always help. Maybe not in the way you imagined. Country witches were feared, loved and shunned in equal measure. Sometimes, all three at the same time.
And then there was Ame.
Her sire was a powerful witch, who had ended the scourge of the Crimson Fang. Her dame was one of the most renowned travelling witches to the east of the sea. They had met during the war and had fallen in love. She was born as a storm raged on the most vicious day of the fighting. Her mother had named her even as she passed out from the exertion. Her name meant rain.
And like the rain, she was always falling.
Ame was clumsy. Ame was inelegant. Ame was average.
And when, even by the age of ten she had shown no sign nor spark of magic, she was sent by her sire to an old country witch who lived in the forest outside the hamlet he had been born in (only to be whisked away by a coven when he was three because he caused a storm that lasted three days during a particularly brazen tantrum). Sire had no family left in that village. But he knew the village witch, who had apparently made the place her home for the past hundred years.
That was how Ame came to live with Mother Rhubarb. Mother Rhubarb wasn’t a hundred years old. But she was getting there. She was the third country witch to have occupied the title and the little house in the woods. And she was training Ame to be the fourth.
Ame was eighteen now, well almost, her nameday was ten-day away; still clumsy and still to show a single spark of magic. Though that didn’t stop her from doing her best to master the ways of the country witch. Mother Rhubarb taught her that a country witch’s power lay not in the Craft, but in her own mind. So Ame learned about potions and herbs and crystals and how to make deals with the creatures of the forest. She learned to use the broom, though it only worked when she was close to Mother Rhubarb. And she learned to make talismans for the old witch to bless. She took over her duties in the little house they shared and tended to her flock in the village. She did everything she could. Though she would never be as good at it as Mother Rhubarb. She did her best.
Ame was walking down to the village. She was going to look in on the families. Check if things were as they should be. Oh, and she was supposed to bring back bread. She should not forget that.
Her rounds took her a couple of hours. She gave the shepherd a tincture for ticks. She checked in on the village chickens. Bought the children from the orphanage an apple each. Shared seeds from Mother Rhubarb’s garden with four other households. Gave Goody Kirkengouf a carefully prepared blend of ginger, cranberry and valerian. The woman was seven months along and had had a tough term so far. Then she headed to the baker. The man owed Mother Rhubard from the time his wife and child had gotten scarlet fever. He had her lot ready, filling her basket with warm, crusty goodness and even pressing a pastry in to her hand.
Witching was hungry work. Ame took a large bite of the pastry before she even turned around. Only to startle as she came face to face with the Doctor’s son.
“Nobuchika Kun!” she gasped. But her mouth was full of pastry. So it came out all garbled. She slammed her palm over her mouth to keep things from spilling out.
The young man smiled. It took the edge off his grave eyes. His deep green, beautiful eyes. As usual, they were hidden behind glasses, shadowed by his dark hair. But she could see clearly in to them now. Because he was standing so close.
“Apprentice Ame, fair morning to you,” he said.
So close that she could almost imagine running her hands over his slim figure, dressed as it was in dark breeches, a white shirt and leather vest.
“Apprentice Ame?”
Ame forced herself to swallow. It was ill-advised. Because she started to choke.
“Apprentice Ame, are you alright?” Nobuchika stepped closer still, his brow frowning in concern. He made as if to pat her back. But she coughed at exactly the same moment, sending flakes and half-chewed vegetables right on to his leather vest.
Ame looked up at him in horror. She reached out to dust his chest, but he stepped back. Unthinking she continued to reach, only to trip on the hem of her skirts and fall right on him. And down they both went. Ame landed on top of Nobuchika. Her hands on his chest, her knees on either side of his hips.
“Apprentice -”
Never had Ame ever managed to stand up so quickly. She was fairly certain she kneed him in the stomach as she did. But she was too mortified to stop. She stepped away from him, apologizing profusely, bowing down repeatedly, refusing to look at him. And then she turned and ran.
“Apprentice Ame your bread!” he called after her.
“I’ll get some next week,” she yelled back, without stopping.
Mother Rhubarb didn’t exactly complain about eating stale bread with her soup. But she did send Ame to get mushrooms from the upper caves. Ame was chased out of there by a bear. They didn’t get to eat mushrooms that day either.
“Mother?”
“Yes, dearie.”
“Do you think I’ll ever be magic?”
“You are magic, child.”
They were lying under the star-spilled sky. Well, Ame was lying on the grass. While Mother Rhubarb sat on her rocking chair on the porch, crocheting a charm. Her hands moved precisely, laying each knot in the pattern prescribed by those who had gone before, even though her eyes were too weak to see it in the dark.
“You know what I mean Mother. I want to be real magic!” Ame sat up and turned to pout at the old woman.
Real magic. So she could be a real witch instead of just pretending. So she could be something other than a falling, dithering mess. So someone could find something in her that was worth the attention. So she could walk up to Nobuchika during the Yule celebration and ask for his hand in a dance. Instead of turning wordless and spewing food all over him.
Ame’s face coloured at the memory.
In the three years since Doctor Tomomi had returned from the city, with his teenage son and no wife, Ame had managed perhaps a dozen phrases in the vicinity of the green-eyed boy. In three years, Nobuchika had become a man and was now apprenticed to his father, learning the trade of medicine and science. She had learned that he loved to read because he was the only one to check the wares of visiting peddlers for books. She knew that the others in the village had lost interest in him since he was always frowning and rarely gave anyone the time of the day. She had watched two Yuletide eves go by, with Nobuchika disappearing from the celebrations before the dances even began. His father, the Good Doctor danced and drank the night away, loud and raucous. But never his son. Of course she had to leave early too, to be part of the Wild Hunt with Mother. But, there was always time for a dance, wasn’t there?
She had also seen Nobuchika once or twice at the edge of the forest, alone, looking lost and lonely, as the dusk gathered around him, the frown on his face finally giving way to the sorrow in his eyes. It was then that she wanted most to be able to speak to him. She wanted to be able to hold his hand. She wanted to let him know that it was okay to be sad. And more than anything in the world, she wanted to make Nobuchika smile.
“Gone belly-up in that head of yours again?”
“Huh?” Ame forced her attention back to the present, “No, I was just…”
“I asked you, what do you want magic for?”
“I-I… I want it to make someone smile.”
“Is that all?” Mother Rhubarb cackled. She wasn’t playing to the image, that’s just how she laughed. “Well dearie, you don’t need magic for that. You just need a good heart. And your heart is plenty good. Any boy would be lucky to have it.”
“W-what? Who said anything about a boy?”
Mother Rhubarb cackled again.
That week, Ame scoped out the bakery before walking up to it. She made sure there was no Nobuchika in evidence and only then did she walk up to the window to get their bread. The baker laughed when he saw her. He teased her about the incident last week, but Ame ignored him, casting nervous glances over her shoulder all the while. This time, the free pastry went in to her basket as well. Ame thanked the Good Baker and headed towards Goody Kirkengouf’s homestead, which lay on the other end of the village. She was her only other stop today. But halfway there, she saw Goody Kirkengouf’s eldest son running towards her.
“Apprentice Ame!” the boy gasped as he saw her, “well met! Did you have a sight?”
“Yes… a sight, but tell me so I know true,” Ame said.
“Mother got her blood this morning,” he said, “Father got the Doctor.”
The Doctor. Doctor Tomomi. Nobuchika’s father and master. He was a man of science. Of hard facts and cold steel instruments. And he hated Mother Rhubarb. Refused to work with any family that still used the heathen’s evil devices. Doctor Tomomi hated witches. This would not be good.
“Lead on then,” she said, doing her best not to trip on her skirts or drop the bread as she ran behind the boy.
And she was not wrong. Things were bad. Very bad.
The father was pacing outside. He eyed her with suspicion as she went past him. Inside, the room smelled heavily of blood. And something worse. They had Goody Kirkengouf up on the kitchen table. The Doctor had his hands buried up to his elbows. The old man was covered in blood. As was Goody Kirkengouf.
“What are you doing?” Ame screamed.
The Doctor didn’t respond.
She rushed forward to the woman. She pushed the hair away from her sweaty face with a gentle hand. Her eyes looked drugged. Her breathing was shallow. She rounded on the Doctor. “What are you doing? What did you give her?” she demanded in a hiss.
“It’s too late for her. I’m trying to save the babe,” the old man replied, emotionless.
“What? No!” She rushed at the man unthinking. He pushed her away with a bloody hand. She fell on to the floor, bread spilling from the basket she still had around her hand.
“Apprentice!” The man roared, addressing the younger man who had just entered with a wooden pail full of hot water. “Get the witch out of here.”
Nobuchika. The Good Doctor’s son. The lower half of his face, like his father’s, was covered in a white handkerchief. But she would recognize those glasses, those green eyes anywhere. He was wearing a leather apron too. And kid gloves that came up to his elbows. Dressed more like a butcher than a man saving lives. Nobuchika placed the pail by his father and turned to her. But she looked past him to the man was letting Goody Kirkengouf die.
“No, you don’t understand,” she continued, getting up and rushing to the Doctor again. Except she was intercepted by Nobuchika this time. He held her back. “I can help,” she pleaded, “she is still alive, don’t give up on her like this!”
And suddenly she found herself being wrenched away, an iron-like grip on her hair. Away from Goody Kirkengouf, away from Nobuchika, away from the house. She fell in the mud in the yard, thrown there by Goodman Kirkengouf.
“This is all your fault,” he screamed at her, “you and that old crone in the forest. This happened because of all the poisons you kept feeding her!”
“We fed her no poisons,” Ame spat back. “You know that. Mother Rhubarb would -”
The distraught husband was beyond reason though. He aimed a kick at her. But it never connected.
Because Nobuchika got in the way. He pushed Goodman Kirkengouf back, standing between her and the enraged man. The man lunged for her again. Held him off. Lost in his sorrow, the man blindly flung his fists. He hit Nobuchika twice. Once in the chest and once in the jaw. He pulled back for another attempt when the yowling cry of a new-born echoed through the house. All at once, Goodman Kirkengouf lost her frenzy and collapsed on to his knees.
“Apprentice,” the Good Doctor commanded again, making the infant bawl louder, “The swaddling.”
Nobuchika took a moment to look between Ame and the man, before running to do as he was bid. Moments later Doctor Tomomi emerged, carrying a red-faced baby wrapped up in white cloth.
“You have a son. Your wife is dead.” Both statements were made with the exact same intonation. The Doctor thrust the newborn in to his father’s unresisting arms. The doctor yanked off his bloodied gloves. “You, boy,” he snapped at Goody Kirkengouf’s oldest, who had been standing mute in the yard all this while, “Help my apprentice clean up in there.” Without being asked, Ame got up to. Helping with the dead was the country witch’s prerogative.
But as she made for the door, the Doctor grabbed her arm and snarled, “I think you witches have made this family suffer enough. Leave.” And then he pushed her away, like she was something dirty, even though he was the one covered in the blood of an innocent.
Ame turned and ran. She tripped and fell on her face by the gate, but she stood up and continued running. She didn’t stop till she reached Mother Rhubarb’s house. And then she collapsed in the witch's lap and cried and cried and cried.
It was dark when she was awoken. She realized she was still on the floor. Still on Mother’s lap. No one had lit a lamp in the house yet. But the sun had definitely set.
“Wake up child, someone is at the door.”
Mother Rhubarb was shaking her. Insistently.
“I’m up, I’m up.”
She stood up and rubbed her face.
“I’m coming,” Ame croaked at the door as loud as she could. The knocking stopped. “Who is it?” she asked Mother Rhubarb, who could have used her Sight to find out, but didn’t. People didn’t usually come up to their house unless it was an emergency. And she wasn’t sure she could handle another so soon.
“Why don’t you open the door and find out?”
She crawled over to the dying fire.
“What if it’s bandits?” she asked
“I doubt bandits would be polite enough to knock dearie. But if it is bandits, I suppose you will have to deal with them. What with me being a feeble old lady and all.”
Ame rolled her eyes. She blew on a log till it was flaming and then used it to light the lantern that hung over the mantle. She walked over to the door and opened it, lifting the lantern to peer in to the gathering dark outside.
“What are you doing here?” she asked when she saw the young man standing outside. He was shivering slightly in the cold evening air. Hadn’t even bothered to put on a coat.
“I-I brought you some bread,” Nobuchika said, lifting the basket towards her, “Because you… dropped yours… again.” He looked away, his hand going up to flatten the hair on his forehead, like he wanted to hide behind it.
“We don’t want it,” she said. Of all the people in the world, why did it have to be Nobuchika at the door?
“Ame dear, who is at the door?” Mother called from inside.
“No one,” she called back and reached out to shut the door.
“Nonsense!” And suddenly Mother was at her back, like she had been there all the time. “Why, it’s dear Nobuchika, the Good Doctor’s Apprentice! What brings you to our woods child?” Ame glared at her. But Mother had eyes only for the green-eyed boy standing awkwardly at their door.
“I-I got bread,” he said, again proffering the basket.
“Bread! We haven’t eaten bread in ages, have we, Ame?” Ame’s glare intensified. To no avail. “Come in dearie, come in, you must be cold.”
“No, I-I just came to give-give you the bread,” Nobuchika tried to protest, but Mother Rhubarb had already steered him inside. She pulled him by his arm and sat him down on one of the chairs by the kitchen table. Ame snorted. Feeble, old lady indeed!
“My, that’s quite a shining someone laid on you,” Mother Rhubarb said, bending down to look in to Nobuchika’s face, making him lean back as far as he could in the chair. “Let Mother get a better look at it.” She snapped her fingers twice. And every light in the house came on at once. Even the fire was roaring again. Ame blinked in the brightness. Then doused the lantern and hung it back over the mantle. When she turned around, she saw that Mother had Nobuchika’s chin in her hand and she was turning his face this way and that. Nobuchika for his part, looked terrified. His glasses had slid down to the edge of his nose and he was holding the arms of the chair in a white-knuckled grip.
“Ame,” Mother said, looking up at her, “Tend to the dear boy’s injuries. I’ll get started on dinner for the three of us.”
Ame wanted to object, but Nobuchika beat her to it.
“No, this… this is nothing. I’ll be fine. And I couldn’t impose on you like this.”
“Nonsense, it’s no imposition,” Mother let go of his chin and stepped away with the basket, “unless of course, your daddy is waiting for you to have supper together?”
Nobuchika looked away and said nothing more. Ame grumbled inwardly as she headed to retrieve her healing kit and a large bowl of water.
When she sat down in front of him, the first thing she noticed was the extent of the injuries she had missed in the dimness of the lantern. Surely, she remembered Goodman Kirkengouf getting him in the face just once. But the entire left side of Nobuchika’s face was swollen. His lower lip was split. One eye was bruised. And his glasses were held together with string. As her eyes went lower, she saw that the collar of his shirt was torn. And there was bruising on his neck too. That looked like someone had tried to choke him.
“Are there any injuries that I can’t see?” she asked.
He shook his head.
A couple of bruised ribs, if I’m not mistaken, but we can let him keep his dignity and give him a poultice to apply later.
If she wasn’t used to Mother speaking in her head like that, Ame would probably have jumped up and dropped something. In fact, she had the first time, even though she had been forewarned and prepared. Mother had made her retrieve each and every piece of that damned vase and glue it back together. Had taken her a ten-day too.
She kept her face neutral and reached out to take his glasses off. He pulled back.
“It’s alright,” she said, “Mother will fix them after.”
He let her take them off then. She placed them carefully on the large oak table. She cleaned his face with lavender water first. Then she mixed a paste with aloe, yarrow and arnica and applied it to the cuts and bruises. For his neck, she used a mixture of watered honey, thyme and red cat’s tail. She dipped gauze in it and then wrapped it around his neck, careful not to let the liquid drip on to his shirt. She layered dry gauze over it. It was loose enough to keep him from feeling choked and tight enough to keep medicine and warmth in.
Through the entire process, Nobuchika said not a single word, made not a single sound. Not even when the wound on his lip reopened as she cleaned it. He didn’t meet her eyes either. For three years, she had longed to touch him, to run her fingers through his silken, soft hair, to caress his face and ease his pain. But not like this. Not like this.
Ame felt a great weariness settle on her as she cleaned up after herself. But she pushed through it. A patient needed her and she could deal with her conflicted heart later. She made him some daisy and dandelion tea. Once he was done drinking it, she placed her hands over his face, covering it. She felt his eyelashes blink against her fingers before he closed his eyes. And she closed hers. She recited the Prayer of the Mothers. It had been passed down through the witches of Mother Rhubarb’s line. And even though Ame could not invoke the magic in the incantation, she submitted herself, body and soul to its power. She felt the words thrum with her heartbeat. And she sent the vibrations towards Nobuchika, willing them to heal all the damage that had been done to this boy.
When she took off her hands, she found his face wet.
“Her-her womb ruptured in the n-night,” he said, hiccuping through the tears. And then words wouldn’t stop coming. “It was too late by the time we got there. Her-her blood was already poisoned. Father tried for hours to get her to push the baby out. But she was already… she was already d-dying. There was nothing we could do... There was nothing we could do...”
“There, there… poor child.”
Again, inexplicably, Mother was there. She pulled Nobuchika in to her soft, warm embrace, rubbing his back as he bawled in to her ample waist.
“Her womb was weakened by all the births,” Mother said, over his sobs, “It was always going to be a difficult one.”
Ame knew this. She knew Goody Kirkengouf was supposed to be on bed-rest but hadn’t stopped working in the family’s tannery. And she knew that Mother had predicted a bad outcome for this one months ago. Nobuchika was the same age as her. But his apprenticeship has begun only recently. Ame hadn’t stopped to consider that this was the first time he had lost someone. The first time he had seen someone die. The first time he had failed to save someone. Today had been bad enough for her, but it was nothing compared to the first time she had someone die on her watch. And mother had been there for that one.
“Sometimes, all a witch can do is hold people when they falling apart. That’s the only magic any of us truly have.”
So Ame left Mother to work her magic and went to the other side of the kitchen to grind up the poultice. She scraped it in to a jar with a glass lid and placed it on the windowsill for the faeries to bless. She placed some spare bandages by it and a cloth to tie it all together. Then she finished what cooking Mother had started. They had a quiet dinner of barley and meat broth with heels of fresh bread and butter.
“Ame dearest, walk Nobu Kun to the village road,” Mother Rhubarb said, after the table had been cleaned, “There is no moon tonight, and we wouldn’t want him to lose his way.”
By now Nobuchika had probably learned better than to try and refuse out of politeness any of Mother Rhubarb’s suggestions. But Ame frowned. The way to the village road from here was straight and unblocked. Even a blind-folded man could walk down it without losing his way. Besides, there was nothing in the forest that would harm humans. Each Mother made a blood pact with the spirits to ensure just that. But Ame knew better than to say anything. Instead, she grabbed her shawl, packed the poultice in to a bundle and led the way out of the house.
The path was clear even in the absence of the moon. In her youth, Mother had buried crystals along it to capture and preserve starlight. So the path was illuminated. Even though the forest on either side remained pitch dark. Her senses, attuned after so long living in the wild, picked up movements and shiftings along the trail. The spirits and dark creatures were lining up on the edges of the path. Strange, they had never done that before. But then again, she had never used the path after sunset either.
Nobuchika walked alongside her, hands in his pockets. He kept casting nervous glances towards the forest on either side of them, even though he shouldn’t have been able to sense the creatures within. Unconsciously, he moved closer to her. Ame almost laughed.
“Don’t worry,” she said, pitching her tone the way Mother had taught her, “They won’t harm you.”
Nobuchika looked up at her sharply. The faint starlight of the path reflected back in glasses Mother had repaired for him.
“But if you are truly afraid,” she said, feeling bold in the face of his city-bred nervousness, “I’ll hold your hand till we reach the village road.” She extended her free hand and smiled, mocking him.
She had expected him to frown and continue walking, ignoring her little jest. But to her immense surprise, Nobuchika grabbed her extended hand. Holding on to it firmly. And so Ame had no choice but to continue walking down the starlit path, hand in hand with Nobuchika.
“I’m sorry,” Nobuchika said suddenly when they were about halfway through, “for the way my father spoke to you. He has had... bad experiences with witches and he just can’t…” His soft voice trailed off in the dark night.
“Let go of the past?”
“Something like that…”
She felt her foot kick a rock and tripped. But Nobuchika used his grip on her hand to pull her to him, keeping her from falling. She turned around to check, but there was nothing in the path.
“Are you alright?” Nobuchika asked.
Seems like she had tripped on nothing. Again.
Ame realized that Nobuchika had his arm around her and her weight was partially supported against his chest. The closeness didn’t fluster her out of her wits like the last time. Funny how that worked out.
“Yes, I am fine,” she said and moved away from him. They continued walking down the path. Still holding hands.
They reached the crossroads where the forest path met the village path with further conversation or incident. Outside the shadow of the trees, the village path was clear enough to navigate. She could see the lamps that marked the village gate in the distance. Ame felt disappointed when Nobuchika released her hand. And if she wasn’t fooling herself, he was reluctant to let go as well.
“You should dress warmer,” she said.
“I probably should,” he replied.
“This is for you,” she held out the little bundle containing the poultice and bandages, “for any other injury you might not have.”
He took the bundle from her and stared at it in his hands.
“Thank you,” he said.
And this was it. The moment they had to go their separate ways. He walked away first, but backward, so he was still facing her as he took slow steps away from her.
“You should… you should come visit again!” she blurted out, then added awkwardly, “I mean if you want to.” Then she considered what she had just said, blushed and added again, “Mother-M-mother would appreciate it.”
“I’m sure she would,” he said, then added with a small smile “I would too. Try not to fall on your way home.”
And then he turned around and walked back to where he came from. And she turned back to walk home through the witch’s woods.
This is Part 1 of my Witchcraft - Psycho-Pass AU with original characters (OC). Ame is my fourth OC, the youngest so far. Do let me know what you think of her. Also, would you like to hear more of the story?
I hope to someday be able to commission all artwork for my stories. To be honest, I am still holding out hope that a visual artist falls in love with me and we collaborate over all kinds of illustrated stories and graphic novels. Until then though, I have Creative Commons. Images used in this story are:
Green Witch by Donna L. Faber. License. Edited to remove background.
Bread loaves. Cropped and recoloured. Source: Rawpixel
Tin lantern from Story of the old Willard House of Deerfield, Mass. Source: Picryl
Patrinia scabiosifolia by Kawahara Keiga. Source: Wikimedia Commons
Drawing of Trees. Source: Wikimedia Commons
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