Welcome
To
Lidryn
One: Witch Scorned
“Momma, why can’t I leave the forest?”
“Because, my beauty, the world is far too ugly for you.”
"If we purchase anything else, my dear, we will need a bigger house!" A man said softly.
Agatha Crowle looked up from her market stall, sweat trickling down her back. The autumn in Vildaheim produced sweltering heat during the day and nearly freezing nights. Today was no different; the sun was high in the sky, white fluffy clouds dotted the horizon, but none came close to blocking out the oppressive heat or casting much-needed shade over Agatha's stall. Her body was beaded with sweat, causing her black cloak to cling to her arms and neck. If it were not for the cloak, which bore the crest of her kingdom, she would not be so miserable sitting here. Alas, it was the law that any person from any kingdom could gather to sell, barter, or trade their wares in another kingdom as long as they wore their designated cloak, showing one and all that they were an outsider and thus could not be trusted.
"Then, build us a bigger house!" A woman answered shrilly.
Agatha observed the couple shrewdly, ignoring the sweat trickling down her forehead. It was clear that the man adored his spouse from the way he gently rubbed a hand on her back and from his eyes shining as he looked down on her. He had black hair, slicked back with some type of oil, gold-rimmed spectacles, and a square stubbled jawline. Strange as it was, the man wore a pristine suit with sparkling, gem-encrusted cufflinks at his wrists, and shiny black shoes. Agatha's eyes narrowed, her heart skipping a beat. There was only one reason someone would willingly dress in their finest for a day at the marketplace; only one reason why anyone would rather sweat their face off than be comfortable. The man was wealthy, possibly one of the wealthiest of Vildaheim. From the looks of it, his wife was a spoiled brat, no more an adult in mind than a teen, and her next words confirmed this suspicion.
"Emrit built Lucia a bigger house when she was carrying their firstborn! Their babe had three chests full of clothes before he was even born!" The woman shouted, rubbing her protruding belly.
"Is that what this is about, Hazel? Your sister and her husband have next to nothing! Emrit did all he could do as a cattleman, and as the wife of a cattleman, Lucia has nothing better to do than sew together old rags and tattered clothing to make new ones. I could buy this entire marketplace if I so wished. You have nothing to prove to people like them. Our child will be adorned in fabrics and spoiled with trinkets the likes of which Lucia and Emrit could never even dream to buy their children," The man soothed, his chest puffed out as he boasted of his wealth.
Agatha resisted rolling her eyes at his show of arrogance, but still, her heart pounded. If she could convince this couple that her wares were worthy and true magic, she might be able to provide enough food for the children in her care for months.
"I know all of this, Melvyn. Which is why I do not want our babe to have three chests full of the finest clothing, not when three chests were all Lucia could fill with scraps!" The woman named Hazel said through gritted teeth.
Agatha could see the woman's face flushed with passion as her chest heaved with each breath. Hazel's face pinched with pain, her brown hair sticking to her damp forehead. The long, blue satin dress she wore hugged her thin frame, stretching tightly over her rounded stomach. Both of the woman's hands went to her stomach, as Hazel groaned low, her teeth still clenched. Seconds ticked by before Hazel's body visibly relaxed, her breaths coming in soft pants.
"Are you alright, my dear?" Melvyn asked, his eyes wild as he rubbed his hands over Hazel's belly.
"I'm fine, but perhaps we should move through the market quickly. I will need to rest soon," Hazel answered stiffly, taking a small step away from her husband's attentions.
Melvyn appeared hurt by this slight distance, but quickly drew himself up to his full height and pushed his shoulders back, holding out his arm for Hazel to take.
"Protection amulet for the babe?" Agatha called out, her voice hoarse and dry.
Goddess, she needed water, and not the hot kind that was sitting in her pack. She would rather be in the north right about now, lying upon the frosted grounds of Alideigh, where the people were cruel and attacked outsiders without warning. A battle in the icy plains was preferable to sitting in this sweltering kingdom.
"What?" Hazel sneered, stopping directly in front of Agatha's stall.
Agatha looked up, surprised. Every other person to walk by had ignored her, not even bothering with polite conversation or to fake a glance at her wares.
"Would you be interested in a protection amulet for your babe?" Agatha repeated.
Hazel laughed outright, a cruel, high-pitched sound. Melvyn looked around, seemingly hoping that he would not be caught standing before Agatha's stall.
"Amulets and crystals don't work anymore, and everyone knows that. The beasts who wielded magic are all dead," Hazel said through her mocking laughter.
"This is not true. The enchantments on these objects are real and powerful. You may test them if you'd like," Agatha replied, a sickening feeling in her stomach.
It was not unusual to encounter those who believed that the massacre at Meyorn destroyed every being who possessed magic. But there were plenty who believed so deeply or were so terrified of the truth, that they would become violent and cruel when told otherwise. Even if those who invaded Meyorn had succeeded in slaughtering an entire race of magical beings, Hazel's words would still be false. When magic is cast, it does not die, even when the caster perishes. Any enchantment, potion, or spelled object would remain intact, but it was apparent that those who had dealt with the witches and warlocks of Meyorn had spread fallacies of dead magic itself and not just the casters. This news was an interesting bit of information that Agatha would need to speak about with her sisters.
"You come here to cheat the good people of our kingdom! There is no magic!" Hazel leaned forward and hissed.
Another low groan escaped Hazel's lips, her back hunching over as she clutched her belly. Melvyn's attention snapped to his wife's pained expression, and he was by her side in an instant, whispering words Agatha could not hear.
"Perhaps instead, you would like a potion for the labor pains?" Agatha asked dryly with a quirked eyebrow.
"You jest while my wife is in pain? Help me get her home!" Melvyn growled, grabbing Agatha by her cloak and yanking her so close to his face that his spittle splattered on her nose.
Agatha glowered at the man for several moments before nodding. She did not think the couple was very deserving of her help, but she could not ignore the woman's continued grunts and groans, which were lasting longer and coming one after the other. She would help them home, send for the midwife, and then be on her way.
"I want the fraud nowhere near my babe and me," Hazel snapped.
Agatha glared at the woman as Hazel's knees went weak, and she gasped before unleashing a pained shout. A heavy hand struck Agatha's face, her cheek stinging so sharply that tears immediately sprung to her eyes.
"What are you doing to her?" Melvyn demanded, his face flushed, and his blue eyes flashed dangerously.
Agatha stared at his blurry form dumbly, unable to comprehend exactly what he was accusing her of doing.