Page 17 of The Noldrin Witch

After the small morning fare, Morgaine invited her to the garden to let the meal settle. The way there was through the wall of windows; a door sat so neatly fitted in one corner that one might miss it entirely.

The weather had warmed, and the night’s rain had already faded. Spring’s first sprouts painted the garden a hopeful green, while the early flowers did their best to justify the season with scent and color.

Morgaine lay back on the grass without the faintest trace of concern. It seemed to Elise that the witch was not one to trouble herself with hard labor, or with anything that might spend a day’s energy too quickly. Elise liked what she saw a great deal. She was impressed by nearly everything Morgaine did, and being a quick learner, she was beginning to understand that serving a witch was considerably more appealing than being a lady’s companion.

Furthermore, seeing how self-reliant and free the witch was, Elise soon wished the same for herself. If she had at first taken a dim view of Morgaine’s trade, having mistaken her for a woman of negotiable affections, she was now absolutely convinced there could be no greater fortune.

Too curious to hold her tongue any longer, Elise moved a little closer and asked, “How can I become a witch?”

“Ah, so you haven’t changed your mind. I commend you for no longer wishing to marry rich,” Morgaine said dryly. “It is a pitiful dream, really. I do not know a single woman who has ended happy in that bargain. They all come to despise their husbands in time.”

Elise listened to the unrequested advice and the many opinions Morgaine seemed to hold on a limitless number of subjects. She moved from marriage to the most passionate sorts of lovers, until at last the subject of witchcraft made its way to her lips.

“Being a witch is not for everyone,” Morgaine said. “The trade has to find you.”

Elise gasped and didn’t dare to challenge her host. She reasoned that the longer she stayed and kept her ears open, the more she might learn and the closer she might come to her newfound ambition of becoming a witch.

“Allow me to stay for a week,” Elise said firmly. “I have yet to show you my talents in spinning, weaving, and sewing.”

Morgaine had shown a marked interest in those crafts, and Elise had not failed to notice it the night before, so she thought it only proper to put that knowledge to use.

The offer proved tempting enough. A faint smile crossed Morgaine’s face.

“One week.”

*****

It was the second week since Elise had arrived in Metz and convinced Morgaine to take her under her ward. Sleep had proven easy in the days after her arrival. Elise had set herself the modest task of producing a dress each day in hopes of impressing the witch.

Morgaine had provided a set of magical artifacts concealed in one of the more mysterious rooms of the house. It was the Tailor’s Room, according to the witch, and the tools had not been used in a century. Elise did not know if this was a figure of speech, but she was beginning to suspect it was not. The tools were not in the latest fashion, and she had some difficulty understanding their peculiar workings.

Spinning in the morning, weaving by noon, and sewing well into the night, Elise spent her days indulging in thoughts of a promising future and entertaining the thought that she might one day become something of magic herself. The spinning wheel was by far her favorite tool. The wicked thing required no effort of her feet; it began to turn on its own the moment she drew the thread and joined it with flax. Elise needed only to mind the amount of fiber, and the thread came out so even and so fine that she started to look forward to weaving just to see what type of fabric could be produced.

But that was when the real chore began. The loom was an enormous wooden apparatus that took up half the room. Elise did not trouble herself with patterns. The thing worked so slowly that, even if all it required was passing the thread from one side to the other, she soon found herself wishing for a way to make it work without her involvement. Twenty yards of fabric felt like weaving a banner for a royal coronation.

Fortunately, out of sheer boredom, Elise came up with a clever trick. She set the thread on a shuttle she could push from side to side. With this arrangement, she finished in a day and spared herself the monstrosity for the rest of the week.

The coloring was left for the end. Morgaine had a special powder that gave color to the fabric in no time at all. She blew it over the cloth, murmured a short chant, and the work was done.

With a memory many would call prodigious, Elise already knew a few chants and the names of several potions. She was eager to see the room where Morgaine prepared her concoctions, but the door only opened when the witch stood before it. There was no lock, no handle, no crossbar, and no hope for Elise to force a latch or discreetly remove a hinge. It seemed to recognize a witch and refused to oblige anyone less.

Elise would have to earn more of Morgaine’s favor before seeing the wicked room, but for now she was hemming the last edge of the dress she hoped would bring her closer to the coveted room of potions.

She stepped back to admire her latest creation. She had already tried it on, and even without a mirror, she knew it would not disappoint Morgaine’s taste. Elise and the witch shared similar proportions in the more sinful regions, and though Morgaine was more generously endowed in some, the resemblance was enough for Elise to continue her dressmaking without troubling her with fittings.

Two weeks had been enough to gather Morgaine’s preferences: necklines low enough to make anyone blush, bodices so tight one might as well forgo food, and a slit in the skirts placed carefully enough to give a few men ideas at the sight of skin.

Elise had perfected the bodice to suit Morgaine’s rather respectable sense of taste. The piece reached only mid-bosom and it had laces in front that could be loosened or tightened depending on the level of enticement one might prefer for the day. It was a piece unlikely to pass unnoticed and, if Elise had to be honest, a threat to the decency she had learned back in Noldrin.

After finishing the last stitches and putting her needle and thread back in the drawer, Elise hurried to the kitchen, where a pot of stew had been simmering in preparation for Morgaine’s return.

The witch disappeared for hours each day and returned with an appetite of a rather voracious nature, often leaving barely a spoonful for Elise. Fearing this would be one of those evenings, she filled herself a generous bowl of the porridge and blew on it in haste, hoping to finish before Morgaine arrived.

The dish was still boiling, but Elise’s tongue had quickly adapted to such temperatures in order to avoid hunger. Every slurp took Elise to heaven, and it seemed to her, this was her best stew yet.

She smiled, remembering the ingredients and portions, and made a mental note to repeat the feat for future suppers. The secret was in adding the onions and garlic at just the right time for the flavor to settle into the meat. Then the potatoes came in to sweeten the whole thing and lend a bit of thickness to the broth.

Elise made sure to clean the corners of her mouth as she rushed to finish her bowl and add more water to the pot, so as to make it seem she hadn’t already helped herself to a generous portion of the meal.