Part III: Pigs and Toads

“Is she awake?” a voice said.

“Is she even alive?” a second voice whispered.

Bronwyn opened her eyes, but everything was fuzzy. It was terribly bright.

So she is both. Awake, Bronwyn. You’re absolutely fine. Not a scratch on your body. Enru sounded amused, relieved even.

Bronwyn tried opening her eyes again, and found it much more bearable this time. She peered around.

Enru lay on her pillow, sitting regally. His black fur shone, his eyes squeezed shut in delight. Welcome back, little one, he purred.

“Did I pass?” asked Bronwyn hoarsely.

You did most wonderfully well, dear one. Enru flicked his ear. But we will not be returning to Appleby Manor for some time; we are quite far away from it.

“What?” Bronwyn tried to sit up in alarm, but hands-human hands-gently pushed her back down. She looked up for the first time, to see the two who had first spoken. One was an older woman, with kind blue eyes. Her exact age was impossible to determine; her hands and face were worn by weather and years of hard work. She had curly white hair that escaped in wisps from the handkerchief that held it back from her face; it fell in a long braid down her back.
The other belonged to a young man with dark eyes and hair. He bore a strong resemblance in his facial structure to the woman, but the coloring was entirely different. His skin was smooth and dark, almost olive, his hands long and slender. Where she looked like a typical wise woman, he looked rather like a highwayman.

“Welcome to Willowood,” said the woman, smiling. “I am Bèatrix. This is Tristan, my grandson, of a sort.”

“Welcome,” echoed Tristan, already turning away. His dark liquid eyes darted everywhere but Bronwyn’s face, and he seemed distinctly uncomfortable now she was awake.

“B-Bèatrix?” whispered Bronwyn fearfully. Of course, she knew by now that true witches were few and far between, but she remembered the name Bèatrix as being one of the more renowned names associated with the Darkness.

She is NOT a witch, Bronwyn, muttered Enru. She is a most powerful Sorceress, and it just so happens her powers coincide with yours.

The test, the memory of the bears, and then-the flying? All if it came back to Bronwyn in a rush. She collapsed, exhausted, back against her pillow, her eyelids drifting closed.

“Yes, dear, rest now. We shall awaken you to eat soon, but for now, sleep.” Bèatrix smoothed the young girl’s hair from her brow; her fingers glowed faintly blue for a moment as she helped ease Bronwyn to sleep.

Bèatrix now turned her gaze on Enru. It was no longer kindly; her blue eyes flashed.
“Her powers coincide with mine, do they?” she asked quietly, but the undercurrent of anger was unmistakable in her voice.

Aye, Lady, they do. She is of the Healers. There is no mistaking it. Enru hopped off Bronwyn’s bed. Let us continue this elsewhere, so that we do not disturb her.

They adjourned to the kitchen, a spacious room with an open fire at one end. In front of the fireplace was an enormous trestle table, ancient and scarred with use. Bèatrix went to the fire and poked at it, stirring the flames higher around a large black cast-iron stewpot hanging from its hook. Delicious smells bubbled forth with the steam rising from its surface, and Enru jumped hopefully to the edge of the bench nearest Bèatrix.

“So, cat,” she said, not looking at him. “Tell me of her Test.”

While Bèatrix bustled about, preparing tea, Enru explained the bear cub and its mother, and how he could see Bronwyn trying to help the cub in its pain. She did not attack it once she knew it was hurting, he said. She followed it and tried to help, before the mother-construct appeared. Then she began running.

“And I suppose she found a hill and launched herself off of it?” asked Bèatrix sarcastically, sitting at the table with a steaming earthenware mug of chamomile tea.

Actually, yes. It was all I could do to follow her here, even after shedding my physical form. Bèatrix blinked in surprise.

“She led you here? Not the other way around?” she asked, setting her mug down.

Aye, Lady. She led me here, and she had already shed her own physical form. He paused. She’s never done it before; she will be most disturbed to wake up unclothed.

“Well, then I had better get some garments made for her soon, then!” Bèatrix stood and disappeared up a narrow set of stairs, creaking with each step. Some time later the creaks announced her return; she entered the room with an armful of red and white cloth.
“If she is truly my new ward, then I shall make her some garments. We shall tell the villagers she is my new apprentice in midwifery, and they will be none the wiser. They never are.” Bèatrix snorted. “Fifty generations and you’d think there’d be some legends, but I certainly have never heard any, nor has Tristan. In any of our forms.”

That’s disturbing, murmured Enru. There should be something, you are most correct. I shall look into it.

“You’ll have plenty of time, too. How old is she, fourteen?”

She is seventeen and will have your head if you call her younger. She has always been small; I, too, was surprised at how…little…she was when I first saw her. Enru’s tone was musing. But she is very pretty. You’ll have to watch Tristan.

“Tristan can watch himself,” said the young man, entering the kitchen through the back door. “He is, after all, a big boy.” He rummaged in a cupboard until Bèatrix scolded.

“What are you doing, child? There’s soup in the pot, and bread on the cutting board, and cheese in the cellar. Don’t be messing my organization.” She sighed, exasperated. Tristan retrieved a bowl and spoon sheepishly from the sink and approached the cauldron.

“It is edible, I suppose?” he asked cautiously.

“It’s soup, like I said. If you can’t tell the difference with your nose then you deserve to eat my tinctures.” Bèatrix sniffed injuriously. This was clearly a common occurrence, Tristan eating her medicinal brews.

“And if you can’t tell the difference between my herbs and yours, you deserve to have a headache for four days. You’re supposed to smoke it, not eat it, Bèatrix,” shot back Tristan, grinning.

Her mouth dropped open and she turned away, grumbling. He chuckled, ladling the stew into his bowl and tearing a chunk of bread to dip in it. Enru watched hungrily.

“Oh, all right, mangy beast. You’re worse than a barn cat in the rain.” Enru flattened his ears.

Barn cat, am I? In a blink, Tristan had turned into a filthy pig, snorting with surprise and laughter. You appear to be rather dirty, you little swine.

“Enough!” thundered Bèatrix. “Your Knowledge is supposed to be used for good, not for turning each other into toads, you frivolous children!” And abruptly, both Enru and Tristan were toads, which Bèatrix scooped up and set in a jar with a plate on top. “Serves you right. You can just hop around for a bit while I finish supper and make this dress.” With that, Bèatrix settled down near the fire, her gnarled old hands going in and out of the fabric with a flash of her needle. Occasionally she cast a dark look at the jar when it rattled, but other than that, quiet reigned in the kitchen for the next several hours.