Brigit cupped the bird in one hand and brought the line of feathers she’d made from colored scraps closer to the extended wing, cursing because this was a delicate operation. A witch needed a good pair of reading glasses if she was going to repair rot damage and damned if she knew where hers were. She squinted at the space where she’d cut the rot away, and then pressed down on the top of the new feathers with her index finger, rubbing back and forth so the glue would dry evenly.
“There,” she said. “Try it now.”
The woodpecker —a handsome fellow as large as her arm with a bright red crest and dark gray body— straightened and extended his wings. The repaired wing didn’t extend quite the same, but it had the benefit of the middle section being hot pink and teal now.
He squawked what Brigit decided to accept as a ‘thank you.’
“I’ll check the repair in the morning and then you can be on your way.” She ushered him into a large bird crate. “Stay away from the rot next time.”
Easier said than done. Ever since the demise of the three-headed goddess, rot had bloomed throughout the forest, eating holes in vegetation and animals alike. The priest for the new god blamed the people, demanded sacrifices, and suggested war as a way to revitalize the economy.
That’s why Brigit lived out here, a hermit in a cottage. She scratched behind her ear and felt the distinct shape of her glasses.
“Ha.” She removed them from the top of her head, plucking a hair out as she did. Faded red hair with an inch of gray at the root. She dropped the glasses inside her apron pocket and held the hair over a candle flame until it caught. No sense giving away power.
Time to clean up from the bird’s repair. Buttons returned to their jars, needles stabbed into a pincushion, spools of thread sorted by thickness and then color. A board against the wall held pliers and wrenches and a box of things that might be useful in the future, including an antique pocket watch.
Outside the window a squawking erupted from the hedge that surrounded Brigit’s cottage. The jays were no doubt being jerks again. But no, that was their warning cry.
Brigit looked out and gasped. People had advanced inside her hedge. This was no accident. The forest all around was filled with rot and Bruno wandered through it, allowing himself to be seen so as to keep visitors away. She was under attack. They’d sacrifice her to their god and then steal the food she’d grown through careful fight against rot. She may look old and helpless, but she wasn’t giving in without a fight.
Grabbing her broom, Brigit threw open the door and stomped across her patio and down the path, her rubber boots making a squelching noise.
“How dare you come into my garden!” Brigit gripped the handle of her broom with both hands, and glared, even as she adjusted her initial assessment.
The intruders stood at the bird feeders, gobbling the squares of yellow, red, and purple fruit she’d cut early this morning. The girl looked to be about sixteen, taller than Brigit. Juice ran down her chin in sticky rivulets. Next to her, the boy was younger and wore pants with holes in the knees and a scared expression. He thrust his hands, full of crushed fruit, behind his back as if to hide his thievery.
“It’s the witch.” The girl pivoted toward the forest. “Run, Gregor!”
Before he could, Jay Junior popped from the bushes and flew at the boy, divebombing again and again. The boy, Gregor, covered his head with his arms. Brigit didn’t blame him. JJ’s beak was made of silver and very sharp. She kept meaning to file the tip.
“Stay away from us.” The girl waved her arms in the air. “You monsters!”
JJ screeched for help and other birds emerged from the treetops. Movement at the forest’s tree line told Brigit that Bruno was nearby, lurking, watching to make sure she was okay. This was going to get nasty if she didn’t intervene.
“Enough,” Brigit yelled. She grabbed Gregor’s arm with one hand, dragging him toward the cottage.
“Let go of my brother,” the girl said, grabbing onto Brigit and plucking at her fingers. “I won’t let you eat us or turn us into monsters.”
Brigit stumbled, only the broom in her hand keeping her from falling on her face.
A low growling came from the forest a moment before a large wolf sprinted toward the hedge, clearing the vegetation, his silver leg shining.
Brigit pushed the two forward into the cottage and pulled the door shut behind her.
Gregor was shaking, but the girl was trying to get away and Brigit had neither the time nor the energy for this nonsense. She used the broom handle to shepherd them past the worktable to the kitchen.
“Sit.”
Gregor sat, eyes wide as he stared at her. The girl looked around the cottage, but Brigit was standing between her and the door. She sat down.
Brigit put her hands on her hips. Something wasn’t adding up. These two didn’t look like soldiers, not with juice dripping down their faces, but they did look half-starved.
Then she turned the boy around and said, “Who are you? Who else is in the woods?”
The boy shrank away, lifting his hands as if she were going to hit him.
“If you hurt him…you’ll be sorry.” The girl didn’t seem to know how to finish so she tapped her foot and then regathered steam. “We didn’t do anything to you. Now let us go.”
“You came through the gate onto my property, ate my food, and assaulted my animals.” Brigit scowled. “You’ve done quite enough.”
“We got lost and then something was chasing us. When we saw your house, we were hungry, and we needed to eat.”
Maybe that was true and maybe it wasn’t.
Brigit paced from the kitchen on one side of the house, past the table with the teenagers, to the craft table. More people wandering the woods meant that her cottage was exposed. She’d been fighting rot in the Borderlands for a long time, doing what she could to save the animals. If people came here, then they’d kill her animals because they were ‘unnatural.’ But, if these siblings were lost, then she had to figure out a way to get them back to the village.
The woodpecker in his cage lifted his wings, annoyed at all the fuss. Brigit opened the cage and let him step out onto her arm. “I am a witch, and this is one of my monsters.”
Nodding with a self-satisfied air, the girl crossed her arms over her chest.
“He can tell when people are lying and then he’ll squawk. Do you understand?” This wasn’t true at all, but she might as well lean into whatever the villagers said about her.
The girl tilted her head. “So, he’ll squawk if you lie too?”
Teenagers. They picked everything apart.
“I’m a person so the rule pertains to me as well.” She sat down in the empty chair. “There will be a group of villagers looking for you by now.”
“No one will look for us.” There was a dark tone to the way the girl said this that marked it as truth.
“What’s your name?”
“Ha! I know enough not to tell you. Then you’ll have power over me.”
Brigit prayed to the dead goddess for patience. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
The siblings looked at the bird, but he didn’t squawk.
Gregor made a fist with his thumb on the outside and made a circle on his chest. Then his hands moved together and he pointed to his head.
“No,” the girl said to Gregor. “She’s not nice. She deserves to be burned on a pyre as a sacrifice for Camulus.”
Brigit cocked her head and thought of a thousand sarcastic things to say, but went with, “Say that name in my house again and I’ll feed you to the wolf.”
Gregor made rapid motions with his hands.
“She wouldn’t dare let it in,” Hannah whispered to Gregor. “The monster would eat her too.”
“Why doesn’t Gregor talk?” Brigit asked, trying to fight her curiosity. It was obvious these children had been through a lot, but she had to stay impersonal and return them to the village. The last time she’d cared, she’d watched them chop off the dragon heads of the goddess, one by one, before throwing them, along with the goddess’s sacred body, into the sea. Staying in this little area of the woods and fighting rot were all Brigit had left.
“None of your business.”
They all looked at the woodpecker; he rubbed his beak at the bright new feathers with a satisfied air. Brigit sighed. It was so hard to depend on birds for help.
“Fine.” She stood up and pulled out two quilts from the hall closet behind Gregor’s chair. “I’ll show you where you can sleep.” She led the way to the back room where the walls were lined with canned goods and jellies.
The floor was clean, she swept it every day, and the blankets would keep them warm. This was better than leaving them to sleep out in the woods.
“You’re safe as long as you’re in here,” Brigit said. Then she shut the door to the back room like she’d pull a cover over a bird’s cage and went to bed.
Tired from a night of sleep disturbed by wondering how she was going to get her unwanted guests home, Brigit opened the door to the back room.
“I’m going to make breakfast. Would you like some?”
Gregor nodded an eager yes, but the girl, who was stretching her arms overhead, dropped her arms and shook her head. “You’re trying to fatten us up so you can eat us.”
Brigit laughed until she started coughing and had to catch her breath. “Is that what they say about me in the village?”
A clicking sound made all three look to the door. Then giant paws thudded against the door, making the glass rattle. One paw was silver, the other was fur. The wolf’s nose pressed against the door creating an oval of condensation.
The girl whimpered and took a step backward.
Brigit walked toward the door. “Hold your horses, Bruno, I’m coming.”
“Please, I’ll do anything. Don’t open the door.”
Brigit touched the doorknob. “What’s your name?”
“Hannah.” The girl’s voice was high-pitched with fear.
“Someone outside needs my help. Please be brave. I promise Bruno won’t hurt you.” She waited for Gregor’s short nod and Hannah’s more grudging one before opening the door.
The wolf trotted to the worktable, reared up and opened his mouth. A squirrel fell out and laid in a limp pile of red-brown fur. The body seemed fine, but the tail had rot.
Brigit felt a wave a fury and pity. Poor thing. An innocent victim in this power struggle between deities and humans. “What do we have here?” She stroked the wolf’s head, scratching behind Bruno’s ears. She began to hum as she went into the arts and crafts room and selected several supplies.
First, she used a razor to shave off the fur remaining on the tail. Then she put on gloves and squeezed the tail until moisture oozed out of it. A putrid odor filled the air and Hannah coughed from the back room.
Next, Brigit wiped her hands on her apron and squeezed a moulding clay into her dry hands. She rubbed back and forth to warm the material and then smoothed it around the squirrel’s tail so that the whole thing was thicker, the tailbone entirely encased. Using water, Brigit smoothed the clay and then went to a stack of tiny drawers and pulled out what looked like green doll hair. She measured the hair to the tail, snipped, and then began pressing chunks into the clay.
“I can’t see,” Hannah called, still unwilling to leave the back room.
Lost in the work, Brigit looked up, confused. Then she shifted to the side so Hannah and Gregor had a better view. When the tail was covered, Brigit carried the squirrel over to a spot of sunlight and carefully arranged its limbs.
“Well,” she said, putting her hands on her back and stretching. “That’s a way to start the morning.”
The wolf whined and Brigit laughed before disappearing into the kitchen. She reappeared a moment later with a bowl of water and set in on the floor. “Good work, Bruno.”
Hannah ventured forward a few steps. “Why are you doing that if you’re going to eat it?”
Brigit opened the woodpecker’s cage and tapped the repaired wing. “Why in the world would I eat the squirrel?” She looked at the wolf. “Bruno might, but not today. He’s a carnivore after all. Not much I can do about that.” Then Brigit hefted the bird cage and opened the door to outside. The woodpecker launched himself into the air and Brigit smiled, wishing him good flight.
“But,” Hannah looked at Gregor, who shrugged his shoulders. “If you’re not going to eat us and you’re not going to feed us to the wolf, why did you lock us in that room?”
Brigit gave them a stern look. “Because I have many things, magical or not, that I don’t want children to get into while I’m not around.”
Hannah swallowed. “That makes sense. We don’t know you and you don’t know us.”
“You can be my guests.” Brigit held up a finger, “But, if you try to attack me, I’ll send Bruno after you.”
Hannah nodded acceptance.
Brigit brought out plates of fruit and muffins with fruit baked inside. They were delicious, if she did say so. Judging by the speed with which the muffins disappeared, the siblings agreed.
Hannah closed her eyes as she enjoyed each bite. “We haven’t had anything this good in so long.”
“How long were you lost?”
“Only a day,” Hannah said. “But we’re on rations back home. Mother had to go to Camulus’s temple for our share.”
Brigit’s mind spun. Both children dirty and starving though they’d only been lost a day. Gregor shrinking away as if she would hit him. “And your father?”
“He died in the war. That’s when Gregor stopped talking. He can, you know, but he doesn’t.”
“Here, boy, eat another muffin.” Brigit’s voice came out gruff. “You’re nothing but skin and bones.”
“Thank you,” Hannah said for Gregor.
“How do I say ‘you’re welcome’?” Brigit said.
Gregor and Hannah looked at each other and then Gregor made a motion.
Brigit mimicked it and then stood up. “Now, taking care of you has put me behind in today’s chores. I’ll need your help to catch up and then I’ll lead you back to the village.”
Gregor nodded his head, but Hannah stood and stacked the plates and wouldn’t meet Brigit’s eyes.
The trees needed to be scrubbed today. Brigit hummed as she gathered the chisels, a bucket, and a broom.
Standing by the sink, Hannah rinsed the last plate in soapy water. “Can we stay one more night? Please?”
Gregor grabbed Hannah’s arm and used his other hand to touch his chin and then pantomimed stroking long hair.
Brigit didn’t need Hannah to tell her that Gregor wanted his mother. She rapped her knuckles against the worktable. “I’m very sorry, dearie, but I like living alone.” To change the topic, Brigit motioned Hannah closer and touched the squirrel’s tail. “See how it’s dry now?”
Hannah pet the green hair. It was fluffy and sprang back into place. “Why did you use green?”
“It’ll blend in with the leaves. Camouflage. Also, it’s pretty. Don’t you think?”
Hannah nodded and smiled.
“Here’s the magic part.” Brigit leaned forward over the animal and blew like she was blowing through a straw right into the squirrel’s face. Its bright, black eyes opened and it jumped to its feet, paws dangling and nose sniffing.
Brigit opened a window and the little squirrel hopped out and into the apple tree. “There we go,” she said with satisfaction. “It’s the love that wakes them up.”
“Your magic is kinda like what I did with my toy back home when all the stuffing came out,” Hannah said, marvelling. “Will you teach me how to do this magic?”
If no one was looking for the siblings, then there wasn’t such a rush. Having some extra hands would be a real help. Maybe another day wouldn’t hurt.
“Magic,” Brigit said, “is an easy word for what is mostly hard work.”
The siblings watched while Brigit showed them how to inspect the trees around the cottage.
“See the bark peeling up here?” Brigit pulled at the loose bark to reveal a dark gray ash, the first sign of rot. Later it would turn into a black tar and stick to whatever it touched, burning through bark, wing, or skin.
Gregor made frantic gestures to Hannah.
Brigit tried to figure them out, but Hannah interpreted. “We can’t get near rot. It’ll kill us. That’s why we have to keep moving inland. That’s why we have to attack the east. So we won’t run out of land.”
“Not true. We can take care of our own land. We just need gloves. And we have to burn the infected pieces.” Brigit sighed. “Look, gods and goddesses are selfish and they’re served by selfish humans. Everyone in power wants to help themselves. Camulus is a war god. More war equals more power for him.”
“He made the rot?” Hannah’s eyes were huge. “But the rot has always been around. It’s…real.” She shook her head. “We learn about it in school.”
“The rot didn’t come until the Morrigan was killed by Camulus. Our land reflects our leaders.”
“What’s the Morrigan?”
Brigit put on gloves and moved to a tree. She used a chisel to scrape the rotted section into the bucket. “A goddess with three parts: Badb, Macha, and Nemain. Each goddess had an affinity for plants, for animals, for children. Together, they confer sovereignty and that creates a bond with the land between spirit, human, and nature.” Brigit dipped the chisel into spackle to spread a nurturing paste over the bare spot. “This’ll keep bugs and new rot away. Then we breathe a blessing on the repair and give a little love.” Brigit patted the tree.
“I wish that the Morrigan was still in charge,” Hannah said, picking at a blade of grass. “Is there a way to bring her back?”
“It’s not all about gods and goddesses and who is in charge. It’s what we humans decide to do about it.” Brigit winked. “Besides, goddesses can be difficult to keep dead.”
Hannah looked at Gregor and took a deep breath. Then she put on a glove and used the chisel to pull up a piece of bark. Once he saw his sister working, Gregor joined in.
Brigit went inside to make lemonade and watched through the window. The kids were a little awkward —Gregor had his tongue between his teeth as he used the chisel— but they were taking it seriously. She went outside and handed him a drink, told him to take a break. Then she went over to Hannah.
They sat in the shade and watched while Bruno went up to Gregor. The boy held out a hand. Bruno sniffed it and Gregor smiled.
Then Bruno huffed and lay down beside Gregor. Scared, Gregor looked to Hannah, who looked to Brigit.
“Scratch behind his ears. He loves that.”
They watched in silence as Gregor scratched and Bruno closed his eyes in pleasure.
Hannah picked at a piece of grass. “You’re not what I thought a witch would be.”
“Hmm…” Brigit spread out on the grass and moved her rubber boots back and forth. “What did you think I would be like?”
Shaking her head, Hannah whispered, “I don’t know.” Then she took a deep breath. “They told us the Borderlands are dangerous. That the rot will kill us. That witches and monsters live here.”
“All true.” Brigit watched her monster roll onto his back so that the boy could rub his belly.
“But it was my step-father who brought us here.” Her voice hitched. “On purpose. While my mother was away. He told us not to come back. That he would tell my mother we’d been killed by the monsters in the forest.”
Brigit tried to keep herself calm, but the same instinct that made her protect the animals was waking inside.
“My mother said he’d be able to take care of us, protect us. Because he’s one of the high priests for Camulus.”
Chills swept over Brigit and she had to look up at the leaves in the tree so Hannah wouldn’t see her expression. “Of course, he is,” she murmured.
Witches are attuned to the music strings of the universe, but what Bridgit heard now was no gentle whisper. This was claws against strings. And she got to be a part of whatever was happening. Terrifying and thrilling.
“But.” Hannah turned away, though Brigit could still hear. “He can be really mean to us.”
“I believe you,” Brigit said, voice low so that Gregor wouldn’t hear, but with enough conviction that Hannah would feel it. “You don’t have to prove it to me or show me the scars. I believe you.”
Hannah stayed turned around and Brigit touched her shoulder and then stood up to give her privacy. It was getting dark. Too dangerous to travel through the Borderlands even with Bruno. A small voice of reason inside tried to argue, but she squelched it. These children needed her help.
“Alright, I need everyone over here for this part.”
Gregor and Hannah, who’d wiped her face on her sleeve, came over. Brigit used her broom to sweep a clear area off to the side of the porch. Then she set the bucket of contaminated rot in the middle and set it on fire.
“Fire, fire burning bright, light the darkness of the night.” Brigit chanted the words and then Hannah and Gregor began to dance in the dusk, adding their voices to hers. When the rot was burned, Brigit added a packet of sage on top to cleanse the air.
Pleased with the day, maybe even a little reckless, Brigit called Hannah over to the tree they’d scraped earlier.
“Take those feelings you have inside, the positive ones, and then rub the tree. You’ll be able to call forth new bark.”
“I can’t touch it without gloves.”
“You can,” Brigit said, placing her own hand on the tree. She allowed her love for the tree to flow from her, humming as she encouraged the tree to trust her, to try again. Little patches of roughness formed, she imagined like scabs on a wound. Brigit stepped back. “Your turn.”
Hannah placed her shaking hand where Brigit’s had been. “Grow,” she said, but she was already pulling her hand away so that only her fingertips touched. “Grow.”
Hannah shook her head. “It doesn’t work. You have to be born a witch.”
Disappointed, Brigit said, “It was too soon. You can’t forget your fear of rot in one day.” She looked out into the evening at the way the light touched all the trees and flowers that she knew so well. “The trick, though, is to think less about what’s making you afraid and more about what you love.”
With a lazy lope, Bruno disappeared into the woods for dinner and they went inside for their own. Afterwards, looking tired, Hannah started toward the back room.
“I guess you two can sleep in the spare bedroom. But I’m taking you home first thing in the morning.” It was as much an admonition to the children as to herself. She was growing too fond of them.
The spare bedroom had two beds. Right after Hannah climbed into hers, Bruno howled from outside, his metal paw clicking against the glass. Brigit straightened from tucking the girl in. “There’s another rescue tonight.”
Together, they rushed toward the door.
Brigit lifted the candle and saw a human form draped across the wolf’s back. Someone else lost in the Borderlands. When the wolf came in through the door, Hannah clutched her chest. “Mom!”
Tearstains marked a path through the dirt on the woman’s face. Blood on her arms suggested struggling through brambles. Ripped clothing and no shoes suggested haste. Fleeing from one danger into another.
“Help me get her to the worktable.” Brigit supported the woman’s head and the children hefted her slight body up.
Foreboding made Brigit’s hands clumsy as she searched for a heartbeat. Nothing there. She rolled up the woman’s sleeves and saw the fresh bruises. A fight. After the children had been “lost.” Brigit shook her head. “I’m so sorry, children. Your mother has died of a broken heart.”
“You can fix this,” Hannah said, her voice high like a young child’s. “You fix the rot and the squirrel and the trees.”
Brigit licked her dry lips. “This isn’t the same.”
“Please,” Hannah begged. “Please try.” A wavy image of a decapitated dragon head appeared in the air above Hannah, only to disappear when Brigit blinked her eyes.
Power was in the room tonight.
Brigit swallowed and then looked at the work bench. How does one make a heart? Metal like a wolf’s paw? Satin scraps like a bird’s wing? The pocket watch. It had waited for a use for years. Now it was, quite literally, time.
“I can’t,” Brigit said, “but I can help you to do it.”
“I’m not ready.” Hannah’s eyes widened. “This is too important to mess up.”
“You told me about fixing your toy. This is the same. Everything you need is over there.” She nodded at the art supplies, the crafting materials, the hand tools. “Remember, magic is an easy word for what is mostly hard work. Think about what you love, not what you fear.”
“Yes, I can do it.” Hannah calmed and nodded her head. “Gregor, you need to help me.”
The three worked through the night: cutting, sewing, using candle wax as glue. Every bit had a memory and Brigit made Hannah hold the materials as she described her mother singing at bedtime, promising that things would get better, standing in line for hours to get food for the family. When Gregor cried, Brigit held the cotton to his face to absorb his tears and then gave it back to Hannah.
When they were finished, they had a heart with the pocket watch as the centre. Encasing it was a satin flower petal— purple because Mother loved purple and a flower to represent beauty. Cotton padding because Mother was soft. A smooth stone painted with three stick figures because Mother was strong, too. A piece of elastic because Brigit said every heart should have room to grow. Everything sewn by hand.
“Last step,” Brigit said. She was scared this wouldn’t work, that Gregor and Hannah’s hearts were now in danger of breaking. All six hands placed the chain around Mother’s neck so that the new heart settled outside of the broken one.
Brigit made the sacrifice. “You’re safe here,” she said. “With your children. You can stay. You can all stay.”
The heart-clock ticked and then again. And a third time, but it was too slow. It wasn’t enough.
“I love you.” Hannah sniffled back her tears. “Please, Mama. You’ve found us.”
Gregor nudged Hannah away and looked into his mother’s face. “Mom,” he said. His voice was rusty, unused, but the words were clear. “Come home.”
Ticking marked the seconds passing.
Brigit narrowed her eyes. It seemed like the heart was settling more deeply, but maybe that was wishful thinking.
“Ah,” Hannah straightened. “I understand.” She held Gregor’s hand and her mother’s too, but looked at Brigit. “Thank you for the invitation to stay, but I can’t. I need to go and tell other villages about the rot. That magic is hard work, but I can teach them.”
Brigit nodded, admiration shining through her. Hannah made the heart, Hannah had to make the sacrifice. “I’ll keep your mother and brother safe until you return.”
Mother’s eyes fluttered open. Her hand went to the watch-flower-cotton-rock on her chest. She sat up and opened her arms wide.
Bruno howled, his animal instincts overcome by the emotion in the cottage. Brigit’s chin wobbled with the same.
Hannah and Gregor climbed on the work table to envelop their mother in a hug, Hannah pulling Brigit in a moment later and Bruno put his mismatched paws up so he could shove his nose into the mess of human bodies.
The morning sun shined in through the window and the hug released. The faint, steady ticking of Mother’s new heart filled the silence. Gregor made circles with his thumb and index and rotated them.
“Family.” Hannah let out a shaky breath. “Couldn’t have said it better.”
