The Lazy Dragon and Bumblespells Wizard (4 page)

Jumping over a washing tub, Moire Ain knew where
to go. The river. Water was the thing the old witch hated most. Moire Ain sprinted faster, hugging the book so close its worn beige cover could have melted into her skin. She didn't waste breath yelling the truth that she had stolen nothing.

At the river end of the village, Moire Ain threw herself into the lush bushes surrounding the Greenfields' home. She only meant to stop for a moment and then run again, but her shrunken stomach betrayed her.

The smell of baking bread drew her onto her feet. She stood up, breathing in a warm meal, the kind she rarely had. She closed her eyes and tasted food shared with a smiling family. As she pictured steamy slices of bread passed down a long wooden table, she watched her own hand try to take a hunk, but the bread vanished, and she was jerked back to reality by shouting voices.

Moire Ain turned to run again, but she slammed into the soft bosom of Goodwife Greenfield. The woman grabbed Moire Ain by both arms and pulled her into the family's hut.

Moire Ain's heart nearly broke. She'd been captured without even getting out of the village. The goodwife she had pretended was her mother was about to turn her over to the witch.

“Quiet,” Goodwife Greenfield said. She shoved Moire Ain deeper into the hut, keeping a hand on her
arm. Not letting go, the peasant turned and blocked the doorway.

Moire Ain knew there was only one escape. Unlike Hedge-Witch's molding straw shack, this thatched home had a small window opening. Moire Ain eyed it, sure she was skinny enough to fit through. No one was keeping her prisoner until Hedge-Witch arrived.

Moire Ain tried to shake them away, but tears of betrayal stung her eyes. That the goodwife would give Moire Ain back to the witch hurt more than she could bear. How wrong Moire Ain had been about Goodwife Greenfield. It didn't mean a thing after all that unlike the rest of the village, she had never shooed Moire Ain away or hooked her fingers at Moire Ain in the sign to fend off evil.

Moire Ain wriggled as hard as her dirt-encrusted body would allow and finally pulled out of Goodwife Greenfield's grasp. If she was going back to Hedge-Witch, first she'd save her book. She'd hide it. Somehow, but where?

“Quiet!” Goodwife Greenfield said again. “Hide.” With a hooking motion, she shoved Moire Ain behind her tall, well-padded self.

Moire Ain's heart whispered with hope.

“Did you see the little thief?” Hedge-Witch's shrill voice pierced the hut.

“Why, good morning to you, Goodwitch,” Goodwife
Greenfield said, ignoring the question. “What brings you to my home? I need no cures. We do not have illness here, but I think the Brownbarks' cow is not giving milk. They'd welcome you, surely. Where is your assistant?”

“She's run away, the little thief!” Hedge-Witch hissed.

“A thief? What did she steal?” Goodwife Greenfield moved back a step, and Moire Ain danced backward with her.

For a second, there was silence, but finally Hedge-Witch spit out, “My book!”

Moire Ain stifled a gasp. How did Hedge-Witch know about her book?

“Book? But I thought you did not read. You said you gained all your knowledge of healing from the gods.” Goodwife Greenfield's arms flailed toward the ceiling.

“Oh, indeed,” Hedge-Witch stammered. “I said my boot. Didn't you hear me?” she said, acid lacing her words.

Goodwife Greenfield snorted, and Moire Ain knew the goodwife wasn't fooled. “Boot?” Goodwife Greenfield said. “You wear boots? How you've prospered. No one else in the village can spare animal hide for boots. I see though that you are not wearing even one boot now. Did you own just a single boot?”

“Never mind,” Hedge-Witch snarled. As angry as she was, the old crone would not dare to strike someone as
beloved by the village as the goodwife. With the crowd gathering out in the road, she would not be able to do anything to Goodwife Greenfield. Her next words were extra angry with the frustration. “If you see the little thief, send her back to me.”

“Because she stole your boot?” Goodwife Greenfield said with more than a little sarcasm.

“I don't like the tone of your voice, Goodwife Greenfield,” Hedge-Witch hissed. “It would be a shame if your pigs died.”

Goodwife Greenfield stepped forward, away from Moire Ain. “
Are
you threatening me, Hedge-Witch? I would not like to report to the warden that you threatened a free citizen of Albion. Such things are frowned on. Even from old women with only one phantom boot.”

In all her years of living with Hedge-Witch, Moire Ain had never heard anyone challenge the old hag. Hedge-Witch had made a point of telling Moire Ain that everyone believed it was always Moire Ain's fault when a cure went wrong.

“Hrumph.” Moire Ain heard the slap of Hedge-Witch's bare feet as she trotted back over the stone threshold and down the dirt road.

Goodwife Greenfield turned to Moire Ain. “Little one, I think you must get far away. I know you stole nothing, but she's a vengeful old crone. Whatever she's furious about, it is better if you flee. It's past time you
made your own way, struck out on your own.”

“Yes. Yes.” Moire Ain nodded. “Thank you for not telling her I was here. You were brave.”

Goodwife Greenfield shook her head. “I'm glad it appeared such, but I was most certainly fearful. Hedge-Witch is more perilous an enemy than many believe.”

Goodwife Greenfield reached a calloused hand out and stroked Moire Ain's tangled hair before she could dart away. “If any of us were truly brave, we would have freed you years ago. Don't think for a moment that any in the village credit Hedge-Witch when she blames you for the evil she attempts. She's a vile old troll. I wish we were all free of her.”

Moire Ain wanted to tell Goodwife Greenfield about the murder conspiracy and the old book she'd found buried by the river, the book she still hugged close to her skinny chest beneath her ragged robe.

But Goodwife Greenfield walked over to a thick wooden shelf upon which a stone pot sat. Lifting the cloth covering, she took out a hunk of bread and a chunk of cheese. She wrapped them in the scrap of cloth that had been the pot's lid. “Do you have a pouch to carry food in?”

Moire Ain shook her head. Goodwife Greenfield untied the leather strap around her tunic and slipped off an old leather pouch. She laid the contents, a few herbs, on the small table under the shelf. Waving her hand
over the plants, she said, “I do not call Hedge-Witch to cure my family or animals. I know a little about potions, but I'd prefer no one was aware of my skills.” She looked into Moire Ain's eyes.

Moire Ain nodded. Keeping secrets from Hedge-Witch was always a good idea.

Tucking the bread and cheese into the pouch, Goodwife Greenfield said, “If you have anything else to hide in your pouch, I think you can have privacy in the corner. I suggest you hurry. I hear my children outside shaking river water on each other. Do you like to swim?” The goodwife bit her lips.

Moire Ain knew Goodwife Greenfield was afraid she'd insulted Moire Ain. Witches did not swim or go near water. Which was one way Moire Ain was definitely not like Hedge-Witch. “I love to swim,” Moire Ain said.

Moire Ain took the pouch from Goodwife Greenfield's outstretched hand. “I give you thanks.” She gulped, her throat swollen on the words. For the second time, tears she'd sworn many beatings ago never to shed tried to slide out. All this kindness overwhelmed her. Moire Ain ducked her head to hide her eyes at the same time she tucked the book into the pouch, behind the cheese.

Goodwife Greenfield squatted down until she was even with Moire Ain's swampy eyes. “I trust the lessons
were sufficient, and that you can read the book you are willing to steal and run away with.”

“I didn't steal the book.” Moire Ain looked up, tying her rope belt and securing the pouch to her ragged robe. “You knew?”

Goodwife Greenfield smiled. “Of course. It wasn't just to entertain my children that I taught them out under the trees. And I would not normally speak so loudly as to enable a child hiding in a tree to hear me. Or flail my arms in the air to demonstrate how a letter or word is made before scratching it in the dirt.”

Moire Ain wiped her running nose on her tattered robe's arm. “I give you my thanks,” was all she could squeak.

“I wish I could have done more. The whole village wishes we could have done more. But we are a cowardly bunch.”

Moire Ain patted Goodwife Greenfield's arm. She didn't blame the village for their fear. They didn't even know how truly wicked or powerful the hedge-witch living in their tiny village was. Moire Ain had no idea why the old crone lived here, but she was certain that secret was connected to the trips Hedge-Witch took every few months. She'd usually return grumpy and muttering about “waiting, and better be worth it.” To cheer herself, Hedge-Witch would give Moire Ain some horrendous cure to deliver, up a cow's butt or down a
pig's gullet.

Goodwife Greenfield gathered Moire Ain in a hug. “Start your journey, Moire Ain. And the gods be with you.”

Moire Ain hugged back, awkwardly, since she'd never had a hug before, or given one. It felt better than warm bread.

After a couple of seconds, Moire Ain ran out of the house. Stopping behind a bush, she listened. The Greenfield children chattered around the side of the hut. Down the road nearer her own hut, Hedge-Witch screamed at the villagers to stop lying and tell her where Moire Ain hid. Crouching low, Moire Ain dashed behind the Greenfields' hut and into the woods. She was headed for the one thing Hedge-Witch hated and feared—running water—the only protection she could think of for herself and the book.

Before Moire Ain could get far, she heard the Greenfield children coming. She climbed into her favorite tree to hide while they filed into their home. Farther off she saw Hedge-Witch storm up and down the village demanding the peasants allow her to search their huts. But each villager had an excuse for not allowing her entry. As her screaming grew louder, first a haystack, then a chicken coop caught fire.

Moire Ain wanted to jump down and help the villagers, but Goodwife Greenfield popped around the back of her hut and shook her head at Moire Ain's tree. “Go!” the goodwife said.

The goodwife was right, but Moire Ain gripped her branch harder, forcing herself to wait for the chance to run. Below her, as each peasant refused to help, Hedge-Witch screamed that she would burn the entire village.

Goodie Ash shook her head at Hedge-Witch and said, “I do not believe the girl be evil. The child was nowhere around when my mam died. But you were.”

Goodie Bram yelled from her hut, “It wasn't the girl who gave me that black potion that killed my ailing pigs. Leave the girl alone.”

Never before had the villagers protected Moire Ain. Butterflies brushed soft wings across her heart as she realized Goodwife Greenfield wasn't the only one who didn't believe Hedge-Witch's awful lies.

As the villagers marched out of their huts and banded together to put out the fires, Hedge-Witch's face flushed redder and redder. Moire Ain felt guilty. If the old crone did something even more horrible to the villagers, it would be Moire Ain's fault. She had run from Hedge-Witch to avoid murdering a king, but if she didn't step forward, she'd be the reason a whole village burned to the ground or got the sinking sickness and died.

Hedge-Witch was only yards from the Greenfields' hut when the crone's fingers began the tracings in the air to bring the illness miasma from the rotted place.

Moire Ain had to surrender. She'd stay and find another way to stop Hedge-Witch from using her to murder that king. Maybe her new book had an easy spell she could cast to send Hedge-Witch into a deep sleep. That would give Moire Ain time to find a way to stop Hedge-Witch for good.

Her hands making the final bigger circles to call the sickness, Hedge-Witch stomped up to the Greenfields'
hut. The old crone stood screaming that she would see to it that all the Greenfield children died horrible deaths if her slave was not returned. Before Moire Ain could drop down out of the tree to surrender, Goodwife Greenfield sailed out her front door. Carrying a huge cauldron of water, she stumbled on the threshold and lost control of the pot.

The crystalline water Moire Ain had seen the two oldest Greenfield children tote home splashed over Hedge-Witch. The old hag howled in pain.

Goodwife Greenfield yelled, “Hedge-Witch is possessed! Look how a demon has taken her. Hear how the clear spring water burns her skin.”

The villagers ringed around the old witch as she whirled, screaming for someone to bring her rags to soak up the water. While the murmuring circle surrounded Hedge-Witch, the smallest of the Greenfield children slipped behind their home and scampered beneath Moire Ain's tree.

“Momma says run. Run through the river. Go fast. Go now. Old witch won't hurt us. Old witch too afraid of water.” The little boy tugged at the hank of hair covering his eye and scooted back to the circle. He grabbed hold of his mother's hand. She leaned down, and he whispered into her ear. Neither looked Moire Ain's way, but she was certain he was reporting back to his mother.

Moire Ain dropped out of the tree and ran faster
than she ever had. The villagers were distracting the witch so she could escape, and she would. When the river came into view, she hesitated. If she jumped in and swam, she'd damage her precious book. She looked around. Nearly submerged in racing water, spanning the river from one side to the other stretched a slippery road of boulders. In the late summer, the boulders weren't wet, rising above the river in that dry season. But today the high water made the rocks too dangerous to use as a bridge. Moire Ain looked for another way to cross the river while protecting her book. She spotted a bright rag and hemp rope hanging from a tree branch that nearly stretched all the way across the river. She'd watched the village children play here, swinging out on the rope and dropping into the deep middle of the river.