I
“Flora!”
The baker’s child was racing up the forest path in a flush, frizzy hair flying. Flora hoisted her skirt and hurried up the path to meet her, scattering birds and moths as she went. They flapped irritably into the dawn, but Flora paid them no mind. They did not understand the responsibilities of a witch in a mortal world, and Flora was desperately needed in the village.
“Vita!” Flora cried as the girl crashed into her. Flora gripped her small shoulders to keep her steady. “What has happened?”
“She is much worse,” the girl panted. “Please, hurry.”
This is exactly what she had feared most. She should have stayed overnight.
The pair made their way quickly through the trees and the cobbled town square, then burst through the front door of the bakery with a crash.
“She’s upstairs,” the girl gasped. When they reached the top, Flora hesitated outside of the door, breathing deeply. She waited for her pulse to slow, then reached up and gave a light knock.
“Caius?” Flora asked softly. “It’s Flora. May I come in?”
“Please. Welcome,” came the baker’s dim voice from inside the chamber. Flora pushed gingerly, and the door creaked open.
Mere days ago, Caius’s sister Sylvia had been in her habitually high spirits. She could be seen laughing in the town square, carefully pressing warm hand pies into the palms of clamoring children. Flora had always likened her to a whitetail deer: gentle and graceful, with great brown eyes and tawny hair. Her presence was quiet as their hooves on fresh grass, but she could always lend humor to Caius’s seriousness. In turn, he anchored her flightiness.
Flora came to their family bakery every week to buy a loaf of bread, watching amusedly as Sylvia slipped extra treats into Flora’s basket and Caius half-heartedly scolded her from the kitchen. Anyone who met her would have said she was a flower in spring. Then the coughing started.
What began as an itch in her throat had become violent fits that left her gasping for air. First, she only carried half a basket of goods to sell. Then, she sat on a stool outside of the shop. Eventually, she did not come outside to sell at all.
When Caius first came to her, Flora gave the baker a tea for her cough, then a calming spell to soften her fits. It helped, but not enough. Her fever was making her wearier than ever. Flora brought her a cooling potion of mint. Again, this helped, but the fever crept higher, until finally poor Sylvia had not the strength to leave her bedroom. But at least when Flora saw her last, she had been sitting up, able to talk. This time, she lay silent.
Flora approached Sylvia’s bedside uneasily. The woman had begun to breathe shallowly, shivering under her blankets yet shining with sweat. Flora reached two fingers to her damp neck. A moth’s flutter of a pulse.
“This is...”
Flora trailed off, looking to Caius. He sat, holding his moon-eyed daughter to his chest with stiff arms. She cleared her throat to avoid finishing her sentence.
“We will need to act quickly and strongly,” she said instead. “White bryony, in the morning and again at night. A tea of thyme and ivy in the morning and afternoon...”
Flora took the glass vials from her bag and set them on the table, speaking as she rummaged. Caius nodded, listening carefully and muttering the names to himself. She waited as his calloused fingers tapped the vials, repeating the information until he knew it by heart, then she pulled out a small, clear quartz.
Flora clasped it in her hands and closed her eyes. She breathed slowly, feeling around for the magic that pooled inside her. It shimmered just beneath her skin, ripples rolling gently in a still pond, waiting for her direction. Dea, quaeso te, ut des salutem et sanitatem, she said to herself. There was a small tug, then a thimble of magic sighed through her fingertips like a breath curling in cold air. The quartz accepted it easily, glowing softly with a white light that warmed her hands. A living piece of magic. She turned towards Caius and his daughter, stretching it towards them.
“This is a healing spell. Keep it next to her bedside until it grows dim, and I will refresh it when I return,” she said, sifting through the rest of her bag “And...and I will bring some energizing draughts, to take with her tea. I don’t have any fresh ones.”
Caius nodded solemnly, taking one of Sylvia’s pale hands tightly in his own. She was motionless beside them.
“Thank you, miss,” he said quietly. “How can I repay such gifts?”
“Oh, our usual loaf of bread will do,” Flora said hurriedly.
“Vita?” Caius asked, “Please, go fetch a loaf of bread from the store, the loaves with walnuts. And some tarts. And bring them in one of our baskets as well, for Flora’s journey home.”
The little girl ran out the door before Flora could protest.
“I really must insist,” he told her as Vita left the room. “I know...I know you are not sure of her yet. But I suspect I may spend a lifetime repaying you for what you have done for us.”
His red eyes were warm with trust, hope. Flora’s stomach twisted.
“Nothing is certain, Caius,” she said. “I wish I could do more, but-.”
“We talk often in the village of how grateful we are that Madrigal trained you in her place.”
This only tightened her stomach further. Thankfully Vita’s return kept her from having to reply.
“Here, Flora,” Vita called, bounding into the room. She thrust the basket into her hands, the baked goods wrapped in cloth to keep them fresh.
“And what do we say to people who do kind things for us?” Caius asked his daughter.
“Thank you, miss,” Vita said dutifully. “For healing my Aunty Sylvia.”
Flora smiled weakly as Sylvia took a great rattling breath behind them. She glanced at her frail figure, then hurried to button her cloak.
“You’re welcome, dear,” she replied to her. “I will return this afternoon with some elixirs. Will I see you on the road?”
Vita nodded and Flora gave her a tight smile, then she turned and padded back down the stairs.
