I'm thinking about doing like a serialized story or something on here, just kind of kicking around ideas and seeing what sticks. I was rummaging through my extensive list of projects and found this and thought it might fun to re-do and then extend out into a serialized story? Hmm.
I do kind of like the notion of the setting, though. I get a Spirited Away sort of vibe from it. And the Witch is actually a character I remember...
Chapter One
Jeron stood in the large courtyard, sitting before the stone
fountain, as he waited for his father to emerge from the merchant’s shop. It
was one of the myriad old villages, one that had no doubt stood for generations
– going from the old, mossy stone well, the ancient temple with its statues, so
weathered that their facial features were barely recognizable or the age of the
population: most were elderly, with gray or white hair, talking to each other
in slow ways about methods that sounded especially dull.
His father emerged moments later, heavy sacks of grain on
his back. “Right. There’s more inside. Go get them.”
Jeron leaped up, just happy for something to do and stepped
inside the dim coolness of the store, where the innkeeper stood polishing the
counter. He looked up.
“Ah. Blessings to you. Your items are there.”
He pointed to the heavy pile of sacks of grain and supplies.
“And, lad. I would be wary if I were you. Beyond the ancient gates lays grave
danger.”
“Uh – thanks,” Jeron said. “I think I can take care of
myself, though.”
“Do not stray from the path,” the storekeeper said. “The old
spirits will strip you of your flesh, devour your bones and you will become one
of them, haunting the woods.”
“Okay? I’ll keep it mind,” Jeron said, not really listening.
“Pretty sure that there won’t be anything – we didn’t see anything on the way
over and we passed through the gates without being decapitated.”
“But the Days of Shadows began while you were in the
village. Go now, tread carefully.”
Shaking his head, Jeron picked up a sack full of grain and
headed outside, loading it into the village. He continued this for some time,
his father, no doubt, was patronizing the local tavern, enjoying a cup of ale
before they headed on home.
“You are the traveler’s son, boy?” an ancient woman now
stepped in front of him and Jeron stopped, staring.
“Yeah…who are you?”
“The priestess of the Shrine,” she said. “You should wait to
return.”
“You may want to take that up with my dad…” Jeron said.
“He’s kind of the one in charge of when we leave…”
“I tried. He would not listen.”
“Well, he definitely won’t listen to me,” Jeron said, aware
that he was probably being rude. “So if you don’t mind…”
“Take this for the journey home. You will need it and all of
your wits.” She handed him a slender flower, a pale orange and red in color,
with a slender yellow stalk.
Her grip tightened around his arm, showing surprising
strength for an elderly woman. “Promise that you will not let the flower leave
your person. It is your only hope.”
“Okay, okay,” Jeron said, now somewhat alarmed. “I promise.”
Her grip relaxed and she nodded, accepting his assurance.
“Good.”
She turned and left. He examined the flower carefully,
before he shrugged and put it in his pocket. An hour later, they were ready to leave,
his father climbing on top of the wagon, slightly tipsy from one too many ales.
“Why do all the villagers think that we shouldn’t leave?” he
asked suddenly.
“One too many superstitions is all.” His father grunted in
reply. He flicked the reins and passed beyond the gates. As the darkness fell,
mist began to creep in. It grew thicker and thicker, weaving among the dead or
dying trees.
“I don’t like this…” Jeron said. Water dripped from the
trees.
“Bah. Calm down. It’s just a bit of fog.”
“There’s no sound either,” Jeron said. “I think we should
turn back.” He looked longingly back towards the village. But it was gone, lost
in the trees and mist. The path was gradually swallowed the further in they
went, until at last they could no longer see anything.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something move,
rustling through the thick underbrush and he found that he clutched the flower
in his pocket. His father, however, took no notice and kept driving.
The fog grew denser, coiling steadily around the pair of
them. Things rustled and moved in the forest. Twice more, he saw the thing out
of the corner of his eye.
“Home is right ahead. See? Nothing to worry about,” his
father said. Jeron looked ahead. There was nothing but the trees. A vile
looking raven landed on a branch, and let out a harsh caw. Jeron bit his lip.
“Dad, there’s nothing there. Just more forest.”
“Don’t be stupid, Jeron. We’re here now.” And he stopped the
wagon, in the middle of the road and climbed off. “Just take the grain to the
granary. I’m going to check in with your mother.” He walked right towards a
tree and disappeared suddenly, into it.
“Dad…!” but there was nothing. He was gone. Jeron was left
alone with the cart.
“So, dear boy. You’ve lost your way and now have nowhere
left to turn. Well, well, well…” a hissing, clicking noise filled his ears as a
giant spider appeared in his vision, a hump-backed witch, her eyes pointing in
opposite directions appeared.
“I…uh…” he said. “Who are you?”
“I am the Witch Who Lives In the Woods, of course. What is
your name?”
“J-Jeron.”
“Hmm. A human name. The Days of Significance must be upon
us.”
“The what?”
“Oh, never mind. You’re just a silly human. I forgot. In any
case, you’d best climb on.” She tapped the spider and it obligingly lowered
itself to the ground. As little as he wanted to, Jeron slowly, reluctantly
climbed on the back of the creature.
“And off we go!” the king-sized spider climbed and scuttled
through the trees rapidly, the Witch Who Lives in the Woods appeared to be
enjoying herself immensely.
“Do you have an actual name?” Jaron asked.
“Eh? I told you my name. Though if you feel like giving me
one of your silly human nicknames, you may. I’ve picked up quite a few of them
from various villages, who worshipped me as a goddess for some reason! Here we
are…”
They had arrived at a rather pleasant looking cottage. The
forest looked slightly more alive here, with buds on the bare branches, and
bits of green beneath the yellowing grass.
“Um – what’s going on exactly? I mean, no offense but you
just kind of took me for a ride on the back of your giant spider and, um…”
“You haven’t guessed? You’re in the spirit world now! Right
when you passed through the gates.” She studied him.
“Everyone, of course, already knows you’re here. I must have
passed a good dozen debates on whether or not we should eat you and your father
or if you would be edible at all.”
“Uh – do I want to know the verdict?”
“Well, you certainly aren’t on the menu. They know better to
eat a Witch’s assistant, after all!” Jeron choked.
“What – but, I can’t stay here and be your apprentice!”
“Certainly you can! And you must! After all, I didn’t eat
you, argued for you in fact. And I need a human. It gets rather dull among the
forest creatures, you see.”
“Er…” she smiled at him and he realized uncomfortably there
wasn’t much of a choice here. She was clearly a witch. With a giant spider at
her command.
“Okay. Okay. Not saying I like but I obviously don’t have a
lot of choice at the moment. Do you know what happened to my dad?”
“Hmm? I do not.”
“He – he thought we were home, but we clearly weren’t. And
he walked into a tree and disappeared.” The Witch thought for a moment.
“He’s probably in the hands of some spirit or another.
Bewitched, more than likely. He’s likely safe, but I’ll find out for sure.” She
patted him on the head.
“Why don’t you tie up Violet for me, then meet me inside.
I’ll go brew up some potions.” She walked inside the hut and Jeron stared up at
the huge spider, his heart in his throat.
“Tie up the giant spider,” he said, scratching the back of
his head. “Right. I can do that. Uh, come here girl?”
The spider approached him, its eye lidless eyes staring at
him, sending his reflection back at him.
