The Witch

This is an entry into the 2026 Halloween contest. It is not truly about Halloween; it takes place in Gaul starting in 451CE, towards the end of the Roman empire. As the title suggests, there is a witch, or at least a healer who is called a witch by the local priest.

As a warning, this is by far my most brutal story. There are Huns in the story doing Hun things, including a rape and violent deaths. Be assured that it all ends well though.

I hope you enjoy the story.

Chapter 1 Gaston

"No Gaston, I don't want to kiss you."

"But, Aia, every other woman I've known your age was already with child. What's wrong with you? I should speak with your father and make him understand. He could force you to submit to me. It's the natural order. God's will."

"I don't want to be with you. Or any other man. And that's all there is to it," I state firmly, trying to leave no room for discussion.

My point made, I immediately turn away from him. I determinedly stride down the dirt path towards my home, the hut I share with my parents. I walk past sixteen other circular huts, all looking much like ours. They're scattered along either side of the path that runs through Bellua. Never particularly close together. Even at a brisk pace, the walk takes me ten minutes. The oven marks one end of the village, our house is almost at the other. There is only one more past ours.

I had intended on going to the pond, just past the communal oven, to cut some reeds for a repair to our roof. There was no way I could stay out there with that man harassing me. Gaston is now so convinced that it is his duty to bed me that he scares me.

The hut feels safe. I'm pretty sure he won't come in here uninvited. The mud brick wall barely comes up to my shoulders, but it's strong, seemingly invincible. I sit against the wall and stare up in exasperation. I half watch the thin wisps of smoke rise out of our fire pit. They climb past the three large branches that interlock in the center of the roof; together, they support the weight of the roof. As if they know the way, each wisp finds the hole left in the thatch where the three branches connect, thereby making their escape into the greater world.

I wish I could escape so easily. I don't know what to do. Every month, Gaston becomes even more insistent.

Hopefully, father will not succumb to Gaston's pleas. He's always protected me before. I know he's under pressure from others in the village to make me conform. Everyone wants more children. I'm not sure why my parents only had me. I know they still have sex regularly; it's hard to hide much in a one room house. But that leaves me as their only chance for grandchildren.

I decide I might as well start on cooking dinner. I pull out a few turnips and carrots from our supply. The larder is much emptier than it was when I harvested the last of the vegetables in the fall, but I think the remainder should last us through the end of winter and early spring. I will be planting turnip seeds within a week, the first planting of anything each year. Some of that early crop will be ready less than two moons from now.

I always get nervous this time of year, as our rations we've saved for winter dwindle. We had a summer when I was a child when the rain didn't come and didn't come until it all came at once. We didn't have much to eat that winter. I still remember being hungry all the time. I think my parents had even less to eat than I did. I don't want to go through that again.

I look reassuringly at the large sack next to me, the bottom bulging from its contents. We still have plenty of grain for bread.

I eye the glowing embers in the pit in the center of the hut. It slowly smolders all day, but cooking dinner will require more of a real fire. Besides, I've recovered enough from the confrontation with Gaston that it's starting to feel nippy in here. The late winter air still has a bite to it. Getting a real fire going for dinner will chase the chill out of our hut for the evening, warmth that I hope will carry all the way until morning.

I sigh. It's unlikely to last all night until we repair the roof. That hole lets out too much of our precious heat.

As I start to prepare the vegetables to be roasted, I frown. If I'd been able to get to the pond, I probably would have gathered some onion grass to give dinner a little more flavor.

++++++

"Aia, after you've cleaned up from breakfast, can you work on gathering reeds and enough branches so we can fix the hole in the roof? I thought you were going to do that yesterday. I'd really like to be able to make the repair tomorrow. You still need to prepare the turnip garden and milk the goat, first."

"Of course, Poppa. I tried to get the reeds yesterday, but Gaston started harassing me. I just hope he doesn't bother me again."

He sighs. "Well, you're going to have to deal with that yourself. Your mother will be at the oven most of the day, baking us more bread. I'm going to see if the witch has anything to help with her knees. They hurt badly most days now." He looks at me. "Have you tried just telling him no."

I frown. "I do, Poppa. Every time I see him. He's becoming more and more insistent, despite my best efforts to deter him."

Poppa frowns. Then he looks at me and sighs, a sadder sound this time. "I'm assuming this means we'll never have any grandchildren?"

"Not if I can help it, Poppa."

++++++

Cleanup from breakfast is easy. We had our usual breakfast: bread and a little cheese with some watered goat milk to drink.

Heading out into the morning chill, I milk Blossom, then play with her for a while. I'm trying to get her to stop head butting me in the stomach, but I still love our time together. She's my closest friend.

I start clearing the winter overgrowth from the garden beside the hut. That garden, along with Blossom, is my major responsibility in the family. Soon it will be time to plant turnips; I'll add carrots in a few weeks.

Preparing the garden is tedious work. I wish I could just go back to playing with Blossom.

Once the garden is fully cleared, I head behind our hut, where a large oak tree towers over it. That oak marks the beginning of a sizable grove of trees, mostly oaks like ours, but some beech and a few ash. A few of our oak tree's branches overhang our roof. One branch broke off in the storm last week and crashed through the thatch. It almost fell on me while I was asleep!

That's why the roof needs to be repaired.

There are plenty of branches still scattered nearby from the storm. I pick a nice selection of them for rebuilding the base. Once woven together with reeds, they will hold up the hay. Hay is what the roof is mostly made of.

The easy part done, I'm now forced to venture out for the reeds. I peer around the corner of our hut. The mud brick wall is only shoulder high but a stack of small logs atop the bricks effectively extends it well above my head. The logs' rough, inconsistent surface gives me a good chance to spy without being too visible.

I don't see Gaston on the path. I glance out into the fields beyond the house on the other side of the path. He's not out there. No one is. The fields still lie fallow for the winter. The spring planting of wheat and rye will be in a few weeks. That will be a busy time, second only to harvest. All the villagers work together those days.

I hurry down the path, past the other huts in the village, hoping to secure my reeds before Gaston appears. I pass the mud brick dome of the communal oven, which defines the edge of the village. I nod to Mama as I scurry past. There are two other women baking with her this morning. Each family needs to bake bread every two or three days. It's what we mostly live on, especially in the winter.

The path only continues another few hundred paces through the forest before it comes to the pond, where it forks into two, going either way around the water. I feel lucky, still no sign of Gaston. I see the reeds growing by the side of the pond.

++++++

Bent over, I position a small scythe to cut the bundle of reeds I've gathered in my left hand. Suddenly, I feel hands around me, groping my breasts. I'm being pulled backwards. I feel someone grinding their crotch against my backside.

"Isn't this what you really want?" Gaston asks, clearly not expecting an answer. "We could have so much fun!"

"Okay Gaston, let me turn around and I'll show you what I'd like."

I feel his hands loosening their grip. As I turn, I see his smirking face. He thinks he finally has me.

Once I'm face to face with him, he leans forward, expecting a kiss.

I forcefully thrust my knee up and forward into his crotch. He buckles in pain. I push him hard enough that he falls to the ground. "I want to be left alone by you. That's what I really want. Try that again, and I may use this for something other than the reeds," I say, brandishing the scythe still in my right hand.

I don't want to give him a chance to recover, so I run.

I race past the oven into the village.

"Are you okay, Aia?" my mother calls to me, but I don't slow down for her. I'm not sure if he's following me or not. I'm not sure I have the luxury to look.

I don't stop until I'm in my hut, with the door shut. I wish Poppa was around, just in case Gaston comes for me. If I made him mad enough, he might not stop at the door today.

"Get back quickly, Poppa, I need you."

Despite the social pressure, I think Poppa will still chase him off. Even if he does want grandchildren. Mama wants them at least as much. Gaston was correct in saying that it's the expectation. I shake my head vehemently. Please protect me, Poppa.

I notice the light filtering through the thatch. Frowning, I remember why I was out there. We still need those reeds to repair the hole in the roof at the back of the hut. Almost directly over my straw bedding. Hopefully I can get them before it rains in on me. The rain is so cold this time of year.

But I will do nothing now. Not with Gaston out there waiting.

Maybe I could be like Poppa and go see the witch. I think she could conjure a potion that would dissuade Gaston. Or maybe a poison that would kill him.

Shuddering at the thought of the woman, I try to put that fantasy aside. Our priest insists that the witch is an evil woman, possessed by demons. No one in the village is supposed to see her, deal with her. He says it's a sin, but people do. She knows how to make magic potions, mostly medicines.

Father Keller never comes to our small village, he rarely leaves town; he doesn't know what goes on. Certainly no one would tell the priest of their own dealings with her. Or apparently even the sins of their neighbors.

Closing my eyes, I let myself drift off. Hopefully Gaston will be off somewhere in an hour or two and I can finish my chore then. I was so close this time.

My last thought is the memory that I have a stalk of onion grass in my tunic. I managed to gather that much before I was attacked. At least dinner will be a little tastier tonight.

Chapter 2 The Huns

"Hun! Hun!"

I'm awoken by a yell.

I'm confused for a moment before I process what the voice is saying. I've heard stories about the Huns coming through, razing entire villages, stealing food and what few valuables that the villagers possess. We'd hoped we were too insignificant to attract their attention.

As the voice comes closer, I recognize it. It's Manus. It sounds like he's running on the path past our hut. Suddenly, he's silent.

I peek out the door. Manus is lying on his stomach, an arrow sticking out of his back. I see a pool of blood forming around him. A dark red splotch stains his tunic surrounding the shaft sticking into the air. He's not even a full man yet. He will never grow to be one now. I can feel the tears welling up in me. He was four years younger than me. Sometimes we would play together when we were little.

The thunder of horse hooves galloping extinguishes those thoughts. Turning towards the path where Manus came from, I can just see the first of them emerging from the forest along the path. The terror they instill chases the tears away.

I shut the door quickly and look around the hut. There's no where to hide. I look at the pile of straw I sleep on. It's my only choice.

I burrow to the bottom of the straw. I can only hope that I got the straw back over me well enough to hide me.

I hear the door slam open. Words shouted in a language I do not know. A strange voice. A man's voice. I fight to stay completely still, drawing only minimal breaths, shallow enough to not move my chest at all.

I hear things being tossed around in the hut. He seems to be searching, maybe for food or valuables.

I'm trying not to whimper with fear, but the terror in me is threatening to overwhelm my self control. I silently pray that the man will leave soon.

Suddenly, I feel a hand on my ankle, grasping it tightly. So tightly it hurts. I scream at the top of my lungs. He laughs.

He drags me out of my lair, no longer hidden. My last refuge lost.

He rolls me over, tossing me back on top of my straw bedding. I see him for the first time. He is huge, much taller and thicker than my father. Maybe even larger than the blacksmith in town, who's the strongest man I've ever seen.

Looking past his bulk, I see a scar that cuts across his cheek, defining his entire visage. Behind the scar lies strange features, foreign features, features I will never forget. Black, matted hair. Large golden beads hold locks of his hair together. Keeping it out of his eyes. So he can see me better, I realize.

He looks at me with lust in those eyes, licking his lips.

I try to crawl backwards away from him, but there's nowhere to go. He laughs again.

I shake my head no, over and over again as I start to cry.

His intimidating bulk closes in on me, his muscled arms extending out, reaching for me. His motions leave no doubt in either of us. We both understand what will happen, what he will do to me.

I cannot stop shuddering in fear.

His massive hands reach into my tunic at the neck. Its fabric offers little resistance. He rips it open from top to bottom, exposing my body, naked except for my undergarments.

He draws his sword. Is he going to kill me instead?

No, not yet at least. He slides the tip of the sword under my strophium. The sharp steel easily sides through the band of cloth binding my breasts. He licks his lips again as he yanks the remnants of my undergarment from me. He smiles as he ogles my now exposed chest.

He brings the sword down and cuts my loin cloth at each hip. He tosses his sword aside and reaches down, yanking off the remnants of my last garment, my last modesty. My last protection.

He pushes my legs apart.

"Poppa, save me," I shout. But I know there will be no savior.

++++++

When he leaves, I lie on my bed sobbing. Lying there, I've heard several horses galloping through the village. Many screams, some of them cut short. I don't want to think about that.

Then I start smelling smoke. I roll over to see the flames just start to break through the roof at the front of the hut. They've lit the thatch on fire. I hear new screams. I think people are running out of their burning huts. Each scream stops suddenly. They must be murdering each person as they leave their burning hut.

It's at least a better death than being burned alive.

The fire in my roof is spreading from the door towards me.

I think about just letting myself die as I lie here. Death sounds welcome.

But some part of me wants to live, urges me to find a way out.

I look up. The hole in the thatch over my head may be my rescue. The one I was supposed to fix with Poppa tomorrow. There's still a branch from the oak tree several feet up, just to the side of the hole. If I can get myself up through the hole, I should be able to climb into the tree and then into the woods and hopefully escape.

I've never been strong enough to lift myself with just my arms. I've tried doing it climbing into trees. But my only other option is death.

I take a deep breath and leap as high as I can, trying to reach around the top log of the stack that makes up the upper part of the wall. On my first attempt, my hands are thwarted by the thatch and I end up mostly grasping the mud plaster that is used to fill the cracks between the logs. It keeps the winter winds out, but now it's keeping me in. It crumbles in my fingers and I slide back down.

On my next try, I get my fingers through the thatch and around the top log. I try to pull myself up, but I can't. My arms are too weak. And they're getting weaker as I tire; this is not going to work.

The fire in the roof is getting closer. The smoke is getting thick in the hut. It's now or never.

I try a different approach. Still maintaining my grip on the log, I bring my feet up and walk up the wall, my arms just keeping me from falling back.

With some scrambling and some scrapes, I manage to get a knee onto the lip of the mud bricks. Pushing with that leg while pulling with both arms, my elbows reach the top of the logs, my head pushing the remaining thatch from around the hole.

I bring my other foot onto the top of the mud bricks. Success! I can now clamber through the opening, paying a toll of a few scratches from the remnants of the roof. I momentarily wonder why I didn't put on a new tunic; it would have protected me from many of these scratches. The flames coming close to me bring my thoughts back to my escape.

I reach up and over to the overhanging tree branch. Using the last bit of the strength in my arms, I shimmy down the branch until I'm at the trunk. There are plenty of branches here, which makes it easier to climb up higher.

The branches are mostly devoid of leaves, allowing me to peer back into the village. I count eight men, all invaders, all with horses. I see some of my neighbors lying dead in the path. I see no one else moving.

The remaining leaves on the overhanging branch have caught fire. It does not seem to be spreading through the tree. Not yet at least.

All the huts are burning. The invaders are eating something. It looks like bread, probably all they have found in the village. We have little else to eat here. It occurs to me that they may have taken the bread from the oven. Where my mother was. I'm afraid of what may have happened to her.

I'm pretty sure it was bread. I don't think they've had time to cook any of the chickens. Or goats. I hope Blossom is okay.

Crash! The roof of my hut collapses into the dwelling, starting new fires, our bedding and the few spare garments providing new fuel for the beast. I look down into the inferno where I have lived all my life. My history is slowly being consumed, my existence disappearing in the flames

The fire in my tree has moved from a few leaves to the smaller branches. It's coming closer to me, pursuing me. I climb down the tree and scramble as quietly as I can move quickly through the woods. Once I no longer hear any sounds from the village. I climb up into another oak and sit in a vee in the trunk, just high enough to be out of sight from the ground unless someone's directly under the tree.

I perch there motionlessly, listening for anyone coming. I sit for a long time, until it starts to get dim. With the darkness, I finally relax. Sleep is a welcome respite from the fear. My night is full of dreams of terror, but I do get some sleep.

Chapter 3 The Witch

The morning serenade of birds rouses me from what little sleep I was getting. I'm very cold. It takes me a moment to remember why I'm sleeping in the tree, wearing only tatters of a tunic, nothing underneath.

Then the horrors of yesterday come flying in. The first image that returns is poor Manus lying in the path, the arrow sticking out of his back. And all that blood.

Then I remember my hut. Or what was once my hut. Which reminds me of that face. The man who invaded my home, my refuge, me. I shudder and refuse to think about that anymore.

I decide that I should see what's left of the village. Who else survived the attack. I also realize I'm hungry. I had nothing for dinner at all and it's almost time for my usual breakfast. I guess I need to see if the Huns left any food. Well the Huns and the fire.

I listen for a moment, making sure there is no one close by. Hearing nothing but the usual sounds of the forest, I climb carefully down from the tree.

I pause at the bottom, listening again, seeing if my climb attracted any attention.

I hear the birds. Something rustles nearby. I freeze.

A squirrel scampers up a tree. I relax. Still just my usual world.

I creep slowly and silently through the forest, back the way I came. I arrive at the back of what was my hut. All that remains is the shoulder high mud brick wall encircling what was my home. Wisps of smoke still rise from inside. Peering over the wall towards the rest of the village, I see nothing else. No sign that the Huns are still around.

I slowly walk around to the front, past my garden, still unplanted, finally stepping onto the path. The first thing I notice is poor Manus's body, lying there, undisturbed since the moment his life was stolen. I scan along the path as far as the trees provide a sight line. The remains of some of my neighbors lie outside the still smoking shells of their huts. Nothing more hopeful.

I'm standing in the path, somewhat in shock, when I hear a rustling coming from beside the ruins of my house. I freeze in terror.

Maaa.

My goat emerges around the corner, a piece of hay hanging from her mouth. She must have escaped into the forest like I did.

"Blossom!"

She bleats at me as she wanders my way. I wrap my arms around my goat's neck. I fall to my knees, hugging who may be my only remaining family. I didn't expect to ever see any of them again.

As if the sky itself feels my sorrow, a gentle drizzle falls on us.

I sit here for I don't know how long, holding onto Blossom and crying, the cold rain slowly soaking through what remain of my clothes.

++++++

"Hello? Are you okay?"

A woman's voice breaks me out of my stupor. I look up. Flaming red hair, maybe a decade older than me. Clearly not a Hun.

"I don't know," I answer truthfully. I've been too on alert, or too terrified, or too heartbroken to even think if I was okay.

I stand. Only then do I remember the state of my garment. I quickly pull it around me, trying to preserve what little modesty I have left.

As she comes closer, I realize who she is. I recoil from the newcomer. "You're the witch, aren't you."

She smiles. "Some people say I am. I think I'm just a simple woman who learned the old ways with herbs. My name is Catta."

I'm not sure what to do. "Father Keller says you're evil, possessed by demons."

"Of course he does. I don't believe in his god."

I look at her in confusion. I thought everyone believed in God.

She says, "Don't be so surprised. Your ancestors didn't believe in the Christian god until recently either. Even then, many of them only said they believed because the Romans told the locals that they would punish anyone who didn't."

I frown. Maybe this is a trick of Satan. That's what Father Keller would say.

"You're Aia, aren't you? Contessilo's daughter? Is your father alright? I was just talking to him yesterday."

"Blossom here is the only member of my family I've found yet. But I haven't had the heart to really look."

"We really should see if anyone else survived. There may be someone who's hurt, someone we can help."

That does not sound like devil's work to me. "Come on Blossom. Stay with me." I reach down with both hands to encourage my goat to come with me. Without my hands holding it shut, my torn tunic falls open again.

Catta looks at me with dismay in her eyes. "Did they?"

I nod my head, tears forming in my eyes.

"Those bastards!" she screams to no one, fury raging in her.

She slides off the pouch that is slung over her shoulder and opens it, pulling out two lengths of vine. "Pull your garment closed again," she commands.

I follow her order without question, although I have no idea why she wants me to. She wraps a vine around my waist, tying it in front. The makeshift sash holds the one time tunic mostly closed, leaving me some dignity.

She ties the end of longer strand around Blossom's neck, then hands me the long end. "We can use a goat."

She looks at me again then takes off her shawl. "You need this more than me. You look half frozen. Did you sleep outside last night?"

I nod. "Up in a tree in the forest. It was the only place I thought I might be safe."

I put the shawl over my shoulders. I can feel some warmth in me for the first time since I woke up. It actually starts me shivering.

We stand there for a few minutes as I warm up.

++++++

"Come with me. You can look away from anything you don't want to see. We need to check if there are any other survivors, human or livestock. If we find any, I may need you to talk to them, reassure them."

She checks poor Manus's body for signs of life. She goes back and looks in the first hut, but apparently it's empty. She turns to look into my hut, but I say, "There's no one in there. I was alone inside until I managed to climb out the hole in the roof. The roof collapsed minutes after that." I pause as the tears start to flow. I wipe my eyes and add, "Poppa and I were supposed to fix the hole today."

She listens to me. I think I feel better for telling someone.

I walk behind her on the path through the village. As we come around a bend in the path, we see a young woman, sitting on the ground over a man's body. She has two young children with her. I know her. She's only two years older than me.

I call, "Peccia! Are you alright?"

She is the best news I've had. I thought everyone else in the village was dead. Suddenly I have some hope. Maybe my parents are still alive.

"He's dead," are her only words.

"Do you want to come with us?" Catta asks.

"He's dead."

Catta continues on, leaving her to mourn her husband. She will need to snap out of it soon to take care of her children.

We do find one hen wandering near a hut. Catta stuffs the wayward fowl in her pouch.

I see my mother lying beside the communal oven. She did not survive. To my relief, her tunic is still intact. I say a prayer over her body. I can feel my tears welling up.

We find Poppa not far from the oven, along with almost two dozen other men, including Gaston. It looks like they tried to fight off the Huns with scythes and branches, to no good end. Not that passively conceding would have been any better for them, I realize. Each of them had their throats slashed once they were down.

They apparently had been protecting a group of women and children, whose bodies now lie behind theirs.

Gaston looks like he took the worst of the damage, with multiple wounds, including his right hand fully severed. I guess he fought ferociously.

Catta sees me taking particular note of Gaston. "Was he a friend?"

"No, I hated him. He wanted to take me for his wife. I kneed him in the groin and yelled at him about it yesterday. But he didn't deserve this. None of them did."

Catta nods. She seems to understand.

I kneel over my father. "You didn't protect me, Poppa. I needed you and you didn't protect me." I wipe away the tears, take a deep breath, then say a prayer for him, as I had with my mother.

Catta stands politely away as I do, waiting patiently for my message to God, whom she does not believe in.

We move on, finding no further survivors, neither human nor animal.

++++++

"I have to ask you a hard question, Aia," Catta says when our search was complete. "I know you're tired and hungry and emotionally spent. But we cannot leave these bodies out for the wolves and the vultures."

I frown then nod. She's right.

Catta continues, "I wouldn't blame you if you've got nothing left, that you can't face any more of this. If that's the case, I'll take you back to my place. I can find a cloak for you and some bread and a place to lay down there. We can take Blossom with us. I might need your help trying to talk Peccia into coming as well. She needs help with her children."

I look at her. I did not expect her to be so caring, for Peccia or me. She does not seem evil, but I still don't completely trust her either. I cannot allow myself to. My entire remembered life includes warnings to stay away from her

She seems to understand my hesitation. "I don't think there's any place here for you any longer. You may want to come back to see if you want anything from your hut, but I think you need to live someplace else. Once you've recovered some, you could see if another village would accept you. But that would almost certainly mean taking a husband."

I look at her. Does she know I don't want to be with a man?

"I'm sorry, Aia. We can talk about this later. I think I should probably get the four of you to my place for now."

I finally find the will to speak. "What will you do with the bodies?"

"I will burn them in a funeral pyre. I know it's not their way, nor your way, but I cannot dig graves for all these people. I'm sorry."

"I understand. You will need help with even that task."

"I was about to ask you for help with this. But I think you need to rest."

"I will help, then we can go to your place. Thank you. I thought I was all alone."

++++++

We start gathering branches to build a fire near the oven. It's slow work; it needs to be a massive fire. I have no idea how the two of us can move all those bodies.

"Hello!" a man's voice calls out.

Catta and I both freeze. I'm terrified that the Huns have returned.

But we see two men, local men, obviously both Gaulish, coming along the path beside the pond. The path that leads to Oclinos, the nearest village. They wave.

Catta calls out, "We could use help."

As they come closer, I recognize the men, I don't know their names, but I've seen them before. They're both about my father's age.

"What happened?"

"Huns," Catta answers. I'm glad she's doing the talking. And I'm glad she tied my tunic shut. As it is, more of my breasts are showing than I'm comfortable with.

"Anyone else survive?"

"Peccia and her two children are by their hut, but I don't think anyone else. She's in shock right now."

"Let me talk to her. Her sister, Lutetia, lives near us in the village. I know her well. Is Vardos dead?"

"If Vardos is her husband, yes," Catta replies calmly, solemnly.

The one man heads further in to the village, seeking Peccia. The other asks, "What can we do to help?"

"I thought we should burn the bodies. Unless you think you can dig enough graves. But we can't just leave the bodies here."

"A funerary pyre seems like the best idea," he says, agreeing. "If you two can work on the fire, Colto and I can move the bodies. Have you checked them all to make sure they're dead?"

Catta nods.

It takes us several hours to build a base for the fire as they move each body to it. We end up with alternating layers of bodies and wood. The sight of all the dead bodies hurts. I think there are close to eighty of them, ranging from infants to elderly. Every single one dead. There are so many. I expect to cry, but no tears come.

Fortunately, it at least stops raining.

Peccia has joined us, but she's still not right. "I'm going to go see my sister."

Colto looks at Catta and says, "I think I need to take her back now. Apparently she'd been out looking for nuts, taking the kids with her. Will you be alright?"

Catta nods. Getting Peccia and her children out of here is a good idea. The two men walk back along the path they came from. Colto has his arm around Peccia, guiding her. She's carrying both children.

I hold the chicken while Catta combs through her pouch. A moment later, her search produces a flint and stone. It only takes her a moment to start the fire.

We stand and watch the flames begin. I think she wants to make sure the fire fully takes. I have to turn around; I cannot watch my entire community, almost every person I've ever known, burn.

A few minutes later, she turns away too, saying, "Let me take you home."

Chapter 4 The Witch's House

I follow her along a path through the forest. Much of the path was barely recognizable as such, kept minimally open by no more than a dozen traversals a week.

After the better part of an hour, we reach a small hut. It's an almost identical construction to what my hut was, with small logs atop a circle of mud brick, finished with a thatch roof.

There's a small clearing in front. Beech trees border the structure and the clearing on the left. A stream runs through the edge of that forest, maybe thirty strides from her house. Convenient for water, I think. At home, we had to walk all the way across the village to the pond to get water. Thinking about home makes me frown.

A small wild meadow lies to the right; a hundred paces from the building is the forest's closest encroachment on that side.

Notably different from any house in the village is an outside fire pit, located in the clearing out front. More notable is a large cauldron hanging over the pit. It's big enough to cook food for twenty or maybe even thirty. And it's iron. No one in the village had an iron pot. We all used pottery to cook in. At least for soups or on the rare occasions we had meat for a stew. Two nights ago, I roasted the carrots and turnips wrapped in turnip greens, placed directly in the fire.

And yet, the normalcy of her hut surprises me more than the extraordinary cookware on the outside. "You have a normal house!"

Catta laughs. "What did you expect? A palace? A hole in the ground?"

"I don't know, but I didn't expect a hut just like mine." I pause then add, "Like mine was." More than a touch of sadness is in my voice. I can feel the sorrow welling up in me.

"No matter what your priest told you, I'm just a normal person, living a simple life. In many ways not that different from what yours was, although quite a bit lonelier."

"If it's lonely, why do you need to cook for so many?" I ask, looking at the sizable cauldron.

Catta laughs again. "That's for making medicines, not cooking food. Some of the brews can smell pretty foul and the fumes can make you sick, so I make them out here. I cook for myself, on the rare occasions I cook at all, in the hut, probably like you're used to."

I nod. That makes sense.

"For now, let's tie your goat up on the side. I'll introduce our hen to her new flock."

She leads me around the side of the hut into the meadow. She pulls the chicken out of her bag and sets it into an area enclosed by a short fence. A small henhouse made of mud bricks stands in the middle of the enclosure. Nothing fancy, but it probably keeps the foxes out at night.

She points to a tree in the meadow. I lead Blossom over and tie her to the tree.

"There's some hay in a box out back. She may be hungry for some, but grab a big armload of it for some bedding for you."

I nod mindlessly. I hadn't really processed that I would be sleeping here, living here. My new home.

I hesitate momentarily. I'm not sure I trust Catta completely. I tell myself it's better than sleeping in a tree like I did last night.

Once inside, Catta points me to an empty area against a wall. I drop my hay, arranging it to become my new bed.

"Will you be alright for a few minutes?" Catta asks. "I would like to gather the herbs for a tea for you. It will help you rest and hopefully soften the memory of everything that happened yesterday.."

I nod, looking at the bed in front of me. "I think I would like to lie down, if that's okay."

"That's a good idea," Catta said encouragingly.

My new bed is serenading me. I do not resist its siren call. I'm asleep before Catta can do anything else.

++++++

I feel a hand gripping my ankle. His hand. He's back.

I'm being pulled off my new bed.

I turn and see him. The Hun who already raped me. He's looking at me with lust in his eyes, like he did yesterday.

I scream.

"It's okay, Aia. I'm here. It's just a bad dream," Catta's voice says soothingly.

I feel a gentle sensation on my head. I open my eyes. He's not in front of me any more.

Catta is sitting on the floor next to me, wiping my forehead with a cool damp cloth.

I look around the room in fear. I know he's here. I just saw him. He just grabbed my ankle.

Now she gently rubs her hand against my cheek. "Shh. Just relax. You're safe here. No one will get you."

I start to sob.

Catta gently rolls me onto my side, my head onto her thigh. She lays the cloth on my head and strokes my cheek with one hand and gently rubs my back with the other. "I know it was scary. But that was just a dream. You're safe here."

I cry. I cry for my parents. I cry for myself. I cry for Manus. I cry for Peccia. And her children. I even cry for Gaston. I cry until I'm empty.

"Do you think you can sit up and drink some tea? It will make things easier for you. It will ease the pain."

"Are you going to poison me?" I ask, as I sit up. I'm not sure I would say no, even if she is offering me poison. I'm afraid to die, but I'm not sure I'm any less afraid of living.

Catta laughs. Not the evil cackle I expected her to have, but a soft and soothing laugh. Everything about her now is calming me. Have I already been bewitched? I think she laughed earlier; I guess I didn't really listen to her then.

"It's just a tea to make you feel better. You will be a little sleepy, but you need the sleep."

I nod my head. She stands and pours some steaming liquid from a small pot into a small pottery mug.

She hands me the mug. The warmth of the mug cupped in my hands is soothing, relaxing. The sensation feels real, which I'm realizing is a marked difference from my nightmare. As much as I was convinced it was happening, it also felt ethereal, an echo from my past.

I slowly sip the tea. I can feel my eyes drooping. Maybe she did poison me and I'm dying. I'm vaguely aware of handing the cup to Catta then lying back down on my hay.

++++++

I sleep poorly all evening and through the night.

Sometimes I start awake from a nightmare. Sometimes I just wake up. I feel like I might be feverish.

My dreams are all bad. Sometimes the Hun. Sometimes seeing all the bodies. Or just the smoking remains of the huts in the village.

Every time I wake, Catta is sitting beside me, stroking my cheek or wiping my forehead, speaking to me softly with her soothing voice. Sometimes I tell her of my dream, sometimes I just fall back asleep.

++++++

I finally open my eyes to see light filtering into the hut. I feel much better. My fever seems to have broken. After Cata seemed to care for me all night, I don't see her this morning.

I slowly come fully awake. I sit up, really looking at the inside of the hut for the first time. There seem to be piles of stuff scattered around. Actually more than scattered; they're everywhere. Where she had me set up my bed was one of the few extended gaps of open floor, except right around the fire pit in the center of the single room.

Small pottery jugs are everywhere. Mostly on top of every pile, but on the floor along most of the wall as well. Almost all have a cork lid.

Catta walks in from outside. She sees me sitting up and smiles. "Good. You're awake now. Are you feeling any better?"

"Much better. I felt like I had a fever overnight."

Catta nods. "That can happen. Your body was fighting off the evil it absorbed. It seemed like quite a battle in there."

"Did you get any sleep? Every time I woke up, you were sitting with me soothing me."

"I got some rest," she says, a bit sheepishly. "I would close my eyes when you were sleeping peacefully. But your moans would always bring me back before you woke up. You needed someone with you, pulling you back into this world, helping you in your fight."

"Thank you. Why would you do that for me?"

"My essential spirit is a healer. It's what I truly am. That was a necessary part of healing you."

I shake my head in disbelief. I'm having a hard time reconciling the Catta I'm getting to know with the witch that Father Keller warned us about.

"I need to tell you about him," I say. I feel obligated somehow to describe my attacker.

"You don't need to. It's probably better for you not to," she warns me.

"I think you need to know who he is, so you can help me fight him."

She frowns then nods, seeming to understand. I'm not sure I do. But I continue, "He was large and strong, even more so than the blacksmith in town. He had a very round face, much rounder than anyone I've ever known. He had black hair, much of it tied in clumps, each threaded through a large gold bead. The beads were at least as thick as my thumb. And he had a scar across his cheek." I draw with my finger diagonally across my cheek, showing where his scar ran.

She nods to show her understanding. I'm pretty sure she would recognize him. That feels like a burden off of me. Now she can help me keep him away.

"I have another tea for you this morning," Catta says, changing the subject.

I look at her questioningly.

She laughs her calming laugh. "Don't worry, this one won't put you back to sleep."

I laugh with her. As much as I don't want to, it's hard not to trust her, feel safe with her.

++++++

We share some bread and a bit of cheese and some dried berries for a meal. I'd forgotten how hungry I was; I haven't really eaten in two days.

"We'll have to be careful with our food," Catta warns. "I've never had an excess and your village was my largest group of customers. I think they trusted me more than the others."

"Why did we trust you?" As soon as the words come out of my mouth, I realize how bad that sounds.

"Because I grew up there. They all knew me when I was a girl."

My eyes widen. "You grew up in Bellua? Did you know me?"

"I helped birth you. Your mother had a hard time delivering you. I was sent to bring my great aunt back, but she could no longer make the journey. She sent me with instructions and some medicines. I was only nine; it was my very first time working as a healer, although Aunt Abbula had already been teaching me for almost five years."

I'm simply staring at her. I had no idea. I'm speechless.

"They didn't tell you, did they? Your mother barely survived the ordeal. It's why you don't have any brothers or sisters. Your father always felt beholden to me; up to the end, he believed I saved your mother's life."

I'm still struck dumb.

"You asked me earlier about why I cared for you all night. I think I would have done it for anyone in the village. But I feel a special bond with you, a special responsibility to you."

"Thank you, I guess. I don't know what words to say."

"There are no words I expect to hear from you."

I'm starting to get my wits about me a bit as I internalize this new information. No wonder she knew who I was, knew my father. Then I remember what started this conversation. "What can I do to help? With food mostly, I mean."

"The extra chicken and the goat do help. I'm not sure what else."

"I could plant a garden for the summer. I grew carrots, turnips, and cabbage at home." Saying the words 'at home' make me realize that that home is no more. I frown.

"That's a good idea; it should help. I'll think about what else we might be able to do. I have my herb garden, but I've never grown any food. Hopefully the gods will provide."

Her speaking of her gods makes me uncomfortable. I cross myself and say a quick prayer.

She apparently notices. Laughing briefly, she says, "We'll need to learn to accept each other's religious beliefs. I'm sorry that my beliefs bother you now."

"There is only one true God," I say almost reflexively, then immediately regret saying it. Is this how Father Keller knows the devil is in her? She denies the one true God.

"I'll try not to say much about the gods around you," is her only response.

++++++

The rest of the meal is very quiet, neither of us wanting to speak.

She finally says, "I have a tunic you can wear, since yours is ruined. We'll save the cloth for some other purpose. We probably need to look to get new clothes for you eventually, somehow."

She gets up and pulls a garment out of a stack in the corner. As she hands it to me, I inspect it. It looks clean. I don't think it's cursed. Then I realize I probably wouldn't know. The devil is not going to put a mark on it, warn me away from it.

I untie the vine that still serves as a sash keeping my torn tunic mostly closed. I slide the remains of my tunic off. I try to hand her the torn garment, but she's too busy staring at me. Her gaze makes me realize that I'm standing in front of her completely nude. I suddenly feel exposed, immodest.

A moment later, she snaps out of her thoughts. As she reaches towards me for the tattered garment, she asks, "Would you like a loincloth? You have fuller breasts than I do. Would you also like a cloth for a strophium?"

"Both would be nice. Thank you."

As she takes the tatters, something falls out between us. I look down and see my onion grass, intended for my dinner that never happened, to be made with food that didn't survive. Blossom and that stalk are really my last links to my old life.

Catta is looking at it as well. "It was supposed to be part of dinner that night," I say as a form of explanation.

She reaches down and picks it up. "Then it's precious," she says, placing it next to where she keeps the food.

I smile. She understands.

She carries the tatters of my garment back to the pile where the new tunic came from and pulls out two more pieces of cloth, handing them to me. I wrap the first cloth between my legs and around my hips, tucking the corners in on itself. It feels safer in some way to be properly wrapped again. I take the second cloth and wrap it around my chest, Then I pull the tunic over my head.

I notice Catta watching me perform each step. It makes me feel odd, but I don't say anything about it to her.

Chapter 5 Home

Catta and I drift into a comfortable rhythm around the hut. And around each other. I'm starting to think of this as home.

But my other home, the destroyed one, still hangs over my head. I think about going back to see if anything survived. At the very least, we could use another plate and more cups. The pottery should have survived the fire, unless something fell on it.

I can't face going back there yet. Still too much trauma. The nightmares have stopped at least. I guess Catta's tea helped.

I try to keep myself busy with what chores I can do. I tend to Blossom and the chickens every day. The eggs they produce are a big part of our diet.

Catta and I choose a plot behind the hut for my garden. Her garden, with its herbs, is along the side, opposite from the chickens and Blossom. Apparently her plants like the shade from the nearby trees, mostly beeches. The back opens up into more of a meadow, much larger than the side with Blossom and the chickens. I clear a small stretch of ground near the wall and start to prepare it for carrots and turnips. It's somewhat of a painstaking process this first time. Too many stones, too many old roots.

The turnips will be ready to eat first, some as soon as about six weeks. The carrots will start being ready not long after that. I can keep growing them all the way through fall. During the summer, I'll swap from turnips to cabbage, and then back to turnips until it gets too cold. Turnips like cool and damp weather, not the heat of the summer.

Hopefully we can fill our larder with enough carrots and turnips to make it through until next spring.

Catta gets two or three customers a week. Mostly, she exchanges her medicines for loaves of bread, occasionally some cheese. She manages to get seeds for me as well from one of the first customers..

I miss my parents, but otherwise, life is going okay. And I don't gave to cope with Gaston harassing me to become his wife, to have his babies.

++++++

Catta is off in the forest searching for some wild plants one day while I'm caring for the animals then gardening. I usually come back past Blossom and the hens, but Blossom had seen fit to ram my backside as I left. It wasn't at all a gentle bump; it still stings. I'm avoiding her for the afternoon as a punishment for her misbehavior. I'm not sure she understands, but I have to try.

As a result, when I finish the weeding, I walk around the other direction, by Catta's garden. I usually avoid her garden because her lack of attention to it somewhat offends me. Today, I can't avoid seeing the large weeds taking over. I shake my head; she really isn't much of a gardener. I decide to help with this and pull up some of the largest weeds.

I'm pulling one of the large ones out of the ground, when she appears from out of the woods. She stops, stares at me, then shrieks, "What are you doing!!?"

I look at her oddly, then calmly say, "Pulling some weeds from your garden. I'm just trying to be helpful. You should take better care; the weeds really are taking over."

I see her face turn red and her lips draw tight as the anger courses through her. I think she's really going to scream at me. But she closes her eyes and takes some deep breaths. I see her muttering something about her gods, but I can't hear exactly what she's saying. I don't think it's intended for me.

She opens her eyes again. "Those aren't weeds. They're some of my medicinal plants."

I look at the plant in my hand. That is no longer in the ground. I can feel the tears welling up in my eyes. "I'm sorry. I was only trying to help."

She sighs. "I know you were. I should've taught you what the useful plants are. Then you could be helping me gather wild plants in the forest as well."

She looks at the plant in my hand. "Those were getting large enough to be harvested now anyway. I would usually leave the root and part of the stem and it would grow new bulbs. Now we'll have to grow them back again from seed. I think this harvest should last me until the new ones will be ready."

I know she's angry inside. I can see it in her. But she's calm and supportive on the outside. Poppa's the only other one who ever treated me like this. My mother had a fiery temper, one she never managed to keep inside. I don't know how to handle Catta being so kind and caring.

++++++

She disappears into the hut without another word. I wonder if she needs to walk away for a few minutes to vent her anger elsewhere. But only a moment later, she reappears carrying two small jugs, a piece of slate, and a bronze knife.

"Bring that plant in your hand over here," she commands.

I look at the plant I had just pulled up. I carry it over, holding the large mass of green out to her. She ignores my offering as she sits on the ground in front of a tree stump, setting the slate on top of the trunk.

Before she takes the plant from me, she uncorks one of the jugs, leaving the open container on the slate. Only then does she take the plant, laying it carefully across the slate. Using the bronze knife, she cuts the long stem off, pushing the remainder onto the ground beside her. She seems to be pinching the end of the stem closed. She releases her fingers only when the tip is in the neck of the jug. With the stem properly placed, she moves her fingers up almost all the way to the bulb. There she squeezes them together again on the stem, sliding the pinched fingers back down the stem to the cut end. In doing so, she forces anything in the stem out the cut end and into the jug. She then lays the stem on the slate and re-corks the jug.

"Just smelling that can make you sick, so never open this inside," she instructs me, setting that jug on the ground. "Now for the seeds."

She looks around for something, then asks, "Can you find me an oak leaf? Do you know what they look like?"

I nod and wander for just a minute before finding the desired foliage lying on the ground. I hand it to her.

She wipes the knife blade on the lead, then slices open the pod at the top of the stem with the clean blade. The pod is filled with a huge number of white pieces that almost look like miniature feathers. She scrapes them out from the pod, being careful never to touch them with her bare hands. She chops the tiny white pieces of fluff into even smaller bits, then carefully scrapes all of them into the second jug, which she recaps immediately. From her caution, I assume those aren't much better for you.

She looks at me expectantly. When I don't react, she says, "Go get the other ones you pulled out."

I stand dumbfounded for a moment before following her orders.

She repeats the process for each plant, one of which has three stems with a bulb on each. She remains vigilant in never touching either the juice inside the plant or its seed feathers.

"It's time to plant seeds for new plants."

I notice she left a small pile of the feathery seeds on the slate uncut.

"Take these and plant them like you would any other plant, but avoid touching the seeds themselves. Push a few into each hole with the knife."

I look at her for a moment.

She looks back and says, "You want to be the gardener. Go garden."

This must be my assigned atonement for pulling up the plants.

"When you're done with that, it's time to help me clean up. I could use another oak leaf for that."

I nod to her and head off to my assigned chore. On the way back, I look around briefly before spotting an appropriate leaf on the ground. I pick it up and bring it to her, along with the knife and the slate.

Using the oak leaf, she carefully wipes the knife blade clean, then throws the two leaves into the fire that runs day and night here by her cauldron. She then adds the unused portion of each plant as well.

"Now we wash the stone. You come, too. If you want to be helpful, learning how to clean is a first step."

Looking at the slate, some pieces of the seeds are sticking to it. There are also drips from the stem as well.

She follows the water down stream maybe fifty paces. "Put the stone completely under the water. Use another oak leave to wash it; avoid touching any of the medicine with your hand."

Other than washing her own hands, she stands back and watches me. It doesn't seem like there was much 'we' involved in cleaning up, just me. More assigned penitence I guess.

++++++

Later that afternoon, when we're both outside relaxing, she pushes me inside the hut. "Time to start learning about the plants," she tells me.

I nod, not sure how she's going to teach me about plants in here.

She clears the collection of jars off one of her piles, then starts rummaging through the pile. She pulls out a large book and brings it over to me.

A book. A real book. The only one I've ever seen is the bible in Father Keller's church. But I've never been this close to it. I could reach out and touch it. Books seem almost magical to me. Somehow people get words from them.

She opens the book and flips through a few pages before laying it out in front of me. On the page is a wonderful drawing of the plant I had pulled up. Below, a bunch of marks stretch across the parchment. I know somehow they mean something, but they look like magic to me.

"You can touch it if you want. Gently though."

I look up at her questioning if she really told me that. Her bemused smile grants me permission. She reiterates the invitation with a nod. I touch the page of the book. It almost feels like a soft leather. I run my finger over the scratches. I can just barely feel the indentations on the parchment. I almost expected something to happen, like the writing to come alive somehow.

"You don't know how to read, do you?" she asks. But she sounds like she knows the answer.

I shake my head sadly, confirming her suspicion.

"Of course you don't. Why would you? The writing at the bottom tells me how to extract the medicines from the plant and warns me not to touch them. It also tells me the kinds of medicines it's useful in. There is a full description of each of those medicines and how to make them later in the book."

I'm enthralled. Those magical scratches explain the mysteries of the world.

"Would you like to learn to read and write?"

I nod my head vigorously. I never imagined I would. That I ever could.

"We'll start those lessons tomorrow. Aunt Abbula started teaching me when I was five. Right now, let me show you the pictures of each of the plants in my herb garden so you won't go pulling out anything else that I really want. If you think you see something that isn't one of these, you can point it out to me and I'll let you know if it should be pulled out or not."

I smile as I nod. I like being helpful. And I really like that I'm going to learn to read and write.

++++++

A few days later, she's working near her cauldron. A young woman from one of the other villages had come for medicine for her father. As soon as the woman leaves, Catta starts on the medicine.

I'm on the side of the hut, feeding the chickens and looking for eggs for our dinner. Suddenly I hear her voice. But it's not her normal speaking voice. She's reciting something, as if a poem. Or a curse. Or summoning a demon. And she's using words I don't know.

I listen for a moment before I creep closer to listen and watch what she's doing. As she says things, she adds ingredients or stirs the pot in rhythm with her incantation.

My curiosity gets the better of me. "Are you summoning a demon to make the medicine powerful?"

Catta glares for a moment, her eyes telling me not to interrupt her, to keep quiet. Her voice does not break the chanting.

I watch for something evil to appear, something unholy. But I see nothing. I'm trying to decide if I should run away before she enchants me with her magic when she stops and smiles at me.

"Sorry. This is a complicated recipe and it has to be done just right or it doesn't work."

"Was that a magic spell? Did you call on Satan?"

Catta laughs. "No, silly, that's just the recipe. They've been passed down as poems for generations uncounted. I had to memorize every one of these poems as a child. Most medicines are not as complicated and I can just remember the steps. This is one of the trickiest ones for me. But I'm pretty sure I got it right. Thank you for not interrupting more."

"But!" That explanation doesn't satisfy me. "Those weren't real words. Some of them sounded familiar in some way, but they're not real words. How can they be the recipe?"

"They're not Latin words. You and I speak Latin between ourselves. Or at least some approximation of it. Those words were Gaulish. You kind of recognize some of them because versions of them have crept into our speech. These recipe poems were composed before we spoke Latin. Before the Romans came."

I need to not let my imagination run wild. I really think Father Keller is wrong. She's just a woman. A kind and caring woman. I think she's good, not evil.

Chapter 6 The Sickness

After living in Catta's house for over a moon, I think we have the routine down. Just like any other morning, I watch her slice our bread for breakfast. That mostly finishes the loaf. She says nothing, but her concern is obvious.

I glance over where she keeps the remaining loaves. It looks like this loaf is it. We may have some hungry days in front of us.

Immediately after breakfast, I head out to my garden. A few turnips look ready. They would have gotten bigger over the next week or two, but these will feed us for a couple of meals. I think we need the food now.

I bring my first harvest in to show Catta. "We can have these for dinner tonight and probably tomorrow, too!"

Catta looks at me, the relief and gratitude obvious. I can see the tears welling up in her eyes. "Thank you," is all she says.

"It's the least I can do after everything you've done for me. Taking me in, feeding me, clothing me." I smile at her. "Not to mention teaching me to read. I really like that."

We sit and I have my daily reading lesson. I've pretty well mastered the letters and I'm starting to learn simple words. I don't know enough words to read her book yet, but I now understand how writing works. It's amazing.

After the lesson, Catta sheepishly admits, "I don't know how to cook your turnips."

I laugh. "I can cook them. There's no reason why you always have to prepare our meals. I'll leave the teas to you, but I can cook most of the time now."

I cooked most of the dinners at home, so I'm used to cooking and turnips were part of our regular diet. Dinner tonight is roasted turnips wrapped in turnip greens. I also mix some raw turnip greens with the last of our dried berries. Hopefully fresh berries will be out soon. The raw leaves are too bitter without something else to help the flavor.

++++++

The next day, Catta has another customer, a woman with a sick child. I don't listen to her discussing a payment; I know she doesn't like the haggling. She just wants to make the medicine for the child. But she also doesn't want us to be hungry, either.

Several hours later, the woman brings three loaves of bread back and Catta gives her a small pouch of herbs. Catta carefully explains to the woman how to prepare the tea and when and how often to serve it to her daughter.

I can hear the caring and compassion in Catta's voice as she does. Watching the woman, she hears it too. No wonder the villagers trust her, despite Father Keller's insistence to the contrary.

++++++

Later that week, I wake up feeling nauseous. I run outside, just making it to a bush before I vomit repeatedly. When I finally stop, Catta is there with a cup of water for me. "Do you want to try a small piece of bread to settle your stomach?"

"I just want to die." I go back to my bed and lie down, staying in bed for most of the morning.

When I'm feeling a little better, Catta brings me some bread, which actually tastes good to me. I didn't think I was ready to eat.

"Have you ever had a bout like this before?" Catta asks once I've finished my bread.

I simply shake my head no. I may be feeling better, but I'm certainly not feeling sociable.

Catta cooks us each an egg for dinner, along with some more bread. It sits surprisingly well. She watches me carefully as I eat, clearly looking for something. I try to ignore her.

As I'm falling asleep, I wonder about my illness. And what Catta knows about it. I think she knows what's wrong with me. It scares me that she does. All of Father Keller's warnings about her come rushing into my head.

++++++

I start the next morning by rushing out to vomit again.

When I'm empty, I stand up and accept the cup of water from Catta. She's grinning as she hands it to me.

I drink the water, then confront her. "You know what's wrong with me, don't you?"

Catta nods.

"Well, what is it?" In my frustration, I'm close to yelling. "Are the turnips I just grew bad? Are they making me sick?"

Catta grins, shaking her head no.

"What is it then?" I shout angrily. "Are you poisoning me? Turning my body over to demons? Getting rid of me so I stop eating your food?"

"No, silly. You're with child."

I'm dumbstruck. Of course I am, How did I not realize? But what am I going to do?

Catta suddenly grabs my arm. "Let's get you seated somewhere before you fall over."

She sits me on a stool. "I'll make you some special tea to help you feel a little better. You also want to eat small pieces of toast all through the day. Should I cook a slice now?"

I just sit there staring vacantly. How can this be? I understand how it happened, as much as I don't want to think about that. But why did God do this to me? What plans does he have for me? For my child?

Catta hands me a quarter slice of bread that's been crisped. I eat it eagerly. It tastes good. It feels good to have something in my stomach.

I'm still dazed when she hands me a cup of tea. This one tastes different to any other tea she's made for me. It feels good going down in little sips. As the warmth fills me, I can feel myself relaxing.

Catta puts a hand on my shoulder and looks at me, gazing into my eyes. I feel like she's reading my soul.

"Are you doing okay?"

After a moment, I find the strength to speak. "My stomach feels a bit better, Thank you for that."

"I'm glad that feels better, but I'm more worried about your spirit. This is a big event, obviously unexpected."

I nod. "I'm still processing the reality." I pause to count on my fingers. "So it will be an early winter baby."

"Do you want the baby? There is an alternative."

I stare blankly at her, baffled by her words. I don't see any choice for me.

Using her calming voice filled with compassion, Catta explains, "I can make a tea that will likely make you lose the baby. If you want to go that path. Or I can help you have the baby. It depends on what you want."

I start crying. "I don't know what I want!"

She steps closer and holds me. I cry against her shoulder as she rubs my back.

"It's his baby. I don't want it to be his baby."

"He was just a man doing what he was taught to do. Your baby does not need to behave like him at all. That's up to how you raise them."

"I hate him!"

"You should. But you need not hate his baby. He will never know the baby, never know it exists. This is your baby and yours alone."

++++++

She feeds me a small piece of cooked bread every hour or so and I have another cup of her tea before bed. She leaves some pieces of cooked bread beside my bed, which I manage to eat intermittently during the night.

I wake up feeling very nauseous, but I don't need to run out and vomit first thing.

She tends to the goats and the chickens for me. "I think your garden can go a few days until you're feeling a bit better."

She continues to feed me small pieces of toast every waking hour and two cups of tea a day. After a few days, I'm finding a little more balance. I still feel nauseous all the time, but it's manageable. I find the energy to weed my garden, preparing it for the first cabbage seeds, although cabbage does not appeal to me at all. Catta says it might by mid summer when it will start being available.

At the end of the week, I announce, "I think I want the baby. I've been pondering it a lot. God has made me pregnant for a reason, I know. I don't understand that reason, but I trust in his plan."

I see Catta nod. And I hear her mutter, "May the gods protect you and your baby."

++++++

I'm nauseous nearly continuously for the rest of spring. With extra rest, Catta's teas, and lots of pieces of cooked bread, I can do the gardening and care for Blossom and the chickens. The smell of cooking food makes me feel much worse, so Catta is back to doing all the food preparation.

After several weeks, it occurs to me that I'm eating a lot of bread. More than I ever did. But I haven't seen that many customers coming. I finally confront Catta.

"I'm eating all the bread, aren't I? And most the eggs?"

"Most of it, at least," Catta admits.

"What are you eating? You need food too."

"You've provided that. I've been eating most of your turnips. I had to harvest more of them."

I look concerned. "Are you okay with that?"

"You and the baby need the food. At least you had the wisdom to grow the turnips."

Chapter 7 The Hun

By the time the weather is getting warmer, I'm feeling better. The nausea is mostly gone. But now I'm hungry all the time. I spend a few hours a day doing my chores, including cooking, which I'm back to doing. Another two hours or so each day are dedicated to my lessons. I can now read many words on some pages of her book. I'm so excited to read. Most of the rest of the day, I'm out gathering nuts and berries in the forest. Did I mention I'm hungry all the time?

++++++

One day, during my lesson, Catta shows me pictures of several kinds of mushrooms As soon as my lesson is done, she says, "Let's go collect some of those mushrooms."

"Which ones?"

"Any of the ones I just showed you pictures of," she says. But then adds, "There are other ones that would just be good to add to your soups, along with the carrots, cabbage, and turnips. We can look for those, too."

"And I can collect some onions or scallions as well. The weather is beautiful today. It sounds like a wonderful idea."

She leads me much deeper into the woods than I've ever gone here. We follow the stream, always heading towards its source. The bank is a good place for finding my onions.

We both find mushrooms as we go. I confirm each kind of mushroom with her. She has multiple pouches with her, apparently not wanting to mix mushrooms together. Certainly none of the medicinals are put with anything we're going to eat.

++++++

Following the stream eventually leads to a large pond, apparently the source of all our water.

Catta smiles when she sees it. "I've missed you," she says, seeming to talk to the pond.

I look at her oddly. Is this some form of demon worship? Is some creature going to emerge from the pond?

She sees my concern and laughs. "I'm going to take a bath, my first of the summer. It feels so good."

She pulls her tunic off and unwraps her loincloth before stepping into the water.

We've both been mostly modest about undressing in front of the other since that first day when I handed her my old torn tunic. I shudder remembering why it was torn. I had thankfully stopped thinking about that.

The flashback to that horror is mercifully short lived. My view of Catta chases all other thoughts from my head. I'm fixated on her naked figure as I watch her legs slowly disappear into the pond. She has a much slighter build than me, with smaller breasts and smaller hips.

I feel a tingling in my belly. And below. I've never felt like this before. I realize I'm squirming a bit. It must be a new phase of the pregnancy.

I also want to touch Catta right now, press her tightly against me.

"Aren't you coming in? It will make you feel better." Her voice breaks the trance I'm in, my fixation on her body.

"Out here?"

"No one's around to see you," she retorts.

But she is. I'm all too aware of her being here. Still, I succumb to her urging, pulling my tunic off, laying it on the ground next to hers. I carefully remove my two undergarments, placing them on top of my tunic.

She watches me undress. The tingling in me grows even stronger. My stomach feels odd. I wonder if the nausea is returning.

"Come on in!"

I ease a foot into the pond, pulling it out instantly. "That's cold!"

"You get used to it, although we shouldn't stay in here too long and get too cold. The air will warm us up quickly afterwords."

I close my eyes and slowly walk into the pond. I'm barely controlling myself from screaming about how cold the water is. How come she didn't scream?

She glides around the water like some sort of fish. I stand and try not to shiver. Although it does feel good to have the grime off of my body. I splash water up and around my breasts and under my arms. My body feels clean for the first time in I don't know how long.

"It's probably time to get out. I don't think you want to get the baby cold," she says.

I can't disagree. I wade back out of the pond and pick up my clothes.

"Just sit in the sun without them, while you dry and warm up. Damp clothes would make for an unpleasant walk back home."

She's right, of course. I set my clothes back down and sit on the grassy slope at the edge of the pond, warming up in the summer air. A minute later, she's sitting beside me. We're both naked as newborn babies.

Looking at her, I know I want her. I don't understand for what, but I have a strong desire. I try to ignore it. It must be something weird from the pregnancy.

I'm both relieved and saddened when we finally get dressed.

++++++

Several weeks later, I'm returning from collecting nuts and berries when I see a horse near the hut. A war horse. There are weapons still on the horse. I think it's a Hun's war horse.

It's hard work to control my breathing. I desperately want to run away, but I need to see if Catta needs help. I creep to the door as quietly as I can. The door is partially ajar; I peer in.

He's here. Sitting in our hut, talking with Catta. The man who attacked me. One of the men who murdered my entire village. I can feel both the terror and the rage coursing through me, but I'm frozen in place.

Catta looks up and sees me. She nods to me, then says to the Hun, "Excuse me, my assistant has returned. I want to send her out to find the last ingredients for the medicine you need."

I watch her walk towards me, backing away before she gets to the door, in case he turned to look. I never want to see his face again.

As soon as she's outside, she pulls me away from the door.

"That's him, isn't it?" she whispers once we're well away from the hut.

I nod. "Why?" I pause, then ask more. "Why is he here? Why has he come back? Why is he in our house?"

"Apparently there was just a huge battle a few days ride from here. The rest of his clot was killed and he was severely wounded. He heard that I could make potions that might heal him."

"What are you going to do?"

"I'll take care of him. You go hide in the woods. I can't have him see you, in case he recognizes you."

I look at her questioningly. She simply waves me away and turns back towards the hut.

I don't leave right away. I can hear her speaking to him as she walks back into the hut. Her words are slow and carefully annunciated, making sure the Hun understands. "My assistant will get the remaining ingredients I need. Let me finish making the tea for you, then I will start on your medicine."

There is silence for several minutes, then I hear her say, "Drink the tea. It will prepare you for the medicine, make it more potent, more powerful."

I hear her coming back outside and I scurry back into the woods a bit. She seems to be starting to work on something in her cauldron, like any other potion she needs to cook. She's pouring something out of a bin that I've never noticed before. And she has the fire burning much hotter than she usually does for medicines.

I wander further into the woods. She's right that I don't want to be seen. I'm out of sight, but I stay with earshot.

++++++

Much later, I hear his voice. I still remember that voice. "You poisoned me!" he shouts in Latin.

I sprint towards the hut. She may need help.

I hear her laugh, then say, "I guess I should have made it stronger."

Did I hear that right? Did she really say that?

I'm close enough now to watch as he screams words I do not understand, rushing towards her. His fury is obvious despite the language barrier. She calmly watches him, stirring her cauldron.

When he's only a few feet from her, she throws a ladle full of boiling liquid into his face. She then calmly and quickly sidesteps, dodging his onslaught.

He shrieks in pain, but continues rushing towards where she was. He stumbles when she's not there to absorb the blow. Out of control, he runs headfirst into a tree a few feet past where she was standing.

He staggers back, dazed from the collision. He's holding his head as he roars in anger.

He turns towards me momentarily as he tries to find his balance. His hands drop from his face. He looks at me, or rather his face is towards me. I'm not sure he can see. One eye seems completely gone, the other does not look useful. His cheeks and his forehead are smoking, the skin on one cheek is bubbling as if it's boiling.

I scream in horror at the sight in front of me.

He starts running towards the scream, towards me.

Catta bangs her ladle on the cauldron, yelling, "I'm over here, if you're enough of a man to get me."

He snaps back towards her, recognizing the voice of his undoing. He charges blindly at the voice. Catta's voice.

She continues to talk, taunting him, keeping him focused on her. But she waits for him, keeping the cauldron of boiling liquid hanging between the two of them. Just before his hands can reach her, she dumps the entire contents of the cauldron down his midsection.

I thought he had shrieked before, but that was nothing compared to the yowl he bellows now.

He buckles over in pain. Catta swings the cauldron up on its handle, hitting him in the jaw with the heavy iron pot. He drops to the ground like a fallen tree.

I run up to her. I'm ready to kick him when she says, "Let him lie there as the poison works. He'll be dead soon enough."

I look at her. "You really did poison him?"

She nods. "It's better than he deserved. At least he felt his manhood burned off before he died."

Chapter 8 Talking

Catta and I stand silently and watch the Hun's breathing slow then stop. When he hasn't breathed for several minutes, Catta says, "Go fetch his sword from the horse."

It only takes me a moment to find the sword. I pull it out of the sheath, carry it back carefully, and hand it even more carefully to Catta. I don't like the thing.

"For Contessilo, you bastard!" she cries as she slits his throat, like the throats of the village men we had seen.

As soon as the deed is done, she collapses on the ground sobbing.

I kick the body once, as hard as I can, then sit down next to Catta, my arm around her. She leans her head against me and I gently rub her back, just like she has done for me so many times.

++++++

I hold her for over an hour, neither of us moving. Finally, she speaks, "We can't just sit here."

Before I get up, I ask, "Are you okay?"

"I'm a healer and I just killed a man. Even if he deserved it, that's hard. Before today, I could not conceive of doing that. I know the recipe for several poisons, but I never thought I would actually use one."

"If anyone ever deserved it, he did. What was in the cauldron?"

"The most powerful lye I can make. Once the cauldron is cool, I need to carefully wash all of that out before I make anything else."

I look at her, trying to comprehend what she just did, what she had to go through.

"Would you have poisoned him if he wasn't the one who attacked me?"

"I don't know. Maybe. I was pretty sure he was. Your description fit him to a tee. It's why I was already steeping the poisoned tea."

We sit quietly again for a moment, then she adds, "I used your onion grass stalk. I apologize, but I realized I needed something to cover the taste of the poison. It seemed like a fitting use."

I nod. I'm happy that something of mine was helpful in killing him, gaining my revenge.

I look at the dead body lying next to us. "What are we going to do with him? Burn the body like we did the villagers?"

She frowns. "Maybe, but it's his way and I don't want to grant him even that. I hate this man more than I knew I could hate."

We sit quietly for a while. I get an idea. "If we could get him there, we could drop him in the bog."

Catta nods to me then looks over her shoulder. "I bet we could lay him over his horse to carry him there. Tie some big stones to him to make sure he doesn't float back up."

I nod. That seems like a good plan.

Catta adds, "Let's get everything off his horse first. I bet we can sell them in town when we need money. Maybe get you some new clothes."

"We should take the valuables off him as well. He doesn't need them anymore. They won't buy him any better treatment in Hell."

He's carrying a coin purse holding more money than I've ever seen. All different coins. Some silver, some gold. We take the gold beads out of his hair. We leave his clothes on him. I really don't want to see what the lye did to his body. The front of his clothes have largely dissolved, but the remaining tatters cover enough to hide what I expect is the worst of the damage.

"Leave the blanket on the horse," Catta tells me, "We don't want any lye still on him to burn the poor beast."

++++++

Mission accomplished, we both collapse in our hut. We sit dazed for a while. I think we're both in shock from what just happened. This was the second most horrific day of my life, happening less than five moons apart. Both involving the same man, the one that Catta just killed.

But somehow, for all the gruesome scenes I just witnessed, for all my queasiness taking the valuables off a corpse then throwing the body in the bog, I feel more settled, more at ease than I was a few hours ago.

Some of it is the closure from the earlier attack. He won't be coming back for me, for my baby. I know I had some fear that somehow he would know I had his child and return to claim for his progeny.

Some of it is probably just the feeling of revenge. He's dead and I played at least a small part in that death. That sense is empowering to me.

But I also feel a closer bond with Catta. She killed a man and she did it for me. I never understood how much she hated him for what he had done. Killing was not easy for her; she admitted it violated her inner most self, but she knew she had to. Because of me. I already felt a debt to her for all she has done for me since that first awful day. But this was more than anything she'd ever done. More than taking me in. More than staying up all night to fight my demons. More than going without bread so I could feel better. More than I could ever ask of her or anyone. But she did it for me anyway.

Maybe me and my father. She seemed to have a special bond with Poppa. I wonder why.

I need to ask her. "Catta, as you slit his throat, you said it was for my father. You've said you knew him and he felt a debt to you. As do I. But I didn't realize you were that close to him, cared for him that much."

Catta looks at me for a moment before speaking. "I told you this was a lonely life. Contessilo was probably my only real friend, until you."

I look at her. I wonder what the basis of that friendship was. It suddenly hits me. Dare I ask her? I think I need to know. Neither of my parents are here to be sullied.

I ask, "Were you and my father lovers?"

She laughs. Her laugh that always warms my soul. "I see why you ask that, but no. I'm not interested in being with a man. Just like you."

That last sentence startles me. More stuns me. I was not ready for it at all. "I can't believe my father told you about me, about that." As I think back, I remember that she seemed to know that about me that first day we met. That memory had long since vanished, suppressed with the rest of those awful two days.

"He understood I was like you, so he asked my advice. In his heart, he knew that forcing you to be with Gaston was wrong, but he felt immense pressure to do just that. I tried to give him the support he needed to stay strong in his decision, do the right thing for you."

"Is that why you left the village and came out here?" I ask.

"Not the main reason, but it certainly made the decision easier. I'd been coming out to help Aunt Abbula since I was little. My mother understood that Aunt Abbula and I were kindred spirits, that I was destined to follow her path. By the time you were born, I was spending my days here instead of in the village. Learning everything I could from Aunt Abbula, just as she had learned from her great aunt. None of us had ever been with a man."

I'm astonished. I thought I was the only woman who didn't want a man. I want to cry. I realize I am crying. Not exactly tears of joy. More tears of relief. As I feel them roll down my cheeks, I softly say, "I thought I was alone."

"My dear Aia, you'll never be alone as long as I can be with you." She's starting to cry, too.

She reaches out her hand and I hold it. I've never felt more blessed in my life.

Catta wipes the tears from her eyes and says, "I could use a walk in the woods, maybe a bath."

I nod and stand up, wiping the tears from my face. I think I need it, too.

++++++

We walk along the side of the stream. We're not searching for anything to eat or for her medicines, simply walking to clear our heads, purge us of the experience we just had.

Something occurs to me as we walk. What happened to her parents? "Were your parents killed in the attack too?"

Catta looks at me. I can tell this answer is not coming easily. "My father was, but we had not spoken in years. My mother died not long after Aunt Abbula. I had tried to make medicine for her and it hadn't worked. She was my first patient that I lost. I wasn't ready to face not being able to save everyone. But why did it have to be her?"

She's starting to cry. I reach out for her hand, she squeezes mine tightly as I hold it.

She looks at me. "Thank you. Thank you for being here for me. That one is still hard on me. Unlike my father, she understood me, supported me. He'd been angry when I left to live out here, angry that I wouldn't take a man, give him grandchildren. When my mother died, when I couldn't save her, he became very bitter towards me. And life in general. I don't think he interacted much with anyone after that."

I suddenly think I know who she's talking about. "Your father was old man Crixus? I thought he was crazy."

She nods. "He may have been crazy. I don't know. He had isolated himself to marry my mother, who grew up as a social outcast. He wasn't comfortable that she raised me with the old gods. I don't think he ever trusted me. But he loved my mother with every ounce of his existence. Once she was gone, he had nothing to keep him connected to the world. I felt sorry for him, but he said things to me I could not forgive. Like Gaston, he did not deserve to die even if he had disowned me."

We start walking quietly again. I had occasionally wondered who her parents were in the village. No one seemed to make any sense. Old man Crixus had not occurred to me. It seemed hard to imagine him with a wife and daughter.

++++++

A while later, Catta starts talking, using her teaching voice that I've gotten to know. "Sappho was one of the nine great poets of antiquity. Did you know she wrote poems about the love between women? I have a second book, a book of poetry. It has some of her poems written down. I used to read them nights when I was especially lonely."

"How do you know about ancient poets? Did your great aunt teach you that as well?"

"Yes, but she learned it from her father, not her great aunt. Her great aunt taught her about the herbs, about medicine, about healing. Poppa Marcus, my great-grandfather, taught her everything else. He'd been a traveling bard from Egypt. He claimed to be descended from Cleopatra, from Alexander Helios, her son with Marc Antony. Before he came to Gaul, Poppa Marcus had been to Greece and even Rome. And just about everywhere else I think. He met my great grandmother here and they fell in love. He stopped wandering and settled down. They had two children, my grandmother and Aunt Abbula."

"In Bellua, our village?"

"No, in the village of Labete, about a day's walk from here. But they killed my grandfather and drove my grandmother out a few years after Poppa Marcus died, when my mother was about twelve."

"Why?"

"Because they refused to profess their love for your god, for your savior." She spits on the ground. "My grandmother built a hut not far outside Bellua. She still had some of her father's money. He had accumulated a tidy sum before he settled here. Much of it went for the cauldron out front and some of the other things here."

"Did he buy the book, too?" Her book of medicine plants may be the most valuable thing she owns.

She laughs. "No, he scribed it and my great grandmother drew the pictures. Her aunt provided the samples of plants to draw from and told him what to write. She wasn't literate. But he ensured that our entire clan descended from him was."

I'm amazed. Her ancestors actually created that beautiful book. "That must have been a lot of work. Both of them must have been amazingly talented."

"It took them years to complete it. A few of the entries were written under Aunt Abbula's guidance, after her great aunt died. Poppa Marcus was born in Alexandria. That left him obsessed with stories of old and the wisdom of the elders. He thought it was being lost. He understood the true value of books."

++++++

"Shall we?" Catta asks once we've reached the pool.

I nod and start taking off my clothes. We've come several times for joint bathing since that first day. My body still tingles knowing that she's watching me disrobe. I've decided I enjoy the feeling, whether it's from the pregnancy or not. I enjoy watching her taking off her clothes at least as much. I'm not sure I've ever enjoyed anything more.

I still just stand in the pond, splashing myself a bit, while she glides around the water. Her ability to do that scares me sometimes. People aren't meant to thrive in the water. We're not fish. It makes me think about Father Keller's warnings about her.

I watch her body cut through the water. She is so graceful. Her body is beautiful. I don't believe she can be a receptacle for evil.

We lay on the grass, letting the hot summer air and the sun dry us off.

I reach a hand out and touch her hand. She holds on to my hand with hers. We stare into each other's eyes, as we lie there silently.

I finally speak. "Thank you so much. For today. And for everything else you've done for me over these more than four moons I've been here. Since my life changed. I would not have made it without you."

"Not everything's been easy, but this has been the happiest I've been since Aunt Abbula died."

I feel closer to Catta at this moment than I've ever felt to anyone.

Chapter 9 The Kiss

I feel the hand around my ankle, holding it tightly. I'm being pulled out of bed. I look and see him. He's dragging the stones with him, still tied to him. His faced is burned and scarred, his eyes missing. But he can still see me.

He rips my tunic open, like he did months ago. But he is not attacking me like he did. He grabs my belly with his hands and tears it open. He pulls the baby out of me, shouting, "This is mine."

"He's mine, not yours!" I scream back at him.

"It's okay, Aia. It's just us here."

It's Catta's soothing voice, piercing through the terror. I open my eyes. She's sitting next to me. I'm shaking in fear.

"He came back. He tried to take my baby, tear him out of me."

"It was just a nightmare. He can't come back. It's your baby and no one is going to take it away from you."

I sit up and pull her against me. She wraps her arms around me and holds me.

Finally she says, "Let me make some forgetting tea. We should both drink it. This was a horrific day that neither of us wants to remember."

She stands and starts working on the tea.

I watch her for a moment, then stand up out of bed and walk next to her. I want to hold her but she needs space to work on the tea.

Soon we're sipping our teas. I shift around to sit leaning against her as we do. She puts an arm around me.

I'm starting to feel drowsy, the tea taking effect. I stand to go back to my bed. Before I leave her, I say, "Would you hold me as I fall asleep. I think I need that tonight."

"I would like to feel you against me tonight, too."

We lie next to each other on my bedding, our bodies pressed together. Each with an arm holding the other tightly. I can see her eyes drooping too. The tea soon has us both soundly asleep. No more bad dreams haunt my sleep. At least none that I remember.

++++++

When I wake, Catta is still lying next to me. Sometime during the night, I had rolled onto my back, but her arm is still on my belly. Keeping my baby safe.

She always wakes up before me. I have a momentary fear that she's not okay, but I look and see that she's breathing deeply. She looks so peaceful in her sleep.

Her face is angelic. I cannot resist; I gently stroke her cheek.

The eyes of the angel open, green eyes I'm suddenly drowning in. I'd seen her eyes before, knew they were green, but I had never really looked into them like I am now.

She looks confused for just a moment, then smiles.

My angel speaks, her voice itself a song from heaven. "I've never woken up with anyone before. Or at least not since I was a little girl."

"I was going to say I hadn't either, but I woke up to you caring for me that first night."

My stomach rumbles under her hand. We both laugh.

She says, "I guess your stomach says it's time to get up, time to feed you."

I'm still laughing. "I'm always hungry now."

Before she takes her hand off my belly, I can feel my baby moving, kicking. The first time I've felt that. I'm so excited. I ask Catta, "Did you feel that? I think he's hungry, too."

Catta laughs as she nods. Her smile becomes even broader, then an odd look comes over her. "When did you decide your baby is a boy?"

I'm surprised. I hadn't really noticed I did, but she's right, I do think of him as a boy now. "He was a boy in my nightmare. I don't know if I had decided that already or it came from that dream. But I think he's a boy. I think his name is Bran."

"Dreams can be prophetic, but sometimes they're just illusions," she warns. "Don't get too attached to Bran. It might still be a girl."

++++++

Things are somehow different between us today. We each do our chores like any normal day, eat our normal meals. But life is different.

As we pass each other, one of us will put a hand on the other. Tenderly, compassionately. Just a brush of her hand across my back. Or me touching her arm for a second. A simple acknowledgment to each other that we're there. That we're here for each other.

If her hands are full making a medicine or my hands are covered in dirt from gardening, it might just be a look. But we still manage to connect.

I like this feeling.

++++++

We sleep in the same bed every night now. I love the sense of her nearness in the middle of the night, the comfort of knowing she's right beside me. She seems very happy with the new sleeping arrangement, too. She usually sleeps on her side, with a hand on me all night. Bran likes to kick first thing in the morning, so I never sleep in anymore. The good news is that I'm usually awake when Catta wakes up. I love to watch her smile each morning as she sees me next to her.

A few days later, after my daily reading lesson, Catta brings out a second book. A smaller book. A few pages have obviously been read more than any others. Catta looks at me with her green eyes, eyes that make me want to hold her. I think she wants to hold me, too. She sits next to me and reads from the page. It's really almost singing from the page. I only understand portions of what she's saying, but I understand enough.

The words speak of love and desire. Not between a man and a woman but a woman wanting another woman. Even though I don't fully understand the words, they echo in my soul, resonate with my very fiber. I feel a desire for Catta I never knew existed.

She sets the book down and looks at me. I look at her. I lean towards her. She leans towards me. Our lips touch.

The world stops. I feel our souls touching each other. I feel the magic racing between us, our very life energies intertwining.

The world no longer exists. There's only Catta and me, our lips touching, kissing.

I feel something on my chest. I realize it's Catta's hand, gently rubbing my breast. Somehow my breasts, my lips, and my nether lips are all attached. I feel her lips all three places. I feel her hand all three places. It all feels wonderful.

Catta encourages me to stand. She stands up with me. First she pulls me against her, wrapping her arms around me, squeezing me tightly, almost merging our two bodies into one. Only my belly keeping us apart. We're back to kissing again.

I want her in ways I don't begin to understand. I want to feel all of her, see all of her, taste all of her. I want her.

She breaks off the kiss and pulls back. I try to follow her, but she pushes me away. Not far, not even an arm's length away. She reaches down and pulls up on my tunic. I understand and pull it up over my head and off. I drop it to the floor.

She slowly, carefully unwraps my strophium, exposing my breasts. I want to show them to her, to give them to her. She leans down and kisses a breast, then moves to kissing a nipple. I close my eyes and enjoy the sensation. She has a hand on the other breast, fondling it, pinching the nipple. I realize I'm moaning softly.

Her hand leaves my breast and I feel my loincloth being unwrapped. I'm now completely nude. Her hands are now touching my most private place, a part of me I want to share for the first time in my life.

She runs her fingers through me. I'm strangely wet. Her finger slides past all my nether lips. Suddenly she touches something and a bolt of pleasure explodes within me. I gasp. The feeling is overwhelming.

She moves her fingers away and I whimper. I want that sensation again. I need that sensation.

She understands. Her finger returns. I'm moaning again and not softly. Then something happens. It feels so good it's almost excruciating. And I'm falling, no longer aware of anything except Catta's hand in me.

It ends. I realize I'm leaning against Catta, panting, my heart racing. I feel almost lost. Something happened that I don't understand. But I want it again. And again. I pick up my head from Catta's shoulder and look at her. She is grinning ear to ear. Whatever happened to me, she did. She gave me that pleasure. Like so many things, she understands and I don't.

I look at her with desire in my eyes. "Can I do that to you?"

She nods, her grin seeming to get even bigger.

I try to do exactly what she did to me, as well as I remember. Soon she is panting. Until she just shudders. I think she found that same pleasure she gave me

We hug, our naked bodies pressed against each other. It's the happiest moment I've ever had in my life.

++++++

The days turn into weeks as the weather cools. We please each other each morning and each night and sometimes once or twice during the day. We're getting to know better how to bring the pleasure to the other, make it even more wonderful. Sometimes it happens quickly. Sometimes it stretches out in agonizing glory. A feeling so good it's torture.

Around this, we do our normal chores. My reading lessons now include trying to read poems from the other book her great grandfather scribed. Starting, of course, with all of Sappho's poems that he recorded. They usually don't trigger another round of lovemaking, but they always make me desire her, feel more bonded to her.

One day I see a woman walking up, a young girl on her hip. I realize I recognize the woman; she's the one who Catta made tea for shortly before I realized I was pregnant.

The woman looks at me and asks, "Is she here?"

I nod, and stick my head in the hut, "Someone's here for you, Catta."

Catta looks concerned as she realizes who it is. "Is everything okay, Carata? Did the tea not work? Is she sick again?"

The woman smiles. "It worked. She's a healthy girl now. Aren't you Leuca?"

The girl, who is around two or three, smiles and waves to Catta. Catta's grin spreads across her face as the words sink in. She waves back to Leuca. The young girl's smile transitions into giggles.

Carata has tears forming in the corners of her eyes as she speaks, her voice full of emotion. "I just wanted to thank you. I don't think she would have made it without your medicine."

"Thank you," is all Catta says. But I can see the emotions in her. This means a lot to her.

"I also wanted Leuca to see who saved her life, see that you're not a witch, despite what Father Keller says," the woman adds. "Oh, and you were obviously hungry when I came before. I wish I could have given you more then. But I brought these now." She pulls two loaves of bread out of her satchel and hands them to Catta. "If I'd known your assistant was with child, I would have tried to find more."

She turns to me and says, "I bet you're hungry all the time now, aren't you."

I grin and nod to her.

"Thank you so much for your kindness," Catta says. "Seeing Leuca healthy is reward enough, but we appreciate the food. We do seem to be going through it a lot faster these days."

She grins and looks at me. I pat my belly, smiling.

++++++

Harvesting the last of the carrots and turnips is my final gardening for the year. Fortunate, because I'm having trouble bending down low enough, my belly getting in the way. We have a sizable winter larder of carrots and turnips to help see us through. Bran won't be eating solid food until another harvest starts to come in. I smile. He's going to spend a lot of time when he's a few months old laying beside the garden, watching Momma gardening.

Even with my extra eating, we should have enough food for the winter if Catta keeps getting a few loaves of bread a week. Recently, several customers have actually brought something extra. I think they all realize I'm always hungry. But it's so nice to see that they care about us. Father Keller's damnation of Catta is not being universally absorbed.

I'm staying inside more often now. If nothing else, it's getting harder to squeeze through the doorway.

Even as my belly grows, we continue to satisfy each other. She has to adjust her caresses on my breasts as they've swelled and gotten more sensitive. As with everything else, she understands and still makes me feel special every time. On the cold nights, her body snuggled against me helps keep me warm.

I never knew life could be so good.

Chapter 10 Bran

The first truly cold morning seems to bring a change in me. It's not cold enough to frost, but it's now uncomfortable to be outside for long. We only have Catta's shawl for an outer garment to help with the temperatures. Other than tending to the chickens, Blossom, and Thunder, the name we gave the horse, I stay inside now, letting her use the shawl.

Maybe it's being inside so much, but there is so much mess, so much clutter in the hut, it's driving me crazy. I spend multiple hours everyday cleaning.

We sleep on Catta's bedding now. Her space had a little more room for the two of us. I decide that we'll use my old area for Bran's bed, long term. I clean that space thoroughly. I've been working on making a cradle for several weeks. The frame is made of branches, lashed together with vines. I wove some reeds into a curved mat that fit inside the frame.

I realize that I want him nearer me when he's first born. I work on clearing a space near our bedding for his cradle.

Catta laughs at my sudden interest in cleaning. I'd never cared much about cleaning our hut. Or my old hut in Bellua. I have a momentary twinge of sadness thinking about that. My parents would have been so happy to have a grandchild.

Then I see another area I want to clean. It occurs to me what's going on, why I'm doing this. I think Catta understands, too. I'm getting ready for Bran. The place has to be perfect for him, even if he won't notice. It just has to be. No other possibility could be acceptable.

++++++

After a few days of cleaning, I'm standing in the hut, looking for what else needs to be done. I've been trying to ignore Catta's piles of things that take up much of the hut. But I realize I can't ignore all the jars, all the medicines. Everywhere. Catta warned me not to open any of them, so they're dangerous. Too dangerous to have around Bran.

"I need you to clear out all these medicines," I tell her. Not a request, simply an observation of what needs to happen.

She looks at me then sharply says, "No!"

I look at her in disbelief. That was not a question. It needs to happen. Then it dawns on me. She doesn't want me to have Bran. She wanted me to drink her tea.

"Do you hate Bran?" I finally ask, tears forming in my eyes.

"Of course not," she answers. But I'm not convinced she believes her answer. She quickly adds, "Or whatever her name will be."

She won't drop that I may not know my baby. But I'm certain he's a boy. Bran is a boy.

Then she adds one more thing. "You just don't get to tell me what to do with my house."

After nine months of learning it's our house, I find that was all a lie. Everything was a lie. Am I finally seeing the real Catta?

++++++

We don't speak much the rest of the day. No loving glances or caresses as we pass. The inside is far icier than the cold air settling in outside.

For the only night since Catta first read me Sappho's poem, we do not kiss as we lay in bed. We do not hug. We do not pleasure each other.

Catta lies facing away from me. I miss the feeling of her hand on my belly as I try to fall asleep.

But I can't sleep. I need Catta. My Catta. I can feel the tears welling up in my eyes.

I look at her back, still tensed. I listen to her breathing. I know what she sounds like as she's falling asleep, what she sounds like when she is asleep. Catta is neither.

"I'm sorry I've ruined everything," I say softly.

She laughs. Not her normal soothing laugh. This one has a bit of a caustic edge to it. "You didn't ruin anything. I did. I should never have said those things."

"Do you hate Bran?"

"No, but I'm scared of him. Maybe a little jealous. The last nine months have been the happiest times I've had since Aunt Abbula died. Probably even happier, but it's hard to compare childhood to adulthood. Will we still be here for each other? You have to choose Bran first. I understand that. I don't want to resent Bran for that, but I'm scared I will."

"I'll still be here for you, too. Always and forever."

I can see her back shaking, hear her crying.

"If you roll over, I'll give you a hug, if you would like," I offer.

"I would very much like." Catta rolls over and I wrap my arms around her. I pull her head against my chest. I rub her back gently as she sobs.

"I love you, Catta. I always will."

The sobs ease enough for her to say, "I love you, too. More than anything."

We lie here for a while longer, silent except for her light sobs. When the cries seem to have faded, I say, "The medicines don't need to be cleaned up for months. Bran won't be able to get into anything right away."

"But they need to be cleaned up. I know that. I'll figure out a way, the gods willing."

I wince a bit at her utterance. But it doesn't sting like it used to. Of course I haven't heard from Father Keller in nine months now.

We fall asleep with her head on my chest.

++++++

We kiss in the morning, but we don't pleasure each other's bodies. Otherwise, we seem back to normal. Nothing else is said of the issues from yesterday. And my nesting urges seem to have been broken.

A few days later, it starts. Just after breakfast, I feel a strong pang. Catta sees me wince. "Was that a contraction?"

"I think so."

She watches me carefully for several minutes. Just as she's about to go back to reading in her big book, another hits.

"Okay, I'm going to start a special tea for you. It will help you through this. Walk around the hut for a little while, that can help the baby drop into position."

When the tea has brewed, I sit and sip from the cup until it's drained. Then back to pacing in the hut.

Finally, I needed to lie down. The contractions are too distracting.

"Should I be pushing?"

Catta shakes her head. "He's not ready to come yet."

The minutes turn into hours as the contractions become closer together and more powerful.

I look at Catta. "Not yet," are the words that I hear, but not the ones that I want, that I need.

"Oh, God, please let him come soon and safely." I'm squeezing Catta's hand tightly on each contraction.

++++++

Another hour later, she's still saying "Not yet." I look at her. "Do you know how to do this? Have you birthed a baby before."

"I've helped birth several babies. Including you, if you remember."

"But have you done it alone?"

"I'll manage."

Not the reassurance I want.

++++++

The daylight is starting to fade when I vaguely hear a voice outside the hut, "Hello?"

"I'll be right back. I'm not leaving you," Catta says to me.

I hear her speaking to someone just outside the hut. "I can't help you right now. Aia's in labor in there. Is it an emergency? Can you come back?"

I hear a woman's voice ask, "Do you have anyone helping you?"

I don't hear a response.

A moment later, Catta is back, holding my hand. "Is it time yet?"

Catta just shakes her head no. I don't know how much longer I can handle this.

++++++

Sometime later, time is becoming fuzzy to me, I hear another woman's voice call, "Hello!" I look up enough to see Carata, the woman who brought her young girl to say thank you more than four moons ago, walking in from the dark, a torch in her hand.

"I thought you might need help," the newcomer says.

"Thank the gods. And thank you. Did you bring the midwife?"

"She's been sent for. She should be here within the hour. How's she progressing?"

"Poorly. She's not dilating."

"Why don't you take a break and I'll sit with her until the midwife arrives."

I see Catta nod, then slump against the wall not too far away. Even in my condition, I can see she's exhausted.

Carata speaks softly to me, telling me it will be okay. It's only going to last a little while longer.

++++++

I know I'm fading in and out of contact with the world. My next clear memory is two more women arriving. I recognize one as the midwife. I'd been at several birthings in my village, two of which she'd helped with.

She looks at me and then talks to Catta for a few minutes. Soon Catta is preparing something else, while the midwife talks to me. "Catta is going to give you something to drink which will help the baby come out. You have to drink it all. Do you think you can sit up enough to drink it?"

I nod my head. I'm surprised when Catta hands me a cup of cold liquid. I expected another tea. It takes me three gulps to drain the cup.

It's only a few minutes later when the contractions get even stronger. I hope this means it's working. I don't have much left in me.

"She's opening up," the midwife says.

++++++

"I can see the head now. We're good there." I recognize the midwife's voice.

I look at Catta, who is back to holding my hand. "Is it time?"

Catta nods. The midwife says "Push!"

I push. I scream. It hurts so much. I'm being ripped open.

"The heads coming. Keep pushing."

I push.

"That's it. Keep pushing."

++++++

"The heads clear. Here comes the shoulders. Keep pushing."

++++++

"It's coming now. I've got him!"

Catta says, "You were right. It is Bran."

I hear a baby cry. The midwife is doing something with him.

Now she's handing him to Catta. I can see my son as the first light of day breaks into the hut.

"Push again."

++++++

"I've got it. She's all good."

I see Catta smile as she hands Bran to me.

He's lying on my chest as I hold him.

"Hello, Bran. I'm Momma."

Chapter 11 Town

The weeks after Bran's arrival are a blur. Middle of the night feedings. Sometimes I sit up with him after he'd had his fill of my milk. Sometimes Catta takes him and I can fall back asleep. She's bonding tightly to him. She loves to hold him and walk around with him.

After a few days, I'm back to doing some chores. No gardening right now, but I do go out to feed the chickens and find eggs. And care for Blossom and Thunder, the Hun's horse. Bran stays inside with Catta when I go out. He's too little for the cold air.

We've cut my old tunic into strips for swaddling him. Which brings up the new chore of washing those constantly. Catta and I pretty much split that chore.

It takes a few weeks, but I'm back to pleasuring Catta most days. I'm still too tender for over a moon to want her to touch me. Slowly that comes back as well and we're back to pleasuring each other. Not as often as we had been, but I'm still feeling bonded to her. She seems, if anything, even happier than she'd been before our fight. It feels somehow like our family, unusual as it is, was pre-destined, fated.

Catta still has her regular stream of customers, making a few medicines a week. With Bran inside, I'm so glad she makes her medicines outside.

She still hasn't dealt with the bottles of medicine inside, but I'm trusting her. She promised.

++++++

By the time Bran's a few moons old, I can see my father's face in him. But he definitely has his father's black hair. Both my parents had light colored hair, golden brown like me.

He's gaining weight nicely; he seems to be a healthy boy. He certainly likes his milk. My milk.

It's an unusually warm and sunny late winter day when Catta says, "Let's go to town and buy some clothes for all of us. Maybe we can sell Thunder. I don't think either of us will ever ride him."

I nod. I'm not going to miss caring for the horse and he eats a lot of hay, much more than Blossom. He does get some of my carrots and turnips, too. I grew a lot of them last year. But I've gotten somewhat attached to Thunder. All three of us definitely need clothes. As I think some more, I say, "Why don't we bring him. I'm not sure about selling him. If we get lots of things, we might want him to help carry stuff back. I think we have plenty of money, especially if we sell a bead." I'm pretty sure the eight beads we took out of the Hun's hair were all solid gold.

I look at Bram. "We can wrap Bran in the shawl, which should keep him warm enough. We'll just get cold."

We walk for well over an hour to reach town. We alternate leading the horse and carrying Bran. He has definitely gained weight; he's getting heavy to carry, even in the sling we made.

++++++

I haven't been to town in a year, not since before the attack. My parents used to bring me every three or four weeks to attend church, hear Father Keller. Not much has changed with the town in my year of absence. I think it's comprised of the exact same two hundred or so buildings. They always seem so fancy to me; almost all of the structures in town are wood frame construction, much more elegant than the mud brick huts that I see every day, that I've always lived in.

The largest building is the church. We avoid going near it today, but it somewhat dominates the town. It's hard not to be aware of it. I can only imagine how uncomfortable it makes Catta.

Even though everything looks the same to me as it did a year ago, we're somehow different. When I came with my parents, no one noticed us. We were just three more church goers coming from the hinterlands to save our souls.

Today, Catta and I draw attention. No one says anything to us, but lots of people point at us and whisper to each other as we pass. Maybe they recognize Catta. I know it's been years since she came into town. Few people from town come out to get her medicines.

Whatever the cause, it feels odd to be stared at like we are.

++++++

Our first stop is the fabric shop. We tie Thunder up outside the shop and walk in. The shopkeeper eyes us suspiciously. "Everything here costs money," he says.

"We have money," Catta says, jingling the coin purse we took from the Hun.

"Hmmph. I guess so. No tricks though."

He apparently recognizes Catta as the witch.

I speak up, hoping I'm less intimidating. "I would like some softer linen cloth for Bran. And a band of cloth for a spare strophium for me. Maybe a baby sized blanket? And a full sized one. Big enough to keep two warm over night."

Catta looks at me. I hadn't mentioned wanting the blankets, but we could use them. I look at her, pleading with my eyes. She nods.

"That's not going to be cheap," is all he says in return.

I nod. He pulls out some things to show us. They're exactly what I want, what I was hoping for. Catta pays him a single gold coin. He seems surprised and distrustful, but finally agrees to accept the payment.

We strap the blankets and cloth onto Thunder's back.

++++++

Our second stop is the vestimentum, which sells clothes. I've never been in here before. I don't think Catta has either.

"That's quite some horse you have there," the shopkeeper says as we enter. He'd been standing outside, watching us approach.

I have no idea how to respond to that. Catta simply says, "Thank you."

"That's a Hun war horse, isn't it?"

Catta and I look at each other. Again, Catta answers. "We got it from a Hun, yes."

"Humph. Didn't think they'd ever give those up," is the only response.

We look at a pair of new tunics for us, a new warm shawl for me, and an oversized warm wrap for Bran. I'm hoping it will fit him for at least another year, maybe two.

All the things are so nice, nicer than anything I've ever had before..

Catta haggles for a few minutes before settling on a price. More things for Thunder's back.

++++++

We're starting to make our way back to the edge of town when we walk by a furniture maker's shop. He has an intricately carved wooden cradle on display in the front.

I stop to look at it. It is so beautiful. I've never seen a piece of furniture like that. Ever.

Catta must realize that I'm somewhat lusting after it. She looks at me and sighs, "Let's go see how much he wants for it."

I turn to her and beam. It is so much nicer than the branch and reed cradle I'd made. I want Bran to have something really nice.

We walk in to the shop. Before the shopkeeper appears, Catta makes a beeline for something. Following her, I see a simple, mid-sized chest. I don't understand why she's interested.

"Don't you see? That's the solution!" she says excitedly.

"The solution for what?" I ask, somewhat confused.

"The dangerous medicines," she explains. "I haven't stopped worrying about that. I know I need to do something."

I must be tired or distracted or something. I still don't get it.

Catta always understands me. "I can shut all the dangerous jars of medicines in there. To keep Bran from ever opening them."

I nod, but she doesn't see. She's looking around. There's a simple shelf unit she's now looking at. "I can keep all the safe ones on this. That will make the hut so much better, so much neater. Give Bran a little more space when he's ready for it."

"What can I do for you?" the shopkeeper asks as he emerges from the back.

Catta takes charge. "We want the cradle out front, the chest here, and the shelf over there."

"They're not cheap, especially the cradle." I don't think he trusts us.

Catta and the furniture maker haggle for a while. Neither seems very happy with the way it's going. She finally pulls out a gold bead from the Hun's hair and sets it down on the counter.

He picks it up and looks closely at it. He hefts it in his hand. He bites it.

"Where did you get this?"

"From a Hun," Catta says, without blinking.

He looks at us and shakes his head. Then he looks at the bead and nods his head. "Deal."

++++++

As we're strapping the new pieces of furniture to Thunder's back, Catta suddenly stops and starts sniffing the air.

"Are you going to help me finish strapping this stuff on?" I ask, a little miffed as I'm trying to hold all three pieces of furniture, none of which is fully tied down.

She frowns, saying, "Sorry. But as soon as this is secure, I need to find where that smell is coming from."

The moment the load's safe, she's off, following her nose. I sit on the edge of a trough and nurse Bran while I wait. He needs to be fed before we walk back anyway.

Bran is just finishing his lunch when Catta reappears, carrying a satchel. Something in the satchel clinks as she approaches. She's beaming.

"What did you get?" I ask.

"Some more jars for medicines and several things I can't grow, like cinnamon and cumin. Wonderful for use in several medicines I've never been able to make."

"Where?"

"There's a spice shop around the corner."

"How much was it?"

"We can afford it," is her only answer.

I nod, but note she didn't tell me how much she spent. The money purse looks lighter. Oh well. She's the one who got us the money and she's the only one who brings in any supplies. She's entitled to spend it, I guess.

On the way out of town, several more people whisper or point at us. It's very unnerving.

Chapter 12 News

"We may be in trouble." Catta looks seriously concerned as she comes back from talking to a customer.

"What's wrong?" I ask. I have no idea what she could be worried about. As I look at her, she more than concerned; she's shaken, afraid of something. I've never seen her afraid. Even when the Hun was running straight at her.

"Our trip into town two weeks ago seems to have stirred up trouble. Father Keller has increased his vitriol towards us. He's saying we colluded with the Huns to murder everyone in Bellua. That we got paid handsomely for it. And that you seduced one of them to save your own life."

"That's not true!" A sudden rage burns through me.

"We know it's not true, but it's not hard for Father Keller to make it seem plausible. That's the kind of thing that can rally a mob."

"Like a dangerous mob?"

"Like the one that murdered my grandfather and chased my grandmother and my mother into the night."

++++++

"We did not!"

I can hear Catta's voice raised in anger. Last I knew, she was talking to a customer out front. I assume that's who she's still talking to, but I've never heard her raise her voice to a customer.

I set Bran into his cradle and creep closer to the door so I can hear the entire conversation.

The man says, "That's what Father Keller says. That's all I know."

"I first knew of the Huns when I saw the smoke from the village burning. I went the next day and found Aia crying in the street, her clothes torn. We gathered the bodies and burned them. I know burial would have been better, but even with the help from the two men who came, we could never have dug that many graves. And I didn't want the wolves and boars to eat them. So we burned them."

"So you don't know that your assistant didn't collude with them," he points out.

I can just see a sliver of her through the door. Even with my limited vision, I can tell her reaction. I've never seen her so angry.

"I know Aia. I know her nightmares. She was truly terrified when I found her. I knew of her before that. I will vouch for her character with my life."

"Where did you two get all the money? The bead from a Hun? The horse?"

"A Hun came back several months later. He was one of the ones from the attack on the town. The rest of his unit were killed in battle and he was injured. I took revenge for what happened in Bellua. I poisoned him and slit his throat. We took his money and dumped his body in the bog. Do you think a live Hun would ever give up his horse?"

There's a pause. I think the man is considering that story.

"I'm sorry, then. Father Keller tells a pretty damning story of you two."

++++++

"I assume you heard that conversation," Catta says when she comes into the hut a short time later.

I look at her with surprise. I thought I'd been quiet enough to be unnoticed.

"I could see you come up."

I nod. She always knows more about everything than I expect. "At least he seemed to believe you. I think your comment about Thunder was pretty convincing."

"I hope so. But I don't think I'll be able to get our side of the story to the people in the town."

++++++

Catta and I are doing some work in the yard when I see Carata coming up the path. She looks concerned.

"Leuca's not sick again, is she?" Catta asks as she approaches.

"No, I'm here about the two of you. I heard your side from Karol. I've never heard Father Keller so worked up as he is these days. I'm trying to spread your side so people understand." She looks at Bran, lying in the cradle we'd brought out with us. "His father was a Hun, wasn't he? That hair is pretty distinctive."

Catta and I nod.

She looks at me. "It wasn't voluntary, was it."

I shake my head. I can feel the tears starting to roll down my cheeks. I reach out and grab Catta's hand.

"It's okay. I understand. I'm so sorry. You should know Father Keller is also saying you two are living unnaturally together."

Catta and I look at each other. We don't say anything. I don't think we have to.

"That's okay, too. I know some don't approve. But you two seem good together."

I don't know what to say. As usual, Catta is able to speak for both of us. "Thank you."

"I'll try to spread your story as best I can. Hopefully it can help calm things down. Good luck."

She turns and walks back the way she came.

++++++

The next Monday, Carata comes back. "Father Keller is organizing a group to come for you. I think both of you. You should probably go."

"This is my house, my place. It was my Aunt Abbula's before me. I will not dishonor her by running away. If they come, they come."

"Be careful. I think they're planning on coming Friday night. You still have time to change your mind, to stay safe."

"We'll think about it."

Carata leaves, but we don't talk about it. Catta doesn't seem to want to think about it. It gets dropped.

++++++

That night in bed, she says, "Friday afternoon, I want you to take Bran and go up to the glen by the pond. Take all the money and the spare food with you. Leave Thunder here. If I'm fine Saturday, I'll come find you. If I'm not, please come on Sunday and cremate my body."

"I'm not going to leave you!"

"You have to. Do you want Bran killed? Or brought up by someone chosen by Father Keller. To become someone who hates people like me? Like us? Raise him to be a good man. They want me. They'll let you go."

I cry as I hold on to her. She's right. I can't let Bran be raised by one of them. I can't.

++++++

The next morning, I argue back. "I can't make it without you. For Bran's sake, you need to come with us. We can put your cauldron and your books and all your medicines on Thunder and escape. All of us escape. There's enough money to start a new house. We can do it. Why die? You can honor Aunt Abbula by living, carrying on her tradition somewhere away from Father Keller."

She shook her head no. Firmly, emphatically.

I try one more bit. "They'll burn both your books. That will be the end of your great grandfather's dream, his hopes."

"Then they die with the end of his line, with me. If we all run, they will chase us. Even with Thunder, we can't outrun them. They will catch us. If I stay here, they will settle for me. I'm the real enemy in Father Keller's heart. You're just an extra. You can get a new start somewhere. Make a life for yourself and Bran."

I know there's no point in arguing. And to be honest, I don't have an argument against her point. I think Father Keller has enough hate in his heart for Catta that he would pursue us, really her. He might even abandon his church to chase her down, murder her.

++++++

Thursday morning I announce, "I'm staying. If it comes to that, I will kill Bran before I let them take him. But I don't think God made me go through all this just to have Bran die here. He has plans for him. I know it. He will provide a way."

She looks at me. She knows that arguing with me is pointless. Just as I knew that trying to talk her into coming with me was just as pointless.

"Okay, we'll make our stand here then. We will die bravely at least. It should just be a group of townspeople. I doubt any of them will have real weapons. We have the Hun's weapons. Maybe we can fight them off."

Catta brings out the sword and the bow. I don't have the strength to really swing the sword. Catta is strong enough to mostly control it when she swings it, but barely; I don't think it would be hard for someone with a branch to disarm him. She demonstrates can stab with it effectively. "Just let Father Keller get close to me!" She stabs the air with the sword again, obviously imagining driving it into him.

We try the bow, but neither of us can draw it back far enough to even properly notch an arrow. That's going to be even less helpful than the sword.

Back to the drawing board. Even with the weapons, we will not be able to fight off a mob of a half dozen. Or more.

++++++

It's a somber day as we prepare for our presumed death tomorrow night.

Catta suddenly has a wry smile. "Maybe we can scare them. They think I'm a witch, that I can summon demons. Let's see if their stupidity can work for us."

I smile as I understand her idea. I would much rather try to scare them off than kill them anyway.

"There are giant mushrooms that we can attach burning vines to. In the dark, they'll look like some sort of head, with burning eyes," Catta says excitedly.

I suggest, "Could we dye Blossom and have her go out and butt the men? She likes butting everyone, especially strangers! If we can make her not easily recognized as a goat, I bet she'd be pretty scary.

Catta laughs. "I can make a dye that glows in the dark for a few hours. If we made her dark with glowing streaks, I bet she'd be very scary. I need to go gather supplies. Are you okay here by yourself? If you hear them coming before I'm back, take Bran and run to the glade. I'll find you."

While she's gone, I look around the path where they will most likely come from the town. I'm thinking about how to line the darkest parts with scary things.

++++++

When Catta returns, she's grinning. "I know how to make a potion that will make people very confused, prone to see things that aren't there."

"But we can't make them drink it."

"A form of it comes out as smoke. I think I can fill some gourds with it. If we can smash them in front of the mob, maybe enough of them will get enough smoke to be easily scared off. I want to get it down to just Father Keller and me."

Chapter 13 Father Keller

We stay busy for the next twenty-four hours preparing our traps. As the initial excitement about the idea wanes, I'm less convinced that this has a chance of helping. But it's something to do that keeps us focused instead of just panicking about our likely imminent deaths.

Catta and I manage to pleasure each other in bed that night. Probably our last time. I do realize that there's a possibility that they will only kill her and force me to leave.

We hide the valuables, other than the weapons, in the woods a short distance from the cabin. No matter what, we don't want them to go to Father Keller.

It seems like a good evening for a special meal. We make ourselves a grand feast, almost completely emptying our winter larder. This would be foolish if we thought we were going to survive. But tonight, we feast.

The meal is very quiet. We both know we are probably about to die.

++++++

As the sun sets in the early spring sky, everything is as ready as we can make it. We sit outside and wait for the inevitable. I nurse Bran one last time and lay him to nap in his cradle, sitting outside next to me. I want to be able to get him at a moment's notice.

We sit quietly, watching. Not long after full dark has fallen, we can see the torches coming through the forest. It looks like maybe seven or eight.

It occurs to me that they're coming on the path from the village of Damos, not from town. That surprises me. I look at Catta. I think she just realized the same thing. If the villagers are coming for us too, we have no hope.

As the torches near the clearing, I pick up Bran, holding him tightly against my chest. I have Catta's bronze knife in my tunic if it comes to that.

The first person clears the trees. It's a woman. I expected to be taken by men. I realize that it's Carata. Has even Carata been turned against us? I can feel my spirit breaking. We truly are alone in the world.

I squeeze Catta's hand and kiss Bran's forehead.

More women emerge from the path. Carata, still in the lead, speaks, "All of us owe our lives, or one of our family member's lives, to you. If you will make a stand against them, we will be here with you."

I can feel the tears of relief running down my cheeks.

I hear Catta's voice. "Thank you. All of you."

Several minutes later, we spot more torches, this time on the path from Oclinos, the other nearby village. Five more women have joined us. There are now fourteen of us, not counting Bran, ready to face whatever mob Father Keller raised.

++++++

When we spot torches coming from the direction of town, the village women form two semi-circles in front of us, seven in the outer circle, four in the inner. Carata stands in front of the outer circle, waiting to confront the mob.

I'm holding Bran. My free hand reaches into my tunic to feel the knife.

Catta stands beside me, smoke filled gourds on one side of her, the Hun sword sticking out of the ground on the other.

Father Keller emerges from the woods with nine men behind him. Even in the limited light of the torch, the priest's face is visibly red. I can't tell if it's rage or if he's just winded from the trek. The size of his belly makes it evident that he lives a much easier life than any of his parishioners. Tonight's trek is probably more physical exertion than he's spent in years.

"Be gone, all of you. We are not here for you. We're here for the witch and her consort, who betrayed Bellua to the Huns," the priest says in a strong, clear voice.

"We did nothing of the sort," I shout.

"We believe them," Carata says. "And we do not believe Catta is a witch. She is a healer. Every one of us here would have died, or lost a family member, if not for her ancient wisdom."

"I order all of you to go home immediately. You have been bewitched by her. Your lives were spared by your faith in the one true God, not by her witchcraft."

None of the women seem inclined to leave.

Carata looks straight at one of the men behind the priest. "Kolodos, your daughter lives and breathes because you got a potion from this woman. Yet you are willing to let her be killed?"

The man I assume is Kolodos looks down at the ground, no longer willing to look Carata in the eyes.

A woman standing in the outer circle calls out, "Vinnius, I see you. Your sister's boy was saved by her medicine. What are you going to do if your own boy gets ill?"

The priest shouts, "Any of you women who remain will be shunned by the church. I will bring you back to face trial." He looks at Carata. "You are Carata, aren't you. How will your daughter fare without you?" He looks at the other woman who spoke. "Eva, your son is still nursing. What will he eat without you?"

His words carry weight. Some of the women are becoming uneasy.

Someone needs to take on the priest directly. I step through both lines, still carrying Bran tightly against my chest. I stop no more than forty paces from Father Keller. I stare straight into his eyes, unwavering.

I speak clearly, no fear in my voice. I have a confidence that I've never felt before. I've never believed so strongly in anyone or anything as I do in Catta. "I was raised listening to your sermons. I have believed in the one true God since I can remember. It is true that Catta does not believe in that God. But she is no witch. There are no demons here. I have lived here for a year and have seen nothing but a woman who cares for people, tries to heal people as best as she can. I have never heard any sermon from you that said we should kill people because they are trying to help others. Why do you hate her so?"

It's now the turn for the men to look uneasy. They all know in their hearts that Father Keller hates Catta with an unholy passion.

I'm not done yet. "I saw my community slaughtered by the Huns. I was attacked, left for dead. But I managed to crawl away. I don't think I would have made it without Catta's help. Yes, the Hun is my son's father, but that was not of my choosing, I made no deal. My virginity was stolen by that man. God gave me this child for a reason; I believe to the depth of my heart that whatever God's plan is, that reason is not to come to an end today."

I pause for a moment to collect myself. I can feel my emotions taking over.

There is something more I need to say. I feel this part intensely. "You think we made a deal with the Huns. I hate the Huns. I have more reason to hate them than anyone else here. I saw my mother's and father's bodies, murdered by the Huns. I saw my neighbors lying dead in the street. I was assaulted. But Catta took revenge for me, for my suffering. The money we have, we took from his dead body. Do you really think a living Hun would give us his horse? They had no need for a collaborator. They took what they wanted and destroyed the rest. Most of the men of Bellua tried to stop them with the weapons they could find. They were slaughtered, their throats slit. Including my own Poppa."

I can see the morale of the mob dissolving.

I'm not going to let it reform. "You are not here for justice. You are here in support of a personal vendetta. You are trying to finish the Hun's work for them. I ask you not to hurt these women. They are brave and steadfast and will defend us if it comes to that. Do you really think that killing good Christian women is what God intended of you?"

I have finished my piece. I think there is no will left in the mob to try to attack the group of us. Father Keller seems stunned, at least for the moment. I'm not sure what else I could say.

I hear a noise behind me. Before I've recognized the sound, Catta is standing beside me. "Truly, this is between Father Keller and me. This has nothing to do with the Huns. Or Aia. Or anyone else here. Father Keller tried to twist the tragedy that took place a year ago in Bellua into something to finally hold against me. But his story is just that, a damnable lie. I think everyone here knows that. Let it be just between him and me."

She holds out the sword, level and steady, pointing directly at Father Keller.

He screams a blood curdling yell and charges at her. She braces, her sword unwavering, waiting for his attack.

Suddenly something dark charges across the opening and rams into his large belly, stopping him mid-stride. He staggers backwards, his momentum halted. A strange four legged figure, black with glowing streaks stands in front of him.

It takes me a moment to recognize Blossom disguised by the dyes we put on her.

Father Keller regains his composure and grabs her horns. "It's one of her demons. I've caught it! Be gone, demon, back to the hell fire from whence you came."

Maaa.

One of the men shouts. "It's just a goat, father."

His attention diverts briefly towards the speaker, his body and head turning part way to see who contradicted him.

While he's distracted, Blossom works her horns free of his grip. But she's not done with him. She pulls back a few steps, lowers her head, charges full force into him again. This time he's standing more upright. Or Blossom drops her head more. Whichever, the second collision is a little lower. Father Keller drops to the ground, moaning, his hands grasping what remains of his testicles.

First one, then another, then the entire mob is snickering, realizing what just happened. The women behind us soon join in.

One of the men comes forward and helps the priest to his feet. "Let's get you back to town."

As the last of the men trickle back towards the path they arrived on, I hear one of them say to the man standing next to him, "At least he doesn't need them in his line of work."

I'm still too full of fire to think of laughing. But it is funny.

Chapter 14 Still Alive

Catta holds the sword out straight, still menacingly pointing at the retreating mob until the last one is out of sight.

As soon as no more men are visible, the tip of the sword drops to the ground. She bends over, her whole body trembling.

I step over and put my free hand on Catta's shoulder, pulling her head against my side. My other hand is still clinging to Bran. Behind me, a cheer goes up from twelve women.

I can't believe we won.

Catta is starting to sob.

I turn to face the women, pulling Catta along with me. I announce "It's been a long few days, Catta needs rest now. Thank you from the bottom of both of our hearts. We will never be able to repay your consideration, the bravery you showed in coming here today. I'm not sure how everything will work out, but we won the day, because of all of you."

Maaa.

I smile. "And you, too, Blossom."

The women laugh.

I walk Catta back towards a seat inside. She seems somewhat in shock.

I'm about to go back out to get the cradle when I see Carata carrying it in. "I thought you might need this in here now. You have your hands full. It's truly beautiful, by the way."

I point to the spot where we keep the cradle. As soon as it's on the ground, I lay Bran in it, covering him with his blanket. He's back asleep.

I turn to Carata. "I know you are responsible for bringing those women here tonight. I don't thank Catta is up to giving you a proper thank you yet and I don't know what to say. Your actions are beyond any words I have."

"How could I look Leuca in the eyes if I didn't do everything in my power to save the woman who saved her? I didn't have a choice. Good night. I don't think Father Keller will bother you again. I think we've emasculated him, metaphorically. And, with Blossom's help, maybe physically."

We both chuckle. I'm finally relaxing enough to be able to laugh.

++++++

Once Carata has left, all my attention is on Catta. Although she's stopped crying, she still seems broken. Her eyes are glazed over and she's still hunched up, almost curled into a ball, sitting on the seat where I deposited her. She seems disconnected from the world, in a daze.

I stand next to her and wrap my arms around her. After a few minutes, I start talking, "It's all over now. We won. It's done. You were so brave."

I gently stroke her cheek while continuing to just talk as soothingly as I can. I wish I had her ability to be calming.

I've been quiet for a moment, running out of things to say, when she suddenly speaks. "We did win, didn't we."

I let go of her and she looks up at me. Her eyes are full of life once again. My Catta is back. I smile at her. I lean down and we kiss.

After a few minutes, she breaks the kiss to speak again. "I want to go to bed with you. I don't want to do anything except hold you, but I want to hold you all night. I didn't think I would ever hold you again."

We do spend all night lying next to each other, our bodies pressed together. In the morning we pleasure each other. I'm looking forward to spending the rest of my life with Catta. And as opposed to yesterday, I'm expecting a long and full life now.

"Now we pay for that feast," Catta says once she's up and about, "I think we'll need to be a little careful with our meals for a few weeks. I think we used most of our remaining carrots and turnips from your garden. I think I need to give away medicines to my twelve best customers for the foreseeable future, too."

"I already have the first crop planted, so we just have about a moon to make it through. We'll make it. If we survived yesterday, we can make it through anything."

Catta just smiles and nods her head.

++++++

A few days later, we see Carata again. Catta is out with her, but Carata calls me out from the hut. I come carrying Bran, who's nursing. He, at least, sees no reduction in his meals.

"I bring news for you," she says once I'm out with the two others. "Father Keller apparently said he was unwell on Sunday and could not deliver a sermon. The Deacon gave a short sermon instead, one that focused on forgiveness and living with your neighbors. No mention of the escapade Friday night."

Catta and I look at each other. That's very promising.

"I brought this, too." Carata pulls out two loaves of bread. "I heard you ran through your winter supplies.

"You didn't have to do this," Catta says, as she takes the gift from Carata. "But it is very welcome. We owe you so much."

"Keeping up your good work healing the community is all I ask for thanks. We need you."

The two loaves of bread definitely help us through the week, with only slightly reduced servings. To be honest, I don't think either of us was particularly hungry for a few days after the big feast.

++++++

Carata comes back in two weeks with more news.

"Father Keller is leaving. The Deacon will offer sermons until the Bishop sends us a new priest."

"Do we know why he's leaving?" Catta asks.

"No one I've talked to has heard anything official. Supposedly the town leaders talked to him about it, encouraging him to go. They do not want to see a divide in the community that he seemed determined to create. But there might be another reason." She laughs.

"What?" I ask.

"Apparently, people have started laughing at him behind his back when he walks around town. He has two new nicknames: Father One Nut and goat herder Keller."

Both Catta and I burst out laughing. In my years of seeing him, he has always been pompous and full of himself. Viewing himself as the most important and powerful man in the region. He demands respect from everyone, respect he needs. Those nicknames have to cut him just as deeply as Catta was ready to do with the sword.

++++++

By late spring, Catta is amazed at the business she's getting. Very few townspeople had been willing to come here against Father Keller's wishes. But with a more understanding priest, the taboo of her is gone. The new business is welcome; in a few months Bran will start eating food with us. If he is going to grow to be as large as his father, we will need to feed him constantly.

I finally find the strength within me to go back to my old hut. I nurse Bran and set off, leaving him with Catta. Most of my family's plates, cups, and pots have survived. I bring them all back. Bran will need his own as well soon enough.

++++++

"Momma, can you tell me the story about how Blossom saved us all?"

I roll my eyes. I know my three year old is just trying to forestall his eventual sleep. But I tell him once again about how our goat charged across the field to ram the evil man before he tried to kill Momma Catta. He giggles when the goat butts him the second time. He knows the story by heart without me telling it. He loves stories. I think he is somehow Catta's great grandfather's legacy.

"Where did the bad man go?"

"I don't know, Bran. I'm sure he went far away and he'll never come back. He knows Blossom would be waiting for him if he ever did."

"What place is far away?"

"He might have gone as far as Paris."

"Are there places farther than that?"

"Well there's Germania and Britannia. And all the places Poppa Marcus went, like Rome and Greece and Egypt."

"I want to go all the places he went and more. I want to go farther than anyone's ever gone."

I laugh, "Somehow, you got her great grandfather in you."

"Momma, tell me what I'm made of again."

"You are father's strength and Momma Catta's compassion and you have Poppa Marcus's love of stories and need to explore. But your heart is made of all my love for you. Now it's time for my little boy to go to sleep, so he can keep growing big and strong."

"Good night Momma. I love you."

"I love you too, Bran. With all my heart."

I walk quietly away.

Catta is waiting for me across the hut, smiling.

We walk arm in arm out the door, so we don't disturb him as he falls asleep.

Epilogue: The Adventurer

"It's time for me to leave, Momma."

"Can't you stay until tomorrow? I need one more night with you under my roof. You just turned eighteen, surely you can stay a little longer. You have plenty of time to live your life."

"You will always need one more night, until I'm an old man, never having seen the world. There is even more world than I have life."

I give my son a hug. He towers over me, solidly built everywhere. He definitely got his father's build. If anything, he's even bigger. But he has a gentle spirit. He may not have Catta's blood running through his veins, but he follows more in her footsteps than mine in many ways.

"You don't think you're getting out of here without giving me a hug, do you?" Catta walks over to him. Her red hair is now streaked with gray.

"Of course not. You're my second mother. You've always been my second mother, ever since I can remember."

"Take this with you." Catta hands him her smaller book, the one full of poems from around the world. "If you learn new poems, there are still blank pages in the back. Poppa Marcus would be proud of you, Bran. You are his legacy even if you are not his descendant."

"Will you be able to stay safe?" I ask. I can't believe my son is leaving for his own adventures.

"I have father's sword and bow and arrows. You know I'm good with both. I have his beads and some coins you gave me, so I have money if I need it. And I have Lightning."

"I know Thunder would have been getting too old too soon, but I still miss him."

"We made a good trade for Lightning, Momma. And I've raised him since he was a colt. We know each other, we trust each other."

"With all the excitement, don't forget us," I say.

"I could never forget you. You are who am I. As you've always told me, I am Catta's compassion and Poppa Marcus's wonder about the world. And you will always be my heart, Momma. Your love raised me, built me, made me the man I am."

Catta and I stand arm in arm as we watch Bran ride down the trail to places unknown.