In the Shadow of My Tower

The town was built in the shadow of my tower. Why they chose to build there is beyond me. My tower is centuries old, and sometimes I fear to touch the grey stone that it’s built of, for fear that it will crumble beneath my fingers. A single staircase winds from the base to the top, the stone steps drooping in the middle, worn down by the countless tread of feet. There’s no question it was long established before the town was built, so why did the villagers choose to come so close?

Perhaps the tower seemed to offer them protection. The mages that have resided here before, the witches and wizards, maybe the townsfolk saw them as a source of protection.

The people of the town must have been bolder back in those days.

The traditions of wizardry and alchemy have changed much over the years. The black robes I usually wear are my one concession to formality. But when I walk in the town, no black cat shadows my movements and nothing even resembling a hex has ever passed my lips. And yet, the villagers fear me. It’s funny at times. I descend from my tower and enter the town, and the villagers recede before me as if they’re physically being pushed. The midwife whispers prayers to herself as I ask if she’s found any useful herbs lately, the children shriek and run, and even the hunter trembles when I purchase fresh meat from him.

They come to me when they’re desperately in need, but even then they say little more than they have to. When I first moved into the tower, I believed that they’d eventually come to trust me. I gave them rituals to follow to ensure their crops grew, potions that might heal their ailments, herbs that would calm their temperaments, and yet I remained little more than the witch in the tower.

During the darkest nights, when I’m at my lowest, I wonder bitterly if any even know my real name.

The next day, I’ll always go out into town and amuse myself watching them flinch when I draw near. If I didn’t laugh at their cowardice, the only alternative would be to cry.

During one summer day, a passing glance of clear blue eyes makes me hesitate. The eyes are as clear and vast as the sky, empty of uncertainty, empty of… fear.

I turn my head quickly but the owner of those eyes has already been swallowed up by the people massing at the sides of the road, trying to avoid crossing my path. My pause seems to make the townsfolk nervous, so I smile and continue onward. Their whispers sound like the echo of a shell, they reverberate around my skull, although I try my best not to make sense of them. They would only hurt me.

The next day I decide it would be easier not to be the object of fear for a day, and I seek solitude in the woods instead. Animals don’t fear me, and when I stand still for long enough, even the rabbits show enough courage to approach me and sniff curiously, braver than the townspeople they remind me of. I spend hours gathering herbs, the main source of all the magic that people believe I hold, and it’s not until the rabbits flee that I realise someone’s watching me.

I’m knee deep in a pond when she appears, my black robes trailing in the water like streaks of oil. Despite the strange image, she only laughs, regarding me as if we’re old friends. I’m probably only a few years older than her, but her innocence makes those few years seem much more infinite. She’s half a woman, half a girl, whereas I matured quickly, never having the chance to indulge in that part of my life.

“What’re you doing?” She asks. Her voice is as limpid as her eyes, the only part of her that I saw yesterday, but so distinct that I have no trouble placing her. For a moment I’m in awe of those eyes, the pull of them more magical than I ever will be, and I answer gruffly to cover that up.

“Looking for frogs. I need them for a potion.” I say, and only a second passes before she laughs as though that’s the funniest thing she’s ever heard.

“I thought you needed toads for that?” She says. Is she… teasing me? My face reddens, I can feel it, but I convince myself that it’s the summer heat. And I’m wearing black, so why wouldn’t I be hot? I forget about the icy water surrounding my calves.

“Frogs, toads, all the same to me.” I reply, not knowing how else to respond. My talks with others are related to business, nothing more. When was the last time I indulged in simple conversation?

“What are you really looking for?” She asks, and it nearly floors me when she steps closer. She stands at the edge of the pond, and now I have two of her to contend with, her reflection looking at me when I lower my eyes out of nervousness.

“Iris flowers. The roots are pretty useful.” I can’t believe I answer so easily, the way she coaxes the words from me is like a spell all on its own.

“Well, the flowers are all dead by now, but I suppose the roots are still there…” She looks as if she’s contemplating something, and then she splashes into the pond, sending ripples of icy water to lap against my knees. I open my mouth to ask what she’s doing, but she’s already by my side and I’m stunned into silence. She reaches into the cluster of greenery and begins to search through it, just as I had been doing, looking for iris leaves.

What shocks me even more than the fact that she comes to help me so easily, is the fact that her shoulder brushes against mine when she reaches forward.

The warmth of her skin on mine practically scorches me. For once, I’m the one that flinches. Is she not afraid of me? Not at all? The other villagers talk to me when they must, tolerate me on their streets, but they have never, ever touched me. Touching a witch is a sure way to bring bad luck upon yourself, as the superstition goes. The touch doesn’t even seem to be deliberate on her part, her eyes remain on the foliage as I gape at her.

We search for the roots in silence. I’m too shocked to speak and she seems quite at ease with the quiet. When we’ve collected enough, we sit on the edge of the pond and wait for the sun to warm our limbs.

“Aren’t you afraid of me?” I finally ask, looking across at her. She shakes her head. The gesture isn’t some show of bravery, but as genuine as could be. “Why?” I ask, my voice strangely thick.

“I see you on your tower sometimes. The others think you’re casting some spell, but to me, it always looked like you were simply watching the stars.” She says, as if that’s all the reason in the world to trust a witch feared by the rest of her community.

“And… what if I was casting a spell?” I say, and she laughs.

“Your clothes always smell of camomile and lavender. You dry the flowers for their scent, don’t you?” She asks, and I gape.

“And once, when you’d first come here and were still a girl yourself,” She continues, “You stopped in your tracks and gave a crying girl a piece of candy. I’d only skinned my knee, but I remember how gentle you were, and the concern on your face. After that, how could I think anything of you but that you were a kind person? I never had a chance to see you as anything but that.” A warm smile forms on her face then as she reminisces over a memory I can’t even recall myself.

Her youthfulness strikes me again. I wonder if she’s too innocent to know fear, and that’s why she’s so trusting, but then her eyes are so much wiser than her years, and I believe she knows exactly what she’s doing.

“I’m a witch. Don’t you know better than to associate with me? I might cast a spell on you, turn you into a frog.” I say, challenging her, part of me wanting to assume the familiar role of the imposing witch again. Her friendliness is frighteningly welcome, something I’m so unused to that it makes me dizzy. If she cowers now and leaves, I’ll never have to worry about this happening again.

Of course, she laughs.

“I know that you’re as human as I am, and that you wouldn’t do that.” She declares confidently, and just like that, casts aside everything I thought I knew about the town and my place within it.

I jerk to my feet, wanting to flee, and she stands by my side. Her smile is reassuring, an expression that hasn’t been directed at me in a long time, not since I entered the tower abandoned by the previous witch and became the new object for the townspeople to fear.

“I can’t even perform magic; I don’t think there’s many people left in the world that can.” I confess, the words tumbling out. “All I do is mix herbs that can help the people that trust me. That’s all I ever wanted, to help.” I admit, remembering my arrival in the village, when I was nothing more than an orphan carrying my late mother’s stock of herbs and tinctures.

“The tower was abandoned, so I took it. When I realised that made me a witch in people’s eyes, I decided that was okay, it was a fair trade to have a place in the world to stay. I never expected that people would fear a witch so much, just for the simple fact that she’s a witch. I thought they’d look beyond the tower, see how my herbs helped them, and… and…” My voice is hoarse, it’s been a long time since I spoke so much.

Tears that haven’t spilled for years now threaten to well up now, especially when she regards me with a faint smile.

“I always thought so. Looking at you now, I still can’t believe the others are so afraid of you.” She shakes her head, and surprises me yet again when she takes my hand. “Tomorrow we’ll walk through the town together. Little by little, the others will learn not to fear you.” She says as if it’ll be the easiest thing in the world. My chest hurts with how badly I want to believe her. My fingers curl between her own for a second, and only for a second, I allow myself to believe it.

“And what if they don’t?” I whisper, drawing my hand away before I’m completely lost in the dream.

“Then we’ll try again the next day.” It all sounds so simple when she says it. And when she puts it like that, I find myself quite helpless to disagree again. I don’t hear myself promise to at least try, but I must have done, because her face lights up yet again and she begins to stride off, promising to see me tomorrow.

“Wait!” I call after her, my voice catching in my throat. “My name, it’s-!”

“I know that too.” She says, glancing over her shoulder. “It’s Emmeryn, right? Pretty. You still used it when you first came to town.” She explains it so casually, I’m floored.

All those nights in the darkness, wondering if I was anything more than what people feared me to be.

But there was somebody in town, after all, that knew my real name.

“I…” My struggle for words only makes her chuckle, and she waves goodbye.

“We’ll use it to introduce you tomorrow, and I’m sure the others will remember it this time.” She promises, and with that, she’s gone.

I’m left with an armful of iris roots, and the words of her promise echoing in my ears. Tomorrow, I’ll enter the town with her by my side. The thought makes my stomach twist with nerves. Perhaps the townsfolk will warm to me, and perhaps they won’t. Either way, she’ll be there, hand in mine, not afraid to touch the witch that lives in the tower.