A Piece of a Liar

Nighttime hadn’t yet draped the landscape with its onyx cloths.

It was in fact only evening, and yet fireflies, their bodies surrounded by cool yellow spheres, weaved in and out of foliage. As they flew along their looping paths, they shed light on the dark teals and emerald greens in their vicinity, spun around strangely shaped flowers, and spiraled alongside lush vines that held tree trunks in an iron grasp. In their light, one could see small creatures navigating their way to home, or to food, before they were wrapped up again in velvety darkness. A family of red ants hiked over a mountain of maple leaves, and trembled slightly when they heard noise, fearing blundering humans with their feet draped in cow skin.

But they soon realized the sound was familiar- the same light, quick movements that belonged to the only human this forest accepted, at least willingly. Or almost human.

She emerged as naturally as the bending of branches as commanded by the wind. She nimbly avoided the ants, and the fireflies revealed a glint in her shockingly navy eyes.

A soft glow seemed to envelope her, extending when she reached her slender arm down, plucked a purple mushroom from the ground, and placed it into a basket hanging in the crook of her elbow. She muttered some words as she did so- the forest took them as an apology for the intrusion.

The forest had become accustomed to her- the strange visitor that came as sporadically as the wind blew, collected some items, and left with no other trace. The forest knew her as the borrower.

But beyond the teals and emerald greens, beyond the forest, she was known as the witch, the sorceress. She never requested to be referred to by any other name, though she’s been asked. She simply lived on the edge of the forest, and if someone wanted something, they came to her. Sometimes their wish would be granted. Occasionally it would be through the way of some carefully chosen words that seemed to echo from her throat, nudging the crystals suspended from her ceiling and raising goosebumps on the customer’s neck. And sometimes their wish would arrive to them over the rim of her stone cauldron, bubbling and oozing colors of magenta, coral, and green. She instructed how to use the substance- whether to drink, pour, or pour into someone’s drink. 

But prior to being able to brew such things, the sorceress usually had to make a trip to the forest with her basket.

The sorceress weaved around trees, navigating without an ounce of hesitation. She plucked a strange star shaped leaf with spidery veins from a stout bush, removed a red berry from a vine, dusted golden pollen from a flower as if it was a dinner table saltshaker, and scooped a smooth stone out from under her feet.

One more ingredient.

The sorceress was used to customers that were greedy, with grimy hands clutched behind their backs, rocking on the balls of their feet, asking for more wealth or more power or for some poor soul to fall in love with them, which the sorceress thought was just as selfish as asking for money. She granted these wishes without a doubt that one day they would regret it, and that was her very motivation.

But this one was different. This time, a woman knocked on the sorceress’s door late at night with a stone cold look on her face. She wasn’t crying, which was another display the sorceress had long grown tired of, but the woman’s eyes were set in such a way that it looked like they’d been swallowing back tears her entire life.

And yet her voice was strong and clear. “It’s my husband. I think he’s with someone else.”

The sorceress’s navy eyes glinted. Customers sometimes cited that her eyes looked like the sea in its different forms. In that moment, a tide was rising. “Go on.”

The woman told the sorceress about her husband, who she had been with for six years. The sorceress had heard talk of this couple from others jealous of their marriage- they seemed quite happy.

The sorceress reminded herself that not all is what it seems, of course.

As the woman talked, the glint in the sorceress’s eyes grew brighter as she listened to the woman’s dilemma- strange instances where he didn’t come home at night, smells on his oily skin that weren’t the woman’s daisy perfume, snide remarks about the woman, who the sorceress frankly thought was beautiful, and an air of dishonesty that hung in their cold bedroom like a low fog. The sorceress imagined the husband weaving this blindfold of lies and tying it around his wife’s head for so long. It seemed that here she finally was, presenting the sorceress with the blindfold she was finally able to untie. This was her last hope.

The sorceress blinked. The ocean in her navy eyes rumbled. A memory flickered in her mind, of a man with golden eyes. “I’m not a fan of liars.”

The woman nodded somberly. She had heard of the story, but decided not to say anything as she watched the sorceress. Rumor had it that long ago the sorceress didn’t live here alone, but with someone. But he disappeared, and the sorceress refused to speak of it.

The sorceress shook her head to clear her mind and spoke again. “I can make something that will help.”

“What will it do?”

“If he drinks it and tells you the truth, nothing. If not, a punishment.”

“Thank you.”

The sorceress entered a clearing in the forest. The sky shone through an array of twisting branches that curled over her head in an intricate dome. A faint crescent moon shone against the sky’s canvas, indicating that dusk was near.

One more thing. The most important ingredient- a piece of one of them.

The sorceress withdrew a stone cauldron seemingly out of thin air, setting it on a stone. She tossed in what she had gathered so far. One ingredient for each year.

The sorceress heard a branch move and looked up. Her eyes focused on a blue jay that hopped alongside the branch. She watched the blue jay watch other birds that emerged from the darkness- small, excitable sparrows, bristling red robins, and whistling canaries. Scarlet-eyed mice scurried across the dirt, paws padding on dry leaves, accompanied by gray rats, squirrels, and chipmunks.

The animals had an excited look in their eyes, and the sorceress saw why. A ripe berry bush sat nearby, crimson berries twinkling in the remaining sunlight. Wings flapped, pink noses twitched, and miniscule mouths watered.

Suddenly, a high cry pierced the atmosphere, shattering the momentary peace in the clearing. To the animals it was unmistakable- the sound of a hawk. Rodents and birds alike scattered back into the darkness, trying not to imagine sharp claws sinking into their soft backs.

The sorceress didn’t move, looking curiously up at the sky, where no hawk materialized. Her eyes fell on the blue jay, which hadn’t moved from its branch. It closed its little beak, and the hawk-like cry stopped. With a regular chirp, it bounced down to the bush and began eating, proud of its deception.

The sorceress shook her head disappointedly. She looked up and noticed a large pair of eyes gleaming from the edge of the clearing, shrouded by darkness. She knew what would happen next.

Suddenly, a second cry pierced the silence just as easily as the greedy blue jay had broken the skin of the sour berries with its beak. A real red shouldered hawk, eyes gleaming, soared from behind the darkness. The sorceress knew that hawks didn’t prefer attacking birds, but it was abundantly clear that this hawk was simply tired of being mocked, of being the face of a lie.

The blue jay realized its mistake. It soared up into the sky, but it was too late. The hawk’s claws closed. Before the blue jay’s capture, however, it made eye contact with the sorceress.

Navy met golden.

A tsunami crashed in the sorceress’s eyes. Her specialty punishment had always been transformation for the wrongdoer.

A single blue feather fell slowly from above, lazily riding the tides of wind. The sorceress’s nimble fingers closed around its tip.

She pulled the liar’s feather down and tossed it into the bubbling cauldron.