Sand Witch Sandwich

As the last stars faded from the sky, the sun broke over the horizon into a new day, and Grigori roared in pain. The sun’s rays touched his skin with the inevitability of daybreak; the light tore through his fur and flesh, unwrapping him like a greedy child, feverishly unwrapping a gift.

The sun stripped Grigori of his werewolf form and left behind a human, innocent in his nakedness, yet burdened with guilt. He shook in the cold of the morning, surrounded by mists rising from the lake, spurred by the sun. 

“So, you finally came,” a familiar voice said. Soft footsteps approached over the sandy shore and as Grigori turned his shivering head, he saw her. The demon he had exiled years ago… and whom he had now sought out.

He opened his mouth to say something, but the transition from his werewolf form left a roughness in his throat that made him cough.

“Sand Witch,” he managed. 

The witch stood before him, her skin as red and grainy as the sand of the lakeshore. She wore only a thin gown as if the cold did not affect her. Her eyes revealed an inner light that Grigori couldn’t look at, as it felt like it burned right into his soul. 

“I thought you’d come sooner,” she said, offering a bundle.

“What’s this?” Grigori said, stepping back.

“You’re naked and freezing. It’s a blanket.”

“I will not be so easily fooled by your tricks, Sand Witch-”

“Call me Rhana, priest,” the witch said, playfully. “And take the blanket. If I wanted to play tricks you wouldn’t have any wits left to notice it. You came to me.”

Grigori hesitated, reaching for the holy symbol around his neck but finding only bare skin. An old habit. The werewolf tore that symbol away years ago.

He snatched the bundle from Rhana’s hands. It was indeed a blanket and he wrapped himself in it.

“Why have you come, priest?”

“I’ve-” the words caught in his throat. Could he even say it? It was pure blasphemy! 

“I need your help.”

“Ah. Of course.”

“Don’t play smug with me, witch!”

“Please, call me Rhana,” the witch said. “I hate that horrible term.”

“It is your nature, witch,” Grigori said, feeling the blanket warming him up.

“It is your nature, human, to be wrong about most things. It is why you stand there naked and why I’m exiled to live alone on the far side of the lake.”

Grigori snorted. It pained his pride that he had to seek out the very abomination he exiled from the village, let alone having to ask it for help. But what else could he do? The people were in danger and he himself had been cursed to turn into that monster every full moon.

It was like God himself placed Grigori to the ultimate test of his fate. And Grigori felt like he had failed already.

“Werewolves attacked the village,” he said, composing his posture now that the blanket stopped the shivers. “One of them bit me as I tried to protect my family.”

“It was to be expected,” the witch said. “I told you so.”

“You foretold it, yes. You knew it would happen because it was you who sent those monsters upon us!”

“Fool!” Her eyes flared, individual grains on her skin flashing red with anger. Grigori stumbled back. “The werewolves attacked because you had me exiled, priest! I am the protector of your village, I am this lake shore’s nymph, I am the nature spirit tasked with this land. But you cast me out of my protectorate. And now there’s no one to protect you. Not even your God.”

“You lie!”

She glared at him, then sighed. “Why have you come?”

“I told you, I need your help-”

“You don’t want my help.”

“Every full moon I turn into a monster,” Grigori said. “The villagers… even my own family are afraid of me. They don’t want me near them anymore, but all I want to do is to protect them.”

“I know how that feels.”

“Look, witch,” Grigori said. “I’m offering you a chance at redemption. Help rid me of my curse and perhaps God will have mercy on your soul.” In Grigori’s opinion, God would never have mercy for such abominations, but the demon needn't know that.

The red woman took a long look at Grigori, making him feel anxious. The sun rose behind him and warmed the back of his head. The witch's skin reflected the sun’s light like tiny quartz crystals, found in broken sandstone. 

What an abomination.

“Very well,” she said. “I cannot refuse a call for help. I will lift the curse from you.”

Grigori frowned, skeptical. He hadn’t expected her to cooperate so easily.

“But you must do something first.”

He knew it. “And that is?”

“Renounce your lies and see the truth.”

“Ha! More demon talk! I should have expected nothing less from you!”

“Too hard? Alright, then,” she turned around and started walking inland, gesturing to Grigori to follow. “If that is too hard for you to do, then I will make you a sandwich.”

Grigori blinked, trailing behind her wrapped in the blanket. “A sandwich?”

“Yes. You will eat it and it will lift the curse. It is how my witch magic works. But I will need special ingredients.”

“What kind of ingredients?” They walked away from the lake and came to a small hut under tall spruce trees, constructed out of driftwood. The witch stepped inside for a moment and then came out with a piece of parchment.

“Bring me these.”

Grigori took the list and frowned. “A rose from a volcano rim, a fish that swims in the sky, and a beating heart of a dragon.” He looked at the demon. “You cannot be serious.”

She shrugged. “Do you want my help or not?”

“Yes, but-”

“Then bring me those things. You have three full moons time to bring me each item while in your werewolf form. That is the only way I can help.”

“This is ridiculous! A fish in the sky? A dragon? I might as well jump in that volcano, as I’d stand more chance of surviving than facing a dragon!”

“I never said it would be easy,” the witch said, smiling. 

He was a fool to come seek her aid. What was he thinking? He stormed off, heading back to the village.

“Grigori,” she called after him. Grigori shivered at the sound of his name. “I want my blanket back. I’ll need it for the next time you come here all naked.”

He blushed, dropped the blanket on the sand, and hurried away in the cold morning, feeling her eyes at the back of his head.

***

For three full moons, the priest did as Rhana had told him. That alone spoke of how desperate the man was. She did not expect him to do it, not at first, but when the moon appeared in full on the sky, she heard a growl outside her cabin. 

She went out and found a nine-foot-tall beast. Its eyes glowed similar to hers, only more yellow. Its claws scraped the sand as it paced around, the strong muscles bulging like cords under a silver coat of fur.

“Where’s the rose?” Rhana asked the beast. It gave her a frustrated look and barked in werewolf language, which he had no problem understanding.

“There are no roses,” the beast said, angry. “Volcano rim, only ash, and rock. You lie.”

“Ah, how strange,” she said, rubbing her chin. “I could’ve sworn that’s where they were supposed to be.” It was a lie, of course. But the werewolf didn’t need to know that.

“Sand Witch,” the werewolf growled. It approached her, scraping its claws through the sand. “You promised to help!”

“I did, but it is not my fault that you are incompetent,” Rhana said, not letting herself be intimidated by the hulking beast. “If you cannot bring me the ingredients I need, how can I help lift your curse?”

The werewolf roared in frustration, as it had no answer. 

“Alright, here’s what we’ll do,” she said. “You go back to your village and bring me a few roses from the garden there.”

The werewolf looked at her with its bright eyes. “Will those work?”

“They’ll have to do,” Rhana said. “Now go, while the moon is still up!”

The beast hesitated, then turned and ran off, throwing up curtains of sand as it went. Rhana watched it until it disappeared in the night.

“Good, priest,” she said to herself. “Perhaps there is hope for you yet.”

The next full moon was a similar story. The werewolf appeared again, all furious and angry that he couldn’t get the fishes from the sky. He couldn’t fly nor could he jump so high as to snatch one. Again the werewolf accused her of lying and again Rhana feigned incredulity.

Then she told the werewolf that if he couldn’t bring her a sky fish, a three-foot trout from the river nearby would have to do.

On the third full moon, the werewolf returned, all scarred and burned, limping on one foot, missing a part of one ear. He said he had fought a dragon and was nearly eaten by it. Getting its heart was impossible, especially if it had to still be beating. The werewolf accused Rhana of lying and demanded she helped him as she promised.

Rhana shook her head and sighed, telling the werewolf that if he couldn’t bring a beating heart of a dragon, an ember from a fire would have to do.

As morning came after the third full moon, Rhana found the priest kneeling outside her hut, shivering in the cold. As was now the practice, she gave him the blanket and he wrapped himself in it.

“I’ve brought you all the ingredients,” he said, teeth clanking. “Will you cure me now?”

“You’ve brought me the best you could,” Rhana said. “And that will have to be enough. I will now start preparing you a sandwich. Come back to me on the evening of the fourth full moon, just before you usually transform. That is when you will eat the sandwich and be cured.”

The priest nodded and left, without arguing.

***

Grigori’s heart was thumping in his chest as he walked under the waning light of day, towards the Sand Witch's hut. He had been waiting in anticipation and tonight the moon would rise full once again. Tonight, the witch would hopefully lift his curse.

And she had better do it. The situation in the village was getting worse. More and more people were being taken, more and more transformed. Many have begun fleeing away, the community was collapsing.

If Grigori does not reassume the position of priest in the village soon, it will be a disaster. Only his faith in God can save the people - but he cannot save them until he rids himself of the curse first.

Grigori walked over soft sand as he reached the now-familiar shore. The Sand Witch already awaited him outside her hut, sitting by a campfire. Her strange sandy skin reflected the fire’s light, making it seem like she was burning too. Like a demon.

Funny, he thought. Was that why he had declared her a demon? Because of her skin? Or because she really was one?

He pushed the thoughts away and sat opposite her by the campfire. They did not speak until the sun was kissing the horizon, and the moon was coming up from behind the hills.

“It is time,” the witch said, producing a small object, wrapped in cloth. It looked a bit flat for a sandwich. “Here you go,” she said, handing it over the fire. 

“Is that it?” Grigori asked, pointing at the thing in her hand.

“The recipe is three-fold,” the witch said, fixating her eyes on his. “First, you must believe a lie.”

Grigori took the package and felt his anticipation mount as he unwrapped the cloth. The sun was just about to set, the moon nearly out.

Grigori froze. In his hands, he held not a sandwich, as he had expected, but a mirror.

“What is his?”

“Second,” the witch said, “you must see the truth.” 

“You tricked me!” Grigori shouted, jumping to his feet. “I should have known better than to trust a demon!” The sun had set behind him and the moon rose fully to the sky.

“Face the truth, priest,” the witch said, still staring at him. “See what you have done and who you are. You believed the lies they have told you and you exiled me out; thus bringing to the village the very doom you sought to prevent. Did you notice how naively you believed me when I offered you a cure? How eager you were to get me the ingredients? It was all a lie, yet you gobbled it up; just like your preaching was a lie which you yourself were once served.”

Grigori’s hand spasmed and he crushed the mirror with increasing strength. He screamed, the pain of transformation overwhelming him; muscle and bone twisting, re-forming, growing. His clothes began to rip as the monstrous body underneath forced itself out.

“Can’t you see it, Grigori?” Rhana asked. “Can’t you see what blind belief does to a man? The village knew only peace before you and your church came. The people knew me and they knew what I was; a protector of their home. A sand nymph, keeping the land safe from wild forces of nature, safe from werewolves and other wild beasts. But once your faith strode into the village did you see me for what I was, or did you see me for what you believed I was - what they had told you of me? Did you look at me with your own eyes, curious to see what's truly there, or did you look at me through the lens of belief, warping reality to your own convictions?”

Grigori roared, no longer human. He stomped the campfire, sending embers flying in all directions. He loomed over Rhana like a silver monolith and pinned her to the ground with a clawed foot.

“You are full of lies, witch,” he spat, growling. “If you had any real power against werewolves, I could not hurt you.” He pressed the claws at her throat, their sharp blades scraping on her grainy skin.

“Third,” Rhana said, “you need to accept the truth, once you see it, and move on from there.”

Grigori barked and in a fury pressed his claws into her throat. 

The claws snapped like twigs against Rhana’s skin.

“What?” Grigori stumbled back, staring at his hand. “What have you done to me? You’ve made me weak!”

Rhana stood up and dusted her thin gown. The fabric, as delicate as it was, bore no tears. “You believed a lie, Grigori. You saw the truth. Now it’s time to accept it.”

“You promised to cure me!” he roared, enraged by all of it. 

“I can cure your body at any moment I want,” she said. “But only you can cure your mind and heart.” She snapped her fingers and Grigori’s form shrunk, shedding fur and claws, transforming back into his old self.

He fell to his knees, trembling. “How? Why?” His world was spinning, everything he thought he knew was taken from under his feet.

A gentle hand touched his shoulder. “I am not your enemy, Grigori. I am your friend. But I cannot return to help unless you let me. Unless you revoke my exile.”

Grigori gazed out on the lake and saw the moon’s reflection on the still surface. It was full. And he was human.

“I am cured…” He looked up at Rhana, who smiled at him. “You… you do have power over werewolves.”

“Yes. I am meant to protect you from them.”

“I… the holy books say all forms of magic are evil… trickery from the devil…”

Rhana produced a blanket, covering Grigori’s exposed flesh. “Those are words spoken out of fear from the unknown. It is your blind belief that is the devil, your lack of introspection, and self-honesty. My skin is red because of the sandstone of this land, the land I am sworn to protect.”

“So… you’re not a demon?”

The woman laughed and it sounded like the song of birds. “My dear Grigori, is all that glitters made of gold?”

Grigori blushed, emotions swirling in him. “Can you help my village? My preaching seems to do little to help...”

Rhana smiled and caressed his cheek. “You have accepted the truth. I will gladly help you.”

“There will be those who see you as a demon,” Grigori grimaced. “People I’ve convinced… I’ll have to preach them the new truth.”

“No more preaching,” Rhana said. “Lead by example.” She offered Grigori a hand.

He took it and stood up.

“By example,” he said, nodding.

Rhana smiled. “Come, priest. Let’s see if more people would like to taste my sandwiches.”