The Offering

Well at least they took that bag off my head.

As he pulled himself back to his senses, it took the boy’s eyes a moment to adjust to the light around him, despite how dull it was. Once the image resolved it revealed the bare inside of a rickety wooden shack. Lit dimly by light pouring from cracks in the walls and ceiling, the only things Jarin could spot in the room was an unlit hearth, a small, rusted brazier lying in a corner, and the support column to which he was presently bound.

This sure is fantastic.

“Sure took your sweet time waking up. Having some nice dreams?”

Jarin instantly recognized the irritating voice of his oldest friend, if he could call him that.

“Not particularly. Just a little tired.” The boy replied, not quite knowing where to direct his sarcasm.

“Well, I’m sure you’ll be fine, a strong young man like yourself.” As he spoke, the stout reddish form of Pytr ambled out from the shadows behind Jarin. “It’s just that,” the little creature continued, as he plopped himself onto the floor a few feet from his human friend, “you have just a couple hours left before the sun sets. After that it’s probably going to get even colder in here.”

By this point Jarin had become keenly aware of the chill in the air. He was wearing not but some tattered rags, and the townsfolk hadn’t even had the decency to leave him a blanket.

What sort of offering ritual is this? Do The Matrons prefer frozen meat?

“I guess it’s a good thing we’re going to find a way out of here, little imp.” He replied to the dim outline of Pytr.

“And how, exactly, will we be doing that?” The small devil inquired, somewhat sarcastically.

“Step one is cutting off these ropes.”

The townsfolk had found and confiscated the knife he had tied to his leg.

Good thing I tied a second higher up.

“This’ll be fun to watch.” The red creature said mockingly.

The ropes wrapping around Jarin’s torso kept his arms tied down over his lap, and his wrists had been bound. Thankfully, Jarin still managed enough movement to reach the knife strapped to his thigh, and pry it out through a hole in his pants.

With a little concentration and a lot of patience, he successfully cut his hands loose, and freed himself from the ropes coiled around his body, all while the imp watched on silently.

Not bad.

He was about to pull himself to his feet, when he felt something tug at his ankles while making a quiet clinking noise.

Chains?!

“Well that was an impressive little show, but what are you going to do about those.” His friend said, pointing at the shackles and chains Jarin just now noticed in the faint light.

This is... not ideal.

The imp threw his head back in a wheezing laugh.

“Don’t get me wrong kid,” He spoke between breathes, “I’m rooting for you, but you didn’t actually think it’d be that simple, did you?”

Jarin picked up one of the the thick chains and inspected it.

A dull knife won’t help with that.

Short of amputating both his feet, there didn’t seem a way he could realistically escape this. By now Pytr had composed himself, and again spoke up.

“So what’s the plan now, Houdini?” He tried to stifle a chuckle at his own weak joke.

Jarin just shook his head slightly and shrugged.

I still have time, I’ll figure something out.

Having at least freed himself from the ropes, the chains allowed him a little more movement around the room, though still kept him far from the door.

I just need to look a little closer, surely I must find something helpful.

~~~

A little over an hour later, Jarin was feeling chilled to his core, and was shivering profusely. He’d searched the ash pile in the hearth, and found nothing. He’d inspected the toppled brazier, and found nothing. He’d checked behind every loose tile and rotting plank he could reach, and still, he had found nothing.

The imp was of little help, and had simply sat and observed silently the whole time. Jarin was beginning to feel desperation welling up inside.

Maybe I should check the ashes again?

~~~

Another half-hour passed, and still Jarin had found nothing to inspire his hopes, which, at this point, were nearly dead. By now his shivering was violently uncontrollable, and his breathing very shallow. He at least found some solace in the fact that he had grown so numb, he barely felt the stinging cold anymore.

It was the final nail in the coffin of his optimism when he noticed how quickly the already dim light was fading. He could barely move anymore, and had little desire to keep wasting his time searching for salvation that didn’t exist. He now simply balled himself up on the floor, against the unlit hearth.

Pytr, who had been sitting so quietly Jarin had forgotten him completely, waddled over to sit at his side.

“Giving up already?” He tried to hide it, but Jarin picked up on the worry in his tone.

“W-w-what-t else c-could I d-d-do?” He’d never had this much trouble trying to say such a simple sentence.

“Well, at least now your being p-p-pragmatic.” Pytr tried to be humorous, but had grown too sullen for jests.

“Help m-me.” He anguished.

Pytr had lost his mischievous sense of humor. He just starred down to the floor.

“And what could I do, exactly?” His tone was lifeless.

“S-something!” Jarin exclaimed with renewed passion. Anger was building inside him.

Pytr turned away slightly. It was now nearly completely dark, and Jarin could see just the devil’s outline, but he felt his hopelessness.

So he’s giving up! He’s just going to sit there and let me die?!

He knew this anger was neither fair nor rational, but at present, he’d stopped caring about such notions.

Jarin wanted so bad to just cry, but his frozen eyes produced no tears. All he could manage to get out was a pained moan filled with as much rage as sorrow through his gritted teeth.

In his growing delirium, these emotions all but dominated his mind, dictating all his final thoughts. He was despaired at the hopelessness of his present situation, angry with himself for naively believing he’d escape and with his friend for his inability to help. Above all else, he was furious at the ones who left him here to die.

That horrible town and all those horrible people! How can they do this to a child?

But Jarin knew that he never meant more than nothing to any of them, including his own parents. When he was chosen, they were as quick as the rest to knock him out and drag him here. As they all saw it, he was nothing but a tithe to please the crones that those buffoons worshipped.

Jarin’s suffering had become overwhelming, and somehow, his tears finally broke through. Considering he could barely breath anymore, he wept himself to within inches of his life.

“Jarin,” The imps voice was heavy and sad, “I-... I wish there was more I could do.”

He reached out gently, placing his chubby little hand on his friend's shoulder, knowing the boy couldn’t feel this.

Jarin wasn’t able to respond anymore. All his senses were slowly failing, including his vision starting to blur and distort. He saw Pytr’s round outline begin to warp and fade, and a moment later vanish completely. Jarin was alone.

Why? I didn’t deserve this. It’s not fair.

The world was growing distant. He felt his mind being dragged towards unconsciousness, his awareness slipping away. Blacking out now was the first mercy Jarin had ever known.

~~~

The young boy awoke lying on a large sheepskin next to the now burning hearth, a large knit blanket wrapped fully around him. In relative shock, he first noticed that he felt almost perfectly fine.

What the-

He managed to sit up slightly to inspect his surroundings. Size, proportions, and some markings told him this was the same shack where he remembered freezing on the floor, but the interior was completely different. There were now simple wood furnishings about the room, a large steaming pot hanging over the lit hearth, various dried herbs hanging from the ceiling, and more candles than he could count.

What caught his attention the most was the powerful and sweet aroma hanging heavy in the air. He then noticed the brazier in the corner, now looking shiny and new.

Incense? I don’t recognize the smell.

Jarin’s head was filled with questions. What happened? Was this the same shack? Was he even still alive? His greatest concern, though, was who was responsible for this, and where were they now?

Perfectly on cue, the door swung open and two young women entered, tracking in some snow. One was carrying several small logs, and the other a basket containing some more herbs. The first thing Jarin noted was how utterly beautiful the two were.

Prettier than any of the girls in town.

The woman holding the basket was heavily freckled, had long ebony hair, braided neatly behind her head, and wore a flowing violet cloak. The other, slightly shorter than her companion, had a head of short-kept cinnamon curls and a crimson robe to match. At that point, the woman holding logs turned in his direction and noticed his dumbstruck gaze.

“Oh!” She exclaimed softly. “Raven, he’s up.”

The black-haired woman quickly looked up and in his direction as well now. Jarin sat up and nervously began to back himself away. The woman he figured was Raven now spoke.

“There’s no need to worry child. We mean you no harm.”

Her face appeared genuine. Jarin, in his present situation however, was bewildered enough as is, and wasn’t so quick to trust these strangers, who seemed awfully comfortable in the shack in which he had just recently been left to die.

“If we meant to hurt you,” The red-haired woman spoke, “wouldn’t we have just left you to freeze?”

Are these the ones to which I was meant to be offered?

Jarin was still in shock and too afraid to speak.

Perhaps you have a crueler purpose in store for me?

He suddenly turned his attention to the pot over the hearth’s fire.

That’s it! These are the witches, and they mean to eat me!

He was backing away faster now, putting some distance between himself and the boiling pot he’s certain was awaiting him, but soon found himself against the wall, nowhere left to go.

“Boy, they sure are lookers, eh?” The firmiliar shrill voice distracted him, and he turned to see the red and portly little Pytr now next to him.

And where have you been.

He looked back to the women, who were oblivious to Pytr's presence. They were also deliberately giving Jarin space, rather than advancing on him. The freckled one addressed the other in a calm, controlled voice.

“Robin dear, could you get a bowl of stew for the boy? He needs some food.”

The redhead grabbed a wooden bowl off a shelf and filled it with thick, steaming stew from the pot. As she did so, the other pulled out a chair at a small table.

“Look kid, it’s not like you have anywhere to go,” Robin spoke as she brought the bowl to the table “but we won’t force you to stay. The door’s there,” She gestured with her thumb. “You’re free to go if you like, into the cold, dark forest.”

“Or,” The one called Raven continued “you could stay here, in the warmth, and have something hot to eat.”

Jarin thought on how frozen he’d felt before.

I never want to feel that way again.

He gave Pytr a quick glance, before rising to his feet, and hesitantly walking over to seat himself at the table, before the hot bowl of stew. Its delicious smell was reaching him for the first time now, being masked before by the powerful incense. He, however, didn't so much as touch the bowl. Robin tilted her head slightly.

“I see.”

She grabbed two more bowls, filled them with stew, and placed them at the table across from Jarin, where the two women sat themselves, and immediately dug in.

“See.” Raven mumbled through a mouthful of meat. “Nothing to worry about.”

Well, what the heck.

Jarin began to drink from his bowl, and quickly became ravenous as though this was his first meal in days.

Better than anything mother ever made.

After his third bowl, he decided he was finally full, leaning backwith his hands on his stomach. Raven met him with a warm smile. Jarin hadn’t seen such a thing in ages, and was slightly taken aback.

“Jarin,” The woman spoke in the most delicate tone. “You’re a very special boy, and we’re so glad to finally have the chance to meet you.”

“We’re terribly sorry for before.” Robin chimed in. “We meant to get here much sooner, but were delayed in the snowstorm. We also told those thuggish townsfolk not to shackle you, and to leave you a blanket. Suffice to say they’ve disappointed us greatly.”

“We can’t imagine how frightened you must have been.” Raven’s voice was affectionate and caring. “No child should ever go through such a thing, but we promise we’ll protect you now.” Her tone told him her words were genuine.

“Allow us to formally introduce ourselves, as you must be fairly confused. I’m Robin, and this is Raven.” She said, putting an arm on the other’s shoulder. “We are the ones the local’s refer to as The Matrons.”

They are the witches! But they aren’t what I expected.

Raven continued.

“As the tales say, we see much of what happens around here, and we’ve been watching you for a while.”

“Little one, we know how horribly you were mistreated.” Robin’s voice was filled with sadness and compassion.

“You see, we’re not wretched old crones who eat children and cast curses, as local legends would claim.”

“We’re just a little...” Robin paused, “unique, is all. We make our own way, and not everyone understand that.”

“But we feel and care, just as much as anyone! We know how special you are, little one, and we couldn’t stand to see how you were being treated.” Raven turned to her friend. “We knew we could do better.”

“Playing the part the locals have written for us, we demanded an offering, you. Of course the simpletons wouldn’t question us, and it seemed the most hassle-free way to do it.”

“Had we known we’d have thought of something else. We cannot apologize enough.”

Raven leaned forward and gently grasped his hands in hers. Jarin was startled initially, but did not pull away.

Her hands are so soft.

“From now on” she continued, “we’ll take good care of you. We’ll protect you.”

“Only if you want, of course." Robin quickly interjected. "We won’t force you. With us, though, you’d have a life of comfort. You'll never want for anything.”

Jarin now looked to where Pytr was sitting nearby, watching on in silence as usual. The imp simply shrugged.

“And of course we welcome your little friend too.” Raven added.

Jarin turned back to the women with a look of confusion.

“You see him?” Jarin asked, baffled. It was the first he’d spoken up since regaining consciousness.

The women giggled slightly.

“No, but we know you do.” The freckled one said. “Of course, if you’d prefer, we could just exorcise him.” She said humorously.

“What did that witch say?!” Pytr exclaimed, rising to his feet.

Jarin managed a smirk.

“That’s alright, he’s actually kind of ok.” He smiled towards the imp, who was still glaring at Raven.

“So you’ll come with us?” Robin asked, excitement in her voice.

Jarin looked to the women’s anticipating expressions. They’d shown him more kindness in the last 5 minutes than he’d known his entire life.

Worst case is they eat me I guess, and then I’m no worse off than I would be anyways.

More shy now than scared, he answered simply with a nod. The witches smiled at him, then at each other.

“Fantastic!” Raven exclaimed in joy.

“Well, best get some more rest then. We have a long way to go tomorrow.” Robin said as she cleared the table.

“We’re not staying here?” Jarin asked, puzzled.

The two women laughed together.

“Certainly not.” Robin said, as if this was a completely preposterous notion. “No, we’ve a much nicer home, far away from here. We’ll set out first thing in the morning.”

Raven was laying out more hides and blankets in the spot Jarin had woken up earlier, while Robin went to add some logs to the fire.

“Come now,” Raven said, beckoning Jarin over, “you must rest more.”

He abided, and once he’d gotten himself comfortable with furs and blankets, was shocked when she gently tucked him in.

“I hope you like the smell, I’m adding more herbs to the brazier.” Robin said from across the small room. “Their smoke is rejuvenating.”

Jarin, lay facing the fire in the open hearth. The sweet aroma he first noticed before was growing stronger, and he found the scent to be very calming.

He felt sleep calling him, and it was all he could do to resist. Pytr presently waddled over to sit right next to the burning hearth, and drifted off himself almost instantly. Another red form appeared near the boy’s head. It was Robin, who was now gently stroking his hair.

“Goodnight little one, and sleep well.”

Her soft voice was what finally lulled him away towards a deep and restful slumber. As he drifted off, he had but one final thought.

I will.