Chapter 45 - Frog Witch
Camp of Oma, Leva soils. SE Britain
‘Amaia, Witch, are you at home?’
The young widow hears Mazde calling her from outside of her lodge, and she prances up to the open doorway to see Mazde, standing nervously a safe distance down the trail. She giggles at his caution. Her new custom is to wear little other than clay, charcoal, paint, and her hedgehog skin pouch. Yet it's chilly, and this morning she clutches at the heavy fur of a brown bear draped over her shoulders.
Amaia pouts and answers, ‘Yes Uncle Mazde, what do you want of me? Does the priest of the wheat father need my magic to heal a poor farmer?’
‘No Amaia, not today. I’m here to discuss the liberty of the concubine who you illegally shelter’ he replies.
‘The wildborn named Ur’salla? Uncle, What do you wish for her?’
‘The council demands she be returned. The girl had been given to Paaxti, and then to your husband. You must return her. We dread she harbours Dark Forest Magic, and brings evil to our commune. It would be best that we burn her, to add to the ashes of Torixe’.
Amaia lifts up her chin in defiance, then wags a finger at Mazde. Frightened, he steps back.
She challenges the Strawman, ‘No I'll not do that. I’ve taken Ur’salla as a ward of Athiratu. The council may not have her. She belongs only to the Frog Mother, and neither man nor commune may own her’.
‘I shall report your stubbornness to the council of Oma. Until this issue is resolved, I insist you don't allow her near the wildwoods. Should you send your serf to claim firewood, then she may take it only from the stack yonder of this path’.
The Frog-witch concedes to this restriction, ‘This I promise to do. Ur’salla will have no business within the wilds’.
The Strawman signs to leave, and turns back towards the main cluster of Leva farmsteads down the trail. Amaia watches and sneers,
That fool doesn’t act upon the will of any council, but on his master Paaxti. She pulls the wicker door part closed, turning to Ur’salla, who sits quietly by the hearth.
Amaia addresses her, ‘Did you understand all of Mazde’s words?’
Ur’salla has already learned to trust the young witch, ‘You’re now my kind sister, and I gladly surrender to your protection’.
‘Please you must avoid the wildwoods until I tell you that it's safe for you to leave’.
Ur’salla cocks her head in agreement. A thought has been nagging her, and she asks Amaia, ‘Why is Mazde so frightened of your magic?’
‘I’m to Athiratu as he is to Daghnu. He has no jurisdiction over me. My neighbours will wish me to make their sick children and calves well, for Mazde is such a poor healer’.
‘On his return from the tomb across the waters, will Paaxti fear your magic? Did he not witness you curse the bones of his son?’
‘He may hate me, but not only am I protected by Athiratu, I carry his grandchild within my womb, as you do Ur’salla. While he might burn a concubine and her unborn bastard, he'll not harm me’.
Ur’salla sees the fire burns low, gets up, peeks through a gap in the door, and announces, ‘We need more firewood’. She sees the tall stack of wood further down the path. Sitting by it's the figure of Aarva. He stares back up at the witch’s lodge.
Amaia senses Ur’salla’s nervousness and joins her to peer out. She glowers to see Aarva sitting there, watching. Amaia consoles her charge with an observation,
‘Ur’salla don’t fret about that pig. If it's not him, then it's Mazde or Brazille who watches us. They’re spies for Paaxti. I'll not allow them to harm you Sister’.
Orphans at Oma
The master of these spies returns to the camp today, his boat berthing in the creek. Paaxti is in the company of two orphans. One is a wildborn, recovering from a grievous injury, and the other an ochre haired woman. Lanella surveys the disorganised campsite of Oma. Her heart sinks. Lanella dreams of the wilds, not to be a serf of barbarians. Here this cold place offers a temporary sanctuary for her ailing man. Whilst Saabiaske’s spirits have been lifted by the promise of achieving his own barbarian dreams, Lanella recognises the reality. As low caste wildborns they'll be humiliated, and subject to exploitation.
Paaxti assured Saabiaske, ‘All are welcome as pioneers at Oma, both people of noble descent, and you others. You’ll be allocated communal soil, and in time a cow. All that we ask for in return is your loyalty and hard graft’.
With Saabiaske’s naive agreement to enslavement, they transition through ranks. Paaxti introduces them to a neighbour,
‘Saabiaske, Lanella, this is Brazille. He’ll lead you to your new home’.
This man escorts them both up a dirt trail and across the settlement of temporary farmhouses. Saabiaske is exempt from conversation by his poor mastery of the Leva tongue, leaving his woman to do the talking. Brazille surprises her by asking,
‘What’s it like to live wild in the woods? Our strawman tells us the savages are stupid and starve. I think they’re clever enough to survive without cattle.’
She answers honestly, ‘I myself grew up between savage and barbarian. My mother and aunts would tell me that life was better before the Leva’.
He looks longingly at the nearby wilds then replies, ‘This I was once told by a kind hearted grandmother. I sometimes wonder…’
Saabiaske has understood enough to intervene, ‘No. Savage be dirty. Oma no hunger’.
Silently the three of them reach a spot of rough ground. Brazille points to an area not too stony, and suggests,
‘Build a den there. Take materials from the woods and make a temporary den’.
Hurt expresses on Saabiaske’s face. He protests, ‘House. Leva house of thatch for us?’
Lanella tries to explain to her man, ‘Maybe in future we'll have more time to build ourselves a house of clay, and thatch’.
Embarrassed and not wanting to be drawn into building, Brazille makes his excuses to leave, ‘I must go. Later we can help you build better’.
With the barbarian neighbour gone, Saabiaske can speak more freely with his woman,
‘I had hoped we would lodge in a longhouse of timbers, or at least in the turf house of a farmer. Not in a savage den’.
‘My Love, there are no halls of timber on this new land. We're to be the pioneers, and must later build it’.
They set to task, but Saabiaske is too weak and injured to contribute, leaving Lanella to clear the ground and light a fire, before fetching materials from the woods.
She hides her thoughts from him, we’ve not been invited to this barbarian camp as pioneers, but as orphaned serfs.
When she reaches the woods, she encounters her new neighbours who work there to damage Nature. She feels the lusty eyes of their horrid men fall upon her. She hears their foreign taunts.
Emasculated by wounds, Saabiaske feels unfit for any purpose. Tenderly he touches his withering arm and winces with pain. He sits by the fire and watches Lanella erect a savage bivvy. The sun sets and the stout figure of Paaxti approaches. Clumsily, Saabiaske rises up to his feet, and greets their benefactor in his few Leva words,
‘Elderman Paaxti, welcome’.
Lanella has to translate for Paaxti’s response, ‘the council of Oma sends welcomes you to this camp’ she repeats.
‘Thank you’ splutters Saabiaske.
Paaxti smirks and through Lanella, tells him,
‘All give labour to Oma soils, and the commune will feed and protect you and your children. This is the Leva way’.
Saabiaske seems pleased. Lanella isn't as stupid. The barbarian men in the woods had already shared with her their cruel intentions. Until Saabiaske is fit to labour, they'll want her to do his share of work.
A new day, and Lanella has been tasked to drag cumbersome bundles of brushwood to a stack of rough materials on the far side of Oma. It is by this woodpile she encounters a low caste serf who skulks.
At first surprised by her arrival, he politely introduces himself, ‘My name is Aarva, and I serve Oma through the supervision of Master Paaxti’.
‘Good morning Aarva. I’m Lanella, wife of Saabiaske. We arrived here in Oma only yesterday’. Suspiciously, she asks him, ‘Tell me Aarva, why do you loiter here at this wood stack?’
‘Master Paaxti wishes for me to watch the house up this hillside. It is the lodge of a frog-witch and of her wildborn serf’.
Genuinely curious, Lanella asks, ‘A frog-witch? Here in Oma?’ She peeks at the turf-walled house, and asks, ‘I hear that the magic of Athiratu is great. Perhaps she might bless my sickly man? What is her name?’
He screws up his features, ‘Pah, this witch is but a girl, and the young widow of Paaxti’s own son. She’s evil and has cursed the spirit of her husband’.
Lanella glances back up the trail at the hovel. Its wicker door opens, and a tall, young woman bends beneath its lintel to exit. Aarva exclaims to Lanella, ‘Look there is her wildborn serf. She was a concubine of Paaxti’s son. Our strawman accuses her of Dark Forest magic’.
A wave of recognition hits Lanella when she sees the figure trudging down the path towards the wood pile. This familiarity is confirmed when Aarva announces, ‘Her name is Ur’salla’.
The orphan isn't ready for reunion. She makes her excuses to leave, ‘I wouldn't wish to be tainted by the Dark Forest, and I shall return to work with the woodsmen. Goodbye Aarva’. With haste she retreats.
So far the men in the woods have made little attempt of assault. Their abuse has been restricted to insults, ‘a savage man's concubine’, ‘bastard orphan’, ‘half breed serf’, ‘Does your crippled savage have a limp dick’. One crude barbarian lifted aside his loincloth and then exposed his stiffness to her. But none of these brutes had dared to touch Lanella. They could sense her ability to dispense violence. Rather they task the little orphan to work like an ox. They hope to first weaken her before they attack.
It’s evening, and Lanella brings a reward of porridge to share with her injured man. Saabiaske sulks with self pity, and she encourages him with a lie,
‘My Love, you're much stronger’.
Optimistically he concedes, ‘It hurts less to sit up, although my arm remains devoid of all will’.
She spoons gritty porridge into his bowl. He dubs his fingers into the gruel, as he frowns. Lanella shares her gossip,
‘That last girl who we stole from the Goshawk wilds. Who was named Ur’salla. Today, I saw her here in this camp!’
This captures Saabiaske’s attention. He pauses with sticky porridge dripping from fingers. Lanella continues to spin her web,
‘The frog-witch who Paaxti warned of, causes much trouble. I’ve learned she is the widow of Paaxti’s own son. The Goshawk girl has found refuge within her den’.
He retorts, ‘the same concubine the Storyteller wanted to liberate?’ His interest is now raised.
‘Yes my Love’. Lanella grins mischievously as she plots trouble.
Saabiaske smiles for the first time since that day in the thicket, ‘Then our chance for the redress of vengeance has come to us’.
House of a Frog Witch
The frog-with and her apprentice, sit together at the hearth of their house. This abode has transformed from a bridal suite to become a shrine to Athiratu. The legs of amphibians preserve, suspended in the smoke above the fire. Herbs have been stuffed into lengths of gut. The feathers and talons of raptors decorate wreaths of straw.
Amaia opens their religious service with a prayer,
‘Athiratu, Frog-mother who provides abundance with sacred spawn. She who procreates with Daghnu, the enricher of our soils and keeper of our Dead’. She adds, ‘Ilua the Bull Father, who steers the Moon. He who procreates with Shaah. Raspu, bringer of destruction and renewal’.
She pours some sour milk into a bowl that she’s placed onto hot ashes at the edge of the hearth. Amaia sprinkles a circle of golden grain around the pot. It crackles as it roasts. These are her offerings to her ancestors.
Silently, Ur’salla studies this craft. She’s seen how the frog-witches of the Leva, serve some similar roles to the midwives of her own kind.
Amaia invites Ur’salla to join her in ritual body painting. They removed all furs and garments to sit by the warm fire. This mutual preening took Ur’salla’s mind back to happier days. The young frog-witch encourages her wildborn to share some of the patterns of savages. But Amaia was more fussy about the colours and symbols to be painted onto each other’s belly and breasts. Concentric circles of blue and white spirals A red stripe cuts through each spiral to the centre, with a solid red circle over the womb. Shamelessly, Amaia touches herself to pleasure, as Ur’salla copies the design onto the witch’s own belly.
Ur’salla asks a question, ‘Sister Amaia, what is the purpose of these rituals?’
With a sageness, Amaia responds, ‘We desire the protection of my ancestors, for a malevolence is coming to do battle in Oma and we must be ready’. Amaia hunches by her fire. Her eyes turn darker as she gazes into its flames. Ur’salla sits silently. Only when Amaia has communed with her spirits, does she share her message,
‘Ur’salla you must be strong. Ilua the Bull Father tells me I must send your spirit on a long journey to a far away place. Another sister is in need of you’
The frog-witch adds some root to her fire, before she lowers her head, and begins to chant. The stinking root crackles in the heat. Ur’salla knows what to expect. She lowers her head and chants. Either side of the fireplace, they sway opposite one another. Two beads. Bright colours infect the flames. Ur’salla feels weak. She descends into a trance…