PART 2

  CHAPTER 2

  HOM

  On most mornings, Beizl began her day by eating a bit of soup from the sigil pot. Marta would often be spinning thread with her distaff and spindle, or sewing at her quilting frame, by the time Beizl got out of bed, sometimes having worked through the nights when she could not sleep. The soup was made from whatever food was available, with the standard stock being rice and tubers from the nearby village, and milk and cheese from the 2 goats Marta kept. The surrounding wilderness provided seasonally varying meat, nuts, and fruits. With the yearly langostino migration in full swing, for the next few weeks the pot would be stuffed with the claws and tails of the crustaceans.

  After eating and talking with Marta for a while, Beizl prepared for her daily work. Over her knitted wool shirt and shorts, she put on her open-sided woven wool robe. For now it was a robe, but as she grew it would become a tunic. She tied her broad waist belt to secure her robe, and put her satchel at her left side, with the strap over her right shoulder. In this satchel she carried a small cupralum knife, a gourd bottle, and a bit of cheese for a snack. She tied her straw sandals, put on her straw hat, and told Marta she was beginning her dirty work for the day.

  She began by cleaning the goat pen, and dumping the dung into a compost pit. The two goats were being particularly ornery, pulling at her clothes and trying to butt her, but Beizl knew how to deal with them. She simply picked up her Goat Stick, a smoothed branch laid next to the goat pen, and brandished it to remind the goats who was in charge. They left her alone. She checked the goat’s water pots, and made note that they would need filling soon. Finally she let the goats loose to forage, knowing they wouldn’t venture too far, and would return before nightfall.

  She checked the gardens, where medicinal plants were grown to service locals and visitors. Cannabis, for pain relief, sedation, and broadening of the mind. Poppy, from which sap was collected, for sedation and pain relief. Datura, to hasten the heart and induce delirium. Foxglove, for regulation of the heartbeat. These were the plants she knew, but there were more she had yet to learn. She checked them for diseased leaves and stems, and for pests and parasites, and finished her rounds in the garden by watering the plants.

  She walked the perimeter of their home, checking the condition of the sigil stakes. Beizl struggled with reading and writing sigils, despite her propensity to dream of them, and her ability to force Will into them. She could draw large and simple sigils, but small sigils with fine detail were beyond her ability. She simply struggled to see the small details. Fortunately, many common sigils are simple and easy to draw, with few or no minute details, and can be drawn large while retaining their function. Here, Each stake was engraved with a sigil to repel biting insects.

  A very common sigil, used ubiquitously even by many who are not practiced in the art. Its form is simple, doesn’t require great precision to function, and it has a straightforward intent that can easily be Willed into it. Under normal circumstances, biting insects will give it a wide berth.

  After inspecting the sigil stakes, she set to foraging in the woods. She collected acorns, mushrooms, berries, and nearly anything edible she could find. In particular, she was checking the wild jabo grape trees for any freshly ripened berries, recognizable by a dark purple color, nearly black. With winter setting in, the jabo grapetrees would soon stop fruiting, so Beizl wanted to get as many as she could carry. She made a brief stop to eat her cheese and some jabo grapes, taking the moment to enjoy the sounds and smells of the forest, and rest her legs.

  Shortly after noon, Beizl had filled her satchel with jabo grapes, acorns, and a few winter puffballs. With the day’s dirty work finished, it was time to return home and bathe. Beizl found that Marta had prepared bathing materials for her, and was now laying in the sun for a nap. Laid out for Beizl were two ceramic pots of water, a pot of ashwater, and two washrags. Beizl began her wash by removing her clothes and hanging them on a post. She used the first pot of water and the first rag to wipe off most of the grime she had accumulated over the day. With the ashwater and the second rag, she properly scrubbed her body to remove any sweat and oils that clung to her. Finally, she used the second pot of clean water and her hands to wash away any remaining ash.

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  After air drying for a few minutes, with the water chill becoming unbearable, Beizl put her underclothes back on, and joined Marta in her sunbathing nap.

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  The salamander woke again. The room was the same, but the morning light had turned to evening. The salamander now lay in a bowl of… something. Some kind of shallow film of yellow-brownish water, just enough to coat the salamander’s belly and chin. The salamander stuck its tongue into the yellow-brownish water, and it was delicious. The salamander licked as much as it could without moving anything else, in fear of the pain that may come. Then, gently, gingerly, slowly, with utmost care, it moved to turn its body.

  Everything still hurt, but its movements were no longer met with screaming rebellion. The salamander moved the rest of its body, one piece at a time, and with each motion the pain faded just a bit. It lapped up the yellow-brownish water as fast as it could move its tongue, then carefully moved its body to reach more, and lapped it up too. When all of the unctuous ambrosia was gone, the salamander became sad.

  So the salamander did was it always did when it became sad: It sulked. It huffed, it flattened its body against the floor of the empty bowl, it splayed its legs, it grunted and pouted, it stuck out its claws, it-

  “Claws?” The salamander gazed upon them. A pair of pincer claws, extending outwards from just behind its neck. Until the whiny pouting started, the newly grown claws had been limp and numb, folded under its body, out of sight. It opened and closed the claws. It wiggled them back and forth. It shimmied and shook, waggled and waved. If the salamander weren’t exhausted, injured, and away from home, it would have celebrated. It would have climbed atop its rock, it would have hissed and spat at the firmaments and the heavens, it would have rolled and twisted and flopped and danced in jubilation.

  But it was in an unknown place, grievously injured, and abducted by some two-legged walking obelisk. The salamander concluded that its ideal option was to simply rest, and quietly celebrate these rewards for its valor. If its captor meant to kill it, it would be dead, and escape was not an option. The salamander chose to rest, and before too long it fell back into sleep.

  … it was reawoken again. Annoyance and fear together. Something was approaching, something large. Surely its captor. The salamander knew it had no hope, but resolved to die with honor and dignity. It raised its head, clenching its jaw against the pain, and faced the entryway to its room. The thing came in, and immediately behind it, an even larger one.

  The salamander did not show its fear. It refused. It raised its new claws at the duo of giants, their first brandishing in anger, and prepared to receive. The larger of the two Great Ones pushed the smaller closer to the salamander. Surely this was a test, a coming of age ritual, a mother cat urging its kitten to kill and eat. The smaller of the two put out its hands, and it bared its teeth. Somehow, this gesture was calming to the salamander, not alarming. It slowly relaxed, as the titan’s hands drew closer, palms up and fingers spread. The larger of the creatures made noises. The salamander sensed meaning, but did not understand.

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  “Maintain calmness.” Marta was coaching Beizl as she approached the now-awake salamander. “Assert your Will.”

  Beizl drew closer to the salamander, with every steady breath she extended her hands to it. From a small cup she poured warm water into the dish it was placed on, ensuring it was hydrated and comfortable. She looked at nothing but the salamander, she thought of it being calm, of it listening to her, of commanding it.

  “No, Beizl. Don’t command. Calmness is.” Marta sensed Beizl’s intent with her own Will, and corrected her. “Calmness is the dirt and the wind. You don’t command dirt to be. It’s there without you.”

  Beizl stopped for a moment, faltering. She was afraid of disappointing Marta, of failing to make this monster her pet. Marta sensed this, too.

  “I don’t care if you tame this monster or not. Only you do.”

  Beizl didn’t understand. Marta said many things that Beizl did not understand. So many things that Beizl cared about, Marta dismissed. Then, so many things that Marta focused on, Beizl couldn’t see the importance of. Why wouldn’t taming the monster impress Marta? Beizl knew taming a monster was a rare and difficult thing, she’d heard the stories of old witches that tamed monsters, and the great things they did. How was Beizl to receive Marta’s praise? What Beizl did know in her own heart was that she couldn’t fail. She couldn’t disappoint Marta. She had to impress, she had to show that she was a good student, a good apprentice, a good witch, and above all that she would be able to take care of herself after Marta died.

  She listened to Marta’s construction. Dirt Is, wind Is, and Beizl Willed that calmness Is. She did not Will for calmness to be, she Willed that it is. Like the dirt is and the wind is, like the trees and the forest they make up is, the monster is calm. She Willed it as if it were an observation, just as she would observe the monster being before her, just as she observed being in her room, in her treehouse, in her forest. The salamander monster was calm, and it was hers.

  And so it was. The salamander lowered its claws. It closed its mouth. It turned its head to the side, and allowed Beizl to touch it. She rubbed the top of its head with her fingertip, gently at first, before she was overcome with joy.

  She squealed. “Yay! Marta I did it!” She turned around to hug Marta, but she was gone, back into the other room. Beizl, very briefly, was worried that she had somehow failed and disappointed Marta, but her glee at having tamed the salamander overcame. She turned back to the creature, she pet it, she squeezed it and rolled it around, until it hissed at her for agitating its wounds. She restrained herself to cooing at it, gently rubbing its head and back, and giving it gentle kisses on its forehead. The salamander leaned into her scratching fingers, clearly enjoying being pet and doted on.

  Beizl stayed awake late into the night, playing with her new salamander monster pet. When sleep finally came for her, she was laying on the floor, on a blanket next to the salamander.