An inky darkness swirled in and around her like smoke. Unthinking, unfeeling, unreasoning, it was little more than the base animal part that exists in each of us. Fighting for survival, caring only for self, attacking any and everything it could, and then deep, deep within, beyond the darkness and the turmoil, a tiny but still brilliant spark.

I reached for it. It put me in mind of the time Jeremy Pie had pushed me into the river just above the weir. A poor swimmer at best, I had been swept over and caught in the churning waters beneath the dam. I had swum with all my fading strength to reach through turmoil. With the last of my strength, I had reached as far as I could and found a hand waiting to pull me out.

The smoke twisted and weaved, pushing me in all directions, and I had not the strength of a fledgling chick, but I pressed on. I could feel my consciousness slipping from me, but I would not let it go, would not let myself be defeated.

“Mrs Carpenter,” I yelled as I reached the bright pinprick of consciousness.

“It hurts,” she cried. “Don't let me go back. It hurts too much.”

“No,” I shouted back, the churning, dark animal instincts which filled her brain tore at me like a gale. “The pain is gone. You have a son. A fine, strong son to be proud of.”

“No pain?”

“None. It's gone. So much time has passed. Your husband misses you, your son misses you. Come back with me.”

“She said there was a cost.”

“Mine to pay,” I said.

What is offered?

It wasn't a voice. More an awareness of the balance of the situation, and what might be done to shift it a little. I could see Mrs Carpenter's pitiful life hanging out to one side, leaning against... something huge.

“All the pain and hardship I suffered as a child. Forgiven. Forgotten.” I shouted. The dark storm tore at me. I wasn't sure how much longer I could endure.

Not enough.

I could see it wasn't enough. This needed something immense.

“My love for Aaron. His for me.”

Not accepted. Love exists or not outside of the balance.

“That which makes me a woman then. Let me be turned back to a man.” That had to be big enough. It was something I valued more than my life itself, now that I had it.

Not accepted. The balance wouldn’t hold. You’d find a way to change back.

There was truth to that. Now I’d tasted this life, I wouldn’t rest until I could have it back.

“Then what is enough?”

A life is owed. The child or the mother.

“No!” The voice came from the bright pinprick consciousness of Mrs Carpenter.

“No!” It was another voice, calling from far off. I recognised it dimly through the fading greyness of my mind. “The child's debt was paid to me.”

A life is owed.

“And I will pay.” Tkohe resolve in the new voice came through like a wave.

Accepted.

“No,” I cried. “Take my life instead. Let it be mine.”

The bargain is made. It is done.

Consciousness fled from me. The storm in Mrs Carpenter's mind tore apart, seeming to tear me with it. The last I saw was the brilliance of Mrs Carpenter's consciousness growing like a bubble rising from the depths.

-oOo-

“Stupid girl. I told you to stay away from her. What were you thinking?”

Not the most encouraging of words to come round to, but at least I had come round. I tried sitting up, but a strong hand held me down onto the sofa.

“Whoa, whoa. Where do you think you're going?”

I tried to speak, but only managed a vague whisper. I reached up to my throat, which was tender, and managed to massage a little life back into it.

“I need to go,” I managed to whisper hoarsely.

“Oh no,” he said, keeping his hand on my shoulder. “I don't think it would be a good idea for you to go anywhere just at the moment. What were you thinking? I told you not to go near her.”

“She asked for a drink,” I answered, waving vaguely in the direction the beaker had flown.”

“She asked for a...” He looked angry for a moment. “How could she? She can't even talk.”

“She pointed at her lips,” I croaked, “and moaned. Then she kept pointing between the beaker and her lips until I understood. I asked if she wanted a drink, and she nodded her head.”

Mr Carpenter looked over his shoulder at his wife, sitting slumped in her chair, then back at me.

“And she can talk.” My voice was getting stronger with use, but it hurt to speak and it continued to sound rough and ragged. “She accused me of trying to steal you and told me she would choke the life out of me.”

“I'm sorry, I had no idea she had such guile. She's never spoken so much as a word to me in nigh on twenty years. I should never have left you with her. It's as well you cried out when you did or I wouldn't have known to come.”

“What happened?” I didn't remember crying out. With Sally's fingers around my throat, I wasn't even sure I could have made a noise.

“I'd just finished sawing through a piece when I heard your voice cry, 'No!'. I dropped the wood and my tools and run back in here to find her with her hands around your neck.”

“Can you help me sit up please?” I asked, beginning to move again. Asking for help worked where pushing hadn’t. ‘Find ways of changing the balance in your favour,’ Miranda had said, and it worked. Mr Carpenter moved the hand he’d used to hold me down, and with it lifted me into a sitting position. Sally was leant over awkwardly in her chair, seemingly unconscious. “What did you do to her?” I asked, horrified.

“Well, I couldn't let her throttle you. I hit her about the side of the head with my fist.”

“She was letting go.” My voice grated and I swallowed to try and ease the discomfort. “I would have been alright.”

“How can you know that? You don't know her.” His voice was filled with anguish that went beyond the regret he felt for my injuries. “You haven't lived with her for twenty years. You don't know what she can do. You're lucky she didn’t scratch you deep enough to scar,” he turned his head to show me pale parallel lines running down the side of his neck, “or try to gouge your eyes out.”

“Wait till she wakes then.” I'd settled on a gentle whisper for my voice. It might be several days before I could speak clearly again. I dreaded to think what the bruising looked like. I suspected I would be wearing a scarf for at least a week. “Do you think I could have another drink of water please? My throat really hurts.”

“Oh no,” he said, shaking his head. “You think I’m about to leave you alone with her again? I may have made a mistake just now, but that was only because I needed to get this work done. I've been fool enough for one day, and I won't let you alone till I'm well and satisfied that you're not harmed more than the little I see.”

“I really could use a drink sir,” I said , placing a hand on his wrist. “You're right, I am anxious to leave. I think a friend of mine needs me now, but I'm not sure I could stand at the moment, much less run to her, so you have my word I'll not try to escape if you'd just be so kind as to fetch me a cup of water. And if Mrs Carpenter should rouse while you're gone, I'll stamp my feet.”

He relented and withdrew into what I presumed was the kitchen. Once he was out of the room, I levered myself into a more upright position and examined Sally more closely.

A bruise was forming on her right temple which had me dreading how livid might be the ones on my own neck. She was very still, and I worried for a moment that Mr Carpenter might have struck her too hard. I leaned forward and eased her back into a more comfortable position. She started breathing more easily, and it seemed the spark I'd sensed before was glowing brightly inside her. As far as I could tell, the darkness which had consumed her for so long had receded.

“Father, what's happening?” Aaron's voice sounded from outside the house making me start. I glanced at the window wondering how long I'd been unconscious.

“In here son.” Mr Carpenter chose that moment to reappear with a fresh tumbler of water. I accepted it gratefully and sipped at it slowly, straining it through my teeth in an effort to filter out the silt.

“You!” Aaron had apparently caught sight of me. I was turned away from him and too exhausted to look up. “I thought I told you to stay away from my family.”

Mr Carpenter looked between his son and me with the bewildered incomprehension of parents the world over.

I kept my peace and continued to sip at my water. The cool liquid was doing wonders for my bruised throat, and I had no desire to risk my vocal chords further by entering an argument. Fortunately for me, Mr Carpenter took my side.

“Leave her be son,” he said. “She's been through something of an ordeal just now. Your mother attacked her.”

“Something which wouldn't have happened if she done as I asked.” He grew tired of me apparently ignoring him and moved around into my field of view. The bruises on my neck must have been quite a sight because the colour drained from his face when he saw them.

“I wanted to meet your family,” I whispered. “I wanted to see if I could help.”

“How could you help?” Aaron's anger remained. The sight of my injuries hadn't quenched the fires that much it seemed. “She's been this way for twenty years, since the day I was born. What did you think you could do that might change matters?”

“I don't know. There are lots of things I don't know, which unless I at least try to do something about them, I continue not to know. At the very least I hoped to offer your father some reprieve from constantly having to care for your mother.”

“Yeah, and how did that work out?” It was a well-aimed shot. Despite the shock of my recent experience, I blushed hotly.

“It could have gone better,” I said. I put the cup down and made to stand. “I'm sorry to have bothered you, Mr Carpenter. I'll leave now, if you don't mind.”

Mr Carpenter put out his hand again and kept me in my seat. “I would still like you to stay a while. You weren't unconscious long, but I already have enough on my conscience without risking your welfare too.”

Aaron turned away, evidently frustrated, then spun back towards his father.

“I came back early for you, Father. So you could get on and finish those roof beams you were preparing.”

“And as you can see, our priorities have changed. Once I'm sure your friend is alright, we’ll let her go on her way, and you can watch your mother while I work. I've already been able to make a start on it, thanks to Charlotte.”

“Fine! What would you have me do now I'm here?”

“You could start dinner if you don't mind.”

Aaron made to storm through to the kitchen, but paused when Sally moaned. In an instant, both he and his father were by her side. For a moment I was forgotten.

“Jack?” Mrs Carpenter said, turning his way. “Whatever happened to you? You look so old.”

Both father and son sat stupefied. I hadn’t experienced the past two decades, so I couldn’t appreciate the full extent of the miracle those words represented.

“And why does my head hurt so badly?” She raised a hand to the tender bruise on her temple.

I decided it was time I left. Jack was already showing signs of recovering from his shock and it seemed things would work out. The three of them had a lot of catching up to do, and a lot of healing. I would only get in the way. Besides I was worried for Miranda.

-oOo-

I made it halfway across the village before Aaron caught me up. He sat upon a horse that twitched uneasily, as though it were unused to carrying a rider.

“Matt Carter's horse,” he said by way of explanation. “If you'll ride with me, we'll get there all the quicker.”

I'd never ridden on a horse before, either as rider or passenger, but this was no time to raise objections. I was already woozy from shock, something which had only grown worse after the short walk, and I wasn't even sure if I could make it to Miranda's cottage. I held out a hand and he swung me up behind him. The manoeuvre almost cost me my lunch, as the world whirled about me for a few spins. Aaron goaded the animal into motion before I could get myself settled and we entered the forest at a fast trot.

The journey passed in silence, apart from the noise of the horse's hooves upon the path. Every now and again I'd point out a path and Aaron would take it. No words spoken. Nothing to say. The horse remained calm on the forest track, and we made it to our destination in a very short while.

I swung down to the ground before the horse had fully stopped and staggered drunkenly towards the door. Miranda was seated in her usual chair by the fire, but it had fallen to cinders, with very little life left in it.

“Miranda?” I called as I knelt beside the old woman. Her hands were rough as parchment and cold as winter.

“Hello, dear,” she gave me a weak grin. “I hoped you'd come by.”

“Why did you do it?” I asked her desperately. “It was my bargain. Mine to resolve.”

“Really. And how would you have settled the matter?”

“I don't know. I'd have thought of something.”

“A life was owed, Charlotte. Whose would you have offered? A life freely given mind, not taken. Taking only transfers the debt.”

“I told you, I'd have sorted something out.”

“Well the way I see it, you didn't have many options. You could have suggested Sally, and I'm sure she'd have been ready to make the sacrifice. She was ready twenty years ago, but I wasn't about to let her go. Too arrogant I was. Too arrogant by half, and I caused nothing but pain.”

“What do you mean?”

“It was like I told Jack, one life or the other, but I couldn't save both. He couldn't choose and I wouldn't. Some lessons you learn the hard way, Charlotte, but there's no room in witchcraft for arrogance. You get things wrong and the price is too high. Worse is someone else has to pay.

“I saved them both. At least I thought I did. I kept Sally from the edge, but it took all my strength and rested on an imbalance which has kept her buried inside herself all this time. I didn't count on her being so afraid. She hid too deep and too well, till all that was left on the surface was the animal in her.

“Twenty years I've wanted a way to make things right, but you don't go where you’re not wanted, girl. Push against the balance and the cost is too high. I’ve waited all this time for a way back, and it never come. I wanted to make things right, but I had no way to do it. Not until now.”

She closed her eyes and I thought she'd gone, but she was only resting, conserving her strength. Her chest rose and fell with slow, shallow breaths.

“I don't understand,” I said. “Are you saying you planned this?”

She smiled and managed a half-hearted laugh. “Planned is such a... an organised word. You can't plan with people. They always end up doing something unexpected. No, not planned, but I'll admit I was ready in case you did something like this.”

“You said I'd find a way when something mattered enough. You knew nothing mattered more to me than that Aaron's family should be whole again. You knew I'd go to them.”

Her mouth twitched with the shade of a smile and I caught her looking past my shoulder. I turned my head slightly and caught sight of a shadow in the doorway.

“Mattered enough isn't the same as mattered the most. You care enough for Papa Pie. You saw his pain. It wouldn't have taken much to do something about it.

“You might have offered him up to the balance, you know? He's been in pain a lot of years, and he's been a neighbour to the Carpenters for long enough to know how hard their life has been. If you'd asked he'd have probably agreed. It would have been a relief to him to see the end of his suffering, and he'd have been glad to do something good with the last of his life.”

“That doesn't sit right though. I can do something about his arthritis, and I doubt he'd be so quick to give up anything if he knew he could be free of those aches.”

“You may be right. But who then? As I say, Sally would have gone, but what would have been the benefit? Sure, Jack and his son would have been released from caring for what their mother had become, but they'd have been left with a void. Not just her passing, but the senselessness of the past twenty years. They'd not thank you for it.

“Jack might have gone if you'd asked him, or Aaron, but no two of them would have been able to accept such a sacrifice from the third.”

“Then I'd have gone. If there was no other choice, I'd have offered myself.”

She closed her eyes and leaned back. “I believe you would, dear heart, I believe you would. And what a waste that would have been. A young girl like you, so full of life and promise, to give it up at the first hurdle. I'd have thought better of you, but no worse.”

“What do you mean?”

“It does you credit that you'd take such responsibility for your actions. It's more than I did, and for that you'll be a better witch than I ever was. You can know all there is to know and still not use it well. The greatest of our kind are the ones with strength here,” she reached out a shaky digit and pointed at my breast, “and you, my girl, have strength of heart.

“On the other hand, it does no good to squander what you have for so little...”

“So little! We're talking about a woman's life here, and the way it affects her husband and her son.”

“And you will come across a great many more situations where so much is at stake. You can only give your life once, Charlotte, and you can do a great deal more than you know by keeping it, at least for now. When you give it up, if indeed you ever have to, make sure it's for something truly worthwhile.”

“And what makes it any more right that you should give up yours for this and I shouldn't?”

“Because this was my bargain before it was ever yours, dear. My mess to clean up. My price to pay.

“Besides, I used Aaron against his will in helping you, and taking is a debt transferred. Twenty years ago, the life owed was his mother's or his. I took his debt, and now I choose to pay it.”

“But I don't want to lose you. There's so much you have to teach me.”

“Oh I have to, do I?” She was laughing again, with her eyes since everything else was fading rapidly, but she was laughing still. “I don't think I do. You asked two things of me and I've have given you them both. What else there is to learn is your adventure, and I wouldn't deprive you of a moment of it.

“Don't be sad for me child. I've had a good life — for all that it's been lonely. If you were to learn from me, yours would likely have ended the same. With your great heart though, I rather suspect you'll find a way to do as well, and better, than I ever managed, and without having to live apart as I've done.

“There are very few things in my life I've regretted, and you've given me a way to make right the worst of them, at least in part. You've given me company in my last days, and you've given me hope for those I'm leaving behind. This is as good an end as I could want and perhaps better than I deserve.

“Now if you would be so kind, the fire could do with a stoke and I'd very much like a cup of tea.”

You can't ignore a request like that. My head was filled with so many questions they were tripping over one another, and I would never have another chance to ask any of them, but I wasn't here for me, or so I told myself. I added wood to the fire and stoked it until it was blazing fiercely, then set about the business of making tea.

The shadow in the doorway hadn't moved, so I added a third cup to the tray. With the tea poured, I passed Miranda her cup and stood to take one to Aaron. Miranda shook her head and nodded to the chair opposite. I sat.

“I left something for you on the mantelpiece,” she said, her voice barely a whisper, and lifted the cup to her lips.

I looked above the fire and saw the brush she'd used on my hair less than a week and more than a lifetime ago. I smiled, set down my cup and stood to retrieve it.

It was only when I stood that I noticed the folded sheet of paper behind it. My name was scrawled on it in an unsteady hand. I picked it up, opened it, read it.

My Dearest Charlotte,

I have no way of expressing how great has been my pleasure in knowing you, even for so short a while. If I have one sorrow, it is that we did not have longer to spend together. In leaving this world, I do so knowing that at least one small corner of it rests in fair and competent hands. Trust yourself; you are far stronger than you know.

This cottage has passed from one of our kind to the next for more generations than I care to count. It has become more than mere bricks and mortar over the long years, and as I pass it into your care, know that it will give you whatever you need, whenever you need it.

Live well, be happy, and thank you.

Miranda

I turned, words of protest forming on my lips, but she was gone. Her teacup sat empty in her lap, and her eyes stared sightlessly from a relaxed and contented face.

-oOo-

I carried two cups of tea outside and offered one to Aaron.

“She's gone,” I said simply.

“Before coming here I might have said, 'good riddance',” he said, “but that hardly seems appropriate anymore.”

I sipped at my tea, then blew across it. I'd never been able to drink it hot.

“She caused your family a lot of heartache,” I said, leaning against the doorpost. “I'm sure she'd understand if you were still mad at her.”

He shook his head. “I've been angry too long. Besides, today's not a day for anger or hatred. “He turned a hopeful and apologetic smile in my direction. “I need to say sorry to you, Charlotte, and much more besides. What you did for my mother...”

“What I did for your mother was no less than should have been done a long time ago,” I interrupted him.

“It's not something just anyone could do.” His voice turned quite. “She could have,” he jerked his head towards the cottage, the merrily crackling fire its only voice, “but we never let her. I'm not sure if we'd have let you had you had you not come of your own will.”

Perhaps that was something I needed to learn for myself rather than take Miranda's word for it. Perhaps you didn't have to wait to be asked before helping.

“How is she?” I asked. “I left before I could tell. It seemed best to leave you alone.”

“She was eating when I left.” He smiled at the memory. “Not being force fed as usual, but eating and as well as you might expect. It was her idea that I should come after you. She also would like you to visit soon if you would be so kind. Father suggested I borrow the horse and said not to come back too soon. I guess they have a lot of catching up to do.”

“How much did you overhear?” I asked, changing the subject completely.

He paused, his cup almost to his lips.

“Most of it I imagine. The first I heard was the old lady saying she'd not been ready to let my mother go. Something about being arrogant. I guess I heard pretty much everything from then. Did you mean what you said about nothing mattering as much as my family being whole, and about giving up your life for us?”

I ducked my head. That wasn't a question I felt ready to answer.

“I wouldn't have wanted you to,” he said. “Give up your life I mean. I... I think I'm in love with you.”

That brought my head back up with a snap. I looked across at him, staring deep into his eyes for any hint he might be joking. Old habits die hard I suppose, but it was more than that.

“Even if I end up being the village's next witch?”

He shifted his gaze until he was looking into my eyes. There was softness there, and truth, hope and vulnerability, abandonment and acceptance.

He didn't need to answer with words. His lips met mine and I had all the answer I needed.

I thought of the old lady, her body still cooling inside the cottage. I decided she would have approved, but still I felt a little awkward about it. I took the empty cup from his hand and turned to enter the cottage.

“Would you help me to bury her?” I asked.

“I owe her that much at least,” he answered, and followed me in through the door.

-oOo-

There were two spades in the scullery off the kitchen and a wooden crate, large enough to serve as a coffin. I thought of the letter and those words towards the end — it will give you whatever you need whenever you need it

There was a soft patch of bare earth in the garden and between us we managed to dig a serviceable grave. I will own that Aaron did most of the work, but only because there wasn't room for more than one to work in the grave at a time, and once started, he refused to cede his place until it was completely dug.

Miranda had always seemed such a robust person — larger than life in so many respects — so it was a shock to discover how little she weighed. Makeshift coffin and all, it was a simple enough task for the two of us to lower her into her final resting place.

“Do you have any words?” He asked me as we looked down on the splintered wood.

I'd been thinking on just that while Aaron worked and, though there was no-one to hear them but the two of us and the birds, it seemed right to speak out what I'd composed.

“We come into this world alone,” I said, “and we leave it alone. Not many of us have the courage and strength to live alone as well, or to give of ourselves while we're here. Go in peace, Miranda, and may you find rest and comfort at journey's end.”

They didn't sound quite so wonderful when said out loud, but when all's said and done, what mattered most is the sentiment behind them. We shovelled loosed dirt onto her remains and continued until the hole was filled leaving only a small mound behind.

“So what will you do with your cottage in the forest?” Aaron asked me as we headed inside to clean the tools and freshen up.

“I don't know,” I said. “The forest is a good place for it, I suppose. Good for herbs and roots and the like, but I could wish it were closer to the village. Perhaps even right on the edge of the forest, near my parents' house. I'd rather not live apart from everyone the way she did.”

We finished cleaning the loam off the spades and Aaron put them back where we'd found them while I washed my hands and face clean.

“So what will you do?” he asked.

I relinquished the sink and picked up a towel to dry myself.

“I'm not sure. It would be wrong not to use the cottage at all. The letter said it's been passed from witch to witch for a very long time, but I hate the idea of someone having to travel all this way to find me when they need me.”

“It's not really big enough for more than one person either,” he mused, “or were you thinking of going it alone?”

I threw my towel at him, but he caught it easily and used it to dry his own hands and face.

“I suppose we could always explore and see just how big the place is,” I said. “I've only been upstairs the once. I only saw Miranda's bedroom, but there might be more space up there somewhere.”

It seemed wrong somehow, almost disrespectful to be traipsing around the house so soon after its previous occupant had been laid to rest, but it didn't seem right to leave the place just yet either. I climbed the stairs with Aaron following on my heels, and stepped into the small bedroom I’d used to change on my first visit.

At least I thought it was the same room. It seemed larger than I remembered, with a brass bedsteaded double bed and a large wardrobe against one wall. The room was still gabled, but whereas it had seemed cramped before — and I was sure it had only been large enough for a single bed — this one was comfortably large enough for the two of us together.

The long standing mirror was where I remembered it, but I didn't recall the dressing table and stool. I pulled open the wardrobe, expecting to see Miranda's black dresses and cloaks, but instead found an array of dresses in what seemed to be my size. They were colourful too, much more in keeping with my preferred style. None of them were of the finest weave or that richly decorated, but they were pretty and serviceable and just what I would have wanted. I held one up in front of me and stood before the mirror, thinking about changing into it then and there. I mean after all, my work dress was smeared with dirt and damp with perspiration.

“Er, Charlie. I think you should come and see this.” Aaron called me from the bedroom window.

“What?” I asked distractedly.

“Er, isn't that your parents' house over there?”

-oOo-

The cottage will give you whatever you need, whenever you need it. More than that I think. I'm not sure I actually needed it to be on the edge of the forest, or to have a bedroom and a bed big enough to share. I certainly didn't need enough of a wardrobe to have a different dress for each day of the week, or a herb store fully stocked with dried plants of all kinds, all labelled and sorted by common use, or the illustrated book on herb lore describing far more than I knew about plant identification and uses, when and where to gather them and how to prepare them. It was all there though, and I felt certain that if in the future I might want, say, a nursery, an additional room would appear upstairs. It was an astonishing gift, and not one to be squandered, not that I’m sure the house would have let me abuse whatit had to offer.

Miranda's letter was enough for the village council to enter a deed of ownership in my name into the village records, and no-one seemed to question its sudden arrival at the edge of the village. I suppose it was a witch's cottage, so the fact it wasn’t dark and sinister or scarily unusual was already bonus enough.

News of Sally Carpenter's recovery had already swept through the village when Aaron and I stepped out of the cottage and into the street opposite my old home. Every person within a mile had abandoned whatever he or she had been doing and had surrounded the Carpenter residence twelve deep by the time we reached it. Included in the rumour was that I had brought about the recovery. I honestly don't know how such news gets about so quickly, especially given that the only people who knew were Aaron, myself, Sally and Jack, and as far as I knew none of us had spoken to anyone else, but then rumour and gossip is a sort of magic with rules all its own. The crowd parted as Aaron and I approached, and the constant susurration of whispered speculation died down to an utter stillness as we reached the front door.

I turned to the crowd, aware than my status within the village had changed. “I'm sure you can imagine,” I said, my voice still something of a course rasp, “how long and difficult an ordeal Sally Carpenter has endured these past twenty years. She is much improved, and I understand has been eating and speaking with her husband this afternoon. Your concern does you credit,” yeah right, “but I doubt she will be strong enough to show herself any time soon. The family needs time to come to terms with the change. Time and space. So if you would all be so good as to allow them a little of both...”

“Is it true you wrestled the spirit of the evil witch out of her?” an unidentified voice from the crowd shouted.

Some people have a knack for saying the wrong thing at just the wrong time. I turned in the direction of the voice, limbs rigid and eyes blazing. I knew Miranda had actually cultivated a wicked witch image of herself, but it offended me deeply that so many people who had received so much good from her could still think of her so poorly. A dark shadow enveloped the house and the crowd as thick, black clouds boiled into existence overhead, and a brilliant column of actinic light arced out of the heavens with a deafening crash, splitting a tree on the edge of the not too distant village green.

The violence of the event brought me back to myself. Miranda’s explanation of how my mood seemed to affect the weather rang in my mind, along with the echoes of the thunder. Necessity gave me the control I needed and I reigned in my rage before the next lightning bolt had the chance to build. Ignorance, even such ignorance as this, did not deserve the terror and destruction it seemed my anger had the capacity to unleash. The clouds receded as quickly as they had come. The crowd stared at me, awe filled and terrified.

“I will hear no-one speak ill of the old lady.” I couldn't raise my voice much above a whisper, but it sounded all the more menacing for that. “She was a friend to me and, though none of you realise it, a friend to you all too. Test me on this and I may not be able to contain my anger another time. Now I've asked you to leave this family in peace. Don't make me tell you.”

The crowd evaporated almost as quickly as the cloud. The sun shone down on empty streets and Aaron and I stepped into the house.

-oOo-

I visited Sally daily over the weeks that followed. She made a remarkably swift recovery, for which I may be partially responsible, though I'm not sure. With each visit, I willed strength into her, but I think most of her rapid return to health came from the love and attention Jack and Aaron lavished upon her. She ate well and her body filled back out into that of an attractive woman a year or two older than my mother. Eventually she felt strong enough to venture outside and she and Jack took a walk around the village together, greeting everyone who approached them. It was a gruelling first excursion, but it laid to rest many rumours and brought the Carpenters back into the normal life of the village all the more rapidly as a result.

I visited Pop Pie daily as well. A mixture of home-made herbal medicines and my gifts brought about just as astonishing a change in him. Within days he was moving around the village with a far more sprightly gait, and his mood mellowed to the point where Jeremy started spending time with him, more through desire than duty. People started to comment about the old birch tree that stands behind their house, at how it seemed to become gnarled and twisted overnight. A rumour went around the village that I had transferred all the old man’s pain into the tree. I never spoke to confirm or deny it, but I did give Jeremy and his grandfather special instructions to tend and care for the tree as best they could. Regardless of whether or not it was involved in the cure, a witch needs her reputation and this was just the sort of thing to add to the mystique surrounding me.

In that respect there was no major shortage of stories. Sally Carpenter’s recovery stood at the top of the list, followed closely by my evident influence on the weather. The sudden appearance of the cottage at the edge of the village, people’s inability to remember me as a little girl although they all knew I had been born and raised there, Pop Pie’s recovery along with the comments about the tree, all that and a hundred other stories, most of which grew from nowhere without any help from me, all helped to establish me as the new witch. My voice never fully recovered from Sally’s attempt to strangle me, something for which she never felt fully able to forgive herself, but which afforded me with yet another distinguishing feature that established me in my new role.

I discovered Miranda’s reasons for choosing to live apart from the village as, in next to no time, I became the focus of attention for everybody’s smallest problem. It was a revelation just how small minded people could be, and on certain days I would all but lose patience with the pettiness of it all. That summer was marked by the number of thunderstorms that built rapidly and dissipated just as swiftly, and in time people made the link between the inclement weather and the stupidity and selfishness of the requests they brought to me. By the time the leaves were turning they had learnt not to trouble me with trivia, though I made it clear I would hear any request made. From time to time a genuine need crossed my threshold and I found myself with a new challenge to face.

I moved into the cottage the day I replaced Miranda as the village witch, as seemed only right, but I continued to feed my family's animals and to join them for breakfast. Lucy was delighted to have a room to herself, especially as I lived close enough to visit at the drop of a hat, and visit she did, often. She usually brought some titbit or other to feed to the tufty-eared red squirrel that took up residence in the tree behind the cottage. Between Lucy and me, he did well off us, and grew fat from our generosity.

Aaron continued to court me through the summer and into the winter. The outcome was forgone, but I didn't see that as a good enough reason to deny him the thrill of the chase, or me any of its benefits. At the midwinter's festival, he dropped to one knee and proposed, in full view of the village. I agreed of course, and, think of it what you will, but mere seconds afterwards it began to snow a million brilliant crystalline shards shimmering in the moonlight.

We were married in the spring, with the blessings of both his parents and mine, and the well-wishes of everyone in the village. Both Karen and Lydia stood with me as maids of honour, but then what is the good of being a witch if you can’t break with tradition when it suits you? Even the cottage signalled its approval by increasing the size of all its rooms and adding a cattle-shed, complete with two cows, to the rear behind the scullery. I don’t know how many generations of witches it had accommodated in solitude, but it seemed heartily ready for a change.

The gift was both unusual and unexpected, and made little sense to either of us until Aaron set himself to learn dairy farming. Both were good milk cows, providing us with far more than we needed. With the excess, Aaron learned first to make butter, then cheese, and as a cheese maker he was a consummate success. It wasn’t that we needed the income; the cottage provided for us in most regards, and we received regular gifts of thanks from grateful villagers, but it’s good for a man to have a profession — something to give him a sense of achievement and self-worth. Besides it is very good cheese.

The weather and I became the talk of the village. After its dramatic changes at certain notable times when I first came to the attention of my neighbours, they started to talk about its various moods in conjunction with my own, which was both gently amusing and intensely embarrassing at the same time. Our wedding night, for instance, was marked by the appearance of a most dramatic display of sheet lightning across a clear night sky, and of St Elmo’s fire erupting from the tree tops. Aaron and I missed it of course — we were otherwise occupied while he introduced me to one of the most agreeably exquisite aspects of womanhood. All the knowing looks and twinkling eyes the following morning were too much and drove me indoors with my face burning. ‘The Lights’ became a regular feature of the night sky, and the subsequent innuendo was in danger of growing out of control until a few days of unseasonal storms reminded everyone that I would not be mocked.

The spring was the warmest and brightest anyone remembered, or so they said, apart from a few days every month. The village had grown used to treading carefully around me on the few days a month the weather turned sombre. Again it was embarrassing having everyone aware of such intimate details of my life, but it had its uses too. I mean who likes to make excuses for their mood at that certain phase of the Moon? Besides, what can’t be cured must be endured, and so I accepted it as part of my life and made no mention of it. In time everyone else followed suit.

As spring turned into summer, a month passed without the usual few overcast days, then another. The rumour mill ground away and I found myself bereft of every woman’s right to share that most exciting of news. I bore it well enough though, I mean when the news is that good you can’t stay angry for long.

Come midwinter, I was waddling around in a most ungainly fashion, still making my rounds of the village, treating sick animals and people alike. The cottage thoughtfully provided an assortment of maternity dresses to accommodate my bulging abdomen, and added a small nursery off the back of our bedroom. One of Miranda's old cronies from a neighbouring village turned up the day I started labour and helped me through the birth. I don't remember much of it, though the village still speaks of the storm that tore the roof off farmer Tildey's barn. I only remember holding my son in my arms as the sun rose into a crystal clear sky and shone down over a pristine white landscape, silent and peaceful in its winter cloak.

We named him Charlie. I wasn’t so sure, but Aaron insisted, saying it felt right somehow. He’s more of a boy than I ever was, so I don’t see him going through the same hardships I faced as a child. Besides, he’s the witch’s son, which should afford him some protection. Just so long as it doesn’t give him cause to think himself better than he is. He’s young yet though, and I’m determined he’ll learn to grow up respecting others.

He comes with me when I do my rounds. Everyone dotes on him, but none more than me. He fills me with a deeper sense of fulfilment than anything I could have imagined. I’ve started mentioning to the people I visit how Aaron and I are hoping for a brother or sister for him in the not too distant future, and I’m having fun watching their reactions. It must have been quite a storm.

There are times when Aaron and I think back to the day everything changed, when his mother came back to us and Miranda died. Sometimes Aaron will ask me what she meant when she said she'd used him against his will in helping me. I can still remember growing up as a boy, but these days it seems more like a dream than something I lived. I've thought about telling him, but sometimes it seems that there can be such a thing as too much truth.

-Fin-