The Red Witch

To ask many in the valley, the storm of the century was simply that but to Fergus Tilling, it was the night his wife Faith died and his family was cursed. Normally, the surrounding mountains and forest would have protected the area but the storm had been massive with pounding rain and vicious winds that uprooted many trees and took the thatch from many roofs. While Fergus and his three sons, Hamish, Magnus and Thackery tethered down what they could, Faith, heavily pregnant, herded their livestock into the house for protection. They had already lost half of their chickens. To the South end of their stone built house, a tall willow bowed and creaked in the growing winds and under the noise of it, Fergus and his sons did not hear the roots beginning to fail. For just a moment, the wind eased but this was merely a prelude to what came next. The gust knocked down Fergus and Thackery, sending them rolling into the side of the house. Magnus managed to cling to the supporting post of the outhouse while Hamish ducked behind the tethered cart. The old willow’s roots gave out and the tree came crashing down onto the end of the house. Inside, Faith, cowering by the South wall of the house with the animals, screamed as the roof collapsed in on her. Karin Tilling came into the world as Faith Tilling left it. As if growing up in a house with four men would be hard enough, Karin was well aware her hardship would only get worse the older she got. Before the night Faith died, Fergus had been known for his generosity and kindness but he changed that night. His happiness had turned to anger and hatred, his once generous nature cold and calculated. Hamish and Thackery became much the same way. Karin was blamed openly for her mother’s death. Only Magnus pleaded leniency for his much younger sibling and as Fergus denied the baby girl, it was left to him to care for her. However, when she turned sixty, Magnus paired but his new work meant he and his new wife would be travelling. As much as he hated to, he had to leave Karin behind. A year later, Fergus fell ill with fever and Karin was blamed again. He survived but never fully recovered. Eight years later - “Karin!” Fergus’ voice boomed through the house. “Stupid witch! Karin!” He staggered from his bed to the table. “Karin!” “Coming Father!” Karin called back from outside. She came rushing inside, rubbing her hands down her torn and tattered apron and skirts. She quickly put her head under his arm and took his weight. “Father, you shouldn’t be out of bed.” She offered as she carefully took him back across the room. He landed on the hay-stuffed bed and furs and she quickly covered him back up. She then gathered up a shallow pot from under the table and he snatched it from her. “Damn you, witch!” He snapped as he put the pot under the fur and relieved himself. “How you could ever have come from my Faith, I’ll never know!” It was something he had said daily to her, reminding her of her curse every chance he could. Finished with the pot, he lifted the fur and threw it at her. “Father, please!” Karin begged as she managed to catch the pot before it hit the floor but she was then covered in his foul smelling urine. It soaked her apron and skirts and her feet. “Filthy witch!” Fergus snapped, “Clean up that mess!” “Yes Father.” Karin said quietly. After scrubbing the urine from the stones and washing up as best she could, Karin continued with her usual daily routine. Hamish and Thackery worked their small field and traded wares in the local market while Karin tended everything else as well as caring for their father. The money the family earned went back into the house, namely in ale. Karin was left with the scraps. And while they slept in beds she had stuffed and furs she had tanned and worked, she slept on the floor by the fire on little more than a small pile of hay. Her days were long and hard but after her chores, she managed to find a few minutes each day to sit by her mother’s grave and enjoy some quiet. Karin sat easily against the small mound of rocks and stared up at the sky. It was a clear evening and a few stars were beginning to peer through the veil of fading light. The weather had been kind thus far so it wasn’t cold but there was a slight chill in the breeze. Hamish and Thackery had returned an hour or so previously and were drinking heavily with their father as was their habit. She began to braid small locks of her deep red hair, her pale green eyes staring at the darkening sky. She could hear the men inside laughing and singing before arguing and fighting. She hoped the fighting would break a chair or the table, saving her the chore of hauling so many logs for the fire. It didn’t happen but the arguing continued late into the night. She knew not to enter the house as their tempers would surely turn on her for whatever reason she had wronged them this time and so ended up sleeping outside against her mother’s grave. Morning came with a shock – and a bucket of cold water. Hamish laughed as he watched his brother empty the contents of the bucket over Karin’s head and shoulders. “Wake up, witch!” Thackery shouted, giving her a swift kick in the back just to press the matter. Karin yelped in shock and pain before skittering to the foot of the stone mound. “Get cleaned up.” He snapped, “We have company coming.” He then threw the bucket at her before walking away. It bounced off Karin’s arm as she protected her head. She clutched the bucket then as Hamish came forward. He ducked down a few feet from her and grinned. Draped over his arm was a dress. It was pale green. Karin recognised it as her mother’s. “Put this on.” He told her. He dropped it at his feet, got back up and walked away. After gathering up the dress, Karin took it and the bucket to the outhouse. A few dozen yards behind the outhouse was a small river that was their water supply. Karin took the bucket to it and filled it. She then looked around carefully in case anyone could see her. She was alone. Karin undressed quickly and started washing down. She would have used her old dress to dry off with but it still reeked of her father’s urine so she had to put the new one on wet. It smelled musty and the wool felt sharp against her skin. After raking her fingers through her hair, she braided it and then tied it off with the string from her old dress sleeve. The tip curled neatly just above her knee as it draped gently over her shoulder. She then emptied the soiled water back into the river and refilled the bucket. No doubt her father and brothers would need it. She hooked the long leather strap behind her neck to help carry the weight and carried the bucket back to the house.