Witch Adila

Untitled Episode

Chapter Four: The Tavern Witch

The Moon Goddess was most commonly depicted as a beautiful archer with a silver bow, and she was also the protector of the forest and its animals. She granted her followers the power to form contracts with animals, enabling them to hunt the detested werewolves and maintain the tranquility of the forest in her name.

To the moon witches, familiars were like the silver bow on the Moon Goddess’s back. A snake's venom could be used to create a paralyzing potion for werewolves; the rare white deer could purify werewolf curses; and the most common companions, wildcats, could sense the presence of magical creatures.

As for a big white goose... Amber racked her brains and concluded that it could probably only buy its owner five minutes by serving as an appetizer.

Since that day, Adila had garnered the sympathy of the entire village, and various gifts piled up at the door of her small house. Fellow young witches who were close to her visited frequently. Some, moved to tears, spoke as if it were Adila’s last moments as a human.

"Perrin, what do you think I should do to save this child?" Amber asked.

The red-haired witch, Perrin, pulled a large tabby cat from an empty wine barrel and disdainfully tossed it back to its drunken owner, who was talking to an empty oak barrel cup.

"You're asking a tavern keeper this question? Her answer will always be the same," Perrin replied, exasperated.

As soon as she spoke, the oak barrel cup in Amber’s hand refilled with a rich, red liquid. The tabby cat in her arms took the opportunity to lap up the residue on the table. Both the cat and its owner had drunken green eyes, and Perrin couldn't help but reminisce about the green grapes of the Zhuli River, their vibrant color soaking in the spring green and summer sun, making one feel intoxicated just by looking at them.

Indeed, Mida was the most beautiful witch here, but a witch's magic lay in her eyes, and Amber had the most enchanting eyes Perrin had ever seen.

Just as she thought this, the "most powerful witch" stumbled forward, hitting her forehead hard on the wooden table, frightening the tabby cat, which leapt up in surprise.

Perrin downed the contents of her wooden barrel cup, her fair face showing no signs of drunkenness. Even the strongest witches had to bow to her "magic" cup. She set the empty cup down and, seeing the now larger tabby cat, sighed, "Ah, another year has passed, and another batch of little frogs will turn sixteen. My cellar will be half empty again."

Amber rubbed her red forehead, picking up the wooden barrel cup to soothe her pain with more wine. Suddenly, Perrin’s words reminded her of her task, and she quickly shook her head to stay sober.

She squinted, trying to focus on the witch in front of her. This woman had the best wine cellar in the village. Amber warned herself not to offend her by getting drunk here.

Godly celebrations were never complete without the aid of wine, and there was a cellar beneath the village with enough wine for a year-long festival. But that wasn’t all. Each young witch had her own barrel of fruit wine, aged for sixteen years, imbued with powerful blessings and magic, waiting to be opened when she came of age.

At the age of sixteen, during the blessing ceremony, the young witches would drink their birthday wine, making a sacred vow to the goddess, allowing them to advance from low-ranking god attendants to god envoys, officially starting their journey to hunt werewolves.

To brew this special magic wine, the eldest grand witch had traveled a long distance to invite Witch Perrin from the distant Zhuli River, the holy land of the nature goddess. Perrin, with her unique background of worshipping multiple goddesses, including the Moon Goddess and three nature goddesses, was perfect for the task.

“You dislike little Adila so much; why not let me take her? My goddesses are much kinder,” Perrin said.

The nature goddesses presided over harvest and joy. Blessed by them, Perrin brewed excellent wine and had a fondness for Adila's knack for turning “food” into gold. She had been trying to convert Adila to her faith for years, doing her best to steal her away.

Amber had warned her countless times that her goddess was not as generous as the three goddesses. If she didn’t believe it, she could take a day tour of the "Goddess's Garden."

At this moment, though, Amber, drowning her sorrows in wine, babbled, “Sure, if you can get her a wolf’s head, she’s yours.”

Without waiting for Perrin to respond, she rummaged through her belongings for a while before producing a small piece of parchment, saying, “Before that, hand over my student’s birthday present.”

She offered a small, old piece of parchment.

Perrin raised an eyebrow and took the note, her sleeve swaying slightly, releasing a grape-like fragrance.

The beautiful red-haired witch always dyed her robes with the ripe fruit she harvested. At this moment, her dress was imbued with the vibrant hues of summer, laden with fruit patterns, and her neck and shoulders were wrapped in an autumn-brown shawl.

Even Mida had to admit that the nature goddesses had given Perrin a mature, intoxicating charm.

Perrin glanced at the note and sighed, rubbing it against her neck. A small sneezing sound came from her fur shawl, and a golden civet cat with a tiny gold-brown striped head peeked out.

The civet cat stuck out its tongue and spat a small bronze key into Perrin’s open palm.

“Let’s go get the wine.”

Perrin rarely left the tavern, and Amber could easily guess she was trying to steal Adila away again. But if Adila truly wished it, Amber would bear the Moon Goddess’s wrath for her. This was all she could do for Adila now.

As the two emerged from the cellar, dawn had just broken. The morning mist wove a gray veil over the rolling hills, resembling the nurturing bosom of the goddess, feeding the forests, which in turn nourished the witches' village, and finally bringing glory to the goddess.

Miller Valley lay at the bottom of the misty valley, perpetually moist and green. Even when the fog lifted, one could only see the dense, dark green ancient forest. When the mist was thickest, the village became an isolated island in a sea of fog.

Amber knew that a seven-day journey over the mountains would reveal the blue edge of the sea, where mortal-crafted spires pointed arrogantly to the sacred sky. Busy ports teemed with merchants smoking the popular tobacco of the East Coast, making deals from their ships. Though Miller Valley seemed isolated, it was never far from the bustling world.

The tabby cat frolicked in the wind, playfully sticking out its tongue, tasting the salty air from across the mountains. Its owner, sensing its thoughts, gazed into the distance, her yet unformed thoughts gathering and dispersing like clouds.

“Living here forever wouldn’t be so bad,” Perrin mused, not waiting for Amber’s response. “The outside world is too frightening.”

Following her gaze, the cottages were cute and simple, their roofs covered in red camellias and purple morning glories. A young witch opened a window, smiling and greeting them, as small deer and wild rabbits peeked in for food.

"How can it compare to the goddess’s sanctuary?" Perrin whispered in admiration.

The village roofs were made of woven straw, fixed with a bit of clay, and nourished by the rain and sun. They appeared as lush flower trees. Deer and rabbits freely wandered, creating a fairytale-like scene.

Passing by these flower-adorned cottages, it felt like navigating a goddess's maze. Finding Adila’s house was not difficult.

Like finding a pot of lamb stew among cauldrons of rejuvenating potions, the exotic black-haired girl always stood out.

A lion-headed beast's figure emerged from the camellia bushes, its fierce pose reminiscent of a figurehead on a ship. The fish-tailed flagpole held a coiling vine of morning glories, forming a tender green arc in the blue sky.

The cluttered roof left no space for birds to rest. Even a bare branch was used by Adila to hang wooden masks, half-covered in moss but still showing her long-eyed features. More importantly, the painted pupils and ink-black hair resembled Adila, a face from the East Coast.

"How many times have I told you to clear this junk? You must have snuck off to the river to pick it all back up!" Amber grumbled, stepping over a broken blue-and-white porcelain basin filled with dirty water and yellowing leaves. Perrin, though, found the sight fascinating, finally seeing the rumored “junk house.”

They stopped in front of the cluttered cottage.

The sea-worn debris piled high inside and out, and a breeze set the colorful glass trinkets hanging from the eaves tinkling melodiously. From afar, Adila’s house looked like a foreign merchant ship stranded among the flower-covered cottages.

Amber and Perrin carefully navigated the sharp debris, looking for an entrance. Where a window should have been, rusted iron plaques with illegible foreign words hung crookedly. Squinting, Perrin made out the maze-like patterns, feeling dizzy.

Ever since Adila learned of her origins from Amber, she had become a packrat, collecting any “East Coast” relics she could find, no matter how broken. Over time, the collection spilled outside, piling up.

The black-haired girl gathered these scattered pieces, trying to reconstruct an image of the “East Coast” and find a distant sense of “home.”

“Where’s the goose?” Compared to the lively cottages nearby, Adila’s house was eerily quiet.

Perrin pointed to the roof, where smoke rose. “Cooking something?”

She frowned, “This kid, cooking with the windows closed, so sneaky.”

Through the small window c***k, the tavern keeper’s sharp nose caught a whiff. “Smells good… meat soup?”

The air thickened. They exchanged a glance, seeing mutual dread in each other’s eyes, then looked at the closed door and windows.

The cottage door was forcibly kicked open.

A wave of sweetness hit them as the black-haired girl stood by the iron pot, holding a large spoon defensively. She stared in shock at the intruders.

Before Perrin could check the pot, a red webbed foot smacked her nose.

Amber saw a big white goose flapping its wings, attacking Perrin’s face fiercely as if it wanted to nest on her head.

“No, Turnip.”

The girl tapped the iron pot with her spoon. The goose, hearing its name, calmed down and waddled back to its owner, while the now disheveled witch fled out the door.

Turnip?

Relieved from the scare, Amber felt more sober. She patted her chest, still shaken.

Seeing Amber’s pale face, the perceptive Adila squinted.