Umayma Bari.

56.

Grey.

Brown.

A ruddy-skinned woman whose age scores her in wrinkles and raised moles, sagging flesh at her neck that dips like a wattle, while her face remains tautly creased after decades spent scowling. Her ears are broad, her nose is fat and flattened, and her eyes leer darkly, nastily, behind her grimy bifocals and beneath the wide brim of her hat. Billows of old, white hair puff from its folds like the smoke from her drag on her pipe. The hand which grips her cane is a clawed and gnarled one that stands to attention on lengthy nails atop its wood-carved perch. With her stooped and broken posture, each step is staggering, deliberating. The woman's glare, nonetheless, carries confident intention, as if she could all the same snap your neck for staring.

The madame, too, is clearly one who revels in moody mysticism, based upon the convolution of her dress. Otherwise, she could seem none too curious without her hat's crown brimming with flowers, down, and strings of beads abound. The same stone jewelry trails across her figure --- a continued, though , train of thought -- with stones round her neck, stones round her wrists, and big, stone rings on her fingers, all with opaque sheen, whether annular or carved into animals or human faces. Her apparel is motley in color and texture; a violet, paisley robe with blue accents and ratty ends cloaks a fleecy bottom layer wrapped tightly by waist-binding scarves. Another such fans behind her -- implying there's a headscarf beneath that broad, old hat -- as she treads with a precarious urgency. And the broad, old hag keeps hobbling in spite of the stares. Her lips appear to shrivel, smashed shut; how rare her husky voice doth not rise to belabor those about her. Tonight, she must have found something far more important.

"That's Madame Grouse, love."

"Right. When I was born, then.

"...t'was a long while ago. When I knew those who birthed me. My father and my mother came from far away, and that's all I can remember. S'ppose it's why I looked so exotic in my youth. Curly hair and all; ha! Didn't see that in other girl when I was growin' up. Not like I got treated well for it neither. Grew up with a mother, see, 'n' she didn't look like me. That's it. No father. Not sure if 'at's how it's meant t' be but, hey! Ah-hah-hah! I turnt out alright, I think I did.

"'course, Mother and I lived in a village far from this here coast, in a little cottage-- mm, I can remember the smallness of it. Ain't lived in nothin' much larger since, I reckon, but 'least here, it ain't feel like no cave, hee-hee! Had to keep the windows open as t' not feel buried alive, we did! But those were good times, otherwise, with my, uh, "second" mother, before she thought it better for me t' leave. Been runnin' for a while, see. Though Weod ain't so bad, now. Th' winds near this here coast are good for m' joints, I suppose. It ain't no Heimshire, f' sure. Wistful 'bout the country, I am."

"No, I do not. Well-- no, there was Mother. But she is long gone. Persecuted, yeah, for her "oddity." Thought 'er to be a witch, as if it were somethin' t' fear. 'Tis a shame, but in the end, I lived, she did not. Such is fate.

"Bah! You've got me thinkin' solemn 'bout my past, boy! Sure, I've got other comrades and friends and so forth, but they mean as much as dust t' me nowadays. Society, er, "loyalty," I suppose, will get y' connections like that. Mmph, and I bet 'cha those women ain't achieved nothin' in the five or so years I been gone from 'em."

"What, about those ol' wenches? Ain't nothin' worth sharin', boy. They been trailin' me ever since I were a child. Crazy coots; claimed they knew Mother, took me in, and taught me... taught me magic. I suppose I oughta be blunt about it. Yes, they were a secret maternal society -- the Roost Sisters... well, they still are, but I ain't trust 'em half as much. Did I call 'em crazy yet? They're mad, mad women!

"But I know what you're 'bout t' ask: about the 'magic' part, about the 'secret' part. 'm sharp in my days, boy. I can't tell y' what I can't. What I saw when I was practicin' magic... well, I practiced the magic, you received the miracles! That's how it oughta work. Ain't nobody can handle all th' knowledge. I've seen creatures y' never will. I've done things y' never will see nowhere else. That's all I'm tellin.'"

"Hmph. I leave. I travel, didn't I say? If I'm bothered, I get up, and I leave, and I don't return. 's mighty... calm, walkin' away. Leavin' bygones as they are. Uprootin'. I ain't no tree; heh."

"Mm. Fear. 's a funny thing. Awfully inconvenient t' feel, really. S'ppose I've no fears, then! Nope! Ain't scared of no person, ain't scared of no concept. Been a witch t' long for that. I run when I'm angry, not when I'm... scared.

"No; I don't fear being pursued or nothin'. Specially ain't scared of them Roost Sisters, and what they'd want from me, and what they're... capable of. And why they'd... do somethin'... to her...

...What's your next question, boy?"

"Yeah, I used to practice all sorts a' witchcraft 'n' such. ...y' knew? Ah. I told y'. Yes, I remember.

"Fine, if you're obsessed with secrets, I'll tell y' what I did with the magic. That'll have t' suit you. Truth be told, I ain't make a livin' out of it or nothin'. Mostly small things, helpful things. Riddin' Heimshire -- twas where I used to live -- of all kinds a' pests, ones y' ain't ever pictured. Had a penchant for charms, see. Even the most common plant-based ingredients could create somethin' useful, whether a cure for some a' the worst poxes I'd ever seen, or good fortune, even! Yeah, some dried sage an' a handful a' fig seeds, plus a lil' somethin' else, with the right enchantments, could improve your luck findin' love! S'ppose a youth like yourself would find use in somethin' like that, a-hah-hah!

"Ahh, but I've said too much already, I have. Y' can take my word for it, or you can think me mad, just an avid gardener with some herbologist dabblin', trappin' rabbits in her garden rather than trolls. 's up to you, boy. And that's all the things 'bout magic I can bear to tell you."

"Ahh, I'm old enough to laugh at anythin', boy! Well, anythin' I say. 'm the funniest person I know, a-hah-hah! That's only halfways a joke, eeh-hee!"

"Oh, dozens 'a times! For every year I've been alive I'm been in love! The countryside, for one, got rollin' plains that are a joy t' walk, and y' get a magnificent view of the sky. And y' ain't know love before you start keepin' a garden. It be like child-bearin', I've said. Your life start revolvin' 'round your plants, eeh-hee!

"Oh, but you mean people-- suitors. How trivial. Must be 'cause 'a how I was raised, but I ain't ever seen a man as "necessary" to nothin'. Housewivery ain't no life, after all. Life is... nature, wanderin', meetin' new people, never holin' in a single place. 'n' you'll meet people y' hate and that you love in amazin' ways that way. To be wed is t' take it all away, all the freedom of life. So, yes,
I have loved many men, but I have never settled or married.

"'m too old to meet anyone new anyways, so don't get any ideas, a-ha-ha-hah-hah!"

"Mm, I could go anywhere I wish... s'ppose I'd miss my walkin' staff here... my garden, most certain.

"No, I've... already parted with what I love."

"...I can't make charms no more. Couldn't tell y' why."

"Hmph. As if could remember so far back! You're puttin' some real pressure on me, boy!

"Not like there's any real meaning in an old kitchen, anyway. 't comes down to bein' young, 's why everything feels like it matters, then. You're so... naive is the word. Only children care 'bout their childhood, is what I'm sayin'. Y' ought to forget it all when you're my age! It's a blessin' bein' this old, dammit!"

"What? About... smells, sounds? Bahh, I dunno...

"Herb gardens have always been in m' life. So, the smell of thyme. Youth like y'self probably haven't smelt fresh thyme straight from th' ground. That and it's more a feminine thing to tend t' gardens, I s'ppose. But Madame Halcyon would use thyme in much of her recipes, yes. I remember it bein' nice on stewed rabbit. An' don't look at me like rabbit ain't a perfectly good meat! Y' wouldn't have hesitated if you were at that grand table with a plate of it in front of you. Mmph, and the smell... indescribable, it was. Ain't never had a better meal that weren't cooked by her."

"--no, nothing I've ever eaten. Smelled like heaven, too, if that's a place that exists. She was a meticulous woman, Madame Halcyon. Liked not just organizin', but the process of it. Kept a bell and everythin' for every meal she cooked, usually dinner, but insisted on making lunch too. T' the others, she complained 'bout havin' too much work, but really-- and she told her favorite pupil this-- she thought no one else could do it like she could! Didn't want t' feed us young-uns garbage anymore, I s'ppose, a-hah-hah!

"Ahh, those were the days, with the smell of broiling meat drifting from the open window. Meanwhile, me, young and sprightly thing, curls bouncin' in the breeze, wandering 'mongst the corriander-- garden-tending. Ah, but one day, I found somethin' off-puttin' out the corner a' my eye. Couldn't tell for sure, but it was some lil' man, barely a foot high-- far shorter than me now, a-hah!

"I was mighty frightened then. Couldn't stand to look at 'em! I raised quite a bit of noise, an' Madame Halcyon comes rushing out.

"'What on earth is ailing y', you blithering mangrove?' I remember she said. 'n' you know I wasn't takin' her sharpness, I wasn't!

"'Don't call me names!' I said before anything else. 'There's somethin' in the garden! It's disturbin' the herbs!'

"Madame Halcyon weren't pleased by me lettin' the creature wander, but she weren't the type to assume it mundane, a ground squirrel or even a deer. She hustled, hem of her gown pulled all taut, with her face even tighter-- much younger in her age than me in mine, eeh-hee! Yes, she seemed almost scared 'erself, so serious! But she came across the beastly thing eventually, me trailin' after her like a chick to a hen. Bastard was chewin' on the basil! Mm, did lil' ol' me learn some foreign language that day, a-hah-hah!

"Madame Halcyon was enraged 'bout 'How'd it get in, what dead weight let it in," and then she dove into her apron and started flingin' what looked and smelled of vinegar. Straight handfuls, dabbed in her hand, then flung at the creature. Now, I was just initiated, so I'd no clue what madness had taken the woman. Just standin' there, ogglin', tryin' to make sense of it all, I was. But then, before my very eyes--and I swear this ain't untruthful-- the droplets hittin' the creature made a hiss with a contact. Somethin' like a snake, I swear it. The beast couldn't stand it! Startin' squealin' like a babe, it did, and went flying through the fields. Madame Halycon was in hot pursuit! And of course I followed suit, my nosy self; such a scene!

"Oh, but the beast had gone and clamboured to safety up the lattice a' ivies entwinin' the wall-- wall 'round the manor, anyway. An' Madame Halcyon was already promisin', ravin' to me or really anyone or anythin', that she was 'bout to make major renovations, have some major talking-tos with 'er cohorts. But I was so curious, I braved her anger to ask her pointedly, what on earth I'd just witnessed there.

"Her answer was blunt: a charm, see. One for wardin' off malevolent spirits like the lil' man in the garden. And oh, how I begged her to teach me to make it! It was the first time I'd ever seen a charm in th' flesh, I was an anxious lil' thing! But Madame Halcyon did promise... in-retrospect, twas the day that marked her my mentor in the arts a' witchcraft. Twas also the day I found m' callin', it was. Yes..."

"I... would like my magic back. That is all."

"Did I not but answer this question, boy?"

"Recently, I did, yes. Seconds ago, actually. Tch. Trying to trick me in m' age, then. Shameful, t' take advantage of your elders."