After Esme finished her story, a deafening silence fell once again. Mnou was processing everything she had just heard. She had to admit to herself that the story had shocked her. She would never have imagined that Esme had gone through so much hardship.
"You are...," Mnou began and had to clear her throat, since she hadn't spoken in a while, "you are much braver than I'll ever be, Esme."
"That's not true. We've both been through a lot—just different things," the girl objected.
"Yes, but… but… how could you bear such a burden all on your own for so long?" Mnou whispered with concern.
The little girl lowered her gaze to the tablecloth. Her face was pensive and serious.
"I don't know." She looked back up at the master. "I guess I thought I just had to. No, that's not true. I guess I… was afraid. I've done some really terrible things. And not even that long ago. I was afraid people would judge me and be disgusted by me. So, I put on a happy, content mask, because I promised Yelwa I would and… it worked. Everyone liked me, but no one really knew who I was."
"I know now."
"Yeah… do you hate me now?"
Mnou looked at her gently and a little sadly. "No, never. I would never even think about it. Quite the opposite! I respect you and love you now more than ever before. Now I know how brave and resilient you are, and I admire you for it. I don't care what you did in the past. It means nothing to me. You will always be my sweet, smiling, curious apprentice."
"That… that was all a lie. I was never really like that."
"Then I'll do everything in my power to make it true."
Mnou heard Esme exhale softly, overcome with emotion. A tear shimmered on her cheek. In the darkness, Mnou couldn't see her well, but she could tell how her small body relaxed completely. She must have been dreading Mnou's reaction all this time, ever since they had started living together. She must have lived in constant fear of being cast out and rejected again. Nothing could have brought Mnou more joy than seeing her relief and smile.
"Master, I'm so glad I met you. It's the best thing that's ever happened to me. Thank you," the little girl said, her voice trembling.
The witch took her hand firmly and replied, "No, I thank you."
When the witches woke up the next day, they were greeted through the foggy windowpanes by the shy winter sun, finally peeking out after many days in hiding. It was a refreshing feeling. They wrapped themselves in cloaks, coats, and scarves and headed outside. The frost still bit at their noses, but their faces were gently caressed by the warming sun. Their mood immediately improved.
The snow began to melt like water after rain. Just recently, endless fields of white had stretched on, but now patches began to break apart, revealing islands of dried autumn grass. The witches stayed home for another day, just to be safe, as they weren't sure how clear the road to the village was. But the day after, they set out.
Mnou remained alert the whole way. She didn't like leaving the magical barrier of the house. She feared that strange goddess, hungry for their bodies, might try to seize them again. But she knew they couldn't stay holed up in the mountain cottage forever. She also realized something had to be done. The longer they waited, the more dangerous it would become.
On the way, she discussed it with Esme, having decided there was no point in keeping things from her. She felt it wasn't fair to treat her like a child—at least not in this matter. They went through several ideas, but none sounded very logical or realistic. They puzzled over it until they reached the village.
The streets were surprisingly lively. People were wading through slush and clearing it as best they could. The witches paused for a moment to help. With the aid of magic, it went much faster. Then they headed to Azra's house. Both of them were eager to see him again after so long.
They were taken aback when the house came into view. It was a sorry sight. Still half-buried in snow, not even the path to the door had been cleared. It almost looked abandoned. Mnou had a bad feeling about it. Still, they continued and knocked. Nothing happened at first, and only after the second knock did, they hear hurried steps and the door barely opened, as someone pushed away the snow piled up against it. It was Dago—Azra's father. Mnou gasped involuntarily.
The man looked as if he'd aged ten years since they'd last seen him. The shadows under his eyes had darkened to a deep violet, the wrinkles that once resembled little streams had become deep riverbeds, and he had unshaven stubble. But when he saw the witches, his eyes lit up, as if he'd finally glimpsed light and hope.
"Mnou, Esme, you have no idea how happy I am to see you!" he rasped.
"Dago… what on earth happened?" Mnou asked with concern.
"It's…," he began, but the little witch interrupted him.
"Azra?! Is Azra okay?!"
Dago turned pale as a sheet and shook his head miserably. Then he said, "He's not well. Not at all. A few days ago, I caught a cold and had to stay home—I couldn't go fishing. I think Azra felt like he had to do something, so early one morning, before dawn, he snuck out to go fishing alone. It didn't end well. His boat capsized, and he plunged straight into the icy water. They pulled him out quickly, but by the time they brought him home, he was frozen to the bone. He was shaking all over, his lips icy and blue…," his voice faltered.
"But he's alive! He's going to be okay, right?!" Esme blurted out in panic. Without waiting for an answer, she rushed inside to see for herself. Mnou was right behind her.
They found their new apprentice in Ruth's bedroom, lying in her large marital bed, now piled high with blankets. The boy was barely visible under the heap. He seemed to be in a half-sleep, mumbling, possibly delirious or dreaming. The girls rushed to his side.
Mnou touched his forehead and nearly recoiled in shock. The boy was burning up. He must have had a terrible fever.
"Ma… ma… master, this won't end like it did with Ruth, right? You can save him, can't you?" The little girl was completely shaken. She trembled almost as much as Azra in bed.
At that moment, Mnou realized how serious the situation was and how heavy the burden on her shoulders had become. I couldn't save his mother, and I'll never forgive myself for it. I promised I would protect Azra, but now he's lying here, as if on his deathbed. How could I let this happen? The witch spiralled deeper into a whirlpool of guilt and despair. But then a pleading voice pulled her back:
"Please! We have to do something. Don't just sit there—help him!" Esme's eyes and hope pierced her to the core. I must not let her down, Mnou decided and stood up firmly. I must not let myself down either, she added. Without hesitation, she went to Darp's for herbs. There was no time to return home. She gave Esme and Dago instructions on how to reduce the fever while she was away.
The herbalist was surprised to see her when she burst into his shop. She quickly promised she'd pay him back later and began raiding the shelves. Darp didn't object; he even helped her find what she needed.
The witches cared for the sick Azra tirelessly throughout the day. Mnou brewed healing potions, and Esme kept changing the cold compresses. She sat by his side, not eating or drinking, holding his hand with deep concern. The boy slept most of the time, and even when he woke, he was so delirious he barely registered the world around him. Esme tried talking to him for a while to lift his spirits, but it didn't help much, so she soon gave up. Still, it seemed the boy was glad to have his friend nearby.
Mnou tried her best, but her initial resolve began to crumble into quiet despair. Despite all her efforts from morning to night, the boy didn't seem to be getting better. In fact, he looked worse by evening. She let him sleep and rest—there was nothing else she could do.
The little girl insisted on staying by Azra's side through the night in case his condition worsened. Mnou couldn't sway her. All she got were terse, agitated replies.
At first, Mnou planned to take a short nap, but it didn't take long before she realized that, despite being utterly exhausted, sleep would not come. She noticed she was trembling from the cold. Wrapping herself in a blanket, she sat up. She stared into a dark corner, and for some reason unknown to her, all her thoughts were drawn to that darkness. She stared into it, as if hypnotized. She didn't think. She didn't want to think. All that thinking and guilt had given her a headache. She had no idea how long she'd been sitting like that, but a sudden rattle of the frail shutters, battered by the winter wind, snapped her out of it. She sighed and stood up. She realized there was no point in trying to fall asleep. Sleep would not come this sleepless night.
As quietly as possible, she entered the room where Azra was sleeping. The strong scent of herbs and medicines she had prepared immediately hit her nose. The air was stuffy, too, as the room hadn't been ventilated. While she had been tending to the boy during the day, she hadn't noticed the heavy odour lingering in the room, but entering from the cold hallway, she could barely breathe at first. After a moment, however, she adjusted to the thick air and no longer noticed it.
She first approached the sick boy's bed. He was breathing faintly through his mouth, his lips dry and cracked. Carefully, so as not to wake him, she placed her hand on his forehead. The fever still raged within him. She brushed the sweaty hair from his forehead and changed the compress. Gently, she stroked his cheek.
She looked over at the small figure curled up on a chair beside the bed. Her head was resting on her slightly rising chest. Esme had fallen asleep.
Mnou walked over to her and hesitated for a moment, wondering whether to let her be or move her to bed. In the end, she chose an alternative. She gently lifted the girl into her arms and laid her in a torn, massive armchair in the corner of the room. Taking one of the blankets Azra had—he had more than enough—she draped it over the sleeping child. She was turning to sit down in the chair Esme had vacated when a voice came from the darkness behind her:
"Master?"
Damn, Mnou cursed inwardly. I woke her up after all.
"Mistress… why? Why is this happening to us?" The girl spoke half-asleep.
"What? What do you mean?" Mnou whispered and knelt by the armchair. "Go back to sleep. You need it."
Esme squinted at her through half-lidded eyes that refused to fully open. But she kept speaking: "Why does everyone I love leave me? Why did my parents leave me? Why did Yelwa have to die? Why did Ruth have to die? Why… why is Azra dying now?"
Mnou just stared at her in silence, unable to respond. She would be lying if she said she hadn't pondered the same questions many times.
"What did I do to deserve this? It's like death is chasing me. Is it because I'm a murderer?"
Mnou felt a chill in her heart. There was something unspeakably terrifying about the way this sweet little girl—who, at her age, should be worrying just about some silly arguments with friends—was saying such things. It was shockingly unnatural.
"Esme…," she began quietly, but was interrupted.
"Master, tell me, have you ever thought that maybe the dead are happier than we are? Don't you think they've been freed? The dead can be happy, not being here."
"Esme," Mnou whispered in fear, "Esme, don't… don't say that. That's not true. You don't mean that, do you?"
But there was no reply. The girl's head sank back onto her rising chest, and soft breathing began to rise and fall. The little girl had fallen asleep.
Still, Mnou couldn't take her eyes off her. She felt sad. Deeply sad that such a child had already experienced so much sorrow and suffering. She had to sit down, as a wave of dizziness washed over her. Pressing a hand to her mouth, she felt like vomiting. She took deep breaths, trying to calm herself. All that had happened to her, to Esme, to Azra, and surely to thousands of others came rushing into her mind. She felt an indescribable revulsion toward the world she was forced to live in.
It took her a while to calm down, but eventually she shook off that anxious, hopeless feeling. Heavily, she rose to her feet and went to check on the sick boy. He looked no better. She sat down in the chair beside the bed. Maybe she sat there watching the boy for a few minutes, or maybe for several hours—she didn't know. But gradually, her eyelids began to droop until they closed completely, like the gates of a castle. Her vision was swallowed by darkness, and her consciousness slipped deep into the realm of dreams.
Vaguely, she recalled walking again through that misty valley filled with tombstones. A voice whispered around her—formless, bodiless. It couldn't reach her, though. It felt as if she had been wandering there for years.
The dream was torn away by a distant, urgent voice calling her.
"Master! Master, please wake up! Master!"
The witch forced herself to open her eyes. She awoke slowly, but someone began shaking her, making her come to her senses more quickly. Words being shouted at her finally snapped her out of it.
"Azra's not breathing! He's not breathing and he's ice cold!"
Mnou jumped up so fast she knocked the chair over. The one trying to wake her was Esme. Her face was twisted in desperation, tears streaming from her eyes. Mnou rushed to the boy's side. He was cold as ice. She checked for breath and a pulse. Neither could be found. There was no doubt. Azra had died in sleep.