The Calcite Chronicles: The Thief

Chapter 9.5:

433 years ago, in Vedem

Five years had passed since Elva married Rolf and moved into a new house that the mayor had ensured was built specifically for his son and new daughter-in-law. It was the largest one in the village, something that raised questions among some of the villagers but was quickly brushed off. Not long after, the mayor arranged for Elva’s family to move into a new house as well, closer to their daughter and her newly born child. It was larger and seemingly more comfortable than their previous one, but the girl never had the chance to live there. Her parents saw the move as an opportunity to rid themselves of a burden.

With little to no hesitation they sent her off to apprentice with Kaja, the village herbalist, an old woman known especially for her stern demeanor. She was to live with Kaja, on the other side of the village, far from her parents and sister. At first, her parents visited occasionally, seemingly out of obligation, to make sure she didn’t trouble old Kaja, but as time went on, their visits dwindled, and for the past two years, they hadn’t come at all. It didn’t bother her too much. Kaja, though strict and quick to anger when she made mistakes, was a far kinder guardian than her parents had ever been. The old herbalist’s punishments were limited to sharp smacks on the back of the head, never on the face, which was a victory in her mind.

Her hands still suffered from that persistent shaking, a condition Kaja didn’t know how to treat and had been the first to label as a curse from Vitara many years ago when she was still a toddler. A condition that made many of the tasks she was assigned with nearly impossible to complete. She struggled to hold ingredients without spilling them, and as a result, most of her duties in the workshop were limited to gathering ingredients that grew in the surrounding area and performing cleaning tasks.

Meanwhile, the village had a hard time staying profitable as its ongoing struggle against the swamps continued. The men worked tirelessly, but the swamps were resilient, refusing to be tamed easily, while the foul stench still hung in the air. Some villagers began suggesting the use of magic to expedite the process, but they were just a progressive minority. The majority of the population were conservatives who still believed they were unworthy of magic and even refused to hire mages from outside the village, fearing it would still be seen as a sin in the eyes of Vitara.

“Come here.” Kaja called from the workshop, her voice carrying a hint of impatience.

The girl rushed to her as fast as she could, not wanting to keep her waiting. “Yes, Kaja?”

The old woman was leaning over the wooden table in the workshop, reaching her hand to her back. “Help me sit.” She said, her voice pained.

The girl nodded and approached her, giving her a hand, almost embracing her, as she led her to the couch behind her. Kaja exhaled with relief as she sat down, but her expression still showed signs of pain. She was old and full of wrinkles, her silver hair collected backward with a hair bow. She was stooped, her spine hunched forward with age. Nobody knew how old she really was. Everybody assumed she used her knowledge of herbology to extend her life as much as possible. Many believed it was foolish of her and that she should have died already, along with her husband who passed away years ago. But she refused to pass on, and the girl found herself taking care of her more than she took care of the workshop. Sometimes, she even had to wash the old herbalist, and assist with her personal hygiene, as the old lady could no longer manage it herself.

There were days she wondered what would happen to her if Kaja suddenly died. Would she be sent back to her parents? Would they even take her back? Or would she become the village’s new herbalist? And if she did, would anyone allow the 'Cursed Girl' to treat them?

“Do you need anything, Kaja?” the girl asked as she kneeled beside the old woman, her tone worried.

Kaja’s expression shifted into a combination of pain and disgust. “Don’t you pity me, girl.” She pushed her away forcefully with her hand. “The last thing I need is for the cursed likes of you to feel sorry for me.”

The girl swallowed hard, ignoring the harsh words. “I just wanted to help – “

“I don’t need your help!” Kaja snapped. “If you want to help, go fetch some veilroots.”

The girl nodded, relieved that she could finally venture outside. “As you wish, Kaja.”

She turned to the door, put on a pair of knee-high boots and a coat, grabbed her burlap handbag, and left.

The forest outside the village was filled with swamps as well, but it was abandoned for the time being. The men of the village focused their swamp-clearing efforts to the opposite side of the forest, where the land could be built upon once the swamps were removed. In the forest, however, clearing the swamps would still leave them with dense trees to contend with, making it less practical for development.

But the swampy forests were the perfect environment for veilroots to grow. It was a medicinal herb, and when brewed into a tea, it served as an effective pain reliever – something Kaja had been using frequently of late.

It was early evening, and on her way there she received a few curse words from some of the village women, and some kids even threw mud at her. It hurt, but it was better than the physical violence she often endured. There were times when the villagers would hit her as they passed by, or spit on her without a second thought. As she grew up, some of the men, especially when drunk, would grab her, their hands lingering where they shouldn’t. But she was taught never to retaliate; her parents had ingrained in her that she was a cursed child who deserved every bit of anger and misfortune directed at her. She held back her tears, cleaned herself as best as she could, and continued on to the forest swamps, where her only friend awaited her.

The air was filled with the thick scent of decay and the constant hum of insects. She carefully navigated to the edge of the swamp, where the ground was firmer but still damp and uneven. The earth squelched beneath her feet, and patches of mud clung to her boots with each step. She found a small patch of relatively solid ground, surrounded by the tangled roots of trees and grass. It wasn’t ideal, but it was the best she could find.

“Psst, psst.” she called softly. “Cloud, where are you?”

The white cat, now larger and healthier after the five years she had been caring for it, shot out from the tall grasses around the swamp and rubbed against her legs, purring.

She crouched and began petting him lovingly. “Look what I brought you.” She said as she reached into the burlap handbag and pulled out a small piece of lamb meat she had hidden there earlier, the leftover from today’s lunch with Kaja. Cloud bit into it eagerly, while she took out a small wooden dish from the handbag, placed it on the ground, and spilled some water from her waterskin into it for him to drink. Her hands shook violently causing some of the water to spill onto the ground. She wanted to take him back with her to Kaja’s house plenty of times, and once, three years ago, she did. But the old woman had been furious, driving the cat away and threatening to throw her out as well, so she had to settle for this arrangement, visiting him in the swamps almost every day, hoping that he would stay safe when on his own.

After Cloud finished his food and drank the water, he lay on the ground with his tummy pointing upwards, inviting her to pet him even more. She obliged for a while, enjoying the moment of peace, before turning to the task at hand – the veilroots. She rose to her feet and pulled her knee-high boots tighter around her legs, preparing to enter the swamp. The boots had seen better days, but they still served their purpose, keeping her feet dry and protected.

The veilroots thrived in the murkiest parts of the swamp, where the ground was the softest and most treacherous, and the water was shallow. They were illusive, their pale green flowers often blended with their surroundings, making them difficult to distinguish. Their roots, from which the plant derived its name, burrowed deep into the swamp’s depths.

She stepped cautiously into the swamp, her boots sinking slightly into the soft ground with each step, and as she moved deeper, it only got worse. The solid ground became scarce, forcing her to navigate around patches of thick, sticky mud. Her eyes darted around, scanning the ground and water for any signs of movement. She had encountered snakes here in the past – both the regular kind and the demonic ones, Szuzhas, remnants of the demons that once ruled these lands, during the war. They looked like regular snakes, expect their bodies were covered with numerous small, sharp blades. They slithered through the undergrowth or basked on exposed roots, and considering her hands were bare, the thought of stumbling upon one made her quicken her pace. The sooner she could get out of the swamp, the better.

She spotted a cluster of veilroots just ahead, partially submerged in a pool of dark water. Approaching them carefully, she tested the ground with each step to avoid sinking too deeply into the mud. She reached for their roots, her hands trembling as always, and with some effort, managed to pull a few of them out. The rough texture of the roots scraped against her skin, and she winced as a thorny stem pricked her finger, drawing blood. “Ow!” she gasped in pain.

“Did a szuzha get ya?” a boyish voice called out from behind her.

She jumped and immediately turned around, startled. It was Elmer, a boy her age and the son of the village’s butcher. He used to pick on her a lot in the past, though not as much lately.

“What? You deaf?” he asked, grinning and pointing to his ears.

She shook her head. “No.”

“That’s too bad.” He said, his expression turning disappointed. “Bernard told me he saw one here, so I wanted to see for myself. Was hoping it would get you so I could see it with my own eyes. I guess he was lying…”

She stayed quiet and quickly glanced at where she left her handbag and Cloud. The white cat was nowhere to be seen - probably darted off as soon as he heard Elmer. Good. She was afraid Elmer might hurt him just to bully her.

“Damn, you really are as stupid as they say.” Elmer chuckled. “Can you even talk? Can you say something more than ‘no’? I’m trying to have a conversation here.”

She wasn’t sure how to react. No one ever tried to talk to her. “I saw one here too. He wasn’t lying to you…” she said the first thing that came to mind.

“Is that so…” Elmer seemed thoughtful before grinning. “Hey, is it true that your name is actually Pip?”

“No. It’s just a nickname that got stuck…” she replied, desperate for the interaction to end already.

“I wonder why they called you that.” He laughed. “There are plenty of other, better nicknames for you, such as: ‘Shakes’, ‘Witch Wretch’, or maybe ‘Grubby’. You could even be ‘Old Hag’s Pet’ – that one suits you, doesn’t it?”

Each word hurt her even more. She had heard all of those nicknames before, whispered and shouted by the villagers as she passed by. They were cruel reminders of how people saw her. It all made her want to shrink away and disappear.

“My sister gave it to me when I was little because she thought it was cute.” She finally spoke, her voice trembling. “My real name is – “

“Yeah, I don’t care.” He cut her off, dismissing her name. He then glanced at her shaking hands, and when he grinned, she quickly hid them behind her back.

“Are those veilroots I see in your hands?” he asked, a laugh escaping his mouth.

She nodded, and he laughed even more. “Are you an addict?”

She didn’t understand what he was talking about, her expression puzzled.

“Don’t tell me you didn’t know that veilroot can be used as a narcotic?” He asked, his tone shifting into mockery. “The herbalist’s apprentice doesn’t know something so basic...Truly shameful, but then again, what can you expect from someone cursed by the great Vitara?”

Her hands seemed to tremble even harder, and she kept them hidden behind her back, conscious of his words.

“You know why everyone always picks on you and treats you like shit?” he asked, grinning.

What did he want from her? More bullying? She was so used to it, and at the same time she wasn’t. It still hurt every time. She swallowed hard before speaking. “Because of my hands. I’m cursed.”

Elmer laughed. “That’s part of it, but no. Everybody picks on you because you’re a weak, spineless excuse for a human being. Everyone beats you, spits on you, tells you what to do, and you just nod and go along with it. I could rape you right here and now, and instead of hating me and wanting to kill me, you’d just brush it off and forget about it, wouldn’t you?” he paused, watching her reaction. “If you took control of your life and actually put up a fight, none would treat you the way they do.”

His words cut deep. She had once dreamed of standing up to her parents and all the other villagers, of protecting herself, of telling them they were wrong – that it wasn’t a curse and that Vitara had made her this way for a reason. But what would that change? She was too weak to back her words with anything. If she dared to open her mouth in retaliation, they would only hurt her harder, and she didn’t want that.

She remained quiet, and Elmer grew impatient. “Do I need to spell everything out for you, stupid? The veilroots! Do you know how much they sell for in the big cities? For gold, you cursed wench, not for shitty silver - gold!” He paused to take a breath before continuing. “Instead of picking them up for the old hag, pick them and bring them to me. Sometimes I join my father when he travels to Tehl. I’ll sell them there, and we’ll split the coin evenly. What do you say?”

She was at a loss for words. She could earn money this way - gold of her own. Enough to move away from Kaja, maybe even leave Vedem altogether. But selling narcotics was illegal and highly immoral…

“Oh, come on!” Elmer snapped. “What’s there to think about? Do you want to keep living your shitty, pathetic life like this? Don’t you have dreams of your own?”

She had, and she desperately wanted a change.