While Anna was getting her bottom fingered and slathered somewhere out of everyone’s view, the Comte sat down with the villagers of Forez and the bark-skinned elders of the forest. Were I in the Roseland with the Baron’s council, I would have been asked to join in the conversation, but outside the Barony, I was just a lowly peasant. I hung around and listened to the conversation while enjoying a large fig that was as sweet as honey.

Judging by the composition of the villagers who had made it to the forest, it was quite obvious what had happened. Dads and uncles stayed behind in the village in order to buy precious time for their family to rush to safety. The folks were devastated by the news of what we had found in the village and the Seigneur’s manor. Nevertheless, they were grateful and thanked the Comte for bothering to come to look for them.

“Pray, do tell,” the Comte asked an elder among the villagers, “you thought the forest would be safer?”

“At first we weren’t running for the forest, milord. We went to ask Marion what to do, and she led us here.”

“Wouldn’t the Treedwellers have slaughtered you all?” The Comte asked.

An old Treedweller spoke our language and answered in a rather deep yet brittle voice.

“Any other folks, we would have. Not this. This. Marion’s friends.”

The Comte exchanged glances with Victor and Henry.

“Marion is the woman who is treating your young lady’s bottom, My Lord,” a villager explained, “she is the witch of this land.”

According to the villagers, Marion had suddenly appeared about twenty years ago. A barefooted lone feral teenage girl dressed in a tattered robe walked into the village and demanded that she be fed and sheltered. The villagers laughed and spat on her face and chased her out with a hail of stones. Then she came back with a pack of wolves and a flock of ravens and a swarm of hornets.

“Witchcraft!” The Comte gasped.

“Indeed, milord. But Marion is benevolent. Once we submitted ourselves, she has looked after us ever since.”

“Marion, not witch.” The old Treedweller disagreed. “She, friend of the forest. She, Barkskin.”

The villagers shook their heads.

I was paying only half attention. My mind was wandering; that blindfolded woman, Marion, said something I had heard many years ago. The hundred suns and the thousand trumpets. And the suffocating air. My good old pal, the priest, may he rest in peace, died because his frail old body could not withstand the overwhelming presence of the divine. This woman, Marion, was sensing the same thing.

I had to think quick. I couldn’t possibly let anyone know Anna’s real identity unless I wished to rock this world to the core. A goddess walking among the mortals… that news once spread, would turn the world upside down. I had to come up with a plausible answer for the inevitable question Marion would ask. ‘What do I carry?’ I ran the encounter with Marion again and again in my head. Judging by the fact that she was addressing me and me only I figured she still had no idea the overbearing sensations were originating from Anna. That somewhat made sense. The divine presence must have been so intense at this close proximity Marion and her friends of the woods probably could not pinpoint the exact origin. Thanks to that, although the so-called friends of woods had correctly identified me as a born again, Marion had, if my guess was right, incorrectly assumed that I had something to do with the abnormal sensation she was experiencing. That was something I could exploit. ‘I have to shift the attention away from Anna!’ But how exactly?

“-and she’s also a very good midwife,” a village woman was saying. The conversation was apparently about the witch, Marion.

“And she grinds dried herbs and makes medicines,” another one added.

The Comte corked his head a bit, somewhat disappointed.

“I had thought witchcraft was more… magical.”

“Marion, magic? Ha! No.” The elder Treedweller shook his head and scoffed. “She, friend of the forest. She, Barkskin.”

“Dear Seigneur Treedweller,” Sieur Henry asked cautiously, “by the word Barkskin, do you refer to yourselves?”

The Treedweller pointed at himself.

“I, Barkskin,” then he pointed at Sieur Henry. “You, humen. Marion, my granddaughter. Thus, Barkskin.”

“In a way, yes,” a woman’s voice rang from the edge of the clearing. Marion was squeezing through the residents of the forest, with red-faced Anna in tow. They had removed Anna’s armor and the trousers and draped a thin blanket around her waist. I smiled a little at the sight of the men blushing and turning their heads away as Anna’s bare ankles and shins were visible. Marion was carefully holding a large star-shaped leaf of the shrub that had proven itself to be a pain in the ass. She sat herself down next to the Treedweller, who had claimed to be her granddad. Anna skirted around the people sitting on the mossy ground of the clearing and stood by me. From the look of her face, I could tell the experience had been humiliating.

‘She stuck her finger-’

“Whoa, let’s not talk about that.” I grabbed her hands so she could not make the gesture of a finger being inserted into a bodily orifice.

“This,” Marion held up the leaf for better display, “is quite common in Forez. Tell your men not to touch them with bare hands. Also, don’t wipe your bottoms with this. Please.”

I laughed and received a punch on my shoulder.

###

Marion was the result of one stupid man losing his control over his urge.

“Why he decided to force himself on a Treedweller, of all people… I mean of all creatures is beyond me,” she shook her head as she explained. She shrugged and continued, “but he somehow managed to succeed, and voila, I was conceived.”

I was a bit taken aback by the calm way she described her origin. She noticed it but shrugged it away. Marion was boiling the star-shaped leaves in a small pot, adding one leaf at a time. I sat next to her and watched the process. We were alone in her hut perched on a large branch, which she told me was her birth home. I looked around and noticed the lack of many things.

“Nowadays I only come back once every month or so… so it’s somewhat bare.”

Comeback, I digested the word.

“So, you are a half-”

“But I don’t look it, do I?”

I studied her for some seconds. She had long braided dark hair that reached her hip. Her skin had a slight hint of the Treedweller-yellow but remained human. I couldn’t tell much about her face, for the upper half was hidden behind the multiple wraps of clothes. Apart from the fact that she was about just over six feet tall, there were no signs she was a half Treedweller. Welp, at least from what I could see. I couldn’t tell what was underneath her olive-green robe.

“You are looking at my crotch,” she caught me, although I didn’t know how she did.

“I am sorry. It was just…” I blushed. I wondered if she could see my face through the blindfold. “I know a bit about roses and how they reproduce… so I was wondering…”

“No, Treedwellers do not have the pistil down there if that is what you are wondering. Barkskins are just the same as you humans. Except for the hair and the skin. But I am rather flattered you thought of me as a rose.”

I blushed even more.

“Anyway… mama was naive. She thought the baby, that is I, had done nothing wrong. Papi, of course, was furious,” Marion continued, tossing the rest of the leaves into the pot, “but papi still loves me nonetheless.”

She sighed and paused as if reminiscing. The water in the pot had thickened and was bubbling ‘blurp, blurp’. One large bubble waded to the surface and popped rather noisily, and Marion came back to her senses. She shook her head.

“When I was sixteen? Seventeen? Mama passed away. And the foolish young me thought I’d go find my father and tell him mama was dead.”

“Did you find your father?”

“No, but the nearby village found their witch.” She gave a wry smile. “A witch! I don’t even know any hex!”

I so wanted to protest but left it at that. Seeing through the blindfold? Talking to the sparrows? Sensing the divine? All that sounded very witch to me.

“But enough about me,” Marion changed the topic, stirring the content of the pot with a long wooden stick, “René. Of the Tavern. You are a reborn.”

“But I’m just René,” I played innocent. Her face turned my way as if she was looking into my eyes.

“You really don’t know?”

“All I know is Father wished he hadn’t lost three kids.”

“Hmm…”

Marion kept silent and concentrated in stirring the pot. The water had turned brownish and was getting thicker.

“I am more concerned,” She broke the silence, “about this overwhelming presence. I thought it was related to you being a reborn, but… I am not so sure now.”

I gulped. It was the time that I misdirected her. It was a bit wild idea that I had, but it was the only idea. I could not come up with anything better.

“Come down with me, and I show you something.”

It took us a while to reach the edge of the forest, where we had left our horses and carts. The few men who were left behind to guard the stuff sprang up and bowed to Anna. I had grabbed her on the way, which I soon regretted. I should have let her put on her trousers first before dragging her through the thick forest; the thin blanket draped around her waist offered no protection, and now she was getting scratches all over her legs. She complained all the way, and I, for once, was glad she was a mute.

We found Slinky, and I rummaged through my travel sack. It did not take long for me to find what I was looking for.

“Here, have a look.” I handed over the La Rose banner to Marion. “Er… sorry. Can you actually see?”

“What is this?” Marion felt the thick sheet of embroidered cloth.

‘What are you doing?’ Anna was asking, but I ignored her for now.

“It is the banner of the La Rose family,” I explained. The La Rose banner, I bitterly recalled someone saying, carried the weight of a hundred baronies and a dozen maquisats. It was the symbol of the absolute loyalty to the kingdom, and the king’s reciprocated faith in the La Rose. It was the epitome of all that was noble and honored.

“Do you sense anything special?” I asked Marion, carefully studying her face. I could not see what expressions her eyes were making, but she was chewing her lips. “As far as the kingdom is concerned, this is the holy of the holy.”

“I…,” Marion hesitated, “I don’t know. I am not sure.” She shook her head and concentrated, her hands gently running over the banner.

I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was Anna.

‘Is it really that important?’

Are you kidding me, I thought. This was her freaking banner. I was about to give Anna a lesson on her own family’s history when Marion handed me back the banner.

“Nope. This is not it.”

My heart sank. She was not buying my bullshit. She sighed and looked around, which again made me wonder if she could actually see.

“Although I am sure this has a significant value among the nobles, it can’t be this banner,” Marion said, “I would have felt the presence getting stronger and stronger as we came closer.”

OK, I thought. That was a straightforward logic that I should have considered myself. Now I was out of ideas.

“This feeling… the sensation has remained almost the same while we walked through the forest. The unchanging factor was,” I felt her piercing through me by whatever method she used to see things. “Was you, René. You have stayed near me the whole time.”

“Are you saying the blinding light and the deafening noise are coming from me?”

“I cannot think of any other source.”

‘What are you two talking about?’ Anna asked, but I ignored her again. The conclusion Marion had reached wasn’t exactly what I was looking for. On the other hand, she was utterly oblivious to Anna’s divinity. ‘Fine, I will take it.’

Anna’s bottom was doing better, thanks to whatever Marion had done to it. Marion silently watched me help Anna put on clean pairs of leather trousers and boots fished out of my travel sack. After that, she helped me carry the fish, skewered in arrows, into the forest. We were heading back to the Treedwellers’ dwelling. We walked in silence, and on the way, we crossed a small group of Barkskins and the villagers carrying baskets of fruits and meads.

“These are for your men looking after the horses,” one of them said as they passed. I noticed how the villagers got off the narrow trail briefly and skirted around Marion, in both fear and respect. It contrasted with the way the Treedwellers patted on her shoulder and head as they strode past. Marion must have noticed my gaze.

“To the Barkskins, I am papi’s sweet young granddaughter. But to the folks, I’m the witch of the land. They fear me.”

“Is that why you live far away from them? We passed a little hut on the way from the village.”

“Yes, that is my humble home. The village folks generally stay away unless they need something from me.”

I recalled the hectic desperate footprints around Marion’s hut. When their lives were in danger, the first thing the villagers did was running to Marion. I thought about how I would handle being in her position; desperate people rushing to me fully convinced I would have the right answer to their problem. I thought about what would take for a person to reach such a status, especially for someone at Marion’s age. Her medicines must have worked every single time. Her answers to the matters brought to her must have always been wise and reliable. Her power displayed must have inspired ever-lasting awe. To the people of the land, Seigneurs were too distant who generally lived in their own worlds. But a witch was accessible, albeit scary. Hence Marion was the matron guardian of the village. The judge. The doctor. The arbitrator. The midwife. The teacher. Such was what it meant to be a witch of the land. Feared yet respected. And much needed, especially by the simple folks of the land. It was thus natural that those unlucky ones who did not have their own Marion, in their desperate times, turned to the divine and prayed.

I glanced at Anna, who was concentrating on her steps as not to trip over little rocks and tree roots and vines. The mortals had long forgotten about her. It took tremendous divine efforts to bring me here as an emergency measure stopping her from fading away to nothingness. I so wanted to ask her because it somehow felt important. ‘Did you answer any of their prayers, Anna, did you?’