I had gone for another dunk by the time I was to go home, though it was by no one's doing but my own and some moss covered rocks near the edge of the main pool to ease the warmth of the day.

They didn't magically dry the last time saying it was a lesson for my own stupidity and when I arrived at the spot, still damp and fishing out a bit of soggy grass from under my shirt, Gretchen let out a choked mixture of a gasp and squeal as she frantically motioned to her own head. I dropped the bit in my hands and spelled out the words carefully.

“The Nokken didn’t mind them staying with me.” She sighed, fiddling with her own headscarf. “They’re a powerful being…and are part of the reason we’ve been safe so far. Maybe they took a liking to you.” It wouldn’t hurt to tell her, right?

“They said I’ve been marked by gods and should know magic.” She guided me back to the cabin, unease heavy in the lines of her face.

“Like a divine witch?” I tilted my head, they have been throwing those words around a lot, seeming to forget I didn't grow up in this world. “Divine witches are a mix between holy powers and wild women. They can use abilities given to them by the gods to help aid people while still use magic.” There were gods of magic back home, the two probably weren't as tied tightly here though.

“How is magic used?” She did a little shake of her head as she worked through her thoughts to convey them.

“Symbols, the more of them used, the more complex the spell is so a circle is used to connect them. But the most important thing is the intent of the caster.” She tapped her chin. “Oh! Right, using objects imbued with magic making the spell even more powerful.” The cabin was not too far, the path turning towards our right.

“How do you know so much?”

“Grandma, she’s a green witch. She had a feeling you were a kitchen witch or something at least considering how well the tinctures and balms are doing.” Right, kitchen witches were insanely good when it came to working with potion-making and their hands, I think. “But a divine witch…” She clicked her tongue.

“Whatever you are, it doesn’t matter so long as you use your abilities to help those around you, I imagine you will live a blessed life.” I caught my appearance in the mirror after my bath, freezing at the complex circle of black ink carved into my throat, right where the hard lump was. I had felt it a while back but though it was a scar under the skin or something.

Was this a cursed spell circle?

I woke up early in the morning, the sun barely rising over the horizon and early birds tweeted from the safety of the trees. An hour was spent, helping with scooping out the ashes from the stove and fireplaces. We dumped them in the hole by the house and finally load up the cart. I wrapped my neck to keep myself from freaking myself out too much after discovering that thing.

Did something really try to curse me? But why was just my voice was taken?

“Here.” Gretchen handed me the strings of coins along with book-keeping when we got to the stall. “I’m going out with Alex for the morning to pick up some things for the festival, I’ll return at lunch. Some people put in requests for some items that needed to be pre-ordered, they are labeled and placed below. Check the bookwork for their stamp and name.” I settled down, finding myself people watching and occasionally drawing some of the other vendors. The small fairies enjoyed it when I captured their essence, posing in a variety of ways.

“Drawing is a pretty unique skill to have.” I looked up, freezing at the armor-clad man in front of me. He looked familiar-granted most men looked the same to men, with tanned skin and dark hair. A seven-pointed star was engraved on the shoulder pad. My heart skipped a beat, happy that the mark on my chest was hard to see with my clothes.

“Can I help you?” I instantly signed motioning I was mute, not deaf, he looked startled for a second before signing back, thankfully he understood and knew the basics. 

“Order for Rogen, a crate of ointments and poultices along with some bandages.” I checked the bookwork, seeing the stamp next to his name before pulling up the crate from below the stall with gritted teeth and the slight burning sensation from my muscles, hopefully I can be as muscled as Gretchen soon.

“Thank you and I wasn’t joking. Only people from nobility and royal blood usually are given lessons to draw.” I swallowed as he handed me two pouches, one heavy with gold and the second smaller and filled with silver. I double checked the amount needed and placed it in the lock box below. “Haven’t you ever thought that anyone can pick it up?” Surely people would have the common sense that someone can develop the skill just by observing.

“Usually, but these valley village folks are too impatient and a little dumb for something like that.” I licked my lips, taking a deep breath and felt a bit offended that he thought so little of these people, I've spent a lot of time just chatting with them and hearing about everyday pleasantries they had. “Whoever you think I am, I am not. Please have a wonderful day.” I saw one of the younger guardsmen as they helped carry some of the boxes and offered a hopefully pleasant smile.

Their cheeks turned as red as their hair as they hurried along with the leader. 

Rogen...Rogen, the name swirled in my head as I studied the retreating figures. I frowned and scrunched my nose at his back.

He sounds like a donkey's ass.

***

Gretchen appeared at lunch time, giving me some coins for lunch and to spend as she took over maintaining the stall for the day. I saw some red marks on her neck and realized what she was doing with a flush. Boyd seemed content to stay in the shade and watch the people go by, earning a few curious looks when he was noticed and some attempts at petting him before he would slip further into the tent and away from eager hands, he really was like my Boyd from before. I heard the high pitched whistle of the train from further down towards the flat valley. I headed to the bookstore, eager to get a book on magic if they had some and some more graphite. People crowded the street corners, peering at something in the distance. I squeezed my way into the mostly empty shop, watching the crowd get bigger as the apparent parade made it's way down the street. I saw flower petals and shimmering ribbons as music played though muffled by the shop’s walls. Still, something made the shelves rattle.

“The fae courts are coming, they enjoy parties and look for any excuse to have fun.” The shopkeeper-I really should learn his name, I come here often enough, said as he loaded a box to the counter. Fae, like Oberon and Titiana from Shakespeare, they don’t take babies like in the actual myths, do they? Wait, that could be a disrespectful thought, banish it! My fingers twisted and nails picked at each other to clean them of potential gunk underneath to aid in my brain getting distracted. Gretchen did hate when I did that though.

The shopkeeper pulled out a box, the insides clattering softly and providing a much easier distraction for myself. Thank you, thank you, you wonderful man and my short attention span!

“I have something for you.” He lifted the lid, revealing an array of sticks, each an assorted color, shade and in their own space as to not get mixed and muddied. “These are stick pastels, the technique to make them has finally been recovered and now have begun circulation after so long.” I touched a corner of the carefully arranged box. So, chalk pastel has been used as a drawing tool before, what ever happened to them not being able to use it? I know in my world pastel had been used as early as da Vinci.

Thank you art history rabbit hole during the two weeks I was sick a while back.

But, what did he mean 'recovered'?

“How much?” He looked at the book I had with a raise of thick eyebrows before pulling out his bookwork.

“One Argentum, Five Gretine, three Bearhil and seven Obril.” I looked at the amount on the strings before handing him the correct amount.

I had enough for lunch and to save up. He carefully wrapped it up and I hugged it tightly with a grin. “Thank you.” I headed out of the shop through the side entrance to avoid the crowd amassing in the main street. The market had grilled fish and baked potatoes with fresh cold goat's cream for sale. I could get Boyd some fish if he wanted some. My stomach growled at the thought and I hurried along, deeper into the twisting alleyways.

Though I was a little parched, my throat was aching for something cool to sip on. I think one of the venders had a fruit flavored drink they were selling. I rubbed my throat, jolting when I realized how hot my skin was, almost feverish.

I took a quick glance at myself in a reflection from some old bit of metal, pulling the cloth down to see and freezing at the circle glowing and pulsing, making my throat ache with each throb. I looked around, why would it be reacting this way?

I took a step in the hopes of finding Gretchen, anyone really. I coughed, something black and pungent tasting coating my tongue and fingers when I looked down in fear. My foot caught on something, undoubtedly my skirt and I stumbled, the box dropping from my hands and my soul ache a bit knowing the pastels broke from the hard tumble. My vision went blurry as my throat seemed to tighten. I could barely breathe.

What happened to me to be cursed in this world?

What did I do?