Exiting the town was rather uneventful. I waved at the gate guard on the way out who upon seeing who I was with scowled rather than return my greeting. How rude. The walk through the farmland was much the same, with a light breeze blowing across the fields, and in no time at all we had entered the tree line and were back in the forest.

 

               Passing the time, Mary and I engaged in idle chatter. At least, her tone seemed to view it as idle. I was still a bit out of sorts, given the number of changes I’ve had to process. Just the past day so far has been packed full of events, and yesterday was what would generally be viewed as traumatic.

 

              I say “generally.” I mean, personally even I would find this traumatic despite the stoic front I like to think of myself as presenting. I would suppose the more rational side of me would say I was in a state of shock. That’s probably it, to be honest. I’ve been transported from my world of relative normalcy and at least the illusion of stability, to a land where magic permeates the land and monsters roam the wilderness.

 

              Anyone in this situation should be a gibbering wreck, right? Immediately upon entering this world I came across someone who seemed like a dedicated cosplayer, before getting a front row seat to a cryptid getting eaten by a monster. From there I pretty much had a conversation that pushed my credulity to the limits.

 

And while today wasn’t as bad as the first day at Parris Island was with running errands, it still gave off the general “just arriving at boot camp” feeling of running around and filling out paperwork. So of course I was trying to hang on to the last remaining shred of normalcy with my conversation…

 

“So you’re saying you can really make a potion that lets you fly? Don’t tell me it works like the ones in folktales back in my world.”

 

“I wouldn’t know how the mundane world would think something like that would work, but yes, you can make a flight potion. It’s rather difficult though, and requires tracking down a few rare plants. Plus it’s only one use per flight, so it’s not really worth the amount of time it takes to manufacture just to use it to pop over to town.”

 

“That’s why we walked?”

 

“Of course. Generally you have to dump the potion on an object first, usually a broom or rug. It’s not uncommon for witches to brew up the potion and carry a broom in order to escape from situations though, but I’ll admit I have a bit more fighting ability than the average witch. Witches do tend to live a bit further away from town, but living in the woods is a bit too dangerous for the ones who have a bit less innate mana.”

 

“Why do they live away from town? Do they experience the same ostracization you do? Do they tend to be feared like you are? That doesn’t add up with what you said about a lot of them being weak.”

 

“Uhm,” Mary looked a bit displeased with my comments. “Usually people just don’t like the smell of some of the potions being brewed. It’s similar to why tanners tend to live a bit further away from people.”

 

“So most witches aren’t as notorious as you?”

 

Mary blushed. “I may be a bit more creative with some of my inventions, and I may have a bit more forward-thinking ideas, but most of that is just hearsay being built up on slander. It doesn’t help that some members of the Magicians guild feel it’s in bad form to have me practicing witchcraft as my primary form of magic. They seem to feel I’m blurring the lines too much. It’s not my fault most sorcerers are too simple-minded to understand herbs or alchemy, or that most witches are weak and have little innate mana.”

 

“You made it sound like mana was needed to be a witch!”

 

“I feel it should be needed to really do well at it. I suppose you can be a passable enough witch without it though, as long as you are open enough to be in touch with nature and can feel the mana flow around you.

 

We continued on like this as we walked down the forest path. While there was a bite to the wind, the air had a pleasant scent of fall turning into winter, and I found myself enjoying the sounds of branches rustling, squirrels chattering looking for nuts for winter, and a somewhat awkward witch explaining some of the basics of witchcraft while defending her more questionable choices in life.

 

              As I was getting lulled into this feeling of comfort, I suddenly felt a prickle at the back of my neck. I froze. Something was coming. Soon after Mary stopped walking too.

 

“Don’t panic. But don’t do anything stupid. Be respectful.”

 

              Gone was the somewhat flippant tone from before. Instead, there was a tenseness to the way she spoke. Not that it felt like she was outright afraid, but there was a feeling of solemnity to her tone, as if she was expecting something momentous.

 

              Gradually, a noise started to grow, and slowly grew louder. It was hard to notice at first, as it felt perfectly in place with the noises of nature already permeating the woods. It sounded like a plucked string instrument, but at the same time felt as if it was as natural as the wind blowing through leaves.

 

             It brought to mind feelings of rain, and of the cycle of the seasons. Of gathering food for winter, and of hunting through forests and swamps on skis looking for game. Eventually, the music grew loud enough that the source had to be next to us, and when I glanced to the side I noticed Him.

 

             He was old. That’s honestly the best description.  He was the Old Man on which all other old men are based on. His long eyebrows, white hair and beard and wrinkled face felt as if they were as old as Time Itself, or near enough. Not that this feeling of age was a fragile and feeble sort of old age. The way he wore the sword on his belt, strapped over a green tunic was proof enough of that.

 

               The music came from the odd instrument in his hands. I knew enough from previous experience growing up fishing to recognize it was the jawbone from a pike, but the fish this one came from must have been massive. Strings ran between the teeth, and as he plucked these music was created which was causing the squirrels around us to pause from their gathering to stare in what could only be assumed to be awe. Not just squirrels; a few dozen yards back into the woods a herd of deer could be seen staring as well, as if they followed the sound of his music.

 

Upon stopping in front of us, he turned to Mary, nodding at her. She politely nodded back before speaking.

 

“Good afternoon, Old Man.”

 

“Good afternoon young witch. I see you finally got an apprentice.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Very good. She looks like she should be a good match for you.”

 

“Thank you, sir.”

 

“If I’m not mistaken, some of her blood comes an area close to where your own does. Maybe you have an ancestor in common, a long way back. Although I’m also feeling as if she has a touch of blood from the others too.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Yes, which would explain why she passed through the barrier to here.”

 

“This is news.”

 

The old man blinked, as if that reminded him of something.

 

“Actually, have you heard the news from town?”

 

“What news would that be?”

 

“A group of bandits has decided to start taking up residence near the forest path. I mainly came here to warn you about that, since it seems like they’ve taken to kidnapping women and selling them, and their scouts managed to site the two of you.”

 

“Someone like you came to warn me of that?”

 

“It only makes sense that I would warn a descendant of the land I hail from. Congratulating you on your apprentice was also on my mind.”

 

“Thank you for the warning, Old Man.”

 

The old man nodded back towards her before turning to me.

 

“Good luck with your training, Rose.”

 

The old man turned back into the woods and began to play his unusual instrument again. As he began to sing, the branches in his way bent out of the way, as if they were responding to his song.

“ On kauniina muistona Karjalan maa,
Mutta vieläkin syömmestä soinnahtaa,
Kun soittajan sormista kuulla saa…”

 

As his song faded into the distance, Mary and I stood in a daze. Finally, I spoke up.

 

“Who was that?”

 

“Someone old”

 

“I got that much.”

 

“No, I mean old. He was one of the first. He’s believed to have sung the forest and woods into existence. When I say old, I mean old.”

 

“Oh.”

 

I stood in thought for a while.

 

“Mary?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“What was that he said again? About bandits?”

 

“Oh. Shit. Yeah.”

 

She hurriedly reached into her bag.

 

“We shouldn’t be in too much danger from them, but it doesn’t hurt to be prepared. Might as well be prepared for when they attack.”

 

“With that?”

 

              Her definition for preparing for being attacked by violent criminals apparently was different from what mine would be. What she had pulled out was a tightly sealed glass bottle about the size of a wine bottle. It appeared to be filled with a viscous substance, in which floated small yellowish-white waxy looking solids. Wrapped around the neck of the bottle was a rag soaked in what looked to be pitch.

 

She chuckled. “My parents taught me about it. Apparently, my grandfather used similar weapons back when his home country was invaded by an evil empire. They were dangerous enough, with enough sisu from the wielder,  to destroy the great metallic constructs this empire used in battle, allowing my grandfather and the soldiers he fought with to defend their homeland from the devils despite being outnumbered. They even named the weapon after one of the enemy's leaders to mock them.”

 

“But…why here?”

 

“Everyone knows using ancestral weapons helps in battle. The spirits of your predecessors will help to guide your actions.”

 

“For that matter, what are those gross looking chunks in there?”

 

“I decided to tweak the original formula a bit. Some of the alchemists in the city, searching for a way to make gold, ended up experimenting with urine. I know, it’s pretty gross. But they managed to extract a substance which has some outright amazing properties when it comes to combustion.”

 

“Oh. Where I’m from that’s a war crime.”

 

              Jesus Christ, she filled the damn thing with Willy Pete. Isn’t she supposed to be a witch, in touch with nature? She’s going to burn the whole damn forest down.

 

              I wanted to give Mary the benefit of the doubt, something which I had been doing pretty much since I met her yesterday, but the odd grin on her face made it clear she knew how dangerous the weapon she was holding could be.

 

We continued walking through the woods, but at a slower pace than before. We had walked for about twenty minutes, when a scream pierced out through the woods ahead of us.

 

“Shit. Sounds like someone else was in danger!”

 

Mary looked towards the direction of the scream, then hesitated before looking back towards me.

 

“Wait here. A few bandits shouldn’t be too much of an issue for me to deal with. If we get separated, I’m sure you can make it back to the house. I’ll try not to be too long.”

 

              With that Mary raced off ahead. Wondering if she would really be okay by herself, I could at least count myself lucky that the woman I apprenticed to would be the kind to rush headfirst into danger to rescue someone in need. Either that, or she just wanted to set someone on fire with that Molotov she had. As I decided it’d be better to assume it was the first of the two options, I caught motion in the corner of my eye.

 

              Six bandits, emerging from hiding places behind the trees to my right.

 

“Hello Missy. Looks like your friend ran off on you.”

 

It’s good that Mary wants to rescue those in need, but right now it seems like I’m the one who needs to be rescued.