Madge

Chapter the Fifth

Five minutes later the girl was looking around at some rather cluttered walls, thinking
'I am in a witch's kitchen. Me. Unbelievable. I think I smell herbs...'
Madge was bustling around, fussing over tea for the two of them. She had offered, the girl had politely refused, and the old woman had given her a Look that would have moved a rock into action, pointing to a kitchen chair. Mira had sat.
"So, Walter's finally asking for help, is he?" the witch asked, wiping out a teacup with the edge of a cloth.
The girl's eyebrows raised. She had yet to say anything on that subject, had merely knocked at the cottage door and been invited in for tea. She nodded slowly.
"Figured as much. A man can't stay a tree forever."
At this the girl felt her mouth drop open, much to the amusement of the witch.
"Are you reading my thoughts?" the girl asked, raising a hand to her head.
The witch chuckled (not cackled, Mira noted) as she poured the tea.
"No, my girl, no second sight is needed to divine the actions of my foolish husband."
She brought the cups to the table and took a chair across from the girl. She continued:
"I heard an old mother badger complaining about a singing tree. Figured that's where Walter might have gone to. It's not the first time he's turned himself, but never for so long. So he must be stuck." Madge peered at the girl. "Didn't figure he'd send for a young girl to help him, though. You are indeed a surprise."
Mira stared into her teacup rather than meet the witch's wizened eyes.
"Yes, and a surprise to him as well. He was expecting a wizard."
The witch nodded sagely.
"And wizard you are not, my dear. What is it that my husband expects you to do?"
The girl told the woman all that had transpired since she'd first noticed the sparrow following her through the village, sparing not one detail until the narrative brought her to the steps of the cottage.
"Vangard the Lonely a baker." Madge mused, smiling gently. "And now he expects you to find Percival, does he?"
The girl nodded.
"That was what he asked. And he told me that you'd have something for me to take to him. Some kind of offering?"
"Not so much an offering as the returning of a favor. Giving back a borrowed artifact."
"Great. What is it?"
The girl looked around the kitchen. It was cluttered, but in a cozy sort of way. In fact, the entire house (what she had seen, at any rate) was like that. There were many things, but one could tell that everything in the small cottage had a purpose. It looked rather less magical than the girl had expected, what with both witch and wizard living under the same roof. There was a cauldron on the hearth, but it appeared to be harboring nothing more mystical than soup. Indeed there were bundles of herbs hung from the rafters, but they looked to be the kind that any woman would have on hand for cooking. Mira had expected crystal balls and talking skulls and instead found an old woman brewing tea and relying on common logic to discern the whereabouts of her husband.
"It is an Oracle."
The girl again cast her eyes about the room, searching for anything with oracle-like qualities. She wasn't quite sure what an oracle was, but she was fairly certain that an old broomstick and chipped crockery would not fall into this category. 'Oracle' sounded important, and everything in this small house seemed so mundane.
Again the witch laughed gently.
"Perhaps you are thinking that this is not truly the house of a witch? No, no," she waved a dismissive hand at Mira as the girl opened her mouth to protest, "I can see the look in your eye. I simply do not conjure where I cook. Makes the bread taste funny. At any rate, the Oracle isn't here."
"Not here?" Mira echoed, her wandering eyes ceasing their search.
"Nope." the witch grunted as she heaved herself from the chair, using the table as leverage. "I loaned it to a friend."
"You what?" the girl had a hard time wrapping her head around this. An oracle (not that she knew what that was, but it the sound of the thing was rather impressive) on loan that bounced from wizard to witch and off again, like a casserole dish or borrowed book. She'd thought that a magical artifact would hold some sort of sacred significance for its owner, not be something to be appropriated and then lent away with such apparent frivolity.
"Sam needed it." the witch was rummaging in a cupboard now. A perfectly ordinary looking cupboard, Mira noted with some disappointment. (For a person who claimed not to hold much with herbs and all that witchcraft entailed, she was rather eagerly anticipating signs of mystical practices.)
"Sam?"
"I can get by with reading leaves and fires and such, but old Sam was in a bind and in need of it." the woman had all but disappeared into the cupboard, her generous posterior the only thing visible from the gaping maw of the open door. Her voice carried over the rustling and clanking from the cupboard's depths. "So you'll need to go and see him before you can go to Percy for help."
"Percy?"
"Percival the Magnificent." came the answer, slightly muffled. "It's his Oracle."
Mira was set to pose a series of questions when a triumphant
"Ha ha!" (again, nothing nearly resembling the traditional cackle) cut off her queries before they began. Madge backed out of the cupboard with some difficulty, muttering to herself.
What emerged with her was a cloak, weather beaten and slightly dusty, but still serviceable. The witch headed out the kitchen door and motioned for the girl to follow. Once outside she hung the cloak on a line and proceeded to beat it, stirring up dervishes of dust. As she worked her face took on a grave look.
"Have you already agreed to this journey?" she asked, her laundry bat not losing its rhythm.
"I've already told Walter--"
"Well, it doesn't matter what you've told him, the old codger, or what he wants. I know him, and I'm sure that he's glossed over the hard parts of this journey." she interrupted, flipping the cloak and resuming her rhythm. "Your path may be perilous at best. I don't need an oracle to know that, my girl. Words are binding but not, in my opinion, when the risks involved are not outlined in the proposal."
"And the risks are?"
"Giants. Bears. Snake oil salespersons."
"Giants?" the girl laughed. "Giants don't exist."
Madge pulled the cloak from the line and shook it.
"Indeed they do, my dear. And  not all of them are kind. In fact, there are very few who would hesitate to eat a person rather than carry on a conversation."
Mira considered this. Madge watched her, shaking now imaginary dust and debris from the newly beaten cloak. The girl weighed her options. Possible giants who may or may not grind her bones to make their bread, or a definite fat legged evil adoptive mother figure who would most certainly flay her backside upon her return.
"I'll do it."
"Very well." the old woman settled the cloak around the girl's shoulders. "Into the mountains with you. But you'll not go alone. I will be sending a friend along with you."
"That's great." Mira said uncertainly, watching the witch's gnarled and knobby fingers fastening the cloak just beneath her collarbone. "And why do I need this?" she asked, raising her newly cloaked arms as the witch stepped back.
Mira did not like the cloak. It was slightly scratchy and still slightly dusty and for some reason smelled more than a little like goats. She couldn't recall seeing goats anywhere in the yard.
"Beside the fact that it's winter and you're not wearing a coat? You are going into the mountains." Madge turned and began walking toward a shed across the yard. "Come. We're going to contact my friend."
"You keep him in a shed?"
Madge turned and fixed the girl with a scornful look before heaving the shed's door open with a grunt.
"Don't be ridiculous, child." she stepped inside, beckoned the girl to follow. "The laundry shed is where I conjure."
"In a laundry shed?" Mira echoed doubtfully.
The girl followed the witch through the rickety door and then stopped abruptly, her mouth agape in wonder.

Author's Note

Thank you for reading my words! Comments, as always, are heartily welcomed!

Reviews

[SweetNutmeg]

This just gets better and better. Mira's pragmatism, the serendipity of events, the cliches and the mundane details all combine in a great way. Your sense of humor is similar to a friend's, and both of you keep me laughing.

Every time you describe Madge and her dwelling. I think of Miracle Max form The Princess Bride, one of my favorite movies.

I am wondering why a witch-- Mira, Madge or someone else -- cannot fix Walter. but I suppose that will become evident eventually. I'm looking forward to more.

[JLGottschalk]

Thank you, I am most flattered by your comparing my Madge to Miracle Max. What an honor! I am deeply in love with The Princess Bride, both book and movie. I am extremely happy that this story is entertaining you.
Indeed, more will be revealed as to the fixing of Walter.
(And if Madge herself could do it, where would the adventure be?) ;)