The Witch's Daughter Read online

  The Witch’s Daughter

  By: Rae D. Magdon

  Author’s Note: Sequel to Wolf’s Eyes and The Second Sister. This novel is based on the story of Rapunzel (obviously), but also draws from a lesser-known Greek variant: Anthousa, Xanthousa, Chrisomalousa. This fairytale, in turn, steals some material from the Baba Yaga legends. Since I am both Greek and Russian, they were a pleasure to research and adapt.

  Dedication/Thanks: A big thank you to Tara, my Mistress, and Lee, my Beta. This is for you.

  Feed the bard: E-mail is [email protected].

  Part One:

  Recorded by Lady Eleanor Baxstresse, taken from the verbal accounts of Ailynn Gothel, the Witch’s daughter

  …

  Chapter One:

  My mother always treasured pretty things. When I was very young, she would take me into the treasure rooms and show me all of the beautiful objects that she had collected, pointing out her favorites. She let me explore them, too, allowing me to run my fingertips over the gold chains, the elegant satin gowns, and the finely woven tapestries. I liked to go in her rooms as a child so that I could play with the jewelry and the handsome dresses.

  Mother never allowed any of the men and women who visited our house to see the treasures. She did not like people, but they were the easiest way to expand her collection, and so she tolerated them – sometimes. Whenever someone came to trade a new pretty bauble for a magical spell, curse, or healing draught, she would give it to me, and I would take it through the front room and into the kitchen.

  Along one wall there was a small wooden door. The door was magic and if you asked politely, it would take you to the treasure rooms, the herb rooms, the library, and a few other rooms I did not know about. The only four rooms that were not connected to the magic door were the front room, the kitchen, and the two bedrooms that my mother and I used. If the door was cranky or if there was a stranger in the house, it would simply lead out into the forest

  Despite the stories that the villagers from beyond the forest told, my mother was not a gruesome hag. She was very beautiful, with skin so fair that it was almost translucent and thick brown hair that tumbled over her shoulders in wild curls. I grew up to look almost identical, and I was blessed with an aptitude for magic as well. Unfortunately, I also inherited a small portion of my mother’s magpieish tendencies, but only towards one particular treasure.

  I had everything that a young child could have longed for. Anything that I wanted, I was given. The villagers knew that the witch had a daughter and that if they brought something for me, a beautiful piece of jewelry or a gown that would fit a small girl, my mother would take it favorably. I must confess that I was very spoiled, but it was not entirely my doing. My mother’s fondness for beautiful things was the cause of it.

  I remember one of my requests very clearly. An old man came to our house one evening, his back bent and his brown face weathered and burnt by the sun. He was poor, but had somehow managed to get his hands on a small golden circlet. When my mother opened the door and saw the circlet, her lips curved upwards greedily, her eyes picking up the glint of the precious metal as the evening sun reflected off of it. “What would you like?” she asked, never one for fanciful words.

  “I need a healing draught,” said the old man, his eyes holding a mixture of fear and hope. I peered out at him from behind my mother’s skirt, studying his face. All people that came to our house interested me, and I had never seen the same person twice. Except for the visitors that came to trade, I was kept in complete isolation.

  My mother thought about it. I knew that she wanted the circlet; her trembling fingers and wide eyes gave her away. With a richer customer, she might have pushed for more, but she could tell that the man was poor and that he was giving her all he had. “Who is it for?”

  “My son’s young daughter. She has been ill for months.”

  “What are her symptoms?”

  They talked for a few moments about things that I did not understand, and then my mother hurried back into the house. I followed; holding bunches of her skirt in my small hands. She walked through the front room and back into the kitchen, heading towards the magic wooden door. “Herb room, please,” she said, tapping three times to rouse the door from its rest. It swung open lazily, and I followed her inside.

  The herb room was dark narrow and the walls were comprised of several levels of shelves, all of which were crowded with baskets of herbs. My mother dug into some of the baskets, selecting the leaves and roots that she wanted. I knew some of the herbs that she chose then, for she had already begun teaching me the art of healing and poisoning. She talked to me whenever she made potions.

  “Use only the root of belladonna, Ailynn,” she said as she dug into the basket, “and occasionally the leaves, but do not touch the berries.” It was a mantra that I had heard before, mostly because my mother wanted to be sure that I would not be tempted to eat them. She dug out a thick, fleshy white root with her hands and passed it to me before hurrying over to another shelf.

  “And aconite, my darling, to calm the girl’s fever and pulse. But it must be prepared specially. It is also a poison.”

  “Mother, why are so many of your healing plants poisonous?” I asked.

  “Because poisons are powerful,” she said. “Poisons manipulate the body, and if you harness their power, the world can be yours.” I didn’t understand her then, but those words stayed in my mind well through adulthood. I never doubted anything my mother taught me about plants.

  After she had collected the leaves and roots she wanted in her skirt, she hurried into the kitchen and began crumbling and chopping, teaching me all the while. My mother had many faults – her greed, her pride, her overconfidence – but for all her faults, she was wise, and she did try and do some good back then, as long as she received payment for her services.

  Eventually, she had concocted both a draught and a cream for the old man and carried them out to him. He was waiting at the door. My mother never allowed people into her house. Everyone knew that she would hex you if you invaded her privacy. She gave him the cream and the draught and told him what dosages to give. Then, he handed her the circlet. She bid him farewell with a nod of her head and closed the door, grabbing my hand and placing the circlet on my head.

  “I love you. You are my princess,” she said, stroking my cheek as she knelt down to gaze into my eyes, “my beautiful girl, and you shall have anything that you want.”

  “Can the old man’s granddaughter come and play with me when she is well?” I asked impulsively. At that age, I was beginning to tire of the many treasures that my mother hoarded. The beautiful gowns and the precious jewels had grown dull. Lately, I had been thinking more about the people that came to our house. I wondered what they knew, what their mothers were like, and whether they would like me. I was starting to realize that what I wanted most of all was a friend.

  My mother did not answer. Instead, she stood up and headed towards her garden to work. “Go and play downstairs with your new toy,” she ordered, but I could tell that her mind was elsewhere. I think it was my request that drove her to take her next treasure for me.

  My memories of the weeks that followed were unclear. Days blended together in our house. Even at five or six, I was already learning my mother’s arts. She told me stories, too, and I continued to play with the circlet and my other fine toys, but the feelings of loneliness grew in me and I think that my mother sensed it. Sometimes, in the afternoon, she would stand in her garden amongst her herbs, looking to the sky and thinking deeply.

  I learned later that she had been thinking about how to find me a suitable playmate. It would not be appropriate for me to mingle with the village girls of my age, but I was growing lonely a
nd my mother doted on me, though she seemed to care little for the wellbeing of others at times. My happiness was incomplete, and she could not be at peace until I was satisfied.

  My next clear memory was of a crisp night in autumn. I was sitting on my mother’s lap by the fire in the kitchen as she told me a story and braided my hair. The warmth of the flames and my mother’s voice were starting to lull me to sleep when a muffled yelp drifted in from outside. My mother whirled her head around to look over her shoulder and out of a nearby window, her chin tilting up as she listened harder. Someone was in the back garden.

  “Stay here, Ailynn,” my mother said, hurrying towards the back door while I sat on the rug next to the fire. As soon as she was out of sight, I hurried over to the window, peeking over the sill so that no one would realize I was there. Everything was quiet for a few moments and then I saw my mother, her face almost glowing in the moonlight, holding onto a thin man by the scruff of his neck. My mother seemed as tall as an oak tree standing in front of the intruder. She looked angry and fierce, just as the villagers whispered she was.

  “How can you dare,” my mother said in a low growl, “descend into my garden and steal my rampion like a thief?”

  The man tried to speak, but fear filled his mouth like a gag. Only a small, strangled cry came out from between his trembling lips. He was shaking, obviously terrified. I had seen the frightened, awed looks of the traders that came to bargain with my mother, but none of them had seemed this afraid. Also, I had never seen my mother this angry before. I knew that her garden was precious to her, but I had not expected her to be so furious.

  “Ah, let mercy be taking the place of justice,” the man stumbled, “I had to!”

  “You had to?” my mother asked frostily, raising one eyebrow.

  “My wife is carrying our first child,” the man tried to explain, “and she felt such a longing for rampion… You know that if a mother is not given the food she desires, the babe is cursed!”

  My mother paused, looking surprised. A thoughtful expression crossed her face, and she looked once again at the man cowering at her feet. “If it be as you say,” she said slowly, “take away as much rampion as you will. I will even spare your life and tend to the arm you injured when you fell over my wall. It is probably broken and the tissue is already starting to swell. I mark only one condition.”

  “Anything, mistress,” the man said. “If you spare my life!”

  “You must be bringing me the child that your wife will bear. I will attend to the birthing myself. Your wife will not die in her childbed. I will raise the girl and she will want for nothing.”

  “You know it is a girl?” asked the man.

  “Yes, it will be a girl-child.”

  The man looked horrified. “You would take my daughter from me? Never!”

  “If you do not give her to me,” said my mother, “I will curse your entire family after I kill you for stealing my rampion. It would be my right. Think on it, old man. This way, your daughter will have a sister, and I will give her everything she could ever dream of possessing.”

  “But my only child…”

  “You will have other children, as many you please. I promise that your wife will not die in childbed with the first. I will be midwife for the others as well. I require no other payment except for your daughter. I promise you she will come to no harm. Besides,” my mother continued, “if you don’t give her to me, I will simply take her, and then hex your entire family.”

  My mother had backed the man into a corner. He had no other choice. I was too young to understand just how threatening my mother’s offer was, but I recognized the expression of terror on the man’s face. “Take her, then,” he said bitterly, “just give me the rampion and I’ll be on my way.”

  “After I heal your arm,” my mother insisted, grabbing the man’s healthy shoulder and dragging him towards the house. My mother had a price for everything. She was not above using threats and fear to get what she wanted, but she was not entirely evil, not yet. Along with the fear that most villagers felt towards her, there was a measure of respect as well.

  I hurried back to the fireplace, closing my eyes and pretending that I had fallen asleep on the rug. “Up with you, Ailynn,” my mother said as soon as she came in. “You canna fool me.” I got to my feet. My mother pulled me against her belly while the man waited by the door, afraid to step inside the house. “What herbs would you use for a swelling, dear heart?”

  “Aconite?” I asked, remembering the cream that we had made for the old man several weeks before.

  “That would be appropriate. Fetch me some for a poultice and bring some water to put over the fire.”

  I hurried to do what she had asked, my hands shaking with excitement as I ran to the small wooden door. “Herb room, please,” I said distractedly. I was going to have a friend! Someone to play games with and tell secrets to. Someone to take care of. It was exactly what I had wanted. I knew that my mother had forced the old man to give up his daughter for me, so that I would have someone to keep me company. And, selfishly, I loved her for it. I was too young to understand just how much a parent might miss their child.

  …

  Chapter Two:

  It was a little over a month later when my mother brought Rapunzel home. Her face was bright red, and she was squalling like the newborn kittens that Diath, my mother’s cat, had given birth to underneath our house that past spring. I knew that this girl, my new present, was nothing like a kitten. She would grow to walk and talk, and someday she would be able to play with me.

  My mother hurried over to a beautifully carved wooden chair, payment for one of her spells, and sat down with the baby. “Mother, may I see her?” I asked, reaching up to try and pull aside the blanket.

  “Be patient, Ailynn. I have to feed her first. She is very hungry, and she is weak after coming into the world.”

  “Will we need a wet nurse?” I asked. Most other children my age understood little about newborn babies, but my mother was a witch and babies often take ill. Many women had come to my mother’s house with ill newborns, and many more had come to buy herbs because they were dry and had no wet nurse in their village.

  “I will nurse her myself. I don’t want anyone else in my house. I’ve been taking the herbs I need for several days, and I already have milk for her.” My mother removed her cloak and handed it to me. “Put this away, please, Ailynn. Then, you can come and see your new playmate.”

  I dashed off as fast as I could to put her cloak away, wanting to get back to the new baby as quickly as possible. I skidded into the room, almost tripping over a knot in the wooden floorboards. “Hush, Ailynn,” my mother said, “she has finally stopped crying.” My mother had pulled down her shirt and the babe was nursing. I felt even more excited to see her now that she was not wailing loud enough to wake the dead.

  “She is so small,” I whispered, staring at the small child with wide eyes. “Was I that small once?”

  My mother smiled and reached out to stroke my hair. “Oh, you were smaller still. You came several weeks before you were supposed to. I went five days without sleep trying to keep you alive. This child will be much easier to care for.”

  “May I help feed her when she is older?”

  “Of course. You are going to have to help me be responsible for her, and see that she grows up to be as healthy and beautiful as you are.”

  I reached out to stroke the baby’s head. She had surprisingly thick hair for a newborn and her head was covered with beautiful golden curls. My mother noticed that I was playing with the baby’s hair and her smile widened. “Yes, I noticed that, too. I wonder if, perhaps, the rampion that the man took from my garden might have something to do with it. I have seen stranger things.”

  “Does the baby have a name?”

  “No,” my mother said. “Would you like to name her, Ailynn?”

  I looked at the baby, trying to decide on a good name for her. “What if we named her after the rampion that her fat
her took?” I suggested.

  “You want to name the child rampion?” my mother asked, looking surprised.

  “No, but you’ve taught me that plants have many different names… is there another name for rampion?”

  “The local villagers call it Rapunzel. Would that do for a name?”

  “Rapunzel,” I said, trying the name on my tongue. I smiled up at the child and nodded my head. “It is a pretty name.”

  “Very pretty. And our Rapunzel will grow up pretty, too.”

  “Will she look like her mother as I look like you?” I asked. For all of my mother’s faults, she never tired of answering my questions.

  “Yes. Most daughters look like their mothers or their fathers. Her mother has these same golden curls,” said my mother, tugging at one fondly. The baby squirmed for a moment and then went back to nursing.

  Suddenly, an idea struck me. “Mother, may I give Rapunzel a gift?”

  “Of course.”

  With my mother’s blessing, I ran to the small wooden door. “Treasure rooms, please,” I said. The door was tired, and I waited anxiously in front of it for several seconds before hurtling into the rooms where she kept her treasures. I hunted for the golden circlet that the old man had given to me. I found it sitting on top of a sheet of fine glass. I picked it up carefully, not wanting to bend or dirty the soft metal. Strangely, it felt warm in my hands, even though the room was cold. I went back up the stairs and returned to my mother. Rapunzel had finished nursing, and she was sleeping on my mother’s lap.

  “Look, Ailynn, you can see her face now,” my mother said, brushing aside the baby’s curls. I was consumed by a wave of warm, loving feelings as I looked down at the tiny little girl that would grow up to be my greatest joy.

  I reached out and took her hand in mine, gently opening her small fingers and closing them around the circlet. She pulled it to her chest, remaining asleep. “I love you. You are my princess,” I said, repeating the words that my mother had said to me when she had given me the circlet, “my beautiful girl, and you shall have anything that you want.”