CONTENT WARNING: Not as much as usual this time, but there's reference to death and murder as usual, mostly in the context of the witch-hunts.
[Katlego's letter, to eventually be sent to her parents.]
Mme, Ntate-
I am safe. I know that you have been worried sick about me, and I am so sorry that I left you worried instead of writing to you sooner. The thing is, everything has been both terrible and amazing at the same time over the years.
You gave me my name for a reason- you wanted me to be successful. And you both told me that, if I am happy, then I am successful - but I still didn't want to let you both down. You did so much for me that I wanted to only write to you when I could finally told you I have found success- and I have.
Nia is still here and doing well, looking after me as always.
It will be a long time before I see either of you again. I am currently in dreary Henford, but the rural lands are not so bad. In short - An elite physician stole my boat and my wares to use in his alchemical potions, and then tried to have me kicked out by forcing a local apothecary to spike my herbs with an emetic for assuming I would be viable competition- and succeeded after the townspeople turned on me. A man named Gideon helped to clear my name (a witchfinder, may I add, who I formerly tricked into drinking urine- it's a long story!) and a man named Oskar helped me to get Samuel Annorin outed for who he truly was. He wronged us both, though Oskar's revenge was violent and mine was not. Sadly, Oskar is no longer with us- the short story is that he was a vampire, and a cruel revenge enacted upon him by the physician Samuel Annorin led to him becoming human. He died protecting the witches during a witch-hunt some years back.
The physician's son, Owen, rebuilt my cabin when it was destroyed. I do not fully trust him, but I must admit that he does his part to help all sorts of healers in the area. I am a cunningwoman, living under the noses of those who abhor witchcraft by providing semi-arcane services they cannot live without. They despise the occult, yet they rely on it, isn't it funny?
Mme, remember when you always used to tease me about finding love? Well, I did- an amazing woman named Ellie, who I have been in love with for a fair few years. One day, I hope I can introduce you to her.
We live well, and we avoid the brunt of the witch-hunts. Do not worry. For now, I am safe- though I am also writing this letter because, some day, I may have to break my promise. I know you said you cannot wash blood off of your hands, but someday, I may need to use our gift to do harm. I have only used my gift once, to meddle with the mind of a witchfinder. I try to use it sparingly.
The people around me, they are hellbent on bloodshed. I do not want to become like them, but I have a partner now. There are still a few witches here even after many fled. I must protect them. I can only heckle my way out of so much. I remember the stories you used to tell me, about the Spider we take our surname from. So far, I have overcome all with nothing but cunning and wit. As times and situations change, I may have to be less like the Spider and more like the Tiger in our blood.
I hope you are both doing okay. Again, I am sorry for letting you worry for so long- but do not worry, we are doing well.
Ke Go Tlhologeletswe,
- Katlego
(There is a rudimentary drawing in the corner of the page, of a spider with a mischievous smile on its body.)
Katlego
Part of me longed for home. For now, the best I could do was hope that a letter would reach my parents, Nanji and Emene. I longed to see what my parents would make next, whether weaving baskets or making clay animals or whatever other creative projects they come up with. I longed to see the animals again. I missed the sunshine. At the same time, I've learned to love the life I've made here, especially since finding my Ellie.
The years since the mass fleeing of the witches have not been particularly eventful. Even now, I still feel lucky to be alive- lucky to live under the thin banner of acceptable arcane knowledge. These people loved the world of the occult, but only when it served them, and only when it didn't serve them too much.
Most come to me for herbal remedies, those who cannot afford the service of Owen Annorin or who are fearful of the world of 'true medicine'. However, his wife, Lydia, has shared her impressive herbal knowledge with me, and vice-versa. Shang Simla's many years of such knowledge will be vital down the line, and it's amazing to see her keeping tradition alive when her profession requires constant shifts to modern techniques. Dare I say it, I prefer her to her husband.
Everyone else wanted readings. Divination card readings were most of what I sold. Some sought general guidance for the road ahead, others enquired about whether or not love was requited. It was always a little awkward when the meaning of the cards led to rather blunt messages from the universe. How politely can you say to someone that the world is telling you to get it together?
All those years ago, to know Oskar had died in battle after I had shunned him...what he did saved many witches' lives, whether I want to admit it to myself or not. I may not have agreed with his methods, but his heart was ultimately in the right place.
The conflict hasn't just been happening on the outside. For so many years, I've been at a war with myself over my powers, and how far I should go with them. I see the likes of Oskar and of the witches using their powers with reckless abandon to protect themselves- but when does violence stop being defensive and begin being destructive?
Some time ago, I was visited by a peculiar, pale, middle-aged woman in an expensive dress and wide-brimmed hat.
Her name was Violeta. Turned out, she was Oskar's 'mother', but not in the traditional sense. It was her who told me of his passing, and the many circumstances surrounding it. At first, she seemed almost threatening, saying she knew of our quarrel over his actions towards Samuel Annorin; I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel slightly celebrative after hearing of Samuel's passing from illness.
Her demeanour switched all of a sudden, and she said that, though 'overdue', she wanted to give me something for the way I helped take down the man that killed her son, saying I'd done all of Henford a favour. She was an artist, and she offered me a portrait - of any subject of my choosing.
And then I thought- what an amazing gift that would be to my beloved girl! Oh, she would love it if I had a portrait painted of her! My most precious treasure, forever encaptured in art!
* * *
"A painting? That's incredible! What's it of?"
"Well, now, I've been keeping this a surprise for some time! I'll give you some clues. She's beautiful, loyal, and the loveliest girl in the entire world!"
"Oh, Kat, darling, you shouldn't have! I can't believe you got a portrait painted of-"
"NIA?!"
"Yes! I knew you'd love it too! Isn't it perfect?! It looks just like her! Oh, she just looks so so cute here!"
"Oh, you love it, too, don't you? Oh, yes you do! You are so perfect in every single way, aren't you? Yes, you are!"
This morning, I get a peculiar letter. Many are requests for card reading appointments, others are asking about herbal remedies for mild ailments. This one is claiming to be from...
[Letter to Kat]
Dear Miss Anansi,
I hope you are well, and I hope this letter reaches you safely.
I am Theresa. I took over the apothecary from my husband. Henry- yes, the same Henry you remember. We are more than sorry for what happened with Volpe so many years ago. He threatened our family if he did not give you the tampered herbs. Word around claims Henry could not cope with the guilt and took his own life. I am sure you already know this, but in case your suspicions need confirmation- Henry was murdered.
It has taken me this long to reach out to you- the death of a certain someone not long ago healed me somewhat. My apothecary is doing well, and if you ever need any herbs or other supplies I am more than happy to offer you a discount for what you did for us, and what you did to show Samuel Annorin as the vile man that he was. I was overjoyed at his death, and by illness, too! I was apprehensive, perhaps even angry at first when his eldest son approached offering to lend a hand, but for now, I have accepted. After what his father tried to do to you considering you to be possible 'competition', I was expecting him to have an ulterior motive in trying to assist me. He supports me monetarily if needed, and also buys medicines and supplies from me for use with his patients. He's also let me borrow some of his own books on modern medicine (half of which are written by him...)
I would love for you to come to visit the apothecary. It's just outside of Finchwick. It would be a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance.
Yours faithfully,
- Theresa
Seeing his name left a chill in my heart. Those memories are far from pleasant, and not just because of what happened to me. How that must feel, to choose between betraying yourself and ruining the life of a stranger, or the life of your family - it hurt to think about. For some time, I did wonder if the guilt really did become too much for him, but he was killed, no doubt. To know that his business lives on with his wife, that's at least a good thing.
* * *
The apothecary is lovely, bar the chemical stench. There's a remedy for just about everything in here. Theresa's greeting is laced with sorrow, even through that smile. Us women can see it in each other's eyes within a second- the pain we bury behind them so that our smiles remain convincing.
"I really appreciate your visit, Katlego," she says. "I've been wanting to thank you for a long, long time. Rich men like that, they never pay for their wrongdoings- but, thanks to you, Samuel Annorin did. If you ever need a remedy, just let me know. I won't charge you full price."
"I'm thankful for your letter, Theresa- and I'm deeply sorry about all that happened. I'm glad Samuel is no more. I'm afraid to say it, but it's far from the end," I tell her, trying to hold back a sigh. "We knocked down one rich man a peg or two, but there's still Lord Volpe to deal with.I know he's raising another army of witchfinders as we speak. As for your offer, it's appreciated, but if I need your assistance you will be paid in full."
Theresa tells me she remembers it all too well, the witches screaming and fleeing. She tells me she gave them some remedies, knowing that wherever they'd end up, there would be little in the way of medicine.
"I worry what I may have to do in the future to defend Henford. I'm not a violent person, not at all, but I can't just sit there and let another wave of witchfinders wipe out the last of us. I have a partner now, after all, and she's even more of a pacifist than I am."
"I understand." She gives a slow nod. "I am not a witch myself, Katlego, but I think that it isn't just Volpe who's quietly building his attack dogs. The witches, those left in Henford and those who fled, they will be doing the exact same. Don't forget that."
"I suppose you are right, Theresa. I ought to be more hopeful - and, I must say, in knowing that Henry's business is in good hands, I feel much more at ease." I try to quieten my voice, unsure if what I'm about to say might re-open old wounds, but it feels necessary.
"All of the devastation of what happened, and to think a physician would happily kill another healer- it's beyond me. To know that you are still around to look after the local people- I'm thankful for that, at least. I hope you know how proud he would be of you."
Theresa's eyes glisten with tears. I knew it. I shouldn't have said anything-
"You have a good heart, Katlego. I hope that no-one will try to take that from you again. People like you and me, with our knowledge, we ought to try and stick together. If another witch-hunt takes place here, the people will need us- whether they have magic in their blood or not."
She's right. To know that the common people didn't miss out on healthcare because of her is a heartwarming thought. Even in all of her grief and horror, she put the wellness of Henford before herself.
"Of course."
* * *
Next stop, the Annorin mansion. Owen has ordered some herbs from us for his alchemy. Lydia usually grows them amongst other flowers in her garden, only one of their horses decided to snack on them all. They try not to use their magic too much, otherwise Lydia would have just regrown the seeds herself with Practical magic.
He's in his storage cellar, poring over a book on his desk, so engrossed in it that I spook him when I enter
"It's Kat. I have your herbs."
Owen and I get along fairly well, but I, like most people, don't know how much to trust him. He has tried to be a better person than his father, and has tried to make up for what his father tried to do to me- but it's hard not to be wary of the Annorin name, still. I'm more than grateful for what he's done, but people with his kind of money often aren't generous without some kind of ulterior motive. Then again, I cannot judge him for something he hasn't done yet.
"Goodness, Katlego, you startled me! Thank you for being so prompt. I'll give you your payment in a moment- and some extra for the trouble."
"What is that you're reading there?"
He's half-listening at first, then looks up to me, with his elbow on the table and his face in his hand. "I've been working on this for years. It's a draft of a book about the intertwining of science and magic and how it could benefit mankind and beyond - of course, it will never be published in my lifetime. The idea is, when magic is eventually something one can be public about, one of my children might publish it."
"Thinking about it...With your...how can I put it - 'social stature' - is there a chance that you being public about magic might possibly change their minds? Maybe they will be willing to listen to you."
"I don't think it's worth finding out," he replies, with a sigh. "I understand what you mean, Katlego. I understand that I am in a much better position than most with magic, but I don't believe that even my 'social stature' would change anyone's minds. I can't risk endangering myself. All of this knowledge on modern medicine I haven't had time to share with the world would be lost..." He growls to himself, fiddling with his quill.
"Funny, isn't it? They want our magic when it benefits them, but only then."
"Funny indeed," he replies, with a nod. "I suppose you know exactly how that feels, don't you? They want a card reading one minute and you thrown in the River Glimmer the next."
Ellie isn't too keen on me being semi-friendly with Owen. She thinks he's dangerous, but we healers have to stick together. I understand Ellie's thought process, and I understand that she's trying to protect me- but I can't hate him for what his father did.
Owen walks towards his archive- rows of bookshelves completely lined with notebooks, textbooks and medical journals.
"Some of these have mention of magic in them, others are alchemical recipes. We've often been accused of 'hoarding' medical knowledge, and in the past, that's true- but much of the Annorins' healing knowledge involves practices we'd be killed for, and so we cannot share them as we'd like to. People like me, you, and Lydia could advance medicine ahead years and years with our power, and yet we're forced to keep it to ourselves..."
Perhaps this is why I am more lenient with Owen than I am with most of his position. He lives in something of a gilded cage; he's probably safer than most of the magic-folk in Henford, but at the same time, even he can't show his true powers too much. Unlike his father, he seems genuinely dedicated to improving medicine for the sake of people's lives. Either that, or he's a brilliant actor as well as a brilliant physician.
"Owen, do you ever feel...fearful of your magic at all?"
He tilts his head in thought for moment, as if recalling a terrible memory.
"I do. An argument with my father some time ago resulted in me almost blasting him with a Fulguris spell. The trouble is, I want to learn more about my magic, for my mother's sake. I want to embrace my gift, but I'm afraid of what I can truly to do with it." His voice slips into something softer. "But the feeling of being charged with such power, it's...euphoric, isn't it? I mainly use my magic for hygiene for the sake of my patients. I barely know what I'm truly capable of. I wonder if it's better that way."
To minimise your power for the sake of both your safety and others', or to embrace it wholly and risk the life of both yourself and others- a familiar conundrum. For now, I would tell you that I would never think about hurting anyone. But would a future Katlego, free to cast Mischief magic as she pleases, tell you the same?
I dread to think about it, since this is a part of how the witch-hunts began. People feared the deadly extent of which magic could be used, and fear, as it usually does, led to overgeneralisations, lies, hatred, and an excuse to kill women you didn't like or trust. Witches fear their own magic all of the time. When you are young and learning, it's not only amazing, but terrifying to know what you are capable of, especially for us Mischief casters. We could never admit this, however- it'd only fuel the witchfinders. It began with reasonable concern, and ended in intentional gross misunderstanding.
"It's not often I meet people who do not wish to fight," I tell him, sincerely.
"Believe me, there are plenty of times in the past where I want to do harm to people like Volpe- but I can't. I'm a physician. I can't let that ever become a part of my nature," - he hesitates when he says that - "but it becomes harder to resist, especially as a fairly-new father. I'd never hurt a patient, of course, but if anyone else were to try and do harm to my family- I don't know what I'd do."
"There's a reason Mischief casting is a closed practice," I explain. "All cross the world, little pocket communities of different backgrounds practice it, but we are not widespread. We must keep it to ourselves and vow never to misuse it. If my power fell into the hands of the wrong person, it's devastating what could happen. Wild magic may seem the most terrifying of regular magic, but Mischief magic meddles with the mind in ways that can lead to horrific effects. I can force a person to feel love, to feel intense despair. I can make a person forget everything right down to how to survive. I could make him forget his family, his friends, his entire life, I could even make him forget how to walk or breathe. I've never found an acceptable way to use my magic, Owen."
"And this 'forgetting' spell...Can you perform it in a less powerful way?"
"I can. I made a witchfinder forget most of his day to get him out of our hair back at Glimmerbrook."
His face momentarily lights up with a kind of joy I'd have never expected to see in him. "Katlego, that's amazing. Just imagine- a delirious patient would not have to feel the pain of surgery for some time. He'd avoid the worst of it, at least- Argh!" He kicks his chair in a fit of uncharacteristic rage.
"Is something wrong?"
"The trouble with our industry, Katlego, is that many who come up with medical breakthroughs often have their ideas uncredited or credited to someone else entirely. What you can do could revolutionise surgery- only I would not be able to tell anyone about it!"
Mischief magic? A way to use my magic for good and not just meddling with people? That's a breakthrough in itself.
"Though I am now curious about your magic..." he says, lost in thought. "It must be quite a feat to change the thoughts of another person. How exactly does it work?"
"They say curiosity killed the cat. I wouldn't like it to kill the Gryphon as well," I reply, laughing. "But, if you're that curious, perhaps I do have a way to show you. One of the nicer Mischief spells, in its weakest form, will conjure an image of love in your mind."
The way Mischief magic affects a mind depended on many factors- the invidual, the strength of the spell, and any attempts to mentally resist it from the recipient. Owen holds on to his forehead a little, as if nursing a headache, but all his usual tenseness seems to dissipate, gradually slumping back into the chair. He doesn't seem to have resisted the magic at all.
"There. That is the lighter end of what my magic is capable of."
"That was...quite the experience," he utters, pressing a finger to the side of his forehead."I'm amazed at what you can do- and perhaps a little terrified." His usual confident tone is replaced by something more sentimental.
"It was as if it had all happened yesterday, in complete clarity. The birth of my children, spending time with my mother, when I first fell in love with Lydia, and holding Eli when he was a baby."
He sounds close to tears.
"Oh, my goodness- Owen, I'm sorry I reminded you of your daughter-"
"No, don't apologise, Katlego. They are all wonderful memories, and with my mind constantly on my work, it was nice to think about them properly again," he says, with a rare kind of sincerity. "I understand that you fear your magic, but I believe you should embrace it."
I still can't believe it. I'd used Mischief magic for a positive purpose- to bring back good memories and emotions of to someone whose professionalism had dulled both. We still know so little about the human mind, and in weaker versions of some of the spells I know, I could change that. It's luck of the draw how my magic affects the mind, but the possibilies are amazing. Imagine if I could remind a melancholic person of the things that used to bring them joy, then...
Maybe, under the guise of the cunningwoman, I could get away with helping people in such a way.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Since meanings of names hold great importance in a lot of countries in Africa, I thought I'd share the meanings of Kat's parents' names. Nanji, her father, means something along the lines of protection, shielding, and shelter. Emene, her mother, means 'do no harm,' emphasising especially why she does not want Kat to ever hurt anyone.
The Nia painting is edited with GIMP plugins from this photo!
