Terrified but unwilling to give up after coming this far, Jahrra grudgingly eased Phrym forward, her heart rate steadily rising until it pounded in her ears. The pair delicately wove their way around gnarled tree roots and through tangles of vegetation, coming to a stop when they reached the point where the land flattened out and became dry.
From this new vantage point Jahrra was able to see the Belloughs a little more clearly. There was life here, and not just the grim, depressed life she’d come to expect in a place without regular sunlight or fertile soil, but life that had been coaxed and pampered into existence.
Jahrra stopped Phrym and gazed around in wonder at the sight before her. There were strange plants that she’d never seen before, not even in Hroombra’s books on botany: leafy plants with crinkled, bruise-purple foliage and woody plants with alien-like flowers. Jahrra was dumbfounded at this discovery. Of all the things she expected to find here, she had not expected to find a garden.
Jahrra continued to brush her eyes over the well-tended rows of plants, gasping when her eyes fell upon a huge colony of mushrooms. These were even more intriguing than the rest of the plants growing hodgepodge around the caves, and Jahrra soon forgot her overwhelming trepidation.
Fungi of all shapes and sizes, colors and patterns dotted the dark section of earth like the diverse buildings of a tiny city. There were mushrooms that appeared to be as tall as Phrym, some so tiny that hundreds of them together looked like a small blotch of blue or red or yellow paint spilled upon the ground. Jahrra noted red mushrooms with white spots and brown mushrooms with yellow stalks. There were even mushrooms that were covered in what appeared to be tiny taste buds, and others that looked like umbrellas turned inside out. She even spotted some of the incandescent toadstools she’d seen at the swamp’s entrance.
Jahrra climbed down from Phrym and led him over to the edge of the strange garden. She stalked, wide-eyed, towards the mushroom patch, blocking out all other sights, sounds, smells and sensations. She dropped Phrym’s reins as if in a daze and squatted down to get a closer look at the glowing toadstools. She reached out her hand to touch one of the more peculiar large mushrooms, a pale, creamy green thing that had short, nubby branches and tiny hair-like appendages all over it, when the silence was abruptly broken.
“Beautiful, aren’t they?”
Jahrra screamed and fell awkwardly to the ground at the sound of the unfamiliar, crackling voice. Phrym panicked and backed up nervously, snorting and whinnying aggressively. He would’ve bolted, but Jahrra was on the ground in a vulnerable position and he wouldn’t leave her. Jahrra quickly righted herself, putting her hands behind her to prop herself up. While still sitting in the soft, damp soil, she stared up at a much disheveled, very old woman.
Oh no, she thought with impending dread, the Witch of the Wreing! I’m done for! She tried to stand up, but her legs and arms were useless and her entire body felt like it had been drained of blood, leaving a sick, acidic feeling in her muscles. The woman rocked forward, and Jahrra desperately began crawling backwards, smearing black muck all over herself.
“Don’t worry, I’m no witch, and I’m no hag,” the haggard woman rasped. “Unless you think me a goblin or a troll, you have nothing to fear.”
Jahrra would have sworn the woman was smiling, but she couldn’t bring herself to look at her face. It was hard enough looking at any part of her at all. Jahrra decided to focus on her feet, which were actually hidden by a patched and worn skirt.
“Beautiful, aren’t they?” the woman asked again, gesturing stiffly towards the mushrooms.
The pounding in Jahrra’s ears had subsided enough to allow her to take notice of her voice. It wasn’t gruff, but was worn and friendly, not at all threatening.
“It’s quite alright, I won’t harm you,” the woman insisted.
Jahrra didn’t know whether to be frightened or friendly. She breathed deeply and slowly like Viornen and Yaraa had taught her to do when faced with a potential enemy.
She then swallowed her fear and took a good, long look at the strange person in front of her. Jahrra blinked; the old woman wasn’t overly impressive or frightening after all. In fact, she looked like she had risen right out of the swamp itself and Jahrra, after traveling through this strange landscape, wouldn’t have been surprised if she had. She wasn’t tall, maybe just a few inches over five feet at the most, and had flaming red hair unlike any color Jahrra had ever seen before.
Reluctantly, Jahrra forced herself to look at the woman’s face, relief flooding through her when she didn’t find the expected sallow features with hollow eyes and rotten skin. The woman did look quite old, however, and very haggard, with crooked teeth and wrinkled skin, and her heavy clothes were filthy and patched. Jahrra wondered again if this was the witch everyone feared, and understood why they would think that. If anyone had seen her from a distance wandering these misty woods, they would’ve run away in fear. But up close, she didn’t seem frightening at all, and her voice, although scratchy and tired, was actually warm and welcoming.
Jahrra continued to stare as the woman took a few more steps forward, moving gracefully for someone who looked so fragile and weathered. As she drew closer, the woman’s face became more visible in the dim light of the swamp. It was an old and bent face, and the lines were deeper than Jahrra had noticed at first, easily putting Hroombra and his wrinkles to shame. The old woman smiled once again, revealing missing teeth, but her topaz eyes overflowed with strength, fire, and a deep wisdom.
“You’re a quiet one, not what I expected. Not what I expected at all.”
She cackled softly, looking not at all deterred by Jahrra’s rude staring.
Jahrra hadn’t realized just how frightened she still was until a wave of calm washed over her, pushing away the feeling of faintness. Miraculously, she heard her own voice, although the words she tried to speak got caught in her throat, “Wh-who, wha-what . . .?”
The old woman’s face cracked into another smile. Jahrra swallowed and tried again, doing a much better job this time.
“I, I’m so sorry,” she managed lamely, stammering slightly in embarrassment.
After gaping like a suffocating fish for a few seconds, she continued, “I was mesmerized by your collection of plants, they’re quite amazing.”
Jahrra tried to smile, but realized it was a weak effort. She bit her bottom lip instead and allowed her gaze to falter, watching her hand sink into the black soil beside her instead.
“Ah yes,” croaked the ancient woman, sounding not at all offended. “I’ve worked many hours keeping it happy.”
“I’m terribly sorry to intrude,” Jahrra repeated abashedly. She wondered why the woman hadn’t yet questioned why a young girl had been trespassing and poking around in her yard.
She continued on, her face growing hot, “My classmates challenged me to come to the Belloughs. I had no idea anyone really lived here or I wouldn’t have been so intrusive.”
The old woman looked at Jahrra with her head cocked slightly to the side, as if trying to read her mind.
Jahrra suddenly wished she was a turtle so she could retreat within her shell, but unfortunately she didn’t have that luxury.
After a few more moments of her scrutinizing stare, the woman spoke more quietly, “Most people avoid this part of Oescienne, so there was no way you could know anyone lived here. But I’m sure you’ve heard stories of a monster or a hag, and thus wished to see for yourself if such tales were true?”
The woman’s golden eyes twinkled, revealing a startling youthfulness, and Jahrra turned from pink to crimson. The old woman was exactly right, of course. Yes, Jahrra had ideas of a vile creature lurking in the caves, but she’d never stopped to think that there just might be someone living here trying to avoid the very outsiders who persecuted them.