Page 30 of Up from the Earth

My heart dropped through the earth. She had my name, the whole of it, and there was not a soul alive that knew hers, not herrealname.

I took a tiny step forward, my toes hanging over the edge of the final plank. “Yes.”

She regarded me, and even though I was so far away, I sensed the weight of her stare on my skin. Time trickled on, and I began to wonder if standing and waiting here for her was just the first of her tests. But then the house creaked, a popping sound accompanying the bend of the massive knees beneath it as if they had not moved in years and had grown stiff.

Her hut lowered to the ground, level with the bridge, and there, standing in the doorframe and silhouetted by the dim light from inside, was the baba ega. Her steel-gray irises bore into me, the sunken sockets creating a mask of shadow around her eyes. Still, as I held her stare, I realized that in the depths of all that matted gray were red pupils ringed in black.

“Well, then, child. Come in.”

She swept her arm back, gesturing inside her house, and all I could do was nod, forcing myself to move and enter her domain. The inside was no warmer than the swamp outside, even as a fire burned in the dingy hearth across from the door. It was a tiny place—the entirety of the home, a single room containing the kitchen, a table, and a stout reed basket in the corner, a lid hiding its contents.

I was inside in a blink, not remembering actually stepping over the threshold, and as I spun around, she was behind me. I could get a better look at her now, the firelight illuminating her features. She was an older woman, of course, that I had expected. But she was not folded in half over herself. I didn’t fear that a strong wind might break her bones. And she wore a long black gown, the fabric frayed and tattered at the edges, and the black color faded.

Several long necklaces were draped around her neck, hanging over the cinched tie of her dress. Several rings of pewter and black gems decorated bone-thin fingers, and she had braided her long gray hair in two pieces that hung over her shoulders while the rest dangled down her back.

“You seem surprised, child.”

“I…” My tongue and throat were dry, and I had to swallow several times over. “You are not quite as I expected.”

She cocked her head, the red bead in the center of her eyes flaring. “Is that right?”

Nodding, I couldn’t stop my eyes from wandering to the shelves and curios behind her. The tiny hut was stuffed full of hanging herbs, strange broken things, and old trinkets that sat getting dusty on every surface. It was dim inside, and though even in the low light, it was clear that she had not cleaned in some time, cobwebs and grime clinging to every surface.

“Though, some things are.”

Chuckling quietly—the scratchy sound dragging nails over my teeth—the baba ega walked past me toward the stove. A large iron pot sat above a pitiful bit of flame, and she stirred it with a long wooden spoon, the end cracked and splintered. Next to it, on the single square of available countertop, a mortar and pestle sat atop the stained wooden surface.

I could place the grinding noise now, but I could not place the acrid smell that drifted from it like fog.

Whack!

Jumping nearly out of my skin, I shot my eyes to her again. Her hand was flat against the unused burner on the stove; the lid closed over it. The iron was charred so deep a black that her pale skin looked perfectly white against it. When she lifted her hand, a crushed bug was plastered to her palm, and I swallowed down the urge to gag.

“Hmm, waste not.” Her voice raked claws through the air, and then she scraped the dead insect off her hand and into the lightly steaming pot.

I will not make it through this with my appetite intact at this rate.

“Come now, child. Death, too, is a part of life. You should know that by now.”

“I do.” I nodded, though the woman did not face me. “I know that it is unchangeable and endless.”

She huffed, a pathetic excuse for a laugh seeping from her. There was a rough quality to her voice, like she’d been overly fond of tobacco for as long as she’d been alive. After she stirred the pot three more times, she wiped her hands on the fabric of her dress, turning around to face me with those eerie eyes.

“We shall see.” I swallowed under the weight of her stare. “Won’t we?”

Crossing the room, the old witch went to the basket in the corner. As she took the lid off, I leaned over, attempting to peer inside. I saw only darkness, however, and when she pulled out a skein of yarn, my head ached, unable to understand where it had come from.

“What is that?” The words fell from my lips, unwilling to stay locked up.

“A basket.” She smirked at me, shuffling over to the single chair in the room and taking a seat. “Do your eyes fail you?”

Biting back the urge to rebut her, I ducked my chin into my chest before shaking my head. “No, I only…how does it work?”

She grinned at that, knowing that I referred to the magic that it used to hold her belongings. After a moment during which she wound the thread through her fingers in a hypnotic dance, the witch met my eyes again.

“It gets me what I need when I ask it. That’s all.” Clucking her tongue, the woman leaned back in her chair, putting her hands in her lap. “But you did not come all this way to talk about a basket.”

I shook my head, dropped my eyes to the grungy floor, and then forced them back up to her.

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