Drawtober 2022: Grimalkin

The moon was out.

From the bottom of the pit, I stared upward, taking in the faint light brightening the night sky. I couldn’t see the goddess herself—the lip of the oubliette didn’t allow for that—but I could feel the Lady’s light permeating the midnight air. I breathed it in, lungs expanding, ribs pressing against my skin. I was starving and exhausted. I hoped I could wait to die until my Lady’s eye would see me.

The oubliette was in an old castle—one built during the last crusade that had been abandoned after being sacked by one of the barbarian tribes from the north. Still, the builders of it had ensured their prisons had lots of places to put people to forget about them. And the people of Borseaux, the little town just down the hill, knew very well that the castle was a useful place for things they didn’t like.

I hadn’t meant to be caught. My grandmère had taught me to keep moving. “Don’t let them learn to hate you,” she’d said. For a long time, I’d followed that advice very well. I rarely stayed anywhere for more than a month, often less. Just long enough to make some money, get some supplies. Then I’d leave once again, not returning until time enough had passed that no one remembered what the witch who’d stopped there years before looked like.

Borseaux had seemed different. A winter storm had driven me there, the driving snow and wind blowing me to the closest lights. The folk in the village had taken me in, given me shelter. Treated me kindly, and had even looked the other way when it became clear what I was. I was useful, you see. A useful midwife and apothecary, spellcaster and wisewoman.

And when the plague arrived, I became useful for something else. I was someone on whom the deaths could easily be blamed.

I sighed, leaning back against the cold stone and looking up towards the sky. When they’d first thrown me down here, I’d thought to break the ground with roots and pull myself free, or fashion stairs out of the stones. I thought to rip the town to shreds to get my vengeance, show them what a witch could do when she was angry. But I was weak and growing weaker, and such feats of grand magic were beyond me in that weakness. They’d left me with enough bread and water to keep me alive for just a few days. Now, even those things were gone.

I was staring up, waiting for my Lady’s eye to become visible, when a shadow peeked over the rim of my prison. I blinked, wondering if I was seeing things, but when my eyes opened, the shadow remained, resolving itself into a head with a pair of pointed ears. A pair of eyes, green as glittering emeralds, stared down at me from high above.

Why languish you there, moon sister?

The voice, soft and curious, passed through my mind. It had been many years since I’d used the cat-speak—the poor creatures were the first to be driven out when the plague came—and it took me a few moments to summon up the words in her language.

“The town people cast me in here, little sister.”

Why?

I cocked my head at the little cat, watching her peer over the rim. “They hate what they do not understand. And they do not understand the moon folk.”

The cat regarded me for a few moments, and I did my best to meet her eyes. Cats do not bow to anyone, not even witches. After a few moments, the cat spoke again.

Do you know the soothing ways, moon sister?

“I do,” I replied uncertainly. “But the soothing ways are not within my grasp down here.”

Why do you not use your wings to fly away?

I laughed, the sound coming out harsh and throaty. “They took my wings from me, little sister. My broom is far away and cannot hear me, were I to call for it.”

If I brought your wings to you, the cat said slowly, and set you free, would you help me?

“You would make a bargain with a witch?”

And you with a cat. The little thing drew herself up, black fur bristling. I am honorable. Are you?

“I have a witch’s honor,” I said.

Then that is enough for me. With a flick of her tail, the cat turned and left. I swallowed, staring after. A terrible hope beat against my ribcage, a bird I could ill afford to set free. I waited, watching as the moonlight crept closer to my prison. The Lady’s eye was cresting the edge when the little cat, silhouette carved in silver, reappeared at the edge of the oubliette. Her teeth were dug deep into a cord of twine, and she yanked it hard over the edge of the pit. A broom came clattering down the hole, landing with a thud at my feet. It was old, the handle worn and the brush sparse, but as I held it in my hands and felt the warm wood against my skin, I knew it would serve me well.

Pressing my palm into the wall behind me, I levered myself up with a heave. The cat watched me from above, green eyes glinting. I took the broom in both hands and straddled it. Then, mustering up what little remained of my strength, I thrust myself up into the air.

The broom and I teetered there, a few feet above the ground, and I feared for a moment that it would not be enough, that my magic was too far drained for me to do aught more than die. Then, with a mighty heave, the broom shot up and out into the open air. Moonlight spilled like cold milk over my skin, and I cackled, the sound bouncing off the stones of the forgotten castle. I swooped and dove through the air, the wind blowing back my hair, sending my skirts flapping about me. Below, the cat watched with her emerald gaze. It is hard to read a cat’s expression, but I thought I saw something like wonder there.

I landed, stumbling just slightly. “Thank you, moon sister,” I said breathlessly.

The cat inclined her head. I have fulfilled my promise. Will you now fulfill yours?

“Let me go to my cart and fetch my bag, and then I will do what I can.”

The cat followed me in the moonlight to my cart, hidden in the forest near the town. The people of Borseaux knew it was there, of that I was sure. But they also feared the curses I may have laid upon it, and so they’d left it alone. I sat heavily within, eating and drinking, feeling my weakness draining from me. The cat watched me with her emerald eyes, waiting.

At last, when I no longer felt near to fainting, I inclined my head to my silent companion. “Lead the way, moon sister.”

The cat led me out of the forest, back down the road to Borseaux. I found myself slowing as we neared the village—I had no desire to be caught again. But I had made a promise to the cat, and I would not break it.

I followed her to a small house at the edge of town. It was still and silent, the only sound that of a hinge creaking where the shutters of a window had been left open. The cat led me to that window and jumped upon the sill.

Here, she said.

Within, there lay a small child in a bed. I could see, from where I stood outside, the fever burning through her body. Her lips were pale, nearly blue, and she coughed in her sleep, the movement wracking her body.

I frowned at the cat. “You would have me save a villager?”

The cat nodded.

“But they threw you out, moon sister, same as they did me.”

They did.

“Then why help them?”

The cat’s eyes went to the child. Because I cannot hate them as they hate me. Though they turn me from their house, beat me, shout at me, I cannot bring myself to share their enmity. She turned those green eyes back on me. They are frightened. That is reason enough for me not to hate them, moon sister.

I sighed. I did not like the idea of helping a villager—not after they had tried to kill me and leave me forgotten—but I had promised the cat I would help.

“Very well,” I said. “I will do what I can.”

All through the night I worked within the child’s small room. While the Lady’s light flooded in through the open window, I ground up herbs of healing and summoned all my art. The cat watched all the while, curling up beside the child. When the first hint of sunlight began to bleed over the horizon, and the child began to breathe easier, I met the cat’s gaze once more.

“She is out of danger,” I said. “Her fever is broken. She will be weak for some time, but she will recover.”

The cat inclined her head to me. I thank you, moon sister.

I nodded, frowning. “I must leave before they find that I am gone.” I paused. “I would take you with me, if you so desired to be free of this place.”

I cannot leave her.

“They will kill you if they find you.”

Then I will have to be sure they do not find me.

I shook my head. Cats and witches were two of a pair. Too stubborn to know when we made bad choices, and too proud to know when to leave well enough alone.

“You are a very foolish creature,” I said. “But I cannot make you go. Be safe, moon sister.” Carefully, I clambered back over the windowsill. The day was brightening, and I knew the townsfolk would soon be out. I needed to return to my cart swiftly and be gone swifter still. The broom the cat had brought me leaned against the side of the cottage, and I lifted it doubtfully.

“Do you want it back?”

The cat smiled a cat’s smile. Keep it, she said. A witch must always have her wings.