Chapter 2

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Autumn in Coriander Village, some time ago.

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Discussion about Isabelle's witchcraft didn't cease to come up.  Isabelle either seemed oblivious to the hushed whispers, the subtle finger-pointing, and the rude questions, or she managed not to care.  Olivia was still up to her mystical tricks, which led Stephane to wonder why she wasn't labeled as a witch herself.

Colette wasn't oblivious to the surroundings either.  She was well-aware of the bad-mouthing that her mother received.  However, as no one actually blamed the child for anything, her friends, more concerned with having fun than with social and political conflicts, continued to interact with her.  However, as the winter started to settle in, fewer and fewer kids came over to play with Colette.  It wasn't only due to the cold weather making traveling difficult, but the fact that no one felt comfortable with their children inside the house of a known witch.

"I'm bored /papa/," Colette complained one day as she stared out of the window, pressing her face against the glass to see what sort of marks she could leave with her nose.

Stephane let out a breath.  The warning bells went off in his head: a bored child in the house was never a good thing.  "Are Bradley and Michel available?  Do they want to play?"

Colette shook her head with a very deliberate motion.  "Nuh-uh."

"Armand?"

"He's out now."

"How about Mary?"

"Mary's mommy doesn't let me play with Mary anymore.  She says that I'm a witch and that I'll teach Mary bad things."  Colette turned around and gave her best imitation of an adult shrug.  "I don't know any magic.  I don't see what's so scary about me."

"I don't either," Stephane grumbled under his breath.  Aloud he said, "I'll have to play with you then sometime.  We can go out hiking in the mountains."

Colette was immediately up on her legs.  "Chantelle goes hiking up in the mountains."

It was always a bit of a mystery why mention of Chantelle bothered him so much.  Maybe it was because Colette talked about her sister as if she were still alive, despite the fact that Chantelle had died when Colette was only a few months old.  Or maybe it was because Isabelle told her stories about Chantelle.  She dealt with the death much better than he had.  She was a little more spiritual than he was, and that probably helped her lay the girl's soul to rest.

Stephane and Colette went together through the mountains, gazing at the red and yellow leaves.  Colette awed at the sights, absorbing them each for a full ten seconds before moving onto the next sight.  She was very vivid and jumped around a lot, hugging trees, playing in leaves, and generally enjoying the world she lived in.

That evening, Colette once again succumbed to boredom because none of her friends were willing to visit, and she didn't want to see anyone because she was afraid of mean parents.  Colette idly managed to entertain herself with charcoal sticks and wooden plates until she fell asleep.

Stephane asked after Colette had been put to bed.  "Why don't you do anything in response to the villagers, Isabelle, /ma belle/?  The villagers don't do anything to you directly, but they're cruel, and it's affecting you.  I can see it in your eyes."

Isabelle gave Stephane a smile.  Her smile was always gentle, but also a little bit omnipresent: it seemed as she could see everything in the world, and smiled at some invisible knowledge that only she knew of.  Her eyes, though, were large and sloped just enough to give a little bit of a content, though sorrowful look to them.  The signs that no one else except for Stephane could notice were there: the slight wrinkles beneath the eyes, the way that the eyelids flipped over the cornea, the tenseness of her cheeks.  "Everything is all right," she said endearingly.  "I've... noticed their actions but I can do my best to ignore them."

Stephane widened his eyes at her.  "Ignore them...?"

She nodded, her smile fading.  "Yes.  What they speak should not be fed by us.  If I say anything or do anything... it only proves them right, doesn't it?  If I wave an arm at them, they'll think I'm damning them with a curse from the devil."  She wrung out the cleaning rag and leaned against the wash basin.  "If you do too much... they'll label you as a witch too."

It made sense, thought Stephane.  But still, he could not bear to see such discrimination, especially in front of his face like this.  Colette was beginning to notice, and spent time with Isabelle, asking her questions about magic and witchcraft.  Usually, Isabelle would tell her stories about her visit to Flenceburg when Stephane and herself still traveled, and told Colette of the wonders there.

It wasn't quite "witchcraft".  What the magicians practiced over at Flenceburg was magic.  Witchcraft was seen as a malicious power, exercised almost solely by will.  In other words, if you thought ill of another person and something happened, it was witchcraft.

When Stephane didn't say anything, Isabelle continued.  "Their accusations will either pass, or they will try to act on it.  If they act on it, then we must defend ourselves, and so we are justified to do so.  But..." -and her gaze now went to the ground, her eyes turning slightly sorrowful- "until then, I do not wish to harm any of them.  Let them act as they wish... it doesn't bother me."

Stephane took a breath and then nodded.  He would disagree: that it hurt himself and Colette.  "It bothers me, though.  And Colette sees it... some of her friends aren't allowed to play with her because they think that you're witching her and it might rub off on them."

Isabelle scoffed and began to clean the tabletop.  "I've heard.  How narrow-minded of them.  Does their religion of crosses teach them to be this way?"

"See?  It's comments like that that probably get them suspicious..."

Isabelle glanced up at him.  Her eyes were serious now: piercing and directed.  "Oh, Stephane... you know as well as I do that there's so much more out there than what that religion believes.  The undead and the beasts of unknown creation.  Is it coincidence that, just as this religion is getting popular, waging its holy wars, burning its witches, that the living dead spawns from the graves and dragons rise from the depths of the earth to torment us?"

-=-=-=-

"You're giving away so much," Isabelle said.  "We're almost richer than the Elder with this grain at our hands.  We never had this kind of luxury when we were adventuring together."

Stephane didn't respond to Isabelle immediately as he filled a burlap sack with the chaffed wheat.  After he got the bag to stay open, he spoke without looking up from his work.  "It's to make amends... sort of.  For a few things that we did."

Isabelle let out a musical laugh.  "So much of it was done in mischief.

Stephane glanced up at her and grinned.  "/Oui/.  I know.  But you can't help but to feel bad, especially since we weren't kids then anymore.  Hiding Olivia's clothes when she was at the bathing spring was something that teenagers did, not adults like us."

"We were like, twenty-something," Isabelle replied, breaking stalks off of the wheat.  "And we did know Olivia for a long time."

"The Elder doesn't really like us either.  So I thought that this gift to the town would soften his heart.  I often think he's sort of behind all of this witch stuff, even though he doesn't ever mention it.  He's a really devoted man.  He has a chapel to God inside his house..."

"It's just because he thinks we're a bunch of pagans.  When you travel as much as we have, you just can't help but to think there's more than one religion.  This 'God' concept is sort of boring, don't you think?  One God over all?  Whatever happened to the old legends of battle-maidens and gods of war and wisdom, fighting giants with deadly hammers and exploring realms of fire and ice?"  She let out a sigh.  "Those kinds of legends are filled with what people nowadays pine for.  They want to be heroes and live in a beautiful world.  They want to think that the people who are up there running their lives are actually like them.  Why?  Because if the gods are like man, that means it's not so bad living as man.... right?"  Isabelle shrugged.  "Why did the old religion die out anyway?  It's so romantic."

"People stopped believing in them... I guess..."

"I mean.  Come on.  Wouldn't you love to be carried to heaven by beautiful women dressed in shining armour and wearing flimsy skirts?"  Isabelle nudged Stephane with her elbow.  "Hmm....?"

Stephane reached an arm out and caressed Isabelle's shoulder.  "Oh.  Only if they all looked like you.  I don't think this skirt's flimsy enough, though."  He let his hand rest of her leg.

Isabelle slapped his hand away, but she gripped it and rubbed it, placing it on her leg again.  "Naughty thoughts, hmm?  /Mon cher/, we're supposed to be working."

-=-=-=-

Olivia kept a close eye on Stephane when he finally emerged from his house.  His strong built frame walked up the path to his house.  He knocked on the door and then waited at one side, his dark features obscured by the shadow of the porch.

She wanted to witness them another time.  To fuel her determination.  Her dress was starting to itch from the tall grasses and she was having a hard time staying still, although she mustered her discipline to keep from moving.  There was a sharp piece of dried grass sticking into her arm and her thigh, but if she moved, then it would reveal her position.

Isabelle stepped out of the door, looking radiant, as usual.  Isabelle and her beautiful looks.  Even her husband Thomas was still enraptured by this Isabelle.  She was an adventuer in the past, strong, serene, and independent.  Isabelle was Thomas' friend before that when they grew up in this quiet village.

But while Thomas yearned for adventure... Stephane went out and got it.  And he did it at Isabelle's side.

Olivia couldn't help but to feel slightly jealous.  Jealous of Isabelle, for having great looks and such a noble sprit.  For attracting her husband's attentions, and keeping them for almost all of thirty years.  She was jealous of Stephane, for being brave and unafraid of the world, for having a strong sense of spirit.  And she envied little Colette, the girl who seemed to have everything she could ever dream of, most importantly, two loving parents with food and shelter.

Her own daughter Jessica would not be so well-fed and spoiled.  She was afraid of the influence that Colette had on Jessica: making her a little more rebellious, a little less likely to listen to her parents, a little more likely to question.  She had to make it clear to her children that there were only one set of rules, and that set was created by her and Thomas.

The feast would be at the Village Centre to celebrate the harvest, although with the way things were going, Olivia found it difficult to celebrate anything.  She wondered if the rest of the town would be able to celebrate anything either.

The little girl Colette stepped out last, dressed in a livery of pink and red.  The poor girl, Olivia thought.  She will be sold... like their first.  If Isabelle had not come here so many years ago -almost twenty one years now- then perhaps some of the things that people here have grown used to would not have come to pass.

Olivia thought back to some of the village women who had followed Isabelle's example and sold their daughters to Villnore, but later said they died of illness or went missing.  Platina's mother, Laia.  Lucian's mother, selling their little daughter.

Stephane got into a wagon that was loaded with grain.  It was not a large amount by any means: every farmer on the block would pull in at least that cartful on a good season, so it could be sold to Villnore.  But no, Stephane's load was the excess that he had managed to harvest despite the drought.  He would be taking it to town... perhaps to give away.  Maybe to sell.

In any case, she found that they were simply too fortunate... too lucky.  Her eyes strayed to Isabelle.  Her obvious charm, the way she wore her alien talismans over her neck, the way she taught Colette how to make bracelets of long, golden hair...

There was no mistaking.