Short Story: The Witch and the Warrior (Part One)

So, a witch tries to boil you when you’re a kid.

It does weird things to you.

Gretel and her brother Hansel have spent a lifetime reconciling a certain childhood trauma. Witch-hunting is a dangerous and thankless grind, yet a strangely fitting past-time for the duo.

It’s a living.

When a clichéd job turns anything but ordinary, The Witch and the Warrior kick start a two-part adventure to the Forbidden Fortress in Part 1: Infiltration. This is one Twisted Tale, the likes of which only Christina "DZA" Marie can write.

Available now and forever in Everlasting Stories from Sic Semper Serpent.

Part of my Twisted Tales series with Sic Semper Serpent (who are on Patreon and have all of my other Tales), "The Witch and the Warrior" was one of my favorite stories to write. I'm currently finishing up part two, which should be up on SSS's page in a few weeks. 

Here is a sneak peak of Part 1: Infiltration:

“An evil wizard kidnapping young people to his dark manor?” Hansel asked incredulously, looking toward the “Forbidden Fortress” a few miles away. Its real name was Willow’s Fort, but nobody called it that anymore. “This must be the most cliched job we’ve ever taken.” 

“With any luck, that’ll make it predictable and easy,” Gretel replied, stoking the fire. 

The flame was too low for comfort with the chill breeze of early spring, so she picked at the scab on the back of her hand until it bled, then flicked a bit of blood into the coals. The fire leapt up to the height of a man, just long enough for her to throw on another couple of logs. Even after the magic faded and the flames were back to normal, they felt much warmer than they’d been before. 

Hansel snorted, dropping into his seat next to her. “When is it ever easy?” 

Gretel shrugged. “The witch of Reaver’s Bay was easy enough.” 

Hansel laughed. “You call that easy? She almost gutted us. If she hadn’t stopped to gloat we’d be dead.” 

“Exactly,” she said. “When they’re proud enough to give themselves a stupid name and place themselves in a massive castle…” She jerked her thumb at the fortress. “…Then I rest easy, because that means they’re proud. And proud people are stupid.” 

“Proud people are not stupid. They’re just more easily tempted.” 

“They like to show off, and that makes them stupid,” she said. 

Hansel scoffed. “I like to show off. Does that make me stupid?” 

“When you’re doing it, yes.” 

He shoved her in the shoulder. Gretel laughed. Such a carefree sound felt out of place in the gloomy woods, with the evening sky bleeding in the west, which was probably why it faded so quickly. 

“Give me your leathers,” Gretel ordered. 

Hansel frowned. “We’re on the edge of enemy territory.” 

“The birds will tell me if anything approaches us. I need to re-enchant your armor.”

Grumbling, Hansel did as he was bid. 

Gretel took the armor in her hands, testing the boiled leather. She glared at him. “Did you get hit while I wasn’t looking?” 

Hansel tried to think. Their last job had involved a massive, hairy man wielding a club, but he’d managed to avoid being hit…

“Oh, right. The horse,” he realized aloud. 

“The horse,” Gretel said. 

“I got kicked by one of the horses at the stables.” 

“That could have shattered every rib in your body!” 

“But I was wearing your armor,” he said. 

She muttered something that sounded like “pig-headed brothers” before taking a breath and closing her eyes. She began muttering in a language Hansel had no hope of understanding. Only witches, wizards, and—if you were the religious type—demons spoke it in order to bend the fabric of the world. 

Tendrils of light snaked from her fingers into the armor as she weaved together every protective spell Old Nan had taught her. Runes and symbols glowed bright on the leather fragments as she spoke, before returning to brown, weathered armor. 

While he waited, Hansel unsheathed his swords and began sharpening them. They weren’t anything glamorous—witch-hunting wasn’t as lucrative a business as everyone seemed to think. Any money they made went straight to food and provisions, and the occasional doctor. 

Hansel was trying to save up for a nicer sword, something that wouldn’t rust or break as easily. But quality steel was expensive, and they always ended up burning through their savings for other, more immediate necessities.

Gretel finished with her spell and handed back the armor. No sooner had Hansel put it on, a crow shrieked nearby. 

Gretel stiffened, her eyes growing sharp. 

“What?” he asked. 

She didn’t answer, looking to the south, away from the fortress.

He heard it then. Horses. He dropped his whetstone and raised both swords, putting himself in front of Gretel. 

Three mounted men came into view, wearing glistening silver armor. Hansel wanted to smack himself for not seeing them coming sooner. The men wore their weapons at their backs, and emblazoned on their silver armor was the Blue Eyes of the Sightless God—the symbol of the royal church.

The two of them against three armed and mounted knights… that would be tricky. Hansel was calculating all the different ways they could fight them off when Gretel squeezed his shoulder. 

She stepped forward, a pleasant smile on her face. “Well met, friends. The king’s knights are always welcome at our fire.” 

Hansel reluctantly sheathed his swords, trying to look friendly. 

Their leader, a beast of a man with a silvering beard, managed a polite smile. “Well met, ma’am. We were surprised to see your fire. Most folk around here are sensible enough to avoid the Forbidden Fortress.” 

“Witch-hunters can’t be sensible,” Hansel said. “It just gets in the way of the job.” 

The youngest knight, who had less than twenty years on his face and bore a sword and shield, brightened considerably. “You wouldn’t be Hansel and Gretel now, would you?” 

“The very same,” Hansel said, grinning at Gretel. “I think we’ve become legendary.” 

“A legendary pain in the ass,” the third knight said, flicking the bowstring at his chest. He was the least armored of the three, wearing only chainmail and leather rather than the shining, bulky plate of his comrades. “We’re the ones paid to keep the king’s peace and hunt witches, but when we get to the scene, the witch is already dead.” 

Hansel shrugged. “It’s not our fault you’re too slow.” 

“This one is ours,” he said threateningly, pointing toward the fort in the distance. 

“Friends, friends,” Gretel said, holding up her hands. “I’m sure there’s plenty of glory to go around. We’ve heard talk that the fortress is heavily guarded. We could use the backup.” 

“What exactly is your plan?” the youngest knight asked, looking Gretel up and down. Gretel had gotten plenty of those looks before, and Hansel had to clench his fists to keep from throttling the young man. Such looks were hard for her to avoid, with curvy hips, dark hair, and a round, innocent-looking face.

She certainly didn’t look like a witch-hunter. Definitely not in her plain blue dress and gray cloak with no weapons or armor in sight. (She kept two knives hidden in her sleeves, and another in her boot.) Hansel didn’t look much better. He’d prayed hard for a growth spurt when he was a boy, but he’d always been small. And growing a beard? Even at twenty-five, he never managed it.

In short, they looked far more like a concubine and squire to great warriors rather than warriors themselves. But as much as Hansel would like finer leathers, better steel, and maybe another few inches of height, he knew it was also their greatest strength. Gretel especially needed their enemies to underestimate her. 

“I infiltrate the castle and let my brother in,” she said.

“How?” the curious young knight asked. 

“The best way to catch a prey is to give them what they want,” Hansel said. “This wizard wants young people, and seems to prefer women.” 

The bearded leader glared at Hansel. “You use your own sister as bait?” 

Hansel rolled his eyes. “It was her idea.”

“If you’re that worried for my safety, sirs, then come with us,” Gretel offered.

Hansel coughed in an inconspicuous effort to tell her this was a horrible idea. She shot him a glare that read: Be quiet, I know what I’m doing.

Neither of them liked going anywhere near knights, unless it was to kill them. But unlike Hansel, Gretel had mastered the art of not complaining about it. 

“Better we work together than get in each others’ way,” she added. 

The knights looked at each other. After some wordless communication, they dismounted. “Very well,” the leader said. “I’m Leon.” He pointed to the others. “The young one is Jonas, and the archer is Finn.” 

“Sir Leon?” Hansel echoed. “You served with Sir Bruno, didn’t you?” 

“Aye. You knew him?” 

Hansel grimaced, the scar across his chest burning with the memory. “Briefly. We didn’t get along.”

“A pleasure to meet his friend, though,” Gretel said sweetly. How she could lie through her teeth like that, Hansel never knew. 

Read the rest of the tale on Sic Semper Serpent's Patreon page here.