“Herbs and spice makes everything nice,” said the old druid, stirring the cauldron hanging over the fire. She ignored the girl who copied everything she said into a leather-bound journal. Instead, she added more dried, ground lemongrass to the pot and tasted it again with her spoon.

During her apprenticeship, Maus learned her mentor spiced everything so she could taste the food. She poured herself a tall mug of goat’s milk to temper the pungency of the upcoming meal and set it on the table. She listened as Matron Herta hummed an odd tune, knowing that was part of the old herbalist’s magic when creating meals and potions.

Over the years, Maus noticed the different tunes imbued varying magics into Herta’s potions. If the pair had a late meal, Herta almost always hummed a lullaby, and both women slept peacefully. Early mornings meant lively tunes to start their day.

This day, though, something about the old woman’s humming set Maus’s teeth on edge, making her restless and hyper-vigilant.

“Is something wrong, Mother?”

Maus waited for the answer. She knew pestering Herta would only delay any information the woman had. So, she waited as patiently as she was able. She puttered around, setting out the bread and cheese and butter as she waited for her teacher to gather her thoughts.

“Aye, child. The winds are restless this eve, and our feathered brethren bring grim gossip. This night, you must learn to listen to the air spirits. They bring both tidings and omens.”

The old woman lifted the pot from the hook and carried it to the table, setting it on the stone plate at the center. Maus ladled stew into both bowls and handed one to Herta, who nodded at her.

“I smell portents on the wind, child. Change is coming to the grove and I have much to teach before it arrives.”

Maus didn’t like how the old woman said the words, and she shivered with foreboding. She thought back to the events that led her to Matron Herta.

~~~

Maus had grown up in the village of Neeth Tallpine. The elves of the Neeth had existed peacefully for millennia. The clans cared for the forests, preventing the spread of disease and managing the animal population. Until the land of their ancestors became a battleground between the high elves of Rithraunen and the humans of the Eastern Grand Plains, that is.

The Tallpine clan had kept peaceful relations with both their neighbors, trading furs and handmade trinkets to humans and elves alike. Maus had watched as her father, a prosperous merchant by clan standards, negotiated fair prices and traded goods among groups of many cultures.

She was of a very different mold than her parents. Where her father was outgoing and gregarious, Maus was shy and kept to herself. Her mother tried to draw her out, but she was always more at home tending to the family’s garden. She spent hours talking with the goat and chickens about life. When she joined the rest of the village in festivities, she kept along the fringes, watching more than participating.

On the night of her 217th Harvest Moon, war entered the village.

Unbeknownst to the village leaders, hostilities had broken out between the humans and high elves in the previous weeks. News reached the Neeth as the villagers were setting out the annual harvest feast. Elven and human couriers arrived at the same time with news of high-profile assassinations on both sides of the conflict.

When Maus’s parents saw what was happening, they quickly stepped in to resolve the dispute, at least for the feast. Neither side was having any of their negotiations. She could not say who struck the first blow, but her parents were the first to fall.

In her anguish, Maus blasted a wave of thunder at the leaders of the fighting, causing them to stumble and fall on each other’s swords. A fitting end to the bickering in her eyes. For a moment, the squabbling stopped, then all eyes turned in her direction. She stared back, cradling her parents’ forms in her arms, tears streaming down her cheeks. That was when all hell broke loose.

The nearest human jerked her to her feet, signaling for guards to bind her.

“Murderer!” he screamed at the girl. “You will hang for this!”

“No,” came a quiet voice from behind the man. “She will face Elven justice for this atrocity.”

The guards dropped the young elf to the ground as they drew their weapons to face the Elven officer.

Maus watched, then said quiet goodbyes to the spirits of her mother and father. With the elves and humans distracted, she disappeared into the darkness.

~~~

Their meal finished, and the dishes cleaned, Maus followed Matron Herta out to the garden. They faced the setting sun and settled onto their respective cushions, preparing to listen to the wind.

Maus wiggled around until any discomfort in her body subsided. Then she closed her eyes, clearing her mind of all thought. She listened as the wind whispered through the trees. At first, the ‘whoosh’ of air through the branches brought lullabies to her ears, but the more she listened, the more discord she sensed. The evening deepened, the air carrying hints of smoke and death from afar. She heard screams, but thought it must be her imagination.

When she shivered in the chill air, she rose from her seat and entered the cabin. Herta had a pot of tea steeping and she poured a cup, pushing it and the honey pot across the table. Maus stared into the mug for long moments, watching the nectar dissolve, clouding the brew. She tried to make sense of everything she’d heard, felt, and smelled.

“Tell me,” said Herta.

“At first it was a lullaby, then the song twisted becoming… wrong somehow.” Maus sipped from the mug, barely tasting the herbs Herta had added. “I smelled smoke and death.” She stared at the wall beyond Herta’s shoulder, her eyes not seeing the room or her mentor. “I…,” she swallowed hard. “I heard screams. Screams of terror and anguish.”

Maus looked into Herta’s lined face. Her mentor gazed back.

“He’s coming, isn’t he?” she asked.

“Yes, child.”

“This was my last test, wasn’t it?”

Herta nodded.

Maus closed her eyes, taking deep breaths. The Elven commander from Rithraunen marched toward the grove. She didn’t want to leave, but she couldn’t put Herta in danger.

“I’m sorry, Mother.”

“No, child. Maus. Don’t be sorry. You have told me how you came to the grove. I’m surprised it took him this long to find you.”

This last startled Maus.

“You knew he would come?”

“My dear, the elves of Rithraunen have an uncanny ability to track who they set out to find. I’ve been expecting him and did what I could to shield you. Tomorrow, I will teach you how evade his magic.”

The next morning brought storm clouds and the threat of rain. Maus followed Matron Herta to the altar at the grove’s heart.

Here, Herta crushed rosemary, thyme, rue, and sage into the stone, then poured a measure of water from the heart-spring. Maus watched and listened intently as her mentor mixed the concoction into a thin paste while citing a protective incantation. Pulling an amulet over her head, Herta coated the talisman, then placed it around Maus’s neck.

“This will protect you from his scrying for a time. You must learn to sense the divination begin, for that is when the amulet’s protection fades. Then you must perform the ritual once more. Commit this to memory.”

Maus repeated the words and actions back until her recitation satisfied Matron Herta. Returning to the cabin, she packed her few belongings to prepare for her departure. After supper, she went back to the garden and listened to the wind. Change would arrive at the grove much sooner than she had hoped.

“I leave on the morrow, Mother.”

“I know. He comes and you must be gone before he arrives.”

“Thank you.”

Herta placed her hands over her heart and bowed her head.

Maus was up before the first hint of dawn. She took several sprigs of fresh herbs, wove them in a distinct pattern, and left the fetish where Herta would find it. She gazed around the cabin, committing the scene to memory, knowing in her heart it would be the last time.