Still not abroad

"I'm sorry, mistress. I don't know how this works. Was I supposed to start smaller and work my way up to the firstborn? I’ve always been hopeless at haggling." The man seemed on the verge of tears. "My wife passed a few years ago. She used to do all the business at market."

"If your wife passed a few years ago, how exactly do you plan to offer me your firstborn?" The witch swirled her tea and the steam made foul omens in the air. "I mean, sure, you don't have to be married to have kids, but it does usually help if you're not obviously still in mourning."

"Oh, my little Jackie is already born. They're five. My firstborn and, well, my only-born."

"Okay. If the kid has already been born, you don't have to say firstborn. You can just say 'my child, whose name is...' What's the kid's name again?"

“Jackie.”

“Well, you’ve gone and put Jackie in a bit of a precarious spot. You see, now that you’ve offered the child, the fatespring will hate it if I accept a lesser deal. So either I have to talk you into a bargain that’s technically worse for you, or little Jackie comes to live with me. Now, I could-”

“That’s fine mistress. I accept the bargain.” The man sniffled and wiped his tears. He looked weirdly relieved. “So, do I bring Jackie here to you, or will you come to the farm to collect? Or is it one of those ‘leave them in a clearing at the full moon’ kind of-”

“My guy. What is up? What is your deal, exactly? I’ve had, like, five different firstborn deals this week. That’s weird, right? You get that? That’s normally the worst case scenario for y’all. But at least they hadn’t had the kids yet, so they could still fool themselves that they could wriggle out of the compact somehow. And they didn’t lead with ‘oh yeah, take my first child, that’s a strong opening bargaining position!” The canopy around them began to darken and the trees began to grow thorns. “And if there’s one thing that really gets on my flat-ass witch tits, it’s when there’s something going on I don’t understand. So what in the ever-boiling piss is up?”

The trembling farmer forced out the words, “It’s, uh, it’s the levy, mistress.”

“The levy? What levy?”

“The king, mistress. He’s put a levy out. He needs troops.”

“Why would he want a child to be pressed into military service?”

“It’s the prophecy, mistress. A great foretelling came down from the Speaker of the Fates, or so the criers say. In 18 years, a great darkness will come. It will bring war and ruin to the kingdom. It will shatter the crown. So the king is demanding we send every child who’ll be over 16 when the omens come due. They’ll get raised as warriors and heroes, so they say.” The farmer looked up at the Witch, a hint of hope shining through the desperation that had cracked him. “Only, none of us want to pay the king’s fateprice with our kids. And Mrs Goodwhistle, she said that you’d probably give them a good life. 

“Or, at least… you’d give them some kind of life.”

The Witch said nothing for a long while.

Then she stood up.

“I guess I’d better get a shift on then.” The briar-bound cottage behind them pricked up its leaves like they were ears. 

“You’re… you’re leaving?”

“Oh, don’t fret. I’ll take little Jackie with me. I’ll take all of them.” The witch’s home unravelled, all its branches and brambles writhing down to follow its roots into the ground. “If my hearth is going to become a daycare for all the poor little prophecy-pocked bairns of this land, I’m going to need more space. And I’ll need to take them somewhere harder to find…”

“Oh, thank you, mistress!”

The Witch flicked something to the farmer, who caught it instinctively. In his sweaty palm was a seed - though it was older, darker and heavier than normal.

“There’s your harvest spell. Appropriate payment, as the scalekeepers demand. Each morning, when you go to bring in the harvest - look to the sky. When the sun is just tickling the horizon, reap a single ear of corn and put it aside. Whisper into it as if you’re talking to your child. Jackie will hear you. In the deepest part of winter, roast and eat that corn - then you’ll get your reply.”

“I… I have no words…” The farmer’s eyes and throat burned.

“No need for them. The deal must be made and the price must be paid.” The Witch held out a hand and a nearby tree bent its limbs down to meet her, offering a branch. “Now, I have much to prepare, so I will take my leave. The woods will see you home.”

And the witch took the living branch from the tree and sat upon it like a broom, then rose into the sky like a sunrise.

---

18 years later, the Witch of Stolen Tomorrows returned to the kingdom. The earth trembled as her thorned fortress - a living wilderness - bore her onwards on a thousand root-wrought feet.

Standing atop the briar parapets was the Witch’s cadre of apprentices. They were all teens and twenty-somethings, clad in the colours of autumn skies and wielding the instruments of fate.

The king, far away in his keep, felt a strange shiver through the gold of his crown. An echo of its coming shattering.

The Witch hung from a giant thorn like a sailor from a bowsprit. In her free hand, she cradled a cup of tea.

“Here is a lesson about prophecies.” She said it softly, but the rushing winds carried the words to her students. “If you fight them, they’ll put you on like a jacket and wear you as a costume as they dance ruin through your life. But if you grab them by the scruff, then you can be the one wearing destiny as your cloak.

He's gone before you can even call his name. For a long time you sit there in shock, rubbing the tight muscles in your leg, trying not to panic. You have a map, but you hardly know how to use it. Hiking isn't your thing, and you can't remember the way back. You get to your feet and hobble up the ridge, hoping you'll be able to spot him, but he's already gone. Tears start to well in your eyes as rage swells in your chest. This is it. If you somehow make it back safely, you're going to end things with him. He's going to regret his actions, beg and tell you that he didn't mean it, that he didn't realize you'd fallen so far behind. He's done it before, just not on this scale.

He probably wants me dead. That dark thought seeps into your mind and you swipe the tears from your cheeks. You're not just going to sit here and accept your fate. You take a step forward.

SNAP.

You pause at the sound of a twig breaking. That wasn't you.

"H-hello?" You call out into the growing darkness, squinting as the sun fades and takes the last of the light with it.

You didn't think this hike would be so long and you didn't bring a source of light, and your phone somehow ended up with your boyfriend.

"Is someone out here?" You try again. "Hello–"

Something warm bumps against your hand and you scream and pedal backwards, falling on your ass.

"Sorry," a voice whispers in the dark. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"Oh my god, so I'm not the only one out here. Can you help me?" The adrenaline racing through you causes you to speak too quickly, without thinking.

What if this isn't a good person? What if they're out here looking for victims who are lost and alone? A chill comes over you, especially when you realize the person is in the dark, same as you.

"Are you lost?" They ask.

You listen to the way they speak. They have an odd accent and a lisp that makes their words end in a hiss.

"I..."

"It's okay, I'll help you."

Something touches your hand. Fingers entwine with yours and pull you up from the ground. Their fingers end in sharp curves. Claws?

"What–" you try to pull your hand away, but they hold on tight.

"Careful, you might fall," they murmur.

Something clunks and rattles.

"What's that?" You peep out, unsure whether to cling to them for safety, or run because they are the danger.

"My bones," they say softly.

You don't realize how scared you are until you take a breath and it turns into a sob.

"P-please don't hurt me," you say meekly. "I just want to go home. My boyfriend left me–"

"Shhh, I know, and I won't hurt you. Not you," the voice says.

You stumble along in the dark, fearfully clinging to their too-long fingers and sharp claws. The moon is little more than a sliver in the sky, and the most you can make out of the thing beside you is their freakishly tall form and antlers on their head that are strung with tiny bones like a wind chime. The bones rattle every time they turn their head to look at you. You snap your eyes away, your heart pounding in your chest.

You don't dare say anything else for the next five minutes. Suddenly your feet hit asphalt, and you stumble. They catch you, but you hear your shirt rip as their claws shear through. They readjust and grab your arm instead, apologizing.

"It's okay, I'm not hurt," you murmur.

A highway stretches before you, dipping towards the starry horizon. Insects buzz and the wind is a whispered howl in the trees.

"A car will come," the being says. "This land traps people. Please don't return."

"Are you trapped?" You ask.

They're silent for a while. "I'm used to it," they reply.

You hear the distant sound of an approaching car.

"Be safe," they say hastily. "I must go."

As headlights crest over the hill, you catch a glimpse of their lumbering form and pointed antlers as they slip back into the trees. You manage to hitch a ride and get home safely. You find your boyfriend huddled in a corner of the living room, looking like he's seen a ghost. His backpack is ripped to shreds, clawed in the same way that your shirt is, except he looks like he's had a much more violent experience.

He's shocked to see you're alive and barely protests when you kick him out of your house. He keeps asking what happened to your shirt, and if you saw it too. He tells you he's afraid it's going to come back and kill him and he's almost mad with fear. He runs off with his phone glued to his ear, and you have a feeling this is the last time you'll see him.