Plague Stories

Ten months ago I turned thirteen. And so the pilgrimage began, as is customary for a witch my age.

We set out with the goal of learning as much as we can about the world, and developing our abilities. A critical part of this is finding work as an apprentice with an established witch or wizard for the year. I've faced some challenges along the way and so I'm still looking for my place of apprenticeship, even now as I approach my fourteenth birthday. My journey has taken me far from my humble country of Puddlewick, despite it being entirely on foot.

I make my way up a mountain covered in purest white snow, following the direction of a villager I passed by yesterday. The journey up has felt unbelievably long, constantly exacerbated by the biting of chill wind on my skin, moistened by the snowflakes that melt soon after landing on my body. I wish I had secured some warm clothing before I attempted this, but the villager failed to mention the mountain altogether. After some time, I approach a tree that is immediately out-of-place. And as I get closer to it, the tree only becomes more bizarre. Not only is there not a speck of snow on its brilliant foliage, but there is a perfect circle of bright green grass surrounding its base, adorned with flowers of pink and yellow.

When I step inside the circle my body feels warm, instantaneously making me forget the crunch of ice underfoot and the biting sensation of the wind. I drop my bag down and begin unpacking to make camp, but a wave of exhaustion overcomes me. Without unpacking my sleeping bag I decide laying upon the soft grass will serve just fine. Just as I'm about to doze off into a peaceful sleep I hear a small, shrill voice next to my ear. "I wouldn't do that if I were you." My eyes shoot open in alarm, and I sluggishly ready myself against potential danger. But when I move my head in the direction the voice came from I don't see a person. I instead see a squirrel. Almost totally black, save for its left eye which is a striking silver colour that seems to glow gently.

Though this is my first time speaking to a squirrel, I am not alarmed. Talking animals are nothing unheard of. They do tend to be rare because only exceptionally powerful and good-natured witches and wizards can bond with them, 'unlocking' their willingness to share their voices with humans. The only other familiars I've met include my mother's owl, named Books, and an exceptionally brilliant academy professor who had the nigh on impossible distinction of having a pair of cats as his familiars, which he proudly showed off on a visit to our town.

I realise I've been staring at the squirrel, and I mutter to it "Came from . . . Puddlewick . . . " I'm unable to find the energy to respond to it coherently. "Little miss, where's your broom? Did you walk all the way up here?" it asks in what seems like an almost mocking tone. I give the best nod I can in response. "Just come with me" it says as it greedily munches a nut picked from the ground near me. I watch its fleecy tail zigzag rapidly towards the snow line.

Somehow managing to stand and sling my bag back over my shoulder, I begin laboriously placing one foot after the other towards the perimeter of the circle. Before I leave it, I realise I'm shivering. Heavily. As though I had been sleeping in the snow. After walking for no more than a minute I steal a glance back at the tree. It's still there but doesn't appear quite as serene and inviting as before. Between chattering teeth I ask my new companion, "What was that space? It felt so real. Its warmth and its colour."

"That, girl, was a trickertree. A magical creature that lures in dim-witted apprentices and saps their magic" the squirrel snickers and fluffs its tail at me. I try to laugh it off but my chest won't comply with the action. Tracking its quick and erratic form through the increasingly heavy snow is easier than you would think; its dark fur makes it easy to distinguish from the endless white mass that forms this mountain. My vision begins to fade as my feet abandon the very idea of trudging up the snowy mountain any longer.