The Iron Witch

Storm of Salt

Some names are better left unsaid.
The townspeople of Altar seemed to know this very well. Altar was a dark town nestled between two severe mountain tops frowning at each other. Spires of grey stone struggled out of the mountainside like dull, weak weed shoots, miserable black flags hanging limp from the crooked tower roof. Below the spires, a town lay cut out of the mountain in jagged patterns, as though some great beast had raked its claws across the valley floor. Inside the town, miserable grey people clutched thin coats to their bony shoulders as frigid wind howled through the stone structures on either side.
Altar was an isolated town, not near any larger, richer city. The only wealth they had came from trade caravans and mercenary soldiers camped there; for Altar was the only town guarding the Giant's Eye, the solitary pass that opened a path across the unforgiving mountains. It led from the luxurious southern nation of Gurren to the savage northern wilds that managed sea trade and arms manufacturing.
The town of Altar housed few people; the men were mostly mercenary soldiers from the north. The women...they were shipped in caravans from Gurren for the soldier's entertainment. Not being allowed to marry, the soldiers enjoyed the company. This produced children who, without mother or father to raise them, were shipped back down to Gurren to be used as servants for the nobility.
One night, one such child changed everything.
Thunder echoed outside the whorehouse as the madam screamed. The pitch black sky was crying salt tears, the water streaming down the window as the women inside began to panic. The young prostitute in the bed, her body covered in sweat and blood from the hard birth, looked at the midwife in fear as she beheld her child.
All the residents of Altar were dark-haired and dark-eyed; this child was so pale her skin shone almost luminously.
"There!" screeched the madam, "Arie's given birth to a witch!"
The mother's face paled as the infant was nearly thrown in her arms. Truly, it was a strange sight that the wee babe looked. Her full head of hair was so blonde it looked white; her curious eyes were a piercing ice blue. She was fine boned, like a fairy, and looked nearly inhuman.
The rain pounded on the stone structure, drowning out any sound other than e the booming thunder echoing off the the mountains. The babe herself made no sound at all.
The women grimly agreed; the infant was cursed. She couldn't be allowed to live, as was the custom in their village. The madam sent a young serving girl out into the night, the baby bundled in her arms.
The serving girl, having been stolen away by a caravan years ago, knew nothing about the customs of this village, and took pity on the helpless child. Instead of throwing the baby from the Giant's Eye cliffs, she turned to face the mountain, the rain pouring down her face. On the mountain, they said, she was there...
A grueling climb in salty rain and rocky ground let the girl and the crying child to a dark, dangerous forest of scraggly pines so thick that each clearing felt as though the wood was breathing. Dark shadows flitted behind thickets and trees as lightning flashed above them.
The girl collapsed in exhaustion, realizing that she had come to her destination before she saw it. Lightning flashed again, revealing a pile of tangled ivy. At least, at first it was ivy...the second flash revealed a tiny cottage made of stone. Animal bones rattled in the trees and bowls of unidentifiable, murky liquids rippled with rain water where they sat on the ground.
"Oh Witch of the Giant's Eye!" Cried the girl over the wind and rain, "Take into your care one of your own, for she is without a mother among the women mortal!"
Thunder crashed, though there was no flash of lightning preceding it. The girl gasped as a wild figure appeared before her, emerald eyes flashing in fury.
"LEAVE THIS PLACE," said the figure in a great, booming voice that was neither male nor female, "YOU ARE NOT WELCOME IN MY HALLOWED SANCTUARY, MORTAL!"
The girl screamed, dropping the baby and careening down the mountain like the devil was at her heels.
At first, the mountain was silent as the rain ceased and the thunder quieted. Then, the pained, pitiful cry of the newborn sounded sadly from the ground where it lay abandoned.
The wild figure stared at the babe for a moment, then stooped, her dark visage fading to reveal sodden red dreadlocks and thin, delicate features. She gently scooped up the infant with motherly care.
"Ah," she whispered, nuzzling the baby's face to quiet it. "The tricky mortals. Thought you were a cursed one; no good, I'm afraid. You're not the one they be searchin' for."
Thus was born the Iron Witch.