The day after the festival, Gwen had no such luck finding a person who would sell a boat to her. Sure, there were many other means of getting off the island, but that involved money. Money which all of the village knew she didn't have, due to Charles loud mouth. If she were to suddenly come up with some gold coin, or other means of trade, the villagers would be suspicious. Something they were already at.
Word had spread quickly about the Witch Stories. That's what they called them. The women had gossiped everything they had heard about, and the children weren't much help as they told their parents and brothers the same thing. It wasn't strange for the villagers to find a stranger who had a different belief than them, however it was the first time they had heard witches instead of Christ. They were all very religious when it came down to their gods, Odin, Frigga, Thor. Even though they don't talk about them much, besides all of their fishing tales, this was the first time they came to realize that some delusional person came up with the ideas of mortal women who had magical powers to do anything.
Which, they were completely wrong. Witches, were in fact, immortal. And no, they cannot do everything. Gwen ought to know. She might be able to heal herself and Gull to an extent, and that she has her own specialty, but there was no way on Emeralds Land would she ever find herself talking with the plants or commanding the clouds. Every Witch had their own way of doing things, their own weaknesses. These people clearly had the wrong idea, but that didn't help Gwen's case.
Any type of friendship she might of had with Aoife had been replaced with suspicion and snappish remarks. It was no doubt that Gwen's spices had done what they could, and she was now a freeloader. She was trying very hard to find herself a boat, something that would fair better on the seas, but unfortunately no fisherman in his mind would sell his boat. And if Gwen was to find something to buy it with, she might get attacked for fear of the talk of Witches.
The town had grown increasingly unfavorable to her, and it was high time to leave.
Gwen knew that, and two weeks has passed since then, and still no way out.
She was trapped on the island, and she knew it. None of the fishermen wanted her on a boat for passage to the nearest piece of land, so that she might forge her way into the unknown parts of Norway, and maybe get into Sweden. It would certainly throw off her pursuers, that much was certain, but there was the alluring scent and excitement that the sea gave to Gwen, and she was helpless to say far from it.
So, Gwen had settled down for making something useful to the village as a way to barter herself out. Weaving tall blades of grass, she made rope, fishing nets, anything that might seem useful. She had taught herself how to do so, when she was but a small child on the rocky shores of Britain. While some of the fishermen seemed to be interested in her nets, most of them scoffed at her. They favored their poles instead, with a piece of straw rope through a hole on the wooden stick, a worm (or in some cases, men bragged about putting bits of cheese on the end of theirs and they were for sure to be in luck of a fish) and the end of the rope attached to a hand carved piece of wood in a shape of a hook. However, Gwen proclaimed that she could catch more fish in an hour with a single net rather than a pole.
Nobody believed her though.
Gwen was trapped. Time was counting down to the end of her freedom, even though she felt like she was trapped in a dungeon already. They were coming. She could feel it in her bones, the winds whispered in her ears of bright red sails and a black crossbones flag waving, coming closer. They were to be soon here, she could tell. The safe haven was no longer a freedom she held, rather a prison. The island was suffocating her. Gwen knew something was going to change, and whether it be good or bad, change was still happening. There was only one Fate Witch out there, even a legend unto her sisters. Nobody knew if she even existed, but Gwen could tell that she was real. And even know, she was manipulating the strings of fate, causing the intended path to come to light.
"Hey! You!"
Gwen almost dropped her weaving, startled by the sudden person yelling at her. A boy, maybe seventeen years old, was waving a crooked staff in her direction. Gwen was in the large field where she had found Gull, and the sheep were on the other side of the grassy plain.
"Yes you! I am talking to you, you dull looking girl!"
Gull looked up from his nap, his ears pricked and a low growl in his throat. It was the first time that Gwen had seen the friendly pup so defensive before.
"I'm going to assume that your name is Erik, so leave me alone."
"That is my dog, girl. Give him back, he isn't yours." Erik stood above her, trying to look taller as to scare her. It didn't do anything but cause a minor tinge of annoyance from Gwen.
"He isn't mine. Gull belongs to himself, and he certainly doesn't belong to you." She clipped her words sharply, and went back to ignoring the boy and turned her attention back to the grass she was weaving.
"Dog! Come here!" The boy said in a demanding tone to Gull, who only flattened his ears and bared his teeth. "Dog! I said, come here!" Gull snapped his teeth to Erik, who didn't waste any more words before using the hook on his staff to hit Gull squarely between the eyes. There was a high pitched yelp, and Gwen was up on her feet before she knew it.
"Leave the pup alone, boy. Go back to your sheep." Her voice was calm and steady, but she saw that she infuriated Erik more than anything. He took a sweeping hit at her, but Gwen caught it. The wood bit into her palm, but Gwen didn't break her eye contact. "You hurt my dog one more time, I will make you regret ever thinking about it."
"Oooh, and what are you doing to do about it?" Erik sneered, wrenching his staff from my hand. "You're just some stranger who is the talk of the village. My father takes care of people like you, and if you don't leave here soon, it'll be you who will be doing the regretting."
"Your father doesn't hold any power over me." Gwen raised her chin, "and neither do you. And I assure you, when I leave, Gull will be coming with me. I won't leave him to a mongrel like you."
Erik went oddly still, and a smirk grew on his face. "Oh yeah? How about I do something about you, you little witch. Do you think the idiots by the harbor will come and rescue you when I tell them I saw you making the grass weave itself? Nobody likes the talk about witches around here, and who would believe you? The Witch Girl? Or Erik, son of the sheep herder."
Erik reached out, grabbing Gwen's shoulder. She slapped his hand away, "don't touch me."
"Why, you afraid of a little lowly sheep herder, witch?" Erik's eyes flickered to something past Gwen's head, and his hand came up and snatched Gwen's wand from her hair, pulling on a few strands to make her head sting. "Oooh, is this your little magic stick."
"Give that back." Gwen thrusted out her hand, clenching her jaw shut. Her wand was now in the hands of a boy who didn't know the meaning of magic, and probably wouldn't. "Give it back, or I won't make you regret it."
Erik bounced the stick between his fingers. "Ooh, whatever shall you do, witch girl? Cast a spell on me? Oh, I'm so scared."
"Last chance, and I'm afraid of what will happen next will be your own fault." Her voice was void of any emotion.
Erik looked at Gwen, a little taken aback by her sudden calm. "You know, I've heard the story about you and this little stick. You really like it, don't you?"
"Erik."
"What would happen if I broke it?" His hands braced up against the wood, and Gwen didn't move.
"Erik." She said again, her voice louder.
Erik put more pressure on the wand, and it was curving. It resisted him breaking it. Still he put more pressure on it, until it was a perfect U shape. "Come'on why isn't this breaking!" He stomped his foot, just was the pressure gates of Gwen's magic wand opened.
Yellow light flicked up his arms, and Erik's eyes opened in surprise as he suddenly couldn't move his arms anymore. In fact, he couldn't move any part of his body anymore. He watched as a yellow sheen crawled up his skin, making it feel dead and cold, until he looked up at Gwen with a wild look.
She stared at him, a blank mask on her face. "Erik, I warned you." She said, sighing. "Witches may exist, and some of them may look human. However, when we are insulted," her fingers curled around her wand and yanked it out of Erik's unyielding grip, "we are anything but. Your fate rests on destiny, I'm afraid, young one. You could be melted down, I hear that's painful. You could get shipped around, and then chipped away, piece by piece."
"H-ha hap me." Erik's mouth seemed to barely move as the yellow flowed up his arms and down his torso. His legs were already changed.
"Help you? Maybe. The only positive outcome of your situation is that I undo it. However, you hurt my dog. You cut and hurt a baby little dog. You brag, and spend all of your days wasting away thinking you're special. Your pride gets you into trouble, you take others fate into your own hands. I don't believe in people like you should get the finer things in life. Some of my sisters don't believe that either. You insulted, and even took my wand from my possession. In other Countries, that's signing your death date."
Erik looked up, his face becoming younger and tears welled up in his eyes. His head and throat were the only things yet untouched by the spell. "Pul-pluese."
"Maybe in a few years, if your intact. Then, your lesson in humility will come undone. To break your spell, you must do good to another witch, in which you fully redeem yourself. Only then, will you finally be normal again."
Erik's brown hair turned blonde, the tears hardening against his cheeks. The gold statue sat gleaming in the daylight. Gull hesitantly came forward to sniff at his leg, and she let him do so. Erik wouldn't be bothering anybody for a long, long time. Maybe he wouldn't be able to break his spell before he was melted down. A terrible fate, but one to come if you were turned into gold.
Gwen looked down at her wand, and then shook it a few times. The lead had turned into gold, a defense mechanism that signified that the wand was still active. She didn't want it active when she put it back in her hair, it might turn it blonde again. And that was only horrifying after the fourth time that she had done it. The beads twisted in her hair grew heavy as they were suddenly turned into gold, instead of the wood that they once were, and Gwen cursed under her breath as she turned them back. Sometimes her control was patchy at best when somebody else had activated her wand. It was better to have it in her control at all times.
Then an echoing sound came from the direction of the village, making Gwen stop in her tracks and look over. No. It came again, and this time, the wind carried the faint smell of blood and the sound of a crying child. No. The sound came again, and this time the ground underneath Gwen's feet shuddered, and the statuette of Erik fell over. Another cannon fired, and this time Gull had to crouch down so that he didn't stumble.
The pirates have come.
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