The Silver Witch

When the townspeople found Rosalind sitting next to the mayor's daughter her skirts were lifted up on her thighs and her body was relieved, they knew she was a witch. She was eating the lips of her victims, sucking the soul out of Leda's poor, lying body, bent over, in the shade of a mill. The preacher was summoned again, and although Leda was protesting, Rosalind was chained and handed over to the mayor for trial.

On the first day, three witnesses were called. The barber stood with the powder in his shirt and stammered as he told locals that Rosalind had once been seen near his mill before. Once I saw him collecting flowers and the next day a crooked kind of bird was found in the nearby grass. "And she has never taken a husband," she concluded. Indeed, he had turned down the milling machine.

The preacher quoted from his prayer book and pulled on his clothes as he spoke. It had been months, he pointed out, since Rosalind last broke down the church doors. "Witches," he told them, "cannot trample on a holy place." The people sighed, but Rosalind stood still, silently facing the preacher with a frozen jaw.

Leda's innocence and devotion were praised by her son of gold, who was engaged to her at the age of thirteen. His fear of God was reflected in his refusal to be alone with God, for he was clearly afraid that Satan would tempt him to do something wrong. "He is innocent of the sins of the flesh," he swore. "No wonder the witch desires the whiteness of her soul."

On the second day, Leda pleaded with her father on his knees. Holding the hem of his woven coat she wept with tears streaming down her cheeks with silver in the delicate winter light. He shook his head and praised his kindness and forgiveness. "She is a good woman," he said, "and she will make an obedient and faithful wife. The witch will be punished for attacking the one who is not touched by the hands of evil."

In desperation, Leda stopped, holding the mayor's folded arms. "He didn't eat me! He voluntarily sent me to his arms."

People gasped and panicked, and the preacher complained about the prayers in the collar of his shirt. Rosalind was silent but, when her eyes met Leda's, she shook her head. The mayor nodded but stopped to speak part of it. "The witch speaks in my daughter's tongue! She must die so that Leda can be set free!"

As Rosalind was led away, Leda fell to the ground and drew patterns from the dust at the mayor's feet.

The wood was wet, and the flames erupted and spread with a small snowfall. The people of the city gathered around the pyre, with a preacher among them. Leda was caught straight on the mayor's side, with Rosalind's wrists tied to a stick behind her. Her eyes lit up with smoke and floating flames, but she did not cry as the slow flames warmed her shoes.

People are silent as the fire rises. Leda closed her eyes insight and whispered the words of despair as she placed her cheek on her father's wide chest. Rosalind stopped, her eyes fixed, and waited for the burn.

At first, it seemed a masterpiece. Once red and gold flames were reddened, Rosalind's body began to glow with a silver glow. As the fire gripped the thin fabric of her skirts and rose to her waist, she did not scream, and did not move at all, but instead remained motionless as the cloth turned to ashes and flames pressed against her naked skin. The mill put its long shadow on the market and, in light gray, the pink flesh took on shiny silver stripes.

The preacher's voice rose with suspicion. "Only the Devil," he said, "could exercise such cruel power." Inside the flames, Rosalind laughed, and her breath was a melted silver sparkle. He did not die. The silver was refined by fire, it became brighter, and its form became liquid and blinded in the heat.

The mayor ordered that water be brought to the well, and the gold-plated son threw the buckets behind the bucket, extinguishing the flames of the tower. Rosalind stood in a circle of burnt, molded wood, and shone with the cold heat as the jailer reached out to tie her hands. When he touched her, she cried out, and the palms of her hands were pounding as she washed the molten metal on her skin. The mill poured water on his head, but the smoke turned and he woke up, harmless, in the air.

As Rosalind walked in the ashes and walked away from the city, no one stood in her way.

In a field near the mill, Leda was waiting for Rosalind with her twisted hands in a worried knot. Rosalind put her cool fingers now on Leda's hair and pressed the smooth silver lips to Leda's warm cheek.

"I'm sorry," said Leda, picking up the lines of Rosalind's face with her fingers. "It was the only magic I knew that could keep you alive."

Rosalind fulfilled Leda's words with the palm of her hand. She wrapped her cold arms around Leda's waist and warmed her lips with Leda's hot mouth. The moon pushed the clouds aside and the little moon lit up the silver in Rosalind's light.