فصل 48

48.

In Which a Final Story Is Told

Yes.

There is a witch in the woods.

Well, of course there is a witch. She came round the house just yesterday. You’ve seen her, I’ve seen her, we’ve all seen her.

Well, of course she doesn’t just advertise her witchiness. It would be rude. What a thing to say!

She turned magic when she was just a baby. Another witch, an ancient witch, filled her to bursting with more power than she knew what to do with. And the magic flowed and flowed from the old witch into the new, the way water flows down the mountain. That’s what happens when a witch claims someone as her own—someone to be protected above all else. The magic flows and flows until there is no more left to give.

That’s how our Witch claimed us. The whole Protectorate. We are hers and she is ours. Her magic blesses us and all that we see. It blesses the farms and the orchards and the gardens. It blesses the Bog and the Forest and even the Volcano. It blesses us all equally. This is why the people of the Protectorate are healthy and hale and shining. This is why our children are rosy-­cheeked and clever. This is why we have happiness in abundance.

Once upon a time, the Witch received a poem from the Beast of the Bog. Perhaps it was the poem that made the world. Perhaps it was the poem that will end it. Perhaps it is something else entirely. All I know is that the Witch keeps it safe in a locket under her cloak. She belongs to us, but one day her magic will fade and she will wander back into the Bog and we won’t have a witch anymore. Only stories. Perhaps she will find the Beast. Or become the Beast. Or become the Bog. Or become a Poem. Or become the world. They are all the same thing, you know.