The Red Cap

Else clutched her knife’s handle. Deep human footprints marked the virgin snow. Earlier, she had come across the marks of a large dog or wolf, but they have been old and faded. These new footprints, however, were fresh, human and large. A rather big man, she mused. There might be others. Everybody had heard the tales about brigands in the woods. They had been roaming everywhere since the Plague. Luckily, her errand was taking her in the opposite direction, but what if someone spotted her own footprints? She had been foolish to walk in the open.  

She listened intently for a few seconds, her heart pounding. Silence. She adjusted the strap of her bag and quickly left the old cart track. She slid behind a snow-covered bush and started walking parallel to the track, probing the snow with her stick and keeping close to the trees. If she met a pack of wolves, her only hope was to climb fast. Better not to think about it. Otherwise, she would be frozen by fear long before she was frozen by the cold.  

Maybe she should also remove the cap. It was too visible, the red contrasting against the white and black of the forest. But the color was faded almost to brown, and it was covered with an elaborate white embroidery which had turned dull beige with use. In fact, it was so old that neighbors had been teasing her for still wearing it, but it was all she had left from her mother. For some time, it retained the smell of the sheep fat she used to put into her hair, and when Else wore it, she could almost feel her mother still standing nearby. And her mother had always told her to behave with honor and look after her kin. Aunt Lara was Else’s kin now. 

Sure, going to Grandmother Yag was crazy, but what else could she do? Aunt Lara was clearly dying of the Slow Disease and if somebody had any Golden Theriac to cure it, it was the old witch. Nobody in the village would volunteer for the trip, though. Even Marel, the old hunter who claimed to know the woods better than the back of his hand. They all said Yag was evil beyond redemption. Else sensed there was something more personal to it, especially when someone mentioned she’d refused to marry the Chieftain when he was young, so Else hoped the grudge between the witch and the villagers would not extend to her. Aunt Lara had adopted her with her brother five years before, two starving kids wandering on the roads in the aftermath of the Plague. So Else packed cakes, honey, brandy, and the few silver coins stashed under the loose oven tile and went to convince an old witch to trade all that for a cure.

She thought she heard a faint crack. She froze and scanned the undergrowth. A raven landed on the branch of an oak tree and cawed. She made a sigh of relief. Only a bird. But the oak below had a double trunk. Marel said the track forked in front of it and she was to take the path on the left. She took a few steps and spotted something moving on the other side of the track. Something big. She had a glimpse of gray fur. Her knife was in her hand without her really thinking, when a man stepped in the open, crossed the track and began moving toward her. He was massive, wrapped in a wolf pelt. An axe was hanging from his belt, a bow from his back. Under the cowl, Else saw a grizzled face half-covered with a thick gray beard. He stopped three paces away from her, his faded blue eyes fixed on her. For a dozen heartbeats, they stared at each other. Finally, the man growled in a deep voice.

“By the gates of the Seventh Hell, girl! What are you doing here?”

She did not respond immediately, wary: was it a ploy? But what ploy? He did not need to talk when he could just kill her.

“I’m going to Grandmother Yag. I need a cure for my aunt.”

“She’ll kill you. Or worse!” 

“I can pay her.”

Yes, cake, honey and brandy was usually more than enough for a country healer. 

“She doesn’t care for your food or money… She holds my kin.”

This time, Else heard a hint of desperation in the man’s voice. 

“What do you mean?” 

“We were crossing these woods with my brothers and sisters to join the King’s army, many years ago. But she put a spell on them, and now they serve her. Husks of men and women, they walk like the dead, with empty eyes. I am the only one who escaped.” 

“I thought there were wolves and brigands here?”

He snorted. “There used to be before she came.”

Maybe it was true. Maybe he was lying. That didn’t change the situation, Else thought. She backed away a few paces. The man didn’t try to follow her.  

“I have no choice but to try my luck. Maybe she will be in a good mood.”

“You too would do anything for your pack, wouldn’t you?” Suddenly, he frowned. “What is that cap?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Nothing. Just my mum’s old cap.”

“It is a shaman’s cap. Is your mother a shaman?”

Else did not answer. Her mother came from a nomadic tribe and married her father, the son of a rich farmer, as part of a bargain on grazing rights. She did not know much else. But an unpleasant idea sparked in her mind: “Would Yag kill me to get it?”

“A shaman’s cap cannot be stolen. Only freely given.”

Maybe he was actually afraid of her. Good. Maybe she even had some leverage on that witch. She would have to let go of the cap, but that’s what her mother would have done. 

“So, I might make a deal with her?”

“She will swindle you!”

“Why? A pinch of Golden Theriac is not that valuable for a powerful witch.”

He lowered his eyes for a second, pensive. “Maybe… Listen, you know if you put that cap back to front, you will see things the way they are, without any magical glamor. Yag’s lair is at the end of this track, but do not walk on it, as her guards will spot you and tear you into pieces. Go behind the two oak trees and through the woods and come to the house through the back. Do not come close, stop three paces away from the trees and say: ‘Shifting House, be honest, turn your face to me and your back to the forest.’ The house will turn its main door to you and Yag will call you in. Do not go, whatever she says. She is all powerful inside her house. Ask her to come on her doorstep. There, you can do your bartering.”

Else gave him a wary glance and backed away, but he did not move. Once she had given the cap to the witch, the man would have nothing to fear from her. She would have to make sure to take another path on her way back. If she was still alive by then.

She found the remains half an hour later. She recognized the shreds of the green coat of the peddler who came to the village in late autumn. The bones had been picked clean. The top of his skull was poking from the snow next to his broken box. All the stories she had been trying to keep at bay came back in a flood. Stories she had been hearing for the last years. Werewolves. Undeads. She caught a glimpse of the sun. It was already heading toward the horizon. If she was hoping to leave the woods before sunset, she had to move. Setting her jaw, she turned her back to the bones and started walking. 

A couple thousand paces later, she came to the edge of a clearing. In the middle stood an old crumbling cottage with a smoking chimney and a steep sloping roof, surrounded by a small garden and a low palisade. In the garden, there were several tall boulders, half covered in snow. The door must have been on the other side, for Else could see only two narrow windows, like slit eyes. She grabbed her cap and turned it back to front. She choked down a cry of surprise. Instead of a cottage, two straight oak trunks, each as wide as a man was tall, stood in the middle of the garden. They stopped ten feet above the ground, supporting a wooden platform. On it there stood a house. A weird house, all black, with fantastic beasts painted on its walls. And the palisade… on each wooden post was hanging a skull, an eerie glow pouring from its empty sockets. Each of the boulders was now a warrior. The two closest to Else were staring right through her, their faces expressionless. Wolf pelts were hanging on their backs. One held an axe, the other a sword. The shortest of them was a good head taller than Else. She swallowed hard. But it was too late to go back. 

She took a deep breath and croaked out, “Shifting House, be honest, turn your face to me and your back to the forest.” 

There was an ominous crack and the entire platform pivoted somehow above the trunks. The door appeared; the gaping mouth of some nightmarish beast. Else could not help but retreat a few steps, all her senses screaming at her to run away. Before she could do it, a low feminine voice came from the house. 

“Who are you, girl, to be speaking those words?”

“I’m… I’m from the village. I need some Golden Theriac. My aunt is dying of the Slow Disease… I have brought cakes and honey and brandy.”

“Are you stupid, girl? You think I’ll help anyone from the village after they had cast me out?”

“I’m not from there! I came from outside!” She added hastily, “I also have money.”

There was a snort.

“I… I have a shaman cap,” she stammered. 

“What?”

“I have a shaman’s cap.”

There was a pause. 

“Come in and show me.”

“No, your guards are going to tear me into pieces!”

“I’ll tell them to let you go past.”

“No, I’m too scared. My mum always told me to be wary of strangers. Just give me the powder and I’ll hand it to you.” 

There was a silence, then another series of cracks, and the two trunks seemed to slide into the ground until the beast’s lower jaw touched the snow.  The door between its teeth opened and an old woman stepped out, holding a small pouch. She was tall and straight in her long brown dress, with lean, ascetic features. She stared at Else, then frowned. “This is a shaman’s cap of the Third Circle, but it’s old and worn!” 

There was a melodious twang as if someone had struck the chord of a harp. Something flew past Else’s ear. The witch tumbled backward, an arrow sticking out of her chest. Before Else realized what was happening, another one struck the woman’s neck. She lifted her hand and tried to speak, but instead she crumpled to the ground. Blood started to drip on the snow under her neck and from her mouth. For a moment, nothing moved. Else just stood there, stunned. 

“At last, I killed her!” The man emerged from behind a thicket of bushes. He went past her and toward the palisade. “Do you hear me, brothers and sisters?” 

The warriors moved. One of them coughed. Their stares were not empty anymore. They looked dazed and their eyes opened wide. One woman finally stammered, “What are you talking about, Wolf? Where are we?”

“At Old Yag’s house, Little Gray. She put a spell on you. For years, you have been her slaves. But now we are together again.”

“Huh?” said a young man with long dark locks. “Yesterday evening we were singing together!”

“Oh no, not yesterday, Brother. It was long ago.”

Else recovered from her surprise. She snatched the pouch from the dead woman’s hand and opened it. Inside was a dark green powder. She recognized the pungent smell of Golden Theriac. She put it carefully inside her pocket and hurried toward the trees, without looking back, while the warriors were talking and hugging. No need to socialize with those strange people. 

She reached the edge of the woods while only a sliver of the sunlight was left in the sky. Old Marel was still fishing through the hole in the ice. She waved to him. She ran to her house and pounded on the door. Her little brother opened. Aunt Lara was lying on her bed, pale, unconscious, barely breathing. Else quickly threw a pinch of the Golden Theriac in a mug of water and poured it drop by drop between her aunt’s lips, then waited anxiously.  After an hour, the woman’s breath became less labored, more regular. Some color returned to her face. Else stood up, took a deep breath and let out a cry of triumph. And suddenly, as an answer, from far away in the woods, she heard the wild howling of a pack of wolves.