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The newcomers stayed in Ghodrey for a week. When Utowin was atop that snowy hill, looking up at the apprentice who in-turn looked down on him, he thought about how the witch would probably freeze to death within the hour. They were small. Their cloak, thin and not nearly insulated enough to protect from the cold, pooled at the bottom of their feet. Their eyes, ruby-red, were stark against the white flurry surrounding them. It reminded Utowin of the rabbits he would find burrowed at the foot of ancient trees and thorned bushes that lured you in with tantalizing holly berries. Under their gaze, Utowin felt stuck. They looked so…
Utowin cupped his hands around his mouth, "Are you lost?" He shouted.
The apprentice's eyes flickered and seemed shocked that they'd been addressed at all. They turned to fully face him and It struck Utowin as odd the way they straightened their posture; as if they were talking to their mentor instead of another apprentice. For some reason, it made Utowin feel like their meeting was suddenly much more important than it was before.
"I'm not lost." He said, just loud enough to be heard over the wind. His voice was soft; any softer and Utowin would've suspected he'd been talking to a spirit instead— something conjured up by the snow. The apprentice was pale like one. Utowin was afraid that if he looked away for even a second, they'd disappear into the storm.
"You look lost!" Utowin needled, unable to resist himself. "It happens to you tourists all the time! No need to be ashamed."
He grinned up at the boy who remained stoic in response to his teasing. Something in his face shifted, but said nothing as he continued to stare. Utowin wondered if he'd start arguing, insulted enough by his petty jab to raise his voice. He could imagine small, pale fists balled at his sides underneath his cloak.
Utowin almost laughed thinking about the kid trying to take a swing at him. The apprentice, continually reminiscent of a white rabbit, didn't look very strong. In fact, he looked delicate. Like a ceramic statue meant to sit behind a glass case. Something precious shut away from the outside world.
Just as Utowin began to think he may not respond at all, he spoke.
"You were crying."
Utowin startled.
For a moment, he had almost forgotten why he'd gone up the hill in the first place. All those people had died and that boy, the star of Ghodrey…
A witch's failures are permanent.
Utowin listened to the other children go on for ages about how they couldn't wait for the kid to fall off his high pedestal. He'd roll his eyes as they bickered, because to him, it seemed that success and failure went hand-in terrible-hand. You'd be judged just as harshly for being a prodigy as you would for being a novice. The effort of becoming a witch hardly seemed worth it. But… Utowin couldn't help but think about it too. Eventually, the day would come where the kid inevitably made a mistake. Utowin hoped that he might be the one to comfort him, accustomed to his own litany of failures.
What an awful thing to hope for.
With a sudden fervor, he started rubbing at his face with frost covered gloves. It burned and prickled, only exasperating the problem. He was sure he looked like a true fool then— trying to start a petty squabble with someone he'd just met, all the while, he was red in the face from far more than just the cold. And worse yet, it didn't even sound like the boy was making fun of him. He said it like a statement, a plain observation, like he was talking about how the sky was blue and the grass was green. You were crying. And he was right.
Stubbornly, Utowin kept smiling. He ignored the rawness of his cheeks.
"There are snowbanks all around that'll swallow you up, y'know. It's pretty dangerous being out here on your own."
The boy paused and considered this. "I know."
"The snow blinds you too. Even more when it's snowing like this." Utowin added. "You'll get turned around and probably end up in a tree."
People would often underestimate the dangers of such a cold climate. They couldn't understand that it wasn't as simple as starting a fire to keep warm or leaving behind a trail to follow. Trails could get buried, firewood could get wet, food could become scarce, shelter could become a tomb. Even witches who had spells to walk on top of the snow and spells to conjure fire out of thin air, would find that there were still things much more powerful than magic. Many people learned that lesson before their untimely end.
"I can take you back. Just stick close so you don't get hurt." Utowin extended his hand. "I'd be a pretty crappy host if I let something happen to you."
Something shifted beneath the white rabbit's cloak and suddenly he jumped. His cloak bloomed outward and swirled behind him as he floated down to Utowin, the ground illuminated a soft green before he landed gracefully, the snow crunching beneath his feet.
Up close, Utowin could see that the other boy was shorter than him by a head. He kept his chin high as he peered up at Utowin through his bangs. Engraved metal beads that held the hair framing his face twinkled, catching the light reflecting off the snow.
Utowin held his breath as the rabbit spoke.
"No. Thank you." He closed his eyes at the same time he bowed his head. When he lifted his head, he didn't spare another glance behind him as he walked away; down the hill Utowin had climbed up sniffling.
Utowin watched. And watched. He stared until he could no longer spot the black tassel dancing in the wind. And only then, did he let go of his stubbornness and let his lip wobble.
Ghodrey experienced winter year-round, but it was a particularly cold and cruel week that month. That week turned into two. And then three. At one point, Utowin, a born-native thought that Ghodrey might eventually become engulfed by the snow and ice. He thought about that boy. The gifted one. The one his father had spoke about with great envy. He thought about the small, red, tear-stained face weeping as his hands gripped at his chest. Utowin would remember those ruby red eyes and imagine them wet with the same tears and feel a pit open up in his stomach. Words would echo in his mind.
"I'm a witch! I could've d-done more!"
For the first couple of days, Utowin would watch the apprentice and his mentor, Vinanna, patrol the border of Ghodrey. The woman would speak to the town leaders and it's elders. She would ask about safety measures and the most recent casualties; how carelessness and unpreparedness had led to those deaths, how it was unacceptable. Then, she would speak to the families of the deceased and offer her condolences. She'd bow her head and offer whatever it was they needed so they might grieve freely, without the worry of labor and responsibility. Utowin noted that the boy had not once uttered a word. He would bow when his mentor would, kneel when his mentor would, he would hold out shiny gifts or carefully packaged food; but he never spoke. He never whispered or complained or groaned at the endless trekking back and forth, up and down. He'd hardly blink when they brought back the mauled, frostbitten bodies of the villagers who died heading for Noz. The boy would hold his head high, straighten his back and advert his eyes out of respect for the adults talking, for the families mourning.
Sometimes, the woman would disappear and leave her apprentice to explore Ghodrey at his own behest. She'd caution him to stay within the walls and eat something warm until she returned. On his own, he looked even smaller, more invisible than before. The adults turned a blind eye to him, and the children, unsure of him, would watch him from their windows or the stoops where they played.
Utowin felt a pang in his chest, seeing someone be as invisible as he felt. He wondered if he was the only person to have heard the boy speak, even once. Had the boy spoken only to reject help? If he disappeared today, would those be his last words?
No. Thank you.
Would anyone but his mentor think to look for him? Would they be able find him amongst the snow in his white cloak? The witches came to help recover bodies the villagers could not— Only magic could stand up against the devastation they faced. But they were wrong. Witches could fail, they could die. They could just as easily be taken by the violent blizzard that knocked at their high walls and their stone pillars.
Utowin decided he would not watch for a second time as someone luminary crumpled beneath the weight of the world.
"What's your name?" Utowin asked, early one morning. It was the fifth day of what would eventually become many many more as the weather worsened.
They were in a dining hall, eating porridge topped with cinnamon and nutmeg. It was a classic meal meant to comfort those who ate it. Utowin couldn't stand it. The consistency reminded him of the slush that would accumulate at the bottom of the mountain. He remembered spending hours scrubbing his boots and being scolded for not perfecting the spell that would've prevented it. If he thought about it too hard, he would feel the dirt and grime underneath his fingernails and his father's dull stare from across the room.
Utowin preferred bartering for a loaf of bread from the kitchen staff instead. It was an effort worth making, in his opinion. On some occasions, the staff would save him some extra pastries or handfuls of berries. In return, him and his fluffy companion would make sure the pantries stayed clear of any crumb-seeking pests. Utowin thought that if that was a life of a barn-cat, it sounded like a pretty sweet gig.
The apprentice next to him didn't seem bothered though. He ate unrushed, taking small mouthfuls at a time and dabbing at the corners of his mouth with a napkin. It was extremely boring to watch.
"Do y'want some fruit to go with it? I think it tastes better tart with some raspberries." Utowin offered. "Or an orange? They're sweeter this time of year. I could peel it for you, if you wanted. I think it's fun."
The boy didn't respond. The only sound between them was the spoon scraping the bottom of a wooden bowl and the flicker of the torches hung around their table.
The food hall was decently sized, made up of cedar wood and stone. It was big enough to fit the majority of the population of Ghodrey if everyone squeezed in real tight. The walls were evenly lined with torches, hand-woven tapestries and tall arched windows. Beneath the long wooden tables they sat at were rugs made from large wooly beasts. It helped chase away the chill that crept up from the cobbled floor. Utowin dug his heels into the fur hoping it'd ground his nerves, but each time he looked back across the table he was met with the same infuriating silence and scrape of a spoon.
Utowin began to tap away on the surface of the table; an increasing restlessness eating at his composure. An urge to kick the others foot popped into his mind, patience beginning to wane. He knew that the other could talk. Was he shy? Utowin wouldn't have suspected it, but it's not like he's had many opportunities to get to know him. He wondered if the boy had any friends back where he came from. Did he sit alone at the Great Hall as well?
"Well… My name's Utowin."
Suddenly, crimson eyes looked up at him, finally acknowledging him. An eagerness bloomed in Utowin's chest. He watched thin pale hands place a now empty bowl to the side.
"My name is Easthies. It tastes fine on its own. And if you want to peel my oranges, I don't mind." The boy- Easthies rattled off his responses one after another. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Utowin."
Utowin stared, dumbfounded. "I think that's the most I've ever heard you speak, Easthies." His face split open into a wide grin.
Easthies blinked.
"Why'd you ignore me?" Utowin asked, resting his cheek against his fist.
"I don't talk while I eat. It's uncouth."
Utowin snorted. "You're weird."
Easthies eyebrow twitched then. It was the first time Utowin had seen something other than a neutral expression on his face.
"It is not weird to have manners."
Utowin laughed and stood up from the table, casually wrapping his arms around the back of his head. "You should let me show you around."
"I've seen Ghodrey."
"Nah, you've seen where the adults go. There's a whole bunch of spots they don't know about."
Utowin's pretty proud to admit that he found most of the hiding places himself. While other kids shackled themselves to their desks and copied their textbooks page for page, he'd be off looking for nooks and crannies his teachers wouldn't think to look for him in. In his opinion, he did his best work when he was away from the study halls.
"Your master'll be busy 'til this afternoon, right? And I bet it'd be pretty sweet to know something she doesn't." Utowin tempted. "I'll show you real quick, swear."
Easthies looked away, assumedly pondering Utowin's offer. Picking up his bowl and utensil, Easthies carried them over to a pile of used cutlery and stacked it gently amongst the rest. Utowin followed closely behind, watching as he waited for an answer.
"You memorized her schedule?"
Utowin paused. He hadnt thought about how that might come across. "…Yeah, I guess so. I didn't mean to, it just… sorta happened. I guess."
Easthies turned back to look at him, something light in his eyes. He didn't look happy per se, but there was something… softer in his expression. Utowin wished he could figure out what it meant.
"You're very observant." Easthies says.
It reminds Utowin of their very first conversation. Not judgemental, simply stating a fact; something he's noticed. Utowin thought, foolishly, that he might've sounded a little impressed.
"I'll come with you."
Utowin smiled sheepishly as he felt a warmth crawl up his face. "Okay..cool."
He kept his eyes straight ahead as he turned away to lead Easthies out of the hall. "Stick close, alright? This is some top secret stuff."
Utowin thought he heard something soft and reminiscent of a laugh behind him.
Utowin gave Easthies a full tour. He started with the spots easiest to get to first; the ones where the entrances consisted of a conveniently placed wooden palette or a narrow opening between buildings. He pointed out how one of them sat close to a meadery and he'd watch the adults stumble out, making fools of themselves. He'd point out another that used to be a shed some seamstresses kept spare fabric in. He told him how he hung up the leftover silks around the walls so when light came through the cracks of the foundation, vivid colors would paint the floor.
Easthies didn't have much to say about them.
He'd look around and hum in acknowledgment. Sometimes, he'd run his hand along the doorways or test the durability of the flooring by pressing down on certain boards with his foot. It looked like he was weighing the possibility of the crawlspaces and shacks coming down on top of them.
Utowin thought he should've felt offended, but if anything, it made him smile. He took the liberty of assuming it meant Easthies was worried for him. That's what he'd like to believe anyway. He still held onto the hope that saving the best for last would reward him with another look; something soft, bordering on kind.
The walk to each hideout consisted of Easthies' quiet consideration and Utowin's lengthy rambling about who lived where, who was worth talking to, the towns folklore and then some more. Occasionally, something would peak Easthies interest and he'd ask a follow-up question. Each time it'd feel like Utowin had won something. For the first time in his life, what he had to say held some amount of importance.
When they eventually came up to the last spot, Utowin took Easthies around the back way; a long winding alley sandwiched between tall stone structures. Above them, the snow continued to fall, gusts of wind blowing sharply against their faces. Utowin glanced back to check on Easthies and felt guilty when he saw how flushed Easthies face had become.
"It's just up here!" He called out.
From the back, the building was nearly indistinguishable from the others beside it; all cobbled walls with wooden beams. What made it stand out amongst the rest were the numerous barrels and crates stacked up more than half the length of the wall. Where it ended was a small narrow opening with a metal frame.
Utowin dusted off some of the snow from the crate in front of them."You'll go up first, okay? I'll be behind you in case you lose your footing."
Easthies made a face.
"That sounds impractical."
Utowin snorted. "Yeah… maybe a bit. But it's fun! Swear."
"It'd be faster to fly up there."
"Lots of talking happening, not a lotta climbing." Utowin teased, crossing his arms.
Easthies frowned.
Still, despite his clear reluctance, Easthies sighed and stepped up to the crate. With shaky hands, he placed them evenly apart and pushed himself up until he could get his leg up onto the box. From there, Utowin watched in awe as Easthies climbed with all the steadiness of a newborn fawn. He took each step carefully as he planned out his path, but his legs would tremble as he did.
Utowin, as promised, climbed up after him. Every so often, he'd pause and steady the platform beneath Easthies, other times, he'd hold out his hands as if to catch him. Easthies never really needed it, he could obviously manage on his own, but… Utowin thought it might bring him some comfort to know that someone would catch him. Or at the very least, break his fall.
Then, it suddenly hit Utowin like a brick when he caught another glance at Easthies hands from over his shoulder; he had to have been freezing. The thin pale hands Utowin remembered in the dining hall were entirely red and painfully raw. Utowin hadn't even considered that the other might not be wearing gloves. It seemed so obvious to him that if you were going somewhere cold, you'd dress for the occasion.
…But the witches from the Great Hall were supposed to leave the second night of their arrival. It's been almost a week now. They were stranded in Ghodrey the way those villagers had been stranded on the path to Noz. How the hell did Easthies not have gloves if he'd been here for a week?
With more urgency, Utowin began to almost lift Easthies from platform to platform. At the top, Utowin was finally able to guide Easthies through the opening. He crawled in after him, and shut the metal grate behind them both.
It was dark inside, enough to not be able see the person beside you.
Utowin felt around until he was sure he'd found Easthies' shoulder and gave it a pat.
"Just- hold tight, alright? There's a lamp in here, I just gotta find it real quick." He explained. "Don't move."
Easthies acknowledged him with a hum.
Having done this many times before, he moved forward, hugging the wall to his right until his foot kicked something hard. In a few quick motions, he lit an old lantern that sat on a small wooden table.
A warm, flickering light illuminated the room and cast a sweet orange glow on it's surroundings. When he looked back, he saw Easthies standing with his cloak wrapped tightly around himself, waiting.
Utowin walked over, taking his gloves off as he did. He dropped them unceremoniously on the ground behind him as he crossed the gap between him and Easthies. He held out his hands, palms facing the ceiling.
"Can I see them for a minute?"
Easthies looked at him.
"Your hands. Just real quick."
…Easthies cloak shifted and two flushed, trembling hands reached out. They rested lightly on top of Utowin's, unsure. Utowin nearly jumped at the first contact. He was so cold.
Quickly— Gently, Utowin wrapped his fingers around Easthies' and squeezed. He balled them up until Easthies hands were cradled in his own.
"You're freezing." Utowin complained, voice just above a whisper. "You should've told me."
Easthies didn't respond. He looked entranced, looking at the conjoined hands between them.
Luckily, this last hiding spot sat above a kitchen with several working stoves and ovens. Heat rose and with the grate shut behind them keeping out the cold, the snow on their clothes and in their hair began to melt. Small wet droplets slid and dripped off the metal ringlets in Easthies hair; they hit the floor with a quiet pitter-patter.
This space was the biggest out of all the others Utowin had shown off. It was an old forgotten attic with miscellaneous boxes stacked in the four corners of the room. Not quite in the center, was a large mound of sheets, furs and pillows that looked a lot like repurposed sacks. Beside it were several books, small bundles of paper and a half empty jar of ink.
"What do you smell?" Utowin prodded.
Easthies gave him a look that read 'what a strange thing to ask' but indulged him anyways. When he shut his eyes, Utowin watched as he inhaled deep and sniffed the air. He grinned when he saw recognition reach his face.
"We're above a bakery." Utowin answered, giddy to finally share his favorite hideaway. "The ovens are in-use from dawn til dusk, so it's always warm and always smells like a fresh loaf of bread."
"It's.. comfortable." Easthies says, softly.
Utowin peels his hands away from Easthies' and carefully inspects his fingers, palms and knuckles. The tips of his fingers are pink still, but it's a huge improvement from before.
"You're supposed to take care of these, y'know." Utowin nags lightheartedly. "Seems pretty important for a witch."
" ..You're right."
Utowin let go.
"You'll warm up quicker if you take off your cloak. I can hang it up over one of the beams so it'll dry off."
"No. Thank you."
Utowin shrugged.
When he sat down in the pile of furs, he beckoned over Easthies with a wave of his hand. He sat carefully at the edge, an arms length away.
Utowin let them sit comfortably in silence for a while. While he typically felt a little itchy without something to distract himself with, this felt different. He leaned back and stared up at the ceiling, watching Easthies shadow dance in the light. Once or twice he'd sneak a glance at the real thing, still as stone and watching the lanterns flame.
"Did you have a favorite?" Utowin couldn't help but ask.
"…This one." Easthies replied. "Is that why you saved it for last?"
Utowin nodded. "It's the best one."
It felt the safest to him. Held a special place in his heart. Here, he could draw as many terrible circles as he wanted. He could pretend he was a hunter wielding a sword instead of a pen, something he thought he might not be so terrible at. Here, he would imagine what it was like to be needed by someone.
The first time he scaled the wall, he wasn't expecting to find much. He wanted a distraction, something to pull his mind away from home. Utowin loved his father, he was a hard-working man who took pride in his work. Things might've been different if he could've also taken pride in his son.
It wasn't for lack of trying, there were some things Utowin just couldn't do no matter how much he wanted to. Adults, his father especially, didn't like that answer. He couldn't understand and Utowin couldn’t blame him, he didn't understand it either.
Over time, he cleaned the attic and turned it into what it was now. He went through the boxes and pulled out old sheets, tablecloths, and empty sacks used for grain. With those, he made the makeshift bed they lounged on. From home, he brought old furs and the lamp previously kept in his room. It wasn't much, but it was more than enough for Utowin. It was something he accomplished for himself and held more meaning to him than any fancy spell.
Utowin was suddenly pulled out of his thoughts by the movement beside him.
Easthies had unexpectedly taken off his cap and set it down on the floor next to them. His bangs were mussed up from the wind outside. He looked over at Utowin. His ruby red eyes lit up like jewels by the firelight.
"I'm glad to have seen it. Thank you."
And there, Utowin saw it again, the thing he had so badly hoped for. That softness. The harder he stared, the more he saw. The hint of a smile, a loose posture— appreciation. Utowin felt something intense whell up inside his chest. Something burned behind his eyes. Whatever it meant, he could not pinpoint it, not yet.
Instead, he smiled.
"Can I show you more?"