Work Text:
Flames to Dust, Dust to Flames
The quiet that lay over the glade was uncanny. Tall grass brushed the skin over Rio's feet as the sky darkened and the stars began to twinkle. At some point throughout her existence, she would have called herself silly for dressing in a human skin when nobody could see her. But those days had long passed. The rosy cloth over her bones tied her to this place, made her feel like she belonged in some unnatural sense. She had sometimes wondered whether, if she wore it long enough, it would start to wither, or whether her magic would always keep it soft and plush.
The smell of fire drew her back to her surroundings. The chimney of the little cottage that lay ahead was steadily breathing out thick, grey smoke. Invisible, Rio perched closer until she stood at the window by the door. The room behind it was illuminated, but the stained glass hid the people inside from her view. Agatha had messily cloaked the place, but her magic was palpable, creamy on Rio's tongue. Agatha used it because she thought she needed it, feeble illusions that were meant to deter anyone that might stumble upon them. Agatha did not know that a stronger kind of magic already filled the space and inhabited the trees as well as the earth. It glimmered when it sensed the witch that had cast it, green and golden and unwavering.
At first, Rio had not dared casting Agatha's spells aside, the ones that hung on the windows. But with time, the longing for her family had become sharper, sitting somewhere heavy in her ribcage. With a slow movement of her hand, she made the glass go clearer and spotted them right on the bed. It quickly brought a smile to her face: Agatha in her nightgown, Nicky on the bed next to her, sitting up and toying with a wooden rabbit. His hands and feet were all chubby, but he was walking now - Rio sometimes caught him wandering around in the garden when Agatha wasn’t watching and steadied him as he tried to find footing. She believed that recently he had started to recognize her. There was no longer confusion in his little face when she showed herself to him, but more often than not - a smile.
Now, she was invisible to him though, she could not risk Agatha seeing her - or his face indicating that someone was behind the window. She knew she could not stay long like this, so she let her glance fall on Agatha’s face. Red cheeks, she looked more tired than usual. It gave Rio pause, but she had not seen them all day, mayhaps Agatha had exhausted herself running yet another con to feed her hunger. With a sigh, Rio left them for the night and hoped the next day would present a chance for her to come back.
It did not. Somewhere, south of the Shenandoah river, a man had gunned down a group of traders. Naturally, the men were stubborn, so escorting them to the other side ended up taking her all day and all night. It wasn’t until the eve of yet the next day that she managed to walk into the glade again. From afar, she could already see that there was no smoke coming from the chimney. And while it had been a warm day, it still worried her so much she hastened her pace. She was still about a hundred yards from the cottage when she felt the heart she had made for herself beating so fast that she no longer cared whether she was showing her face or not: She could not sense Agatha’s magic. Its smell did not cloud the air, its traces were not tangible. Rio rushed to the window as fast as she could, her feet barely touching the ground, her green cloak airborne behind her. When her hands reached the windowsill, the glass was clear and limpid. Agatha was on the bed, her sheet next to it. One of her arms was slung over her eyes, her hair was tousled like kelp in rough seas. But what worried Rio most were the wet patches of sweat on her stomach, right below her breasts. Her witch was burning with fever. Rio swallowed hard, how long had she been in this state? Cold worry ran down her spine and it began to burn on her skin when she realized she couldn’t see Nicky in the room beyond the glass. She rushed to the door and blew all her care into the wind. She would not let them suffer when it was needless.
Big eyes stared at her as she barged into the cottage, the door swinging open until it hit the wall with a loud thud.
“NO!” she screeched, struggling to sit up on the bed. Rio could see the pearls of sweat on her forehead, “NO! Leave, he isn’t sick! It’s just me!”
“I am not here to take him,” Rio raised her palms and came closer, only to watch Agatha struggle even further away from her.
“I don’t believe you!”, she hissed, “Leave us alone!”
“I swear Agatha,” Rio halted. Now that she stood inside the cottage, she saw the little wicker basket that sat by the fireplace. Filled with linen and raw sheep’s wool, it was just big enough for Nicky to fit into it, curled-up and softly sleeping, “I swear I am not here for him.”
“For me then? Is this stubborn fever to be my death?” she snarled.
“No, “ Rio looked back at her, “no my…”, she shook her head, “I was just worried, that is all.”
“I don’t need your worry!”
“But you need my help.”
“We are fine without you, thank you very much!”
Rio looked to the fireplace, and the large cauldron that sat beside it, cleaned and unused. All that Rio could see on the shelves was untouched salted meat and pickled carrots.
“When have you last eaten? When did you last nursed him?”
“He ate before he slept, what are you insinuating? That I let my own son starve just because I am a little under the weather?”
“You will not be able to nurse him much longer, if you yourself starve.”
Agatha’s face contorted. Rio saw her eyes darting to the cold fireplace. At last it seemed she had gotten through to her.
“We don’t need you, I’ll be fine, this will pass.”
“Let me help you make it pass faster.”
“No, leave,” she wheezed, defiant but weak.
Rio closed her eyes and let out a long and deep breath. When she opened them again she looked at the wicker basket. From where she stood she could not make out her son’s face, but saw the way his chest was sinking and rising softly.
“You are a fool, Agatha,” she whispered and willed herself to turn around and leave.
She observed it all for a night and a day. There was always a flicker of hope that Agatha would wake up fully recovered, but by the next morning Rio watched her go from walking around to almost crawling by noon. The decline was so stark it made Rio’s stomach twist. It tore her heart apart, but what shredded it to pieces were Nicky’s screams - sharp, desperate little cries that grew louder as he became hungry and fretful, bored and peckish. The house felt too small for all that need, all that fear, and Rio could only stand there, helpless, wishing she could soothe both of them.
By nightfall she returned with fresh water from the nearby river and herbs she had picked from under the trees that grew in the glen. When she thrust open the door again, she found Agatha sitting by the fireplace, her hair tousled, Nicky in her arms as he slept.
“I told you we don’t need you,” she rasped, eyes shiny, pupils big in the low light.
“Would you rather I left and came back when either of you have died? Him of starvation or you of this illness?” Rio poured the water into the cauldron and moved it to sit over the fire, the flames licking on its bottom, “this is nonsense Agatha, and you know it.”
Whether she was too tired to fight back, or finally persuaded, Rio did not know. Agatha just let herself fall back against the wall, Nicky softly cooing in her arms.
“It will pass, and then you shall be rid of me again,” Rio mumbled as she took a clay cup from the shelf and began tearing the herbs into it. Agatha did not answer, Rio simply heard how she let out a long and steady breath.
She let the water boil before bringing it down to a simmer and carefully pouring it over the herbs. As she worked, she knew Agatha's eyes were on her, cautiously observing her every move as if she was afraid Rio would mix in some sort of poison. While the tea was seeping, Rio took the sweaty linens off Agatha’ bed and found a second set in her back cupboard. It was stained and stuffy, but at least it was dry.
“Are you not uncomfortable on the floor?” Rio asked when she returned to the fire to discard the brewed herbs and hand Agatha her tea.
“I am fine,” she grumbled and reached for the cup, careful not to brush Rio's fingers.
“I could watch him for a-”
“Don't you dare!” Agatha growled and shielded Nicky from Rio's reached out hand. He cooed, but did not wake.
Rio responded with a silent nod and ignored the way Agatha's words were chipping away at her heart, “of course,” she muttered, feeling heavier than usual, before she began to fluff up the pillows on Agatha's bed and Nicky's basket.
Outside, the sun had long sunken below the horizon. In the field, the crickets were humming along with the river toads. On the border of the glade, Rio faintly felt two lonely wanderers walking on the edge of her spell. They did not see what lay beyond the woods, they could not smell the chimney smoking. She still locked the door when she came back inside, only to realize that Agatha had fallen asleep against the wall. Taking the cup out of her hand, Rio gently felt her forehead. It was warmer than she would have liked.
“Let me walk you over to the bed,” she carefully shook Agatha's shoulder, “sleep while he is sleeping.” She pulled the basket closer, and with a gloomy sigh, Agatha placed him upon the cushions. Nicky stirred, but his eyes remained closed. There was a sort of anguish in her eyes when she finally allowed Rio to press against her, lifting her arm over her shoulder, so she could raise them both up.
Agatha groaned and coughed; legs wobbly, she leaned on Rio for the few steps it took to get to the bed. Even underneath all the sweat, Rio could still smell Agatha's usual scent: burning candles, lavender, and ripe peaches. Years ago she had once described it to her, but Agatha had laughed it off, unable to take a heartfelt compliment, as always, when she sensed that it truly mattered. Now, she huffed when she let herself fall onto the bed and out of Rio's arms, but still bent her neck to see if Nicky was still sleeping.
“Don't you dare take him while I sleep,” she croaked, and Rio understood the duality. It still closed her throat like a rope, so the only thing she was able to respond with was a nod. Reassured, Agatha fell asleep before her head hit the pillows. All that remained for Rio to do, was to place a cold cloth on her forehead, and pull the sheets over her body.
She was no potions witch, there were no spells she knew that would ease Agatha's fever, but she knew how humans tended to the ill, knew the herbs and broths that had properties speeding sicknesses along and bringing strength back to the sufferers. Watching Nicky as he slept, she filled a smaller cauldron with more water before adding some of the salted meat Agatha had stored in a glass on the shelf. She highly doubted Agatha had preserved it herself, and rather found it with some other witch, but it mattered little now. Rio tossed in some wild garlic, parsley, and stalks of celery as the broth began to simmer and bubble. She stirred it as she looked into the flames until a small sound drew her glance away. A few feet away, Nicky was fussing in his basket.
A smile on her lips, she looked over her shoulder to make sure Agatha was sound asleep, before she crawled over to where her son was raising himself up to look at her. Still a little sleepy, it took him a moment to recognize her. When she reached for his hands to help him stand, his mouth twitched into a bright grin.
“Have you slept alright?” Rio whispered and felt his little palms against her cool skin. She knew he wasn’t speaking yet, but he bent his little back to wiggle his little body, using her as leverage, knowing she would not pull away and keep him steady. It made her crafted heart beat softer, the way he trusted her without hesitance. Rio mirrored his smile as he began to climb over the rim of his basket and into her lap. She held both of his hands up as he tried to find footing on her thighs, turning her body into his playpen.
Later, when he had exhausted all of his energy, he sat in her lap, limbs sprawled out, as they looked into the flames and Rio stirred the stew. He dozed off like that, his little hand holding on to his mother's left index finger.
As a grey dusk broke, Agatha stirred in her bed, tiny sounds breaking from her lips as she quivered with her fever. Rio wiped her face and neck with a dry cloth, taking off the thin sheen of sweat, humming a low tune to soothe her. In her delirium, Agatha reached out for her hand, twisting her fingers around it and holding it in place. As much as it sent pulses through Rio's skin, Agatha's state was continuing to worry her. She sat with her until the rooster crowd and Agatha turned away from her with the sound. Quietly, she bent forward and placed the softest of kisses onto her shoulder.
Outside, the sun had not broken through the clouds yet. They sat in the glade as a thick, white blanket when Rio carried the now empty buckets to the stream to get more fresh water. It splashed over her feet when she walked back, daisies sprouting from the earth where she lifted her feet.
Agatha's eyes were glassy but open when she returned, “it smells good,” she croaked.
“Would you like to eat something? Nicky is still sleeping.” Rio sighed with relief and Agatha gave her a weak nod.
Pouring a little bit of the stew into a wooden bowl, she sat down next to Agatha on the bed before handing it to her after she refused to be fed. With weak and clammy hands, she drank the liquid first before nibbling on some of the meat and celery.
“It's good,” she whispered against the spoon, “though I haven't eaten in days so I assume everything would taste well at this point.”
Rio scoffed with a grin, pushing the tip of her tongue into her cheek, “of course.”
Agatha rolled her eyes, annoying - sure, but Rio took it as a sign of recovery.
“I would like to take him out to help me collect your chickens’ eggs. Get him moving a little and some fresh air.”
Agatha swallowed carefully and looked over to where Nicky was still resting.
“...after you have nursed him.”
“Mhm,” was her only response.
“It would not be long.”
Agatha seemed to roll it over in her mind. Rio could almost taste the thoughts she was wrestling with. Whether Rio could be trusted, whether this was but an excuse to take Nicky away. In truth, Rio had no knowledge of where and when his time would run out. In the beginning, she had tried to feel for it, tried to watch for signs. She had hoped she might hear a clock ticking, so that she could tell whether her child would ever grow to walk, speak, or have children of his own. Now she saw it as a mercy that even she, Death herself, did not know when he would slip from her grasp. That she was not constantly reminded how short his time had been cut, not when he was crying in Agatha's arms before she nursed him, and not when he waddled out to the chicken coop with her, the sun breaking through the clouds as if it had been waiting for him.
She lifted him up to get to the higher shelves and watched in awe how his tiny hands lifted the fragile eggs from the nests and handed them to her. As she sat him down, he bowed to reach out to one of the hens. To Rio's surprise, she quickly came closer and let herself be hugged by his short arms. Rio's heart fluttered at the sight.
She didn't let him walk back in, she carried him on her hip, her arm tightly around his waist as he played with her hair, smacking his lips and vocalizing some strange song she began to hum along to. She took the farther way around the cottage too, stealing seconds, maybe minutes. He felt so good against her side, warm and happy, bursting with life. She stopped them under the branches of an old apple tree that was long done carrying fruit.
“Look up,” she whispered and he raised his eyes to the tree and watched piously as she made fresh leaves and blossoms spout, filling every branch with white flowers that reflected the light of the sun. They almost looked as if they glittered. Nicky's mouth fell open as he wondered and watched bumble bees flock to the pollen. Rio swayed them as he reached out to the tender leaves and smiled so brightly Rio thought it rivaled the sun.
“You come from this too,” she whispered to him, and kissed him on the cheek, “never forget that.”
He giggled as she took him back to the front door, his glance still on the tree for as long as he could see it.
“What took you so long?” Agatha croaked as they approached. Wiggling, Nicky slipped down Rio's side before he ran over to the bed and held himself up by its frame.
“Lots of eggs,” she responded and raised up the basket, “he played with the hens for a bit.”
“Yeah he likes that,” Agatha smiled, brushing through Nicky's hair with her hand, and Rio felt like it was the first time she had seen her do it in weeks. It made her want to say something, something stupid like I'm glad he is the one good thing I gave you or something like he is the best thing I have ever made.
“I'll fry these up, the yolks are fatty,” was what she settled on instead.
As they sizzled in the pan, she made Agatha eat more of the reheated stew, before ladling the fried eggs on top of it. To her surprise, Agatha let her play with Nicky while she ate. She didn't object when Rio handed him a small wooden rabbit that he immediately began to toy with.
The day stretched well into the afternoon like this: Rio making Agatha eat and drink, Agatha nursing Nicky, and Nicky dosing off on the bed. There was naught said of importance, which was no surprise. As always, Agatha remained the mistress of diversion and flippancy, tossing out remarks whenever the silence grew too heavy. Rio answered them with half‑smiles, knowing Agatha was somehow trying to keep the mood afloat even as exhaustion tugged on her as her fever came back, making her weary, until it finally relinquished her body, sending her on a healing path.
The sun was already setting when she finally said something of meaning. Nicky was sleeping on her chest, even though his heavy body surely made it harder for Agatha to breathe. Somehow, she had not objected when Rio had lain down next to them, albeit retaining some distance that no longer felt uncomfortable, but rather coincidental.
“Why are you here? After all I have said to you, after all I have done?”
The question hung heavy over her. In the hearth, the fire had almost gone out, embers glowing as the ashes were turning to dust.
“I existed for millennia, just to serve a purpose, never even understanding the passing of time,” she swallowed and suddenly felt the need to fumble with her fingers. They felt colder than usual, “and then I met you, and suddenly I was alive, more than something that simply existed, my ‘purpose’ became secondary,” she looked up and saw that Agatha’s eyes were following the way Rio moved her head, glued to her face, “I may exist for this purpose, but I live for you and him.”
Rio heard the slight stutter in Agatha’s breath, but more than that, she felt how Agatha’s heartbeat became quicker.
Her witch looked away though, conveniently down to where Nicky was resting.
Her hand though, it reached out for Rio’s, her fingers seeking companionship, twirling around Rio’s wrist.
Perhaps the moment would not last, Rio thought, but she would stretch it out as long as she could.