The Flower Witch had come to live at the watermill near the village. Just as she had predicted — that the sickness would return unless its cause was identified — by the next morning, villagers had again begun to report nausea.
Daon immediately headed to the watermill to seek the witch’s help. As the building came into view, he found the surroundings transformed entirely from yesterday — flowers of every kind blooming, fruits and vegetables ripening, a scene of vivid and abundant color that hadn’t been there before.
The building itself was beginning to be swallowed by greenery. …In a single day, this place had become, unmistakably, a witch’s home.
“Ma’am Witch, are you in there…!”
He knocked on the door, but no answer. He opened the door — she wasn’t inside. She seemed to have gone out. The sickness progresses quickly, but it won’t kill in a single day. He decided to wait here for the witch to return.
Still, if the medicine cures them only for them to fall ill again the next day, they would need the witch’s medicine every day. Was this how things would continue from here on?
(Then… this village will become completely dependent on the witch. Is that perhaps the intention…?)
Unable to live without begging medicine from the witch — in that situation, the village would have no choice but to treat her with deference. That gentle-smiling witch says she lost her voice and cannot speak, but were they not simply interpreting her silence however they wished?
If the cause of the sickness couldn’t be found, this situation would repeat forever. There was even the possibility that the witch herself had brought on the sickness —
“Daon!”
“…Ah — it’s you. Where is ma’am Witch? I need to speak with her…”
“Ma’am Witch is out back right now. And she’s found the cause of the sickness!”
“What?”
According to the beastkin boy Noel, who travels with the witch, toxins had apparently been flowing in from upstream. The witch had noticed this and grown a water-purifying flower throughout the river, he said.
The witch herself appeared shortly after. Walking at an unhurried pace, fragrance of flowers trailing around her. The same gentle smile as always, a grass basket in her hands — and even that alone is beautiful enough to look like a painting.
“I truly don’t know how to thank ma’am Witch enough… ah, ma’am Witch. This child has just told me everything. But several people have already fallen ill, so I came to discuss it — though I suppose there’s no need to ask…”
He had been about to ask her to make medicine for the villagers — and the grass basket she was carrying already held the same full-recovery potions as the day before, and the witch held it out to Daon with a smile.
Looking at her again, her beauty really is something beyond the human. And her heart, too — truly straightforward and kind. She had noticed the sickness would repeat and prepared medicine in advance; she had already purified the root cause in the river.
(To think I harbored doubt, even for a moment. I am ashamed of myself. …Forgive me, ma’am Witch.)
Whether because of her impossibly beautiful appearance, or the impression she’d made when they first met — even wanting to trust her, the doubt had never fully left the bottom of his heart.
Why had she lived in the miasma-laden mountain for five hundred years? He’d thought of plausible reasons, but then going home and turning it over alone, he’d found himself wondering whether someone truly that compassionate could exist in this world.
(But this witch — I’m beginning to believe she really could be that.)
He had hinted, again and again, that she should ask for something. But the only thing she ever asked for was to live in the village. And even that was, ultimately, part of helping the village. …There is such a thing as having too little self-interest.
He moved to deliver the medicine to the villagers right away, but dizziness came over him and his body swayed. Daon had been faintly aware of nausea, but the sickness had apparently relapsed in him as well.
Poor health makes thinking turn dark. He had no intention of using that as an excuse for having doubted the witch. His own suspicious nature had simply kept the doubt from clearing.
The witch tapped him on the shoulder, and he turned. Separate from what was in the grass basket, she was holding a berry filled with full-recovery potion.
(She noticed my condition too. But the villagers must come first…)
As village chief, the villagers take priority; if he could still move, he would be last. He had been thinking exactly that — and then the witch scored the tip of the berry. Medicine dripped from it, falling to the ground.
If he didn’t drink this now, it would be wasted. So he had no choice but to drink it.
This witch had surely seen through his sense of duty. And yet something in her — a voice without sound — seemed to be saying: you cannot run around like this in that condition. Take care of yourself too.
(… Truly… what a kind witch she is…)
He would never doubt this person’s good heart again. If anyone else doubted her, Daon would be the one to deny it.
He drank the medicine in one go, expressed his gratitude, and ran toward the village. He would go around giving out the medicine already handed to him, and when it ran short, come back to ask the witch for more.
“Ah, Daon. I was waiting for you. …I ran off on my own and now… I don’t have any medicine.”
Noel, ears and tail drooping guiltily, is also a very good child. Having been raised by that witch, there’s no chance this boy’s character will grow crooked. He’ll grow up to be a gentle person, this one.
“Right then, help me out. First — which houses have sick people —”
He gives Noel directions and has him help deliver the medicine. Once the medicine has run out, he goes looking for the witch — and finds her standing by the village well.
The moment she touches it, the well is covered in green in an instant. He sees the small white flowers and understands what they are.
(Puribloom. I see — so this is how she purified the river. And now the well, in case it too is contaminated… of course she thought of that. Just how far ahead does she think?)
A quite rare plant, one that normally cannot grow in areas where people live. A specimen brought back from the wild will break down waste and filth and produce fertilizer, but it never grows beyond that, never spreads further — because to grow, it requires an immense amount of magical energy, and there is no race other than the Mage-folk that possesses enough to cultivate this flower.
And she was making it grow in an instant, blooming at the well, then at the cesspit. Even for a Mage-folk, flowering this much would require considerable magical energy and should be causing significant fatigue. And yet the witch simply continued to smile gently, showing no sign of exhaustion.
(Is she hiding it so the villagers won’t worry… even if she can handle plants with exceptional efficiency, this volume of growth would still be a burden.)
And still the witch grew Puribloom in multiple locations throughout the village. If sick villagers used the well, it could easily become contaminated; vomit had been disposed of in the cesspit, which might still harbor the disease’s cause. The witch was apparently intent on driving the sickness out of this village completely.
(As beautiful in spirit as in appearance… truly, the Flower Witch.)
He found himself wanting to offer up a prayer of thanks to the gods, for the fortune of this witch appearing in their village.