The northern wind had shifted from cold to icy. Its claws mercilessly dug into the bodies of all creatures daring to leave their dens. The clouds merged into a white, colourless canopy, from which small snowflakes occasionally began to fall. The fog grew even more intrusive. It crept in cold and relentless, seeping into the very marrow of bones. A gloomy mood spread across the entire island. All except for one little house in the mountains.
Mnou was in a great mood after a long time. A few days had passed since Esme had fully recovered. The illness had dragged on, and it had been exhausting for both witches. Yet it was exactly what they needed. A strange and unexpected bond of understanding had formed between them. At first, Mnou had felt compelled to clear the air with her apprentice and offer an apology, but she realized that neither of them needed that. It was a peculiar feeling. As if they had accepted one another. They didn't need to explain how they felt—they simply understood each other without words.
Mnou however, had not forgotten her strange encounter with the goddess. At times, she herself doubted it had truly happened, but a somber reminder lingered in Coris's empty house and the small grave by the courtyard wall, where she visited every few days. Esme wanted to join her, but Mnou had firmly forbidden it for a long time, wrapping her in blankets at the slightest cough or sniffle. The girl accepted it with a shy smile. She didn't argue. But when the day came for Mnou to journey into the mountains in search of the mysterious rift her mother had guided her toward, Esme pleaded desperately to come along. Mnou reluctantly agreed—on one condition.
Given the gloomy weather that signalled the coming winter, the elder witch undertook an extensive search through the soil and its hidden treasures to find proper clothes in which to wrap Esme. In the end, she managed to unearth a few solid pieces among broken furniture, dusty rugs, heaps of gardening tools, and piles of entirely useless clothing—a yellow wool coat big enough for Esme to disappear into like a field mouse in a hole, red-and-green mittens with a hole in the thumb, heavy high boots lined with fur, a scarf matching the mittens, and a light blue woolly hat with a pompom.
Once the poor girl had been stuffed into this medley of winter attire, she truly looked like a scarecrow in a cabbage patch. She insisted on wearing her witch's hat, pushing it down over the woolly hat.
Mnou could no longer contain her laughter, which burst out and filled the whole room. Esme waddled over to the mirror and stared at herself.
"Masteeer!" she whined, "Do I really have to wear this? I'll scare to death anyone we meet on the way. I look like a scarecrow!"
"Yes, you do have to wear it. We don't want you catching another cold like last time. No arguing," Mnou scolded her, though she couldn't stop laughing.
"But even you are laughing at me!" Esme waved her little fists in protest.
"Nonsense, you look… you look wonderful," the witch gasped for breath and gave her an affectionate pat on the hat stuffed with a pompom cap.
The witches were lucky—no sooner had they set off than the pale winter sun peeked through the white cover. It tickled their scarf-wrapped cheeks.
They moved at a snail's pace, mostly because of Esme's bulky winter outfit. Though she had convinced her master to let her wear the fur-lined cloak and wool turtleneck that Mnou usually wore, she was still bundled up and stumbling behind in heavy boots. For a while, Mnou feared she'd overdone it, but to her relief, the girl gradually got used to the gear and managed to keep pace. Along the way, Mnou tried to teach her some levitation—both to pass the time and because it would have been quite useful. It didn't go too well. Esme managed to rise only a few inches above the frozen mountain ground, but Mnou considered it a success and praised her highly.
After several hours of hiking with breaks, their conversation began to falter as they had to concentrate more on the irregular and treacherous terrain, and the weather worsened again. The sun shyly disappeared once more, leaving the island in a bleak twilight. A freezing wind began to whirl between gorges and peaks, tearing the witches' hats from their heads, so they had to hold on to them tightly.
Finally, they slipped down the icy ground into sheltered gorges and small valleys where the wind and blizzard nearly ceased. In truth, it might have been too quiet. The landscape around them was grey, monotonous, bleak, radiating cold. Large boulders were scattered everywhere, and rocky slopes rose high above. Occasionally, a patch of moss adorned the scene, covered in a frost of icy crystals. In sunlight, they would shine like diamonds, but now they were lifeless and colourless.
A wave of chill ran through Mnou. She no longer needed to concentrate to feel the magic pulsing all around. She looked down at the girl, who returned her gaze. No words were needed—they both nodded to signal they felt it too. Mnou had never experienced such a concentration of magic, and it made her breathing difficult. Even through her gloves, she could feel her staff warming her hand. At least that was somewhat comforting. She slowly began to regret bringing Esme. But it was too late to send her back, and she didn't want to turn around when they had come this far. She reminded herself the girl wasn't defenceless. There was nothing to do but press on.
They advanced slowly and cautiously. The landscape remained endlessly monotonous and vague. It was hard to find bearings. Mnou began to worry they might get lost. The crevices stretched far and branched out. Most ended in steep slopes or collapsed stones, but many were passable. Esme suggested marking their path so they could find their way back. Mnou welcomed the idea and began marking large mossy stones with her staff.
After what felt like an eternity of walking, tendrils of mist began to creep around them. At first, it was just a few wisps curling around their legs, but it gradually thickened until it swallowed them like a snowdrift. The last howls of wind faded.
Mnou's heart raced. Her eyes darted nervously, trying to dispel the disturbing images of what might emerge from the mist, though most of it was nonsense. But imagination knows no command. She felt a small wool-gloved hand slip into hers. She tried to nod and smile reassuringly at Esme, but it came out as a strange grimace. She was ashamed of her fear. But this place terrified her.
Suddenly, she felt a jolt—like missing the last stair and landing hard. It was as if something had slipped from her grasp. She had almost held it, but it vanished at the last moment. A marked stone appeared before them. Mnou inspected it closely.
"That's the first mark we made," confirmed Esme, who had squeezed next to the stone for a look.
The witch frowned and whispered, "We must have walked in a circle… but that's impossible. How could we have missed all the earlier marks?"
Esme remained silent, as confused as her master
Before they realized it, steep rocky cliffs loomed around them once again. The mist vanished as if it had never been. Yet the silence persisted.
We must be close. I can feel it. My staff is brimming with magic. These thoughts rushed through Mnou's head as they sat on the marked boulder to rest. She sighed wearily and looked up at the sky. The snowstorm had at least paused, and the occasional patch of blue peeked through the grey veil. The sun was still high.
After a brief discussion, they decided to continue. Esme was already showing signs of fatigue but insisted on going on.
Soon, the creeping mist returned. Mnou tried to keep an eye on the marked stones, but it grew increasingly difficult. With every step, the pressure of magic intensified. It must be here. Just a few more steps, she told herself, her heart pounding. She tightened her grip on Esme's hand.
But then, again, that something slipped through her fingers like a summer breeze. The mist cleared, and they stood before the same marked stone, its vibrant green moss flattened from where they had sat. They were back at the beginning.
"This isn't ordinary wandering. Something more is happening here," Mnou exhaled in frustration and sank heavily onto the mossy throne.
"It seems like it doesn't want to let us through," Esme pondered aloud, frowning. She absentmindedly bit her upper lip and tapped her staff on the stony ground. "It's like we're right at the edge but can't cross the last fork."
Mnou nodded in disappointment. They agreed there was no point in searching further. It felt like a futile effort. She also reminded Esme that they had to return before nightfall. The sun set early this time of year.
Their descent from the valleys didn't take long, and as soon as they emerged from the shelter, the raging wind greeted them. But at least it wasn't snowing. Climbing down was even harder than going up. The frozen ground slipped under their feet, and they both fell several times. For the last third of the journey, Mnou had to carry Esme on her back—she could barely stay on her feet. Though the girl tried to insist she could manage; it clearly wasn't true. Mnou wasn't angry with her. She was angry with herself for bringing her along. I should have known this would be too much. She only just recovered; she scolded herself silently. Her own legs were starting to feel heavy with exhaustion. But just as she began to fear she might not make it, the dark silhouette of the cottage rose over the hilltop, outlined against the darkening sky still tinged with orange. To a passing stranger, the house might have seemed abandoned, cold, and unwelcoming—but to them, it was one of the most beautiful sights in the world.
Moments later, they were sprawled in front of the blazing fireplace, where wood crackled merrily, warm mugs of tea in their hands. Despite her fatigue, Mnou tried to keep her mind occupied with ideas on how to reach the rift. But it didn't last long. After only a few minutes, she began to nod off.
"It's time for bed, Esme. Off to bed with you," she mumbled, yawning loudly. She got up and stretched. Only the crackling fire answered her. She frowned and looked toward the fireplace. "Esme?"
The little girl lay curled up by the armchair, breathing softly and peacefully. Her tea was untouched, so she had clearly been dozing for a while. Mnou smiled and gently carried her to bed. Then she followed shortly after. She fell asleep the moment her head hit the fluffy pillow.