Scientific Sorcery : Beware of Kittens!

As I excavated the edge of the glade, I couldn’t help but notice that the earth felt warm and oddly welcoming.

It was as if the complex amalgamation of various minerals and organic matter, with traces of silica, alumina, and iron oxide intermingling with decaying plant material and the remnants of microscopic organisms were now somehow suffused with an unknown form of energy.

As I crushed the earth with my fingers, it felt nothing like frozen soil was supposed to feel like. I wondered whether a witch's domain projected some kind of non-debilitating radiation, perhaps akin to the nuclear force that governed the behavior of subatomic particles. Rather than causing harm, this energy appeared to empower my body, blessing me with warmth and a high level of vitality.

I marveled at this strange phenomenon a bit longer, enjoying the tiny sparks dancing in my fingers.

Then, I filled the largest leather backpack I could find with the earth from the glade and began to walk away from my domain, counting my steps.

To my delight, I discovered that carrying the enchanted soil on my back permitted me to venture beyond the range of my prior leash without succumbing to the debilitating weakness and nausea that had previously beset my frail body.

Great success! The backpack and shovel, plus the indomitable spirit of human inquiry and adaptability had overcome the domain limitation.

Science: 1, Witchy Domain Limit: 0

Using a plank balanced on a rock and a bunch of strewn bricks, I created a makeshift scale to assess my weight vs the weight of the soil within the backpack.

Then, I gradually altered the amount of soil inside of the bag, reducing and increasing it and venturing away from the glade with the backpack.

Using this method, I discovered that as long as I had enough soil in the bag that weighed approximately 1.5 times as much as I did, I felt no problems moving past the initial domain limit!

As I strode nearly five hundred meters away from the village, the magical soil nestled securely within my backpack, I grinned at the fact that my witchy stamina remained undiminished.

Being a witch, it seemed, was easy, especially if I could transport a section of my domain in a simple knapsack. What originally appeared to be a debilitation was now my advantage.

Could it really be this simple? Was it really possible to simply dig up all of the enchanted soil, compress it to save space, and then carry it with me in a large cart?

Thoughts raced through my mind as I considered the implications of this newfound power, thinking back to the process of creating compressed earth blocks. I remembered that in Portland cement, typically, a pressure of around 3,000 psi compressed the original material volume by about half. Technically, even a planet like Earth could be compressed into a black hole with a diameter of only 1.77 centimeters.

Smirking at this amusing fact, I knew that, unfortunately, I didn't have the power tools necessary to compress the soil.

Another thought came to me–were some sections of the soil more magical than others? Was Earth-type magic, or whatever it was that Yaga specialized in, better contained in some particular elements such as the roots, plants or specific rocks?

I quickly returned to the side of the magic circle I had unearthed and turned my attention to the plants themselves.

Employing a rudimentary water drop microscope made from a thin glass shard, a glass jar, two piece of wood, a broken mirror shard and a drop of water, capable of magnifying details up to five times, I set about examining the flora more closely.

As I carefully sliced open a leaf, I observed the blurry intricate network of thick plant cell walls.

To my amazement, I saw that the damaged cell walls of the sliced leaf slowly healed themselves. I also noted that the verdant life birthed by the magic-infused earth shared my immunity to the cold, thriving in defiance of the harsh winter.

Next, I grabbed some standing water from a rotting root and examined it as I placed it directly above the glade, using a mirror shard to bounce sunlight through my water sample located atop of an upside down glass jar.

My mouth fell open as I beheld a mesmerizing if somewhat blurry display of micro-animals, tardigrades and single cell Stentor roeselii, dancing within the water drop. The microscopic creatures somehow bred and multiplied at an unprecedented rate, their existence fueled by the potent, invisible energy that pulsed within the enchanted soil.

It dawned on me that the radiation emanating from the witch-blessed ground was a veritable furnace of life, a force that nurtured and sustained all organic things that thrived within its sphere of influence. This force stood in stark contrast to the deadly dragon fire that had wrought destruction upon the village, targeting living things and turning them to ashes.

My mind raced with the possibilities as the pieces began to fall into place.

Was this the source of a witch’s power?

Another fragment of Ioan’s memories surfaced in my mind, revealing that he had sought a potion from the Witch of the Shalish wood a few years ago to help with his grandmother's aching back.

This revelation coalesced into a solid theory: the enchanted soil produced life-altering effects that, in turn, transformed the plants and animals within a witch’s personal garden. It stood to reason that ingredients suffused with this life-rad magnified the efficacy of their organic components, unlocking a wealth of incredible potential for both healing and harm!

. . .

People didn’t need magic to be dicks. If anything, having access to excessive strength as a hero of legend most likely made one more prone to pillaging.

Take, for instance, the Vikings of Earth, seafarers of Norse blood. Their longships graced countless shorelines, from the rocky coasts of the British Isles to the frosty outposts of Greenland, from the uncharted lands of America to the fertile plains of Ukraine. Their unrelenting pursuit of expansion and adventure often ended in the enslavement of the locals and the pillaging of their treasures. If the local world was anything like mine history-wise, then I was in for a very bad time.

Predators and scavengers would undoubtedly soon become a problem. Surveying the fractured beams and scorched and buried fragments scattered across the landscape, I could discern the remnants of once stout, wooden walls and watchtowers.

Alas, the dragon had made quick work of that defense, obliterating it in its entirety.

My magical grove lay vulnerable under the open sky, the green flora a beacon for any creature prowling the wilderness or flying overhead. If Dick-Jarls could fly on swords then they would absolutely spot the green glade from above sitting amidst the white snow.

The risk of discovery by a fly-by hero suddenly felt like an imminent threat. I didn’t want anyone to find out or even to suspect that I was a witch, preferring to have the element of surprise on my side.

The whole reason I bugged Yaga to turn me into a witch was to mess with people’s future expectations of me–it was going to be my biggest trump card in my new life in Svalbard.

Thus, driven onwards by a healthy degree of paranoia, I focused on digging out all of the magic-irradiated earth and relocating the entirety of my precious domain inside the old pub. I quickly shovelled the earth into a wheelbarrow I found behind the mostly undamaged smithy building, rolled it to the pub, and dumped it inside. I also replanted all of the magic-infused greenery into chests that I faced towards the round windows.

Once done with the relocation of my magical domain, I set to secure the pub itself.

The village smithy, now bereft of its previous tenants, though slightly singed and torn up on one side, housed a trove of medieval weaponry such as bows, swords and arbalests. I transported the entire arsenal into my makeshift stronghold, setting up arbalests at each window.

Then I emptied a few of the cold storage wells and brought the food into the pub in a wheelbarrow. I didn't feel hunger when I was carrying my domain in my backpack, but my body already looked far too skinny and pitiful and I knew that healthy eating was important to my growth, no matter if magical bullshit took my desire to eat away.

By the time my fortress was secured within the old pub, the horizon had welcomed the warm hues of the setting sun, and I battened down the iron-clad shutters and door in anticipation of the coming night.

My dinner was a modest feast of preserved jars and smoked delicacies. Since cold seemed to be a minor inconvenience to a Yaga, I dismissed the idea of lighting the fireplace. Instead, I innately sought solace atop my mound of warm earth.

My feet automatically took me to my lovely, warm pile of earth.

I buried myself in it halfway feeling like a solitary mole ensconced within its subterranean sanctuary, slowly succumbing to the lull of slumber as I contemplated my future plans.

I was going to be the damn best witch biochemist in this medieval world!