Witch of Fear [Mild horror, Isekai High Fantasy]

But if not us, then who?

The hushed words spoken in a naked embrace burned into Nethlia’s mind even now, almost an hour later, as she stared into the cookfire, watching as the flickering flames burned low. Taking pity on the embers stubbornly clinging to life, she tossed another log into the fire, sending bright sparks into the cool air alongside a blaze of warmth.

Try as she might, Nethlia couldn’t dislodge Autumn’s words. They challenged her. Demanded to know if she’d stand tall against evil as others around her faltered.

For the longest time, she’d thought she wasn’t good enough. Wasn’t strong nor smart enough to be that kind of hero. The ones who’d raise their bare fists to challenge a legion of devils, angels, or even a dragon without flinching.

Implacable was the word. Steadfast.

Nethlia wasn’t that. She’d faltered before, after all. Ran and left her friends to die in the dark, fighting nightmares that still made her blood run cold years later.

Some dark nights she’d awoke to see that foul abomination looming over her before her senses cleared and her heart stopped trying to leap clear of her chest. Only rage had kept the terror at bay during the day.

Heroes don’t run.

That was what she’d thought for years. So she, as someone who had, could never be one.

Nethlia had tried to pay her debt of blood with backbreaking labor. Pay with death and more rage. Selling her might for coin. And while her body had endured, allowing her to earn enough to pay off her physical debts, she’d not eased the guilt deep inside.

After retiring from the adventuring life, she’d thought she would just stay in her mother’s old tavern, drowning under the weight of her sins. 

But perhaps the goddess Nusraura had taken pity on her, having seen a familiar flame smoldering within the berserker’s breast that burned within the goddess of wrath’s own. Perhaps she hated seeing a warrior once as proud as Nethlia had been wasting away in some small village. 

Or maybe it was just luck that saw a twig-strewn witch stumbling into her tavern and upending her life. Luck that made Autumn look at her with dark eyes that saw a hero who didn’t believe she was one.

From that point on, nothing had been the same.

Shortly thereafter, Autumn had taken away Nethlia’s fear, traded for it with a painting that tore away the armored facade she’d built up around herself, showing the raw hero hiding away beneath. She hadn’t glossed over Nethlia’s flaws. Not her rage, nor the ragged, healing wound left behind by the fear that’d plagued her for so long. 

In honesty, it’d made the painting far more precious to her than if Autumn had.

In Autumn’s eyes, she was beautiful. And in that moment, as she’d gazed down at her striking physique displayed in vivid paint, Nethlia had allowed herself to take pride in the scars her haunted past had left her.

Ever since, she’d not had that creeping nightmare again.

It felt almost as good as sex had. Almost.

Nethlia doubted she could ever repay Autumn for that — the painting, not the sex — no matter what the witch said about their debts being settled. But she would try. Even if that meant giving her everything for it.

Thinking back on her painting safely tucked away back in the bordello, Nethlia resolved to talk with Autumn about her art when they returned. She was seriously underselling her services. A painting that could do that for someone’s self-esteem should be worth more than a handful of gold coins or a nightmare — not that she knew what a nightmare was worth. Once Autumn was done with her promised batch for the courtesans, perhaps they could reevaluate her prices? Something to think about, at least.

Nethlia returned to mulling over Autumn’s earlier words.

But if not us, then who?

It was practically the unwritten credo of the Adventurer’s Guild. That, and the actual motto: The journey is the Glory. Also, mind the step. 

Most saw it as a flippant motto, an irreverent statement to match its members, but Nethlia, along with the other, more experienced members of the guild, saw it differently. To them, it reminded them not to get too wrapped up in the goal. To not let the ends justify the means and hyper-focus on promised treasure, coin, or glory but to watch where you walk lest you trip. Trip before you make it back home to the guild’s welcoming halls.

Or at least that’s how Nethlia saw it. For all she knew, the original guild hall long ago might’ve just had a troublesome front step, and the phrase got tacked on over the years.

Shaking her head, Nethlia looked up across the campfire. Autumn sat on another hewn log opposite her, freshly bathed and dressed, while a distressed catgirl fussed over her still dripping hair. A small smile of amusement tugged at Nethlia’s lip as Autumn favored her with an exasperated look. At Eme’s urging, Autumn had placed her tattered hat in her lap so that she could access the witch’s dark, tangled locks.

It seemed not even magic could tame her wild hair for long.

Nethlia glanced over at Eme. They’d met the flustered catgirl just shortly after leaving her tent. Just as she’d predicted, Autumn’s cries and moans of pleasure had woken Eme from her short-lived sleep. She’d been livid at not having been woken sooner. Funnily enough, it wasn’t missing out that had the normally shy girl incensed, but that Nethlia had exhausted Autumn so soon after the witch had woken up and while she was still recovering to boot.

The smug look that had washed over Autumn’s face as the tiny girl scolded the much larger Nethlia had been mildly irritating. Still cute though.

Eme had a fair point, however. So, visibly contrite, she’d apologized and took Eme with them down to the river to bathe.

Nethlia didn’t know how to feel about the Felis. While Eme and Autumn made for an adorable couple, she had made Autumn cry, if unknowingly. It’d been a shock, for sure. Autumn usually looked so put together. Fearless. So seeing her break down sobbing into Nethlia’s chest had made the berserker want to hurt whomever had dared harm her girl.

Which was slightly awkward considering she actually liked Eme. Not in the way she liked, no, loved Autumn, but she didn’t dislike her either. In fact, taking care of a sleeping Autumn together the last couple of days had drawn them closer.

Seeing as Autumn trusted the catgirl enough to share her past with her as they bathed, Nethlia would trust her as well.

Eme’s embarrassed apology for mistaking Autumn as a runaway princess, despite being corrected otherwise, had caused Nethlia to burst into laughter. Autumn hadn’t found it funny when Nethlia asked Eme how she could mistake this wild child as a princess.

Autumn had pouted till both of them wisely apologized, showering her with kisses.

Nethlia made a mental note to take Eme out to a play and dinner sometime for the assisted save. Bards liked plays, right?

Turning away from the flirting pair, Nethlia looked around the campfire to the others.

Shortly after their trio had finished bathing, the remaining members of the party had returned to camp, them having finished their tasks outside the encampment. Once they’d taken their turns washing, the entire party had gravitated towards the warmth of the campfire. They now sported various looks of contentment and appreciation as they savored the hearty meal Nethlia had made.

Pride flared within herself at seeing her cooking skills valued so. Far too many adventurers dismissed the effect a well cooked meal had on morale. Sometimes it made the difference between life and death.

Movement across the way drew Nethlia’s attention. Glancing over, she met eyes with a nervous-looking Autumn as the witch peeked around at the others. Nethlia gave her an encouraged nod as their eyes met.

Taking a steadying breath, Autumn stood up and cleared her throat. With everyone’s eyes on her, the dark-eyed witch spun her tale. She told the others of her past — of her own world. 

Not all of it as she had with Eme and Nethlia, but most of it.

Nethlia could understand. The idea of sharing what lay within the witch’s stolen book of dark spells and black art, even with her closest friends and allies, set the berserker’s teeth on edge. Even she wasn’t immune to desire. Imagine — a spell that could do anything. Make anything. It was almost too much to fathom. An ember of desperate greed had flared in Nethlia’s chest upon hearing about such a spell. One she ruthlessly smothered at seeing the trust Autumn had in her. That it existed at all, even for a moment, ashamed her.

The fact she wouldn’t know how to use it even if she got her hands on it didn’t factor into her guilt.

She vowed never to mention the spell again. Never ask for what she couldn’t achieve on her own. Her pride wouldn’t allow it.

Shaking herself out of her dark thoughts, Nethlia focused back on Autumn. She had to stifle a chuckle as she caught sight of Eme beside her. The catgirl was smitten hard. Despite being told everything already, she still stared up at Autumn, enraptured, hanging onto the witch’s every word.

Seeing Autumn’s tale winding down, Nethlia looked around the campfire, taking in the other’s contemplative expressions. “Questions?” she inquired when Autumn finished speaking and sat back down.

Liddie cast a discerning look Nethlia’s way. “You already knew about this?” she asked, waving towards Autumn.

Nethlia nodded. “She told Eme and I earlier.”

Curiosity aroused, the swashbuckler narrowed her eyes, flickering them from Nethlia’s stoic mien and Autumn’s flushed one. She smirked when Autumn shied away from her searching look. “Just talking, eh? Must’ve been an intense conversation.”

Autumn looked as if she wanted to crawl into a hole and hide.

“Can we focus, please?” Nethlia drawled out, unamused.

Liddie rolled her eyes and pouted. “Killjoy,” she complained. When Nethlia continued to stare seriously at her, she raised her hands with a sigh. “Fine, fine! Stop trying to kill me with those peepers of yours — someone might get the wrong impression. What do I think about our world-hopping witch? I don’t really care. It’s not like learning this has changed who she is, right? Just that she’s a bit more traveled than I first thought. Besides, we all have our dark pasts, don’t we?”

“I don’t,” Pyre said, raising her hand.

Nethlia raised an eyebrow at her. “What was that?”

“I don’t have a dark past,” Pyre elaborated, pointing at Liddie. “She said we all have dark pasts. I don’t.”

“Aye? Didnae ye almost burn down a whole district once?

Pyre flushed at Edwyn’s pointed question. “That was an accident! I didn’t mean to do it!”

“Yes, that is what accident usually means,” Nelva teased Pyre, sharing a kind smile with a visibly calming Autumn.

From Autumn’s side, Eme perked up. “Wouldn’t that make it a bright past?” she joked. Seeing everybody’s blank looks, she wilted. “You know, because of the fire? Bright? Get it?”

Groans filled the campsite.

“For a bard, you have a poor sense of humor,” Pyre snarked.

As Eme cried out in offense at Pyre’s vengeful teasing, Nethlia looked back over at Autumn just in time to catch the witch wiping away her tears with one billowing sleeve, a dumb smile playing on her lips. 

Nethlia herself smiled sadly at the sight. Thankfully, the others were kind enough not to mention the witch’s tears as she gave a hiccuping laugh at their antics and banter. 

However, when Autumn finally calmed down, that’s when they pounced.

“You said there weren’t any other races but humans in your world?” Nelva asked curiously, leaning onto her knees. Her wounded ear flopped into her face. Nethlia caught Autumn staring at it seriously before she replied.

“Yeah,” she nodded, “but we still had a bunch of myths and legends about other races, including the Fey. Likely there was some crossover somewhere. Maybe travelers like myself made it back?” she asked hopefully. “Or maybe someone from this side made it to my world instead. What’s strange is the names I’ve heard.”

“Names?” Nelva verbally prodded.

“Race names specifically,” Autumn elaborated. “To my ear, they sound like Latin — a dead language back home. It’s hard to translate, as Latin has multiple meanings attached to each word. For example; Inferni can mean Hell/Dead. Manus — Hand/Work. Felis — Cat/Thief. Lepus — Rabbit/Hare. Ignis Lutum just means Fire Clay, as far as I can tell. Apt, I guess.”

“Fascinating,” Edwyn murmured. “Is that what yer stories called our people?”

Autumn hummed. “Not really. We have a bunch of different names for other ‘fantasy’ races. We usually call people like the Manus Dwarves while we tend to just add ‘folk’ to the end of a description of other races — Catfolk, Rabbitfolk, Demonfolk, etc.”

“Wait, if your world didn’t have any other races, did that mean there weren’t any wars?” Eme asked innocently.

The others scoffed with varying levels of amusement at the catgirl naivety.

“No.” Autumn shook her head sadly. “We had many, many wars. I don’t know enough about this world to know if it was more or less, but we fought with each other a bunch. Sometimes over the stupidest of things.”

“What about knightly orders?” Nelva asked. “Did you have them?”

“Y-yes. We had a bunch. You know, to go along with the wars.”

Liddie leaned forwards in her seat. “How about pirates? Buccaneers? Freebooters and corsairs? Plunders of the waves? If you have boring knights in your world, tell me you have pirates at least.”

“W-well, t-they’re not as prevalent nowadays, b-but we had a lot at one point!” Autumn stuttered out, shrinking into herself. “S-same with the knights, except in some weird clubs.”

Seeing Autumn getting overwhelmed by the questions, Nethlia clapped to get everybody’s attention. Autumn flashed her a grateful look.

“Alright! That’s enough interrogating her. You can ask her your questions later. For now, we need to discuss our plans going forward.” 

Turning to Liddie, Nethlia gestured to her to speak. “Liddie, how about you give us your report on the situation you scouted out?”

“Sure thing, boss!” Liddie straightened up on her seat at the command, throwing Nethlia a mock naval salute. “Funny that we were just talking about wars, as that’s what we are looking at here. A host of elvish-looking fey are currently clashing with an absolutely massive horde of goblins and some creepy crow monsters. I spotted more of those crow-hounds that attacked us before and the Dire-crows that we found near Duskfields along with a few other types, so I think we can safely conclude it was the hag that was responsible.”

“Any way through without being spotted?” Nethlia asked, threading her fingers together beneath her chin.

Liddie shook her head. “None. At least, none right now.”

“Explain.”

“It’s the terrain that’s the problem,” Liddie elaborated somewhat seriously. “The further away from the hag’s abode it is, the more in flux the land becomes. One moment we might be looking at a desert, the next a dense jungle or a swamp. Seemingly, it can change in an instant,” she grimaced. “And while it looks like that’ll subside the closer we get to our destination, it comes at the cost of encountering more goblin fortifications.”

“Shit,” Nethlia swore. “How certain of this are you?”

Liddie shrugged. “Mostly? Look, I didn’t go that far on account of the bloody war being waged! What I saw was a bunch of fucked up terrain and screaming hordes clashing. Neither side seems interested in such things as ‘order’ or ‘formations.’ However, I saw a bunch of half-destroyed forts and twisted trenches out there. Likely, this ‘Wild Hunt’ planned to unleash the messed up land on the crows and goblins before hitting them hard and fast. I doubt they were expecting as much resistance as they got.”

Frustrated, Nethlia sighed. “Looks like we’ll just have to fight our way through. No use planning around a route when it’ll change on us.” Seeing everyone’s anxious expressions, she continued. “Let’s focus on what we can do. Pyre, how are your potions doing?”

Pyre started at being addressed. Nervously, she fidgeted with the goggles on her forehead. “Good? I mean, good. With the quality of the set-up I have, we’re looking at higher quality potions than I’d normally be able to produce.”

“What can we expect?”

“With the reagents that I have and time available, I should be able to produce a batch of healing, stone-skin, wide-eye potions alongside refreshing my stocks of fire and explosive ones. Unfortunately, I lack the ingredients to create any sort of poisons or their associated antidotes.” Pyre shrugged apologetically.

Hearing this, Autumn perked up. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “I stole—cough—looted a bunch of poisons from the fort, as well as some weapons and armor!”

“Good job, Autumn,” Nethlia praised, causing Autumn to blush. “Make sure you get those to Pyre or Nelva, respectively.” Turning back to Pyre, she asked, “how long would you need to get all the potions done?”

Pyre hummed. “With refining the poisons added? Maybe three or four days? Sooner if I had help.”

“Good, I’m sure someone will have some time to lend. See to it,” Nethlia softly commanded the alchemist before turning to Edwyn. “How are the repairs going? I know we took some damage during our escape and Autumn’s chainmail got damaged in her own flight.”

“Naw good,” Edywn grumbled. “We ain’t got nae metal to repair wit’ and I ain’t nae bone-smith. Yer witch’ll have tae fix up her horses ‘efore we leave.”

Autumn blinked. “What happened to my horses? Did you break them?”

“We ain’t break ‘em! They ran oot o’ magic after we’d escaped. Dropped stone dead on us. Had tae fish ‘em out o’ the drink, we did!”

“Shit, that’s right,” Nethlia swore again, tugging on her hair. It was growing far too shaggy for her liking. She glanced at Autumn apologetically. “You’ll need to reanimate them if we want to keep the sleigh — there’s no way I’m dragging it through a battlefield.”

“Once you’ve rested, of course,” She added hastily. 

“I can do that,” Autumn nodded slowly. “Actually, I’ve had a few ideas about upgrading them, but I’ll need some more bones.”

“Leave that to me!” Nethlia grinned triumphantly, finally having something she could do to aid her witch. From the side, Liddie giggled at her dopy expression, which she gamely ignored. “I’ll go hunting tomorrow and bring you back something nice!”

Autumn looked up at her worriedly. “Is-Is that wise? You know that the Fae have strange views on the ownership and hunting of game. I don’t want to see you fall afoul of them.”

A warm feeling arose in Nethlia’s breast at the concern Autumn felt for her. Still, she confidently reassured her witch. “Don’t worry. I know. However, it’s not fae that I’ll be hunting. You see, with us camping so close to the breach between worlds, we often see more mundane animals wandering through. Just the other day, I spotted bear markings on some trees near to camp. Would bear bones work for your magic?” she asked hopefully.

Nodding slowly, Autumn spoke absentmindedly as she thought. “Bears? Yes. Yes! Bear bones would be amazing, thank you! I got so many ideas!”

Nethlia grinned dumbly at the praise, continuing to ignore the other’s teasing.

“Right. So, that’s covered. Any more ideas, or are we good to wrap this meeting up?”

“Um, I had another idea,” Autumn spoke hesitantly. Seeing nobody objected, she continued on at Nethlia’s encouraging urging. “We could make a war-wagon.”

Nethlia blinked. “A what? What’s a war wagon?”

Rather than Autumn who replied, it was Edwyn. “Yer ken think o’ em as mobile firing platforms. Archers or crossbowmen stand inside, shootin’ down from behind cover as beasts o’ burden pull them along. We use ‘em back home in the deep tunnels.” Edwyn turned to Autumn, pulling on their beard in thought. “Lassie, yer thinkin’ o’ usin’ yer bony beast for it?”

Autumn nodded. “Hmm! With a few modifications and armor, we could plow right through the lines, firing back on those chasing us with the crossbows I liberated.”

Edwyn chuckled. “Tis a sound plan. I’ll drawn up tae plans later.”

With nothing more looking to be said, Nethlia clapped her hands. “Right! Good planning session everybody! Get some rest — we’ll begin first thing in the morning, bright and early!”

Liddie blanched. “Wait! You don’t mean…”

Nethlia grinned evilly. “Yup! Nethlia’s training camp is reopening! It’s beyond time I got you lot back into shape! No more slacking off.”

“But! How could we have?! We’ve either been fighting for our lives or cramped in that damned boat!” Liddie whined.

“Excuses!” Nethlia bellowed, taking vindictive pleasure in the pirate’s despondency. Damn demoness shouldn’t have mocked her love for Autumn! “First thing in the morning we’ll be doing a new training method Autumn has graciously shared with me called suicides. Grim name, but I’m eager to try it.”

Behind her, Nethlia heard Autumn whimper. “I’ve made a huge mistake,” the witch cried.