The pillars of creation

In the gray gloom of the dark swamp, the light coming from a window at the side of the house shone like a golden jewel, a beacon to welcome the lost, the desperate, the forsaken and defenseless. The sight of her journey's end, after so much terror and loss, brought tears of relief. The tears might have been joy, were it not for her dire need.

Jennsen hurried along the path among the willow and oak, up through the tangled undergrowth, past curtains of vines, and soon reached the house. It was set on a foundation of stone, painstakingly fit without mortar. The walls were made of cedar logs. The roof overhung a narrow porch running around the side, with steps down the back to the path to the nearby lake from where she had come.

Taking the steps two at a time up to the narrow porch and following it around the house brought her to a door flanked by pillars of stout logs supporting a simple but welcoming portico. From the door, down wide steps, was a broad and well-maintained path out through the swamp in front. That was the way people came when they were invited to visit the sorceress. After the way she had come in, it looked like a road.

Wasting no time, Jermsen knocked. Impatient, she rapped her knuckles again. Her knocking was interrupted when the door swung inward. An older man stood staring out at her in surprise. Gray hair was taking over from the dark brown and looked to have receded some, but it was still thick. He was neither lean nor stout, and average height. His clothes were not the clothes of a trapper or a man of a swamp, but those of a craftsman; his brown trousers, clean and well kept, were not coarse, but a more expensive tightly woven fabric. Flecks of gold sparkled from his green shirt. He was the gilder, Friedrich.

His discerning face scrutinized her more carefully, taking in the red hair under her hood. "What are you doing here?" He asked. His deep voice fit well with the rest of him, but it was none too friendly.

"I came to see Althea, if I may."

His eyes turned to the path, then back to her. "How did you get here?"

By his suspicious expression after checking, she reasoned that he had some way of knowing if someone had been up the path. Jennsen knew of such telltales; she and her mother used them all the time to be sure that no one had sneaked up on them.

Jennsen gestured off around the house. "I came in the other way. In the back. From beyond the lake."

"No one can go beyond the lake, not even me." His brow of wiry black and gray hairs drew down without so much as considering her words or questioning her further. "You're lying."

Jennsen was stunned. "I'm not. I came the back way. It's urgent that I see your wife, Althea."

"You have not been invited to come here. You must leave. You will not wander off the trail, this time, if you know what's good for you. Now, go away!»

"But it's a matter of life and death. I must-"

The door slammed shut in her face.

CHAPTER 22

Jennsen stood unmoving with the suddenly closed door inches from her face. She didn't know what to do. At that moment, she was too stunned for any other emotion to yet flood in.

From inside, she heard a woman's voice. "Who is it, Friedrich?"

"You know who it was." Friedrich's voice was nothing like it had been when he had spoken to Jennsen. It was now tender, respectful, familiar.

"Well, let her in."

"But, Althea, you can't-"

"Let her in, Friedrich." Her voice was scolding without being at all harsh.

Jennsen felt relief wash through her. The knot of arguments burgeoning inside her as she prepared to knock again melted away. The door opened, more slowly this time.

Friedrich gazed out at her, not as a man defeated or reprimanded, but as a man come to face fate with dignity.

"Please come in, Jennsen," he said in a quieter, more kindhearted voice.

"Thank you," Jennsen said in a small voice of her own, somewhat astonished and slightly troubled that he knew her name.

She took in everything as she followed him into the home. Despite how warm it was in the swamp, the small fire crackling in the stone fireplace gave the air a sweet smell along with a welcome, dry feel. That was the sense of it, more than heat-dryness. The furnishings were simple but well made and embellished with carved designs. The main room had only two small windows, on opposite side walls. There were rooms to the back and in one of them a workbench, lined with orderly tools, sat before another small window.

Jennsen didn't remember the house, if indeed this was the same place. Her memory of coming to Althea's home was more of an impression of friendly faces than an actual memory of a place. The walls, decorated with things for her eyes to feast upon, seemed familiar. As a child, she would have noticed such visual treats. There were carvings of birds, fish, and animals everywhere, either hanging by themselves, or grouped on small shelves. That would be the most captivating to a small child.