The Wax Witch (1300 words)

[Stable]

Hi all. I've been out of writing for a little while for various personal reason, but I'm trying to get back in the saddle again. This is the start of what feels like a short story length piece. I'd love to get your input on it. Thanks!

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“That was delicious,” said Nicciah as everyone congratulated the quartet. No one thought it an odd complement from her, the villagers were used to the wise woman’s eccentricities. A twig itched under her shirt, new growth that had broken through her waxy skin, spurred by the music. She would shrink it later.

With the harvest in, everyone was ready for a party that night. Niccah congratulated Josie and Aman more personally, Josie’s viol playing had been particularly spirited and Aman’s gamba was solid, if uninspired. She had shrunken the feet of the two women herself before they were fully grown, a task she hated, but preferred to the thought of children with broken, bound feet. The other two musicians’ names were a blank to her, but she smiled at them anyway.

Nicciah directed a couple of the young men, Benny for whom she’d once fixed a broken arm and another strong young thing, to leave the barrel of strong, herb flavoured beer by the head table. Then she was done for the night, leaving the festivities for those who wanted them.

Her cottage was a little way out of the main village, past an old oak that generations of children had swung from. There was one there now, sitting still on the swing, staring silently at nothing. She could see the bruises on his arm; big, finger-shaped discolourations. With her eyes that saw more than skin-deep she could see other hurts too, she knew how this boy’s story went.

“I can’t help you,” she told the boy sadly. “But if you like, I could make you a candle. You wouldn’t be scared anymore.” The boy nodded, so she pulled a tiny candle-stub out of her pocket and lit it. She knew she shouldn’t get involved, that it never changed anything in the longer term, but found herself doing so anyway. Perhaps she had been in one place long enough, Nicciah thought, overlooked foot binding, beatings and worse just a few times too many.

“What’s your name, boy?” She asked.

“Ashley,” he answered, quietly.

“The wax might hurt at first,” she said, but she dripped it onto his thick hair so that it would burn him the least she could. Then with smooth, practiced movements she smoothed the wax out and down, the boy shrinking under her hands as she went. There was a commotion elsewhere, but she ignored it, so when Ashley’s mother arrived, sobbing, there was only a sapling with bone-white bark that Nicciah had planted in the centre of the path to her cottage. That, and a fresh candle in her pocket.

“Turn him back!” The mother shrieked. She was better at hiding the bruises than Ashley had been, but Nicciah could see her deeper hurts clearly. She was sorry to have added to them.

“I can’t.” She held out her still lit candle to Ashe’s mother. “But I could take your troubles away too, if I make you a candle.” The woman hesitated, then nodded.

“Plant me next to him.”

Nicciah dripped the wax into her hair too, and started to smooth, shrinking the mother. By now there was a crowd, staring and murmuring, but she focused on her task. The more fool her, because she didn’t see Ashe’s father until he was nearly on her.

“Waxwitch!” He shouted, and she could see the oncoming violence and anger, the jealousy that she would take something from him. In a moment he knocked her to the ground. Then there was only shouting and stamping. She tried to curl up, but her wax and branches broke under the feet. They left her there, taking the mother with them. They even took the Ashley-candle from her pocket. All Nicciah could do was lie in the dirt, a broken bundle of pain held together by clothes.

She could see the way back to the village, and Ashley’s tree. Someone had stepped on it, or kicked it. The thin stem was snapped almost in two, and lay at an angle on the ground, attached only by a thin, twisted piece of bark.

A crow came by, in the twilight. It pecked at her inquisitively, but didn’t like the taste of wax and wood, so it left. After dark, something else snuffled around behind her, but she couldn’t turn to see what it was. Part of her wanted to shout at it, to either go away or eat her, but her broken body couldn’t find the breath. Another part wondered if this was how she would finally die, ignorant boots and unseen teeth. It wasn’t a good death.

Then, with a louder huff, the animal left. Nicciah could see a candle flame coming towards her from the village. As it came closer she thought it was carried by a little girl, but then the small figure stopped and squatted in front of Nicciah’s face, and the candlelight illuminated Ashley’s mother. She looked no more than seven years old, and her hair was still thick with wax.

“Are you still alive, aunty?” The mother-child asked, staring into her face. Nicciah blinked for her, painfully, and the girl tipped the candle, dripping wax into the cracks and pushing Nicciah’s limbs back together until the old witch could move herself again. They fixed her breaks as best they could until the candle, Ashley’s candle, was half gone, then Nicciah stopped her.

“If I’m to finish making your candle before I go we will need to use much of the rest of this.”

“No thank you, aunty,” said the child-mother, “Let me come with you. I want to grow again, I want to do better, to be stronger.”

Nicciah hummed.

“What happened isn’t your fault.”

The girl squared her shoulders.

“Even so.”

“They will call you a witch if you come with me.”

“Let them.”

Nicciah paused and thought.

“I’ll need more wax. Wait here.” She took the candle and left the girl sitting by the new tree in the old path, and limped into the village. Her legs were different lengths, something was grinding painfully inside her torso, and broken twigs stood out from her skin like thorns, but she moved anyway.

She didn’t remember his name, but she knew where Ashley’s father’s cottage was, and she went there now, pooling wax into her palm where it stayed hot and liquid.

As she pushed the door open to the single room inside, she saw him wake and leap out of bed. She threw the wax in his eyes, blinding him, then pushed it roughly as he cried out, smoothing his face so that the screams stopped. She put more wax on his big, hurtful fists as he flailed for her, and pushed some more. This was no gentle smoothing, and she pushed hard at the wax until she was left with a fat, misshapen candle, and a rough-barked, twisted little tree that she left on the bed with its roots in the air.

When she emerged, a couple of neighbours had woken to the commotion and come out to see what was happening. Nicciah ignored them, limping back to Ashley’s tree and the girl. She still had a stub of Ashley’s candle, and she used a drop to fix the break in the sapling’s narrow trunk. It was the wrong season for planting, but the tree had a good chance of surviving the winter, and would doubtless be fine after that. She pushed the last of the wax into her leg to even out her gait a little, then held her hand out to help the girl stand.

“What’s your name?”

“Leah.”

“Come on then Leah, let’s go.”

She wouldn’t grow normally of course, but if Nicciah could get enough wax, and teach her to find the tree inside her, the girl could eventually grow to be a woman again. As she had.

 

[Bramandin]

This is interesting. I can't see anything wrong or places that need fixing, though I am wondering how much the villagers know about her nature.

 

[AnyaKimlin]

It's a cool story and has the beginning, middle and end that a short story requires. It really is interesting. I have included some observations for you to take or ignore.

“That was delicious,” said Nicciah as everyone congratulated the quartet. No one thought it an odd complement from her, the villagers were used to the wise woman’s eccentricities. A twig itched under her shirt, new growth that had broken through her waxy skin, spurred by the music. She would shrink it later.

What was delicious? First I thought it was food but then suspected it was music but I wasn’t clear.

With the harvest in, everyone was ready for a party that night. Niccah congratulated Josie and Aman more personally, Josie’s viol playing had been particularly spirited and Aman’s gamba was solid, if uninspired. She had shrunken the feet of the two women herself before they were fully grown, a task she hated, but preferred to the thought of children with broken, bound feet. The other two musicians’ names were a blank to her, but she smiled at them anyway.

I had to work to understand Josie and Aman were the quartet rather than celebrating a marriage. They don’t really appear anywhere else in the story so I wonder if we know too much about them.

Nicciah directed a couple of the young men, Benny for whom she’d once fixed a broken arm and another strong young thing, to leave the barrel of strong, herb flavoured beer by the head table. Then she was done for the night, leaving the festivities for those who wanted them.

This showed her personality so well. I wonder if this and the first paragraph are enough.

Her cottage was a little way out of the main village, past an old oak that generations of children had swung from.

Her walk to the cottage could be an interesting way to show where it is and add to her character.

There was one there now, sitting still on the swing, staring silently at nothing. She could see the bruises on his arm; big, finger-shaped discolourations. With her eyes that saw more than skin-deep she could see other hurts too, she knew how this boy’s story went.

Did the boy say anything?

“I can’t help you,” she told the boy sadly. “But if you like, I could make you a candle. You wouldn’t be scared anymore.” The boy nodded, so she pulled a tiny candle-stub out of her pocket and lit it. She knew she shouldn’t get involved, that it never changed anything in the longer term, but found herself doing so anyway. Perhaps she had been in one place long enough, Nicciah thought, overlooked foot binding, beatings and worse just a few times too many.

Consider the impact of treating “The boy nodded” as dialogue and taking out the sadly. You show her feelings later.

EG

“I can’t help you,” she said. “But if you like, I could make you a candle. You wouldn’t be scared any more.”

He nodded.

She pulled a tiny candle stub out of her pocket and lit it.

(I would consider leaving the introspection until after she has finished with the boy)



“What’s your name, boy?” She asked.

“Ashley,” he answered, quietly.

There was a commotion elsewhere,

What kind of commotion?

but she ignored it, so when Ashley’s mother arrived, sobbing, there was only a sapling with bone-white bark that Nicciah had planted in the centre of the path to her cottage.

I didn’t really understand what happened here. Maybe make it an Ash tree?

Nicciah dripped the wax into her hair too, and started to smooth, shrinking the mother. By now there was a crowd, staring and murmuring, but she focused on her task.

As she is outside of the village where did the crowd come from?

The more fool her, because she didn’t see Ashe’s father until he was nearly on her.

Tense moments need shorter sentences. All we need is She didn’t see Ashe’s father approach.

They fixed her breaks as best they could until the candle, Ashley’s candle, was half gone, then Nicciah stopped her.

It would help if you made who the they were clearer.

“I’ll need more wax. Wait here.” She took the candle and left the girl sitting by the new tree in the old path, and limped into the village. Her legs were different lengths, something was grinding painfully inside her torso, and broken twigs stood out from her skin like thorns, but she moved anyway.

She didn’t remember his name, but she knew where Ashley’s father’s cottage was, and she went there now, pooling wax into her palm where it stayed hot and liquid.

I think shortened sentences would help this scene be more tense.

 

[Wayne Mack]

This is an interesting opening for a longer piece -- I am curious to learn more about the magic system as well as more of Nicciah's background. The story gives a believable reason for Nicciah to leave and I assume that following sections will give her some target to move towards. I liked the ambiguity of

I could make you a candle.

and how I had to re-interpret that phrase.

Some things that worked less well for me. I didn't feel that the first three paragraphs added anything to the story and the first paragraph was difficult for me to understand. I would consider removing them entirely and starting with Nicciah seeing the boy on the swing.

Her cottage was a little way out of the main village, past an old oak that generations of children had swung from. There was one there now, sitting still on the swing, staring silently at nothing.

I found this phrasing confusing. I had to reread this because in my first pass, I interpreted the one in the second sentence as referring to a tree. It took a while for me to realize that it referred to a child.

In Ashley’s transition, I initially missed that he became both a tree and a candle. It took me following reads to note the bit about the new candle in Nicciah's pocket. Perhaps this could be a little more explicit for the reader.

I am not sure of the significance of the crow and unnamed animal finding Nicciah. Unless they reappear later in the story, consider leaving them out.

I felt the transition of the mother to a younger version of her self to be inconsistent with the other two transitions described; those for the boy and the father. Consider having them become younger as well before turning into a tree and a candle. Also, I missed the transition of the father into a tree on my first reading.

I like this as an opening and it certainly sets up a journey for Nicciah and the girl. For my tastes, though you need to decide how you want to tell the story, there are a couple of areas where the tale could be tightened and that would allow for a little more depth of description of the magic used. All in all, I am curious to follow the next step in this journey.

 

[Stable]

@AnyaKimlin Thanks so much, all of that is very helpful. She was meant to find the music delicious - like how some people believe plants grow better with music, I'll see if I can clarify that. Also the tree with white bark - if I change that to silver is that enough? I feel that saying I made Ashley into an Ash tree it's a bit too on the nose.

@Wayne Mack Thank you. This is supposed to be the first chapter or so, I think the full piece will be about 8x the size. The animals finding Nicciah are mostly there to show that she's having a bad time and it takes a long time, did that come across at all? I could think of a way to show that differently. Your comments on clarity and continuity are really useful.

 

[Wayne Mack]

The animals finding Nicciah are mostly there to show that she's having a bad time and it takes a long time, did that come across at all? I could think of a way to show that differently.

I felt that Nicciah having a bad time was implied through the beating and was not enhanced by the animals. For passage of time, a simpler approach might be to use a section break. Using a section break has the added advantage of giving the reader a dramatic pause in the scene when everything is at its lowest point. It's a subtle thing, but a section break can cause the reader to stop and consider what he or she has just read; without it the reader is tempted to just keep plowing on.

One of the things I have found is that readers often miss subtlety; important points need to be repeated (sometimes referred to as 'hanging a lantern on them.'). Likewise miscellaneous details are often remembered and give the expectation that they are important (see 'Chekhov's Gun').

I want to re-emphasize that I really liked this opening and it sets up the kind of story that I like to read. The nature of Critiques is that the negatives will outnumber the positive comments, so certainly pick and choose what items resonate with you as a writer and ignore the majority. This is already a pretty good opening.

 

[Jordan Glassman]

A wonderfully creative and original foundation for a built world.

I had to read it twice to understand the physiology and magic, however. Perhaps this is OK in a short story, but you might consider explicitly "showing" a bit more about how bodies work. Or what these beings really are.

Along the same lines, I think too much seems to happen in 1300 words. For example, the witch seems to just be doing what she normally does, but the village reacts as if something very unusual is going on. The story suggests that the village is very small, but the witch is interacting with characters as if she's meeting them for the first time. Consider clarifying the scale of things and demonstrating the existing relationship, if any, between characters. In other words, add additional context to better convey characters' motivations.

Global grammar comment: independent clauses are stitched together with a comma several times. These should use a semicolon, or better yet, separated into different sentences. For example:

No one thought it an odd complement from her, the villagers were used to the wise woman’s eccentricities

 

[Aknot]

@Stable
A really lovely piece and the start of a great setting. It's a fun twist on a traditional fantasy world. Well done!

You've gotten some good advice so far and I agree with some of it. To the above I would add:

I think you can generally shorten several sentences. It's a personal preference, but it would make some paragraphs easier to read.
Start stronger! You've got a fantastic introduction, but it's a bit restrained. I think you can give the reader much more about the key character and the setting within a few lines. Something like:

"Your music was delicious," said the witch. None of the villagers thought the comment odd. They where used to Nicciah's eccentrities. As they all stood up, she felt a twig twitch under her skirt. The music must have sprouted a new growth. I will have to shrink it later, the witch thought.

It would establish that she is a witch, that it is the music that is delicious to her and that she is well known by the rest (as they name her, instead of the reader being told the name). At the end of the paragraph you could add that nobody in the village knows what she is and that she wants to hurry off and get rid of the twig. Maybe write that she doesn't want them to know that she isn't human. It might not be necessary but sometimes it's easier to be overly clear.

The second paragraph could tell us a bit more. Why the music, the time of day or the occassion, Nicciah's role etc. Make it clear that she is the local witch of a small rural village (which I assume is the case). Perhaps write the general mood of the villagers relative her. Is she feared or loved or both? Let it all build up a bit.

As suggested, the walk allows you to describe the setting a bit.

Like other's have stated, if it's a small place, she should know the boy and the trouble, but perhaps it has escalated beyond normal. Or maybe it's visitors to the occassion? A family related to someone that lives far off?

Why does Leah call the witch aunty? And how does she know what to do with the wax?

Again, if Leah lived in the village, I think the witch would know everyone's name, not only where her father lived.

I think you can build up the drama and the fight a bit more.