This post was inspired by a writing prompt in the Worldbuilding Community - Mortar and Pestle
Enjoy !
Image created by AI in NightCafe Studio
The weekly mail wagon pulled up in the central square of Tuadun. Mabar, the driver, looked around. It never ceased to amaze him that this town seemed like such a backwater when it sat on the main, indeed the only, trade road between Tarak and Filrath. The road itself was a hazardous bandit-ridden track through the dark forests, poorly marked and hardly worthy of being called a road at all. Merchants were always glad to reach Tuadun and know they'd reached safety.
Mabar was glad that his route was more of a circuit of Tarak, a relaxed plod through bucolic villages and sleepy towns. But then the whole Principality was a bit like that. A backwater with a past that was exciting enough for people not to want to relive those days.
It was easy enough for Mabar to haul out the three sacks of letters in the back of his wagon and pass them to the waiting recipients. One each for the Weavers and Fullers Guilds, to be passed to the townsfolk who were their members and (for a suitable fee) for them to pass on to other townsfolk who were not guild members. The third sack was smaller, containing official correspondence, and was passed to a constable of the watch to be handed to Mayor Gerd privately.
But parcels were Mabar's responsibility to deliver. Postmaster Verix had explained it like this; "Parcels are wonderful ! Too big and clumsy for the mail sacks, you deliver them yourself, and you're bound to get a good tip or maybe a free meal in exchange. People are always so grateful to get a box from far places."
This time round, there was just one box in Mabar's wagon. It was the size of a large hat box, but when he went to pull it out, the thing was heavy ! He could feel that the brown paper and string outer covered a hidden wooden crate. But even that didn't account for the weight, it was like carrying a small boulder.
He checked the name and address on it. Mother White, the White Rose Cottage, Tuadun.
"Hey !" he called, trying to attract the attention of one of the urchin who always seemed to be drawn to the square when he arrived. "Can you tell me where to find White Rose Cottage ?"
The urchin turned, an especially grubby specimen, he saw. "Gimme a copper pony and I'll take ye there."
Fishing in his pocket, Mabar found one of the small coins and tossed it over to the boy. Good to his promise, the lad beckoned him to follow and set off at a trot down the South Road. Then had to slow down as Mabar laboured under the burden he was bearing. No trotting for him !
But Tuadun was only a small town, so it only took a few minutes to reach the cottage, set a little apart from other buildings with a small fishpond in front. As soon as they were there, the urchin disappeared. Mabar wondered for a second; he'd expected to be pestered for another copper before the lad went, but it hadn't happened.
He tapped on the pristine green-painted door. The cottage was like something from a portrait gallery, bedecked with wisteria and climbing roses, with whitewashed walls and freshly painted window frames, shutters and door all in matching grass green gloss paint. A single magpie sat on the crest of the thatched roof, watching Mabar with idle curiosity through black glassy eyes. The door knocker was slightly odd. It was a beautifully made brass affair in the shape of a corvid of some kind, slightly out of keeping with the rural idiom the rest of the cottage worked so hard to maintain.
When the door was opened, he had to look down. Mabar was a sturdy six footer, but the woman answering the door was maybe five feet if she stood on tiptoes. But not far off five feet if she lay down, either. She clearly fitted her name. Mother White. Her curly hair was snowy white, the pale skin of her face creased by laughter lines. She had a merry squint in her eye, a long and somewhat complex white dress and an apron which was also white but had the faded staining that only berries and herbs could leave behind. If he had to guess, Mabar would have said she was in her mid-fifties.
A smile of joy spread across her face when she saw Mabar, and more importantly, what he was carrying.
"Ah ! My new mortar and pestle ! Such good timing ! I've had a batch of ingredients for my next batch of healing potion sitting waiting to be ground for a month, ever since I accidentally dropped my old mortar. Trying to use a breadboard is such a slow process !"
She took the box from him, and he couldn't help but notice that she seemed not to struggle with the weight even in the slightest.
The Healer disappeared into her cottage to put her parcel down, and when she emerged she had a small glass vial in her hand.
"Let me thank you with this little gift. Just a little something I made. It'll keep for at least three months, drink it when you fall behind with your work, it'll be a little pick-me-up to keep you working all through the night and the next day too with no need to sleep."
With that, she smiled again and closed the door.
Inside the cottage behind closed shutters, Mother White placed the package on her work table an peeled back the brown paper, then prised open the wooden packing crate. Within was a mortar and pestle. Not new. It was cracked and chipped, made of granite so dark that it was more black than grey.
She turned to the other person in the chamber.
There was no smile on her face now, and the laughter lines had straightened so something far more sinister looking. The second person was even more frightening; her jet black clothing a mirror image of Mother White's, but she was tall and spare, a complete opposite to White's short and plump frame.
"Now, Sister Black. You have bought the infants' bones, yes ? Place them in this accursed mortar. Then the two of us will grind them to powder and make the potion we need. Together we can bring our Sister Claw back from the beyond, and make our hag coven whole again. Then we can wreak vengeance on those pathetic fools who though they could tear us apart !"
The two sisters chuckled unpleasantly as they started their devilish work....
Map created in Wonderdraft by me
(edited because I forgot to add image credits. D'oh !)