The Fair-Haired sat at the table, a single candle burning before her. Outside, it was night; the room was dark, and only the light of the lonely candle illuminated her.

  The girl looked out the window. Her family’s house stood at the very edge of the vilge. In the moonlight, a well-cleared plot of nd was clearly visible, where unusual pnts grew. Beyond it y the forest. The vilgers called the cleared area the Magic Field. There, the Warlock and the locals could grow anything they wished. Any seeds could be pnted—even those damaged by frost or drought—and they would still grow into full, sturdy pnts. Small objects could even be pnted, and they would sprout into bizarre, fantastical forms. Their fruits were juicier and tastier than those from ordinary seeds.

  Of course, safety rules had to be followed. In the second year of the field’s existence, the local Warlock wrote them down on a sheet of paper. Once, the vilge bcksmith pnted his fallen teeth on the Magic Field, and they grew into a rge, bck carnivorous pnt that began devouring every vilger who came near. When the bcksmith realized the horrifying consequences of what seemed like an innocent act, he ran to destroy the predator with a forged sword and a hammer—but after a short fight, he too was completely consumed. The Warlock could do nothing to stop it. Setting the field on fire was strictly forbidden—and in any case, it couldn’t burn, protected by unknown magic.

  Only the intervention of the witches stopped the disaster. They destroyed the predator pnt.

  The witches called the cleared plot by a different name, in their own tongue: the Devil’s Tongue. They had gifted it to the vilgers so that they wouldn’t go mad from their miserable lives or die out prematurely. Because evil witches would still come at night, abducting young girls and boys. What happened to the kidnapped no one knew, for they were never seen again. Yet the vilgers secretly held onto the hope that one day, they could grow a weapon on the Magic Field that would kill the witches and free them from the sorcerous captivity.

  There were unwritten rules, passed quietly from mouth to mouth and memorized by every vilger, about how to avoid witches. The Fair-Haired was breaking one of these rules right now. It said never to light a candle at night, especially one that could be seen from the window. Otherwise, an evil witch would come and take you.

  She had been sitting under the candlelight for over an hour, and nothing had happened. She began to think it was all made up, and that the rule had been created just to save candles and reduce the effort of maintaining order—especially for those who didn’t like going to bed early.

  A shadow flickered outside the window.