2

Brag stopped only when the castle walls were obscured by the first trees. During one of his escapes from stones hurled by the farmhands, he came across a small hole in the wall. A grown man had no chance of squeezing through, but Brag resembled a teenage boy and easily fit through the narrow gap, perfectly camouflaged by large tufts of thick burdock. It was through this that the hunchback now escaped, guided mainly by instinct. He knew no one would believe the changeling and that the guards would simply beat him to death. Flo's screams must have lured Kleba, and seeing her unconscious or—what Brag feared most—dead, he would have mistaken him for an attacker who wanted to rob the cook or dissuade her of her virtue. No explanations would have helped. Who would want to listen to such a wretch as he?

One thing was certain: he couldn't stay in the castle!

At first, he ran blindly. Only the powerful blows of branches and the dull hooting of the fluff birds, which had risen into the air, startled by the noise the hunchback was making, sobered him up. He realized that any further breakneck sprint through the forest might end in the nearest fallen tree, or in the jaws of some predator aroused by his noises. And the tales of Stary Bor, whose territory he now found himself in, were so chilling that Brag's matted hair instantly stood on end.

He spent the night at the foot of a mighty pine tree, shivering with cold, or perhaps more so with mounting fear. He was unable to gather his thoughts. Every sound made his legs leap, and only an effort of will kept him from running back toward the fortress darkening in the distance. Fortunately for him, the night ended quickly, and slowly, the clearer outlines of trees began to emerge from the darkness, illuminated by the first, still faint rays of the rising sun.

As the darkness of night, and with it his nightmares, vanished in the glow of a summer day, the hunchback delved into the rustling forest, having previously nourished himself with a few handfuls of picked berries, whose tart-sweet taste lingered for a long time. Although he practically never strayed far from the castle, he knew which direction he should head. Every inhabitant of Dale had heard of the Goat Cave and its inhabitant. The mere thought made Brag's legs buckle, and sudden waves of heat radiated from his contorted back.

But the hunchback continued eastward, delving deeper and deeper into the Old Forest. He had nothing left to lose. The road to the castle was closed to him. Sometimes, in moments of despair, he felt like collapsing under a tree and waiting for his impending death. Yet something kept compelling him to keep going. He walked blindly, no longer paying attention to directions. He knew he would end up in Goat Cave, even if he didn't want to.

Even before dusk, Brag noticed a change in the monotonous landscape. The terrain began to pile up, and the hunchback found it increasingly difficult to overcome each obstacle. He was incredibly lucky that no predator had yet picked up the trail of such easy prey. He did see two large bears, but they ignored him completely. Somewhere in the distance, he also heard a herd of feeding wild boars. However, he didn't encounter any bloodsuckers or dwarves. Unfortunately, his hope of reaching Goat Cave before darkness fell was dwindling. And he had no desire for another night in the middle of the forest.

And that was when he saw it!

Goat Cave emerged before his eyes, as if plucked from the bowels of the earth. In an instant, it was gone, and when he blinked, it was there. He rubbed his eyes in astonishment and stared at the cave's dark, musty cavity. He knew he had found Goat Cave!

It took a long time, however, to gather enough courage to enter the darkness that enveloped the cave. A few deep breaths and the image of the chatelaine standing in full sunlight helped him take a few tentative steps deeper into the cave. Contrary to his first impression, the cave's interior wasn't dark at all. A strange glow emanating from the damp walls illuminated the cave with a ghostly glow.

Brag walked along a narrow, winding, meandering corridor. Every now and then, his bare feet sank into something soft. Curious, he bent down and lifted a piece to his eyes. The smell alone spoke volumes. It was goat droppings. Now he understood the name given to the cave.

He stumbled upon the witch as unexpectedly as he had stumbled upon the cave moments earlier. Suddenly, the corridor transformed into a vast rock chamber, a large bonfire blazing in the center. It was exactly as Brag had always imagined.

The witch, stooping, was stirring a huge ladle majestically in a huge cauldron of steaming liquid and humming a bawdy song to herself. In the flickering firelight, the hunchback could get a good look at her. She was certainly very old. Her face resembled a pockmarked swamp, and the only relatively smooth appearance was her sharp, searching eyes. The hair on her head, completely gray, was already so thin that the wrinkled skin showed through in places. A single surviving tooth, yellowish-brown, protruded from her half-open mouth.

The witch seemed unaware of the hunchback at first, completely absorbed in stirring the cauldron and bellowing out verses of a song about some goat girl that all the goats in the area were eager for. Only a loud clearing caused the witch's head to turn towards the newcomer.

"Aaah..." she gurgled. "Son of Zend! Please! Please! I mean, fat Flo couldn't keep her mouth shut!"

Hearing these words, Brag's eyes widened in astonishment. In Zagórze, witches rarely interacted with humans, living far away in the forests or wilderness, and although each county boasted of having its own witch, their help was only resorted to as a last resort. So how did the witch know old Flo?

"What's got you so confused, dear?" the Witch gurgled. "Come here!" she waved a withered hand. "Let me take a look at you, dear! The son of Zend! Well, well!"

Brag reluctantly submitted to the Witch's thorough inspection. Her dry hands lingered on his crooked spine to pat him affectionately, muttering incomprehensible words as she did so. Brag was completely unprepared for this. People were rather afraid to touch his hump. The witch's examination lasted a while longer, and the hunchback began to grow impatient.

"Son of Zend!" the Witch repeated once again, smacking her lips obscenely. "Beated? What, my dear? Beaten!" she asked first, then firmly stated, stumbling upon one of the numerous scars left by the castle servants' "caressings." "They probably beat him often! And called him a changeling? What? My dear? Such is our fate! We have to get used to it! And if not, then run! Run, my dear, wherever our eyes may take us! Just as you have just done! You did well!" She patted his hump again, which tingled pleasantly.

"Lady!" Brag finally stammered, emboldened by the Witch's familiarity. "Lady, tell me about your father!"

"You don't know anything about him! What, my dear?" the Witch laughed caustically. "So sit down and try my spirit!" With a wide motion, she poured some steaming liquid into a mug pulled from her breast pocket.

The liquid was thick and stinging. Brag choked immediately after the first sip, and after a long moment, he barely managed to catch his breath.

"First time, eh, my dear!" the Witch laughed. Brag nodded. "They didn't give it, did they? And spirit is good for worries! Oh, good! And you, my dear, are you feeling heavy? Drink more! Spirit only stings at first! Drink!" the old woman encouraged him with her dry hand.

So the hunchback took a long sip, and this time the drink flowed smoothly down his throat. A moment later, Brag felt his mind seem a bit clearer than usual, and his worries were drowned in momentary oblivion. The Witch smiled broadly with her toothless lips.

"See, my dear?" she nodded, looking at the hunchback with obvious satisfaction. "It will do you good, son of Zend! So you want to know who your father was?" Brag nodded, and the old woman took a deep breath and, scratching her brown warts every now and then, began to tell her story. "He was a strange man—this Zend! In a crowd, no one would have noticed him. Small, squat, from a distance, he resembled a barrel rolling on the ground. How can appearances be deceiving? When he first appeared in my Grotto, I didn't see his true POWER either. But when I looked into the fire, then..." A sudden reminder of the old fear flashed across the Witch's face. "It's better not to evoke that..." the old woman looked at the hunchback carefully. "Zend was a man I've never met, and I've lived longer than I can remember for generations. But he had powerful enemies!" So powerful, in fact, that he had to flee from them all the way to our own Zagórze. He, the all-powerful magun, before whom entire kingdoms trembled, sought refuge with me, a poor Witch from a land he might never have heard of before. But the forces pursuing him…" The old woman paused again and, gasping for air, plunged her lips into the still-steaming liquid. Only after a few sips was she able to continue her tale. "They caught him in the marshes near the Great Pass of the East. I warned him about THEM! I saw THEM in the fire! But he only made me swear to look after you and left for the wilderness to keep danger away from you and your unfortunate mother. And I watched over you as best I could, Brag, son of Zend!

" "Did you order Flo to look after me?" the hunchback asked in a hollow voice.

"Yes, my dear!" the old woman nodded. "You were supposed to keep a low profile!" And mature into what your father destined you for!

"What is this?!" Brag exclaimed, his eyes burning.

"You'll know in due time, my love!" the Witch replied seriously. "Your time hasn't come yet! But IT'S close, really close! I can feel it!" The Witch's gaze drifted unconsciously to the blazing fire, which instantly glowed under her gaze.

Brag then imagined the flames taking on a human form, beckoning him with a beckoning hand. He was about to ask the Witch about this when a dark shape flew past his head, striking directly at the old woman's chest. The Witch staggered, and a stream of thick blood gushed from her mouth.

The attackers attacked in complete silence. There were three of them. Three dark shapes separated and began slowly approaching the hunchback cowering beside the fallen Witch. Their triangular heads held few human features. Their birdlike, hooked noses gave them an eerie appearance, deepened by their round, pupil-less eyes, glowing with a greenish light. In their overly elongated, severally bent paws, they held menacing-looking blades.

"Use the POWER!" the Witch moaned, desperately raising herself to her feet.

The hunchback looked at the old woman in fear and helplessly spread his arms.

The monstrous creatures were now just a few steps away, and Brag could smell their swamp-smelling breath. He knew that in a moment the silver blades would descend upon them, and nothing would matter to him anymore. And that was when he felt the Witch's hand, raised by force of will, touch his back. He felt a strange wave of heat spread around him.

He had no recollection of what happened next. When consciousness returned, he first smelled the foul odor of burnt flesh, which nearly knocked him unconscious again. When he finally opened his eyes, he saw two still-smouldering mounds of blackened remains, amidst which glistened silver blades. A little further on, the last of the attackers writhed in terrible pain, tucking his half-burned feet under him and trying to crawl away from his terrifying enemy.

"What happened?" Brag's voice was filled with utter astonishment. He looked around with astonishment, unable to understand. Had he done it? But how?

"It's POWER!" the Witch moaned with great difficulty, her lips covered with a layer of burnt skin and her eyes clouded over. "You have to get used to it, my love!" She is your treasure and your misfortune!" she interrupted, seeming to lose consciousness. But it only lasted a moment. "Your father gave it to you as a gift! But remember, if you don't learn to control it, your fate will be terrible!

" "How can I learn?" the hunchback howled. "Teach me!

" "Go to the West!" the Witch said, her voice growing weaker, and drops of bloody foam appeared in her mouth. "Be careful of..." She

didn't finish. A violent spasm swept through her withered body, after which she froze. She was dead!

Brag turned away from her suddenly diminished body, which was undergoing rapid decay. The Goat Witch had survived the moment of her death by many decades, and now Nature was claiming its rights. When the hunchback found herself next to her shrill, howling attacker, all that remained of the old woman was a pile of rotten bones.

"Don't touch me!" The horribly mutilated creature's voice resembled the screeching of a fluffball. The monster tried to crawl away toward the cave entrance.

"Who are you?" Brag asked in a resigned tone, not expecting an answer.

"We will be avenged!" the creature lashed out, and before the hunchback could react, with a lightning-fast movement, he sliced ​​the scaly skin of his throat with his blade. Greenish blood spattered onto the hunchback's bare feet, his stomach unable to bear it any longer, and a slimy liquid gushed from Brag's mouth.