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Edmund picked his way carefully around the croft, the handle of the wicker egg basket in his hand. The basket was empty, as it had been the day before when he went to the hens' roost. And the day before that. The hens looked healthy, but they were not laying. And that would only make his mother even more upset than she already was.

Edmund took the long way round from the coop to the farmhouse, wondering why so much was going wrong, all at one time.

Weeks of clear skies when they needed rain for the fields. Then far too much rain all at once, as if to spite their prayers. During the damp week everyone in the family had been pushed to their limit to keep everything from being washed away. It had been too much for his uncle John, who was now stricken with the grippe and for whom a boiled egg would have been very welcome.

And then his father had been drafted into serving in Lord Bennickshire's army in some conflict that involved several duchies, the details of which were beyond Edmund's ken. Truth be told, much was beyond Edmund's ken, but he was not a dull young man. He learned all that he was taught, and then more besides, but there just was not much to learn in his small village.

With his father gone and his uncle bedridden, he was the oldest and strongest man in the house at 19, and much of the heavy work had fallen to him. Before this, he had been lingering around the carpenter's house, closer to the manor, learning by watching when he could sneak off. But now he couldn't. His sisters and his mother and his uncle needed him.

He knew the workings of their farm better than anything else he had learned, but that work didn't bring him any satisfaction. It was a constant struggle to pull what they needed (and what Lord Bennickshire required for his share) from the earth, while the earth seemed to delight in resisting their efforts. And he could not see how it would ever change.

When he entered the dark interior of the house, he was in a black mood. He tossed the empty basket aside and announced to his mother, "Still no eggs. They must have a pox."

He only noticed then that his mother was sitting with someone by the hearth. When his eyes had adjusted to the dim light, he recognized her as Miriam. Her family tended a different parcel across the river. Edmund was fond of her daughter. His mood brightened, thinking she might also be here someplace.

"Good welcome Miriam," he said. "Did Alice come with you?"

Miriam laughed, "Sorry, no, Edmund. But I will tell her you asked after her when I return."

Miriam turned back to his mother and said to her, "She'll sort it for you, but take the lad. The woods don't feel safe."

His mother nodded and clasped Miriam's hand with both of hers. "Thank you. God's grace works through you, Miriam."

Miriam walked past him, patting him on the shoulder as she did, and left without another word.

He asked his mother, "What was that about? Are you all right?"

His mother shook her head and didn't answer for a moment, then she said, "John is growing weaker. His fever will not break. I have prayed and prayed to the Almighty for his health, but the only answer it seems are more trials."

"And what did Miriam mean, 'She'll sort it for you'?"

His mother sighed. "Miriam tells me that a cunning woman has come. I am sure that the vicar will say it is a mortal sin to deal with her sort, but since we are already accursed," she laughed without mirth.

"What is a cunning woman?" asked Edmund.

"A wise woman. She knows of herbs and poultices and other secret things."

Edmund had never heard of such a person before, but he accepted his mother's word and asked, "Can she heal uncle John?"

"I can only pray yes."

"Where is this cunning woman, then? Miriam said the woods?"

His mother nodded. "The cunning woman will not come into the village. If you wish to deal with her, you must go to her."

"How will she heal uncle John from the woods? I do not like the sound of this, mother. Is this cunning woman a witch?"

"Hsst! Do not say such things. We need no more curses on our house!"

Edmund nodded, but in his head he knew that his mother had not answered his question.

#-.-#

Edmund walked beside his mother as they took a very long way around the manor. He asked, "Why have I never heard of cunning women before?"

His mother answered. "Mayhap because you are a man. But you have heard now. It is no great secret."

"Yet we avoid meeting others on our way."

His mother huffed, "I would that they mind their own affairs. And it is easier for them to do that, if they do not know mine."

"Are there cunning men, then?"

His mother looked at him askance. "I have never heard of such."

"I wonder why? If a man can learn to saw wood and make a table, he could learn to heal men with herbs."

"Mayhap that is true, but there are things that women know that men cannot understand."

"Like what?"

But his mother just laughed.

They veered off the path and entered the woods on a very narrow game trail. Edmund wondered how his mother had known where to go, and she had simply pointed at a small scrap of green cloth that had been tied to a low-hanging branch.

They followed such markers as the woods grew thicker around them. Edmund soon learned to spot them before his mother, and found himself starting to enjoy the journey. It reminded him of when he had been a young boy, before he knew the life he was born into.

The markers ended in a small clearing, wherein an odd-shaped tent had been pitched. There was an open fire burning with an iron cauldron hanging above it from a tripod made of branches, the smoke curling up to the canopy of leaves. The trees that circled the clearing had been decorated with small objects made from woven twigs, hanging from bits of twine. Edmund reached up to touch one, but his mother slapped his hand away.

At the sound, a flap of the tent flipped open and a face peered from the darkness within.

Edmund had been trying to imagine what a cunning woman would look like. He thought that she would be old, older than his mother anyway. She had said 'wise woman', after all, and the wise were most often old. But this woman was young, though older than him, he thought.

She had wild, uncovered black hair, held back with a woven headband and braided in spots with green beads worked into the braids. The one hand he could see was adorned with rings with more green stones set in them. The most striking thing, though, was the face paint she wore. Two black marks dominated her face, starting wide at her hairline and narrowing as they passed over her eyes, coming to points on either cheek.

It reminded Edmund of a traveling show that had passed through the village, years past. There had been people with painted faces, performing acrobatics and juggling. He began to wonder if this woman were simply another performer, and that their journey here was a fool's errand.

The cunning woman glanced from Edmund to his mother, and she smiled. "Hoy, visitors. What brings ye to my camp?"

"I come to deal with the cunning woman," answered her mother.

"Aye, and ye may call me Garnet. What have ye got, then?" she said, emerging from her tent.

"A hen," offered his mother, holding up the basket.

Edmund's eyes widened when Garnet came into full view. She was not tall, and she was covered in a rather shapeless dark gray dress and cloak, but he could tell that she was not like the other women he knew in the village. Her arms were thick with muscles and she moved like she was likewise strong elsewhere.

"And what would ye be asking, for this fine hen?" asked Garnet, ignoring Edmund's gawking entirely.

"My husband's brother has been ill with a fever for many days and..."

Garnet interrupted her, "How many days?"

"Five."

"Did ye bring something of his?"

"Yes," she replied, and pulled a small balled-up rag out of her her shift.

Garnet took both and disappeared into her tent.

Edmund said in a low voice, "Are you going to ask her about the hens too?"

"Hush, boy," said his mother.

Edmund held his tongue despite feeling like nothing more than a guard dog, told to sit and stay. He wandered towards Garnet's fire, curious about what might be boiling in the cauldron. It did not smell like food. More like pine and earth and something pleasantly fruity that he could not name.

The smell was making him feel a bit light-headed this close to the source, so he backed away, nearly tripping over his own feet. Garnet chose this moment to emerge from her tent once again, and watched him with an amused look on her face. She turned to his mother and handed her back the wadded-up rag and also a small cylinder of wood, like a piece of a narrow tree branch without any bark.

"Mix this with whatever ye can make him drink, and make him drink all of it. The fever should break within a day."

"Thank you, Garnet," said his mother. "Blessings of the Almighty be upon you."

Garnet just smiled.

Edmund's mother turned to leave, but Edmund didn't. Instead he said, "Our hens won't lay. Do you have something for that?"

Garnet turned to Edmund and tilted her head, as if finally getting around to actually looking at him. "I may. What have ye got, then?"

"Well, you have one of the hens. Can you tell why she won't lay?"

Garnet just shook her head, smiled, and went back into her tent.

Edmund wasn't sure if she was getting some herbs or something for the hens or not. But his mother hissed at him from the edge of the clearing, gesturing furiously at him to join her and leave.

He spent a rebellious minute ignoring her, but decided Garnet was not going to come back out, and left.

#-.-#

Edmund's uncle John did, in fact, improve the morning after he drank the broth his mother had added Garnet's herbs to. His head was clear, he said, though he was too weak to walk around still.

His mother's relief was like warm sun on a cold spring day. Edmund was relieved as well, since this meant soon he would not be the only set of strong arms about the farm.

But the hens still were not laying.

He mentioned it to his mother, but she said only that they would come around when they would, and not to worry now.

But if Garnet could heal uncle John so easily with just a little bit of herbs, surely she had something for the hens.

He knew that he had to bring something in exchange. Another hen seemed wrong, seeing as he was trying to get them laying again, not trading them all away. He did not have much to give. Certainly no coins or other valuables. Not even simple beads for her to add to her braids.

While rooting around in the little shed attached to the chicken coop where the tools were kept and wondering if Garnet might accept a wooden spade, he saw his father's fishing pole and line. It seemed obvious, then, and he wondered why he hadn't thought of that before. He would bring her some fresh trout from the river. She traded her skill with herbs for food and moved on when there was no more work to be done.

So he took the fishing gear and his quarterstaff, and told his mother he was going fishing.

Which he was, of course. But he planned to take any fish he caught to Garnet, and tell his mother that he caught nothing. He set up on one of the river banks where the fishing was known to be good and waited, occasionally tugging on the line to make the worms he had dug up look more alive.

The plan required him to catch actual fish, of course. And he was beginning to worry as the sun began to climb back down from its noontime zenith. It hung just over the trees to the west when his line finally went taut. He was ready, though, and pulled the fish to the shallows where he could get it onto the river cobbles and kill it.

He wrapped the fish in rushes and then hurried away from the river, down along the fieldstone wall next to the woods which hid Garnet's camp.

In the gathering darkness he worried that he would not be able to see the little scraps of green cloth that marked the way, but he spotted the first one and from there it was mostly a matter of following the deer trail.

As he approached the clearing, he heard voices. Male voices and laughter. He slowed down, trying to move as quiet as possible. The light was truly fading now, but he could see the glow of Garnet's fire through the trees.

There were three men in the clearing. They were poking at Garnet's tent with their own quarterstaves, while one peeked inside, whistling and calling for her to come out. That they had a deal for her. A deal she would like and they would like even better. Edmund knew what they meant, he was no innocent. But it enraged him that they would try to take her by force. She was a good cunning woman, and had probably saved uncle John's life!

Despite not being an innocent, Edmund had also not been in many fights. And so without thinking much about their numerical (and not to mention skill) superiority, he burst into the clearing holding his staff in both hands before him and shouted, "In the name of Lord Bennickshire, leave that woman alone!"

The three men turned, saw Edmund in the firelight and at once began laughing so hard they had to lean on their staves while Edmund stood there, shaking and still holding his staff ready for battle.

The one at the tent entrance finally recovered enough to say, "Run on home, boy, we got here first, and she won't have anything left for you when we're done with her."

When Edmund didn't move, the man shook his head and said, "Pshh, go on, George, give 'im a thump to get him on his way."

George advanced on Edmund, who still stood his ground, even though he was terrified. Edmund raised his staff to head level and spread his hands apart to block George's first attack, but instead of the overhead smash he had been expecting, George ran the blunt tip of his staff right into Edmund's upper belly, knocking the wind and the fight out of him. Edmund fell to his knees, one hand on his staff and the other over his belly.

More laughing ensued. George thankfully did not hit him while he was down.

From the far side of the clearing came a noise, and the laughing stopped. It sounded like something crashing through the underbrush, like a boar or a panicked deer. The men's attention was drawn to it, and Edmund would have run then, if he could breathe or stand. All he could do was kneel and cough weakly as the pain in his belly radiated throughout his body.

The men turned away from Edmund and walked around Garnet's tent to get a better look at whatever was coming through the trees on the other side of the clearing.

And all at once it came. Something huge and snarling and panting into the firelight. Edmund couldn't see it fully from where he was, but he could hear it, and he could hear the men. They screamed startled curses and one shouted, "What in God's name is that??"

Two broke and ran past Edmund without looking back. The other dropped his staff and ducked into Garnet's tent. Edmund stayed where he was, still unable to stand.

So he watched as the great beast lumbered into the firelight. He gasped for breath, and held his head up, looking into its eyes as it looked into his. It was as big as a bull, but much lower to the ground. And it had a pointed face with a large black nose, with a muzzle full of sharp teeth. And its face... white with two black stripes from its ears to its nose.

A badger, he thought. But no, badgers were fierce but not ever this big! But it could be nothing else. It ignored Edmund for now, snuffling around Garnet's tent. It found the opening and nosed inside. There was a thump and it quickly pulled its head back out. It made a low growling rumble, shook its entire furry grey body, then lunged back inside.

There was a shriek, then the badger backed out of the tent and the man followed. Unwilling, as the badger had his arm in its unyielding jaws and he was being pulled along by it. The man kept hitting the badger on the head and trying to poke its eyes, but the badger just shook its head from side to side, like a dog that had caught some vermin. The man's arm was bleeding freely. He looked in panic at Edmund, but the badger pulled him all the way to the side of the clearing and out of sight. Then came a last howling scream and the horrible sound of rending meat.

Edmund tried to use his staff to get to his feet. He had to get out of this place before the beast finished its meal and came for him as well.

He wavered, leaning on his staff, then started heading back the way he came.

"Wait," came a growling raspy voice from behind, lower than any human voice he had ever heard.

Edmund turned, shaking.

The giant badger had returned to the clearing, and was walking slowly back to the fire. Its muzzle was stained dark with the man's blood, but Edmund could still see the stripes.

"Wait," it said again. "I will not kill ye. I heard ye challenge them."

Realization struck him harder than the staff had. It was incredible, like something out of a story, but he knew it had to be true. When he found his breath again, he stammered, "G-Gar-Garnet?"

"Aye," the giant badger, or rather Garnet, agreed.

Before he could stop his mouth, Edmund blurted, "I brought you a fish!"

Garnet-the-badger blinked twice and then made a chuffing snorting sound that Edmund realized was laughter.

"And what would ye be asking, for yer fish?" growled Garnet.

Edmund was having trouble believing he was having this conversation, but it was the only thing that made even vague sense in the moment. He answered, "The hens. The hens won't lay! I th-thought y-you would have... something..."

Garnet sighed, a low rumbling sound of exasperation. She said, "Go into my tent. Touch nothing. I will return when I am finished with the other two."

#-.-#

Edmund did as he was told and sat in the center of Garnet's conical tent. There was a lit tallow candle inside, giving him enough light to see the things he was told not to touch.

One side of the tent was a nest-like bed of simple cloth covering a mound of gathered leaves. The other side was filled with an array of small bundles and many wooden cups and bowls laid out on the ground. He could smell strange spices or herbs over the burning tallow, as well as a deep, earthy musky odor.

Edmund listened for sounds, especially growls or screams, outside the tent, but he heard only the secretive night sounds of the woods. He wondered if he should escape while Garnet was hunting the other two men. She said she would not kill him, and he did believe her, but it would be good sense to be quit of this whole foolish errand.

But he stayed. He had many questions for Garnet, and he would never find the answers if he left. He imagined Garnet would not be staying much longer near his village after tonight. She may never return, in fact. He did not recognize the men, and he knew everyone in his village. But they lived somewhere, and they would be missed, even if they were just highwaymen.

He sat waiting, for a time he could not measure except by the slow melting of the candle. Every time he heard a sound from outside the tent he sat up straighter, but sitting carefully in the center of the tent was becoming uncomfortable, and it was very late. So deciding that Garnet had meant only her things when she told him not to touch anything, he crawled into the nest and closed his eyes.

He was awoken sometime later by a snuffling back nose poking at his side, followed by a great clawed paw pushing on him.

"Awake ye," gruffed Garnet

Edmund sat up quickly in a panic as the giant badger filled almost his entire vision, and blocked his way from the tent exit. The paw moved to his chest but didn't push him back down.

To Edmund's surprise, Garnet climbed into the nest as well, curling around him like a huge furry blanket. She said, "I expected ye to run home, but ye did not. Those hens must be important, aside from being tasty," and she licked her muzzle.

Edmund noticed when she did so that the blood was gone from her face. Had he imagined it? He asked, "Are you a witch?"

Garnet rumbled and snorted. "One or the other, is it? Cunning woman or witch. Ye know not even what ye name."

"I want to know. I want to know what herb you used to heal uncle John. And how you became a badger."

"I cannot teach ye these things, they are not for ye to know."

"Why not? I have learned many other things. I am not simple."

"Ye are a man." She said, and did not elaborate further.

"Why does that matter?"

"I cannot teach ye that. Ye can only know it, not learn it."

Edmund did not like that answer, but he felt like he would get nowhere trying to get her to explain. So instead he asked, "Why are you still a badger? The bandits are gone. Can you not change again?"

"When I awake in the morning I will be comely to yer eyes again."

"You are not so frightening now that you are not dragging a man away by his bloody arm."

"HRhha! Liar. Ye fear me yet. I can smell it on ye," she said, while snuffling through his hair and ear.

He squirmed and ended up much closer to her than his fear meant for him to go, but he reached out and felt her belly behind his back. She was warm, and her fur was soft.

"Hrrmmm... mayhap ye stayed for another reason?" she asked.

"I... I had no such..."

She did that chuffing badger laugh again. "I am sure ye did not. But now ye are thinking it."

"Oh, can you smell that on me too?"

"Yes," she said and raised herself up to snuffle over his chest and down to his breeches.

"I... I can wait until morning, truly."

"I cannot," she said, and began to tug at his tunic with her teeth.

Edmund tried to push her muzzle away to save his clothes, but the only thing that he could do was to quickly wriggle out of them. As soon as they were off, she lost all interest in them. She rumbled deep in her chest again and rolled onto her back, exposing her creamy soft belly and chest to him. She watched him, and he watched back, again caught for a moment wondering how in any sane world this could be happening.

Garnet grew impatient then, and hooked a paw around his side and pulled him roughly onto herself. The opposite paw came around him and held him there. And then her legs wrapped around him. She was soft, and very, very warm. But also solid and unmovable. He had lain with a handful of women in his life, but nothing prepared him for this. Despite that, he was already hard, the benefit and curse of youth.

Garnet pushed him down her body, undulating from side to side as she did so. Edmund raised his head and found her looking at him with one brown, feral eye, her muzzle curled in what he hoped was a grin.

She said in a low throaty purr, "I know I am not like the village girls, but ye will find it." And then she licked him across the mouth.

He tried not to sputter and concentrated on finding it, as she had requested. He struggled to rise, to put some space between his groin and hers, but she was having none of that, only holding him tight to her hot and musky form.

He tilted his hips back, bending his spine as much as he could, and began to quest about with the head of his dick, wishing he could have the help of his fingers. Nothing was familiar in this forest, all the landmarks he thought he knew were in different places. And he was sure that Garnet was laughing silently at his frustration.

"You could help," he said.

"I could, but ye wish to learn my secrets."

"Is this something a man can learn?"

"Oh, aye. One of the better things."

With that encouragement, he tried a different approach, slipping down further while still in her four-legged grasp. He felt his balls find space, tickled only by her tail now, and knew he was close. He could feel the burning heat of her badger cunt against the barrel of his shaft. Just a little more...

Her purring ramped into something almost threatening when he found the path at last, and pressed into her slick feral depths. He looked up and found her muzzle slightly open, and her eyes pointed elsewhere.

He ground his hips to hers in a slow circle, and then pulled back to begin a more familiar rhythm. Garnet's breathing began to come in pants in time with his thrusting into her. He tried to go faster, but every time he did she squeezed him tight enough so that it was too hard to move until he slowed down. He tried to calm himself, but she was hotter and tighter than any woman he had ever been with, despite being at least three times their size.

Despite both their efforts to keep him from boiling over, he knew it was coming soon. And so did she, he expected. She can probably smell it on me. She stopped holding him so tight and he was given more space. He took it, and began to pound into her hard enough that she began to bounce with the impacts. She growled and suddenly released him with her all four legs, and lay spreadeagle under him. He could feel her passage becoming tighter, making him have to fight to keep from being pushed out, so he pressed into her one last time and stayed as deep as he could. Her cunt was spasming around him and a short while later he exploded, sending his seed deep into her in several hot jets.

He lay on her chest and belly, riding her panting breaths up and down while he tried to catch his. Neither spoke for a long time.

Edmund was the first to break the silence. "I'll never see you again, will I?"

Garnet patted him on the back of his head with one of her huge paws. "Aye. But ye have earned something for yer hens, to be sure."

"I still want to learn to be a cunning man."

Garnet gave her heavy badger sigh again. "Ye cannot. Leave it be."

"But I could if I were a woman."

"Aye."

"If you can become a badger, mayhap I can become a woman."

Garnet raised her head then, and peered at the prone almost-a-man resting on her belly. "Ye daft boy. Ye do not want that for true."

"Maybe I do. Then I could leave with you and learn from you."

"Ye have not seen enough of the world to know the cost of what ye seek."

"If I came with you, I could find out."

"Curse me for a fool, ye've become smitten. What of yer mama? She needs ye."

Edmund had no answer for that, for he knew it would break his mother if he, too, left her.

"Sleep now. Ye will see clear in the morning."

Edmund slept, deep and dreamless.

When he awoke he found himself alone on the bed of leaves, next to the embers of Garnet's fire. The tent and Garnet were gone. He could see the circle where the tent had been, and in the half where she had arrayed her bowls and bundles, one tied bundle remained. It sat upon a piece of birch bark where five lines of text were written. He dressed, took both, and left the clearing, his heart and his head heavy with things he did not understand.

But he knew one thing for certain-- he would learn to read before autumn came.

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