The First Dark Witch

Chapter 7 - The Vagrant

Chapter VII - The Vagrant

Lenora’s blood boiled with rage.

After returning to her home and being awoken by the screams of her Grandmother Rawena and her Auntie Autumn, her family had quickly alerted the head of Liriel, the wise and powerful Moira Clove. Older than Lenora’s grandmother, Moira Clove entered with a hobble into the Nettle home. 

“Nothing I haven’t seen before, I’m sure,” Moira babbled with Grandmother Rawena and Auntie Autumn in tow. “We’ll have this all settled before you know it.” Turning to step into Rawena’s kitchen, Moira paused at the sight of the gargoyle standing beside a pale, hunched-over, and exhausted Lenora who reluctantly placed her weight against the foreign creature. “Oh my,” Moira uttered, her eyes wide with disbelief, “Lenora Nettle, what have you gotten yourself into this time?”

Lenora said nothing, feeling dejected enough as it was.

“Matriarch,” Grandmother Rawena started, “The wound on her leg needs mending.” Lenora watched as her grandmother pointed to the makeshift bandage. Part of her shift had been ripped to facilitate the compress. After passing out in transit toward Liriel, she didn’t recall her mode of transportation stopping to bind the wound. Abaddon wasn’t apologetic in his actions the night earlier but he at least kept to his word that she wouldn’t be harmed so long as she was truthful about her innocence.

“Yes, yes,” Moira said, her eyes darting to the leg, back to Lenora and then to Abaddon, “Something more is amiss. Lenora, what have you done?”

“I’ve done nothing wrong,” Lenora defended, her voice strained as sweat dripped from her face, “All I did was summon a familiar for protection.”

“Then why is darkness surrounding you?” Moira questioned calmly. “Speak honestly!”

Lenora could only groan in annoyance.

“Lenora!” Auntie Autumn scolded, “Show respect to the matriarch.”

“What? I’m… I don’t have an answer,” Lenora replied sheepishly.

“A nuckelavee answered her call from the underworld,” Abaddon said, breaking his silence, “The spirit traveled from a region beyond.”

There was silence. No one quite knew what that meant, even Matriarch Moira who appeared confused by such a phenomenon.

“A cleansing ritual must be performed,” Moira finally spoke.

About to protest, Lenora opened her mouth to speak but was cut off by Grandmother Rawena.

“At once,” Grandmother Rawena agreed.

Lenora and her grandmother locked eyes before Lenora stared down at the floor with contempt. She could feel Abaddon’s gaze on her, the gargoyle standing still in order to not brush his wings against the small space around him, made even smaller by the little trinkets surrounding him such as jars, bottles, and the hanging leaves above. Refusing to look anyone in the eye, she felt in the depths of her soul that her life had changed for the worse.

...

At the center of a rare open meadow within Liriel, Lenora knelt with only a white ritual gown on. In the Lirien tongue, a chant was led by Moira. The curious stares of bystanders and passersby alike were all either on her or the curious creature that had delivered her back home. Lenora glared at Abaddon as he towered over everyone else in the growing crowd. Abaddon instead observed as the coven elders circled around Lenora, each of them holding burning sage in their hands. Arms folded across his chest, the gargoyle appeared priggish that the matriarch herself seemed convinced of the evil within her just by one look. The ridicule she felt made her cheeks burn. She didn’t sense the same evil that everyone else instinctively perceived. Only shame.

Abaddon all but confirmed the village’s quiet concerns about her. “I always knew that there was something strange about that girl; I could feel it in my bones.” “We were right to be concerned for Lenora Nettle. She was trouble from the start.” “Now the gods sent us an angel of destruction to protect us from what she can do.” If Lenora had hoped for a simplistic life before, such a dream had dwindled away into nothingness the moment Abaddon arrived. Life could never be benign for her. Not with a gargoyle inspecting her every move in the event that she’d act on even the faintest of misdeeds.

It was daylight now. Despite the stories and myths surrounding gargoyle lore, what had been turned into flesh and blood last night did not turn back into stone by morning. He was still frustratingly present. The matriarch’s chants were joined by the other nine coven elders - Grandmother Rawena included - in a beautiful and melodic tune. Such words had purpose. They were pleas for protection and purging all malevolence. Yet Lenora heard very little of it beyond her own thoughts. 

Abaddon had shed light on a subject that Lenora presumed she’d never receive answers for, that of her father. Could an angel of destruction be known to err in his assumptions or was he right in all things? He was beneath only deity alone, practically a god himself. Surely years upon years of hunting down evil, he was well-attuned to such beings. It was his sole purpose in life, after all. If he could never be wrong, then was she now a lost cause?

As the chants continued, the coven elders still circling about, Lenora burned with anger while keeping another vulnerable emotion at bay: humiliation. If there was an evil within her that everyone could somehow sense but her, she had spent a lifetime proving to others that she was good, all for it to be a fruitless endeavor. It took her long enough just for a handful of souls in the village to be comfortable with when she was in their near vicinity. The rumors involving Bronwyn had never ceased. Now, gossip would spread beyond speculation. Lenora had lived piously for twenty-four years among the Liriens. All it took was a gargoyle’s word over hers for all such attempts to be approving in their eyes rendered utterly useless.

Several drops of warm water trickled down from over her head. With little time to react, Lenora tensed her muscles and held her breath as a gush of water poured down all over her body. She shook while letting out gasp as the cool air poorly contrasted with the quickly fading heat of the water on her skin. Those who circled about her with sage in hand stood closer while waving their smudges back and forth in unison. Still shaking profusely, she returned her glare back at Abaddon. 

Guiding her to lay down, the coven elders encircled her as they rolled her onto her stomach. Placing the sage into a large bowl resting by her head, they each picked up a jar of cleansing balms. Lenora soon felt the hands of the coven elders begin to rub the balm all over her arms and legs. It smelled of roses and corkscrew hazel - scents that she’d now associate with public degradation. The makeshift bandage had been removed and soon after she felt a needle enter in and out of her lower calf muscle. Lenora held her breath and buried her head into the crook of her arm to keep herself still, tears rolling down the side of her face.

She could feel Grandmother Rawena pat the top of her head softly. “It will be alright, child.” The balm was massaged into her skin and, admittedly, did work to keep her from focusing on the stitching of her wound. Turning her over once the wound was bound, they helped Lenora sit up straight as Moira declared in the Lirien tongue that the ritual was nearly concluded. Lenora kept her gaze distant from everyone as Grandmother Rawena massaged just over Lenora’s heart. Whether it be a trick of the light or a sincere semblance of emotion, Lenora thought she saw tears forming in her grandmother’s eyes. Feeling miserable for her own circumstances still, she had to remember how her own family had all experienced their heartache upon being burdened with her in their lives. Combined with the embarrassment and anger, Lenora now felt grief. Not for herself, but for the ones that had raised her throughout all the tribulations she must have caused them by merely existing. 

The ritual was finished with Lenora feeling unchanged - the only difference was that her wound was in better condition. As the crowd began to disperse, she saw her aunts approach while the coven elders spoke amongst themselves. Leading the group was Auntie Autumn. All with flowy, black hair - much like Grandmother Rawena - they stood in contrast to Aunt Thora’s light brown, curly hair as she held the hand of Aunt Hazel. Aunt Ophelia shouldered past Autumn and helped Lenora stand up. “Dear child, you’ve already had quite the morning,” she breathed out while supporting almost all of Lenora’s weight. “Let’s say you rest a bit.”

Lenora could rely on her family to not treat her differently. They each loved their younger sister Bronwyn. Instead of the stories that the other villagers spread around, her aunts spoke very little in her memory. Too painful, Lenora presumed at first, but then changed her mind and believed their memories of Bronwyn had been too sacred and special to utter. To them, Bronwyn Nettle was a distant dream that they kept well-preserved in their recollections.

Except they were the only ones who even attempted to treat her tenderly. 

...

Resting only helped so much. After an hour of laying on her bed in the attic, Lenora tossed on a skirt and corset over her shift then situated herself at the front of the Nettle home by the creek’s edge. Her cousins, Mabel and Esadora, played nearby, their laughter carrying in the wind while Lenora listened to their carefree dalliance. She fought the sensation of jealousy, turning around to look at them and their uninhibited existences. Lenora sighed. There were better things she could do than feel sorry for herself. 

A basket of clothing sat nearby the water in preparation for a wash. Taking such a task upon herself, she picked up the first item that belonged to Esadora, dunking it in the shallow water and wringing it out over and over again before taking a bat to the fabric and beating the stains out. It certainly worked to let out Lenora’s inner frustrations.

“Where’s the gargoyle?” She heard Grandmother Rawena inquire behind her.

Lenora didn’t answer, ignoring the older woman while she continued to wallop the shift in her hands. In all honesty, she didn’t know where Abaddon flew off to. With any luck, she had already proved that her life was tedious enough to not merit an overseer from the gods above.

“I brought you soup,” Grandmother Rawena then offered, placing it on a small work table at the front of their home. Lenora glanced up for only a brief second before tending back to washing.

It was quiet for a short time but the tension surrounding them seemed to shout its prominence. The breeze, the bat hitting the linen, Mabel and Esadora playing and birds chirping in the distance still sounded, however Grandmother Rawena was focused on Lenora alone. Lenora could feel her grandmother staring at her but refused to speak, too angry to even acknowledge her presence.

“How’s your leg?” Grandmother Rawena then asked, still trying to bait Lenora into conversation.

“Why do you care?” Lenora snapped back. She stood up and limped over to hang the garment so it could dry before going back to the water’s edge and dunking another item into the water.

Grandmother Rawena sat next to the water’s edge, making herself comfortable for the argument that was about to ensue, “Not quite sure that I deserve that attitude, Lenora.”

Lenora twisted the clothes harder, not speaking until she was able to get the proper wording. She would respect her grandmother; that wouldn’t keep her from speaking her mind. “You know that I didn’t want the coven to intervene. I get enough attention from the village that this doesn’t exactly benefit my standing with them.”

“What else was I supposed to do, child?” Grandmother Rawena quickly retorted, “You needed help beyond my skill set! Beyond your aunts! Beyond anyone but the matriarch.”

“I didn’t need the elders or the matriarch!” Lenora practically shouted.

Grandmother Rawena stood up, possibly knowing that she wouldn’t win this fight with Lenora’s anger being as strong as it was, “You may not appreciate their help, but I do. The angel of destruction delivered you back home while you lay senseless in his arms. What are we to interpret from that, Lenora?”

“Interpret what you will,” Lenora muttered, wringing the second item of clothing harshly, “My opinion and my word have no credit so it matters not.”

Her grandmother huffed, “You’re the witch who refuses to take part in her own coven. You’re the one who chooses to shut everyone out.”

“I chose that?!” Lenora asked incredulously, looking at her grandmother with wild eyes, “Just because I’ve accepted that I will forever be ostracized by my own people doesn’t mean that I chose such a life, Grandmother!” Her voice got caught in her throat, hot tears rolling down her face. Grandmother Rawena held her gaze, no longer arguing the complexities that Lenora harbored within her soul. Lenora sniffed and wiped some tears away before taking the bat in her hands to swat at the cloth, “Say it’s all in my head and that everyone has adored me all of these years.” 

The laughter of Mabel and Esadora persisted in the background, both young girls oblivious to the conversation nearby. “You can’t,” Lenora continued, “Then perhaps you’d comfort me by saying that our village has treated me equally?” She stopped then glanced at her grandmother to gauge her reaction. “You can’t do that either. If not equally, then at least they’ve treated me fairly; which is all I can ask for, isn’t it? But no matter what, there will always be the constant stares and whispers. Coven or not, I’m not treated like a sister here and you can’t keep telling me otherwise.” More tears fell, Lenora stopping in her rant to sob before finishing what she had to say. “I’m only treated as Bronwyn Nettle’s shadow and the result of her mistakes.”

Grandmother Rawena’s eyes glistened. There was a wall that stood between their level of understanding now. Faced with some harsh truth, Lenora could only spit it out and renounce what everyone had said about her if only to keep herself from accepting what they all believed.

Unable to offer any more comfort, Grandmother Rawena attempted to reach for Lenora’s shoulder. Lenora brushed her hand away and stared off to the other side of the creek, her body shaking from anger and internal pain. 

“Eat the soup when you’re able, child,” Grandmother Rawena offered feebly as she stood up to take her leave.

“I’m not hungry,” Lenora answered, her voice quiet.

Grandmother Rawena began to walk away, Lenora hearing her stop momentarily before having the final word, “Be angry if that’s what you wish. I suppose you have every right to be. For what it’s worth, the matriarch did speak with the gargoyle on your behalf after the ritual. For all one knows, the gods have gifted you a companion--”

Lenora buried her head into her hands, unable to conceive what her grandmother was about to suggest. Even the gods felt the need to look down on her if that were the case.

“Very well,” her grandmother said and walked away. 

Lenora waited until she was gone before completely breaking down, unable to stop the tears from flowing. She hit the piece of clothing harshly some more. She was without a familiar - a being that was summoned for the purpose of protection but a spirit that she could depend on when others fell short of compassion. That was all she sought and now felt marked by everyone for simply attempting to help in a warning given to her within a dream.

She wept bitterly, only wanting acceptance. Maybe Bronwyn Nettle had the right idea about leaving Liriel, she thought. Looking above her at the sun peering from beyond the trees, she took a deep breath and thought about the nuckelavee. It was unlike anything in the Cantermar Woods. And like her, the nuckelavee was alone. They were connected souls by the summoning, but the bond had not formed. 

Mabel and Esadora had stopped playing. Peering over her shoulder, she saw the two girls pointing at the sky at an approaching figure. Great, he’s back, Lenora thought and stood up to walk across the grass to hang the second item. His wing span was something of a grandiose nature - something that Lenora couldn’t deny - as he lithely glided for landing. Landing directly in front of her home, she gave him the same treatment bestowed on her grandmother: silence. 

“Everyone vouched for you,” Abaddon said, his tone disappointed. “They all said that regardless of the way you made them feel, they can’t consciously say they’ve seen you commit any evil act that would merit punishment.”

This wasn’t new information for Lenora. Pursing her lips, she ignored the gargoyle and attempted to reach the hanger line. Seeing her struggle, Abaddon reached effortlessly to hold it to her eye level. “I was hoping that you leave upon proof of my innocence,” Lenora decided to say, feeling as if speaking her mind was all she could do to prevent her from complete insanity. She adjusted the linen onto the hanger and stepped away to continue in her work.

“My intentions within Liriel are clear,” Abaddon argued, his voice resembling a growl, “I am bound by duty to carry it out.”

Lenora made a face then continued with her work. She grabbed a gray apron and dunked it into the creek, subsequently wringing it. Abaddon lurked, not hiding that he was watching her from his spot. Was this to be her life from now on? She’d rather he kill her to avoid further awkwardness.

“I once stole an apple from our neighbor’s tree,” Lenora began, pointing to the apple tree in the distance, “That one, over there. Is that considered a punishable offense?”

“Woman, if everyone was tried for even the smallest of crimes, hell would be overrun,” Abaddon gruffed, his tone annoyed.

“I’m sure the world has far more evil than myself,” Lenora argued, “Far be it from me to keep you from more important duties elsewhere. Tell me, did idle gossip within Liriel compare to that of your glory days of old? Slaying evil on an open battlefield could potentially be mundane.”

“If this is your sorry attempt to mock me, you’re doing a very poor job,” Abaddon quipped.

“Get comfortable with the insults,” Lenora muttered, “If I am to endure a lifetime of your company, then I’m more than happy to grant you a fraction of the humiliation I was given this morning.”

“That was humiliation? The ritual? In what way?” He seemed genuinely amazed by her statement and added a guffaw to further prove his ignorance on the matter.

Lenora didn’t want to touch upon a subject to a being who cared very little about her. He wouldn’t have begun to understand and it would’ve been a waste of breath on her part. “I seem to be asked that a lot, yet no one truly cares to actually know.” She gazed above her at the treeline. There was potential that someone could understand. The nuckelavee. There was something that drew her to finding her familiar. She was sure that the pull was mutual - Lenora could feel it in her soul. But how could she find it?

“The nuckelavee lingers near here,” Abaddon answered. She turned to face him, her eyebrows drawn together with perplexion. “Did you think that I was only questioning the baker or butcher about your life history? I was tracking your familiar.”

“Why spend your time doing that?” Lenora questioned, knowing there must have been ulterior motives than to just assist her.

“Because, unlike you, I don’t like to leave questions unanswered,” Abaddon muttered.

“You say that but have remained asleep for centuries in the Cantermar Woods to be left undisturbed,” Lenora argued, making Abaddon’s head turn sharply to glare at her. Lenora took delight in finally cracking a sliver of his ego away. That got a reaction and she knew where to later dig her heel if provoked. With a sense of power regained, she held onto his word that he would do her no harm unless she committed an atrocious act. 

What was a lifetime for her would only be a glint of an eye for him. 

She vowed to make such a glint of his life utter misery.