The First Dark Witch

Chapter 3 - Rumors

Chapter III - Rumors

“Have you seen her enchant?”

Basket in hand, a parchment note in her pocket, and a grey cloak over her shoulders, Lenora settled out within Liriel to retrieve what was needed for her ritual during the dark moon. Aside from the candles that she had already possessed, she still lacked the salts and fresh paints that were required for one of the most powerful incantations known to all witches, that of finding her familiar.

Lenora was deep in thought from what had just transpired with Grandmother Rawena as she passed nearby homes. Troubled was more like it. It took her years to come to terms that there were some secrets that would never be answered. Bronwyn Nettle was her mother who had left Liriel nearly twenty-six years ago in favor of a life away from her family. No one knew anything beyond that, other than the fact that two years later a baby was left on the steps of the Nettle home. She hadn’t even been given a name. There was no letter of explanation. No trinket of protection that had been gifted. “I named you after the sun’s rays, child,” Grandmother Rawena had once shared with Lenora during one of their bedtime routines when Lenora was younger. “Some may say that your mother gave you nothing when you were born. That’s not true, Lenora. You have her eyes. What she also gave you was a family and a home. She knew that this was the place you were supposed to be.”

“Perhaps her father wasn’t a witch? Maybe he’s from the village of man outside of the Cantermar Woods?”

Lenora gazed up to the voice that carried on in the wind. Eyeing a few neighbors doing laundry in front of their cottage, she gave them a nod as they seemed embarrassed to be caught in idle gossip. Perhaps their assumption was correct, Lenora thought. It only added to the resurrected frustration that she thought had been buried for good.

As a child, she was always angry. So much so that Grandmother Rawena had to hire private tutors in order for Lenora to be separate from the other pupils. It was admitted years later to Lenora in passing or during social gatherings that her peers used to feel uncomfortable around her. They’d laugh awkwardly at confessing something so seemingly innocent as Lenora tried to join in in the attempt to appear cordial. But once their laughter ended, they would look up at her with downcast eyes...watching her with suspicion.

These angry spouts undoubtedly derived from a sense of unbelonging, Lenora reasoned. Everyone knew where they came from in Liriel. Her cousins, Mabel and Esadora, were the daughters of warlock Lucian Godfrey and Autumn Nettle. Lenora’s aunt, Hazel, shared a home with her wife named Thora and their five children. Though their children didn’t belong to them by blood, their heritage was still accounted for and their future was secured by carrying the Nettle name forward. It plagued Lenora’s mind at such a young age to have no knowledge of who she was or where she belonged. Seeing the arrow within the tea leaves made the buried and forgotten resentments grow once more. What could it possibly mean? She lived a good life and over the years had become a witch with hardly any anger in her heart to mention. Why must fate remain skeptical of her intentions? Why must everyone in Liriel remain focused on the mystery surrounding her? It made it impossible for her to move on.

Lost in her thoughts, she strolled about the winding trails of Liriel. On her way to the center of town, she could hear the whispers of those working in their gardens or homes as she went by. Liriel was wide awake with sounds of daily tasks already in motion. Inside open windows were the sounds of crying babies and kitchen tools battering, grinding, or stirring in preparation. Smells permeated the village. Rosemary garnished potatoes. Fresh bread and honey. Fermenting wines in barrels. Each scent made Lenora’s mouth water. Many in Liriel proclaimed themselves as kitchen witches. Such declarations reigned true amongst their coven and the aromas of freshly baked goods and cooked meals was a testament to such a bold statement.

Lenora strode across a small bridge, passing a tiny carriage that was going the other way. She and the driver made eye contact as Lenora’s eyes warmed at the sight of her Uncle Lucian. “Beautiful day!” He exclaimed in blissful ignorance. Either he genuinely didn’t know anything about her morning terrors or he at least pretended not to. At least he had the decency to give her some necessary peace of mind.

“It is, Uncle,” Lenora agreed and waved him off as they went their separate directions. She came alongside a fenced garden. Two men tended to their growing vegetables as they laughed about something or another. As one spotted Lenora, his tune changed and his voice lowered. The other man looked over his shoulder to peer at her and did the same. 

Once Lenora made it beyond their fence line, she heard one of them utter, “Poor girl. I hope she is doing well under the circumstances.”

If only they knew, Lenora thought. She had been fine just yesterday despite the recurring dream of banshees. Maybe they heard her shouting this morning. Maybe they were worried for her.

Maybe they feared her.

After what had been seen in her teacup this morning, she feared herself and the unknown. She couldn’t blame them for merely sensing the unrest in her soul.

At last, she made it to the center of town. Much like the rest of Liriel, stone walls and walkways were covered by moss and overgrowth, the forest taking over their surroundings. It appeared as if abandoned and old, however very much lived in by their witch coven for centuries. She made it through the bustling street, hurrying her steps to get to the market without further delay. On either side of her, the town had much larger structures than that of the cottages that were scattered about Liriel. Pubs, bakeries, and barber-surgeon trades were only a few of the shoppes that Lenora passed.

The market tents remained at the town’s square. Finding the vendor that sold large bags of salt, she rummaged through her pocket and produced a small fragment of a fluorite crystal. The vendor, an older man, immediately eyed her crystal. Seeing that the trading game had already begun, Lenora pointed to a four and a half liter burlap sack of gray salt. The vendor shook his head as she quickly tried to find another crystal in her pocket to trade in order to satisfy the greedy seller; one that he would deem of even value. She pulled out a larger pyrite particle. The vendor nodded and the trade was made. Placing the heavy sack in her basket, she hauled it to another tent to find fresh paints.

Stepping closer to a lavish and large tent, gaudy curtains  around each pole and beads strewn along the ceiling, Lenora kept her head down to avoid the vendor until her purchases had been made. “Did you see that shapeshifter come into town several weeks ago?” Good, Lenora thought. At least they weren’t speaking about her.

“Now, Aldreda, how do you know if they were a shapeshifter?” Someone asked, Lenora recognizing the voice to be that of Prudence Comfrey. Lenora kept her head down, finding the black paints on a green shelf. She searched the colors thoroughly before hearing the hushed tones that followed when someone noticed that she was around. Her body tensed. She craned her head to listen, curiosity getting the better of her. 

“Bronwyn was a talented witch as well,” Aldreda Feverfew whispered, “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

“Her father must be a powerful wizard. There’s no way that she could only be half-magic,” Prudence commented.

Which one was it then? Already today, she heard someone ponder that her father was a mortal who lived outside of the Cantermar Woods. Lenora smiled in spite of herself at the polarizing viewpoints that everyone seemed to have on the matter.

“Bronwyn always wanted to be a mother,” Aldreda’s friend, Sunnifa, lamented. Sunnifa knew better than Lenora on the subject. She had grown up with Bronwyn. Lenora’s only knowledge of her mother was from stories that others had shared. They all followed characteristics which bordered on fantasy. “She was the most beautiful of Liriel.” “A friend to all and a powerful healer.” Lenora made sure to add aspiring nurturer to the list. That was something that she hadn’t heard up until that moment.

Knowing Aldreda’s favorite trade was having someone offer her a few can preserves from their fall harvests, Lenora pulled out a jar of cinnamon apple from her basket while also holding a bottle of black paint in tow. Walking up to the women, she kept her hastened pace. She very much desired to travel deep into the forest for this particular ritual and she would have to leave soon if she were to make it to a place that she had never been before.

“I’m friends with one of the tutors that she had several years ago,” Aldreda added in their circle of gossip, “There wasn’t a spell that she couldn’t do.”

“That’s not true,” Lenora finally piped in while coming into view, all three women jerking their heads upward upon hearing her speak. “My tutor hopefully relayed in his stories how many times that I failed before eventually getting the hang of it.”

Aldreda cleared her throat up first, “Lenora, we’re sorry if we meant offense.”

Lenora waved her hand lightly, “Think nothing of it. Life can sometimes be trivial in Liriel. An age old riddle is definitely a change of pace.”

“If I were you,” Prudence interrupted, her voice just above a squeak, “I would search under every rock to find where I came from. Isn’t the unknowing eating you alive?”

“Not anymore, Prudence,” Lenora lied, attempting to maintain some semblance of contentment that she had the day prior, “The knowledge of where I came from, or, lack thereof, doesn’t take away from who I am now. I am satisfied with where I stand.”

Sunnifa nodded once with pride, “Wise words.”

“Wiser than I’d care to be,” Aldreda muttered, “I still have questions.”

The whispers would never cease. Lenora smiled politely again, refusing to feel sorry for herself on the matter. Placing the jar of cinnamon apples on a wooden table before Aldreda, Lenora began to walk away, no longer wanting to go back and forth on a worn-out subject, “If you do come up with solid answers, you know where to find me.”

“Lenora?” Prudence asked, her voice small. Lenora turned her attention to the youngest in their group. Prudence’s eyes darted from each person before finding the strength to ask the question on her mind. “Um… Is it true...when you were tutored? Hamon Wort told me once that you wrote into your grimoire other spells and incantations not taught by him. What were they?”

Lenora looked at everyone before stepping backward to get back to her day. They saw her hesitation and coy smile but no answer escaped her lips. Like everything else in her life, another answer would remain a mystery. But unlike everything else in Lenora’s life, this was a question that she had answers for. For once, it was nice to know something. What made it better was keeping it a secret from everyone else.