The First Dark Witch

Chapter 2 - The Arrow

Chapter II - The Arrow

Grandmother Rawena hummed to herself as she prepared the tea. With hands clasped together and elbows on the table, Lenora gazed outside the window before shutting her eyes in frustration. She listened to Grandmother’s tune for a moment, hoping for some solace in the comfort of their home. The melody was familiar - a song that had been shared with Lenora as a small child. Opening her eyes, she felt exhausted that nothing could give her the much needed solace that she desired. The dreams wouldn’t leave her be and they were visiting her thoughts more frequently.

Lenora’s eyes locked on her surroundings, hoping to cling to some air of familiarity. The Nettle home was always warm and inviting. Much like their attic ceilings, more herbs and plants hung upside down to dry directly above her and all over Grandmother Rawena’s kitchen. Pots and pans hung on walls. Barrels of wine sat in the corner. The center, wooden table had flour on its surface. A broad, stone hearth with crackling firewood burned intensely. A bowl of rising dough sat near its heat covered by a moist towel. It was seasoned with rosemary,Lenora could deduce, the aroma tickling her senses from where she sat.

“Still an image of the wailing woman?” Grandmother Rawena asked, breaking her hummed tune to ask Lenora. “A banshee, you say?”

Lenora didn’t open her eyes, nodding in affirmation, “You believe it to be my mother still?”

She waited on baited breath. Rawena froze at her inquiry, her face turned away from her granddaughter. It was a speculative thought that Grandmother Rawena once said to Lenora before but never mentioned again afterward. Lenora knew why and didn’t need to inquire further until today. Watching her grandmother’s pause, Lenora breathed a low sigh when Rawena finally faced her, albeit eyes drawn downward. “Our ancestors are always the loudest voices beyond the veil.”

“So...you finally believe her to be dead?” Lenora inquired, choosing her words carefully.

Grandmother Rawena looked Lenora in the eyes, the depths of her soul bearing sadness. 

“You won’t hurt my feelings,” Lenora assured quietly, “You knew her better than I.”

The older woman nodded, tears pricking her eyes. “You know as well as I do that the gut is wiser than the desires of the heart,” she began, “My gut has been lamenting her death long before my heart could bear to admit the truth. Now both are in alignment, I’m afraid.” Grandmother Rawena hung the teapot over the fire then waddled over to the other side of the table opposite of Lenora. With a shawl over her shoulders, her gray hair fastened in a bun, she put her hands on the table with palms facing upward. “Don’t just sit there, Lenora, you know what to do.”

Lenora placed her hands on Grandmother Rawena’s, her palms facing up as well. Loose, black waves of hair from her head were unkempt as they traipsed down her shoulders to the small of her back. With dark brown eyes, she looked to the elderly woman in earnest and watched as she breathed calmly in and out, allowing their energies to become better attuned.

“I need not remind you of the significance of banshees, child,” Grandmother Rawena spoke, her eyes remaining shut as she let the warmth of her granddaughter’s hands pour onto her palms. 

“No need,” Lenora answered honestly. She knew banshees meant one of two omens when they had visited either in true form or in a dream: to warn of the danger ahead or the wrath that burned within.

Grandmother Rawena seemed to pause as if formulating the proper questions while she interpreted glimpses of what she could visualize in her mind. Lenora attempted to share every morsel of every image in her dream, not sparing in any horrific details. She could feel her thoughts and energy travel through her hands onto her grandmother’s. “This next part is somewhat hazy,” Lenora warned, thinking about the part of the dream that was less poignant than other instances.

“It’s not necessary to apologize,” Grandmother Rawena said then took a deep breath, “You ran from the banshee. Why?”

“I was afraid of the message it was delivering.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m not prepared to listen.”

“You sense the banshee’s words to be ill-boding, naturally,” Grandmother Rawena assuaged, “Tell me, is remaining ignorant to the message a means to delay the inevitable or to remain hidden from the truth?”

“It’s to solidify my happiness in keeping my world as it is now,” Lenora explained, her voice tired, “Banshees are also frightful things. Pardon my hesitation in greeting it with open arms.”

“Bite your tongue,” Grandmother Rawena muttered just as the teapot began to whistle its pinnacle moment. They broke away as Grandmother Rawena took a cloth to remove the hot kettle away from the fireplace. Lenora shivered in only her thin, white shift and watched the elderly woman grab every bottle necessary to mix the right ingredients together: peony root, shatavari, dried rose buds, and a linden lead. Grinding them all before mixing with the water and raw honey, she sprinkled the necessary amount into a teacup then poured the water and honey soon after. Presenting the concoction to Lenora, Grandmother Rawena sat at her chair and looked expectantly at her grandchild.

Lenora twiddled her finger over the teacup, watching the water begin to stir clockwise seemingly on its own. Tea of root, tea of leaf; make my thoughts no longer grief, Lenora recited in her mind. Her finger stopped, the concoction slowing in its stir. She leaned down and sniffed the steam over the teacup, thinking inwardly the question she sought. What was the banshee warning about?

“Aside from these dreams,” Grandmother Rawena spoke more lightly to pass the time as Lenora took her first sip, “What else is on your mind?” It was part of her grandmother’s tea ritual to keep the conversation relaxed and settled. She said it was to better read the leaves when the person drinking the tea was able to have a calm mind. 

“There is a dark moon tonight,” Lenora said and sipped a little bit more of the hot brew, “I thought it a good opportunity to go travel deep into the woods and perform my own ritual.”

“Your intention?” Grandmother Rawena wondered.

“That would depend on what the leaves say, I suppose,” Lenora informed with a shrug. If that was what would help stop the dreams from occurring, she’d attempt anything for her own sanity.

Grandmother Rawena observed Lenora with thinned eyes. As observant as she could be, proficient in reading just about anyone, there were still some things that she had missed from time to time. Attempting to analyze Lenora sometimes felt like a labyrinth; a task meant for a younger mind than what she had the energy to deal with. “Would you accept guidance from our coven?” She asked Lenora, “Perhaps they could help.”

“Can you trust that their help would be as sincere as the gesture may be?” Lenora quipped back knowingly. Liriel had always carried gossip along the wind, especially when it came to anything relating to Bronwyn Nettle and her mysterious disappearance.

“I can’t blame you for being suspicious,” Grandmother Rawena reasoned, “They’re well-intended, Lenora; mainly curious, is all. Never once has anyone treated you badly. The Rule of Three forbids such childish misdeeds.” Rawena patted the table several times as if to let the subject drop. “Perform that ritual alone then, if that’s what you wish. Just be careful in your travels. We aren’t the only beings that live in The Cantermar Woods.”

“I didn’t forget,” Lenora mused before putting her main focus on her tea. She watched the leaves swivel within the water from every movement of her cup. Fixated on the image, she sipped a little bit more, feeling the warmness of the tea travel down her throat. The dreams were becoming annoyingly frequent to a point that they could no longer be justified as a simple nightmare. It was clearly a warning from beyond their realm and from beyond what they could physically see.

“I hate waiting,” Grandmother Rawena chided.

That comment made Lenora smile. “You have patience for growing plants, you can sit and watch me drink this damned tea.” Just to spite her grandmother, she took the tiniest of sips and slowly swallowed, taking her time for the next swig.

“Oh, you little bugger,” Grandmother Rawena muttered, “Will I still draw breath by the time you’re done?”

Letting the tea scorch her gullet in order to get the results sooner, she placed the teacup down on the table. “There, I’m finished.”

Grandmother Rawena nodded at the cup in a silent and impatient urge to have Lenora proceed with the next step. “Go on. Tell me what you see.”

Lenora closed her eyes before glancing into the teacup, hoping she was strong enough to know the answer before delving into whatever she’d see. She stared down and immediately felt a weight grow in the pit of her stomach. There was no need to further interpretation beyond what the leaves had already implied. The tea leaves were precise in its reading and aligned with what the banshee was presumably warning about. Lenora stood up from the table and immediately began to pace.

“Lenora?” Grandmother Rawena asked, “What is it?”

“An arrow,” Lenora replied, her voice strained from the instantaneous stress that it had caused. She placed her hands on either side of her face, running them down as she tried to breathe through the oncoming wave of nervousness that now weighed on her heart.

Grandmother Rawena rushed to the other side of the table to look for herself. Lenora watched as her grandmother observed the direction of the arrow within the teacup, pointing directly to where Lenora once sat. Whatever the banshee was warning about in her dreams derived within.

“How unusual,” her grandmother muttered while adjusting her shawl atop her shoulders. As far as Lenora knew, never once had an arrow pointed to the person drinking from the teacup itself.

“Grandmother?” Lenora inquired, her voice rising several octaves.

“I know, I know,” Grandmother Rawena said quickly, seeming equally concerned about what the leaves message had been, “This is fixable, child.” She strode up to Lenora and put her hands on either side of her face so that her granddaughter could look her in the eye, “Now listen. Lenora, it’s important when you dream about the banshee again that you must not run away from her this time, no matter how frightening it is. Can you do such a thing?”

Lenora nodded in response. Her eyes watered as she quickly brushed away the tears to focus. Anytime that an arrow had been seen by others who had had such a sign in their teacups, it had been to warn of bad weather for the farmers, creatures in the forest attacking Liriel’s livestock, or even pointing to an object that had caused a dispute between neighbors. Had an arrow even pointed to another witch other than herself? Not that she had been aware.

“What is your intention, Lenora?” Grandmother Rawena asked, the authority as the matriarch of their home sounding clear in the air. It made Lenora straighten her posture, knowing her grandmother demanded strength from her descendant. She was a Nettle, after all, and came from a long line of witches before her. Lenora locked eyes with the elderly woman.

Thinking before speaking, Lenora thought of what could help in her strife to save her from such a horrific omen. In all of her years of study, she knew that there were certain spells that could only be conjured once in a lifetime. Some energies could only be sustained with such rarity that to do so more than once was certain death. Developing such energies of the universe required someone strong enough to draw the elements surrounding them. Before today, she didn’t know if she could.

Now, she felt as if she had no other choice but to try in an effort to perform one of the strongest spells in any witch’s grimoire. “To summon a familiar. It’s time.”