The First Dark Witch

Chapter 6 - Angel of Destruction

Chapter VI - Angel of Destruction

The salt circle had been scattered away by a single flap of the horse’s wings. She was left without a familiar to protect her. There was nothing that stood between Lenora and her foe. It didn’t quite make sense to her, the hatred in the gargoyle’s glowing, silver eyes. What she equally didn’t expect was the impulsive urge to loathe him in return. Never did she read of any evidence that witches and gargoyles were natural-born enemies. Yet the pull to attack kept creeping to the forefront of Lenora’s mind. Nor did it help that the opposing beast appeared as if he’d kill her with little thought on the matter either.

Eyeing her bow and the arrows within her quiver, Lenora’s gaze darted back and forth to the gargoyle then back to the weapon far out of reach. His eyes followed her line of sight with calculated precision. Lenora fought back a groan but knew in her heart that their feud was already set with a victor. Whatever little study of gargoyles she had spent, she knew gargoyles were created to destroy whatever enemy they made - created solely to protect their world by the gods above.

Arrows weren’t her only weapon on hand, she remembered, an athame still strapped to her ankle. It was small, used only for rituals and small sacrifices. In order to use it, the gargoyle would have to be closer in order for her to strike. 

Too close for her liking.

She perhaps had time to enchant the weapon that was on her person before using it on the being that had interrupted the summoning. Feeling the sweat on her brow, her moves would be slow from the strain that she had felt only moments prior. Internally debating each chance that she had, she already settled on the dismal truth that her choices were limited.

But she had to try.

All she needed to do was reach down and grab the athame.

The gargoyle still watched her every move. She could see his silvery eyes flicker in the darkness. He’d swoop in before you had the chance to use it, she thought while formulating another strategy. She needed a distraction. Taking her eyes off the gargoyle, she looked around for something - anything - to use in order to create some type of confusion just for the sake of giving her needed time. Running would do nothing. Fighting, if only to give her a matter of seconds more to live, was all that she could do for a sliver of a chance.

A large branch hung loosely off a nearby tree that she spotted. With one more gust of wind, it would have surely snapped off. That would be an easy enchantment, something that she’d done before multiple times everyday. The key would be to not clue the gargoyle in that she was enchanting anything at all. With minimal movement, she looked at the creature dead on, picturing the branch in her mind. Lenora channeled all of her thoughts to think solely of the branch, fighting the tiredness and fear that threatened to overwhelm her. She shook, her nerves showing the stress she felt in performing something so simple. Her confidence waned - she’d never see the light of day again.

Then, without even so much as a whisper, the branch hurled its way in between her and the gargoyle. In a flash they both reacted. Lenora kneeled down to grab her athame as she saw the gargoyle spring forward with his bat-like wings unfurled, unsheathing a silver sword which had rested on his back. With a grip on the black handle, that was all Lenora had time for before he pulled her up by the shoulder and dragged her upwards off the forest floor. With a grip still on her athame, she swung the small blade into the unsuspecting creature’s throat. Although it was only a little prick, the gargoyle grunted in anger, dropping her back to the ground. Lenora landed with a roll before finding her feet, blade still in hand as she bolted to her bow and quiver that lay only several meters ahead. 

There’s no time, Lenora thought ominously as she desperately reached for her bow. Even if she was able to grab it, she’d have to load it thereafter. There’s no time!

As fingers grasped at the bow’s lower limb, a piercing stab shot up from her left leg to the rest of her body. She tripped and let out a tormented cry. The pain increased from the jolting motion. Not wanting to move her lower half, she adjusted her upper body so as to look downward at what had caused such agony. A silver sword pierced through the calf of her leg and to the other side, staked to the ground underneath her. Lenora screamed again, this time in defeat. She was pinned by the sword, unable to move. She tried to wiggle away in a final effort to run but the sword’s sharp edge on either side pierced more flesh with every tug. Crying miserably, she buried her head on the ground as the gargoyle landed before her on his feet with a thud.

“In the name of the gods above,” he proclaimed, his voice low, “I send you out of this world to rot in hell, demon.”

Lenora let out a last effort shout of indignation. Glancing up to the gargoyle, she looked up at him with a cumulative anger of these circumstances that led to such a demise. For years she had been feared due to the mystery that involved her birth and subsequent upbringing by distant relatives. For years, she felt the fear that the townsfolk of Liriel had for her held no merit. She didn’t deserve all the distrust. And here she was in the middle of a forest about to be executed by a gargoyle without provocation.

“My crimes are none, creature!” Lenora defended incredulously.

There was silence. Just when she thought he’d take hold of the sword and smite her down, there was only quiet.

“Don’t play daft with me, woman,” he growled, refusing to listen to her plea, “The scent of evil is upon you. Such a smell woke me from my eternal rest.” Striding up to his sword, he plucked it from the ground and out of her leg. She cried from the quick pull as he pushed her to lay on her back, pressing his heel into her collarbone. The bloodstained sword pressed close to her throat as she let out a sharp inhale and watched him look down at her, with an unmistakable humor on his expression. “Very well. I concede on the condition that your argument will carry any credence whatsoever; which, I doubt. Never once have I heard your kind proclaim innocence before.” He gestured around them, his long, black hair pulled back in an unkempt manner. “First, explain the nuckelavee.”

Fighting through the pain, she barely clung to consciousness. She looked up to him with thin eyes, “The what?”

“The creature that flew off,” the gargoyle seethed, “The one you summoned. That’s a creature of the underworld. Explain your connection to it, demon.”

“Stop calling me a demon!” Lenora spat, “And thanks to you, there was no connection between myself and that creature.”

“Thanks to me? I simply acted on what I was created to carry out. Now, thanks to you, once I rid the world of your sorry, miserable existence, I’ll have to hunt for a nuckelavee before any damage is done in its wake.”

“I didn’t choose what kind of familiar I summoned,” Lenora said, her leg shaking from the shooting pain that still persisted. “I simply wanted any familiar for my protection.”

The gargoyle had the gall to laugh. The sword pressed closer to her throat, causing her to wince. “If you’re going to lie, you’ll have to do better than that.”

“Whatever I say, you’ll refuse to accept it as truth.” Athame still in hand, she stabbed him in the leg. He let out an angered shout, his sword relenting as his body swayed. 

She pushed his leg off of her chest and began to crawl away just as she felt the gush of wind from his wings behind her. In a sudden move, the gargoyle’s feet were in front of her again. Blood trickled down from his left leg as he bitterly threw the athame into the forest. “Do that again and you won’t draw another breath to regret it. I swear it, woman.”

“Please, creature, I know not what I’ve done to deserve this banishment!” Lenora begged, looking up at him hopefully. All she could do now was beg if that’s what was required. “Is there no redemption? Is evil all that you sense in me?”

His eyes danced between hers before speaking as if contemplating her words, “That’s all I need to know.”

“You’d kill me even though I have done nothing wrong?” Lenora questioned. “Are the gods so cruel as to give this world a protector like you?” She waited for his response, his eyes being the only expression that had changed. Her eyes thinned upon seeing his internal refusal to waver, “Well, then. The gods must truly be dead.”

“You serve only darkness,” the gargoyle argued, “What do you know of the gods?”

“I’m a witch, I contest that I probably know more than you on the subject,” Lenora fired back.

He looked intrigued at her words. “You’re a witch?”

“Yes, dimwit, I come from a long line of witches,” Lenora started, “How do you think I managed to summon a familiar? I’m from Liriel. We live peacefully. It’s just within these same Cantermar Woods, across from--”

“I know where Liriel is,” he interrupted. “Your given name?” She looked confused as to why he would ask such a question. He grunted before clarifying, “If your family line is as long as you say it is, then maybe I know some of your ancestors. Your name, woman.”

She held his gaze, trying to discern whether her answer would be what would save her or what would kill her. Ultimately, she determined that she had managed to pique his curiosity. The mere fact that he was questioning her meant he was trying to humor her. “Nettle. Lenora Nettle.”

His eyes grew hard yet his brow raised. Lenora felt a small token of victory. Without saying a word, she knew he recognized the family name. As if to confirm her wonderings, he gruffed with impatience and began to pace, this kill not being as easy as previously thought. She fought back a relieved smile. Perhaps she would live to see another day. 

Attempting to pull herself up, she struggled to fight back the tears. Her leg wound didn’t go through bone but the muscle and nerves were so badly wounded that she couldn’t hold her weight. A hot tear did fall down one cheek as she peered up to the gargoyle, “Creature. Hear my sincerity. I stand by and defend the rule of three. I cannot be killed for the blood in my veins - if that’s what has awoken you from your rest - but only for the actions I commit. I have committed no sins which find me guilty of any trespasses on this earth. I swear it.”

His jaw worked while he continued to contemplate his next step. “I will not be able to rest,” the gargoyle muttered under his breath.

“Excuse me?”

“It doesn’t matter whether you are innocent or not. You awoke me from living in the Cantermar Woods for centuries undisturbed. Because of this, I cannot rest again until that evil is destroyed.” The gargoyle groaned before wiping some blood away from the wound she gave him on his throat. “I’m a destroyer of evil but also a protector of good. If what you say is true, I’m faced with a paradox and cannot kill you...but I also cannot let you live.”

She didn’t know what to say as she watched him give her fate more thought. At least he was granting her that much.

“I will accompany you back to Liriel,” the gargoyle then reasoned.

Lenora’s eyes widened, that being the last thing that she expected him to say. “What?”

The gargoyle rubbed his silver sword against the moss on the forest floor before sheathing it upon his back. The hilt stuck up from behind his neck as he began picking up some of the candles strewn on the ground. “If this is the contradiction which will forever delay my peaceful slumber, then I must remain at your side until either you commit an evil act or die. I suppose I can spare a few years before I hide away again. So let’s get on with it.”

Still stunned that she was still breathing and the fact that his logic led him to such a result, Lenora wondered what it would be like having a tall and broad gargoyle by her side until the day she died. She grimaced at the thought. What would the other witches of Liriel think of her then?

“That’s it? You follow my every action and deed until I slip up?” Lenora questioned.

“Precisely,” he responded, “So if you’re a liar, this will be a very short journey for both of us.” He glanced up at her with mild curiosity, “You carry the Nettle name so I can only presume your father was a Nettle as well?”

“Mother, actually,” she answered, thinking about the tea leaves of that morning. The banshee was unrelenting in letting her know that she was the burden on everyone else. Even a gargoyle could sense whatever wrath she carried within herself. Everyone in Liriel was right in that no matter what she did, she was something to be feared.

“If your mother was a witch then tell me, who is your father?”

He already fits in so well with the townsfolk of Liriel, Lenora thought snidely, “I don’t know. I never met him and cannot rightly say who or what he is.”

“Whatever he is, he’s dangerous, that I can say confidently just by your scent alone,” the gargoyle mused. “Which explains the nuckelavee and why it answered your call.”

“And you’re certain it’s from the pits of the underworld?” Lenora questioned, once again trying to stand up straight from her knelt down position on the ground.

“Yes. If it is your familiar, you have nothing to fear. It’s loyal only to you now.”

“That would be the case had you not disrupted the ritual,” Lenora quipped before falling down from trying to step onto her leg again.

“Oh, stay there,” he chided, “I’ll fly us to Liriel where you can be treated by a healer.”

“Is that your method of forgiveness?”

“I’m not fully convinced of your innocence. Until then, I refuse to apologize for my actions.”

Lenora’s eyes hardened. “What is your name, creature?”

Even though she had only thus called him creature, he merely had the appearance of a larger than average man who happened to have wings on his back. Despite the normality of his appearance, calling him a man wasn’t due justice. Just as he could supposedly sense the evil within her, she could sense the hallowedness within him. Gargoyles were protectors of their world from the beginning of time itself. His presence before her was almost ethereal.

“Abaddon,” he finally spoke. “Just Abaddon.”

Lenora recognized that name from her studies of their ancient world. This wasn’t a lowly gargoyle of little renown. This was the angel of destruction - sent by the gods to annihilate all evil, “And I have your word, Abaddon, that you won’t do me harm?”

“Only if I see you commit an act of evil. Then I will be forced to rip your soul out of this world and into the next.”

Lenora blinked at his even response. “Fair enough. That is the rule of three, I suppose. Albeit much more finite than I would’ve anticipated.”

After picking up her things, he began situating them onto her person before lifting her up from the ground so she wouldn’t attempt to stand again. Her bow and quiver was wrapped around her shoulder. Her satchel full of candles, salt, and paint were placed on her lap. “I promise, Lenora. You have my protection until you prove you aren’t deserving of it.” He began to walk. First slow, then began to pick up the pace. In just under five steps and a flap of the wings on his back, she felt the weight of her body leave as Abaddon glided off the ground and above the treeline. A mixture of tiredness from the ritual, fighting for her life, the wound on her leg, and shock from flying sent her over the edge. No longer able to keep consciousness, the last thing she remembered was watching the sun rise and feeling a fear that they’d both plummet to the ground. Gargoyles were creatures of the night. They’d surely fall to their deaths if the sun hit his skin. Or were her studies wrong about such a phenomenon?

Unable to handle the anticipation and fear, Lenora’s eyes fluttered to a close. She was still at the mercy of Abaddon’s will. That had not changed. 

What else, the banshee’s warning still haunted her. Everyone seemed to know what she couldn’t accept. Her father was a mystery still. What had been answered, however, was that whatever he was had been inherently evil. 

Her only saving grace was that she had never once acted on the impulses that she felt compelled to devour in.