The First Dark Witch

Chapter 1 - Liriel

Chapter I - Liriel

It’s morning in The Cantermar Woods. A bird in the distance is cooing gently, the noise echoing off the numberless, green trees. Dew licks the surface of every plant. All living things appear vibrant… living. A chipmunk scurries across the forest floor, searching for seeds or fungi. It climbs over a forgotten statue before jumping into the overgrown brush of the forest. The statue itself remains as it has for many centuries, undisturbed by nothing other than the woodland critters. Cobwebs hung from the stoned figure’s bat-like wings. A bird’s nest is resting between the statue’s neck and shoulder. Dirt riddles along what appears to be an armored gargoyle. “Strange,” some would say if they had traveled into the woods to find such a personage. “What could a gargoyle be protecting in these woods?” 

There are no other ruins surrounding the lone statue. It stands tall in the heart of The Cantermar Woods. Rarely does anyone venture too deep within the forest. There are too many dangerous creatures that reside in the woods. Humans never enter the woods at all. Whispers of evil spirits within their villages and towns deter their curiosity. They don’t dare test the very limitations of their own mortality. It is a land ruled by myth and old magic.

Dark elves, shapeshifters, goblins, and dryads live within The Cantermar Woods, among others. Mortals do not bother them and they do not bother mortals...usually. At the center of these mystical woodlands was the Great Sumerlem Mountains. Its hills to the summit assisted in providing borders to divide the forest between creatures, the greater number of creatures remaining within their race. 

Between the world beyond The Cantermar Woods and the Great Sumerlem Mountains was a village in the thick of the forest. Sounds emanated of a new morning within this unusual town. Roosters screeched. Livestock chattered. Tools began to clank. Front doors opened and shut as the village’s residents began their day. Liriel it was called - tucked away from the rest of existence. Even above, it was hard to spot it’s cottages underneath the overgrown trees. It was secluded.

Hidden.

By broom or by wing, you could only see the neverending foliage with just little pockets of open meadow. Upon closer inspection of these fields, they were gardens, lively and green. From the ground below, you can faintly see Liriel’s lived-in state. Mossy roofs. Vine-infested walls. It was as if the cottages sprouted from the ground itself. If an outsider had visited - a rare occurrence - they’d presumably pass a Liriel cottage without even knowing that they had. At night it was easier to find these hideaway dwellings. The glass from their various windows would glow warmly from the hearth of a fireplace or the flicker of a candle’s flame.

Aside from the earthy smells that typically derived from forests, whether it be the deep flavorful scent of strong tree roots or the smell of fresh rainwater trickling down stones and to the rich soil, the village of Liriel smelled of sage, lavender, and all manner of plants, flowers, and spices. Beyond the warm scents, incantations were heard being sung from an open window of a cottage or further within the forest for a private ritual. Even the farmers would sing to their crops as an aid to help their seeds grow into a prosperous bounty by the time the Harvest Moon arrived.

For Liriel was a village of charmers and conjurors.

Liriel was a village that belonged to a witch coven.

Mainly, Liriel’s town consisted of green witches, although it wasn’t typical for one of the townsfolk to turn away other groups of enchanters. Among their green witches were those who had practiced with the cosmic forces above, the divination rituals from beyond the veil, and the kitchen traditions of old.

From the many practices shared among their coven, they had created more eclectic beliefs that spanned generations. Although the roots of green witchcraft were the strongest amongst the Liriel enchanters, they understood and respected the cultures of their adopted kin. Overtime, they had embraced multiple ways in worshipping their surroundings.

Aside from the farmers who were already working in the fields, there was still the quiet calm of morning. A shrill cry then echoed throughout Liriel, breaking the silence. Those already awake pause in their chores and look to one another in question. Those who know simply nod to the home that rests between the foot of a stone cliff and a small river. The home of Grandmother Rawena.

Rawena Nettle was the mother of four grown daughters who already had families of their own: Autumn, Hazel, Ophelia, and Bronwyn. Her oldest, Autumn, lived with Grandmother Rawena while Hazel and Ophelia resided closeby. There were three generations under Grandmother Rawena’s roof. Autumn’s two daughters, Mabel and Esadora, along with their cousin of questionable ancestry, that of Bronwyn’s child, Lenora Nettle.

Oh, Lenora Nettle. A young witch who had managed to create spells by trial and error. She practiced often and alone in the woods, causing many to speculate where she had gone for most of the day. Still, even though she often craved seclusion, she wasn’t necessarily an outsider. She also wasn’t ignorant to the whispers in the village. Suppose a baby left on the doorstep of her grandmother’s cottage would always garner speculation.

“Where is Bronwyn Nettle?” “Why would she leave her child to be cared for by Grandmother Rawena?” “Is Bronwyn dead?” “Will Lenora’s father try to lay a claim on her?” “Did he even care or know about her?” These were all of the questions that Lenora would hear in whispers as she passed along the gravel passages of Liriel. She thought it best not to entertain the same constant queries. It often led to sleepless nights and wonderings of answers that she would never get to the bottom of. All she could do was focus on the present and future if the past simply refused to show its true nature. Solitude provided an escape from the town gossip which had always surrounded Lenora.

Today, however, wasn’t a day to ignore the troubles that seemed to stir within her heart. Because today, in the quiet of Liriel’s peaceful morning, another scream echoed across the village’s spring fog. The townsfolk turned to Grandmother Rawena’s cottage. The attic window. It was open, allowing the sounds of screams to pierce the air and travel throughout the forest.

With a cold sweat, Lenora sprung from her bed and breathed deeply as if she had been chased for miles on end. Finding her bearings, her eyes adjusted to the surroundings of her beloved home. Patterned, green and burgundy flowers were painted against the ivory attic walls. Along the wooden beams of their vaulted ceiling hung the dried herbs and plants from Grandmother Rawena’s garden. Lenora breathed deeply, feeling a cold sweat on her brow. The sound of their home’s attached water mill circled over and over with a gentle hum. 

Breathing for a second longer, Lenora glanced to the other side of the attic to see two sets of eyes looking back at her fearfully as they sat up on their shared straw bed. “Go back to sleep,” Lenora advised her two younger cousins, not enthused by their knowledge of her own night terrors. Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she planted her palms on either side of her and huffed in defeat. The dreams were a perpetual pit of no escape and were beginning to wear her thin. She heard someone come up the stairs calmly. Grandmother Rawena poked her head up from the stairway in the corner of the attic. Lenora and her grandmother made eye contact and stared at one another knowingly.

Another interpretation was required.