Exile

Back when this world was full of magik and wonder, a fairy tale of sorts did brew. Not quite like the fairy tales you may have heard as a child with true love and princesses in magnificent castles. This tale is one of betrayal and evil. Let me tell you of the perilous story that ended a magical era.

Banished to the deepest, darkest bed of a swamp for her evil deeds by her twin sister, the Swamp Witch would lure in unfortunate, forlorn souls passing through her lands to feast on their flesh and bones. With each execution she became more twisted and corrupt. Her skin had become olive in colour, raw and mottled from the icy water. Her body bloated and brittles bones crooked; very much alive but the epitome of the living dead. She was very unlike the beguiling, powerful sorceress she had once been. What once was beautifully cruel was now pure, grotesque evil. But this was her punishment for her wicked ways. Her trusted henchman had travelled alongside her to her place of banishment and despite the awful conditions had stayed as her guardian on dry land. Whilst she dwelled in the waters, he made a home within the damp, rotten foliage. He too had become freakish over the decades they had been there. His nose had grown long and warty, his grossly jagged, yellowed fingernails could cut through almost anything and his warped back had become hunched. The pungent air had all but dissolved what little hair he’d had on his head. One could say he had become a swamp goblin. Their names both forgotten along with their existence.

The Witch laid on the rock bed staring up towards the surface. it had been some months since she had gorged on man flesh. Her last meal had been a measly rodent that had found itself on the water’s edge. The little bones had been picked clean and used to pry what was left in her teeth, perfect for the job really, like a little toothpick. Her stomach ached and grumbled with hunger that she had felt all too many times. As the years had gone by and the swamp had grown larger it was very rare that anyone would pass through those parts. Stony paths wide enough for horse and carriage had been built some miles away so that travellers could avoid the dangerous domain. The Swamp Witch wailed and whimpered at her wretched existence. Although daylight never shone on the swamp, darkness surely took over like a sickness. With hands out in front of you, your fingers would simply disappear into the shadows. When night fell, she would light a magical fire under the water. It would blaze within an orb, lighting up the murky depths. Over the years, this too had turned emerald-green, not like the sludgy-green of everything else in that drab place. The terrific light could be seen for a few miles out of the water and so it was pleasant for her little swamp minion to bask in too.

A lost ranger who had strayed a little too far from the path had become really quite lost in the dark. One tentative foot in front of the other he continued his journey in the hope of finding some shelter for the night. The pitter patter of insect legs across rotting bark put him off the idea of simply sleeping on the ground, although the dark moss beneath his boots did feel quite comfortable. Perhaps he was a lord or a prince? His clothing certainly suggested some sort of nobility aside from the mud stains here and there where he had lost his footing and tumbled to the wet floor. The traveller’s legs were tired and heavy and he felt out of options but to wait until morning to find his way back to the path. His thoughts were gloomy as he wished he had come to this decision earlier when he had been closer to where he had come from. Just as he was about to give up for the evening a shimmering green light glimmered and flickered in the distance. It was strange and alluring, licking at the dark sky like a flame would consume dry wood. It looked bright and powerful. His gut told him it was perilous but his head began to swim with thoughts of a dry bed, some food and above all, warmth. That was the hold she had on men you see, a trickster with her magiks. And just like that, his movements more confident, he was pulled towards the magnificent green light.

She had sensed his presence, smelled his flesh and heard his beating heart. Ravenous now, she chanted her usual incantation to fill his chest with warmth and mind swim with lust for the green light. It was her routine, it was what she knew best! Her insides now churned with yearning and anticipation. She prayed for a fat and juicy frame, something that would last and could be savoured. The sizeable pile of bones next to her shuddered as if her victims souls were hiding within them with knowledge of the horrors that were about to unfold. How would she enjoy it this time? Shredded flesh? Pulled limb from limb? Drain him of his blood to fill the pool with a delectable drink? Her options seemed endless as her starvation grew more and more wild. She could now hear his boots draw near to the edge of the waters, mud and sludge slurped around each foot fall. Usually she enjoyed the panic and the struggle of her prey but on that particular day she was overwhelmed by hunger and wanted it over briskly with no strain. With a final sleeping spell, the traveller collapsed face first into the water with a large splash. He sunk to the floor as if there were rocks in his pockets. With newt like movements the Swamp Witch slithered across the moss, gunk and boulders to where her prey lay face down in the muddy bed. She turned him, ready to drag him back to her lair for an almighty feast... but she hesitated for a moment too long and gazed upon his sleeping face.

From the shoreline, the Swamp Dweller had witnessed her meal fall into the water. He was relieved that his mistress would finally eat for he had worried about her for some time. There was only so many rats he could throw to her before she would lure him into the pit of despair! The thought often made him convulse. He sat perched with his bottom on his heels, waiting for the familiar blood ascend to the surface. If he was lucky, sometimes some nice juicy meat would also float up and be washed ashore. He had once found some bones with left over scraps tangled within the reeds. That had been his favourite day in exile. Moments had passed and yet there was no evidence of the brutality he knew would eventually come. Perhaps she was saving him for later? Or maybe something had gone wrong! Panic for the witch’s safety bubbled up inside him like fury he had never felt before. She must have captured a hunter. A wizard? Maybe it was her sister’s cohort coming to finish her off! Without hesitation he leapt into the depths to save his mistress. His vision had adapted over the years, as if he had become amphibian like. The dark, disturbed waters were no match for him and he found her hideaway with ease.

What he saw was unexpected; where he anticipated a pile of meat and guts to lay was a peacefully sleeping body. There was not a scratch upon him. A smile was upon his face as if he was having the most pleasant dream, not at all like the surroundings he had found himself in. His dark hair framed his face perfectly, dancing slightly in the current of the calm waters. Not far from the stranger lay the witch. Her gaze fixed upon the man as if caught in her very own trance. A look upon her face that the Swamp Dweller recognised all too well as the way he used to look upon the witch when they were both beautiful in their own evil way. She had fallen in love with this man, it had only taken one gaze and she was trapped. This did not sit well in the heart of the Dweller for he had been in love with the mistress for many a year- even now with her decaying skin and foul, twisted body. The anger of hurt, betrayal and jealousy vibrated through every vein in his body. The hatred tasted bitter and unpleasant on his tongue and a deep resentment took over him. Like a flash of lightening, he was upon the placid body with his sharp nails bared. In one swift movement he slit the stranger’s throat with such a force that there was no escaping the tragic fate of death. The waters quickly filled with thick scarlet blood, striking against the usual dreariness.

The reality of what happened did not sink in with the witch until some moments had passed. She had been daydreaming about what could have been had she not been so warped and ugly after all those years. When she had gazed upon the beautiful face of the man she was about to feast upon she had felt something stir inside her- just a little warmth, like a small match had been lit within her stony heart. A warmth she did not believe she had ever felt. She had always been so cruel and wicked to the world and those who lived within it. She had tricked, betrayed, and ended the lives of so many. When she saw the flash of a sharp nail on a crooked hand and the ribbons of blood red swirl within the disturbed waters a pain broke through her like a searing hot knife. She screamed in anguish as her broken heart crumbled into pieces. The ground beneath her rocked and shook at the piercing sound. The water split and cascaded across the swamp lands; miles from where it had been just seconds before. It all happened with such a force that nothing could have survived the painful scream if it was there to witness it- not even the man who had once loved her with all of his cold heart.

Her sadness and despair spread like wildfire and eventually, in time, burnt out what was left of the mystical realm. The world became dark and lifeless. Not even her sister could have predicted the consequence of her broken heart. The time of magik and power was over- the time of men fell upon us all.

It is said that she still walks the earth, in the shadows, sobbing for the love she never had. A curse far worse than the one she had been dealt.