The Witch of Barnett

Angelica rummaged through the dark attic, not knowing what it was she was looking for or why. The last couple of nights she had gotten little to no sleep and had been ending her nights by welcoming the morning sun peeking through the attic vents as she hopelessly searched, finding nothing, as the morning sun slowly began casting its bright orangish hue through the attic. Angelica stretched out her arms high over her head and let out a huge yawn, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. As she gathered herself and began to pull herself from the attic, she heard the ringing of the church bell coming from the town square. It wasn’t typical for the town’s church bell to ring so early in the day or to ring on a Thursday at all. Angelica ran down the stairs and out of her cottage’s front door, her dingy white nightgown and long dark brown hair flowing behind her. She continued across the lawn and out onto the gravel dirt road to accompany Maggie her lifelong neighbor and friend.

“What’s going on Maggie?” she said looking around, watching the towns folk franticly bustle around.

“I’m not sure Angie, it doesn’t look good though.” Maggie replied in a hushed nervous tone.

“It’s the Witch hunter!” a young boy cheered, running toward the town square. Angelica and Maggie quickly followed, hearing an approaching wagon. They arrived at the town square the same time as the wagon, Angelica was amazed and slightly intimidated by the massive black steed that pulled the wagon, and how its large muscular body rippled, and its fierce black coat shined stunningly in the morning sun. The wagon had a single bench seat on the front with just barely enough room for two; behind the bench and the rest of the wagon was made up of a large iron cage. The driver particularly caught Angelica’s attention as he stepped down from the wagon. A young attractive man mid-twenties, about her age, with messy black hair and short scraggly beard, His black leather attire clung to his perfectly toned body, and his long cape flew behind him as he circled the wagon. She knew immediately that the boy had been right. He was one of King Valester’s Witch Hunters.

“Tritus, to what do we owe the pleasure?” the town’s sheriff said walking up to the man, extending his hand.

“Ah, Sheriff Vern, business as usual I’m afraid.” Tritus said reaching out to firmly shake the sheriff’s hand.

“What business does a man of your stature have here in Barnett?” The sheriff asked, giving Tritus a confused and sideways look.

“The King has heard rumors of magic in Barnett; I’m to investigate it. However, I believe this is more of a conversation for closed doors, Sheriff.”

“Very well.” the sheriff said looking at the crowd of spectators that had gathered in the square, before leading Tritus from the street and into the privacy of the sheriff’s department.

“He’s cute.” Maggie said nudging Angelica in the side, noticing that her eyes had not left the man since he had stepped down from the wagon.

“Yes, he is, for a cruel overconfident killer.” Angelica replied with a slight laugh as she locked arms with Maggie and the two turned to go back to their homes. “Did I mention the cape, sword, and look of privileged arrogance? He might as well have been the prince.” Angelica continued, looking back at the sheriff’s department as they walked away.

Angelica returned home and spent the rest of the day carrying out her daily routine. She cooked, tended the gardens, tidied up the house and swept the floors. That night Angelica lay in bed for many hours contemplating what Tritus had said. Could it be true was there magic in Barnett? Although unlike most of the other villagers, and most of the kingdom, for that matter, she wasn’t completely sure that was such a bad thing. The thought of magic didn’t scare her at all; in fact, she had always found the tales of magical beings and the creatures her grandmother had once told her about were quite fascinating.

Angelica finally began to doze just an hour or so before dawn. As the humidity from the morning dew flooded through the windows of her cottage, Angelica tossed and turned as a cold sweat began to bead up all over her body. She was awoken to the spine shivering sound of a woman singing in a mysterious and enchanting tone coming from the attic. She slowly got out of bed and lit the candle on the nightstand with a long match. The old wooden floor of the cottage creaked and groaned with every sleepy step as she made her way to the attic stairs. As she began to climb the stairs the music became slightly louder, but she still could not make out the words of the song.

She arrived in the attic and once more her usual morning rummage began. Today, however, was quite different. She had grown used to finding herself up here as the sun rose every morning for a good while now, but the music, this was new to her. She had never felt what she was feeling now. Her motivation was more determined than ever; she still was uncertain of what she was looking for but was determined that today she would find it. She followed the sound of the music as she searched, growing aggravated that it seemed to change locations around the attic, until it brought her to an old dust covered rack of her grandmother’s old dresses. The music stopped and the attic grew eerily quiet, as she flipped through dress after dress. As she pushed them to the left after examining each one, she noticed a medium sized old wooden chest behind the rack.

She pushed the rack of dresses out of the way and knelt on her knees before the chest and opened the lid, throwing up a large cloud of dust as the rusty hinges squeaked open. She grew worried of what kind of things her dear sweet grandma was into as she rummaged through the chest. She pulled out several different types and shapes of candles, bowls, knives and a few other ritualistic items, including an old hand carved wand and a large wooden plate painted with a pentagram in the center. As she neared the bottom of the chest, she came across a package wrapped in brown paper and tied in twine with a small parchment note placed perfectly underneath the bow that the twine had been tied in. She untied the package which contained a very old book. Angelica read the note.

My Dearest Angelica,

This book has been a staple in my life and all the women of our family before me. It is unfortunate that the new king has made it his life mission to destroy all magical beings and creations of magic. It is even more unfortunate that your mother never got the chance to see this book, though I don’t think she would have wanted the burden of it to begin with. You, my child, I see great potential and I know that you cannot truly use this gift until times are safer. However, when the time comes it will help you through some of life’s toughest moments. Many observe magic as a sin against God, unnatural, and unholy, punishing our kind with brutal deaths and being burnt alive. In truth, it is a unique gift in which sets us apart from the rest of the world. Always remember, being different from the rest of the world doesn’t make you weak, it makes you unique. Your uniqueness is something to be valued and treasured, for it is what makes you who you are, and how you use it is what molds you into who you want to be. My final hope is that this book brings you as much joy, happiness, and protection as it has me in all my years. Always remember keep it close, keep it safe.

Love always,

Grammy

Tears swelled in Angelica’s eyes as she thought of her sweet, kind, loving grandma with her bouncy gray curls, rounded glasses, and a smile that simply washed all your problems away. Grandmother had always been so willing to help anyone in need, no matter who they were or where they came from. She could not fathom the idea that her beloved grandmother had been a witch all this time, a being of magic. Angelica thought to herself, “If Grammy was a witch that must mean that Mother was too. Then that makes me also a witch.”

Angelica’s thoughts were interrupted by a pounding at the door downstairs. As she tried to clean up the contents of her grandmother’s chest, she heard the door thud as it flew open. And she heard Tritus’ voice boom throughout the cottage.

“By order of King Valester of the Kingdom of Vark, I Sir Tritus Nostrum, am to carry out the King’s orders and search all residents and homes of the village of Barnett for signs of witchcraft and magic. By Law of King Valester, any person accused of being a witch, using magic, hiding evidence of magic or persons in use of magic shall be here by condemned to death by burning in the courtyard of Vark Castle.”

As he began to search the home, Tritus noticed the door to the attic stairs open and as he approached could hear someone moving around upstairs. He drew his sword and slowly crept up the stairs trying to be soft- footed enough not to make the old worn wooden staircase creak. When he approached the attic, he saw Angelica in the corner of the attic just as she had closed the lid of the chest.

“What do you have in there, madam?” he said as he approached behind her.

“Oh, you startled me, just some of my father’s things. He passed some time ago but I’m just now working up the nerve to start cleaning out his room.” Angelica said, her dress spinning around her as she turned to face Tritus.

“I’m going to have to have a look in there and see, ma’am, please step aside.” He responded waving his hands off to the side almost as if he was shooing her away.

“That won’t really be necessary, will it sir, after all it’s just a few old war trinkets and what nots?” Angelic playfully pleaded, attempting to try to charm her way out of her current situation.

“Unfortunately, it is necessary ma’am” Tritus said, pushing her out of the way and opening the lid of the chest. As the lid flew open and Tritus saw the magical contents within. “You’re a witch,” he glared, turning back to her. Angelica knew she had no other choice and decided to make a run for it. Titus quickly chased her down, not allowing her to even reach the stairs. He threw her on the ground and tied her hands behind her back with a leather strap he had tucked into his belt. He returned to the chest, took out the plate with the pentagram and escorted her out of the house and across town to his wagon. He threw her into the cage, slamming the door shut behind her and locking it with the chain and lock that had dangled from the door. He held the plate up for the town’s people to see and stated

“Magic is not tolerated in our land. Angelica Fearfellow has been charged with practicing witchcraft and by order of the king, will be punished to death.” He climbed into the wagon, sat down and headed out of town back towards the castle. The clinking and clanking of the iron cage and squeaking of the wagon traveling across the bumpy dirt road was so loud that it drowned out Angelica’s weeping.