“The world can breathe freedom again! The Black Witch is dead!” called out a thin, wiry man adorned in a frilly, frocked outfit as he moved slowly through the town square, dodging people as he went. He was a tall man, a good head or two taller than your average person, which allowed him to easily croon out the message across the square with his surprisingly melodic voice. If he weren't’ t the Town Crier, he certainly would’ve been a bard of some renown.
From the table where she sat having breakfast with her a friend, Evelyn turned, glaring at the man, not certain if she’d heard him correctly. But, as he repeatedly shouted out his message, she couldn’t ignore it or the joy he imbued in it each time. Unspoken, but spoken loudly, reinforced by the annoying grin on his face. Each time he belted it out, the message was overwhelmingly met with a euphoric response from the crowd, egging him on even more, which he obliged by breaking into dance as he moved along.
Evelyn watched him proceed across the square, seeing the scene repeated over and over, the mob growing, following him around the corner until they were out of sight. She lowered her head, fighting back the tears. She didn’t think this day would ever come, but it seemed it had. A gentle hand laid on her shoulder.
“Evelyn,” Serta said in a quiet, consoling voice.
“Don’t! Just don’t!” Evelyn said, brushing Serta’s hand from her shoulder. She gathered herself as the tears came, and stood, running her hands down the front of her black dress as if pressing out any wrinkles that may have formed while sitting down. She had never understood why people, many people, had thought her mother evil. Yes, she was a witch, that much was certain, but she used her powers to protect the land. The others, these people, she thought with disdain, just didn’t understand her mother the way that she did. She was is no way evil at all, but thoughtful and loving and kind. Maybe a bit overprotective, but these people, they would soon learn why her mother did the things that she did. They saw her as evil, but in reality she was anything but. However, there had been stories of her mother’s demise in the past that turned out to be false, so she held out hope that this too was just another of those situations.
As the cheers of the Black Witch’s death echoed around her, the townspeople were getting aggressive and jeering at Evelyn, openly mocking her about her mother’s death. Serta tried to shield her friend, but there were just too many, too fast, and Serta was only a small and frail young lady. The tears now openly streamed from Evelyn’s eyes as she was forced to endure some of the most hurtful, horrible and spiteful things that one could ever hear, let alone about a recently passed parent. Evelyn pushed through the crowd, sprinting back to the Obsidian Castle. The guards at the castle, like Evelyn, were not fully certain if the rumors were true. For that reason, they prevented the townspeople from looting and burning it, not wanting to suffer the repercussions if the reports of the Witch’s death were false.
Evelyn retreated to the bowels of the castle, far away from the jeers and pomp of the growing crowd outside. She hoped she’d find her mother in her room, returned from her trip to the west. Before leaving, her mother had told her there was a disturbance from the Outlands she needed to investigate. That was a few days ago. Things like this come up frequently, and Evelyn never gave it a second thought. Now, as she sat on the edge of her mother’s bed, she wondered if that was the last time she would see her mother. A tear came to her eye as she glanced around the room, looking at things, at memories.
She startled as the door opened, and turned smiling, expecting to see her mother. However, it was Serta and a gentleman in black she recognized as one of her mother’s Black Hands, her avowed protectors. Serta’s face was bloodied with cuts, her dress torn in several places, and it struck Evelyn that she’d fled, leaving Serta alone. The smile fell from her face, and she rushed forward to her friend.
“Oh Serta,” she said apologetically, “I’m sorry I left you. What has happened to you?” she asked as she brushed Serta’s golden hair from her face.
“No, Evelyn. I understand,” she said, her eyes growing heavy, “but your mother––” A single tear streamed from her eyes and she sniffed, catching her breath. “They were so mean, vindictive. There’s no telling what they would’ve done to you if you’d stayed any longer. If not for Flynn here, I’d probably be strung up on the gallows as well,” she said, motioning to the man standing next to her.
“Thank you, Flynn,” Evelyn said, turning to him. “You have done me a great service today. The Witch, my mother, shall make sure you are duly rewarded.”
He opened his mouth as if to say something, but Serta raised her motioning for him to remain quiet. Evelyn turned back to Serta, to see her eyes covered in a sheen of glass, softly reflecting the light from the fireplace. Serta reached out, taking Evelyn’s hands in hers. “Evelyn, the rumors,” she whispered, “they’re not rumors this time. It’s really been done. Your mother’s been killed, by some Outlander who wields powers not of this world.”
“But how can you know, how can we be certain that it’s true this time?” Evelyn asked, the reality of it still not taking hold. Serta turned to Flynn, and he simply nodded, taking a small step forward.
“I was there, my lady,” Flynn answered. “We’d heard rumors of an intrusion from the Outlands, some new power that your mother felt. We engaged what looked like a rag tag band of vagabonds, but found their power exceeded ours that day. I’m sorry Evelyn,” he said stepping closer, “I’m sorry I failed you, but I will never let anyone harm you.”
Evelyn stepped closer to Flynn, leaning her forehead against his, whispering, “You saw her perish? You were there?”
“I was there,” he whispered back. “It’s true this time.
She leaned back, wiping the tears from her eyes. “Thank you, Flynn. Do you have it?” she asked.
“I do, but it took every last man to make it here alive. Only myself and one other Black Hand made it out alive. But he is badly wounded and is in the healing salts now as we speak,” he said, holding out a small chest made from the blackest of wood. “Here it is.”
“You must do it quickly, Evelyn,” Serta said, stepping to her side, “it took far too long for Flynn to fight his way back with it.”
“Right,” Evelyn said as she took the box, racing over to the desk, setting it down and flipping open the lid open. One glimpse inside, and she knew it was true, her mother was dead, the family mantle passing to Evelyn. She had spoken with her mother about this day on numerous occasions and what would be expected of her. They would role-play it over the years, and through that Evelyn had taught herself how to stomach what needed to be done. She reached into the chest, closing her hand around it. It was warm and wet still––that was a good sign, it had not been too long. She grasped onto it as her fingers pressed into its fleshy surface. It still throbbed, as if her mother’s life force were still flowing through it.
“It is time,” Serta said, encouraging Evelyn to do what must be done.
Without any more words, Evelyn nodded to Serta, moving her mother’s heart to her mouth, taking a large bite out of it and drinking all the blood from its chambers. She continued to take bites until none was left, licking her fingers to take all the power into her own. Blood, her mother’s blood, streamed down her face onto her dress. She smiled, thinking of all the times they’d role-played this very moment, and each time her mother was concerned that she wouldn’t be able to do it. Her mother would be so proud of her if she could see her now, but then her stomach violently objected to its new contents as she doubled over. Flynn reached out, catching her before she fell.
“To the bed,” Serta said, motioning to the Witch’s bed, Evelyn’s bed. A minute after they settled her into bed, a swirl of black smoke emitted from Evelyn’s eyes, engulfing her body within a mysterious cloud. Serta and Flynn stepped back as the smoke crackled with electricity and finally resolved, but the person that lay before them was not Evelyn. It was the Black Witch.
“Evelyn?” Serta whispered, her voice uncertain.
Evelyn opened her eyes to see Serta and Flynn standing beside the bed, their eyes open wide. “Of course,” Evelyn said, rolling on her side, “who else would it be?”
“It’s just,” Serta said, glancing at Flynn.
Flynn scratched his chin, leaning in, “You look exactly like your mother. I mean exactly.”
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Great short story, would make for an awesome book...