They were like vultures circling prey. Their beady eyes revealed a fear of death. But, the same eyes reveled in Nell’s. They waited expectantly to tear flesh from bone strip by strip. Once in a while, a brave one bounced forward. Its awkward peck was designed only to intimidate. Does the prey still have courage? Does she still fight? Then its own cowardice would over-take it and the vulgar creature would hop backward into the crowd to seek safety.
Nell pitied them, they were so ugly. She noticed their bare heads grow red in the twilight. They hunched forward. The sun receded. They grew restless and cold, pulling their cloaks toward them like wings, tight to their bodies. “Witch,” their raspy drawn-out voices hissed, “Burn Witch.”
Yes, they were vultures; a whole colony of them. Nell’s eyes searched the crowd for Amarelle. She spotted her in the midst of them. “Amarelle, she whispered telepathically, “Amarelle!”
Amarelle’s long hair fell down her back, colored like fall straw. Her face was pale. “She’s cold,” Nell thought, noticing that Amarelle’s lips imitated the same distinct blue of her cloak. “Royal blue,” Amarelle’s words reverberated in Nell’s head. Normally, that color of blue was so beautiful on Amarelle because it highlighted her eyes. Now though, the color caused her to appear like a graying corpse. Amarelle had the gift of clairaudience, Nell was positive. “Amarelle,” Nell commanded silently. “Look at me!”
Nell noticed Amarelle, jump and look around hesitantly in search of the familiar voice. She became confused however when it was evident that no one around her was heralding her name. Confident that she had Amarelle’s attention, Nell continued. “Amarelle, you know the truth. I am not a Witch.”
Nell watched as Amarelle’s eyes filled with knowing and fear. She began to shake, backed further into the crowd and screamed, “Burn, burn. Burn, you witch!”
Sadness for Amarelle filled Nell. Amarelle had once been such a good and trusted friend. Nell sent her another quiet message. “We will meet again, Amarelle. Only next time it will be as sisters. Until then, learn from the mistake you have made.”
Nell turned her attention from Amarelle. The Protestant Priest was stepping forward with a lit torch. There were others accused of witchery beside her. All were bound in the same fashion as her. They hung helpless, thick ropes around their torso’s and necks binding them tightly to tall wooden stakes; arms fastened behind backs by leather thongs clasped their wrists and ankles together so tightly it cut off circulation to their hands and feet. But, it was the taught heavy ropes which held the condemned steadfast. Suspended in mid-air, they awaited their end; some prayed for a miracle. But, theirs was an inescapable fate which bound them to eternal damnation; destiny by way of fire. The accused began to scream in terror. Not Nell though. Green eyes met dull black ones.
“Do you repent?” he squawked, starting a passage of Holy verbiage. “Repent, confess your sins. I order you to relinquish your wicked ways!”
“I am not a Witch,” Nell choked, “and I will forgive the heresy committed here this night. But I will not forget.” Nell watched the preacher’s red face turn purple. The collared man’s large hooked nose made him appear more vulture-like than the others.
“Then burn, Pagan Witch!” he raged, placing his fiery torch to the kindling.
Nell smiled down at the pious man, enraging him further. “Judge me not sir. For in it, you judge no other than yourself. I pray God will give you penance for this sin you are committing and I pity your congregation.” Nell felt flames licking at her feet. They started to crawl up her skirt. She sought out Vesta with her eyes.
Vesta was the third in her trio of trusted friends. Vesta was soft hearted. She stood near the front of the crowd, not hidden amongst the colony of vultures as Amarelle was. Vesta had the gift of sight, a clairvoyant. So did Nell. But the gifts were different in nature. Vesta saw future events. “This is a cursed gift!” she whimpered while confiding the premonition of this blasphemous act to Nell. “They’ll incinerate you and send your immortal soul to hell. Leave now, Nell. Please, leave!” But the coming black tyranny was not in Nell’s path to escape much to Vesta’s distress. “I cannot out run my fate Vesta,” she’d said cupping her friends hands in her own and forcing a smile.
Nell was wise enough to realize that a gift such as Vesta’s was hard to predict with a staunch timeline. All things must line up in perfect succession for them to transpire or to manifest in reality. Nell prepared as best she could for Vesta’s premonition of her own demise. Still, she was startled at the speed which the future presented its self. The thought of that day brought her a small amount of pleasure.
Nell remembered how she had taken her white mare into the woods to gather roots and herbs for her healing practice. Many people came to her for the medicines she prepared, (although they would never admit to that publicly) and her supplies were low. Nell relished in the gathering of her supplies. Time often got away from her when she traversed the wilderness in search of her healing treasures. How she loved the smell of the trees, fresh herb vegetation and the land it grew on. Mother Earth had certainly provided abundant stock for her medicine baskets that day. It took her ‘til dusk to complete the gathering.
Upon returning home, she fed her mare a healthy ration of hay, carried her treasures to the doorway of her cabin, hung the roots and vines along the outside wall to dry then proceeded happily into the cabin with baskets brimming with herbs, muddied feet and all.
Nell kept a tidy home and she was just preparing to sweep up the mud clumps when the town haranguers arrived with their ludicrous innuendoes. The group’s capacity to listen to anything remotely intellectual had been vastly affected by mob mentality. They were crazed. Nell knew it. Therefore, she never uttered a word even as they drug her forcibly toward the settlement. She wondered now though, about her little home. Was someone taking care of things there? Or, did woodland critters now inhabit the cabin which was once hers. And, what of her beautiful white mare?
Nell pulled herself back from her fleeting thoughts of the past toward Vesta once again.
Vesta stood proudly, ignoring the enraptured scavengers nearby. Her straight back was cloaked with mottled brown wool. Unlike other crowd members, Vesta let her cloak fall open, not huddling inside it.
Nell watched Vesta lower her head when the fiery torch set flame to the pile of wood beneath her. Vesta would not raise it again to watch Nell’s body fuel the fire. She’d watched the scene before and was loathe to see it again. Vesta doubled over and retched as the scent of scorching human flesh assaulted her. Nell realized, as she stood behind Vesta, out of body, that she would not be seen by her friend. She placed her unseen hands on Vesta’s narrow shoulders and channeled the strength of love into her, helping her to endure the reality of this nightmare. Nell whispered to Vesta, unsure if she could hear. “Do not despair. Keep my staff safe and remember the power of three. We will meet again Vesta, as sisters next. Until then, keep silent about your gift.”
Nell began to move about the congregation of vultures unseen by blind eyes and closed minds. It would have been easy to take revenge on the Preacher’s mesmerized followers but she stopped only when she stood in front of Amarelle. With love and kindness, Nell placed her hands on the younger girl’s head. Amarelle would not sense her presence but it didn’t matter. She stood there quietly channeling love into her friend. “I forgive you, Amarelle,” she whispered knowing that if she did not mention forgiveness, the young girl would be driven mad with guilt.
Nell’s placid eyes encompassed the now frenzied crowd. “They are worse than any coven of witches to revel in such an intolerant, malicious act with such religious zeal. Most of these lost disciples are young women accused under false doctrine. Some’s only crime is a birthmark or a mole! One of them, a young mother, tortured to the point of confession because her eyebrows connect in the middle. The devil’s mark, they accused her. Poor, poor girls. I should jump into that preacher’s body long enough to drive him mad. Challenge his faith a little. Idiot!”
Realizing she was judging, Nell forgave herself.
“I have a secret, Preacher,” Nell whispered into the wind, “It’s to fulfill my destiny in this life or the next. It’s only a matter of time until we meet again…,” and she vanished from her only known plane of existence.
[…] Vultures […]
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Hell hath no fury like a woman set on fire. That preacher might be in for it, in the next life.
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😀🤣😂🤣 oh… I think you might be right
Tippy!
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[…] Vultures […]
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[…] Vultures […]
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