Vultures

Vultures – Chapter 2

Vultures – Chapter 3

Vesta

Vesta wandered along the creek and wove amongst budding trees and bush in search of the red willow her ‘ami,’ had sent her for.

Once boiled with water and ingested, the red bark of willow became a remedy which would lower fever and reduce pain; a much needed medicine at this time of year when the weather was unpredictably hot or cold.

Vesta noticed the creek started to bend just farther east from where she stood. Beyond the bend, an alcove would shelter her from a cool spring breeze that blew through this shaded area of burly twisted tree trunks.  There a few feet beyond that bend lay a meadow surrounded by thick bush and willow tall enough to block any wayward wind.  Vesta stepped briskly toward the bend up ahead, eager to shake loose her brown woolen cape and carefully coiffed hair. How she looked forward to these rare moments of freedom away from the confines of the community where she felt like such a hostage.  Out of mortal fear, she’d been forced to camouflage herself amongst them – those she described as, ‘murderous vultures.’  She deliberately dressed in dowdy colors like they did; browns, grays and blacks were colors that more often than not kept one unnoticed among the colonies vultures.  Still, she liked ‘tiny pretty things’ and would don a small sparkly necklace or pin that could be easily covered if necessary when prying eyes cast their umbrous  glances in her direction.

As she rounded the curve of the creek a shiny object glinted with such flare, it nearly blinded her.  Vesta held up her hand and shielded her eyes from the glare caused by the sun’s rays; stepped two paces and stooped to retrieve the pretty gold nugget from the creek bed where it lay.  Vesta was no fool, she had uncommon knowledge; this golden nugget was pyrite.  Pyrite she knew had intrinsic healing properties which would not only protect but bring abundance.  She also knew that the protective, shielding properties of this stone worked on physical, etheric and emotional levels by keeping out negative vibrations and was an ally in protecting one from physical danger.  The hair on her arms rose as a nearby crow squawked out a warning.

The crow had accompanied her from the outskirt of the colony flying and perching atop barren budding tree branches that clawed at the sky like bony fingers. Sometimes the crow led her along the creek at other times; it hung behind cocking its head at her as she passed it by to take the lead.  Vesta suspected the bird had been Nell’s pet.  Nell loved all creatures of the earth and she’d rescued the fledgling with a broken wing from where it had fallen from its nest below a tree near her cabin then nursed it back to health. The bird had been a faithful companion to Nell.  It followed her everywhere and proved to be hilarious company with many comedic antics and vocal imitations.  Nell had simply named the bird, ‘Crow.’  Crow was more than a pet to Nell. Vesta remembered this fondly.  He was her ‘friend.’

‘Witches familiar;’ that’s what the Preacher had said.  The Preacher and his congregation had accused Nell of necromancy because of the bird.  Then; they’d burned her to death on a stake.

Vesta found it hard to believe that Nell was gone.  She felt Nell’s presence as if they were standing side-by-side at this very moment.  Nell had taught her that, “a spirit can live long without a body but, it took a ‘special eye’ to see one.”

Perhaps, Crow hadn’t been the only escort Vesta had along the creek; she however had no special eye in which to see Nell’s spirit.  And yet, she sensed her mentor and friend was near.

“Nell… Mon Amie, what are you trying to tell me?”

Vesta’s brow furrowed at the curious lingo that kept popping into her head while confident in the knowing it meant friend or my friend.  Vesta had certain powers. One of them was clear knowing or claircognizance as Nell taught.  Another was clairvoyance – clear sight and while she had no special eye to see her friend clearly, she was receiving a vision about the pretty little golden treasure she turned in the palm of her hand.

“I have a feeling this little stone will be the start of a gold rush for fools.  Let us see what the future holds for you, pretty one.  For now, you may ride along with me in the pocket of my cape.” Vesta tucked the little nugget into her pocket and flipped back the hood of her cape then loosened her hair.

Crow squawked then clicked his beak at Vesta when the golden treasure disappeared.

“Ahhh, so you like tiny pretty things as well Crow,” she patted her pocket.  “The sun feels wonderful on my face! Look… there just ahead is the red willow! They are a bloom with fuzzy little kittens! I must not dilly dally any longer, it is time to gather bark.”

Vesta stepped gingerly along the swampy edge of the meadow but as she neared the pussy willows, she heard a muffled voice.

“Crooked finger, crooked finger, crooked finger, nod.”

A female figure sat cross legged amid the damp meadow grass squashing dried pods of wild flowers and throwing them on the ground about her.  A tattered blue cape tied loosely about the young woman’s neck bore the remnants of black sooty holes.  It looked like it had been saved from a hearth fire. Vesta’s eyes widened as she ran toward the figure whose voice she recognized.

“Amarelle!  I thought you dead!  It has been many months. Where have you been?”

When Amarelle lifted her head, Vesta’s wide eyes met with a set of glossed over deadened ones.  Amarelle’s face was swollen. It had turned a purplish-yellow-green color. A newly formed scab graced her lower lip where it had been split by the fist of a monster.  There were bruises around Amarelle’s throat. Vesta observed the bruising looked very similar to marks that fingers would leave if hands had meant to strangle their recipient.  A tangled, knotted mat of un-kept blonde hair was speckled with dried blood.  Amarelle’s lip quivered.

“Crooked finger, crooked finger, crooked finger, nod.  Vesta?” she gasped and started to sob.

Vesta knelt at her friend’s side.  “You remember me then?”

Amarelle nodded and reached out her hand.  Vesta’s hand met Amarelle’s and they hooked little fingers.

“Nod,” they said it simultaneously.

The game was one they’d played as children.  It had always ended up in eruptions of uncontrolled laughter. This situation however, was no laughing matter.

“Who has done this to you Amarelle?”

Vesta watched as her friend’s eyes welled over with tears that started to stream down her bruised swollen face but to her utter dismay, Amarelle didn’t answer.

“You don’t need to tell me Amarelle.  Your silence is answer enough.  I know it was the Preacher.  I will help get you away from him.  If it is the last thing I ever do in this life, I will free you from his lecherous grasp.”

Amarelle’s eyes fixed on Vesta’s soft blue ones.  Vesta had the kindest face she’d ever seen.  Freckles were starting to appear on Vesta’s nose and cheek bones. The little brown dots made her friends face even more endearing.  Even the sun loved Vesta – freckles were proof of that; no other evidence was needed.  If only the sun could spare some loving warmth for her.  Amarelle started to shake as if an ice cold snake were slithering up her backbone.

“Are you cold? Here take my cape.  It will warm you,” Vesta removed her cape and draped it around Amarelle.  “You will find a protective stone in the pocket Amarelle.  Pyrite.  It symbolizes the warmth and lasting presence of the sun and will promote the recall of all the beautiful memories of love and friendship we’ve had together.  It will also protect you from physical harm.”

Vesta heard branches crack and the snapping of twigs. Hair rose on her arms for the second time that morning.

Crow started to squawk but other crows joined to echo this woodland warning, “Danger!”

“Amarelle, are you able to run? It sounds like a rider is coming.  It could be the Preacher has come looking for you. I will take you through those brambles yonder.  From there you will recognize the path back.  The way is much quicker.  A horse and rider cannot traverse the on those brambles so you will be back hours ahead of the Preacher.  Be sure to cover yourself with the brown cape and you will not be noticed.  I will wait to follow until you are truly safe but I must also gather willow bark for the Healer who supplies the Bawdy tenants with medicinal remedies before I return. He has been my benefactor.  Run swiftly Amarelle, I will see you again at sunset.  I promise to free you from that repugnant mans grasp!”

Vesta crouched in the brambles as Amarelle fled from the meadow.  In the distance, crows warned of ensuing danger. Near her, song birds fell hushed as if they sensed the risk Vesta was taking by waiting quietly in the shadows.  Finally, the rider emerged at the edge of the meadow then rode around the west bend of the creek.  It wasn’t the Preacher.  Vesta let out a heavy sigh but waited patiently for the sound of hooves to long pass prior to stepping out of the brambles to gather willow bark.

Red winged black birds and meadow larks sang in delight at Vesta’s return from the shadows.  Their happy songs lifted her heavy heart as she stepped toward the willows to begin her work stripping branches.

She had only begun to strip bark from the red willow when Vesta noticed a porcupine hidden amidst the higher branches. Lucky for her, she hadn’t startled the little creature.  Its quills could have caused debilitating damage to her hands or arms. At this point in the day, she definitely didn’t need to suffer with any stiff barbed hairs embedded in her skin; or any infection that could follow as a result of such an encounter with a spiny rodent!

Vesta’s face contorted as it clouded over with distain at the memories of what horrors the Preacher had made Amarelle suffer.  The bruises on her friend’s body were only outward tell-tales; signs of a larger more unsurpassable evil; one that told of lost virtue and stolen innocence by the hands of a truly evil, spineless man.

Vesta’s mouth twisted into a vindictive smile.  If she said the words she was thinking, they would enter the ethos and forever be there – with proper intention, they would haunt the target forever.  She had taken an oath to never do harm to another but her friend Amarelle deserved this reckoning and Vesta needed vengeance.  She knew that her pedagogue, Nell would not have ever approved of this.  Still, the mere thought of what she wanted to do was all too enticing for her to ignore.

Vesta’s eyes surveyed every inch of the sedate, quilled creature munching happily away amongst the willows and tried to re-focus her mind on the sounds of the happy little song birds but she could not tear her mind away from the masochistic Preacher.  The mere thought of the bruises Amarelle had suffered at his hands enraged Vesta. The more she thought about it, the angrier she became.

Vesta began to shake with uncontrollable rage. Unchecked, she invoked the Power of Three while visualizing the Preacher.  Vesta’s words hurled from her mouth like poisonous darts.

“I hope a porcupine cuddles up to your balls for all eternity!”[1]

[1] Heidi Morin – April 15,2021