Fairies : Mystica And Merlin
Chapter 14 : Witch
As she stood in the middle of the village, Mystica wondered what there was that she could do to help the people that lived there stand against the soldiers that were coming. She knew that she didn’t know how to fight soldiers. That she’d never fought anything, or anyone, in her entire life. She didn’t know how. Neither did she know if the white magic she possessed would be of any use. She knew it could heal. She knew it could help her fly. She knew it could show her things. But she didn’t know at all if it would help her in the coming fight.
So she stood there, in the village, for a while. As she thought. Until she decided it would be best if everyone in the village was awake before the soldiers arrived. So she closed her eyes, and spoke a single word. “Wake.” A white light encased Mystica. And little balls of that light shot off. Each one going to a different house. One by one, house by house, the villagers woke up. Well before the dawn. They were all confused, and wanted to know what was going on.
They couldn’t help but see Mystica standing there. Encased in pure white light, in the darkness of the night. They also couldn’t help but see her wings. The wings of a fairy. The oldest of the adults approached her slowly. There were two of them. One woman, and one man. “Who are you?” they asked. “Was it you that woke us up?”
“I am the fairy, Mystica. I came to warn you, and to help you in any way I can.” She looked into the eyes of both of them. “Soldiers are coming here. Evil, mean soldiers. They will be here with the dawn.” Both of the adults looked at her. “There is a village, two days journey from here. The soldiers entered that village two days ago. And they killed everyone. Even the children, and the babies.” The villagers looked at her. “And they’ll be here soon.”
“Are you certain?” They were beginning to look worried. “Are they coming here?”
“Yes,” Mystica responded. Then she spoke again. “Show me the soldiers,” and a white ball of light formed, and hung in the air between Mystica and the village elders. In that white ball, everyone around could see the soldiers. Everyone could tell they were on the trail into the village, and it would not be long before they arrived. They could see the hard, cruel looks on the faces of the soldiers. They could see the cross bows. And the swords. That the soldiers carried.
Mystica spoke again, “Show what they have done.” The images in the white light changed. Replaying bits and pieces of the violent attack the soldiers had made against a defenseless village just two days before.
Everyone was silent. It was the woman that spoke first. “What are we to do? We have no way to defend ourselves. No weapons of our own. No way to protect ourselves from the soldiers. Surely they will kill us all.”
Mystica then shared her plan for helping the people of the village on that day. “Scatter. Head into the forest, as fast as you can. I’ll do the best I can here, to delay the soldiers, and keep them from tracking you. I can’t guarantee anything. I wish I could. But I’ll do the best I can.”
So the villagers fled their homes. Heading into the forest, just before the dawn. They headed out in all directions, except the one the soldiers were coming from. Mystica watched them as they disappeared among the trees.
And then she waited for the dawn.
As the sun rose, and the colors of the world began to come to life again, Mystica spoke to the white magic once again. “Let the village be filled with people.” The magic listened to her words, and little balls of white light appeared here and there, through the entire village. Then those balls of light took forms. Of men. And women. And their sons, and daughters. Even taking form as babies now and then.
Some of those images rested in beds. Some worked in kitchens, fixing breakfast for their families. Others were outside, starting their chores. All those images appeared to behave as if they were real villagers that day.
Mystica was very happy with the work she’d done. She prayed it would be enough. Then she spread her wings, and took flight. She hid above the trees to the village’s East. Just out of sight. And then she watched.
The first sign of the soldiers was a barrage of cross bow bolts striking the images the white magic had brought to life. The images that were struck appeared to bleed, and fall, and die. They even looked like the crossbow bolts were striking them. Bolts sticking out of body parts. “Pretty good,” Mystica thought, “for a bunch of white light.”
The soldiers continued their assault. Killing everything they saw. Men and their sons first. Then they grabbed the women, and their daughters. Brutalizing them, and killing them when they were done. They played their nasty games with the babies of the village once again. Smashing them against the walls and trees, and other things. Leaving mangled baby bodies on the ground.
As she watched from her hiding place in the tops of the trees, hidden from the view of the soldiers below her, Mystical felt her blood begin to burn with rage. As it had done before. And in her rage, she spoke a single word. “Burn.” It was barely a whisper. But all that she could think was that the soldiers, and the way they behaved didn’t belong in this world. That they should be burned from the face of the world. And forever gone.
The soldiers cried out in surprise, and shock, when the bodies lying on the ground returned to balls of white once more. And then those balls of white became balls of white flames. The soldiers screamed in fear, and the flames came after them. Encasing them, one by one, in a pure white flame.
Each soldier that the flames attacked screamed in agony, and fell to the ground, writhing in pain. None of them were burned. At least not visibly. But Mystic knew what those flames were doing. Those flames were of white magic. And they were burning the darkness from the hearts and souls of the soldiers on that day.
The soldiers started fleeing. Heading back the way they’d come. But the flames followed them. Hunting them down, one-by-one. Mystica watched, as some of the soldiers actually died. Others were left alive. But were left on the ground, unconscious, or in horrible pain. And still the white flames tracked the soldiers down. Until at last they came to the leaders of the soldiers.
The leaders were the most evil of the soldiers. This much Mystica knew. She could see the hatred, and the rage, and even the fear, that was inside of them. She could see how they believed that the people of the villages deserved to die. But even she was stunned by what the white magic fires did to them. For as the fires burned the darkness from their hearts, and souls, they actually burned. Their bodies igniting with real flames.
The leaders swung their swords. They struck back at the white magic flames. But it was no use. Nothing that they did hurt the flames in any way. And pretty soon, the fires consumed each of them. Roasting them alive. Leaving charred husks of fairies and men on the ground. The life in them having been burned clean away.
There had been no good in them at all. And when the white magic fires had burned the evil in their hearts and souls. It had burned everything they were. And there was nothing left of them, except for empty husks where life had once been.
Mystica flew to the center of the village. The fire in her blood was gone. Having burned itself out. Some of the soldiers that had survived, were waking up, or overcoming the pain they felt. And as they did, they got to their feet, and they fled. Scattering into the forest. Heading back in the direction from which they’d come.
They left their cross bows, and their swords, lying on the ground. They fled in terror, and panic. Without any thought at all.
Mystica examined the crossbows. And the swords. She recognized them. She had seem their kind before. They were the kind that had been used to murder her mother, Ivy. And so many others. In the kingdom on that dark day that had been months and months ago. She knew the soldiers had been more of the former captain’s men. And somehow, even though she didn’t know why they should be so far north, she knew also that her path would cross theirs once again.
With the battle done, and the soldiers gone, Mystic closed her eyes, and wished that the people of the village would know that it was safe for them to return to their homes.
The villagers, hiding in the forest, scattered everywhere, were now many hours from their homes. But they heard Mystica’s voice. It was a clear as if she’d been there, right with them. “It’s safe. You can come home.”
Mystica waited in the village, until every villager, ever man and woman, son and daughter, and baby too, had return to their homes. Once she knew that every one was safe, and well. And had not been harmed. She said farewell to them. And too to the sky one more. It took her 6 days of searching to find her way to the lake once more. 6 days and nights spent in the forest. On her own. Until she found her little tree house. Hidden in a tree, just beyond the clearing on the East side of the lake.
When she got home, Mystica stripped off everything, and then she dove into the lake. And there she swam, and washed. Until she felt clean once again. Until the dirt, and grime, and sweat, from her long flight, and the fight to save the villagers she’d defended from the soldiers, was all washed away from her. She floated, naked, on the lake. On her back. Looking up at the stars. And let the water of the lake calm her. Heal her. Until she could find her smile once more.
Then she washed her clothing, until the dirt that had collected in her skirt, and in her corset, and her undergarments, was all washed away. Then she left her clothing on the tree branch right outside the little door to her tree house.
And she went inside.
And at last, Mystica slept.
But as she slept, word began to spread from the village she had saved. That there was a defender of the people of the forest. Someone that would fight for them. Someone that would help them. And her name was Mystica. A fairy. And a witch.