Original: Legacy - Part 1
Title: Legacy
Rating: M
Warnings: Mentions of Witch Hunts and brutality.
Summary:She was the new girl in town. What happens when she does something out of the norm?
Next Part: Part 2
Legacy
(Part 1)
~ Prologue ~
Starting with their victory over Colonial America in 1781, Britain's reign over the world continued to expand. Their power eventually extending into the Americas and Asia. The only regions unaffected by their domination are China and Australia. Their new empire was dubbed Brittānia de Sanctus, and its laws were highly influenced by religious beliefs.
After many years of peace, bizarre deaths raged throughout the land and claims of possession by demonic creatures occurred in first rural villages and then urban towns. The Government deemed a witch hunt necessary to curtail these outbreaks of hysteria and for hundreds of years executions of the accused have occurred all over the land. A special division of assassins was created to hunt down all witches, people aiding the witches, and their families. These assassins are known as the Malleus Maleficarum or the Witch Hunters. (RAS. History of Brittānia de Sanctus. Page 3)
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The cell is dark and damp. The hay beneath her feet soggy and foul smelling. The scent of iron and manure waft into her nostrils as a draft comes through the barred window above her. Her wrists are bloodied and raw from the massive iron shackles fettering her to the cold stone wall. Shivers wrack her petite frame.
“Cold, witch?” the guard sneers.
He’s middle aged and stout, with a balding scalp. His face obscured by a bushy beard. He’s sitting ram-rod straight in his chair clutching a rock tightly in his fist. His breath is so foul and noxious, she can smell it across the room.
He lightly bounces the rock in his palm. "Yer the firs' witch in these parts in 'bout a hundred years. The people are lookin' forward t' a great show, ya know? Firs', yew'll be stripped naked 'nd then yer pretty hair cut all off. Yew'll look like'a boy when they're through with yew. 'nd then-" he catches the rock tightly in his palm, looking up at her. On the small table to the left of his chair is a small candle, emitting a faint light that illuminates his face menacingly. The shadows catching the creases of his face. His voice is raspy and hoarse but his malevolent glee rings in every word.
"Yew'll be keeled. Jus' like the res' o'em in all them other towns. I can't wait t'see yer pretty little face burned clean off yer skull, witch."
“My name is not wi -“
The chair scrapes off the stone floor as the guard scrambles to his feet, pressing his back to the wall.
“Silence, witch! I will not have any of yer devil-speak in 'ere!”
The rock flew through the air, clanging loudly off the iron bars of her cell. She flinches, curling tighter into the back corner. His eyes filled with fury and fear bore down at her as he kept his distance, back pressed tightly to the wall opposite of the cell. Her eyes clench shut, her brow and forehead creasing as a small whimper escapes her.
Footsteps approached, the dirt shifting under heavy boots. She flinches as they stop in front of her cell.
“John, it’s time for our shift change. I’ll keep an eye on the heathen.”
“Aye, Matthew. I fear she may possess me soon. ‘er Satanic powers could be try’n to get me."
“Not to worry, I won’t even look her in the eye. Get home to your wife and kids.”
John tips his head, gathers his belongings scrambling from the room, sending one last glare at her. Matthew sighs, leaning against the wall. A loud slam reverberates through the room as the large wooden door slams closed.
“Oi.”
She flinches, coiling tightly, eyes shut tight.
“I’m not going to hurt you. Do you want some bread?”
She opens her eyes turning to look at him. He’s looking at her with bright eyes, a lantern held in his grasp. In his other hand, outstretched towards her is a small steaming basket. She hesitantly lifts her head from the cradle of her lap cocking her head to the side in confusion.
“Come now, I’m not going to hurt you. Here, I’ll set the basket down. This is all for you. Eat up.”
He sets the basket just outside of the bars of her cell stepping back. He adjusts the chair that John had knocked over setting it up against the wall. He sits down, back straight, crossing his arms and legs. The lantern is placed on the table, and for the first time she can see his features.
Matthew is tall. Really tall. Almost six feet! He’s broad shouldered and sturdily built with some fair amount of muscle. He’s dressed in a simple white shirt, brown trousers tucked into knee length boots. On the hook by the door is a large dark cloak.
A soldier, she thinks.
She hesitantly uncurls herself, her chains rattling loudly in the silence of the room. He's watching her with a small smile on his lips.
"Go on, it's not going to bite you or anything. Eat," he gestures to the basket, his warm smile unwavering.
Taking a chance, she dives at the bars arms stretching out to reach the basket. The chains tug her back, stopping her just short of the basket. She grunts at the force, tugged backwards, landing on her posterior. The basket sits just barely out of arm's reach.
Of course, he was lying. There is no way someone would be nice enough to feed a witch like me. Just wait. He's going to laugh at me.
Matthew stands abruptly, rushing to the edge of her cell, the chair making a loud clattering noise as it hits the ground. He grasps the bars peering in closer to her face. His eyes are wide with concern.
"I'm sorry, I didn't think about the length of your chains! You didn't hurt yourself did you? Here, let me feed you," he states ashamed as he breaks the bread up into small bite sized pieces. He holds one out to her, his arm breaching the cell.
Liar.
A cold draft blows through the windows wafting the smell of the bread into her nose. Before she knows it she is eating the bread from his palm like a stray dog.
His other arm breaches the cell, patting her head reassuringly. A chill runs up her spine at the unfamiliar touch. She jumps back heart pounding, eyes wide flitting back and forth between his face, hands, and the bread like a hummingbird's wings.
"Ah! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to frighten you-" he pauses taking his hands back, holding them up by his face. "I just wanted to show you I mean no harm."
He looks too sincere... maybe he isn't lying? No! He is. He's just like the rest of them! But... He touched my head... All of the others kept their distance, treating me like some plague. But he fed me and petted me. Maybe he isn't like them. However...
"I'm not a dog," she states.
Matthew's face is comical as he blinks, eyebrows arched, mouth gaping.
"Of course not! Of all the things you could say to me, you tell me you're not a dog? You're a funny girl," he guffaws.
"Well, what else do you expect me to say?"
"Well, for starters. How about your name?"
"I see no reason for me to tell a cur such as yourself."
He whistles.
"Feisty. I can see why you're in this predicament. You're not like the other girls in this village."
"It's hardly my fault that the elders are as stuck up as they are."
"Aye, but we do have morals you know?"
"Oh, so my hair and skin are reasons for condemnation? My education? My love of dance?" She's sitting up leaning forward, her hands pressing into the ground. Her teeth gnashing, brows furrowing.
"Well, you have to admit, if you've been working in the sun as everyone else has, your skin wouldn't be as pale as the snow now would it? You have blue eyes- that only the devil-possessed people have. Your hair is peculiar. Who has hair that is almost as white as their skin, but the elders? And trust me on this one. I love dancing as well, but here in this village, you just can't get away with that kind'a thing- It's forbidden! As for your education. Most women here are good for two things. One, laying down and spreading their legs to a man. And two, property value. Not many here speak their mind like you and know what they're talking about. You're definitely one of a kind, girlie."
"I'll have you know, my hair is blonde. It's not white. Where I come from most of the girls have this color hair," she huffs crossing her arms.
"Oh, and where might that be," he asks leaning his chin on top of his folded hands.
"Not telling."
"Stingy."
She sticks her tongue out at him, reveling in his shocked expression. He passes her a slice of bread.
"You're alright." She takes a huge bite of the still steaming bread, delighting at the texture and warmth. He averts his eyes, looking put-out. "It's such a shame that you have to die."
The bread she's chewing loses its flavor and becomes lodged in her throat. A cold sensation numbing her. Nothing else is said.
Matthew gives her fresh bread the next day and the day after that. She refuses to tell him her name, despite his pestering. They don't talk much, but she can feel him staring at her the entire time. During the day the other guards, John, Isaiah, and Jeremiah mock and sneer at her.
When it comes time for her meal, the guards step on the moldy bread and spit in her water. They throw it into her cell, not caring if the contents spill. She refuses to touch the food. Fear of poison, pride for herself, and refusal to conform to their demands keep her from snatching up the food and gobbling it down, to quell the pains as her stomach tries to digest itself.
When she'd refuse, they'd taunt her about her approaching trial, and how she'd obviously be convicted and executed. They called her foul names, such as harlot, whore, or prostitute. Occasionally, they'd even threaten her with sexual torture, but they'd be too terrified of her "devil-powers," to even so much as come within a meter's distance of her.
She'd known they were bluffing, but still the images of their threats would imprint themselves in her mind. She'd refuse to cry or show any sign that their words had any effect on her. This infuriated the guards more, and they'd pelt her with stones they'd gather for their "protection."
Scrapes and bruises decorated her already damaged body. Matthew would always offer to tend to her injuries, but she wouldn't let him. The closest he'd come to her would be when he fed her the fresh bread through the bars.
It's three days later when she is shook awake by Matthew.
"Oi, wake up!"
She groans, eyes snapping open in alarm. She sits up, muscles tensing. This is the first physical contact with another human since that first night with the bread.
"Wha-"
"No time, don't ask questions." Matthew shushes her as his hands busy themselves with her shackles. His brows knit in concentration, sweat beading at his forehead as he works quickly.
The shackles fall to her bed of hay with a clang. A sense of relief overcomes her as the weight of the shackles lift. The relief is short lived as he tugs her just below her elbows onto her feet. She's unsteady and wobbly, her knees buckling at the strain on her body.
It's strange walking after I've been chained for so long. My body- it's too heavy.
A heavy black fabric is draped over her head and body.
"Come on, we're leaving. Hurry!"
He pulls her forward, urging her on, but she stumbles and falls into him. Matthew looks concerned, but he pulls her up again.
"I'm sorry, I forgot that you haven't walked in awhile. Here -" he kneels down before her, his back to her, her hands supporting herself on his shoulders. "What are you waiting for? Climb on! We don't have time." She hesitates, but eventually she wraps her arms around his neck. He stands quickly, his arms reaching back to lift her further.
His scent envelops her. He smells of pine and dirt, but he also smells of grain and warmth. The bread... A comforting smell that reminds her of security.
"Hang on tight, girl. We're getting you out of here!"
She braces herself, her hands tightening on his collar. She burrows her head into the nape of his neck, his soft dark hair shielding her face. He takes off into the night, taking her from the hell that is her cell.
She can feel the difference in the flooring as his steps quiet. They're softer than they were on the stone flooring of the jail. The air is cleaner. She inhales it greedily. This is the first time in forever she's been able to breathe fresh air properly. The stench of the prison- the soggy hay, manure, and other things she'd rather not think about- fades from her mind as she begins to envision rolling hills, wind, and flowered fields.
Finally, she sleeps.
The sun is bright...
She clenches her eyes, turning over and away from the garish light, hand shielding her face.
My arm feels lighter than normal- wait, sun? Her eyes open wide, sitting up quickly. Where am I? This isn't the prison.
The room she is in is small, but still larger than her cell. The walls are made of wooden panels, and the floor is dirt. She's lying on a medium sized quilt, and some black fabric is wadded up as a make-shift pillow. There's no door, just some fabric hanging from the corners. To the side of the door are two jugs covered in a thick layer of dust. The cabin is run-down, but it's better than the prison any day. She's alone. How did I get here?
The memories of her escape last night come cascading back, leaving her confused.
Why did he save me? This would only condemn him as well- there's no gain for him. Aiding a witch is forbidden and punishable by death without a trial!
"Oh, you're awake, girl," Matthew states as he enters the cabin, pushing aside the fabric in the door way. He's carrying a small basket that is brimming with leaves and small berries. He sits down beside her, placing the basket in her lap.
It's not only berries in the basket, but there is some bread as well. It's not fresh, but it's not more than a day old either. She looks at the food, but doesn't take anything.
"What's wrong? Not hungry?" he inquires.
She looks him dead in the eye, her eyes boring into his, searching for the truth. "Tell the truth, why did you save me? I'm a witch, that means that you will be killed when you're caught. So tell me, why risk your life for mine."
He scratches the back of his head nervously, before he finally sighs, looking down at the ground in front of him.
"That's... I can't tell you. Not yet at least. However, I ask that you trust me. I am looking out for your own good. I will admit that I don't want you to die, but.. in due time, I will tell you the truth. Trust me. You will not die."
"So you say, but why should I trust you?"
"Because-" he lifts her wrists, and for the first time she realizes they're bandaged - "I could have killed you that night with the bread-poison it. I could have killed you when you fell asleep on my back-" she reddens at the thought-"I could have killed you this morning when I bandaged your tiny wrists. “He runs his thumb along the underside of one of her wrists for emphasis. "Could've slit your wrists with my knife- but I didn't. I fed you, took you from your execution, and cared for your wounds. Would someone who wanted you dead do this for you?"
The question hangs in the air for a few seconds, before she wrenches one wrist back and grabs a berry from the basket, popping it in her mouth. Matthew chuckles releasing her wrist.
"I lied. The berries are poisoned."
She spits the berry from her mouth, scrubbing her tongue viciously. Matthew laughs loudly, clutching his sides. "Wow, you really are gullible. That was a joke! The berries are fine-" he takes one from the basket, popping one in his mouth as well. She watches as he chews the berry thoroughly and swallows. He opens his mouth wide, moving his tongue side-to-side. "See?"
She glares at him, turning away, taking the basket with her. Rebelliously, she grabs a handful of the berries and a small chunk of bread and stuffs it in her mouth. Her cheeks bulge with the fullness, only inspiring another round of laughter from Matthew.
"Feisty girl aren't ya?"
"Hmph."
"You must be tired of being called 'girl' all the time, right?" She looks over at him, turning a little to face him.
"Why don't you tell me your name? I mean, I did rescue you and such-" he's waving his hand in small circles as it were nothing, but she couldn't help but wince at the reminder. "It's the least you can do right?"
He's right. He did save me, but he also assured his own death when we're caught. I owe that much at least, but...
"No. Call me whatever you like, but I won't tell you my name." She eats another berry as he stares at her bewildered.
"I'll call you Abigail."
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Part 2