Original: Legacy - Part 2
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?
Previous Parts: Part 1
Legacy
(Part 2)
Throughout the day she braces herself along the walls of the inside of the cabin, slowly rehabilitating her legs. Her limbs are shaky and tingling as her fingers run the rough edges of the wall, struggling to walk. Sharp pain shoots through her legs from weeks of misuse as they try to support her. More than once, she falls to the ground landing not-so-gently on her bum.
Matthew sits in the center of the room messing with their provisions. The makeshift bed is rolled up beside him. In front of him are some simple cloth bandages and a few vials of what Abigail assumes are some type of poison or even a medicinal ointment. The sunlight is streaming into the room through the opened 'doorway.' The sunlight illuminates Matthew's crouched form with shades of orange and yellow. His hair is brown, light brown. His skin is a darker shade of peach, not quite tan but almost. She has yet to see his eyes properly as she always avoided looking him directly in the eyes or he kept his distance.
He'd brought her a jug full of water and some cloth earlier to help cleanse her of the grime and dirt of the prison, the water reflecting a hideous beast with dark smudges on pale skin. The eyes of the beast were a creepy shade of white-blue, and sunken in a large ring of shadows. The fur of the creature was a very dull gray with brown and black blotchy spots of dirt and other things she'd rather not think about. This is me?
She scrubs roughly until her flesh was pink with friction. Bit by bit, a girl emerged from the creature. The girl in the water possessed porcelain-ivory flesh marred with bruises and scrapes with long frizzy blonde hair. She combs her hair with her fingers, getting the knots and tangles loosened enough to manage a loose plait. The cloth makes a splash noise as it lands in the remaining water. The dirt rising off of it to make the water a murky black color. Matthew walks in as she finishes up the final touches of her clean-up and steps back in shock.
"Wow Abigail! You r'lly clean up nicely."
She turns her nose up, snorting. "You're just sayin' that, you don't mean it. Not a word o' it. Nobody ever tells the truth." Her gaze lowering, her mouth turns down into a somber frown, she twists the end of her braid idly, mumbling, "Nobody does."
His eyes bore into her for a few minutes before he turns back to their supplies with an unreadable expression.
Matthew says nothing else for the remainder of the day. He packs the bag, carefully gathering more food. 'Abigail' lies down for a nap, resting her exhausted legs. A few hours later, the sun sets, the moon taking its place high in the sky.
"Abigail! We're leaving. Wake up." His hands are placed solidly on her shoulders. Her head spins from the impact of his shaking. "Wha-" she stifles a yawn and stretches. She sits up. His back slumps under the weight of the pack. He drapes fabric over her head, and it is then that she realizes that this is the cloak that he wore daily.
"What about you?"
He smiles wryly, "My hair isn't unusual in these parts, it's necessary that you wear this."
"So why are we traveling at night anyway?"
"It's safer to get around this way. The guards have probably already noticed that you're gone by now. They're bound to have informed the elders- it's only a matter of time until the witch hunters come after you."
Abigail shudders at the thought. The witch hunters were cruel people that killed anyone who stood in their way be they the accused or not. If the witch hunters happened to catch the two of us, Matthew would- No! Don't think about that. This is not the time.
"Can you walk now?" he asks as he helps her to her feet.
"Yes, I'll be fine."
"Good." He nods, "Let's get going."
With that, the two leave the cabin behind, venturing deep into the forest.
It's an hour or so before dawn that they hear the snapping of branches and the crunching of leaves. Matthew's movements are quick as he withdraws the blade at his hip. His arm out as he whips around, pushing her farther behind him.
"Stay behind me and don't make any noises," he hisses. Abigail nods and steps closer to him.
He turns to face the trees surrounding them. His eyes scanning for any signs of danger.
Phzzt .
She feels the sharp slice of the air, hair flaring up from the shift in the air pressure, as something whizzes past her landing in the bark of the tree behind her with a low thunk. Matthew pushes her down to the ground to avoid another arrow aimed for her face.
"Get down!"
Another arrow lands next to her, embedded into the ground. He's fighting for my sake! I can't just sit here and do nothing! Grasping the arrow, she stands. I won't let him die for my sake!
"Abigail! Get down, it's dangerous!"
"No! I won't let you die for me!"
"Who said anything about dying? We're going to run away as quick as we can when I give the signal. Got it?"
She nods determinedly, bracing her body, holding the arrow as if it were a sword.
"Aaand... now!"
He grabs her arm, the two bounding through the bushes in zig-zag patterns. Arrows rain down upon them from all angles. The cloak is held over both of them, partially hiding them from sight. Miraculously, they find cover in the hollow roots of a tree. The space is big enough for the two to have at least three feet in between them. Matthew has her pressed back as far into the shadows as he can, his body shielding her from the view of the witch hunters should they peek in. The cloak is midnight black and blends well with the shadows of the roots, efficiently hiding them from view.
The witch hunters search the bushes, check the nearby caves, but the trees are ignored. Matthew exhales softly, the breath warm on the side of her neck, as he hears the witch hunters announce the witches escaped.
He leans back onto his haunches, the darkness of the cloak removed so the moonlight cascades into the small alcove.
"It looks like we've made it. Heh," he pants as the adrenaline fades.
"It seems so."
The two share a look, before they burst out laughing."See! If we keep this up, we can get you to somewhere safe!" He ruffles her hair.
"Also, little missy - you are not allowed to fight them. Ever. You have no formal training and will get killed at the first chance they get. No fighting. Do I make myself clear?" He pins her with a glare that is met defiantly by her sharp blue eyes.
"I refuse."
"You can't! This is not an option. This is an order. You will NOT fight them."
She shoves him back, watching as he falls onto his posterior. He hisses, grasping his side. Now that his back is not completely blocking the light she can see something seeping into the fabric of his shirt. On closer inspection she can see it's blood.
"You're bleeding! You were shot!"
He winces, smirking, "Nah, I was merely nicked."
She pokes the area harshly, smirking as he yowls. "That. Is not a flesh-wound. Here. Let me treat it."
"No, I'm fine."
"It will become infected, don't be such a baby. Let me tend to you."
"I refuse."
"You can't. This is not an option, this is an order," she mimics her hands reaching for his pack with the medical supplies.
HIs mouth gapes for a second, but closes as she turns to face him. "Take off your shirt, let me see where you're hurt."
He grasps her forearm as she reaches for the edge of his shirt.
"If I allow you to treat me, you are not allowed to fight. Got it?"
Her brow furrows in frustration, but finally she sighs, consenting. Satisfied, he releases her arm, tugging his shirt up until the wound is fully visible. "To preserve your modesty, I'm only showing you the area with the wound," he explains with a wink. She blushes, but busies her hands with cleaning the blood from the short gash on his ribs.
"Why are you helping me?"
Matthew cracks an eye open, "Hm? Oh, you mean the escape? Ah, that is..." he pauses rubbing the back of his neck.
"I know you told me to wait and to trust you, but after tonight with the witch hunters, it is possible that you won't get the chance to tell me."
She smears the green medicinal ointment on the wound, wincing at the sound of him taking a sharp breath.
"Ooh, that stings something fierce!" he seethes through clenched teeth. "You're right though. There is a chance this is our last time to talk, so I'll tell you."
She wraps the wound in the cloth bandages.
"You remind me of someone I used to know.
"Someone you used to know? Who?"
"My mother."
"Your mother?"
He reclines against a root, tipping his head back as if he were enjoying a memory.
"Yeah, let me tell you this though, it's only in personality. You two look nothing alike."
"What does she look like?"
"Ah, I don't really remember honestly," he averts his eyes scratching a cheek. "She died when I was little. I do remember though that her hair and eyes were dark like mine."
"That still doesn't explain why you saved me," she comments, leaning forward to bring the bandage around his torso.
"She was just like you. An accused witch."
Abigail pauses shocked.
"An accused.."
"Yeah."
"How are you alive then? Witches and their families are killed off!"
"When the witch hunters came for her, she hid me in the forest and told them I had died of consumption the previous winter. At that time, my father had already died, and my little sisters had already been accused and killed. My mother was fierce, she fought back valiantly and spoke her mind, but she was, in the end, killed in her inquisition."
"That's-"
"I saw and escaped the village. I walked until I passed out with exhaustion. A nice elderly couple found me in the woods, and took me in as their own. That's how I ended up in that old place. The elders are stuck up, yes, but they didn't go around pointing fingers and yelling 'witch!"
He glances at her from the corner of his eye, a smirk lifting the corner of his mouth.
"Well.. they didn't until you came blowing in like a bad storm."
"How rude! You can hardly blame me for my lack of knowledge on how your people conduct themselves. Where I lived before, dancing and educating women was allowed. It was encouraged actually!"
"Sounds like a fantasy world if you ask me."
"Well, no one asked you. Did they?"
His chuckle reverberates in their little hovel, sending warmth through her that she hadn't felt in years.
"If you don't mind me asking, but how was she killed?"
His chuckles cease as his expression darkens, "She was pressed."
Abigail gasped covering her mouth, "That's horrible!"
Matthew smiled wryly looking outside the tree at the moon. "Yeah, it is."
"So that's why you're trying to save me. You don't want anyone else to die."
"You got it."
"Wait... Abigail. That's your mother's name isn't it?"
He grimaces, looking at his hand resting on his upraised knee. She grabs his hand. His palm is warm and much larger than hers. She can feel his pulse beating strongly and the calluses brought on by vigorous training. He turns to stare at her, his eyes wide and searching.
She grasps it with her other hand as well now, and brings it to her forehead as if in prayer.
"Thank you. I'll treasure this name. You won't regret it. I'm sure your mother is proud of you, where-ever she may be."
He squeezes her hand reassuringly, "That means a lot to me. I'm sure she is too, thanks." He tugs his shirt down, throwing the cloak over her. "It looks like we won't be able to travel tonight, let's get some sleep for a little while, and then we'll set out in the day."
Abigail agrees and sets up the pack so it's a makeshift pillow. Matthew lies at the mouth of the entrance. A gust causes him to shiver, and Abigail bites her lip.
"You don't have to sleep over there. There is plenty of room for you to rest your head as well on the pack. It's probably warmer, too."
"If you're sure?"
"I am."
"Alright then, scoot over some." He crawls up beside her, his wide shoulders taking up most of the space.
"Ah, I guess I got it wrong. There isn't enough room after all, I'll sleep over here then-" Abigail scoots, but is pulled back by his warm hand on her arm. He pulls her to lie her head on his shoulder, cocooned in his arms, the cloak draped over the both of them.
"That's not necessary. This way I can also make sure you're safe."
Her face is burning hot as the blood rushes to it. This is the closest she's ever been to a man since that night they escaped. Her heart pounding erratically. She holds her breath. There's a dull thump-thump noise coming from somewhere. What is that? He pulls her just a little bit closer to him. It's his heart! His heart is beating even faster than mine.
She relaxes against him. I'm glad I'm not the only person worried here. Within minutes she falls asleep.
"Well, well, well. Look 't what we have here. A couple of witches engaged in taboo acts," a voice chants mockingly.
They shoot up in alarm, Matthew's hand reaching for his knife, pushing himself in front of Abigail.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," the man states, his voice low. His green eyes are cold and calculating.
Something silver shines brightly as the sun reflects off of it as the man swings it forward swiftly. It's a spear! He's holding a spear to Matthew's neck! He presses forward a little, the blade just barely piercing the skin of Matthew's throat. A bead of blood bubbles to the surface and runs down his neck in a thin trail.
"Don't! Don't hurt him!" Abigail cries.
"Silence!" The man barks as he pushed his dark brown hair back.
Come on! Think! What can I do to get him out of this situation?
"It's my fault! I put him under my spell. He has nothing to do with this! Release him!"
The man looks down at her from above his nose, piqued, his red and white uniform daunting in the afternoon light. The spear in his hand retreats from Matthew's throat.
"Is that a confession to the inquisition? You're a witch, not just an accused?"
"Abigail! Don-"
Abigail nods, leaning forward, cutting off Matthew, "I am."
The man throws back his head and laughs. "Oh this is wonderful! We have a genuine confession here! Boys, tie them up! Separately. We're going to take a trip to the town square. It looks like we're having burned witch tonight!"
The other faceless soldiers laugh and roughly throw them to the floor, tying them up harshly with ropes much too tight. Matthew struggles wildly, head butting the one with the spear in the jaw. The man rubs his jaw annoyed. He lifts his spear before he drives the handle into Matthew’s torso, knocking him out. Abigail cries out as she watches him slump to the ground. No! Matthew, no!
"Where's that sleep drought?"
"Here, boss!"
"Good! Put her to sleep already. The prosecutor wants to rough her up himself. Doesn't want a single excess mark on her."
Unlike the prison guards, he steps close to her, taking her chin in his hand. He tips her head back to look into her pale eyes.
"He's already going to mad about her bruises, stupid prison guards. An unintelligent lot." He glances at Matthew from the corner of his eye, and nudges him with his boot, grinning maniacally. "Especially this one! Falling under this witch's spell! Hah!"
A vial is pressed under her nose and her mouth covered by a large calloused hand. She forces herself not to breathe, but instincts win out as she inhales the sickly sweet smelling mixture. She glares at the leader of their pursuers who's smiling at her in sadistic joy, as the sounds of the forest dies, and the world sways and spins before there is nothing but darkness.
When she awakes her head pounds and her ears ring. She can tell she's back at the prison by smell and touch alone. She's back in her cell with the soggy hay and the foul smelling waste. Cloth is wrapped around her mouth and eyes preventing her from speaking and seeing. Matthew, I want to see you. Thank you for all that you've done for me. These past few days with you have been the best days of my life. I'm sorry it had to end this way, and that because of me you too are going to die. I'm sorry!
She hears the jeering laughs of a man and the steps of heavy boot before she hears the snap of the whip. Matthew screams out as contact is made. Again and again she hears the whip crack and Matthew's screams. She tries to block out the images in her mind on his back torn to shreds, blood dripping, but she can't. She cries at her helplessness and the inability to save him, as he did her. It's useless by this point. Within the next day, I'll be executed - and if I'm lucky, Matthew will be spared. If not... Her tears come harder at the guilt of having killed her only friend.
"Come on, witch! S'time for yer trial," John, grunts as he tugs at a rope tied to her shackles, dragging her forward. She stumbles to her feet as the man continues to tug her. More than once she walks into something; the table, chair, etc... She swears inwardly as she stubs her toe on a corner of the wall as she is purposefully led into it by the rope he holds.
"Come on! I don't have time to waste on ya!"
She hurries and tries her best to follow him, but it's hard to walk blindfolded. The ground shifts from stone to dirt, and then stone again as she is dragged out of the prison through the town to the court house. People whisper and openly insult her, their children throwing pebbles and rotten fruit at her as she staggers by.
Finally, they reach the stairs of the court house which she stumbles up, the guard paying no heed to her troubles as he pulls her along. There are loud voices yelling out and screaming in anger and fear.
"Kill the witch!"
"She'll cast a curse on our children!"
The noises increase as she is pulled through the open doors. A cacophony of yelling, clanging, and other sounds deafens her. She is dragged to the front of the room and forced to stand in the stands adjacent to the judge. The judge calls for order and the accusations fly as people step up to be heard.
The dancing, hair and eye color, and her willfulness have condemned her to the stake by the end of it. Along with the, "I seen her whispering to a creepy doll," or the "She stood over my child and cursed him one night. My child died days later," type accusations.
She's stripped naked and examined thoroughly by a doctor. Inside and out. It's painful, but no one cares about a witch's pain. They encourage more, and the doctor only complies as he bends her limbs in ways they can't and touches her in a place meant for child birth and reproduction only.
"She's impregnated with the devil's child," he chimes after his "examination," wiping his bloody hand on her. Ridiculous! I've never even kissed a man! How could I be pregnant? The gavel ends the buzzing crowd's conversation and begins their celebration.
She has two hours of life left. She better pray that God will take her back. She doesn't pray.
The gag and blindfold are removed as the bell chiming her death tolls. She's naked and shivering, her hair cut to the nape of her neck. Each breath she takes is painful. The pain radiating from her limbs and womanhood nearly crippling as two soldiers drag her up the stage to the platform where the stake resides in the town center.
The platform is old, but sturdy. Despite the years it had been unused for such events it remains intact and able. The platform is stained with blood from previous, less-humane executions. I guess I should be grateful it's not The Saw or The Wheel.
"Abigail!" Matthew yells, his voice hoarse and raspy from where he is held captive on the lowest platform of the stage.
His head wrenched back by the leader of the witch hunters, forcing him to keep his eyes on her. The witch hunter leans down, whispering into his ear some taunt that makes him thrash in his binds. His shirt hangs off of him loosely, the sleeves tattered. His back is bloody, and his cheeks bruised and swollen.
Oh Matthew, this is all my fault. Please, forgive me.
Her heart pounds in her breast, as she approaches the final platform where the portly judge stands glaring at her condescendingly.
"May I have one last word with Matthew? I'd like to release him from my spell," she exhales her voice shaking as the weight of her death sits upon her.
The judge's face purples in fury at the request, but allows it with a wave of his hand. The shackles binding her are heavier and much tighter than the prison's. She turns to face him, but the chain on the shackles prevents her from turning more than halfway.
"Thank you for your help. I release you."
Matthew's eyes widen, his struggles ceasing.
"That's enough from ya, witch! To the stake with ya," a soldier grunts as he takes her roughly by the arm.
"Tell me, before you die! What's your name?!"
She smiles sadly, as she is escorted to the stake and tied there as firmly as they can. The chains are wrenched up and over the stake pinning her there, skin stretched tight.
"My name? It's Abigail."
Matthew's eyes widen, mouth dropping open. The judge lowers his hand, signaling to the soldiers below to light the wood. The wood catches fire quickly and the flames roar upwards. The judge calmly leaves her side and moves off the platform to a separate stage where he can overlook the execution in luxury in a comfortable high-backed chair.
The crowd cheers wildly as the smoke starts to rise from beneath her. The fire crackles loudly as it works its way through the wood. It's hard to breathe as it is with this position on the stake, but coupled with the smoke, it's unbearable. She coughs as the smoke enters her lungs. It hurts! I can't breathe! The flames peak from the platform below and rise onto the platform she is standing on. The heat of the flames licks at her feet, and she can't help but squirm, back arching as she tries in vain to move away from the warmth.
She glances up to look at Matthew, wanting to see him one last time. The smoke blurs her vision, but she can just barely make out a silhouette struggling into a standing position fighting off the people pinning them down.
"N-no.. Mat- thew.. y-y-you ca..n..t"
Someone is approaching her. The crowd cries out in fear as heavy steps pound loudly on the platform she's tied to. Someone grasps her face gently in their hands. She opens her eyes, tears blurring her vision.
"Abigail!"
"Ma..hew.."
"I told you, didn't I? I won't let you die," he swears.
It's useless. You fool! Run while you still can! Leave me. I'm dying already. Her tears run down her cheeks.
Her vision darkens, her head lolling in his palms.
"Abigail!"
He pats her cheek gently trying to rouse her, "Stay with me! Open your eyes!"
"..'m .. so..ry. M..hew," she murmurs voice cracking.
Her eyes flicker open briefly before fluttering close.
Goodbye Matthew.
Her body sags as her life slips away. Releasing her face to untie her, but the ropes and chains won't budge. The smoke is overpowering his senses as he breathes deeply trying to keep calm.
"FIRE!" the judge yells from his seat with a roar of anger.
Arrows strike Matthew in the back as he tries to free Abigail, he cries out, pain wracking his body, gurgling on a fluid as it rises up his throat.
"Looks..like I'm g-going to die at this rate," he coughs a wry smile on his face. Blood splatters onto Abigail's face. He wipes his mouth, not surprised to find blood on his hand. More fluid rising up his throat.
I'm drowning...
The flames engulf them in their warmth, closing in on them slowly. The smoke is thick and black. He looks at the tiny girl pinned up in a mock crucifixion. She's not breathing anymore. He lowers his hands from the ropes, his bloodied fingers falling to his sides hopelessly.
"If .. I ca..n't save y-you... then I will die wi..th.. you."
He embraces her, his arms wrapping around the stake clinging to her desperately. He clenches his eyes tight as the heat overtakes him. The adrenaline that had given him the strength to fight off his enemies flees him. His body is heavy and sluggish. Coughing up the blood that rose up his throat, he grimaces. His arms weaken in their hold as his vision blurs, his body sliding down her's as the darkness closes in around him, and the pain fades into nothingness.
I'm sorry, I guess I couldn't save you after all, Abigail...
*****
By the year 2024, over 18,000 innocent people have been killed under the beliefs that they were in fact possessed by the devils powers. It is in our current time period that we have wizened up and learned that there is no such thing as God, the Devil, or Witches. All there is, and all there ever was, has been humanity and our need to survive. The legacy of the victims lives on. (RAS. History of Brittānia de Sanctus. Page 208)
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Part 1