The Journey of Two Witches: Part 3

Part 3

Clarissa awoke to a soft yet persistent pushing on her shoulder and a whisper. “We have to keep moving.”

Sitting up off the ground, she looked up at Anna. The girl was far calmer than before the sun began to rise. Perhaps it was the unfettered sleep of perfect silence that had soothed her mind. Perhaps she was simply tired of panicking. Either way, Clarissa was happy to see her slightly less distraught, even if it might be superficial. 

 As she rolled back up her bedroll, she could see the faint glow of London in the distance but they were already so far away and no, they would never go back. 

She sighed. London had been her home all of her life. Now, she was actively running from it. From her family because they told her to. The whole event remains strange in her mind, even as they walk away to the point where the city is no longer visible. She was certain that a part of her died that night. Normalcy. That is what died. That, what she believed, which would never return again.

Regardless of normalcy, Clarissa clung to Anna’s hand, her anchor to reality, and trudged forward through the fog of her mind.

Within the hours following noon, the young witches had come upon a town. Thatched roofs and market stalls, it was immediately clear how much smaller Longstowe was than London. However, despite the size, it also seemed to be more alive than the English capital ever had. Due to being suffocated in such an immense city, the witches could finally breathe in the small market town. 

It was due to Anna’s map that they were able to find any rest at all. Clarissa always found her faeling’s obsession with map making odd, to say the least. She could have never guessed that a seemingly useless hobby would be saving their lives.  

She watched, from her seat on the curb, as Anna scribbled away on her little map, an expert pencil shading in the blank pieces of parchment through which they had marched on their way here. 

Spotting her fledgling staring, Anna gestured at the part which she drew. “I haven’t gotten out of London. All of my data has been from other explorers.”

Clarissa could hear the sadness in her voice. It was clear that she wished she could have mapped the whole continent, even the world, herself. She put her hand on Anna’s back and, even though she knew she couldn’t hear her, whispered a promise. “We will fill in the map together. The parts between towns, I mean.”

Maybe it was for the best that she couldn’t hear it, Clarissa felt quite silly saying something she meant so earnestly. Before she could say anything else foolish, she stood off the street and pulled Anna up with her. She opened her mouth to say something but shut it again in favor of taking her hand, it felt softer than she remembered. Maybe they had held hands for long enough that they were beginning to fit together like puzzle pieces.

Shaking aside the thought, Clarissa led her to the nearest market stall, their feet having recovered slightly. 

With newly acquired rations in their arms, courtesy of the coven’s allowances, they hopped over to a small inn near the main street. 

“We don’ serve y’kind here.”

Clarissa looked up at the inn keeper at the desk. “S-small women? What?”

He snickered. “Nay, witches.”

She looked over at Anna who was busy staring out at the far wall, then back at the tall man. “Oh… uh, we aren’t witches. Just travellers, just me and my… sister, yes, my sister. We come from London, our parents sent us. We are going to our… grandparent’s place. Just passing through.”

She laughed nervously and clutched Anna’s hand tighter. The inn keeper looked at the other girl whose mouth had inched open as she stared listless into the great beyond. “Your… sister, she stupid or somethin’?”

“Just deaf sir, you know how it is, haha…”

His eyes narrowed. “Sounds like some witchin’. Show me ya arms, have you tattoos, you be witches!”

She looked over at Anna, incredulous. “A-alright, sure.”

Lifting up both of their arms, she let their sleeves drop to reveal unadorned skin. He grunted. “Fine. Ya can have a room. Just… don’t be weird or do what it is you young people do. I know ya ain’t sisters, yur bone structures are different.”

    Clarissa let out a sigh of relief and tugged Anna out of her day slumber. “Let's go.”

Shortly after receiving their room, Clarissa wrote that she would be right back and left Anna to her map. Stepping back out onto the street, after passing the inn keeper with a glare, she was soon searching for the book store she saw on the way into town. Once she had located ‘Habby’s Book Shoppe’, she pushed her way through the rusted door and into the musty interior. A stout man, presumably Habby, greeted her from amongst the shelves and asked what she was looking for. Without even being able to properly see him through the books, she answered timidly. He laughed and hopped off his ladder. Taking her through hundreds, nay, thousands of volumes of varying sizes scattered throughout his personal labyrinth, he stopped at one small shelf in the farthest corner.

“There it is. Happy reading!”

As fast as they arrived, he became one with the shelves once more, leaving her with the single thin book in her hands: Théorie des signes pour l'instruction des sourds-muets or Theory of signs for the instruction of the deaf and mute by Roch Ambroise Sicard. Grunting to herself, she sat down, her back against a stack of books on Portuguese baking. Carefully lifting the thin cover out of the way, she began to read. Sure, it was in French. Clarissa could read French, albeit it was sorely slower than English but she could all the same. Desperation made the time worth it. Anna made the time worth all of it.

When she eventually returned to the inn, the clock tower at the center of town struck midnight. It had taken nearly nine hours for her to read the book but, again, it was worth it. Anna was asleep when she entered the room and, for a moment, Clarissa did everything with utmost silence. Until she realized who was in the room with her and proceeded to clatter around for the next ten minutes before slipping into the bed facing away from her companion. Shutting her eyes, she was met by visions of French Sign Language burnt into her eye lids. 

Mind rushing, she found it hard to sleep at all. About two hours later, Anna rolled over and rested her hand on Clarissa’s shoulder. The world suddenly decided to rest in the space between her digits and Clarissa’s arm and sleep finally took hold of the young witch. 

Emily stepped onto the creaking podium at the center of her coven, her ghost town. Looking around, she was met by only a hundred or so witches, most of which were older acolytes. With all eyes on her, she dreaded that which her tongue now clung to. Meredith had been the life blood of the poorer coven and, with her gone, Emily feared what would become of them. Well, no time like the present. 

She cleared her throat and rested her hands against the splintering wood. “My… no, Sisters, I have some harrowing news to impart. As many of you know, Mother Meredith was… Well, I was her advisor and… Oh, focáil leat. Meredith is dead. There.”

 The entire room flinched as if she had fired off a cannon. Giving them just a moment to process her words, Emily held out her hands to calm the sea of voices and ocean of murmuring. “Silence, silence now. We will not let this tragedy ruin us. We cannot allow ourselves to crumble.”

When the room was quiet once again, a tall acolyte in the back raised her hand. 

“Yes, Bertie?”

Bertie coughed. “Well, what now? Are you our mother now?”

This time it was Emily’s turn to flinch. “Uh… no. No, I am not. I-”

Before she could continue, another voice erupted from the crowd. “Who is then?”

Emily shook her head. One hundred and forty years she had waited for her opportunity to lead. First, she had watched Mother Addison perish but she had already chosen Meredith in spite of Emily. On her death bead, she had told the witch that she wasn’t ready and Emily believed her. Now, Meredith having chosen some English witch, Emily was once again left short of her desired post.

 “Uh… a witch. One that is named Clarissa.”

The small crowd looked around. They all knew each other’s names by heart and they also knew that there was no one among them with that name. Seeing this, she felt the need to clarify, even if there was bound to be bad blood. No one likes to rile up a bunch of Irish women.

“She is… from England. I will be retrieving her very shortly.”

Once the shouting started, Emily knew it was her time to go. Nothing gets Irish blood flowing like mentioning anything from England. Especially when it is proposed that, whatever it may be, is somehow superior.  

Locking herself in her room, Emily looked at the clock: only a bit past six in the evening. Putting her bag on the bed, she began to pack in order to leave at dawn. 

It was eight when she finished her work. The last, and most important object she packed in the pocket of her cloak, was a large amber crystal which pulsated with power. That which is called “Loinnir”, the steed of Ashallalah or, as she was called in Ireland, Aisilealla. 

That night, Emily found herself unable to sleep. Her mind was racing. How would she find the girl? What would she do with her once she did? Why?