Daughter of Darkness

Chapter 4

Getting to the chapel unseen is easy enough; most of the townsfolk must be gathered in the meeting hall so the streets are fairly empty. The chapel is only a short distance, down a little path away from town. It's a smaller wooden building surrounded by trees, with a shrine to each god for worship, five in total.

A simple stone shrine for Daemis, god of men and creator of life. One with a carving of a tree, covered in twisting vines for Zandros, god of land and growth. Baeyr, the Gatekeeper, god of judgement and the underworld; his shrine is made of black stone. Carvings of endless loops and twisted knots cover Eddon's shrine, the god of fate and time. And finally, Melora, Blessed Mother, goddess of light and family. Her shrine is set with shining bits of glass and sparkling stones, which glisten in the morning light.

Our town priest diligently keeps the shrines clean but the chapel itself has been in need of repair for a while.

It looks worse off than usual from the windstorm, branches scattered around, roof sagging. Nothing looks bad enough to warrant an uprising against Willow though. But as we draw near, a smell hits me, almost making me double over. It's familiar, a smell from last night. The stench of death and decay, of rotting flesh.

I cover my face, seeing Willow do the same, and follow the stench around the side of the chapel.

The slaughtered carcasses of animals lay piled to the side, their bodies mutilated almost beyond recognition. Deer, cows, pigs, even Mr. Arland's dog. All killed, all cut open and discarded to the side like garbage.

I stumble into the grass and vomit what little food is left in my stomach, my throat burning. Who would do such a thing?

Willow's gasp has me looking over to where she stands next to the chapel. The sight of the animals had captured my full attention so I didn't notice that the chapel itself has been desecrated. On the side, painted in jagged letters, dripping red and buzzing with flies, were two words.

"LITTLE WITCH."

I stumble to my feet. This is bad. This is beyond bad. The town, this explained their meeting. Mrs. Hamlyn's unspoken words suddenly become clear. A town meeting on what to do about Willow. How to take care of her. As much as I hate to admit it, I can understand why they would come to the conclusion that this is about Willow. It can't be referring to anyone else.

Willow catches sight of the carcasses, a whimper leaving her lips. She always stops to scratch the cows behind their ears while we do our deliveries, always rubs Mr. Arland's dog on the stomach when he follows us around town.

She falls to her knees, gripping the slick grass in her fists, tears cascading down her cheeks. But she doesn't make a sound, offering a sort of silent vigil to the slain creatures.

I go and put my arm around her shoulders, allowing her a minute to grieve. This feeling of helplessness, of having no comforting words is becoming all too familiar. It leaves me feeling hollow. Gutted.

"Come on Willow, we need to head home and tell Father. He'll know what to do." They are empty words. Father won't know what to do. We don't talk about Willow. I'm not even sure how much he knows about her, if he and Mother ever spoke about it before she died.

Even if they did, he can't stop a town and he surely can't stop whatever had done this. Because the second that I laid eyes on this, I knew that the thing from last night had done it. Since it couldn't kill us, it's trying to make sure our town will. If we escape, we have no where to go, no one to protect us. But it didn't matter anyways. As far as that monster made of darkness was concerned, I wasn't sure if anything could save us from it.

They are empty words but Willow follows me anyways.

_____________

We run home, leaping over downed trees and splintered branches jutting up from the ground like clawed hands, gripping at our clothes and ankles. The forest, which I've grown up in and explored every inch of, suddenly feels unfamiliar and sinister. Willow keeps pace with me despite her dress and when our battered house comes into view, devoid of any murderous townsfolk, a part of me that I didn't realize was twisted into a knot, loosens.