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@urwen-starial @esther-sears @anne_the_noob14

Alright, here is the second half. Enjoy!

 

For two days Owl stood by the cell, and eventually he lost his fear of the witch. She certainly spoke like a madwoman, and she loved to laugh over the most random things, but she quickly proved to be as dangerous as a wobbly-legged kitten.

During the day she acted as though she were the happiest girl in Zeritiz, and she always smiled. At night, however, she would cling to the walls of her cell, or beat her hands on the stone floor— she coupled these actions with vicious sobbing and screaming. Since Owl was the only guard who could bear her endless cries, he was always the one to keep vigil over her at night.

“Ohhhh-aaah,” she would screech. “Come for me!! Save me, my love!! Come quick, come quick!! Augh— it’s on my back again!!”

Once she crept up to the cell door, trembling uncontrollably, and whimpered to Owl, “Dear young guard? If you see him, please let me know. I need to know that he’s coming— I think I’ll lose my mind. Again.”

Owl, unsure of what else to say, stammered, “Alright.”

She nodded, and, still whimpering and shaking, slowly withdrew from the door.

At nights, he could not help but feel sorry for her, and he often invented little fantasies where a clever man was stalking the moat of the prison, desperately planning his beloved’s rescue.

On the second day, the witch, showing no remaining sign of her hysterical behavior the other night, threw herself against her cell door, linked her arms comfortably through the bars, and said to Owl, “Tell me, are you in love?”

“No,” Owl replied uneasily.

She cocked her head to the side, and exclaimed, “And why not?”

“I just haven’t met the right girl yet,” he said stiffly.

“Do you want to meet the right girl?” she inquired.

He tilted his chin downwards slightly, not knowing whether he was allowed to talk with her.

“Come now, tell me,” she pleaded, bouncing up and down slightly. When he pressed his lips together she scoffed, “Huh. Do you always keep your personal feelings so locked up?”

Owl hesitated, but he was already considering pouring his heart out to her. He did in fact have his own feelings on the matter, and he never had anyone to tell them to. The prison guards were hardly the sincere type. But this witch was a prisoner awaiting her execution— surely there was no harm in telling her if she was just going to take his secret to her grave.

Finally, he said to her, “I do actually wish to meet the right girl.”

The witch rested her chin on one of the horizontal bars, a gentle smile on her blood-red lips.

“What do you want her to look like?” she asked.

Owl, smiling slightly, answered, “Well, I like auburn hair on a girl. Not completely red, but a mix of red and brown. And I would like her to have bright blue eyes.”

The witch teased, “And an hourglass figure?” She laughed as Owl blushed, and averted his eyes to his toes. “Oh, come now, what of her personality?”

“I have always admired bold, witty girls,” Owl said quietly.

“But they also intimidate you,” the witch stated. “Because you fear that they will find you dull.”

Owl looked at her in surprise, and exclaimed, “How do you know?”

She giggled, “Shy boys are always intimidated by three things: an audacious girl, a pretty girl, and a pretty, audacious girl. And so, all too often, they linger in the shadows, gazing at their brave angels, but too frightened to draw near to their fantastic glow.”

Owl blinked, touched by her poetic words.

She added, “But one fortunate thing about such girls is that they are very intuitive with catching the right boy. They often prefer the shy, good-mannered lads over the overeager, rowdy hyenas. I am sure that you will find, or be found by, a lovely young girl with auburn hair and blue eyes.”

Suddenly, the superstitious guard strode up to Owl, and snapped, “Do not listen to the witch’s twisted words. Her tainted mind lost all awareness of something so pure as love when she sold her soul to the Underlord and his demons.”

The witch queried, “Can love not be described as madness? Did the great poet Detain not describe it so? Of course he did. If that is the case, then I, a mad girl, have a better awareness of love than you, you who are not mad at all.”

Owl forced the corners of his mouth downwards, while the guard scoffed in discomfort, and quickly continued down the corridor.

Once they were alone again, Owl impulsively asked, “What is your lover like?”

The witch smiled appreciatively, and inquired, “How did you know he was my lover?”

He shrugged self-consciously, muttering, “I suppose I just assumed.”

She sighed, “Well, he is tall, dashingly so. He has warm brown hair, and eyes the color of herbs.  His arms are strong, like a soldier’s.” She ducked her head and laughed with her high-pitched, almost hysterical tone. “He is sweet, and so gentle, until there is danger.” Her eyes lit up. “Oh, aye, then he is terrifying. He hides in the shadows, and fires his spells so fast that you cannot see or feel them coming. He is everywhere. Death from all directions.”

She suddenly sobered, and, looking at him gravely, said, “Do not fear, young guard. I will not let him destroy you.” Her milk-white hand darted forward, and gently touched his cheek. Somehow, he was not afraid to let her touch him. “You must live to meet your auburn-haired girl.”

For the first time in two days, chills ran up Owl’s spine, and sent little lightning bolts down his fingers and toes.

~

On the third day, Owl and Eleor led the witch down to the prison gates, where a wagon awaited her. Once she was locked into the metal compartment, the two men joined the rest of the guards on horseback— they were to guard the wagon should any trouble come their way.

Owl found himself fearfully glancing every which way as they rode through a small wood towards Tyastin city. The witch had said that her mysterious lover attacked from all directions, and fired spells with such speed that one could not see or feel them coming.

Does that mean that Eleor will be defenseless? Owl wondered nervously.

As they neared one of the many city squares, he noticed that there was a large crowd already waiting for them. He saw, in the very middle of the square, a tall metal pole, with hay and kindling stacked at its base. His skin crawled.

Once the crowd saw the wagon, an elongated roar rose into the air. Despite the additional noise, Owl heard the witch squeak from inside the compartment, “He’s going to come!”

A part of Owl hoped so, while the rest of him trembled in terror. He wanted her to be rescued, but at the same time, the ‘someone’ she had described to him yesterday sounded far too fearsome for comfort.

The wagon stopped close to the pole, and the driver walked around to open the compartment. Owl, still astride his horse, watched silently as the witch stepped onto the ground; even now, she was smiling a red-lipped grin, and when she saw Owl she called out, “Hello!”

The crowd bellowed at the sight of her, and several people jeered at her alien appearance. Owl, personally, thought that she stood out in the crowd the way a shining white gem stands out in a blur of brown, grey, and black stones.

The driver marched her to the pole, and roughly chained her to it— the executioner, wearing a black hood to conceal his identity, picked a jug of oil up from the ground, and poured it over her head so that it coated her entire body. The crowd thundered in delight, causing a shudder to run through Owl, from the tips of his toes up to his scalp.

But even worse than that was the dread he felt when the executioner took a torch from a nearby bracket— the witch’s smile suddenly contorted into a panicked grimace, and she strained against the chain.

“Help!!” she shrieked, her high voice shrilling far above the rumbling of the onlookers. “Save me, my love!!”

The entire crowd cried out as what sounded like an almighty clap of thunder struck their ears and drowned out even the witch’s implorations. Owl flinched at the horrible sound, but his eyes were only for the executioner. While barely even a second ago, he had been standing and unharmed, he was now falling straight onto his back— with a perfectly round hole punched into his chest.

Those nearest to the pole saw the inexplicable act, and a general exclamation of horror arose. Owl glanced at the witch, and saw that her glee had returned.

She looked over at him, and, her blood red lips grinning, called out, “He came!”

The very next second, there was another rapid, demonic clap of thunder, and the guard on Owl’s left flew from his horse as if dragged by some infernal beast. Owl saw a flash of blood as the man tumbled.

Eleor immediately conjured a surge of magic, and murmured a spell to locate nearby magic users. The spell rolled over the square, and into the surrounded buildings, but, to his manifesting confusion and vexation, there was no other magic user nearby save for himself and the witch.

The other guards drew their swords, except for Owl— what was the point of coming to arms when they did not even know where the threat was?

A third clap of thunder caused the crowd to retreat slightly from the pole, and this time Owl joined them in their cries of horror. Eleor fell from his horse; a small, perfectly circular hole had pierced his back.

“Nay!” the witch screamed to no one Owl could see. “Not the one who stayed his sword!!! Spare him!!”

The thunder rang out a fourth time, and Owl flinched— a guard on the other side of the square slumped forward while still on his horse. Owl’s own horse whinnied and shied forwards, and he struggled to keep the beast under control.

By this time, the citizens had begun to flee the square— they pushed and clawed past anyone and everyone, trampled those who had stumbled, and clutched at their children with protective intentions.

A fifth quick boom of thunder was too much for Owl’s horse. It bucked wildly, screaming in fear, and Owl fell backwards from it— liberated from its rider, the horse galloped down the nearest street.

Owl lay on his back, stunned and as terrified as his retreating mount. It took him several witless seconds to pull himself together before he crawled and then staggered over to the prison wagon— with one smooth dive he rolled underneath it. By the time he peered out onto the square, there was only one guard left. The man spurred his horse on, and rode towards the mouth of a street. Owl winced, waiting for the dreaded sound of death, and though he heard it the guard galloped, unharmed, into the street.

Then the square was silent, save for the distant, rapidly fading sound of the citizens’ screams, and the nervous whinnying of one last rider-less horse. And for the pleasant humming of the witch.

She looked around expectantly, and, bouncing on the balls of her feet, finally called out, “Come now, there’s no one about, love.”

There was a faint swish, and then a rope flew from the roof of the tallest building on the square, and tumbled down the side to the ground. Owl watched, mouth open, as the figure of a man swung over the roof, caught the rope, and agilely climbed down— a large object was strapped to his back.

The man landed on the ground, and ran with all speed towards the pole. The witch, straining against the chain eagerly, cried, “I knew you’d come!”

As he drew nearer, Owl saw that the man was indeed tall, and he wore a sweeping coat. The strange black object on his back had a thin round end, while the other end was thick and adorned with small, complex gears and grooves. Owl could not make heads or tails of what it was, or what it might possibly be for.

The man, reaching the witch, quickly seized the padlock that had kept the chain from unraveling, and said urgently, “Keep your hands clear.”

The witch pulled her hands as far away from the padlock as possible, and the man unstrapped the large object from his back. He brandished it, and struck the padlock with the thick end of it. He did this two more times, and Owl stared as, on the last blow, the padlock broke open defeatedly.

The witch immediately unwrapped the chain from around herself, and the man, after returning the object to his back, hurriedly helped her. Once she was completely free, he swept her into a tight embrace— a strange sensation welled up in Owl’s heart, that was a fine blend of sympathy and terror. The witch had not been rambling after all.

The man abruptly broke away, and, taking her hands, asked, “Are you hurt?”

Owl frowned. The man had a bizarre accent. He pronounced his vowels strangely, and his ‘r’s were blunt and indelicate. What creature was this?

“I am unharmed,” the witch assured him, her red lips smiling with adoration.

“Alright; let’s get out of here,” the man said, and, tightening his grip on one of her milky-white hands, led her towards the single horse that had not bolted. He carelessly wrenched the slumped body of the guard from the mount’s back, sending it tumbling to the cobbled ground. He then helped the witch up into the saddle, and then pulled himself up behind her with surprising ease, seeing that he still had the long black thing on his back.

Taking the reins, the man swung the horse around, and galloped across the square and into an adjoining street. Owl climbed out from under the wagon, and ran to the mouth of the street— he saw a flash of the witch’s brilliant white hair, and then they disappeared around a corner.