Bewitched

by Kaila Patterson

  All she could see was black, until a wave of sound infected her ears. Her face shot up, with her jaw fallen.

  Edward screamed out a strong, pain-wrecked roar. She watched as he stumbled backwards, with a skin-splitting arrow piercing through his jacket and straight into his flesh, ripping into the shoulder her hand had rested on.

  “Captain!” Eliza screamed, thrusting out her open hand. Through blurred vision, she saw her pale hand and Edward, fallen out of the fog.

  He fell to his knees, whimpering in agony. The sword he had held collided with the stone ground, making a loud clank.

  No words escaped her mouth, she stood with her eyes watering at the gruesome sight. Crimson drowned his jacket’s shoulder, staining through the material in a cruel, stomach-sickening way.

  With a grunt, he shifted slightly. Eliza watched in awe as he forced himself onto shaking legs, while groaning in bloody, unbearable pain.

  “Get my,” Edward took a shaky breath. “Get my s-sword.”.

  Eliza quickly complied, gripping the sword’s handle. Edward had two hands clutching his bleeding shoulder, with the arrow still sucked inside his flesh. Spots of red blood scattered his jaw, as he gasped for breaths.

  If anyone had to defend them, it was her.

  Turning to the fog, she saw a spine-chilling sight. There was a figure standing there, wearing an anonymous black hood. Their face was covered, but a bow and spare arrow were tucked inside their cloak.

  The figure was familiar, and when she got a look at the hood, her heart froze. A wave of sickening déjà vu hit her.

  ‘The assassin.’ She thought, ‘The King’s attempted assassin.’.

  The hooded figure stalked toward her, and her feet stood where they were. She had no control over herself, and her hand raised itself into the air, steadying the sword.

  Both hands gripped the weapon. She raised the sword above her right shoulder, prepared to strike with all her life’s training.

  “Stop,” Edward grumbled, a shakiness in his tone, “T-They will try to kill you.”.

  “Wouldn’t be the first time.” Eliza said, glaring at the hooded assassin.

  The shakiness of her hands was increasing, and she feared that the sword would fall, that it would split her own shoulder in half. A strand of blonde wig blew in her face, covering the assassin’s stand.

  The assassin stepped into morning’s view, as a shining white shone over them. Eliza’s breaths hitched, her lip shivering.

  “You might have scared a whole town, and it’s king.” She spat, speaking more to herself than to the figure. “I don’t fear you, whoever you are.”.

  A dark chuckle came from beneath the hood, as two wrinkled hands gripped the cloak.

  “That’s my girl.” The voice laughed, gently pulling the hood back.

  That voice, it was one she knew. Her eyes widened, as carefully, Eliza lowered the sword.

  “Father.” Eliza whispered, barely muttering the dreaded word.

  George Spinner stood in the mist, with the shady hood wrapped around his lanky figure. His same old face, and gleaming brown eyes.

  ‘That cannot be right, it can’t be him. My father wouldn’t do this.’.

  An instinct flooded her, as she dropped the sword. Eliza ran over, gripping hold of him, tighter than ever before. His gentle hands rocked her in his arms, as she sobbed into his shoulder, all emotion flooding out.

  Even she did not know why she cried. She should have been livid, screaming at the top of her lungs. Instead, she clung to him like the world would not dare pull them apart.

  In Edward’s words, family comes first.

  Her father cared; he always did. He was there, when no one else was. He never missed an occasion, and they only had each other. She hated him for what he had done.

  Her blood should have been boiling, but she was his blood, his child. Nothing in the world could make her hate him, when he was the one who raised her in the world.

  Their warm embrace was held for a second, before Eliza pulled away. She stared into his eyes, like she knew who he really was.

  “You tried to kill him—” Eliza whispered, her face gone an iced pale, “You are not a murderer, I know you are not.”.

  Her father was silent. Eliza’s lip trembled as tears fell. Her father, the gentlest, strongest man she ever known. The man she had idolised from childhood. An attempted murderer.

  “Did you kill anyone?” She whispered, shifting her gaze to the floor. She noticed another tear in Lucie’s maiden dress, cutting a sharp slice through the silk fabric.

  Edward struggled to his feet. His jacket and white shirt were stained in crimson, and his face had gone a deathly pale colour.

  Eliza skipped over, realising how she abandoned him. She slithered a free hand under his uninjured shoulder, gently supporting him.

  “T-Thank you, Eliza.”.

  “You’re welcome, Edward.”.

  ‘When did that change? He called me Spinner, I called him Captain.’.

  “Yes,” George whispered. His eyes stared into hers, a sadness swimming within them. “It was an act of vengeance.”.

  Not an attempted murderer. A murderer.

  Eliza’s eyes met the floor, cringed and swollen. Edward slipped and stumbled to the floor, cursing under his breath. She swung down with his pull, prompting him to stand.

  “Vengeance?” Eliza asked, steadying to her feet again. There was one thought in her head that she wished she could abolish, but it was still there.

  ‘He murdered someone,’ She thought, ‘He is guilty as any killer.’.

  “King Richard, his knights. They stole your mother from me, my wife, and now they want to steal you, my only daughter.” Her father pleaded. “Elizabeth, I wanted them to feel that pain, that pit of guilt and betrayal from the ones who swore to protect their people. What good have they ever done for us?”.

  He gestured to Edward, limping on the ground. The gory sight of the knight was difficult to see, but her father did it effortlessly.

  Eliza shook her head, taking her eyes from the wounded solider. The sadness in her father’s eyes was replaced with a murderous gleam.

  “Not all of them are bad, father.”.

  Her father’s face contorted into a disgusted look. His hand reached out to grab hers, but she pulled away.

  “When have you seen a good knight?” Her father asked, with a confrontational tone.

  She stared at him, saying nothing. A silence roamed the air, filling their void alleyway with tension. Her father raised his bow into the air, and the spare arrow from his pocket. Eliza’s eyes furrowed, watching him.

  Her heart skipped as he raised it, connecting bow and arrow to strike. His weapon was directly aimed at the crouched Edward, prepared to inevitably hit its intentional target.

  “I am ensuring they cannot harm anyone else, that they know pain.”.

  “No!” Eliza screamed, sprinting towards her father. He gasped as she gripped his bow, shoving him away from the impaled Edward.

  She wrapped her foot around his leg, tripping him over. The bow launched the arrow, only to see it soar off into the fog.

  Her father flung out his fists, trying to push her aside. Her father whacked his arm into her stomach, sending Eliza flying onto her backside. She tumbled backwards, gripping her ribs.

  Eliza collided to the ground with a thud, as an intense pain came from her muscles. She gasped for lost air, wheezing in her chest.

  He dropped the bow, and it clunked against the stone floor. She sat knelt against the stone, as it scraped into her scarred knees.

  The pain in her ribs suffocated her, and she reached out the palm of her hand, crawling over the ground.

  She struggled to her feet, her legs shaking. George Spinner froze, still in shock with his disappearing arrow.

  “I will not let you hurt anyone else, Father.” Eliza whimpered. “These are innocents, it is unfair.”.

  Family first, until your only family was an assassin with a shady cloak
.

  “You were an innocent; did they take mercy on you?” Her father scoffed.

  “No.” Eliza said, turning to Edward. “They didn’t; but he did.”.

  Her father stared over at the fallen knight.

  “There are good people amongst the bad,” Eliza said, “And equally, there are bad among the good.”.

  Her father bowed his head, staring across the alley.

  “He helped you?”.

  “You could say that.”.

  Her father turned his gaze to Edward and walked over towards him, the cloak flouncing behind him. He supported his hand underneath the knight’s shoulder, and using his upper arm, pulled him to his feet.

  “Thank you, Spinner.” Edward murmured, sighing in relief.

  •

  That day, Eliza and her father had dragged the wounded captain to their cottage.

  Despite his protests, she insisted on him testing her promising medicines, and her father had bandaged his piercing wound.

  Once he was bandaged, dressed in fresh linen, and bloated with bread, her father had sent him out with a pat on the back. Not the shoulder.

  Eliza had stayed with her father for dinner, while he told her everything about his assassin life.

  There was an uneasiness between the two, while she confronted him about the killing of a guard.

  He explained that the knight had been a killer himself, and an evil one.

  That he had overheard him making fun of her, calling her the tower-witch. She thought that was no excuse.

  However, he pleaded with her that he would never do it again. That he was wrong and should never have done it. She agreed with that.

  In the end, she said she did forgive him, despite the haunting thought of him killing someone with that frightening, dark hood.

  While he had been stirring the dinner, she had managed to read another page of her mother’s journal, as she sat at her kitchen table where it was written.

  Dear Elizabeth,

  I know he is going to find me, that boy-king. I am afraid, I truly am. It has been haunting me for days.

  I have tried to convince your father that we should leave this town, but he says that would only raise suspicions.

  Besides, he has farming and market-selling to do in the country, he says.

  That caused a row between us last night, and everything has been tense since then. He says that the people will do nothing, that they have no power. I say that they do, and that they will hunt me down and arrest me, I know it.

  Alas, do not blame your father. He loves you, as much as I do. The bond is strong between the two of you, I admire it.

  Well, this letter may not be as light-hearted as the rest, and I may sound crazy, but I know they are after me. Even if I am the only one that believes it.

  Sincerely,

  A.S

  13

  Three Words

  Cynthia banged on the door, as loud as her slight knocks could be. Eliza ran from one side of the room to another, flinging clothes and accessories across Lucie’s small bedroom.

  “Lucie, must you take so long?” Cynthia whined. After the previous days’ events, Eliza had found herself sleeping until noon.

  It was only her once-in-a-lifetime luck that she was not needed until then by the wildly impatient ladies-in-waiting.

  Eliza had been startled awake by their calling, reminding her that they had planned to go on a walk. She did not remember agreeing to it, but she did.

  She scampered over the pile of gowns, all shades of rosemary pink and delicate blues. The restrictive blonde wig had barely been tugged over her head, and the usual blue-gold maiden dress sat only on her hips, waiting to be adjusted.

  “Lucie! Make haste!”.

  She wiggled into the dress, hopping up and down. Her makeup, the key factor, was only mid-way done.

  Stretching the gown over her chest, her arms tugged on the ribbon at the back, tightening it to her waist.

  Eliza threw her arm over to the table and poured the silver tins of makeup from her satchel.

  First, unscrewing the tin, she rubbed lightening powder onto her face. Then the others, emphasising certain features, onto her cheeks, eyelids, and jawline.

  The dust-white powder made her normally pale complexion even paler, to fit Lucie’s ‘beauty standard’. She unscrewed tins and discarded the lids as time cut short, before Cynthia got suspicious.

  Rubbing every cream, moisture, and powder onto her skin, Eliza looked at herself in the dusty mirror.

  Surprisingly, her smudged attempt at applying makeup did not fail. Her lips were lighter, and her face was emphasised into looking more rounded, presentable.

  Dusting herself down in front of the mirror, she tidied the wig until it looked as realistic as could be.

  Her blue maiden dress, stitched in the front, and dark blonde wig were set. She lifted the satchel, pulling it onto her waist, and slipped on the flat shoes. Eliza took a long breath.

  “Coming!” She called in her maiden-tone. Unlocking the door, it swung towards her.

  “There you are!” Cynthia exclaimed, “I thought you had died in there.”.

  Eliza, keeping her eyes low, gave her a weakened smile. The two maidens stood ahead.

  Cynthia’s hair fell curtly at her shoulders, in blonde curls. Her eyes twinkled in the light, and gladly, she looked much happier.

  Mariah stood behind, laughing at the younger’s enthusiasm. Her hair was fixed into a low bun, as wavy strands fell in her face. She appeared lost, gazing after Cynthia with a look of soft pity.

  Cynthia grasped hold of Eliza’s hand, pulling her from the room. The two maidens nodded to one another, strutting towards the staircase, pulling her behind them.

  Pinpoint light split into the hall, due to the barred windows that blocked sunlight. Eliza scurried along, trailed by Cynthia’s tight grip.

  They strolled up the staircase and into the light, dresses bouncing at their feet. The stone echoed against Cynthia’s heeled shoes, as she speedily skipped up the steps.

  “Would you slow down, dear? You fly at the speed of an arrow!” Mariah groaned.

  ‘An arrow, that’s ironic.’.

  The maidens were unaware of how she spent her free day, and that she was still shaken from seeing an arrow pierce through a man’s shoulder.

  Edward could bare it, but she felt sickened when her father pulled the bloody arrow from his shoulder.

  Dry blood covered the man’s arm, and there was a deep wound left behind, like a scarlet rabbit hole in his skin.

  “Sorry, my nerves have been terrible all morning.” Cynthia sighed, her eyes dulling.

  Mariah’s face dropped, and she placed a hand on the girl’s shoulder. She gently pushed her to walk on, strolling across the floor and to the staircase into town.

  “Enjoy the day, while it lasts.” Mariah said, putting on a smile.

  “I leave to be married tomorrow,” Cynthia cried, “I will never return here, and Gabriel--”.

  Cynthia’s eyes filled with tears, before she quickly wiped them away. The three stood beneath the steps, eyeing each other.

  “Why do you let him treat you that way?” Eliza asked, unable to restrain herself. It was a concept she never understood, why Cynthia would grin and bear such horrible treatment.

  “What choice do I have, Lucie?” Cynthia whimpered, rubbing at her eyes. “It was my fault; I shouldn’t have refused.”.

  Mariah sighed, lightly rubbing the maiden’s arm. Eliza could not help herself, like most times.

  ‘I’ll never understand why she’d put herself through this, but I can try to.’.

  “No, it is not your fault,” Eliza protested. “Why spend your life with an arrogant twit who hands out wilting roses?”.

  Cynthia flushed pink; her watering eyes gone wide. Eliza never meddled with romance, but she knew what was right and wrong.

  “Oh, Lucie.” Cynthia sobbed, “I’m afraid it is not that easy.”.

  “I don’t know the
in-and-out of romance, but a wise man told me,” Eliza smiled, “People are like cups.”.

  “Cups?”.

  Smiling, she raised two hands into the air. Cynthia stared at her, with a look of blatant confusion.

  Eliza remembered the moral of the story. Her father had lectured her on it, years before.

  “Some cups are tall, some are small.” Eliza said, demonstrating with her hands. “If you pour gallons of water into a small cup, what will happen?”.

  “The cup will overfill.”.

  Giggling, Eliza nodded. She turned again to Cynthia, weighing her hands up and down.

  “Yet, if you pour a gallon of water into a tall cup, it will fill just right.” Eliza continued, “If your pour too much love into a person who cannot hold it, it doesn’t work; like how the small cup overfilled.”.

  Cynthia’s eyes transfixed on her, nodding along. Mariah’s sad eyes seemed to brighten, like she knew the moral before it came.

  “And if you pour all your love into a tall cup, it will fill perfectly.” Eliza smiled, “If you look at a half-filled cup, some will say it is half-full, others will say it is half-empty.”.

  The two maidens nodded along, gazing from one another to her.