The Witch's Vengeance

 

My life was simple until the day my parents were taken away from me. It was a sunny yet cool afternoon. I was just an eight-year-old girl enjoying the gentle breeze outside when people from our parish visited us. I didn’t pay attention to them because they were people we knew and trusted, but that day, they betrayed us.

I heard yelling that soon turned into screaming. I rushed to the house to find them dragging my mom away as my dad fought with the others. A couple of them held me back when I tried to get to her as well. She pleaded with them again and again to let her go, but they cursed her, calling her a ‘witch’ and a ‘demon’.

They tied her up and dragged her away as she struggled to break free. My father couldn’t overpower the violent horde no matter how hard he tried; there were just too many of them. He was beaten down to the ground and spat on before they left our home. One of them even hit me and broke my nose when I resisted them. I crawled away from them and towards my dad, sobbing as they kicked dirt in my face.

Dad and I pursued them to the river, where they bound Mom’s hands and legs. But she wasn’t the only one; ten more women were being held captive. We tried to break through the crowd and get to her, but they drew swords and firearms at us. We were helpless. The leader of the horde said that if my mom wasn’t a witch, she wouldn’t float when they threw her into the river; if she did, it was proof of her pact with the devil. She was set to lose either way—they all were.

Mom and six others floated, while the rest of the women drowned. The townspeople beat them with clubs and spat in their faces before setting up seven pyres. My mom, along with the other six women, were set on fire. My dad carried me away from the scene before they dropped the torch at my mom’s feet. He covered my eyes so I wouldn’t see them as we ran away, but that didn’t drown the screeches and wails of innocent women being burnt alive—it only made the sounds all the more clearer, and unforgettable. That was the beginning of the Salem Witch Trials; it was the day I decided that one day, I would wipe out that entire town and avenge my mother.

Dad knew a day would come when I would be next, so he took me out of town that same night. We took very few things with us, such as clothes and other essentials, and stayed off the main roads, relying solely on the moonlight to guide us. The only non-essential thing I took was Mom’s chain. It was all that was to remember her by. After a week-long trek, we came across a secluded cave by a waterfall, deep within a forest. It was perfect for us; there was plenty of water and fruits nearby.

The years went by slowly, with the memory of that day haunting me day and night. I could barely eat or sleep during the first two years; the pleas of my mom—the screams of everyone who was burned alive that day—they echoed inside my head whenever I was alone, especially in the stillness of the night. But that only hardened my will all the more, as I longed for the day I would drench that wretched town in the blood of every single person living there. I never spoke a word of my plans to my father; I didn’t want him to worry.

Nearing adulthood, I found myself able to manipulate energy. Dad said I was a descendant of the Razhne Coven, one of the strongest covens in the world. If that were true, I asked him why Mom didn’t fight back that day if she was so powerful; he said she didn’t react to protect me. That night, Dad handed me a book. He said it was Mom’s grimoire, and that I’ll need it in the future. The spells in it were in a foreign language, but I recognised it; Mom always recited words that I assumed were prayers whenever Dad or I was sick, but they were healing spells all along. Going through the book, I found a note she had left behind. It said:

Dear Onella,

If you’re reading this, then I’m most likely dead. I’m sorry for leaving you so soon, but my soul will forever be linked with yours. Use this grimoire only when it's absolutely necessary; don’t abuse its secrets, or your powers. Learn to control your abilities, and choose your battles wisely. Be safe, my darling.

Love,

Mom

Forgetting all that had transpired and letting go of the wrath that seethed within my heart was not something I wanted to do, but if Mom was asking me of it, I at least had to try. And so, I shifted my focus from revenge to learning magic. However, I learned that controlling my powers was far easier than controlling my rage, but eventually, I buried that past. Over time, I became fluent in the spells of the grimoire, and even created some of my own.

For the most part, our stay at the cave went unnoticed; but one day, a group of soldiers from our hometown tracked us down. I heard them arguing with Dad not far from the cave and rushed over, but it was too late. I arrived only to watch one of them shoot my father in the face. A sharp chill coursed through my veins and beneath my skin, as my hands began to tremble and my heart began to race. I clenched my fists and screamed, forming a swirling mass of dark energy around me that I outspread across as far as I could—enwreathing everything in its deathly embrace—from tree, to bird and beast. The hammer had struck the final nail; I could no longer keep my promise to Mom. My hometown had chosen its fate, and I was to deliver it to them.

I reached the town in days and was greeted by men and women with axes, pitchforks, and guns. I smote every last person there in the same manner in which they ended the lives of my mom and those other innocent women. Screeches and screams echoed throughout the town as the scent of burning flesh pervaded the air; and, at the end of all things, I fell to my knees amidst the smouldering ruins of the root of my trauma, as tears fell from my eyes and my body grew weak. Vengeance was mine, but the accomplishment didn’t feel like a victory. The only thing I could do was turn around and never look back.