The Witch of Jolip [2020]

The Knight’s boot stretched over the roots of a tree, squashing onto a patch of frosted peat. His steel hand gripped the sides of bark as he pushed forward toward the opening glen. The sun seemed as though it desired to break through the canopy above but was held back by something. Whatever fought against the entry of the light was not natural, yet the Knight sensed it had been here for a long, long time.

The mist that surrounded the Knight felt suffocating as it condensed and slid in drops down the side of his armor. The mist was viscous and spiritually heavy, floating between the trees with what almost felt like sentience. The Knight knew that he was close to where it was, and he readied himself. The creatures of the woods here made strange noises, as if they were groaning in pain simply from the weight of what was near.

Such was the life of the Knight, that he had slain many vile foes, and yet this time he knew he must prepare to fail. For the sake of the village that requested his help, he had to try: children and adults alike plagued by vicious terrors and dread that manifested far beyond nightmares, missing livestock, and men driven mad. The witch that lived in these woods had had her fill of torment from the peasants of Jolip, and the Knight was here to put her reign to an end.

A wretched smell filled the air—the smell of rot. The ground was covered in a heavy freeze that gripped the soft forest-laden grass. As the Knight proceeded through the woods, over branches and brambles, he could feel the darkness growing stronger. Still, he persisted, for if he did not end this thing, then perhaps no one would.

The Knight's wet and slick armor gleamed under the little light that persisted through the grove. His great helm gave him little visibility with which to view his surroundings; it could be nearer than he thought. It felt close. The Knight’s dark cross covering his tunic contrasted against the milky white backdrop of his cuirass. His dark black cape dragged over stone and rotting wood alike as his boots dragged his legs forward. Every step solicited a new noise from the woods around him, a cacophony of elder woods that increasingly felt as though they closed in around him. In the shadow of the branches and leaves, he felt as though he caught horrific machinations growing just out of the corner of his eye, only to disappear when he turned to face them. At this increasing threat, he drew out his blade from its sheath and readied it at his side, his dark Teutonic shield still held against the small of his back beneath his cloak. The mist grew even thicker as it now dripped off his armor like blood falling to the forest floor. Now the glen seemed to join the animals around in groaning against the weight of what was near. The Knight still persisted.

The Knight didn’t want to be afraid, but as the darkness and forest seemed to form a tunnel beckoning him forward, he knew that it was watching. More foreboding than the thing spectating him was the fact that it seemed in no way to hinder his progress, but desired for him to reach wherever it guided the woods to take him.

Eventually, the Knight spotted what looked like a clearing in the woods ahead. As he neared it, he watched as the trees fell around the sides of him into the darkness and the forest opened. This was an unnatural clearing filled with a dark mist and the smell of roses and arsenic. He reached out his leg to take another step and fell as the ground gave way beneath him to a level of water. The Knight regained himself quickly, and having stood up, he was now in a sizeable open area that seemed quite like a bog, with water that rose up to his knees. He readied his blade in his right hand as he waded through the water, his cloak dancing on the liquid behind him.

The prayer beads wrapped around the Knight’s left gauntlet fell downward as his arm hung at his side. They dragged through the water, pushing the dark lake in waves around them as he pressed forward. The girl who had given them to the Knight had been especially tormented by this creature, unnecessarily so, for she had nothing to offer it except her fear. Suddenly, the Knight stopped and raised himself toward what was ahead. His mind was spinning, and his eyes moved in the motion of waves attempting to review what was ahead of him. She was beautiful.

She wasn’t at all what he expected, especially not in this place. Her hand crossed over the side of a trunk gracefully as she moved round to view him. She stood on a small island in the middle of the bog that glittered with firebugs. Enough sunlight fell through the canopy for the Knight to view her pale white skin that blended perfectly against her long red hair. She smiled warmly and beckoned the Knight forward without so much as a word. The Knight stepped toward the island a few paces and then stopped himself, gripping the prayer beads in his left hand. As he did, he saw a flash in her graceful green eyes of red, and in this flash, her wonderfully supple face appeared as that of someone who was dead. The Knight gripped his helmet and turned his face away from the creature as he continued to move forward.

The being's warm smile turned into a frown as the Knight raised his blade higher in his hand against the hilt. The whole weight of the universe sat upon the Knight’s shoulders—or so he felt it did. With every step he took, the more crushing this weight became. Then the Knight heard her voice. “Do not come against me in malice, mortal,” said the creature with a melodic tone that in equal parts could be singing or talking. Her words seemed to pierce his very soul, and he felt his heart melting for the sake of such a thing of great evil. Yet he persisted forward through the thickening water of the bog, ready to strike against the being.

The underglow of the forest appeared red around him as her tone changed: “You would dare reject me?” announced the creature in a tone of authority and violence. The Knight looked up to notice his foe only to see a disturbing sight: the being’s red hair now floated in all directions like rays of the sun, and her eyes glowed a dark deep red. Her teeth seemed sharp in her open mouth, and her pale skin seemed to gray in the stale light. With a horrific screech, she let out a burst of power from herself that sent the Knight rushing backward, still standing, through the waters of the bog.

He felt himself gripped from behind by the arms of a man against which he began to struggle. Another joined, and another after, as they all tried to drag the Knight backward into the water. The Knight struggled and twisted to writhe out of their grip, but it was of no use. Whatever held him yelled “She’s mine!” and other phrases of the same. The Knight caught his foot beneath him and pressed the butt of his sword backward, shaking off the thing on the right. He then did the same in a leftward motion and threw off the second. Grasping above with his open hand, he grabbed hold of the third thing’s cloak and, leaning forward, threw it off of himself into the water. It was a man that lay in front of him in no special clothes, squirming in the water and struggling to get back up.

The Knight quickly stood back from the three as he watched them slowly regain their footing. These three men seemed malnourished beyond possibility and yet had grappled with him as though they were wild bears. The Knight did not wish to harm the three poor souls who began to charge upon him. To the first, the Knight plunged his sword with both hands through the torso, dragging it out the side and leaving him to fall into the bog waters. The second, the Knight braced with the back of his right gauntlet and sent tumbling away into the below. The third flew against the Knight with ferocity and pushed him into the water. The Knight fell back, and the crazed man grappled atop him, punching and gnashing and clawing at the Knight's armor with a fervor rarely seen. The man dragged and scrambled with heaves and sighs as every fiber of his being drove to try and get beneath the armor of the Knight. The man stopped as the Knight's blade exited his left side and shone visible above the waters in which the Knight lay. The man fell back and away as the Knight stood quickly and cast the man off of his blade, with the blood mixing into the murky water at his feet.

The Knight settled in his stance and began a march back toward the creature. The Knight was startled in disgust as the creature cocked her head in an unnatural way, swinging left to right. She began to chant in some unknown pagan tongue and then cast herself upon the Knight. She protruded, or so it appeared to the Knight, from herself and coiled through the air in a twisting column of darkness. The appearance of her face was no longer beautiful but begat the features of a serpent, and she hissed with all the might that her newly shown forked tongue could give her. With terrible might and force, she came upon the raised arm of the Knight and wrestled as he turned. In a series of quick motions, the Knight forced the blade into what should have been the shadowy torso of the creature attacking him from above, but the sword would delve into the mist only to exit having had no effect. The creature pierced with its now yellow and bright red eyes into the soul of the Knight, and he was afraid.

He held up his sword to the creature's face and reached with his left for his shield. Pulling the shield, he bashed in the direction of the being’s face, scoring a blow that sent it coiling back to the rest of its wretched figure on the bog’s island. The Knight regained composure as the creature chattered and cried out in evil speech. He rushed through the dark waters and swung upon the being, cutting a gash open through its torso. The being yelped like a hyena as a dark liquid poured out, and it turned itself around the tree and disappeared. The Knight tried to follow but could not see where it had gone. Suddenly, a torrent of noise filled his ears to the point of pain as it shook the forest. It was a mix of cries and moans with the most malicious laughter and sobbing. The Knight struck out around him as he held his head and tried to steady himself amongst the waters.

As the forest steadied, he turned to see her lying in the water, grasping her stomach, propped on a single hand and weeping bitterly. He approached with trepidation and raised the sword to strike another blow. As he did, she turned her face upon him, and the evil of its appearance caused him to pause for such a moment that she rushed up and with great power threw the blade from his hand and pushed him back into the lone tree that stood on the island. She picked up the blade in two hands, still bleeding from her stomach, and moved toward the Knight. Slowly the Knight stood, and bracing his shield, received the first overhead blow from the being. She screamed and shook the canopy as she brought the sword down many a time upon his shield in a quick succession of anger. A great dance ensued between the Witch and the Knight as she tried to land a fatal blow, and the Knight played for cover around the tree and his shield. It was on one swing that she caught the blade against a flay in the bark, only to be greeted by the Knight’s metal fist landing on her jaw. She fell back, and the Knight pursued her, wrapping the prayer beads around her neck and beginning to pull. She choked and writhed and hissed as the air began to leave her lungs.

The Witch drew her arm around her in a circle, and it caught ablaze. Her arm glowed and burned with a green fire as it seared her flesh. She pressed the fiery hand upward against the Knight’s helmet, causing him to give up the assault and fall at her side. She rushed for the sword in the tree, only for the Knight to catch her ankle and drag her back into the water. The Knight grabbed her, and she turned to face him as he plunged her into the cold water. Her face changed under the water back into that of the beauty that he had first seen. But as she lost air and began to give up the struggle, he watched her face morph into that of a necrotic. She appeared as if she had lived a thousand lifetimes and finally was nothing more than a husk of a being. The Knight stood once he was convinced. He walked to the tree and retrieved his sword, going back to the Witch. With a great swing, he brought the sword upon the creature’s neck and severed its head from its corrupted body. The Knight looked on as it floated there in the dark, infested waters of the bog.

As the Knight walked out of the water and back into the forest, he noticed more light from above the canopy began to trickle in and illuminate the forest. He continued back to the village, with the Witch’s head wrapped in his cloak, to deliver to the people of Jolip. The Witch would be their terror no more.