When the sun rose lazily again the following morning, the people of Mystvale all flooded to the streets. They had heard noises and rumours of strange lights all night, but had been too afraid of the darkness to rear their little heads. Now there was neither mist nor darkness to stop them.

They all gathered before the chapel, and were horrified to witness its ruined condition.

Windows flung from their frames.

Glasses shattered to pieces.

And the main entrance gaping from its hinge.

They had seen damage to other buildings after witched nights before, but never had they thought it to happen to the chapel.

To the home of Father Edmund.

They spotted the resident priest exiting the ruin, and quickly helped him to safety outside.

A stout man appeared before him.

‘What happened?’ he demanded in gruff affectedness, representing all the townsfolk present.

But the old man could only hang his head in silence.

The mayor was thoroughly unprepared for the listlessness of his rival. He swivelled his fat frame about in the hopes that someone else could fill him in.

Then he spotted a man in black cloak, as he emerged from the chapel.

‘It was you, wasn’t it!?’ he roared at the sight of the exorcist, finger pointed, for everyone to follow his lead.

He huffed and puffed and parted the crowd to come before his target. ‘I told you I knew he was a good-for-nothing troublemaking con-artist!’ his hot breath passed out of him in hazy streaks. ‘I told you all!’

The exorcist was limping from the chapel. He was too mentally and physically worn to pay good attention to the burly man appearing in front of him. He tried pushing up his spectacles, but realized they were no longer there, so he lifted an expressionless face toward him.

‘Fess up already!’ the mayor roared. ‘This is all your fault for needlessly ticking off the witch! I even heard you used your black magic inside the chapel yesterday!’ His red face burned right before the exorcist like a violent bull’s. ‘...You did your damage, now you have to pay the price.’

The exorcist stared blankly at him.

‘Your witch is no more.’

The mayor’s brows lifted for a split second. He glanced through the pathetic figure of the exorcist before him and then at the scene of destruction all around.

‘You expect me to believe you defeated the witch in that condition?’ he scoffed. ‘A con-man to the very end’—

It was at that moment that someone slapped the thick hide of his face.

It was only a light slap.

By a small, weakened hand.

The mayor widened his vision to look at the young woman standing beside the exorcist, helping him stand up.

‘... Which family’s daughter are you?’ he asked blackly, as he tried to associate her with the people he disliked.

As he looked over her appearance, however, he started realizing something very strange. She wore a long, ragged dress. It was not ragged like any mere  piece of old clothing he had seen, for no matter how poor a household in Mystvale was, surely even they would have managed the minimal decency to clothe their daughter somehow. It did not resemble the clothing of the living. And then there was her motley skin—if anything she resembled…

‘... Don’t you... recognize... me?’ the girl asked him in a frighteningly familiar voice.

The mayor collapsed to his buttocks on the ground.

‘Y-Y-You’re’—-he stammered incoherently.

‘It’s the witch!’ someone amid the crowd had cried out then. ‘The witch stands beside him!’ ‘She walks under daylight!’ ‘She has her head back!’

The entire town was filled with shrieks and screams at the appearance of their very greatest fears in person.

The mayor finally regained enough courage to point at the exorcist again.

‘Y-You’re in l-league with the witch!’ he shouted, half-whimpering. ‘W-Witch-kin!’

The exorcist only looked back at him.

‘I have told you, your witch is no more.’

Someone in the horrified crowd then cried: ‘The witch defeated Father Edmund!’ ‘She’s going to kill us all!’ ‘It’s the end of everything!’

Before long, he and Fionnghuala were standing in the middle of a swirling vortex of panic.

Suddenly, something struck Fionnghuala in the face.

It was a pebble.

A toddler stood before them, his eyes streaming with tears.

‘Leave us alone, you evil witch!’

He picked a larger stone this time, and threw it at her.

It cracked in collision with human bone.

The exorcist had swiveled their position to stand in front of her.

A streak of crimson lined his pallid face.

The townsfolk were encouraged by this triumphant scene, and they began hurling more projectiles at them. A cascade of sticks and stones and glass flew across the air.

The exorcist took off his black cloak, and put it around Fionnghuala, shielding her.

Then he turned toward the frenzied mob.

‘Can’t you see she is not your witch!’ he bellowed in a volume he had never used before. ‘Would your witch leave you alive to throw pebbles at her person!?’

They flinched at the strength that he projected, but quickly resumed their attack when he didn’t do anything else.

Pieces of debris showered over his spare and folding body.

‘... No… please stop it…’

Fionnghuala’s voice could no longer reach anyone at that moment, witch though they had called her.

Black mist rose then from the body of the exorcist, as he rose and scanned all of his assailants.

Freezing them in fear.

‘If it’s a fight that you want!’ he shouted, ‘I can give you a fight!’

The rising, sinister smoke sapped away the courage from all of them.

He then looked to the old priest, who had risen up among the crowd.

‘Or would you like something else?’

‘Father?’ he added, singling the man out.

The crowd all turned their eyes, rabid with fear, upon the old man. Their looks all pleaded to him to tell them what they must do.

The priest looked back around at their terrified, crazed faces. He gulped and hesitated.

Then he bent down, and dug a fistful of dirt out of the ground.

And threw it at the exorcist.

It scattered in the middle of the air, and landed lightly upon his chest.

And yet it had hurt him.

‘By the power of the soils blessed by Father Edmund, begone from us, evil!’ the priest cried loudly, from the bottom of his wheezing lungs. ‘And never return!’

The other townsmen all followed his lead. ‘Cast them out!’ ‘Drive them from Mystvale!’ Puffs of dirt flew across the air at the two outsiders.

The exorcist looked back up at the old man he had spent his past few days with.

‘... I suppose it’s better that I’m only Mr Exorcist.’

The old man’s face tensed, and then he contorted it into an expression of rage.

‘Leave us!’ he shouted with a violent wave of his hand.

And so they did.

The exorcist put arms around Fionnghuala, and together they parted the mob of Mystvale.

•••

Fionnghuala could still hear their angry voices from the edges of the fields where she had stood. A part of her had wanted to glance back at the shrinking town, for a final look at how time had transformed it. But she thought again of her present situation, and comically realized, nothing had truly changed, and there was nothing to look back to.

She looked up instead. At the man beside her. One thing that was different.

His face was growing paler by the second, and as they staggered away from the screaming voices, it had slowly changed from his arms wrapping around to shield her, to her holding his tall figure up to even walk.

She knew that last display of power had drained everything from him, if not more.

‘...We should… stop!’ she said with great difficulty, the flesh within her throat being as foreign to her as that of a different person. ‘... You can’t… go on like this…!’

The man smiled. ‘I can go for a bit longer…’ he said hoarsely. ‘We need to get far enough… to be safe!’

She forcefully veered him in the direction of the small shade of a dead tree.

‘What are you’—-

‘You’re not going anywhere…!’ she said with a note of impatience. ‘Not until… you get better!’

‘But’—

They’re too afraid to do anything!

‘But’—

Stop being stubborn and listen to me!

She laid him by the trunk of the tree as gently as she could possibly manage. He no longer even had the strength to resist her.

She examined the hole in his body, and then the cut on his forehead. They had both regenerated unnaturally faster than she had expected, but instead of being pink and raw, the regenerated flesh was darker than if it had been bruised and infected.

'...I'll just heal if you only leave me alone for long enough.'

They were still nowhere near recovered though. And the nearest herb site that she could remember was still far, far away.

We still have to get you something to recover your strength.

He looked up at her with an amused smile.

‘... Are you going to show me how to eat algae?’

She brusquely waved aside the suggestion.

That’s not enough for you at the moment.

Then she looked back in the direction of the fields.

… I’m going to get you some pumpkin.

The man blinked at her.

It’s the least they can owe me after everything that’s happened!

This had made him chuckle, and she was glad he still had the strength to do that.

When she returned with the spoils, she used a knife he had kept within his cloak to cut it to bite-size pieces. It was a small knife, and her control of her body was not as precise as she would have liked, but she found her arms strangely strong enough now to make short work of the firm rind of the fruit.

‘... Thank you.’

She looked up at him.

… I should be the one thanking you.

He nodded. ‘... Nevertheless… Thank you, Fionnghuala.’

The soft sound of his voice reminded her of warmth she had forgotten from long ago. Of another voice that had regarded her as kindred.

‘... What’s wrong?’

Nothing, she shook.

And then met his smile.

… It’s just… My father named me that.

She looked down to the grey, and decaying body beneath her, attached to her head by strange, dark markings… It had meant ‘white shoulder’.

‘... You know,’ the man began, evidently unconfident of what he was about to say, ‘... you could use a new name.’

‘To celebrate a new lease on life.’

She looked expectantly at him. …What name?

It was obvious from his flustered face that he hadn’t thought ahead that far.

It was fine though. She had understood his intentions.

‘...Ella.’

‘...How about Ella?’

She smiled and nodded. It’s a good name.

And what should I call you?

Here the man paused. It had been a very long time since he’d told anyone his own name. He had always just let everybody call him whatever was convenient.

Mr Exorcist?

Like that.

‘...I’m not an exorcist to be exact about it’, he smiled awkwardly. ‘Just a humble magic researcher, but exorcism pays so much better.’

Then…

‘They called me Plumus.’

Ella smiled.

‘...Pleasure to meet you, Plumus.’

‘And I you, Ella.’

It was at that moment that Plumus yawned.

You should rest, Ella urged him with concern.

I’ll keep watch if they do anything! she added before he could object.

He eventually nodded, and closed his eyes. She sat beside him for a moment, trying to recall the names of the herbs she needed to help him recover from the back of her mind. But soon enough, she realized that her body and mind had felt heavy too.

Unable to resist the soft fog that descended upon her consciousness, she laid down her head beside him, sleeping her first human sleep in a century.

It was the first slumber of her new life.

Perhaps, her first new dream…

TO BE CONTINUED

IN THE NEXT OF THE PLUMUS CHRONICLES...