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Emma Carolina Wahrenberg

"The Witch and the Cursed Sword: Chapter 2" by Emma Carolina Wahrenberg

SciFi/Fantasy text 12 out of 14 by Emma Carolina Wahrenberg.      ←Previous - Next→
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This is the second part of the Witch/Cursed sword-story, edited and done. ^^ Hope ya like it.

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←- The Witch and the Cursed Sword: Chapter 1 | The Witch and the Cursed Sword Chapter 3 -→

                                                                                             THE WITCH AND THE CURSED SWORD


Where is it?!” She roared as she furiously kicked down the last furniture that still stood in her house until it shattered completely and lay in a pile on the floor.

She was sweaty, tired, angry, and her house was a complete, complete, mess, like it often became when her rage took over all other feelings and her head became a pounding ocean of... anger. And she still hadn't found it. The sword was gone.

After the spell she cast to disappear from the awful, dark cave of those awful Demon siblings, she had woken up on the floor of her lovey little cottage. But without her sword. She said a few very, very bad words to feel better, words that would have made a priest choke on his own toungue and die on the spot, and then she picked up a not too damaged chair from the floor, and sat down on it with a deep sigh. She leaned her head in her hands and looked at the mess she'd made. But that damn sword was everything! The powers it contained! She'd gone through so much for the sake of it, and now it was gone. Vanished.

It must've gotten lost on the way,” she muttered. That stupid spell wasn't even worth the name. Everything she touched when she used it should've gone with her all the way, but something had gone awfully wrong. And now she would have to find it all over again.



She turned her head. There, in the middle of the mess of shattered wood, papers and books, stood the Beast Walter, a cat-like creature with dark, gleaming eyes in the colors of the deepest oceans and forest, the moon and the nightsky. He had grey, very thick and soft fur, and two small wings decorated his back, and he flapped them as he shoved some papers away with his paw (a soft little paw with four long, sharp, and very, very dangerous claws on it) and

sat down on the floor, curling his two long tails around him.


So it did not go well?” His voice said in her head.


It began well,” she answered, ”but after I cast that worthless spell everything went straight to the depths of hell!


Oh, Esmereld, you stupid... idiot! Why do you always have to mess everything up?'


It wasn't supposed to go wrong!”


Well ofcourse it wasn't! How can you be so incredibly stupid?”


Shut up. Go away. Shoo!”


The beast sighed, like the sound of the wind in her head. He flapped his little wings again to fly over a pile of books, and landed closer to her so that he could look her straight in the eye.


We'll get it back. But this time I go with you. I can't just sit here and wait for everything to go wrong, not this time. We've decided to get this sword, and we're sure as hell going to. Do you hear me? Better not give up, witch.


Wasn't going to,” she muttered. ”So what's the first thing we're going to do?”


Well... you go and clean up all this, I don't want your clumsy legs to trip over anything so that you break your clumsy foot, or even worse – hit your head and die.




He had the sword. He knew the way (a villager had given him a map over the whole place), but did he have the curage? What if there was a witch and it killed him? Or turned him into something unnatural? Or made him drink nasty potions made out of rat brains or something like that? He didn't know a witch's powers, but he feared for the worst. He wasn't a goddamn hero. He was a failed bard with no lute and no money. But he had the sword. He still had the sword.

It was a pretty weird sword, actually, if it wasn't his imagination that made it weird. It was beautiful in all it's simpleness, with a blade as broad as three of his fingers and a black hilt, but when he touched the hilt, he felt somthing deep inside of him, something that was pretty much like... power, he guessed, even though he had never felt power... and sometimes, just by looking at the sword, he became... it was a feeling he couldn't quite place.... fear, maybe... fear of something. It had taken a little while to connect those strange things to the sword, but then he had realised it must be it. And it was so light in his hand, not like a sword should be. It was strange, but then, this was a strange world. He tried to feel more comfortable thinking that thought.

He grabbed the cup of the hot sweet drink and took a sip, then he held it in both his hands while thinking. He was at the inn again, and he was happy it was almost empty at this hour. When he was around people, he could feel their eyes at him, all the time, some watching him when they though he didn't notice, others even though they were fully aware that he knew. They waited. They all waited for him to take action, to do something, to go to the witch's house and kill her or fail. They probably wanted something big to happen, something they could talk about for months after it had ended. Was getting turned into a frog-thing with eight legs and four eyes great enough for them?

He sighed, and put down the cup on the table again. He didn't want to finish it. He rose, nodded at the owner of the place, and went outside. When he stood at the wooden stairs just outside the inn, he strapped the sword in a leather belt around his waist, took a deep breath, and began walking the way out of the village.


He had walked past all the houses, and entered a smaller path leading into a bright little forest. Even though the way was short, he always held the map in his hand, making sure he walked the right way all the time. He had started to get really nervous. And when he finally saw the little cottage, his heart beat so hard and fast he thought it was going to breake through his ribs.

It was a nice and pretty little cottage, made out of red stone and wood, with a tiny garden at the front. There was a yellow light in the windows, and over the whole place there was some kind of.. calmness. Like the whole place was resting. There was no trees around the little house, it was built in the middle of a pretty big, empty spot of half dried, thin grass and here and there there were a few bushes. There was nothing weird with it at all. Just a little house. It looked kind of welcoming, actually. And then he remembered why he was there. He had just started to calm down, but now the fear began to creep back. Who knew, the witch might already know he was there, she might be preparing some awful spell. If there is a witch, he silently reminded himself. He pulled his hand through his brown hair and put the map in a pocket, and then he bagan to walk forward.




Do I have everything now... the books, the knife, food...” Esmereld digged through the bag one more time.

I'm sure you haven't forgotten anything, Walter said in her mind, we should really be going now, before someone else finds that sword. It would be pretty annoying if you had to kill someone, right?


I don't kill,” Esmereld answered as she picked another book from the floor and put it in the bag, just to be sure she had everything she needed.


Heh, sure. Only when it's necessary.


You know, Walter,” she said and turned to him, ”everyone doesn't have to be evil, just because you are. Just because you are a little pretty ball of horribly annoying and mean fur, just because you...” she interuppted herself as she very suddenly became aware of something.


Esmereld? Just because I... what? What were you going to call me?


Wait,” she said and held up a palm against him, ”I can feel it.”




The sword. I can feel it. It has to be it.”


She slowly turned to the door. If she was right, it was just outside the door...


It knocked. Twice. She glanced at Walter, who was standing absolutlely still on one of the still upside-down turned tables legs. He met her eye, and she slowly reached out to the door handle, preparing a simple throw-away-enemy spell. She opened the door.


Ehm... hi,” a very young man, barely more than a boy, said. She just stared at him. He had brown, half-long hair, and blue, scared eyes. He looked really nervous, and unsure of himself. ”Are you the witch?”


At first she just stared at him. Then she saw the sword hanging in his belt. He held a hand around the hilt, but she could see the hand was shaking a little.


Calm moves, Esmereld, Walter said, he can use the sword against you if it wants him to.


Who are you?” she said.


Ehm... my name is Ben. If you are the witch, I'm here to kill you, or scare you away, or something...”


She laughed.




What the hell was he suppoed to say? When the door opened, and the woman stood there, he might just have thrown up his breakfast in her face. He had planned everything he was going to say and do as he walked to the door, but when he knocked, and it opened, everything had just disappeared from his head, and he had said the first thing that came up in his mind.

And now she was laughing at him? What?


Haha! I sure am a witch, boy, and stronger than you might think. And you say you're going to make me leave, and if I don't you'll kill me? Why?”


Eh... because the villagers, the priest, think that you are the cause of... bad things, like bad weather, and... things.”

She laughed again, so hard he though she was going to fall over and die.


No, no, no, I'm not that kind of person, boy, I don't have anything to do with all that. I don't have anything against the villagers, and if they have something against me, I think you should go back to them and tell them to go and rot in a corner somewhere, because I will stay. Get it?


Oh... okay,” he said, hesitating. What was he going to do now? This wasn't at all like he had imagined it, she was so different from what he had been expecting, she actally seemed pretty nice, even though she might've made him pee himself making him feel like such an idiot when she laughed him right in the face. ”Well, if you're innocent...” the villagers wouldn't be happy about this, they would think he was just being a coward, but he couldn't kill someone innocent, even if she had just told him she was a witch. And something about her made him believe she was telling the truth, too... ”so I'm just going to... go now?”


Yeah, and leave me alone in the future. By the way, what are you going to do with that sword? You don't look like someone who can use it without cutting his own head off. If you're not going to keep it, I can take it. If you want payment, I'll give you anything you want.”


Anything I want?”




Anything he wanted. That sounded pretty good, actually, maybe she could use her witch powers to make him famous or something? But still... he could feel the hilt of the sword under his hand, and it felt... good. He didn't want to let go of it. Now when he though of it, he actually liked the sword.


Well... nah,” he said, ” I think I'm going to keep it.”


←- The Witch and the Cursed Sword: Chapter 1 | The Witch and the Cursed Sword Chapter 3 -→

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'The Witch and the Cursed Sword: Chapter 2':
 • Created by: :-) Emma Carolina Wahrenberg
 • Copyright: ©Emma Carolina Wahrenberg. All rights reserved!

 • Keywords: Curse, Sword, Witch, Bard, Beast, Village, Spell
 • Categories: Magic and Sorcery, Spells, etc., Man, Men, Weapons, Bows, Swords, Blades, Rapiers..., Wizards, Priests, Druids, Sorcerers..., Woman, Women
 • Submitted: 2011-12-10 14:52:51
 • Views: 513

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