It had been an arduous one, but the demon had been sent back and what remained of the cottage may also be returned to its
original condition. The chimney had blown upwards and as its velocity had waned, the fates had decided that the lower-part of
the thatched roof would make a more suitable landing location than the grey cobbles of the village square.
The architrave was still aflame and the downstairs window had bequeathed two of its crown-glass panes to the tiny front-garden
of the home. But Binmear the Parsimonious had gone and tugging her wide-rimmed hat further onto her head, Peggy Powler
inwardly smiled at the ridiculous names they always gave to themselves.
Soot-covered and bedraggled, the diminutive sorceress and the panting boy sat on the stone steps of the closed Butcher's shop
and watched the towns-folk scurry to assist in the dowsing the last of the flames flickering on the door-frame. With a weary smile
of approval, she placed a hand on Ezra Cotton's skinny shoulder and drew him closer.
"Yer' done well, me-lad" she croaked and watched him enjoy his pride.
The young owners of the cottage and several of Pony Bridge's townsfolk gave no indication of gratitude towards the small figures
resting in the shadow of the white-plastered meat-purveyor and that was fine, Peggy agreed that focusing on fetching water from
the town's well was cardinal at this moment.
The last Witch of Underhill now reflected on Ezra's assistance during the casting-out of the malignant hellion and believed that
maybe those same weavers of kismet that had poorly juggled with the bricked-fire stack, could have also provided an alternative
to her long-used title.
The ash-speckled hair was still stuck up in clumps as the boy pondered the past hour and beneath the tear-tracked chimney's grime,
Peggy wondered if this youngster really had the potential to take on her orphic mantle for demon exorcisms and potion administering.
Her evaluation didn't go unnoticed and with his breathing becoming steady once more, the boy broke a smile and Peggy responded
with a rare grin of her own. "Did we really do it?" Ezra squeaked from his smoke-filled throat and after a slight nod from the only
person in his world that gave a damn about him, he went back to watching the scurrying residents of Pony Bridge setting their town
back to normal.
................................
He had arrived a day ago and not being with parents or a guardian, the boy had taken to following Peggy around -regardless of the
initial admonishments from the pint-sized Witch. Ten -maybe twelve years-old at the most, the threadbare and down-at-the-heel lad
had watched Peggy's preparations for the banishment of the kobold that had terrorised the recently-married couple of the little village.
Ignoring the cursing and insults emanating from the quaint white-washed abode, Peggy had first circled the premises with selected
stones from the shallow stream that ran beneath the single arched construction that gave the hamlet its name.
Each smooth pebble had been blessed and rested inside a circle of rowan berries, the bane of Witches -to some who know naught
of the canny.
This tree was said to be the gallows on which the Devil hanged his mother and for those who trade in rebuffing evil, the fruit of such
an atrocity can be as much a guarantee from a witch's interest as a sixpence in a lynchgate. But to Peggy Powler, the Rowan was an
ally against the abominable.
Each small pile of this quickbeam was then stained with a mixture of rue and wolf's bane juice that Peggy had procured from her
famous satchel. The small ornate vial that held the potion was a gift from another town where she had rid the grateful residents
of a shape-shifting horror that had turned out to be their Mayor.
Another tale for another time.
The attentive boy had watched from the grassy bank during Peggy's determining of the stones and then without a word, waded
into the burbling current and had began to pluck the shiny rocks from water. By the look of his furrowed-brow, he seemed -to the
bare-footed woman in the poncho, to be genuinely choosing the aggregate based on Peggy's perusals.
When the circle had been completed, Peggy had wondered if ground-tannin of the oak would be suffice to keep the obscene-tongued
Binmear nearer to the fireplace or whether the properties of Hag’s Taper would bind the movements of the demon. Both philters were
also in her bag.
Again, without a sound of assent, the boy was suddenly beside her holding out the large pouch with both hands.
Peggy emulated the laconism of her possible student and took the magical pouch that occasionally doubled as a bed.
Made from a thick canvas, this satchel had the unnerving habit of containing just the correct solution to any situation involving
delphic sorcery.
Licentiousness spirits, ill-tempered Boggarts or treacherous vampires, the heavily-stitched sack had never failed to deliver the
appropriate remedy to expel or subdue the beings that humans would one day come to doubt. With a muttered chant, Peggy
doubled-up on the expulsion of the demon and laid a single downy Hag’s Taper leaf on each of the stones.
Two minutes later, she stood back and examined the scene.
The noon-day sun cast a puddle of shadow beneath the two visitors to Pony Bridge and as the foul-mouthed Binmear the illiberal
seriously discredited the parentage of the woman in the pointy-hat, Peggy scanned the stripling beside her, all decked-out in his
ragged tunic and knee-holed breeches.
"Are yer' ready?" she asked softly to the quiet boy and with a resolute nod and the gift in his pocket, Ezra slowly turned towards
the foreboding building. The Witch pulled on the hem of her hat and mumbled a small prayer. Two small exorcists stepped towards
the door of what was once a quaint village cottage.
"So you're a kiddie-diddler, I see...?" sneered the rolling fog floating a few feet above the remains of a day-old meal on the well-worn
farmhouse table. "...The feel of young lithe limbs tickles your poise, yes?" the corrupted miasma asked with a sickly mirth.
Peggy noticed that the temperature had dropped the moment they had crossed the threshold and placed a comforting hand on the
trembling boy's shoulder beside her. It was a strong voice, laden with pernicious innuendo and dolor-drawing contempt.
The room was still in fairly good condition and Peggy's immediate concern was for where the fire hearth was situated. That worry
became allayed when she saw the flickering flames dwindling beneath a hanging cooking pot across from where they stood.
It was to be the fireplace where Binmear would be banished back to his kingdom of the pernicious.
The cloud of wrong twisted as it slowly moved away from the Witch and her ward to where a huge black stove squatted in the corner
of the kitchen.
There was ice on the crockery sitting near a sink beneath the window that would later donate its glass and with fleeting scan of the
room, Peggy spied that the unseen diabolus' presence had hardly effected the newly-married couple's abode.
This was always a good sign.
With a sudden aroma of sulphur that caused Ezra to gulp between his gasping breaths, the murky smoke mutated and took on a
humanoid form. Binmear stood before them and his appearance was startling.
Stuttering priests speak of horns, foul breath, an animal-like presence and contemptible dialectics, but the tall creature standing
on the homemade clippy-rug easily failed that description. Long black well-groomed hair hung down over broad shoulders and
framed a handsome -yet austere, set of features that to some, could trick the viewer into thinking that middle-aged wealthy
aristocrat had become lost on the flinty road to Stony Bridge and decided to sully himself on the village's sparse services.
But Peggy's only interest were the eyes, the eyes told her of the wickedness and depravity that dwelt within Binmear.
They were also the barometer of the demon's confidence and if all went went, would be the first betrayer of the fiend's emotions.
The cold dispassionate demon returned the examination and his piercing gaze twinkled in the gloom of the fire-lit room.
It was Ezra who studied the gold-braided red-velvet tunic that lay beneath an ankle-length coat of dark tweed and boucle,
the cut of the cloth was perfect and smacked of prosperity and accomplishment. With a gaze of awe, the young lad stared
at the scrolls of similar bandeau of the waistcoat decorating the hem of the outer-garment and the fine stitching glittered
with a light certainly not of this realm.
Unknown to Ezra, Peggy wagered it was captured Brownie work.
"You are Peggy Powler, the bastard daughter of the fake fortune-teller of Underhill..." Binmear stated softly.
"...I hear you're quite a celebrity in these parts" the well-dressed abomination added and smiled the smile of someone who'd
enjoyed the souls of the greedy and lured many a pure maiden to bed.
Slipping a hand into her satchel, Peggy ignored the commentary and touched the smooth cane hewed from a Wayfarer's tree.
The horse hair-wrapped branch was comforting as the demon continued his insulting dialogue and licking her lips, Peggy readied
herself for the fight.
"Is the child to be a sacrifice...?" the resident of Gehenna asked pompously, with a glint from the buckle on his shoe, Binemar stepped
away from the stove and pretended to be interested in a framed example of needlepoint residing on a shelf nearer the fireplace.
"...One can sympathise that in the presence of such elegant dynamism, a gift to attain my blessing can go a fair mile to gain favour"
he added and the whole tone of his mention dripped of undervalue.
The query -though said in a haughty tone, was ignored in general, but for a moment, Peggy sensed Binmear was unsure of what lay
ahead. Releasing her grip from the lad's shoulder, the small Witch tugged on the rim of her hat and didn't fail to notice the demon's
glance-that-was-more-than-a-glance.
A clue to the sorceress' attack...? A nervous gesture of someone unsure of their foe? The besuited phantom pondered the options.
If the child in question had then urinated onto the bare floorboards of the kitchen, Peggy could've understood it, but she felt that Ezra
was made of stronger stuff. And as if reading her thoughts, the boy stepped forward and pointed the apotropaic charm the Witch had
given him earlier.
The rune-covered amulet swung for a second from the lad's trembling fingers before it began to feel the magnetic force from the ghastly
oppugner in the fancy garb. Binmear's eyes widened slightly, but only for a moment.
"Get thee gone from this place, demon. You have no authority over me nor this home... get out" Ezra's voice was steady and the little
Witch in the dirty poncho felt a pride that she hadn't felt in a long time. The look of indignation from Mr. Fancy-pants certainly supported
that feeling.
"You insult this bout with moppets bearing trinkets of outdated hocus-pocus...? I am dissapointed, my dear Ms. Powler." the demon
sneered, but anyone in the cold room that had seen more than thirteen summers knew that the lampoon held no mettle.
The tugging medallion strained on the brass chain that held it from Binemear's aura.
Forged in the workshop of the great Magician Aldrich Witt, the solid-gold pendant of the ancient talisman was overlaid with scrawls
and carvings that spanned many forms of magic. The famous one-word incantation of Albon The Fair nested just below where the
ornate bail laboured to hold the strange brooch to the well-worn chain.
Scratches of a lost spell could be seen beside an imperceptible rendering of the Charlbeyon Eye, the former conjuration belonging
to the wily Witch Marion Mason and the latter, a carefully chiselled warning borrowed from the bible of the Farrier.
Pledges of exorcism adorned a tiny silver ring around the gemstone that was the main cause of the amulet's pulling-power,
the centre-piece that Binmear secretly feared.
In another time and place, it is said by those who deal and vend in sorcery that when the world was created, a Warlock took on the
Devil who wished to subvert the innocent humans who had emerge from a cavern of conception. The fight was fierce with necromancy
never seen on that scale again and when it was over, the unnamed Magus tossed the Beelzebub into the volcano at the end of the world.
As the screaming horror thrashed in the vomiting obsidian, chunks of the lava fell at the magician's feet and in the cooling clear globs of
magma, shards of the body the evil-one had taken on could be seen. These came to be known as The Bones of the Devil and later venerable
theurgists would place some of them in brooches, amulets for only the worthy of the sacred Majick.
One of those revered ju-ju mascots now tugged at a small boy's fingers and the tall being in the fancy duds knew of it's potency.
"A wise person would accustom this nursling to what he bears, 'tis viperous to my nature to have such a prime bauble displayed this way"
Binmear hissed and Peggy could see that the demon was inwardly struggling to stay in his position. Pulling the Wayfarer wand from her bag,
she began the chant of ejection.
Ezra stared blankly at the hearth's mantle-piece just over the shoulder of the hating-thing and silently wished that this was all over.
"Oh Hallowed Skulls of the Gate, I implore thee. Oh Winds of Garmer hear me now.
Banish this low monster and realign this reality, taketh the vile brute back to the shadows of misery..."
That was when the horrible moaning started.
One moment the supercilious abnormality was seemingly holding court in the small white-washed room that doubled as a kitchen
and dining area, the next Binmear the Parsimonious began to writhe and wail in agony. The texture of the sound cannot be written
and the nearest description to it is the loud utterance of a lamenting madman during a serious case of vomiting.
"...In the heavens of the Fisher-brethren, they lament this appearance and in the hearts of the chaste, such
things belong in nightmares of the guilty. Begone malevolent thing, begone and be forgotten...."
Ezra Cotton's hand shook as Binmear began to levitate. The moaning roared against his ears and the temperature dropped even lower.
Maybe the small boy could later convince himself that the trembling was due to that, but he knew the truth. As he steeled himself what
only could lay ahead, he felt a warmth in his underwear. But it was only a little.
Peggy stepped in front of her companion and pointed the two foot-long stick towards the floating hellion. Binmear -still in his own ordeal
of the opposite of a rapture, writhed in mid-air and ignored the hair-bound charm waved at him.
Clearing her throat, she continued her spell.
"...Where Arcadian Dogmen shun light and the avenues of Wunderbare bar the foul, no demon shall tarry and no agent of
the sinister shall tread the lanes of the virtuous. Strike this vindictive enemy of good and cast him back unto the darkness."
With a blinding light that Ezra was sure emanated from the brooch, a sudden wind flew into the house and without respect for the
recently-wed couple's few belongings, began to spin everything around the room. Soot belched from the fireplace and dowsed the
flames, the same black dust swirled about the twisting mid-air spirit.
Binmear's moaning had changed into a rush of unintelligible chattering that Ezra believed were counter-spells to the Witch's demands.
A Witch he also believed was winning.
"Gertcha 'yer bastard...." Peggy cried above the roaring of the maelstrom "...Get 'yer filthy cavalier fanny out of here!" she added
and with her free hand, held her poncho down from the howling cyclone. Being without underwear and having one's pudenda exposed
for all to see doesn't maintain a pluck in the minds of a budding apprentice like Ezra, she supposed.
The moments seem to last for minutes and the minutes turned into slow winter toads. Plates, framed portraits and other bric-a-brac
screamed about the trio in the farmhouse and twice, Ezra had to duck from a hurtling pot or pan that the gale had snatched from the
stove.
All the while, the cursing demon known as Binmear began to shrink.
With all the commotion going on, it wasn't noticeable at first, but the squirming figure hovering near the ash-regurgitating hearthstone
began to seem less daunting. Peggy was still reciting her spell, however the words were lost in the vociferous noise.
Nearing the oscillating horror, the small Witch delivered the coup de grace and the cause of them being hurled from the building.
Just one touch of the Wayfarer's staff and the world within the small home of the recently-married blew up.
Witnessing the two small figures flying through the flames around the door of their house, the groom exclaimed "Oh my stars!"
The bride's words were less polished. And when the chimney stack became temporarily one-with-the-birds, her opinion on the matter
escalated into expletives her husband would only enquire about eight years later into their confederation.
Be that as it may, any future pronouncements of their incredulity would have to wait as their house was now on fire.
................................
The afternoon sat beside the two dishevelled exorcists and like them, wondered what the evening would bring. Would Peggy Powler
and her tenderfoot be praised in a village-square gala or even treated to a lavish meal down beside the stream on linen-covered trestles?
Maybe at the least, supplies would be offered to help the little woman in the single item of clothing as she made her way towards the
next encounter with impiety.
Ruffling the hair of a one tired boy named Ezra Cotton, the equally-weary Witch of Underhill knew better.
original condition. The chimney had blown upwards and as its velocity had waned, the fates had decided that the lower-part of
the thatched roof would make a more suitable landing location than the grey cobbles of the village square.
The architrave was still aflame and the downstairs window had bequeathed two of its crown-glass panes to the tiny front-garden
of the home. But Binmear the Parsimonious had gone and tugging her wide-rimmed hat further onto her head, Peggy Powler
inwardly smiled at the ridiculous names they always gave to themselves.
Soot-covered and bedraggled, the diminutive sorceress and the panting boy sat on the stone steps of the closed Butcher's shop
and watched the towns-folk scurry to assist in the dowsing the last of the flames flickering on the door-frame. With a weary smile
of approval, she placed a hand on Ezra Cotton's skinny shoulder and drew him closer.
"Yer' done well, me-lad" she croaked and watched him enjoy his pride.
The young owners of the cottage and several of Pony Bridge's townsfolk gave no indication of gratitude towards the small figures
resting in the shadow of the white-plastered meat-purveyor and that was fine, Peggy agreed that focusing on fetching water from
the town's well was cardinal at this moment.
The last Witch of Underhill now reflected on Ezra's assistance during the casting-out of the malignant hellion and believed that
maybe those same weavers of kismet that had poorly juggled with the bricked-fire stack, could have also provided an alternative
to her long-used title.
The ash-speckled hair was still stuck up in clumps as the boy pondered the past hour and beneath the tear-tracked chimney's grime,
Peggy wondered if this youngster really had the potential to take on her orphic mantle for demon exorcisms and potion administering.
Her evaluation didn't go unnoticed and with his breathing becoming steady once more, the boy broke a smile and Peggy responded
with a rare grin of her own. "Did we really do it?" Ezra squeaked from his smoke-filled throat and after a slight nod from the only
person in his world that gave a damn about him, he went back to watching the scurrying residents of Pony Bridge setting their town
back to normal.
................................
He had arrived a day ago and not being with parents or a guardian, the boy had taken to following Peggy around -regardless of the
initial admonishments from the pint-sized Witch. Ten -maybe twelve years-old at the most, the threadbare and down-at-the-heel lad
had watched Peggy's preparations for the banishment of the kobold that had terrorised the recently-married couple of the little village.
Ignoring the cursing and insults emanating from the quaint white-washed abode, Peggy had first circled the premises with selected
stones from the shallow stream that ran beneath the single arched construction that gave the hamlet its name.
Each smooth pebble had been blessed and rested inside a circle of rowan berries, the bane of Witches -to some who know naught
of the canny.
This tree was said to be the gallows on which the Devil hanged his mother and for those who trade in rebuffing evil, the fruit of such
an atrocity can be as much a guarantee from a witch's interest as a sixpence in a lynchgate. But to Peggy Powler, the Rowan was an
ally against the abominable.
Each small pile of this quickbeam was then stained with a mixture of rue and wolf's bane juice that Peggy had procured from her
famous satchel. The small ornate vial that held the potion was a gift from another town where she had rid the grateful residents
of a shape-shifting horror that had turned out to be their Mayor.
Another tale for another time.
The attentive boy had watched from the grassy bank during Peggy's determining of the stones and then without a word, waded
into the burbling current and had began to pluck the shiny rocks from water. By the look of his furrowed-brow, he seemed -to the
bare-footed woman in the poncho, to be genuinely choosing the aggregate based on Peggy's perusals.
When the circle had been completed, Peggy had wondered if ground-tannin of the oak would be suffice to keep the obscene-tongued
Binmear nearer to the fireplace or whether the properties of Hag’s Taper would bind the movements of the demon. Both philters were
also in her bag.
Again, without a sound of assent, the boy was suddenly beside her holding out the large pouch with both hands.
Peggy emulated the laconism of her possible student and took the magical pouch that occasionally doubled as a bed.
Made from a thick canvas, this satchel had the unnerving habit of containing just the correct solution to any situation involving
delphic sorcery.
Licentiousness spirits, ill-tempered Boggarts or treacherous vampires, the heavily-stitched sack had never failed to deliver the
appropriate remedy to expel or subdue the beings that humans would one day come to doubt. With a muttered chant, Peggy
doubled-up on the expulsion of the demon and laid a single downy Hag’s Taper leaf on each of the stones.
Two minutes later, she stood back and examined the scene.
The noon-day sun cast a puddle of shadow beneath the two visitors to Pony Bridge and as the foul-mouthed Binmear the illiberal
seriously discredited the parentage of the woman in the pointy-hat, Peggy scanned the stripling beside her, all decked-out in his
ragged tunic and knee-holed breeches.
"Are yer' ready?" she asked softly to the quiet boy and with a resolute nod and the gift in his pocket, Ezra slowly turned towards
the foreboding building. The Witch pulled on the hem of her hat and mumbled a small prayer. Two small exorcists stepped towards
the door of what was once a quaint village cottage.
"So you're a kiddie-diddler, I see...?" sneered the rolling fog floating a few feet above the remains of a day-old meal on the well-worn
farmhouse table. "...The feel of young lithe limbs tickles your poise, yes?" the corrupted miasma asked with a sickly mirth.
Peggy noticed that the temperature had dropped the moment they had crossed the threshold and placed a comforting hand on the
trembling boy's shoulder beside her. It was a strong voice, laden with pernicious innuendo and dolor-drawing contempt.
The room was still in fairly good condition and Peggy's immediate concern was for where the fire hearth was situated. That worry
became allayed when she saw the flickering flames dwindling beneath a hanging cooking pot across from where they stood.
It was to be the fireplace where Binmear would be banished back to his kingdom of the pernicious.
The cloud of wrong twisted as it slowly moved away from the Witch and her ward to where a huge black stove squatted in the corner
of the kitchen.
There was ice on the crockery sitting near a sink beneath the window that would later donate its glass and with fleeting scan of the
room, Peggy spied that the unseen diabolus' presence had hardly effected the newly-married couple's abode.
This was always a good sign.
With a sudden aroma of sulphur that caused Ezra to gulp between his gasping breaths, the murky smoke mutated and took on a
humanoid form. Binmear stood before them and his appearance was startling.
Stuttering priests speak of horns, foul breath, an animal-like presence and contemptible dialectics, but the tall creature standing
on the homemade clippy-rug easily failed that description. Long black well-groomed hair hung down over broad shoulders and
framed a handsome -yet austere, set of features that to some, could trick the viewer into thinking that middle-aged wealthy
aristocrat had become lost on the flinty road to Stony Bridge and decided to sully himself on the village's sparse services.
But Peggy's only interest were the eyes, the eyes told her of the wickedness and depravity that dwelt within Binmear.
They were also the barometer of the demon's confidence and if all went went, would be the first betrayer of the fiend's emotions.
The cold dispassionate demon returned the examination and his piercing gaze twinkled in the gloom of the fire-lit room.
It was Ezra who studied the gold-braided red-velvet tunic that lay beneath an ankle-length coat of dark tweed and boucle,
the cut of the cloth was perfect and smacked of prosperity and accomplishment. With a gaze of awe, the young lad stared
at the scrolls of similar bandeau of the waistcoat decorating the hem of the outer-garment and the fine stitching glittered
with a light certainly not of this realm.
Unknown to Ezra, Peggy wagered it was captured Brownie work.
"You are Peggy Powler, the bastard daughter of the fake fortune-teller of Underhill..." Binmear stated softly.
"...I hear you're quite a celebrity in these parts" the well-dressed abomination added and smiled the smile of someone who'd
enjoyed the souls of the greedy and lured many a pure maiden to bed.
Slipping a hand into her satchel, Peggy ignored the commentary and touched the smooth cane hewed from a Wayfarer's tree.
The horse hair-wrapped branch was comforting as the demon continued his insulting dialogue and licking her lips, Peggy readied
herself for the fight.
"Is the child to be a sacrifice...?" the resident of Gehenna asked pompously, with a glint from the buckle on his shoe, Binemar stepped
away from the stove and pretended to be interested in a framed example of needlepoint residing on a shelf nearer the fireplace.
"...One can sympathise that in the presence of such elegant dynamism, a gift to attain my blessing can go a fair mile to gain favour"
he added and the whole tone of his mention dripped of undervalue.
The query -though said in a haughty tone, was ignored in general, but for a moment, Peggy sensed Binmear was unsure of what lay
ahead. Releasing her grip from the lad's shoulder, the small Witch tugged on the rim of her hat and didn't fail to notice the demon's
glance-that-was-more-than-a-glance.
A clue to the sorceress' attack...? A nervous gesture of someone unsure of their foe? The besuited phantom pondered the options.
If the child in question had then urinated onto the bare floorboards of the kitchen, Peggy could've understood it, but she felt that Ezra
was made of stronger stuff. And as if reading her thoughts, the boy stepped forward and pointed the apotropaic charm the Witch had
given him earlier.
The rune-covered amulet swung for a second from the lad's trembling fingers before it began to feel the magnetic force from the ghastly
oppugner in the fancy garb. Binmear's eyes widened slightly, but only for a moment.
"Get thee gone from this place, demon. You have no authority over me nor this home... get out" Ezra's voice was steady and the little
Witch in the dirty poncho felt a pride that she hadn't felt in a long time. The look of indignation from Mr. Fancy-pants certainly supported
that feeling.
"You insult this bout with moppets bearing trinkets of outdated hocus-pocus...? I am dissapointed, my dear Ms. Powler." the demon
sneered, but anyone in the cold room that had seen more than thirteen summers knew that the lampoon held no mettle.
The tugging medallion strained on the brass chain that held it from Binemear's aura.
Forged in the workshop of the great Magician Aldrich Witt, the solid-gold pendant of the ancient talisman was overlaid with scrawls
and carvings that spanned many forms of magic. The famous one-word incantation of Albon The Fair nested just below where the
ornate bail laboured to hold the strange brooch to the well-worn chain.
Scratches of a lost spell could be seen beside an imperceptible rendering of the Charlbeyon Eye, the former conjuration belonging
to the wily Witch Marion Mason and the latter, a carefully chiselled warning borrowed from the bible of the Farrier.
Pledges of exorcism adorned a tiny silver ring around the gemstone that was the main cause of the amulet's pulling-power,
the centre-piece that Binmear secretly feared.
In another time and place, it is said by those who deal and vend in sorcery that when the world was created, a Warlock took on the
Devil who wished to subvert the innocent humans who had emerge from a cavern of conception. The fight was fierce with necromancy
never seen on that scale again and when it was over, the unnamed Magus tossed the Beelzebub into the volcano at the end of the world.
As the screaming horror thrashed in the vomiting obsidian, chunks of the lava fell at the magician's feet and in the cooling clear globs of
magma, shards of the body the evil-one had taken on could be seen. These came to be known as The Bones of the Devil and later venerable
theurgists would place some of them in brooches, amulets for only the worthy of the sacred Majick.
One of those revered ju-ju mascots now tugged at a small boy's fingers and the tall being in the fancy duds knew of it's potency.
"A wise person would accustom this nursling to what he bears, 'tis viperous to my nature to have such a prime bauble displayed this way"
Binmear hissed and Peggy could see that the demon was inwardly struggling to stay in his position. Pulling the Wayfarer wand from her bag,
she began the chant of ejection.
Ezra stared blankly at the hearth's mantle-piece just over the shoulder of the hating-thing and silently wished that this was all over.
"Oh Hallowed Skulls of the Gate, I implore thee. Oh Winds of Garmer hear me now.
Banish this low monster and realign this reality, taketh the vile brute back to the shadows of misery..."
That was when the horrible moaning started.
One moment the supercilious abnormality was seemingly holding court in the small white-washed room that doubled as a kitchen
and dining area, the next Binmear the Parsimonious began to writhe and wail in agony. The texture of the sound cannot be written
and the nearest description to it is the loud utterance of a lamenting madman during a serious case of vomiting.
"...In the heavens of the Fisher-brethren, they lament this appearance and in the hearts of the chaste, such
things belong in nightmares of the guilty. Begone malevolent thing, begone and be forgotten...."
Ezra Cotton's hand shook as Binmear began to levitate. The moaning roared against his ears and the temperature dropped even lower.
Maybe the small boy could later convince himself that the trembling was due to that, but he knew the truth. As he steeled himself what
only could lay ahead, he felt a warmth in his underwear. But it was only a little.
Peggy stepped in front of her companion and pointed the two foot-long stick towards the floating hellion. Binmear -still in his own ordeal
of the opposite of a rapture, writhed in mid-air and ignored the hair-bound charm waved at him.
Clearing her throat, she continued her spell.
"...Where Arcadian Dogmen shun light and the avenues of Wunderbare bar the foul, no demon shall tarry and no agent of
the sinister shall tread the lanes of the virtuous. Strike this vindictive enemy of good and cast him back unto the darkness."
With a blinding light that Ezra was sure emanated from the brooch, a sudden wind flew into the house and without respect for the
recently-wed couple's few belongings, began to spin everything around the room. Soot belched from the fireplace and dowsed the
flames, the same black dust swirled about the twisting mid-air spirit.
Binmear's moaning had changed into a rush of unintelligible chattering that Ezra believed were counter-spells to the Witch's demands.
A Witch he also believed was winning.
"Gertcha 'yer bastard...." Peggy cried above the roaring of the maelstrom "...Get 'yer filthy cavalier fanny out of here!" she added
and with her free hand, held her poncho down from the howling cyclone. Being without underwear and having one's pudenda exposed
for all to see doesn't maintain a pluck in the minds of a budding apprentice like Ezra, she supposed.
The moments seem to last for minutes and the minutes turned into slow winter toads. Plates, framed portraits and other bric-a-brac
screamed about the trio in the farmhouse and twice, Ezra had to duck from a hurtling pot or pan that the gale had snatched from the
stove.
All the while, the cursing demon known as Binmear began to shrink.
With all the commotion going on, it wasn't noticeable at first, but the squirming figure hovering near the ash-regurgitating hearthstone
began to seem less daunting. Peggy was still reciting her spell, however the words were lost in the vociferous noise.
Nearing the oscillating horror, the small Witch delivered the coup de grace and the cause of them being hurled from the building.
Just one touch of the Wayfarer's staff and the world within the small home of the recently-married blew up.
Witnessing the two small figures flying through the flames around the door of their house, the groom exclaimed "Oh my stars!"
The bride's words were less polished. And when the chimney stack became temporarily one-with-the-birds, her opinion on the matter
escalated into expletives her husband would only enquire about eight years later into their confederation.
Be that as it may, any future pronouncements of their incredulity would have to wait as their house was now on fire.
................................
The afternoon sat beside the two dishevelled exorcists and like them, wondered what the evening would bring. Would Peggy Powler
and her tenderfoot be praised in a village-square gala or even treated to a lavish meal down beside the stream on linen-covered trestles?
Maybe at the least, supplies would be offered to help the little woman in the single item of clothing as she made her way towards the
next encounter with impiety.
Ruffling the hair of a one tired boy named Ezra Cotton, the equally-weary Witch of Underhill knew better.
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe.