Beyond the Wicked Willow: Chronicles of a Teenage Witchslayer

A RETURN TO HEALING WATERS

They had been walking for hours since parting ways with the Befana and were just nearing the farthest edge of the Hallowed Woodland. Ambroggio had been especially quiet for the better part of the trek. Something seemed to be weighing heavily on his mind. Ambroggio slowed his pace and studied their surroundings intently. After only a few moments, he came to a stop altogether and stared off to his left where the land began a gradual descent into a discreet hollow.

"What's the matter, Ambroggio?" asked Frankie, as he and the others stopped to wait for him.

"I must determine which direction to go from here. Take a rest. I'll be back shortly," said Ambroggio.

Frankie stared curiously at Ambroggio's back as he walked away into the hollow.

Once in the hollow, Ambroggio treaded solemnly, yet purposefully. He seemed to take in every aspect of the unique valley with a keen interest. The hollow was lush and dewy with distinctive flora. As a result of the environment's considerably damper conditions, the forest floor and many of the trees were covered in an emerald green moss and smattered with brilliantly hued mushrooms, toadstools, and lichens. Ambroggio stopped and closed his one good eye. He tilted his head slightly back and listened. After a moment, he discerned the gentle soothing babble of a percolating spring. He peered ahead through a thick stand of oak, pine, and beech trees. There, standing conspicuously against the ubiquitous green moss was a solitary blazing pink-flowered doughwood tree.

Ambroggio stepped off toward the tree with nervous anticipation. Once there, he saw the waters of a crystal clear spring, the very spring beside which the nymph Terina had buried the sweet Siren Ligeia and nursed back to health the young poet Homerus, so very many years ago. Ambroggio knelt before the small percolating pool, unslung his leather bota bag, and dipped it into the crisp crystalline waters. When he finished filling the vessel, he took a long refreshing sip, and slung it back over his shoulders. As he knelt there quietly, he gazed up solemnly at the beautiful blossoms hanging from the doughwood branches above his head. After a moment of quiet introspection, Ambroggio turned his attention to the ground beside the spring where a small mound protruded from the earth. He stared at it longingly, somberly.

"The Siren's sweet song, For this how I long, To my dearest Ligeia, Does my heart belong, Our souls entwined, Our fates arranged, For there are some things in life that simply cannot be changed," he recited.

A single tear rolled down Ambroggio's face, and he made his way closer to the small mound. He drew his dagger and carefully cut into the earth surrounding it. He then peeled back the moss and brushed away the dark damp soil beneath. Soon revealed was a beautiful black-figure hydria vase. Ambroggio gently dug the hydria from the ground and brushed it clean. Holding it by the handles on either side of its neck, he stared at the familiar scene depicted on the rounded body of the vase. It was a portrayal of the young poet Homerus and the beautiful Siren meeting at the water's edge of the Tyrrhenian Sea.

Ambroggio took his dagger and carved out the waxed cork from the mouth of the hydria. He gingerly turned the vase upside down and emptied its contents into his hand. What came to rest in his palm was the stunning butterfly brooch. Its striking azure blue wings were trimmed in velvety black. He set the vase down and, brimming with nostalgia, gazed silently upon the brooch. Seemingly unbeknownst to him, he was being spied upon from behind a massive oak. Watching alone, with great curiosity and concern, was Frankie. Crouched down, he studied Ambroggio keenly, just as Ambroggio keenly studied the butterfly brooch. As Frankie watched, Ambroggio cupped his free hand over the top of his other and said, "I have always loved you."

When he eased away his upper hand, resting in the palm of his other, pumping its wings ever so delicately, was a Ulysses butterfly. Its colors matched those of the brooch, but were even more stunning full of life. The butterfly seemed to look Ambroggio in the eye and acknowledge him. Ambroggio nodded, a loving smile on his lips, and the Ulysses took gentle flight to the nearest blossom of the pink-flowered doughwood, where it lighted and partook in the sweet nectar, its captivating colors a dazzling contrast against the soft pink of the doughwood cluster bloom.

Frankie quietly tried to sneak away.

"Not so fast," demanded Ambroggio as he turned to Frankie.

Frankie froze in his tracks.

"You know, it's not polite to spy on people. In fact, it can be downright dangerous," cautioned Ambroggio menacingly.

Frankie nodded nervously.

"Now, forget what you have seen here today, and let's get back to the others, shall we?" asked Ambroggio sternly.

Frankie gulped and nodded.

"Go on," said Ambroggio sharply.

Frankie quickly turned and when he did, Ambroggio smiled then stepped off to follow him. After a moment, he stopped, gazed over his shoulder, and took one last look at the Sacred Spring, the pink-flowered doughwood, and the gorgeous Ulysses butterfly fluttering from blossom to blossom.