Sound of Silence
Prologue
Mary Ella Walcott stood before the blank white canvas, staring at it for a moment. She knew that it was now or never. On this simple piece of papyrus and wood, Mary Ella would have to make it perfect. She took out her brush and thin, long wooden stick and sat on a stool pondering how she would start. She waved the piece of wood and instantly the surface stood whiter, brighter, and smoother.
"Rua." she whispered beneath her breath, and color shot out of the maple cylinder onto a pallet. She began to dab at the colors, mixing and matching... soon spreading an image across the canvas.
Hours passed, and soon the gentle rays of dawn turned into the glorious rays of sunset. Mary Ella put down her brush, and stood back. She was covered in paint and her eyes crinkled in delight.
"Fine," she breathed, looking at the portrait with an artist's love and pride. Mary Ella turned the dried painting over and on the back wrote the words, 'IN DUE TIME'. She stood back and took out her wand.
"MARY ELLA!?" a boy shouted from outside the small wooden cottage. "Mary Ella?! They's a coming to get you! MARY ELLA!?!"
Mary Ella looked out to see the blue-grey sky lighting up by a few dismal stars. She saw the crescent moon hanging low, Jupiter shining brightly beneath it, and an ethereal glow at the horizon.
The boy, Joseph Snickel, burst through the wooden door, scattering the hay beneath his feet. The cottage was pretty small. It had one room: a bed covered in a handmade quilt in a corner, a kitchenette, and a rocking chair, not to mention countless canvases.
"Mary Ella, they be a coming!" Joseph, who was an Irish lad with straw-like hair, shouted. He grabbed Mary Ella Walcott and rattled her by the shoulders. "You hear me, Mary Ella? You gots to go!"
Mary Ella simply grinned. "How many of 'em this time?"
"I say 'bout twenty men." Joseph reported as Mary Ella waltzed around, clearing off her pallet and organizing the canvases, which were mostly charcoal sketches and incomplete.
"Are they armed?" Mary Ella asked, heart beat racing and adrenaline rising.
"Fire, pokers, and hoes and ploughs and such." Joseph said, looking out the window through the lush gardens on the residence. He squinted to the horizon, looking as a group of men dotted their way toward the lone house.
"How long do I have?" Mary Ella questioned, as she hastily swept the hay to the sides of the house, revealing a sturdy mud floor. While Joseph calculated, she brought a bowl of water from the kitchenette and cleansed her face of paint and dirt.
"Fifteen minutes at a' most." Joseph said, straightening his off-white shirt.
"I see." Mary Ella looked on as she took off her paint-splattered smock. "You best be leaving then, Jo. I won't be seeing you around."
Joseph looked at Mary Ella Walcott, the lady whom acquired a certain kind of respect from his friends, the lady whom mysteriously bought the lonesome cottage and brought it gardens and care. He shook his head. "Mary Ella, no ways can 'em ruffers make you leave. You've taught us so much!"
"Joseph, you must leave. Go now. And whoever said I was gonna be leaving?!" Mary Ella shouted. Her face was worn with determination and appeared old before its time. "Now get!"
Joseph looked down, but ran out the back door to go and tell his comrades about the last of Miss Mary Ella Walcott.
Mary Ella took out the glossy piece of maple wood once more and under her breath, muttered, "Cuir Saoil." She pointed the piece of wood at the back of her latest, complete portrait. She then flicked her wrist and the portrait all together disappeared!
"And now for the townsmen." she said with a patient tone inlaid with amusement. Mary Ella pulled aside the meager, half moth-eaten curtains from the opening that was supposed to be a window. They were close now.
She stepped outside into the many flowers. "How be you today, friends?" She shouted to the townsmen that had just arrived at the picket fence of her lot surroundings.
"You! You have been summoned and convicted of witchery!" A portly man with brown hair shouted. The crowd chanted, as expected and predicted, "A WITCH! A WITCH!"
"What say you, are you guilty of witchcraft, of which you are suspected, or not?**" An elderly man shouted above the chattering.
"Why would I do such a thing? I am a human being, O'Flattery!" Mary Ella shouted back. "Do what you may, the year is only 1602, and I am not to corrupt you anymore."
The riotous crowd was now chanting 'A WITCH' over and over again. Mary Ella shook her head and watched as they threw the fire at the fence and gardens, one man throwing a lit torch so far that it landed before the door of her cottage.
"Aye, you be wishing you didn't do that some day!" she yelled, dodging the fiery stick and running inside. There were more shouts, and soon the cottage was set afire. Mary Ella was huddled inside, grabbing her quilt and heading for shelter.
The roof caved in, beam by beam. Mary Ella screamed, grabbing her rucksack and the last quilt. She headed under her small bed, pulling up on a small string. The string lifted the dirt off the ground and revealed a small metal ring. She picked up the ring in her hands and lifted with her might. A small trap door pulled up.
Gathering her things, Mary Ella Walcott threw them into the shadowed passageway, before jumping down herself. She shut the muddied door above her and looked around. She found herself in a barren corridor, made out of nothing but stone. Offering very little light, torches glowed ominously. Shaking her head, Mary Ella ran along the winding catacomb, her feet carrying her only so far.
Finally, the woman collapsed from the inhalation of smoke. But where she stopped, she did not know. But a door rattled and light came pouring in.
~*~
"Grandmother, please, tell me!" a girl shouted to a sickly looking lady who sat in a small bed near a window. Rasping came from the mouth of the old lady. "Grandmother! Tell me!"
"Once," rasped the old lady, "Once, long ago, there was a treacherous disease. It killed all."
"Yes, Grandmother?" The girl eagerly awaited more.
"Blast it!" the old lady cried, coughing once more. "Take this down. Record it with your wand."
"Yes, Grandmother," the girl said, taking out a foreign object and whispering a few muffled words. "Grandmother, you were saying?"
"I will tell you something very important, something to record word for word and pass down each generation. Something to be kept in a book in some museum." began the withered, decrepit lady. "Now, I will start with the general meeting. You see a person, and you may not notice them just yet, but they are there deep in the back of your mind...."
~*~
In Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, there was a book. A book that no pair of eyes had set there mark upon. A book so thin, it ought not to have more than three pages in it.
But in this book were the wisest words ever recorded in history. The words spoke only of a trail, or a pathway. This pathway had twists and turns and branched out in several different directions. This little trail was worn down and traveled by only a choice two, only those who dared and left their souls out for the taking. The trail was ancient, and followed through the toughest of times. The trail was only found when least expected; only found when the traveler was in desperate situations. The trail was a trail found by two. The pathway was one found in the least likely of places. The pathway was meant for two saviors of our day.
"You see a person, and you may not notice them just yet, but they are there deep in the back of your mind. It is called acquaintance. A subtle wave or nod of the head. One person is recognized, the other smiles.
"Attraction. Slowly the person worms their way into your soul. They have that little way of making you smile or that small habit that makes you laugh in amusement. The acquaintance is more than a friend now, at least in your mind. You notice how you always want to be with that person, you find yourself comparing others to that one person often. That person has ways only you wish to follow.
"Next comes lust. The want. The need. It is self-explanatory. You wish to have that person as your own. You want to merge your souls together, melt your heart. But that person may not take heed, or that person may have the same feelings also. You hold hands, smile at each other in a knowing way... and what not.... But soon you find yourself in a different pattern.
"Now you love. Now you see that love has clearly broken down the walls of your heart and has taken over. You are blinded by it, taken over by it. Love has taken its claws and dug into your heart without mercy, it has snaked its way into you and never wants to come out.
"But now it is time, my dear child, to see if you accept it. Do not run, for it will follow. Do not hide, for it lurks behind you too. Acknowledgment is the last greatest step in this pathway to enlightenment. But now, the test has come. To love or to deny; to be brave or to hide. And that, my friend, is the Pathway."
~*~
Albus Dumbledore looked into the fire questioningly. "And you are sure?" he asked, quite uncertain himself.
"Yes, Headmaster. It seems as if 'the school that once was' has taken over once more." a little head chattered, bobbing around every so often.
"I see." the headmaster said, lost in concentration. He blinked his eyes twice and shook his head. "I suggest waiting to be sure. I'm almost certain nothing should have happened for a few years, ten or twenty at the most.... I honestly cannot say anything at the moment."
"I understand, Professor. Thank you." the female head nodded in recognition. "I understand my father needs me... the old fool just won't die!"
With that, the two people chuckled in an unspoken understanding. "Well, I must get going. See you soon, hopefully."
"Yes, yes. Do stop by." Dumbledore smiled into the flickering flames. With a 'POP!' the head vanished, leaving only orange-red fury behind. Albus Dumbledore shook his head, clearing his thoughts. He consulted a strange gold name plate in front of him, his old finger glossing over the surface as he read the information carved into the gold. He stood up abruptly, heading out of his office in a hurry.
~*~*~
Disclaimer: JK Rowling.... Warner Bros.... not mine.... no infringement.... I'm not taking money or credit...... MLEH!
Author's Note: Weee! I'm back! LOL, well, here is another story that I promise will be good! Erm, well... I hope y'all will bless me with your reviews. This is the beginning, so it's kind of vague (but aren't all prologues?), and it's a little short...
Oh! Mary Walcott is a real person, except she was executed in 1692 in Massachusetts (I think, it could've been Boston) and I added Ella ('cause I originally had a different last name, but changed it when I saw the case convictions). I looked that up on some web site with preserved Salem Witch Trial documents and cases. And in Europe, the witch trials started as early as the 1400's, so I thought I'd try something after then. AND: The spells 'Rua' and 'Cuir Saoil' are Ancient Irish (Gaelic), in case you were wondering.
**, that was a quote directed from the Case of Elizabeth Hubbard.
Okay, thanks for reading!! ::gets on knees:: Now, *please* review!!!!!
Thanks,
Lily
Prologue
Mary Ella Walcott stood before the blank white canvas, staring at it for a moment. She knew that it was now or never. On this simple piece of papyrus and wood, Mary Ella would have to make it perfect. She took out her brush and thin, long wooden stick and sat on a stool pondering how she would start. She waved the piece of wood and instantly the surface stood whiter, brighter, and smoother.
"Rua." she whispered beneath her breath, and color shot out of the maple cylinder onto a pallet. She began to dab at the colors, mixing and matching... soon spreading an image across the canvas.
Hours passed, and soon the gentle rays of dawn turned into the glorious rays of sunset. Mary Ella put down her brush, and stood back. She was covered in paint and her eyes crinkled in delight.
"Fine," she breathed, looking at the portrait with an artist's love and pride. Mary Ella turned the dried painting over and on the back wrote the words, 'IN DUE TIME'. She stood back and took out her wand.
"MARY ELLA!?" a boy shouted from outside the small wooden cottage. "Mary Ella?! They's a coming to get you! MARY ELLA!?!"
Mary Ella looked out to see the blue-grey sky lighting up by a few dismal stars. She saw the crescent moon hanging low, Jupiter shining brightly beneath it, and an ethereal glow at the horizon.
The boy, Joseph Snickel, burst through the wooden door, scattering the hay beneath his feet. The cottage was pretty small. It had one room: a bed covered in a handmade quilt in a corner, a kitchenette, and a rocking chair, not to mention countless canvases.
"Mary Ella, they be a coming!" Joseph, who was an Irish lad with straw-like hair, shouted. He grabbed Mary Ella Walcott and rattled her by the shoulders. "You hear me, Mary Ella? You gots to go!"
Mary Ella simply grinned. "How many of 'em this time?"
"I say 'bout twenty men." Joseph reported as Mary Ella waltzed around, clearing off her pallet and organizing the canvases, which were mostly charcoal sketches and incomplete.
"Are they armed?" Mary Ella asked, heart beat racing and adrenaline rising.
"Fire, pokers, and hoes and ploughs and such." Joseph said, looking out the window through the lush gardens on the residence. He squinted to the horizon, looking as a group of men dotted their way toward the lone house.
"How long do I have?" Mary Ella questioned, as she hastily swept the hay to the sides of the house, revealing a sturdy mud floor. While Joseph calculated, she brought a bowl of water from the kitchenette and cleansed her face of paint and dirt.
"Fifteen minutes at a' most." Joseph said, straightening his off-white shirt.
"I see." Mary Ella looked on as she took off her paint-splattered smock. "You best be leaving then, Jo. I won't be seeing you around."
Joseph looked at Mary Ella Walcott, the lady whom acquired a certain kind of respect from his friends, the lady whom mysteriously bought the lonesome cottage and brought it gardens and care. He shook his head. "Mary Ella, no ways can 'em ruffers make you leave. You've taught us so much!"
"Joseph, you must leave. Go now. And whoever said I was gonna be leaving?!" Mary Ella shouted. Her face was worn with determination and appeared old before its time. "Now get!"
Joseph looked down, but ran out the back door to go and tell his comrades about the last of Miss Mary Ella Walcott.
Mary Ella took out the glossy piece of maple wood once more and under her breath, muttered, "Cuir Saoil." She pointed the piece of wood at the back of her latest, complete portrait. She then flicked her wrist and the portrait all together disappeared!
"And now for the townsmen." she said with a patient tone inlaid with amusement. Mary Ella pulled aside the meager, half moth-eaten curtains from the opening that was supposed to be a window. They were close now.
She stepped outside into the many flowers. "How be you today, friends?" She shouted to the townsmen that had just arrived at the picket fence of her lot surroundings.
"You! You have been summoned and convicted of witchery!" A portly man with brown hair shouted. The crowd chanted, as expected and predicted, "A WITCH! A WITCH!"
"What say you, are you guilty of witchcraft, of which you are suspected, or not?**" An elderly man shouted above the chattering.
"Why would I do such a thing? I am a human being, O'Flattery!" Mary Ella shouted back. "Do what you may, the year is only 1602, and I am not to corrupt you anymore."
The riotous crowd was now chanting 'A WITCH' over and over again. Mary Ella shook her head and watched as they threw the fire at the fence and gardens, one man throwing a lit torch so far that it landed before the door of her cottage.
"Aye, you be wishing you didn't do that some day!" she yelled, dodging the fiery stick and running inside. There were more shouts, and soon the cottage was set afire. Mary Ella was huddled inside, grabbing her quilt and heading for shelter.
The roof caved in, beam by beam. Mary Ella screamed, grabbing her rucksack and the last quilt. She headed under her small bed, pulling up on a small string. The string lifted the dirt off the ground and revealed a small metal ring. She picked up the ring in her hands and lifted with her might. A small trap door pulled up.
Gathering her things, Mary Ella Walcott threw them into the shadowed passageway, before jumping down herself. She shut the muddied door above her and looked around. She found herself in a barren corridor, made out of nothing but stone. Offering very little light, torches glowed ominously. Shaking her head, Mary Ella ran along the winding catacomb, her feet carrying her only so far.
Finally, the woman collapsed from the inhalation of smoke. But where she stopped, she did not know. But a door rattled and light came pouring in.
~*~
"Grandmother, please, tell me!" a girl shouted to a sickly looking lady who sat in a small bed near a window. Rasping came from the mouth of the old lady. "Grandmother! Tell me!"
"Once," rasped the old lady, "Once, long ago, there was a treacherous disease. It killed all."
"Yes, Grandmother?" The girl eagerly awaited more.
"Blast it!" the old lady cried, coughing once more. "Take this down. Record it with your wand."
"Yes, Grandmother," the girl said, taking out a foreign object and whispering a few muffled words. "Grandmother, you were saying?"
"I will tell you something very important, something to record word for word and pass down each generation. Something to be kept in a book in some museum." began the withered, decrepit lady. "Now, I will start with the general meeting. You see a person, and you may not notice them just yet, but they are there deep in the back of your mind...."
~*~
In Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, there was a book. A book that no pair of eyes had set there mark upon. A book so thin, it ought not to have more than three pages in it.
But in this book were the wisest words ever recorded in history. The words spoke only of a trail, or a pathway. This pathway had twists and turns and branched out in several different directions. This little trail was worn down and traveled by only a choice two, only those who dared and left their souls out for the taking. The trail was ancient, and followed through the toughest of times. The trail was only found when least expected; only found when the traveler was in desperate situations. The trail was a trail found by two. The pathway was one found in the least likely of places. The pathway was meant for two saviors of our day.
"You see a person, and you may not notice them just yet, but they are there deep in the back of your mind. It is called acquaintance. A subtle wave or nod of the head. One person is recognized, the other smiles.
"Attraction. Slowly the person worms their way into your soul. They have that little way of making you smile or that small habit that makes you laugh in amusement. The acquaintance is more than a friend now, at least in your mind. You notice how you always want to be with that person, you find yourself comparing others to that one person often. That person has ways only you wish to follow.
"Next comes lust. The want. The need. It is self-explanatory. You wish to have that person as your own. You want to merge your souls together, melt your heart. But that person may not take heed, or that person may have the same feelings also. You hold hands, smile at each other in a knowing way... and what not.... But soon you find yourself in a different pattern.
"Now you love. Now you see that love has clearly broken down the walls of your heart and has taken over. You are blinded by it, taken over by it. Love has taken its claws and dug into your heart without mercy, it has snaked its way into you and never wants to come out.
"But now it is time, my dear child, to see if you accept it. Do not run, for it will follow. Do not hide, for it lurks behind you too. Acknowledgment is the last greatest step in this pathway to enlightenment. But now, the test has come. To love or to deny; to be brave or to hide. And that, my friend, is the Pathway."
~*~
Albus Dumbledore looked into the fire questioningly. "And you are sure?" he asked, quite uncertain himself.
"Yes, Headmaster. It seems as if 'the school that once was' has taken over once more." a little head chattered, bobbing around every so often.
"I see." the headmaster said, lost in concentration. He blinked his eyes twice and shook his head. "I suggest waiting to be sure. I'm almost certain nothing should have happened for a few years, ten or twenty at the most.... I honestly cannot say anything at the moment."
"I understand, Professor. Thank you." the female head nodded in recognition. "I understand my father needs me... the old fool just won't die!"
With that, the two people chuckled in an unspoken understanding. "Well, I must get going. See you soon, hopefully."
"Yes, yes. Do stop by." Dumbledore smiled into the flickering flames. With a 'POP!' the head vanished, leaving only orange-red fury behind. Albus Dumbledore shook his head, clearing his thoughts. He consulted a strange gold name plate in front of him, his old finger glossing over the surface as he read the information carved into the gold. He stood up abruptly, heading out of his office in a hurry.
~*~*~
Disclaimer: JK Rowling.... Warner Bros.... not mine.... no infringement.... I'm not taking money or credit...... MLEH!
Author's Note: Weee! I'm back! LOL, well, here is another story that I promise will be good! Erm, well... I hope y'all will bless me with your reviews. This is the beginning, so it's kind of vague (but aren't all prologues?), and it's a little short...
Oh! Mary Walcott is a real person, except she was executed in 1692 in Massachusetts (I think, it could've been Boston) and I added Ella ('cause I originally had a different last name, but changed it when I saw the case convictions). I looked that up on some web site with preserved Salem Witch Trial documents and cases. And in Europe, the witch trials started as early as the 1400's, so I thought I'd try something after then. AND: The spells 'Rua' and 'Cuir Saoil' are Ancient Irish (Gaelic), in case you were wondering.
**, that was a quote directed from the Case of Elizabeth Hubbard.
Okay, thanks for reading!! ::gets on knees:: Now, *please* review!!!!!
Thanks,
Lily