Witchcraft

Usually, I stay in my little house deep in the woods, alone with my books and my cats and the herbs I gather in the forest. But every once in a while, I forget that I don’t like people very much, and that’s when the trouble begins.

It started out, this time, with a boy--he would have called himself a young man, but he was a boy--found half dead in the forest and brought to my home. This happens occasionally; the forest is a dangerous place for adventurers and poachers and other fools who don’t know what they’re doing. Usually it’s alright. I fix them up, let them stay until they’re better, or I can’t stand them anymore, and send them on their way to continue poaching or adventuring, or, if they have any sense, to go home.

Jakon was more sensible than most, and also worse off than most. As a result, he stayed in my cottage for a while. He never told me what he’d been doing in the forest, and I never asked. Our conversations consisted of me telling him to drink this or lie still while I set a bone or changed a bandage. The only somewhat social interaction I had with him was when he asked what I was reading and I showed him the cover of the book. What can I say, I’m not really a people-person. Jakon was okay, though. He didn’t yatter nonstop and he liked my cats. He recovered better than I would have expected, though he had a limp. He understood that it was something of a miracle, that he’d recovered as well as he had, and was duly grateful. So he went home, and my life continued as normal. For a few months, at least.

And then there was a knock at my door. I ignored it. The knocking continued, and I continued to ignore it. But a few hours later, I opened the door to go outside, and nearly tripped over Jakon, who was sitting on my doorstep.

“What are you doing here?” I demanded.

“Vayran, I need your help.” Even when he’d been at death’s door, he’d never sounded so desperate. I should have known better than to get involved.

But I have to admit, I was rather fond of the boy, so I didn’t tell him to go to hell. At first, I was just going to hear his story before sending him away. But somehow, that wasn’t how it worked out.

“It’s Celidh. My sister. She’s been accused of witchcraft.”

“Why did you come to me? What do you think I can do?”

Jakon looked away. “You’re the only one there is.”

“Is there a reason she’s accused of witchcraft?”

“No, they’re accusing everyone. Doesn’t make her any less likely to die, though.”

Great, I thought. Not only am I considering going into an area occupied by crowds of people, but it’s one in which there’s a witch scare. I knew I was a fool for even considering it. If anyone would be though to be a witch, it was me.

As you may have guessed, I went.

The town was far enough that had I stayed home, I wouldn’t have been sought out; the journey long enough to give me time to regret my decision. With every step I took I berated myself for my idiocy, but I didn’t turn back.

I’d thought to do a simple jailbreak, but when we arrived in the town, a small crowd was gathered around a fountain. At the fountain, two men appeared to be trying to drown a girl. By Jakon’s expression, I could tell it was his sister.

“Hey!” I yelled. People turned to stare at me. I had some vague idea in mind of either convincing the people what idiots they were--that never works, and I usually know it-- or creating a distraction. What happened was that, when everyone had turned to look at me, someone cried, “Witch!” and everyone took up the cry.

As I said, trying to convince people how stupid they are never works, but I was angry, so I wasn‘t being particularly sensible. “You’re fools,” I screamed. “If I was a witch, do you really think you’d be able to do anything against me? You’re farmers.”

“Get her!” someone screamed, and they rushed towards me. I like people even less than I normally do when they’ve formed into a mob, and even less than that when the mob is trying to grab me.

So I was too angry to think straight, and I called up as much force as I could muster and shoved it around. I’m not really a very murderous person, so nothing happened to the mob, but all the buildings in the town began to go up in flames.

The people stared at me. I don’t know why they were so surprised; they’d known I was a witch, hadn’t they?

I don’t know whether they would have came after me as they’d planned or backed away in horror, but they didn’t get the chance to do either. In the distraction, Jakon had managed to sneak up to the fountain and grab Ceilidh. The three of us ran. Not fast, Jakon couldn’t with his limp, and Kelia was still half-drowned, but we ran. I didn’t even stop to put out the flames. Let them have something more to deal with than torturing innocent people.

Jakon and Ceilidh stayed with me for a few weeks, long enough to be sure no one was coming after us, before leaving to find a new home. Ceilidh came back a few days later. Jakon had gotten a job as a printer--apparently that was what he did, though why a printer had gotten half-killed wandering in the woods I have no idea--and it payed enough for him to rent a small house, and Ceilidh could have stayed with him for a while…. But what she really wanted was to learn magic, and wouldn’t I please teach her?

I told her I’d think about it, and after doing so, against my better judgment, agreed. So I went back to my peaceful--if somewhat less solitary--life. Somewhat less peaceful, now that I think about it, what with Ceilidh accidentally blowing things up and such, but I did the same, when I was first learning, and at least no angry mobs are involved.

Execution

I’ve been here for a few months now, and I’m the happiest I’ve ever been. Here—I’m not sure what to call it. Someone called it a menagerie of mages, a Magiary, and the name seems to have stuck somewhat, but since it was meant as an insult, those of us who stay here are torn between rejecting the name and trying to reclaim it.

The Magiary is a large house with lots of towers, and is intimidating from the outside but a friendly, cozy place inside, for the most part. The house is not inside the city, but the main doorway is set into the city wall, which is only a few feet high there.

It’s a school, sort-of, and probably several other things as well. People come here to learn magic, and Malexandra and whatever other magic-users happen to be around teach it. There’s nothing official about the Magiary. It’s in Majardea, but everyone knows the king has no control over it. There aren’t many rules here--most of the normal things such as don’t kill or steal are assumed to be obvious. Besides for that, it pretty much amounts to everyone here being expected to not do anything cruel or utterly idiotic. The king’s laws don’t apply here, and so problems are dealt with by Malexandra—you can imagine how relieved I was very when I heard that, considering there’s a warrant out for my execution. But official laws are highly frowned on, and I don’t worry about anyone here turning me in. On the same note, we’re not allowed to go watch executions or other public punishments.

You wouldn’t think that last one would be a big deal. I’ve never had any urge to go watch someone being killed, and the fact that it could easily happen to me has made the idea even less enticing. And it’s not like my friends would want to, either. Devrin’s a bit squeamish, and while Quaos is the last person in the world I’d call squeamish, seeing people die isn’t entertainment for her either.

But we were walking around the city, just for the fun of it. It had been raining for a week, and now that it was bright and sunny we wanted to get out. At first we thought the crowds were just other people who felt the same. But they were all headed in the same direction, and a cheerful woman with a small child on her shoulders told us that we should hurry, because all the best places to see the execution from would be taken.

“Oh no, we won’t be able to get a good view of someone being killed! Whatever shall we do?” Devrin was being even more sarcastic than usual, which is saying a lot.

“We should go,” I said.

“Back home, you mean? This does rather ruin the beauty of the day.”

“No, to the execution.”

Quaos and Devrin both stared at me. “Because your idea of fun is watching people die?” Devrin asked.

“No, because it could have been me.”

“And it could still be you, Aniya, if anyone recognizes you,” Quaos said sharply. “I’ve had friends in line for execution before, I’d prefer not to repeat the experience.”

“I’m not just going to go home and pretending nothing’s going on,” I said stubbornly. “You can, if you want.”

They didn’t, of course.

Executions took place on a stage in a large, beautified square. The square was packed, and we stood far from the stage and right next to the path leading to it which the accused was marched down. The path was empty; everyone knew it was bad luck to stand on it, and most people tried to stay as far away from it as possible.

The path stretched all the way to the prison, and was relatively straight, so we could see the guards marching the prisoner towards us from a long way off, and they marched very slowly. As they drew closer, we saw a scowling woman in chains, held on each side by a uniformed guard.

That could be me. The thought repeated in my mind over and over. I could feel myself in her place, barefoot, wearing only a thin prison shift and thick chains, marching to my death. It could be me.

“We should stop it.” The words popped out of my mouth before I could think them through, but I had no desire to take them back.

“It’s not that easy,” Quaos objected.

“We could do it, though. Just, grab her when she comes by, and we know enough magic by now we could probably get away.”

“What if she’s a murderer?” protested Devrin.

“Well, then, that would make two of us,” Quaos reminded him.

“Same goes for treason,” I added. “So you’re in?” I asked Quaos.

“I’m always up for stopping executions!” Quaos said with a crazy grin. “At least I won’t have to kill a king this time. Hey, the worst that can happen is that we end up on the block next to her.”

“So it’s not like anything really bad could happen to us.” Sarcasm, of course, but Devrin had said ‘us.’

“So, our plan is really just to grab her and run?” Quaos asked rather incredulously.

“Um… we improvise after that,” I said. I was very nervous, even terrified, and maybe beginning to have second thoughts about the whole thing, but I had just to glance at the woman to see myself in her shoes, and my second thoughts disappeared.

And then, they were next to us. The guards had swords; I, stupidly, hadn’t thought about that. Still, they didn’t have them out, and were holding the woman’s chains. So I let myself kind of stumble into the guard closest to me, and when she was off her guard, so to speak, grabbed the chain from her hands. She hadn’t been expecting it, but she reacted quickly and grabbed it back, and we were playing tug-o-war. Devrin, I noticed out of the corner of my eye, had grabbed her sword from its sheath, though he wasn’t doing anything with it. I took a deep breath and used a bit of magic to heat the chain. It hurt the prisoner as well as the guard, but it only lasted long enough for me to jerk the chain from the guard. Quaos, I saw, had the other guard on his knees, holding his head in his hands.

We ran.

It wasn’t just the guards behind us; the crowd wanted their entertainment. The prisoner, still chained and now burned under the chains on her waist and left ankle, was not fast. This was the part we hadn’t planned for, and the dangerous part—if they got us now, we were all dead.

Devrin, who had been at the Magiary the longest and was the most studious, did something magical that seemed to slow down everyone else, as though they were moving through thick syrup. We got a bit of a head start, but he only managed to keep it up for a few seconds, and the use of so much energy tired him. We began to slow, and the crowd was upon us, the people at the front just reaching out to grab us—

And suddenly, I felt a large jolt and the four of us were in Malexandra’s tower. I felt rather nauseous.

“That was quite impressive,” Malexandra said. “I haven’t seen a rescue like that since I was- well, in a long time.

The woman who was to have been executed finally spoke. “Who are you? I don’t mean to be ungrateful, but who are you and what the hell is going on?”

We introduced ourselves. Somehow, our names didn’t seem to lessen her confusion.

“Okay, it’s nice to meet you and all, but where are we, how the hell did we get here, and why?”

“You’re in my tower. I was alerted to the unusual occurrence by a friend and brought you here in order to keep you from the bloodthirsty mob and bloodthirstier, if rather inept, guards. Now who are you, and why were you about to be executed?”

“Smuggling. I’m a smuggler. I was a smuggler, I guess, I don’t think I’ll be going back to it. My name is Wrayli.”

“Pleased to meet you. I’m worn out from transporting all four of you, but if you give me a few minutes I’ll do something about those chains, and your burns.”

“Sorry about that,” I said.

Wrayli shrugged. “Better than being dead.”

We all stood around awkwardly for a minute. Suddenly, Devrin laughed loudly. We all looked at him.

“Um, you know how we’re not supposed to go to executions? Well, we rescued the condemned prisoner, so we weren’t actually at an execution, since nobody was killed.”

“Well, I’m so glad you’re not in trouble,” Wrayli said, but she laughed.

Torches and Pitchforks

Rathinia worked in the stables. She liked the horses because they were not humans, and, as far as she knew, they didn’t think she was crazy. They probably did think she was cursed, but no more than any other of the poor beings who only get to walk on two legs. In the town Rathinia’d lived in before coming to Alder, she’d been a maid, but she hadn’t like that as much. She thought that when she was driven on to wherever she went next, she’d try to find work in the stables again.

Alder was the third town she’d lived in, and Rathinia knew it would be the third town she’d be driven out of. The first time, she hadn’t so much been driven out as kicked out by her parents, but it had been made quite clear by everyone else as well that they’d tolerated her for that long for her family’s sake, but she was no longer welcome there. She’d been fourteen. She’d walked for a week before coming to the second town. She’d stayed there for two years, and then she’d blown it by warning them of an approaching army of goblins. The townspeople had defeated the goblins. They had then blamed Rathinia, and would have defeated her as well if she hadn’t known they were putting up a stake to burn her at, and fled before they could get her.

She’d known that, eventually, the same thing would happen in Alder, but she’d allowed herself to hope. She lived there for three years, happily enough, making an effort to avoid everyone she could. And though she tried to be as inconspicuous as possible, she did act on her dreams a few times. When she’d been there for about a year, a band of raiders had made Alder their target. Rathinia told the people who ought to know, and after they’d driven the attackers away, they were grateful to her, and without excessive prying into how she’d known. A while later, she beat up a boy who’d beaten his dog, though she didn’t think anyone knew about that. And when a girl’s body was found, Rathinia suggested a certain man’s house be checked for blood. Again, people were grateful, if just a bit more curious. And Rathinia had dared to hope that maybe she’d finally found a place she could, if not belong, at least be somewhat accepted.

Then she saw the mayor hitting his wife. She didn’t know why she said anything—she saw that kind of thing every night, and far worse. But she’d met the woman, though only briefly, and liked her, and hearing her cries and seeing the terror on her daughter’s face as she watched, hiding under a table, Rathinia needed to do something.

So she’d told him that she knew—in public, no less. And by the next day, the rumor was that Rathinia had used her witchcraft—never mind that she had none—to put bruises on the mayor’s wife, to twist his daughter’s mind into telling lies, and hey, hadn’t she once set an army of raiders on the town? And been involved with a murder?

That night, Rathinia was asleep in her hayloft. First her dreams showed her a slaughterhouse—a nightly staple, then two goblins torturing something, somewhere way out in the wilderness. The dream suddenly shifted, showing her the people of Alder. Only they weren’t the people of Alder right now, individuals with their own lives and joys and problems. They were a mob, a single entity with no feeling but hatred and vengeance. Its’ arms held a sea of torches and pitchforks, a few knives and hammers, hundreds of rocks. She saw the first rock fly towards the stables-

And then she was awake, as she heard the thud of the rock hitting the wall.

The scene from her window was exactly what she’d seen in her dream, of course. The mob was coming closer, probably surrounding the building from all sides. The horses sensed the turmoil, but Rathinia had more important things to worry about than calming the down. She had to get away. She’d seen mobs tear people apart, felt the victims’ pain, and she couldn’t let it happen to her. But what could she do? She knew better than to reason with them; there was no them, only it, and mobs have no reason. Nor could she defend herself against it. So she would have to flee. But it was surrounding her, would be upon her at any moment….

She summoned up some courage—she didn’t think it was her own courage, but that of someone she’d seen, or been, in a dream—and forced herself to move. She swung down and ran to the fastest horse, Capala. He wasn’t hers, of course, but she was desperate. A saddle? There wasn’t time for that, so she swung up onto his back, praying she wouldn’t fall off, and urged him into a gallop.

They broke through the mob. Pitchforks jabbed at her, but none quickly enough to knock her down. Stones flew after them, but they only spurred Capala on. They flew through the night. Rathinia didn’t know how long she rode for. At some point, she realized it was long enough; that she was far from the mob and the town and her old life.

Rathinia dismounted, and let Capala go back towards Alder; she was no horse thief. She watched him trot off into the distance and pondered what to do next. She knew, vaguely, where she was—in the woods a little northwest of Alder, not on the road but somewhere within a few miles from it. If she kept walking, she would come to a roadside inn by morning, and another town in a few days. She couldn’t walk for much longer, though. She was dead tired, but she didn’t want to sleep and see whatever her dreams would show her.

It wasn’t up to her. The only sleep she’d allowed herself in the past two days was the hour or so she’d gotten before being woken by the mob, and she couldn’t go on without rest. She didn’t quite collapse, but stumbled over to a large tree and fell asleep under it.

She was in a dungeon, somewhere far off, watching someone being tortured. After a bit the dream shifted, and she was a kitten, and was drowning. She tried to struggle for air, but a hand was pushing her down. The dream shifted again, and she was being watched by an evil presence. Then the slaughterhouse, a rape, a man screaming that they should all be killed—it didn’t last long enough for her to figure out who he was talking about; goblins marching on a faraway town, and the mayor of Alder beating his wife.

It was a decent night’s sleep, comparatively. Rathinia continued on the next morning, not stopping at the inn—she’d rested, she didn’t need to sleep again. She didn’t sleep the next night—she preferred not to when she could help it, for obvious reasons, and arrived at the town the next day.

Hoping that the people of Alder were content to have her gone and felt no need to send on a warning about her, Rathinia went straight to the inn and asked if they needed any help in the stables. The town was larger than Alder, and like her previous home, growing, so more travelers were stopping by all the time, and they did need more help in the stables. As she headed to her new room—included as part of her wages—Rathinia placed a mental bet with herself on how long it would be before they ran her out of town.