Briardark, page 13
Thayer glared at the woman. ‘You bewitched my son,’ he stated. ‘I found the letters you wrote to him! Why do you think I was so quick to dispossess Rukh? I thought he’d leave Felstein and take you with him. Then Alastair would no longer be distracted by your adultery and build a decent life for himself!’
For Thayer to publicly admit the affair, Samuel knew that it, at least, was true. Thayer would never have besmirched the reputation of his dead son in such a way. The shame he saw in Anya’s expression verified his instinct.
‘These “accidents” that have been happening with such regularity in your household, Samuel, do you not find their frequency unusual?’ Thayer persisted.
‘Sigmar’s grace,’ Samuel hissed. ‘You’re not going to use that to support this madness? The first to die was Anya’s own child!’
‘The Dark Gods demand a price for the powers they bestow on their disciples,’ Roderick said.
‘Barnabus to gain the power she needed.’ Thayer raised his voice, ensuring the mob could hear him. ‘My son to gain revenge.’
‘And Emelda?’ Samuel demanded. ‘My wife, the woman who isn’t even decently in her grave yet! Why would she want her dead?’
‘Don’t you know?’ Thayer lowered his voice. His eyes were like daggers when he glanced at Anya. ‘Rukh has left town. She killed my son. She wanted another man.’
A bestial snarl shook through Samuel. He started to lunge at Thayer, but Gunther and Roderick intercepted him and pinned his arms behind his back. The townmaster gave a regretful shake of his head. ‘I don’t blame you, Samuel,’ he said. ‘She’s bewitched you just the way she did Alastair. You’re not responsible.’
Thayer waved the mob forwards. Pater Kosminski retreated before them. Anya screamed as the townsfolk seized her. They pushed Amelia away from her mother and handed off the baby to Anya’s aunt, who looked none too pleased to take the child into her arms. Only Cicely protested. She tried to get in the mob’s way, shouting all the while. ‘She’s not a witch! She didn’t do anything!’ Someone in the crowd wearied of her interference and knocked her to the ground.
Seeing his daughter mistreated spurred Samuel to break away from his captors, but the men held him fast. ‘Is this what you call justice? Is this what Felstein has become? A flock of frightened sheep ready to pounce on a neighbour when there’s the least excuse?’
‘We’re only doing what needs to be done for the safety of the community,’ Thayer declared. ‘But you’re wrong. I know she’s a witch, but Anya will be given the chance to defend herself.’ He turned and looked across the crowd. ‘We’ll send to Darkhaven Hill for a witch hunter to examine her. If we’ve made a mistake, they will know.’ Thayer glared at Anya as the mob dragged her through the cemetery. ‘If she’s a witch – she hangs,’ he snarled.
‘None of this will bring back your son!’ Samuel shouted at Thayer as the townmaster followed the mob out of the graveyard. Roderick and Gunther let go of him once they judged it safe to do so, and Samuel rounded on them. ‘Who will you call a witch when Alastair becomes a malignant and starts killing people?’ he yelled. ‘What excuses will Thayer give you then that you’ll cling to in your fear?’ Neither man had an answer for him. They hurried to join the rest of the mob.
Samuel turned and ran to Cicely. He lifted her from the ground. She felt abnormally light in his arms and her skin was cold to the touch. He dreaded to think what hurt the mob’s rough treatment had done to her in her weakened condition.
‘Father,’ Cicely said, her hand tightening around his metal arm. ‘Anya’s not a witch. She’s not! You can’t let them do this to her.’
Samuel glanced over at the other mourners. They looked far less convinced than Cicely did. Most of them seemed like they couldn’t leave the graveyard fast enough. To her credit, the aunt who’d been given the baby took Amelia in hand when she departed. At least Anya’s children would be together.
‘Father, you have to stop them!’ Cicely cried.
The hunter held her close. ‘I can’t,’ he said. ‘Thayer’s convinced them.’ The helplessness in his voice swelled into impotent rage. ‘He’s going to get Anya hanged just so he can bury his son, and there’s nothing anybody can do to stop it.’
The townsfolk locked Anya in Balthas’ barn. The slack-witted farmer had been given a small stipend to act as guard. It was a role that lent him an air of self-importance. He was oblivious to the reality that no one else wanted the job.
Balthas gave a start when Cicely walked towards the barn. He lowered his pitchfork as though it were a halberd and stared suspiciously at her. ‘Who goes there?’ he demanded.
Cicely rolled her eyes and sighed. ‘Balthas, you know me. You’ve known me since I was born. I walk past your house every time I have to get more cloth from the weaver.’ She sighed again when he made no reaction. ‘Cicely Helmgaart.’
‘Oh, Samuel’s girl,’ Balthas muttered, belatedly making sense of what she was telling him. ‘You shouldn’t be here. They’re using my barn to keep the witch until the witch hunter gets here.’
Cicely stared at him in amazement. Did he really think there was anybody in Felstein who didn’t know Anya had been arrested and the reason why? Never mind that Cicely had been there when the mob – of which Balthas had been a part – came to seize Anya. She decided not to remind the farmer of any of these facts.
‘I wanted to see my cousin,’ Cicely said.
‘I wouldn’t do that,’ Balthas replied. ‘She’s a witch. Killed your mother and Thayer’s boy with her hexes.’ His eyes narrowed and his expression became suspicious again. ‘Does Samuel know that you’re here?’
‘The witch hunter hasn’t yet arrived to judge Anya.’ Cicely let some of the fury she felt creep into her voice. Merely because Thayer had accused her, almost the entire town had turned on her cousin. Even many family members. It was a painful thing to see and even worse for her. Because she knew for certain that Anya was innocent.
‘When he gets here, he’ll tell us she is,’ Balthas stated. ‘Then we’ll hang her just like they did Natalia Kolb way back when.’
‘They haven’t even decided who to send to Darkhaven Hill,’ Cicely persisted. She calmed herself when she saw that her anger was only making Balthas more resistant. ‘Please, think of how alone she is. Think of what she’s suffering. If it’s proved she isn’t a witch, all of this cruelty will be unjustified.’
Balthas dug in his heels. ‘I don’t make the rules. I just do what I was told.’ He waved his hand as if to dismiss Cicely.
‘And what were you told?’ Cicely asked.
‘I don’t let anyone in the barn,’ Balthas said, throwing back his head and puffing out his chest. ‘Nobody goes in or out.’
Cicely pointed to the barn. ‘I’ll only be a few minutes,’ she said. Balthas shook his head, his expression firm. ‘Just let me talk to her.’ She gestured to the window at the side of the building. ‘I won’t go in. I’ll just talk to her from the window.’
Balthas scratched his chin and mulled over her proposal. For a moment Cicely thought he was going to deny her request, but at last he gave her a nod. ‘Keep it short,’ he said. ‘And remember that I’ll be watching you.’
Cicely returned the farmer’s nod and hurried over to the side of the barn before he could change his mind. She pulled back the wooden shutter and peered inside.
Her eyes needed no time to adjust to the darkness within. Cicely’s affliction was asserting itself again, altering her perception. What she saw, however, was more terrible than her own plight, and it hit her with the impact of a physical blow. Anya was lashed to one of the barn’s supports, the ropes tied so tightly that she could see them biting into her cousin’s flesh. Her clothes were torn and her skin was bruised. A crust of blood covered one side of her face, further evidence of her harsh treatment by the mob. Her head hung down, her chin resting on her chest, but her eyes were open. Cicely had never seen such a terrible look of defeat before.
She took a moment to compose herself and tamp down the monstrous guilt she felt. The crimes Anya was accused of were her own, but it would accomplish nothing if she let her cousin even suspect the fact. Thayer wouldn’t permit himself to admit to a mistake. All that might happen would be for Cicely to be arrested too. And then how would she stave off the malady that threatened to overwhelm her?
‘Anya?’ she called out. She saw her cousin stir slightly, so she called to her again. This time Anya raised her head and looked towards the window. The look of relief that crossed her features was both heart-wrenching and pathetic.
‘Cicely!’ Anya gasped. ‘What have they done with my children?’ Even in her grim circumstances, her first thought was for the children who’d been taken from her.
‘They are well,’ Cicely replied. ‘Aunt Viktoria is looking after them.’ She didn’t want to add the great reluctance with which Viktoria had taken them on or her efforts to locate Rukh and send the children to him. Cicely could see how vital it was for Anya to believe they were both safe and well looked after.
Assured of her children, Anya’s thoughts turned to the crimes she was accused of. ‘Please tell me you don’t believe these things they’re saying about me,’ she implored. Her entire body shuddered with revulsion at the murders attributed to her.
Cicely tried to muster what she hoped was a reassuring smile. ‘I know you couldn’t have done these things. Even if you could work magic, you’d never do something to hurt Barnabus or my mother.’
The words did offer the prisoner some succour. Anya relaxed in her ropes, reducing the strain on her body. She stared down at the floor. ‘It doesn’t make sense. How can they accuse me of witchcraft?’
Cicely’s temper flared up at the despondent words. ‘It’s all Thayer Greimhalt’s fault,’ she spat. ‘He’s desperate to convince people Alastair didn’t kill himself.’
‘Alastair,’ Anya whispered. There was an awful wistfulness in her tone that disturbed Cicely. ‘I really did think he loved me, but he didn’t do anything when his father kicked us out of our home.’ Quickly she turned and looked to the window. ‘But I didn’t kill him. I swear to Sigmar, I didn’t kill him!’
‘I know you didn’t,’ Cicely replied. ‘The only people who believe that are those Thayer has bribed or bullied.’ She felt a cold rage rising inside her. ‘It’s all Thayer’s doing, your being here. He’s the one making Felstein embrace this farce.’
Anya sagged back down in her ropes. ‘He’s the townmaster. We’re just common folk. What can we do?’
Cicely was glad Anya wasn’t looking her way at that moment. Because she’d just decided what could be done and was worried that her new determination might be betrayed by her face. ‘Justice has a way of attending to itself,’ she said. ‘Keep hope.’
Cicely left the window when she heard Balthas walking towards the barn. The farmer had his old clay pipe nestled in the corner of his mouth, greasy smoke rising from its bowl. He made a sweeping gesture with his pitchfork. ‘All right, you’ve gawked at the witch long enough,’ he grumbled. ‘Go home now.’
Balthas didn’t need to repeat the command. Cicely was eager to get home. There was something she had to do there.
The needle darted in and out of the tapestry as Cicely worked a new likeness into the cloth. She fixed in her mind the face of the man she would destroy. No distractions this time. No mistakes. She concentrated upon the tapestry with the utmost intensity, letting it become the focus of her entire being.
Dimly, she was aware of her father moving through the now empty house. Samuel was devastated by her mother’s death. She regretted that she couldn’t offer him her support right now, but the work she was intent upon was too important to brook any delay. Once someone was sent to Darkhaven Hill to bring back a witch hunter, it would be too late. If she could’ve confided in her father, she knew he would understand. Doing so, however, was impossible. It would mean admitting she’d accidentally killed Emelda.
Guilt over her mother’s death spurred Cicely on. The figure she was adding to the tapestry now was the one that should have been there instead of Emelda. Thayer had escaped the needle’s magic before because of her inattentiveness and lack of caution. There would be no such mistakes to save the townmaster this time. This time he would die, and his death would save not only Cicely but Anya as well.
Hate drove the needle again and again into the cloth. Cicely was adding fires around the townmaster’s shape. The memory of her mother’s face burned in the hearth’s embers had made her decide a fiery death was the only fitting fate for Thayer. It was the finish that awaited Anya after she was hanged, her body cremated and the ashes scattered. Thayer would suffer the same end, only without a noose to ease his suffering. Oh yes, she’d make the swine pay!
The stitches that formed each finger of flame were exacted with loving detail. Cicely thrilled to the play of orange and red, the shift to bright yellow and black smoke. She could almost imagine she heard the crackle of the fire as she worked. Thayer’s screams as he was consumed. When he learned that not all his wealth or power could save him.
As she applied the finishing touches, Cicely smiled down at her work. She stared at the picture of Thayer surrounded by flames, his mouth open in a cry of abject horror. He would die in agony, exactly as she’d depicted. The onyx needle’s awful magic would make it so.
Panic seized Cicely when, before her eyes, the tapestry began to change. The threads, like living things, undid themselves and reconstituted themselves in new patterns. The leaping flames remained as they were, but the figure they devoured was transforming. Cold horror pulsated through Cicely when she saw Thayer’s image undone and in his place that of her cousin Anya.
By what monstrous trickery this thing had come to pass, Cicely didn’t know. She only knew that it had happened. Even now she felt her body being invigorated. She thought of Anya and the cruel flames she’d woven around her cousin’s picture.
Cicely was rushing to the door of her room when it was thrown open and her father appeared. His face was gripped by horror. She could see Balthas standing in the hallway behind him. The farmer’s clothes were singed and his skin was black with soot. Faintly, she could hear the sound of the bell in Felstein’s town hall ringing an alarm.
‘There’s a fire!’ Samuel shouted, grabbing Cicely’s arm and rushing her through the house. As they ran into the street, Balthas jogged after them.
‘I didn’t mean to do it!’ Balthas groaned. ‘I only closed my eyes for a minute. I was so tired. My pipe must have fallen and caught some of the straw…’
As they ran through the streets towards the barn, they could see people hurrying to the building with buckets of water. Cicely knew they’d do no good even before she saw the size of the conflagration. The entire barn was wrapped in flames, a thick pillar of smoke billowing into the night. From somewhere inside, she could hear Anya’s shrieks as the fire devoured her.
Cicely clamped her hands to her ears, trying to block out the screams. In her mind all she could see was the tortured image of her cousin on the tapestry. The image that had transformed from her intended victim into that of the person she’d tried to save.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Samuel inspected the pack, studying each item he’d added to it. He wasn’t entirely happy with the state of the oakbread – it felt stale already – but his other supplies looked to be in good order. A heavy bedroll and blanket that would fend off the Shyishian chill-fog. A good supply of water in three goatskins. An ember box to ensure he could light a fire when he needed to.
That last bit of equipment brought him to bitter contemplation. The fire at Balthas’ barn had consumed it utterly. There wasn’t anything left of Anya to find afterwards. Already there were some whispering that the witch had caused the fire with one of her spells so she could escape. Oddly, Thayer hadn’t joined in those speculations. Perhaps the townmaster was experiencing some belated remorse.
What did he know of black magic, witches or curses? Samuel was a hunter. Give him an adversary he could track through a forest, a beast he could face with spear and axe. Not this. Not this nebulous menace that was at once everywhere and nowhere. The ordeal facing the town was beyond his abilities to understand, much less fight.
‘Why do you have to go?’ Cicely asked as he finished checking his packs. It felt to Samuel like the hundredth time she’d put that question to him.
‘Whatever’s going on, someone has to stop it,’ he told her. ‘What’s been happening… all of these deaths… they can’t be coincidence. Something is going on. Something unnatural.’
‘But why do you have to go?’ Cicely insisted. The fear in her eyes was painful to Samuel. He knew his daughter was still weak from all they’d been through. Some days she looked as healthy and vibrant as she ever had, but there were other times when she seemed perilously frail and sickly. With the deaths of Marden and her mother, the two of them were all that was left. The only ones to support each other. He felt his daughter’s worry, her fears of abandonment. Of being left all alone.
‘Your uncle Aaric is a learned man,’ Samuel explained. ‘He’s studied much on the subjects of magic and the occult, things I know little about. If there’s some supernatural agency preying upon Felstein, he’ll know how to find out what it is.’ The hunter retrieved his spear from where it was leaning against the wall. His hand tightened around its haft. ‘He’ll know how to track it down and put an end to it.’
‘You really think he can help?’ Dread filled Cicely’s voice. With the tragedies they’d suffered, Samuel could understand why she was reluctant to entertain any kind of hope. There was little that was crueller than a hope denied.
