Chapter 1
Fate
I shuffled uncomfortably in my seat. The cold passed through the air, settling on everyone sitting on the benches that had just yesterday been used as pews. I had been sitting for such a period of time that I felt as though I had at last frozen to my seat. The hour had become very late, and any person who had first endeavored to stay had long-since departed.
Staring forwards, I took note of the individuals standing at the head of the small building. Three separate figures, each standing at a different level than one another, gazed downwards towards a fourth body, who stared fearlessly and calmly back.
The first of these figures, seated at the center towards the back of the room, was that of a man, whose intense glare and intimidating visage would have inspired a sense of foreboding into most people. What ever traces of hair that remained on him clung vainly towards the sides, as though patches of gray clouds that augured a coming rain had moved towards the side of his physiognomy. His thick, brown eyes begat both a feeling of age'd wisdom and that of an instinctive, primal ire.
In front of this man was a large, rectangular block of oak. In the past few hours, the small podium had seen a sharp change in its vocation. In this short course of time, it had turned from a pedestal of sermon and virtue to a platform of judgment and infamy.
Standing to the south-west of this hard-visaged magistrate, was a considerably younger man who was partaking vaingloriously of the bench meant only for the use of the now-absent sexton. He wore the clothing of a couturier, and he no doubt ranged, in terms of age, in his later thirties. He wore on his face a strange combination of a scowl and a pleased smile, as though he could not hide his utter displeasure at the small figure which was under such scrutiny beneath himself, but was contented at the result that he felt was inevitable.
The third figure, sitting across the room from the second, was that of a still younger man ,well-built and wearing a thick coat hand-stitched from a combination of leather and burlap. He breathed slowly and heavily, regarding the figure on the floor with a pure fear that had previously been unbeknownst to himself. He stood nervously, as though was preparing himself to speak about something utterly terrifying.
The final figure was that of a girl who, at the age of sixteen, was not a day older or younger than myself. She wore a flowing, gray dress that reached down to the floor, swirling gracefully wherever she walked. Her long, black, hair reached down to her shoulders, and, although I could not see them, the look in her sloe-black eyes illustrated a true courage that I, as her brother, could only hope to achieve.
Her own countenance stood in contrast to those of her accusers. Her expression was one of valor, and her body spoke the language that her voice had been forbidden from speaking: Conviction. She stood valiantly against her assailants, thrusting the rapier of her sincerity against the claymores of her opponent's accusations. Try as she might, however, they had come at such a pace that she could hardly parry every strike at her, and is was these strikes that had come through that were the most damming. "M. Larue." Said the hard-visaged man, with an air of professionalism, towards the craven man wearing burlap, "Would you please give your testimony as to what you saw on the night in question?"
"Shertainly, Monshieur." Said the apparently destitute man, making no attempt to render his Shi'timi accent recognizable in the French language. He spoke worriedly, as though he expected the young girl standing so near to his platform to incite some horrid hex unto him.
For all he knew, that was exactly what she was going to do.
"On the night in zhat you are ashking 'bout, I wush walkin' nea'd water when I herd a weird noishe, wisch shounded a lot lik' mumblin'. I wen'ta inveshtigate, and I shaw Mne. Authier rablin' on 'bout Monshiuer DeRoush end hish horshe." Said he. "I thought notshing of it 'til the nexht day when I heard that M. DeRoush'shes horshe had died! Sho de nexsht mornin'-"
"That's enough, M. Larue." Said the magistrate, obviously unable to bear the young man's slurred and drunken speech. "Mlle. Authier, do you have anything to say in defense of yourself according to the witness's testimony?"
There was a pause. An impossibly long pause that I was certain meant defeat. For that moment, I was completely and utterly terrified. In almost an instant, the scene before me had changed. It was no longer a battleground, the picture of a lone soldier standing against countless enemies. It had changed into a picture of that same lone figure, standing hopelessly and dejectedly upon a scaffold of ignominy, searching out into a crowd of intolerant faces for one of amiability, knowing not that one existed just behind her, while the hangman's noose coiled serpent-like about her neck.
"N-No, your honor." She said, finally, bowing her head in defeat.
With those three words, my world shattered.
"I thought not." Said the vile judge. "If no one has any objections, then I am prepared to announce a verdict. Jeanette Authier, on the fourteenth of January, in the year of our lord one thousand and twenty-five, that court has declared that, on the thirteenth of January you did fall a beast of M. Courin DeRoux, with the use of arcane powers granted to you through a pact with Satan himself." He lifted his gavel, which had begun to look very much like a long sword made of steel, and prepared to crash it down unto the podium, and hence my sister. "In terms of these, the court finds you-"
"Arretez!" I shouted, leaping over the procurator fiscal, stepping out in front of Jeanette, raising my hand as if I were holding a shield to protect her from the coming blow. The small gathering at the front of the court had fallen into a tumult, all three persons attending to the affairs of the court had all at once uttered a gasp of surprise.
Then, just as easily as it had started, the clamor had ceased. A silence persisted for almost an eternity, only to be broken by a small, almost silent sniffle coming from behind me.
"M. Authier, what is the meaning of this?" Said the magistrate, unable to hide his contempt. "The case has but been closed. There is nothing left for you to do, as Mlle. Authier has been proven, beyond a reasonable doubt, guilty."
"No. She hasn't." I said, proud of my own voice for not faltering. I knew that what I had done was foolish, but I also knew that my sister was not guilty of anything that they were accusing her of. If I had thought it out, I would have known that there very little I could accomplish by interrupting the proceedings, but I had, at that time, felt such an emotion within my breast that my normally logical mind had been skewered by a need to protect Jeanette.
What I did next, however, was infinitely more foolish.
"I, Courtland Authier, by no person being forced to absolve my sins, confess to the murder of a beast of Courin DeRoux!" I said, untruthfully. "Furthermore, I confess that, two years ago to yesterday, I sold my soul to the devil for a power akin to that of a demon." Swallowing hard, I finished: "I throw myself upon the mercy of the court, pleading that they be benevolent in my own punishment."
And, for the last time that night, the courtroom fell silent.
"I'll never understand you, Courtland." Said Jeanette. "I've had sixteen years to know you, and now I'll never feel like that was enough."
"Don't worry. We'll see one another again. Heaven is merciful to those who are virtuous." I replied.
"According to the court, then heaven has left you. Or, rather, you have left heaven." She said, trying to bring about the same expression of courage she had mustered the night before. "What was the term they used? 'Fallen from the righteous path'?"
"Something like that." I replied, genially. The verdict had been unsurprisingly swift against myself, but the punishment was unexpectedly merciful. Standard punishment for witchcraft had almost always been punishable by death, but it seemed that, in my case, at least, exceptions can be made.
Gathering the rest of my provisions, I gazed towards the docks.
"You know, this'll probably be the last time I'll ever see for... quite a long time." I said, sadly.
"I know." She said, choking slightly on her words. "It's just... so hard to believe. First mother and father, and now you..." She said. Our parents had passed away only recently, victims of the plague that seemed to be sweeping across all of to world.
"Just do the one thing that you're best at." I said, looking into her kindly face.
"Euh?" She asked, genuinely confused.
"Be strong." I said. I clasped her, one final beatific embrace, before turning away, trying to hide the tears in my eyes.
"Au revoir." She said, finally.
"Au revoir." I repeated.
Moving slowly down the docks, I stared upwards towards the heavens. The sky was clear, and not a single cloud was to be seen. The wind was blowing, ever so slightly northwards, off the coast. The new fallen snow caressed the ground ever so gently. It was an agreeable morning, one that I now found myself chastising for not paying it more heed when I had the chance. The fact that I may never get the chance to see such a peaceful Calais morning again caused a pang in my bosom.
At the docks now, I greeted the young man who was assigned to help me out to sea. Peering behind him, I saw the boat that was meant to take me away from my home. It was a small boat, hardly worthy of the term raft. How I was supposed to survive at sea on a vessel like that, I was unable to discern. I chose not to complain, however, being that it was preferable to being burned at the stake or drawn and quartered.
"Morning!" He said, genially, which confused me. Why he felt as though he needed to polite to someone who confessed to being a witch was beyond me, but I didn't object. His youthful face smiled towards me, and he gestured for me to step onto the raft. Putting my provisions down at the end of the dock, I stepped carefully onto the hastily fashioned boat. Then transferring the supplies, which consisted of some food, fresh water, some books and a courier dove (so that I may write home) inside a small cage.
"You've a good wind on you, and ,with luck, the currents will take you towards England." Said the young man, skillfully untying the rope which held the raft to the dock. "Best of luck. Try not to drown." He said helpfully, before heading back towards the village.
My eyes caught my sister's as I began to pull away from the dock. I'll come home. I tried to tell her mentally. I promise.
Something, somewhere in my mind, registered as her thinking:
I know.
Taking a deep breath, I moved silently through the ocean, across the boundless sea.
(A/N: Well! That was quite a bit of fun! Not quite as long as I had hoped but... Anyway, if you took the time to read all this, thank you. You win a cookie. And, judging from the fandom that this is in, you can probably guess where this daring young man is liable to end up. 'Till next time!)
