Chapter 9: Ces temps son dure... (These times are hard...)
I see in the muddied, frostbitten streets witches bodies, beaten to death. In my visions they are my sister, my mother and me and yet I cannot close mine eyes to the horror of it. We live in dangerous times here. The very air we breathe is rationed and fear is bread so that it moves silently through our homes and into our hearts consuming us from the inside out till siblings turn on each other and friends take knives to one another's' backs. You need not fear the daemons of The Wild anymore for the black ills of the human soul have taken hold of us all and work to drive us past the edge of sanity, further than any non-human monster ever could…
- Excerpt of a letter from M to the Ranger
"No!" Faye wept, covering her eyes and falling to her knees in the dirt floor of the cottage.
"We cannot, mama," M muttered, plying her mother away from the body of Almar.
Padma's fingers still clung to the lifeless flesh as though through will of being she could invoke the essence of being into the man's body once more.
"Mama," M said, louder. "Mama come back to us. Come back, now...."
Faye continued to cry, rocking back and forth over her knees till she stirred up the dust beneath her legs. M gently pried Padma's fingers off Almar's body; his skin had not yet started to turn grey. Even in death he looked peaceful. Padma finally relaxed her grip and let all of her weight fall back upon her youngest daughter who stumbled a little before sitting down on the floor, cradling her mother in her lap. Padma's arms fell loosely by her side while M stroked her hair and kissed her face.
"Is there no where we can put him?" M asked.
Padma shook her head.
M looked up to where Almar lay upon the dining room table. They had found him moments earlier lying in a gutter as black and dirty as horse shit, twitching violently and vomiting. He was naked from the waist up and lying on the table amidst the crumbs of breakfast. M wanted to touch him, prod him with a fork or something; she knew she could rouse him from his slumber if she tried.
The light from the doorway was barely enough to see by, but see Almar she could. To M he was beautiful: his hair was whiter and thinner than she had ever seen, but it fell down like a gentle cloud around his head. His mouth was open; thin lines surrounded the lips that were parted slightly as though he were preparing to sigh. The palms of his weathered hands were facing up towards the ceiling; towards the sparkling heavens.
He was resting. M reached out and placed her rough, warm hand upon his cooling one. She wished she could tell him that she loved him dearly and that he would turn his head and look at her. She wished that death was not so ugly.
xxx
No Doctor or witch may sell goods such as: charms, Keepsafes, herbs, medicines or other similar prescriptions between the hours of sunrise and noon, and sunset and dark unless permission to do so is attained by both High Councilor Malheur and The Society of the Common Man.
A witch shall not be permitted participation in the sales of goods of any kinds with normal peoples without the supervision of a guard ordained by either High Councilor Malheur or The Society of the Common Man.
Head Doctors and witches shall submit their names, the names of their offspring, spouses, next of kin, apprentices and/or workfellows to the High Councilor Malheur.
All Doctors, witches, healers, apprentices and/or workfellows will submit to the inspection of their homes and offices by the guardians of The Society of the Common Man, under the direction of High Councilor.
Any person or persons caught defaming or attacking the laws of High Council and its workers is punishable, by law. For every persons caught, twenty lashes shall be admonished, the addition of any statement made against High Council is punishable by five lashes.
Any Doctor or witch caught practicing a séance or other form of heresy is punishable, by law, to death.
Any supporter of a Doctor or witch, and any Doctor, witch, apprentice/workfellow who acts against reason and proper guidance to upset the natural laws of balance and harmony that govern our community is punishable, by law, to death.
M read twice over the list of rules nailed to her front door before ripping the parchment into halves, then quarters, and then finally into pieces so small that they could be passed through the eye of a needle.
"Padma?"
M turned around, standing a few paces away from her, was Eidolon.
"Oh!" she exclaimed. "Forgive me my dear, for an instant I thought you were your mother," Eidolon spoke, waiving her hand in front of her face as though clearing away smoke. "Are you not frozen out here in this kind of weather?"
"No, not really," M replied.
Over her plain white tunic and brown leggings M only wore a thin leather vest of poor quality, an old knitted coat of her late father's, and a woolen scarf. It was early into the winter season, but the wind was as bitter as the swinging blade of an axe and the days were not nearly long enough for the business of Doctors to be conducted. So, M suffered silently alongside her mother and sister, neither of whom could afford to wear much more clothing than she.
Eidolon pulled her thick navy cloak closer around her stout body as she approached M.
"Is your mother home?"
"Yes," M replied, "come in."
M opened the front door letting Eidolon enter her home before she did, but not without reaching out her hand and touching the thick luxurious cloak.
xxx
Safe.
Ranger, when I received your letter I feared the worst had happened. Do the people in the mining lands still revolt? Are you sure that the city walls will hold if an attack is set upon them? Many of the villagers that have left Kelt in recent weeks have family in Irefort and so they have journeyed there to be with them in this time of great uncertainty. I lose sleep at night worrying for their safety while the surrounding areas are still plagued by gypsy war lords and rebels. When your letter came I feared that you were sending me a list of the names of the dead, it was so long. It took me hours to decipher all the riddles you had placed within the lines. Why did you do it in the first place? If you wish to send such important information again please do not, battalion formations and attack plans do not bring me any cheer and the releasing of such information puts you and your men at even greater risk.
It may seem strange, but my interests lie in the accounts you have sent me concerning the rebel leaders and their weaponry. How on earth did they find a way forge those great long swords of which you spoke earlier, without access to the mines? Do they really wield them like gods of old? I wish now that I had been born a man so that I could fight at your side in such a war, the accounts I would tell of my battles would be so great and fierce that they would be writ into the books of legend. And so I must beg of you to send me more of those sketches of rebels and powerful gods they worship, my hunger for such knowledge has become insatiable now that there is no work to be had here.
Indeed, it is true – many of the rumors you have heard are – they (The Society of the Common Man, under Malheur's orders, no doubt) have killed more witches: three this time. The first time they made a public display of beatings the victims survived, but now, when they are dragged from their homes, gagged and bound like dogs, in the middle of the night, it is rare that any woman survives the blows and worse. I fear they do worse to my people, but it is hard to say; there are no witnesses and if there are they remain hushed.
I am sorry; my accounts thus far are gruesome. Hopefully, even though you are tied to your labor with chains as thick as sequoias, any news you send will be more joyful than my own.
Your friend, in battle and in mind,
M.
P.S. Wherever did you find the bird?
M read over her letter one last time before attaching it to the leg of the little brown finch that hopped around her bedroom, chirping.
"Would you come here?" M called out to the bird. "Please…"
The petite finch turned her head around and zipped over to where M was seated on her bed.
"Leg please."
The little finch held out her left leg, letting M tie the tightly rolled up letter around her ankle.
"Thank you."
Chirp! Went the bird and M laughed, puzzled by the intelligence of the little animal.
"Make sure he's alright, you hear? Don't let him do anything too brave or stupid… Can you do that for me?"
Chirp! The little lady said again.
M scooped up the finch, cupping her hand so that the bird was nestled comfortable in her palm. As soon as she opened the window beside her bed, a gust of icy wind blew into the room making both M and the finch shiver.
"Sorry," M muttered before she tossed the little bird out of the window and into the arctic winter.
Somersaulting in the wind for a moment, the finch eventually gained her balance and set off south west, in the direction of the battle at Irefort.
M shut the window tightly and stared out into the empty day of midwinter. Somehow, the frigid wind was still seeping into her room. M pushed against the window again, trying to close it further. It would not budge. So, she tugged a blanket off her bed and wrapped it around her shoulders. Lying on top of the square desk under the window was the letter the little finch had brought her. It was from the Ranger.
There was a chair on the opposite side of the room; M dragged it over to her desk and sat down to read the Ranger's writings.
Safe.
It is strange to think that I have not seen you since the feast of early autumn; no further past us than a season. M, I have heard terrible things; rumors of human sacrifice in your village find their way into our ears. Other such things I will not repeat, but they frighten me from sleep every night. I also fear that all the terrible suffering I have brought down into this world through strength of arms will not go unpunished. There are days when the rebels may gain a foothold in the land or battle, but they cannot hold it for long. They crumble and retreat and I am forced to pursue them until I have slaughtered enough men that the howls of their widows and children shall be like horns in my ears till the day I die. If Mars were the god of war, then I have become his usurper. I have become the almighty king of carnage.
Everyday that I have counted – from the midnight of that autumn feast till the very moment at which I set this pen to write to you – has become ten times grimmer than the last. This land upon which I stand was once gold. Pouring out o' the mines o' the outlands of Irefort was a sea of priceless metals and gems too great to describe. The only things that pour forth from these lands now are turmoil and chaos; the two great bitches that ride us till we bend and break.
I do not want to return to you broken and bent like some old man. M, I am sorry. This place is dangerous, it can drive any man to heartache and I do not want to bring you that. My friend, my sole comfort… your image I hold in my mind and it brings me hope; hope that at the end of my days I may leave this world in a better state than it was when I first entered it. You give me courage.
I thank thee and remain your constant friend and ally,
R.
M sighed. So much hurt, she thought. So much pain ties us together... Why is it that I am now the one with no courage? Standing up, M held the woolen blanket, worn soft over the years, around her shoulders and sank down onto her bed. It is as though my very soul has frozen along with the wastelands, M thought, and all that I have hoped for has been stolen.
M curled up on her bed, burying herself deeper into its warmth and down until the only noise she heard was that of her own breathing. Outside, M could see lacy white snowflakes being blown by the wind into a delicate, looping dance. She shivered. It was too cold to remove her boots so M left them on, but they were kept off the mattress. She was deaf in her frigid room to the burnings of witches outside in the village square. The scent of burning flesh had not yet traveled to her nose. M cried herself to sleep.
