by Cait Dee
I relax my muscles for a moment. I don’t know what a witch mark is, but if he hasn’t found it then he’ll have to let me go. I try to sit up but he pushes my shoulder, forcing me back down.
Leitch takes the bodkin and pierces my body over and over again. Each time I cry out in pain until my head spins and the room grows blurry.
When I come to my senses I am no longer in my body, but hovering near the ceiling, looking down. Three men huddle over my nakedness. Leitch pierces the pale flesh under my left arm over and over. Finster watches him intently. Dalziel also watches, but with a pained expression on his face.
I can’t feel anything, I want to say to him. It’s strange that I don’t hate him. Perhaps I’m already dead. As soon as the thought enters my head, I feel like I’m falling. I land back into my body with a jolt.
‘This is the spot, right here,’ Leitch is saying to Finster. ‘A mole inside the left arm. Innocent-looking, isn’t it? Well, it was the only time she didn’t cry out.’
‘It looks a bloody mess now,’ Dalziel mutters.
‘Had to be sure, didn’t I, lad? You saw me, I pierced it several times and she didn’t flinch once.’
‘Aye, because she’d passed out!’
‘I did not see her pass out,’ says Finster quickly. ‘We have what we need. Mr Rennie, why don’t you escort Leitch outside? See to it he is paid his usual fee.’
The men move away from the table and I roll onto my side, bringing my knees to my chest and wrapping my arms around them. Dalziel leaves my clothes on the edge of the table where I can reach them, then heads out the door with Leitch.
I pull my shift on, trembling with relief that the old man has gone. The linen sticks to me, spotting with droplets of blood.
My head aches from the pain and shock of the ordeal. I swing my legs off the table and place them unsteadily on the cold stone floor. I’m so weak they can scarcely hold my weight. I finish getting dressed as quickly as I can, huddled in a corner with my back to Finster.
When I turn, he is again seated in front of the fire.
‘What is its purpose?’ he asks.
‘Its purpose?’ I repeat, bewildered.
‘The hag stone — what does it do? What powers does it bestow upon you?’
I draw in a sharp breath. Finster’s words cut through the fog of pain.
‘I . . . I don’t know what you mean.’
Finster rises to stand over me. ‘Don’t lie to me, little girl. I know your aunt gave it to you.’
My head is spinning. ‘She didn’t have time to tell me. And now it’s gone, so I’ll never know.’
A tiny muscle in the witch finder’s eye twitches and he turns his face away.
‘It is gone,’ he agrees. ‘Destroyed. Nevertheless, I shall require an answer next time we meet. Otherwise I’ll be forced to persuade you, and I can assure you my methods are not as restrained as Leitch’s — as your friend Euan found out, to his detriment.’
I frown at him. ‘You said Euan was in the cells.’
He shrugs. ‘And if he had cooperated he might still be there. We all make our own choices in life. Your friend chose unwisely. I do hope you’ll not make the same mistake, Iona Balfour.’ His voice is stern, hard.
My head is reeling and I feel like I’m going to be sick.
Dalziel enters the room and looks expectantly at Finster, like a soldier awaiting further orders. I’ve never hated anyone as much as I despise Dalziel in this moment.
‘Enough for today,’ Finster says to him. ‘We have what we need from Leitch. Take her back to the cell. Iona Balfour, until next we meet.’ He gives me a mock bow.
Dalziel orders me to walk in front of him down the stairs. There’s so much I want to say to him, but it’s all I can do to put one foot in front of the other. I trip on a flagstone and stumble, and he grabs me and pulls me upright. Just for a moment our eyes meet. As I look into Dalziel’s dark blue eyes, something Finster said replays in my mind.
‘His usual fee,’ I whisper.
‘What did you say?’ He lets go of my arm.
‘Finster said to pay Leitch his usual fee. You’ve done this before, with Finster and Leitch. Haven’t you?’
The colour drains from Dalziel’s face, but he says nothing as we walk to the cell door. He hands me over to the watcher and quickly slips back down the passageway.
* * *
‘Cal?’
‘Silence!’
‘Cal, are you here? It’s me. Cal?’
The watcher stands over me, the light from his lamp shining in my eyes so I can’t see his face.
‘I told you to be silent.’
‘My friend — did you see him? Did they bring him down here?’
‘Another word, and I’ll have them put the witch’s bridle on you. Cut your mouth to shreds, it will. Would you like that?’
I give my head a little shake.
‘Well then. Not another sound.’ He brings his finger to his lips then leaves me alone in the dark.
Cal must be down here somewhere. I need to find a way to see him again. The harder I try to think of a way to find him, the foggier my mind becomes. Between the lack of sleep and the pain from the bodkin, I can barely remember my own name.
How I long for a blanket and a clean bundle of straw to curl up in. But I spend all night sitting with my back against the wall, running my fingers over my skin, gingerly touching the puncture marks made by Leitch’s needle.
So many thoughts roll through my mind. My gut tells me that Finster didn’t have the bloodstone destroyed, but what will he do with the stone now that it’s in his possession? The very thought of that man having something so precious to us, to the Balfours, cuts me to the quick.
And then there’s Dalziel. His story about being asked to show Finster the way to Strathcraig was yet another lie; it’s clear that he has been working with the witch finder for some time. The more I think on it, the more troubled I become. When he went to the university in Aberdeen, Dalziel didn’t know a soul. Now, he’s working with King Jamie’s adviser. How could a lad from an obscure village with few connections and no fortune come to work for the king’s own witch finder?
With a sinking feeling I consider the possibility that it was Dalziel who told Finster about Grizel. If that’s true, then he’s no better than his brute of a father. Perhaps the witch finder has convinced himself he has a job to do, but what does Dalziel tell himself in the night watches? The thought that he could have informed on Grizel is far worse than any of the indignities I suffered today.
* * *
The cell door bangs open. A different guard leads me up the stairs to the same chamber as the day before. Finster and Dalziel are both inside, waiting for me.
I give Dalziel a look of undisguised loathing. I know who you are.
He meets my gaze, unsmiling. Unrepentant.
My throat is dry and my tongue feels thick in my mouth. ‘Water?’ I croak.
Finster nods to Dalziel, who fills a cup from a flagon. I gulp down cool ale, spilling it down my front. It’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted.
‘Slowly,’ whispers Dalziel as it dribbles down my chin. He tries to take the cup from me but I push him away and continue to drink. For all I know it may be the last time I ever taste ale. I consider asking for food, but there’s no need. Finster waves to a plate of bannocks on the table.
‘Please, eat something,’ he says.
The flatbread is the first proper food I’ve had in days. I tear into a wedge, savouring every mouthful, then wash it down with more ale.
As I wipe the crumbs from my chin, Finster nods his approval. ‘Good. I need you strong today.’ He turns to Dalziel. ‘Fetch the pilliwinks.’
Dalziel shuffles his feet. ‘But, Meister . . .’
‘What is it, Mr Rennie?’
‘You said . . . you said we were only going to question her.’
‘Yes, that is what I intend.’
‘Then, why . . .?’
There’s a s
heen of sweat above Dalziel’s top lip. I don’t know what pilliwinks are, but they don’t exactly sound fearsome.
Finster gives an exaggerated sigh. ‘What does Scots law require?’
Dalziel frowns. ‘A confession,’ he says. ‘The Privy Council requires a confession before they’ll grant a commission to bring the matter to trial.’
‘Correct. I need a confession before I can delate Iona Balfour to the Privy Council. Go and fetch the pilliwinks and stop wasting time.’
Finster ushers me to a wooden chair and pulls up another, so he is sitting opposite me at the table. There are still spots of my blood on it from yesterday.
‘Now, Iona Balfour, did you enjoy the victuals?’
I nod, my heart beating faster.
‘And sleep — would you like to spend tonight on a horsehair mattress with clean linen sheets?’
‘Aye.’ I nearly weep at the thought of it.
‘Of course you would,’ he purrs. ‘This can either be a long day or a short day. It’s completely up to you. You control this process. I’m entirely at your mercy.’
In walks Dalziel with something concealed in his hand, which he deposits on the table near Finster.
Finster picks it up and shows it to me. It’s a small iron device with a bolt in the centre.
‘Do you know what this is?’ he asks.
‘Pilliwinks,’ I reply.
Finster laughs. ‘At least someone listens to me.’ He shoots Dalziel a look then returns his gaze to me. ‘Put your hand on the table.’
Quivering with fear, I press my lips together. My hands grip the sides of my skirt.
Finster nods to Dalziel, who moves behind me and grabs my left wrist. He presses my hand to the table, fingers splayed.
I struggle against him, terrified. ‘You don’t need to hurt me,’ I plead with Finster. ‘I’ve no reason to lie to you!’
‘We shall see.’ He inserts my left thumb in between two strips of metal.
The bitter taste of ale burns the back of my throat.
Finster twists the screw at the top of the device so that the bolt begins to move the pieces of metal together, squeezing my thumb.
‘Nae! Nae!’ I wail, as the pressure turns to pain.
‘What does the stone do?’ asks Finster.
‘I don’t know!’
‘Stone?’ Dalziel’s voice echoes softly from behind me.
‘What powers does it give you?’ Finster presses.
‘I thought you wanted a confession.’ Dalziel sounds confused. More than that. Hurt.
Finster ignores him. ‘So help me, I’ll crush your thumbs and you’ll never have the use of them again.’
He turns the screw. The pain is astonishing. It shoots up my arm and shoulder until black spots appear in front of my eyes.
‘She didn’t tell me,’ I cry.
‘You’re lying.’
‘I don’t know. I promise!’ My eyes swing from the pilliwinks to Finster. ‘Please!’ I whisper.
Finster sits back in his chair and regards me for a moment. Then he looks at Dalziel. ‘Hold her very still.’
‘Nae, please!’
Dalziel presses his weight down on my wrist.
I hear someone screaming. It takes a moment to realise the sound is coming from me. ‘Make it stop!’ I beg Dalziel, but he doesn’t move.
Finster releases some of the pressure on the bolt.
‘Do I have your attention, Iona Balfour?’
I nod through a veil of tears.
‘If you lie to me, I shall know it. You see what I am prepared to do?’
I nod again.
‘What powers does the bloodstone give you?’
I shake my head.
‘I cannot hear you.’
‘I . . . don’t . . .’ I reply between hiccupping sobs ‘… don’t know . . .’
Dalziel’s grip on my arm slackens. I sense that his resolve is weakening. Finster must sense it too, because he immediately changes his line of questioning.
‘Are you a witch, Iona Balfour?’
I shake my head.
‘I cannot hear you.’
‘Nae,’ I reply in a whisper. ‘I am no witch.’
Finster turns the screw again.
‘Your aunt was a witch. She died for her crimes. Your sister’s own husband accused his wife of witchcraft. She also died, trying to escape justice. And you have the witch’s mark that was given to you by the Devil himself. When did you meet with the Devil? Were you alone, or were you with your sister? Your aunt? Who else was there? What did the Devil promise you in return for your powers?’
Finster turns the screw again, and I scream with a deep throaty animal cry I never knew I possessed. The pain is unbearable.
Fat beads of sweat roll down my forehead and then I start to shake. Finster seems to know what is coming before I do, but before he can get out of the way, I vomit up the bannocks and ale onto his boots.
He grabs a handful of my hair and pulls my head back.
‘Everything about you is repugnant. If it were up to me, you’d be dead already.’ He lets go of my hair and I draw in a deep breath.
‘Get her some water of life,’ the witch finder snaps at Dalziel. ‘I’ll not have her passing out. And fetch a rag and clean my boots.’
Dalziel disappears and returns presently with a cup of usky and a rag. He puts the cup near my right hand, then kneels and wipes down Finster’s boots. Despite the pain and brutal shock of the torture, the sight is so ridiculous that I let out a laugh. Soon my whole body is filled with sobbing laughter. Finster’s lapdog cleaning my sick from his master’s boots!
Finster shoots me a look of undisguised loathing, but his anger is now contained. He probably regrets that I saw him lose control. ‘I’ve changed my mind. Get her out of my sight,’ he says to Dalziel in a low voice, but I can hear the rage surging underneath.
Dalziel approaches me cautiously. It brings to mind the time his dog was kicked by a horse. I watched him edge towards the animal that day, not knowing whether it would bite him or lick his hand with gratitude. His fear had made the bite inevitable. Dalziel never was suited to farm life.
He loosens the bolt and pulls the pilliwinks off my thumb. I let out a sob of relief. A stabbing pain throbs through my hand, but I clamp my teeth together and bear it silently.
‘Here.’ Finster kicks the rag to Dalziel. ‘If you wish to play nursemaid, then wrap it up with this.’ Then he turns on his heel and walks out of the chamber, slamming the door behind him.
‘Linen,’ I say to Dalziel through gritted teeth and pull up my skirt.
He nods, then tears a long strip of cloth from the hem of one of my blood-specked petticoats and wraps it awkwardly around my thumb.
‘Why does he not just kill me?’ I say through chattering teeth.
Dalziel fiddles with the bandage. ‘He’s not allowed to. The king has said the proper legal process must be followed.’
‘But I’m innocent!’
Dalziel lets go of my hand. Then he straightens his shoulders, as if steeling himself. ‘I saw what you did, Iona. You and Cal, up on that hill. It went against the laws of God.’
The need fire. Dalziel must have followed us that night; that’s how he found the siege tunnel. Which means it was he who sent the rider to summon Finster.
‘I saved them. We saved them.’
‘I watched you drive a calf through the fire and then you slaughtered it! The meister said your power comes from the Devil, but I didn’t really believe him, not until that night. The townsfolk may have been healed in body, but their souls are now lost. Do you not see? It would have been better if you’d let them die.’
His words make me forget my pain for just a moment. ‘You don’t truly believe that!’
‘The meister says the finest scholars in all of Europe —’
‘The meister.’ I hold up my swollen thumb. ‘A monster, just like your father.’
Dalziel’s blue eyes flash with rage. ‘Don’t.’
‘Worse than Dougal.’
His hand is raised, ready to strike.
‘Go on,’ I goad him. ‘Show me how brave you are.’
His open hand tightens to a fist as he brings it back by his side. ‘You think I’m a monster? Your friend turned into a wolf last night.’ His voice is quiet but determined. ‘Attacked two guards. One near had his hand torn off. What say you to that?’
My muscles tighten with terror and despair. Now that Finster knows Cal’s secret, there’s no chance they’ll ever let him go.
‘He was only trying to defend himself. You can’t blame —’
‘A wolf, Iona! I saw it with my own eyes. I never knew such a thing was even possible.’
‘Where is he? Is he still alive?’
‘The meister sent word to the king. His Grace wants to see it for himself.’
‘King Jamie is coming here — to Dunshee?’
Dalziel presses his lips together as he realises that he has said too much.
‘So now you get what you wanted: the reward for betraying my family. It was you, was it not? You’re the reason Grizel was arrested. You told Finster about her.’
Dalziel’s mouth opens in wordless shock.
‘N-nae!’ he whispers. ‘How could you even think it?’
Two guards enter the chamber, ready to take me back to the dungeon.
With my good hand, I grab the front of Dalziel’s doublet and press my mouth to his ear. ‘I pray you see the truth of what you’ve done,’ I whisper. ‘Grizel’s face, and Ishbel’s. May they haunt your dreams each and every night until the day you die.’
As the guards haul me away, the look on Dalziel’s face shows me that his defences have finally been breached. All former signs of his smugness have evaporated. His brow twists into a frown and his face looks pale and drained, as if the force of my words would sap the very life from him.
BLACK MOON
The watchers left me alone for a few hours and I managed to get a little sleep when the pain from my thumb wasn’t keeping me awake. The throbbing was unbearable at first, but after a while I became accustomed to its rhythm, like the beating of my own heart. It reminded me that I’m still alive.
In my dreams I heard a wolf howling. I roused myself and called out to Cal, but there was no reply. They beat him savagely even before they knew he was a wolf. I cannot begin to imagine what they’ll do to him now.