Lesbia Chronicles: Over Witch's Knee

by Ther Renard

  "Blood and guts?" Atrocious hazarded a guess.

  "Energy," Ariadne said. "Vibrational energy."

  "This sounds complicated," Atrocious said, picking at her food. "I never had a head for learning."

  "Develop one," Ariadne said. "I will not tolerate a dullard."

  "What if I am too stupid to learn? You would not harm a fool, would you?"

  Ariadne looked up, the thick dark markings swirling under her skin in languid threads of threat. "I have harmed many fools in my time," she replied. "You are fortunate that I do not yet consider you one. Now, enough questions. Fill your belly."

  Atrocious obediently ate. As she did, two small black ants crawled across the table and made a beeline for a lone flake of pie. She watched as they began to tug it away.

  "What are you so fixated on?" Ariadne paused in her knitting, seeing Atrocious staring at the table as if it were speaking to her.

  "I wonder if they're happy," Atrocious said.

  "What do you mean?"

  "I mean, these ants. They're probably on an important mission for their colony. They probably think they're doing something that really matters. Are they happy doing it?"

  "Does it matter if an ant is happy?"

  "If an ant isn't, then how can I be?" Atrocious glanced at Ariadne over her pie. "I mean, nothing I do will matter more than anything those ants do. It's all pointless in the end, isn't it?"

  She waited for Ariadne to tell her that she was being silly. That she was over-thinking things. But Ariadne didn't dismiss her thoughts the way most people did when she was bold enough to share them.

  "Go on," Ariadne said, her lips twisting in a rare display of humor.

  "I mean, do they even have a choice?" Atrocious went on. "Do they think they have a choice? Do they think they're stealing crumbs because they want to? Or are they just stealing crumbs because that's what they were always going to do, because they're not capable of doing anything else?"

  "You are asking if you have any free will," Ariadne said. "You are wondering if your choices mean anything - if you have choices at all, in fact."

  "Yeah," Atrocious said. "I mean... I want to feel like I have a choice. But really, I'm just going to do whatever I have to do, just like these ants."

  "You are limited by your own existence," Ariadne said.

  It was Atrocious' turn not to understand.

  "By existing as something," Ariadne said. "By becoming a thing which is one thing and not another, your options are immediately limited. A bird cannot be a fish."

  "The whole world is a cage," Atrocious mused. "And we are all trapped inside it."

  "Caught by limited perception," Ariadne agreed. "Feeling as if one understands the whole, when one can only see a sliver of a portion of a part of the thing."

  "So who are we to say what is right and what is wrong?" Atrocious continued the line of thought. "If we cannot understand what we are and where we are, how can we judge anything?"

  "Carefully," Ariadne said. "And with a regard for the likely consequences."

  Atrocious wrinkled her nose. She'd been cut off at the philosophical pass, just moments before declaring that there was no right and no wrong and therefore no good or no bad and she should therefore be spared all punishments and requirements, present, future and if at all possible, past.

  "That was perhaps the most masterful attempt at avoiding discipline I have yet seen," Ariadne said, picking up her knitting. "Very well done, are not nearly as silly as you look."

  Feeling sort of pleased, sort of insulted, Atrocious responded in kind. "And you are not nearly as scary as they say."

  "Oh I am, and much more besides," Ariadne said, quite matter of fact, "but that is only because you are perceiving a part of me that does not threaten you overly much. When you are finished with your dinner, we shall both perceive different facets of the other. I shall perceive your tender hide. You will discover what proper discipline is. I expect it to be a very educational encounter."

  “I expect it will hurt,” Atrocious said. “And for no reason at all.”

  “No reason at all?” Ariadne knitted one, then purled one. “You unleashed a horde of unnatural beings upon my village. I think that calls for some form of response, don't you?”

  “I couldn't help it.”

  “You summoned them. They were your responsibility. And you will be punished for the damage they wrought. Crops have been trampled. Homes have been damaged. Others in this community have been inconvenienced by your fit of temper. It is not the first time, but it will be the last.”

  Atrocious looked at Ariadne, stunned. She did not know what to say. But Ariadne did.

  “Do you know anyone's name aside from those you came here with?” Ariadne asked the question softly. “There are thirty women living here. Each of them goes about their lives peacefully, each contributing in her own way. Ayla understands this. Kira understands this. Rogette understands this. Even Thorberta has come to an understanding of this. You, however, seem to barely notice anything or anyone that does not impact you directly.” Ariadne stopped speaking for a moment and focused on her knitting, making a few fiddly stitches. “So,” she said, resuming her little speech. “I intend on impacting you very directly indeed.”

  “Are you calling me selfish?”

  “Selfish. Self centered. Self-indulgent, there are so many ways to say it,” Ariadne mused between stitches. “You've even forgotten about Ayla.”

  “I have not!”

  “I told you not to worry about her, and you obeyed,” Ariadne said. “It is the one order you've obeyed without question.”

  “What did you do to her?”

  “Oh please,” Ariadne said. “Let us not pretend your concern will last any longer than it takes for the cane to land.”

  Atrocious' feelings were hurt. She was worried about Ayla. She just couldn't do anything about Ayla whilst she was trapped.

  It was not the first time Atrocious had been accused of being selfish. It was a recurring accusation out of Rogette's mouth, Kira's mouth and even Ayla's mouth. Atrocious was beginning to think that maybe she was selfish.

  She felt her throat grow tight and her eyes prick with tears. “I'm sorry,” she said. “You're right.”

  “I'm aware of that,” Ariadne said. “But I'm surprised to hear you say it. I was expecting there to be more wailing when you made that admission.”

  Atrocious stood up. It was time to get the beating over with. “Where do you want me?”

  Glancing up from her knitting, Ariadne gave Atrocious a quick piercing look.

  “Sit down.”

  Atrocious sat, wondering what terrible tortures Ariadne had in mind. The high witch knitted a few minutes more, finished the row and placed her knitting to the side.

  “Do you know what the purpose of discipline is?”

  Atrocious shook her head. “I guess to make someone pay for what they did.”

  “No,” Ariadne said. “It is to try to make someone internalize a lesson, so they make better choices and better decisions. So that they behave in desirable ways, rather than undesirable ones. Do you understand?”

  “I suppose so.”

  “If you are truly sorry,” Ariadne said. “Then it will be reflected in your behavior. In the meantime, you will make amends to each and every one of the people you inconvenienced. You will replant the gardens. You will repair thatch. You will do any and all chores given to you and you will do them willingly and in good humor. Do you understand me?”

  Atrocious nodded. It was fair, and best of all, it wasn't going to hurt. “Thank you,” she said. “I just have one question.”

  “Ask it.”

  “What did you do to Ayla?”

  The dark lines swirled about Ariadne's face, forming dramatic slashes that gave the high witch a war-like appearance. “She is also doing penance.”

  “What sort of penance?”

  “She has gone where she is needed most to do what she is most adept at.”

  Pani
c spiked in Atrocious' breast. “She's not here in the village?”

  “No,” Ariadne said. “I sent her to the front.”

  “The front of what?”

  It was then that Ariadne spoke the words Atrocious least wanted to hear, words that made her belly clench with fear for Ayla and all who dwelt in the lands below.

  “The battle for Lesbia has begun.”

  Chapter Thirty Three

  "So it's just the three of us."

  Rogette made the statement whilst standing in the middle of the cottage that contained three people, but felt empty without Ayla.

  Kira was sitting by the fire, her elbows resting on her knees as she stared into the flames. She seemed pensive and morose. Since Ayla's departure she had said very little to anyone, least of all Rogette.

  Thorberta was also quiet. She sat at the kitchen table, her head on her folded hands. She appeared to be dozing, but she was actually watching Kira closely. Every time Kira shifted slightly, Thorberta would perk up. When Kira did not move further, Thorberta would lay her head down again.

  The room was so silent that the crackling of the flames seemed to fill it.

  Rogette began to pace back and forth, her brow furrowed in agitation. "We're just going to sit here? Whilst Ayla fights alone?"

  Kira did not make any motion to indicate that she'd heard Rogette.

  "Are you deaf?" Rogette's voice became higher. She walked towards Kira, scowling as she did. "Or are you just not going to talk to me now? Is this how it is?"

  Still Kira did not respond.

  Rogette bent down and put her lips right next to Kira's ear. "WAKE UP SOLDIER!"

  Kira reached up, wrapped an arm around the back of Rogette's shoulders and dumped her on the ground. Adding insult to injury, she placed her boot in the middle of Rogette's back, pinning the robber in place.

  "Kira!" Rogette squealed. "Kira, let me up!"

  Kira did not respond. She continued to gaze into the fire, resting her other foot on Rogette's back with casual disregard for the robber's objections.

  Thorberta lifted her head to watch the scuffle with interest, but when Kira returned to her relaxed pose, so did she. It seemed that the chimera's shifting loyalties had once more changed tack.

  Rogette squirmed, but there was no way to free herself. Each escape attempt was met with increased pressure which made wriggling distinctly uncomfortable. Her verbal protests were likewise ignored until she gave up and lay still. Only when she'd given up did Kira remove her feet and allow Rogette to scuttle away, brushing soot and ashes out of her hair and off her clothes.

  After hours of staring fixedly into the flames, Kira turned and slammed her palm down on the table. The sudden noise brought Thorberta to her feet and jolted Rogette out of her light doze.

  Without a word to anyone, Kira walked out of the cottage and marched across the village to Ariadne's door. Rogette and Thorberta followed after her, Rogette's expression one of curiosity, Thorberta bouncing with aimless excitement.

  Kira raised her fist to pound on the door, but it opened under her hand. Ariadne herself emerged, the high witch's golden eyes boring into Kira with sufficient intensity to make the warrior take several steps back.

  "Bring her back," Kira snarled, forgoing pleasantries.

  Ariadne's eyes narrowed and the black bands swirled thick about her face. "Do not speak to me with disrespect, warrior."

  "Bring her back," Kira repeated herself, her hand on the pommel of her sword. "Now."

  "I cannot bring Ayla back. She is where she needs to be."

  "Witch," Kira growled fiercely, her jaw set hard. "Ayla has long been my friend. She did not deserve to be sent to war alone."

  "If you worry about her solitude, why not follow?"

  "Because of Atrocious," Kira said. "You have split our party in twain. If I follow Ayla, I leave Atrocious unguarded."

  Ariadne laughed. It sounded like rocks falling down a cliff. "Atrocious does not need guarding. She does not need protection of any kind. When she is ready there will not be a force on this earth capable of stopping her. So do not worry about Atrocious. Worry about yourself, warrior, for your flesh is aging and frail."

  "Then send me to Ayla," Kira said. "Alone. I cannot protect these two whelps in the heat of battle."

  "You see weakness where there is strength and strength where there is weakness," Ariadne said, her lip curling with derision. "I will send all three of you. But I cannot send you where Ayla is. The fighting is too fierce, you would be cut down immediately. Go and prepare yourselves. You will depart before sunset this evening."

  "Make it so," Kira said in agreement. She turned stiffly on her heel and marched back toward the cottage, leaving Thorberta and Rogette trailing in her wake.

  Chapter Thirty Four

  Sent to her little room at the end of Lesbia, Atrocious was miserable. It was a misery that sat in the pit of her stomach and seemed to make the color drain out of everything. She was not excited by the prospect of learning about her power. It didn't feel like a power. It felt like something tacked on to her experience, something she didn't understand or connect to.

  The little mages, they were not part of her. They were their own people, pouring out of a place beyond. They were another symptom of her ill-suitedness to the world at large. They were another sign that something was terribly wrong with her. She was broken - so broken that she even broke the barrier between worlds.

  Atrocious missed Ayla terribly. She could almost smell Ayla's scent as she buried her face into the bed and tried to remember what it felt like to have the witch's arms wound around her.

  Already the memory was fading. Atrocious sniffed to herself, feeling tears pricking at her eyes as she wished she had not thrown such a fit. In trying to claim Ayla, she had pushed her away - all the way to the front. Because of her, Ayla could be hurt. She could die. She could already be dead and Atrocious wouldn't know.

  That was the sickening fear, the fear that reached up and wrapped around her throat and made it almost impossible to breathe. What if Ayla was already dead?

  It had happened once before.

  Atrocious had not known that her mother was sick from the plague. Normally plague symptoms were unmistakable, but her mother must have hidden the cough and covered the spots. From Atrocious' perspective, her world had crumbled in just two days. One morning she had gotten up, eaten the gruel her mother prepared and gone to work in the stables. By evening she was an orphan.

  There was no chance to say goodbye. The body had been removed immediately and taken away to be burned. Atrocious was left with a hovel to squat in and a stone to mark the passing of her mother's soul.

  She had cried in the dirt that night, a lone voice wailing on the outskirts of the village. Nobody had come to comfort her. She was shunned by the others in case she too had the plague.

  The next morning she had gone to work in the stables, only to be turned away as a carrier of disease. She had tried to return home only to find that the hovel had been burned to the ground by villagers afraid of catching the plague. When she asked them what they had done, they chased her away, throwing stones at her and promising to hurt her if she dared return.

  In just two days, she lost her mother, her home and her livelihood. In two days she went from an obedient, ruddy cheeked peasant to an urchin sneaking from place to place, stealing what she needed to live. It was then that she'd learned that there wasn't any point in following a law that demanded she go hungry. The law did not protect her, under the law it was better for her to starve in a ditch than steal a little bread.

  Many people had called her selfish. As far as Atrocious saw it, there was no point in being anything other than selfish. At the end of the day, everyone was alone. Everyone had to fend for themselves.

  Atrocious tried to remember how her mother had looked on the last day she saw her. She could not remember. A precious moment had been stolen, the chance to say goodbye evaporated in the humdrum rhythm of life. The pain from all thos
e years ago surged forth and met her fresh agony, erupting in a great sob as Atrocious cried into the coverlet.

  "Hey!"

  A hushed voice broke through her misery.

  "Stop sniveling and get up here."

  Atrocious looked around. "Rogette?"

  "Shhh. Up here."

  Atrocious looked up to see Rogette crouching in the rafters. It had been a long time since Atrocious had seen Rogette as she truly was - the nimble robber to whom boundaries and rules were entirely irrelevant. The ceiling was a dark place, but Rogette's eyes sparkled with visible mischief.

  "Come on," she said, holding out her hand. "We have to get out of here."

  Atrocious stood on the bed and tried to jump up to reach the rafters. She failed.

  "Again," Rogette said, beckoning.

  Atrocious leaped again. This time Rogette reached out, snapped her hand around Atrocious' wrist and hauled her up, using the thief's momentum to propel her onto the thick beam.

  "To the window," Rogette said, her voice hushed. "Thorberta knows the way out of here."

  They inched their way along the beam and out the window. Once outside, the robber slapped her on the shoulder and pointed toward the back of the roof where the house met the rock face.

  "Back there," she said. "There's a cave."

  Chapter Thirty Five

  Many miles away from the ones she loved, half-elf witch Ayla moved gracefully down the aisle of a medicine tent. She walked softly, a serious expression on her beautiful, otherworldly face. Her wide green eyes were somber as they traveled the length of twenty four beds ranged along each side of the tent. Every bed contained a seriously injured soldier or civilian who had taken up arms against the Blood Witch.

  Some would recover.

  Some would not.

  Casualties were high. The fighting was intense and Imperial ranks were being depleted at a concerning rate. What were soldiers of flesh and blood to do against the twice-lived?

  Each of the Blood Witch's soldiers had lived a natural life as man or woman. And each of them had lost that life. In accordance with tradition their bodies were returned to the land, that they might become part of her great bounty.