To Kill a Witch

by Christopher Patterson

  Thaddeus drew his sword, a weapon almost as old as him, made by eastern swordsmiths. As he drew it, Wulfstan placed a hand on the blade and said a prayer. The steel glowed a subtle blue, and when Thaddeus struck the first wraith to reach them, it howled as the mist that made up the evil creature dissipated away into nothing.

  The Bishop’s bodyguard drew his sword, a two-handed weapon with a single-edged blade that curved slightly. It glowed blue as well, and when he struck another wraith, the same thing happened. The other eight ghosts became wise to the warriors’ weapons. One disappeared just as it reached Thaddeus, only to reappear behind him. A wind, more forceful than any wind Thaddeus had ever felt, punched him in the back, sending him forward into the misty body of another specter. As the apparition’s misty body surrounded Thaddeus, he felt his skin burn. He lifted his sword, and the spirit that surrounded him disappeared with a scream. The one that had punched him met its demise at the bodyguard’s blade.

  Thaddeus turned to face the witch. A misted hand reached out and scratched his cheek. He felt blood trickle from four, shallow scrapes along his cheek. They could hurt them. They could kill them. Thaddeus had dealt with numerous ghosts in the last eight hundred years, and most of them were simply tortured souls that had made some stupid deal with the Devil or had been cursed by the likes of this witch. These wraiths were different. They were warriors from the underworld, albeit simple foot soldiers of hell. But nonetheless, they were anything but tortured souls. They were once men who had served the Devil in life and now served him in death. And as such, they could draw blood.

  Two of the ghosts flew towards Wulfstan, but the aged priest simply folded his arms, closed his eyes, and bowed his head as he said a quick prayer, not an ounce of worry on his face. As they were about to reach out to him with their wraith-like hands—the Bishop’s bodyguard too far away to reach them—the holy man lifted his head, opened his eyes, smiled, and raised his hands. A flash of brilliant, white light exploded from his palms, and the two specters glowed yellow before the mist they once were turned to ice and then fell to the ground, melted puddles of water. Two others in front of Thaddeus found the same fate, making the last wraith an easy target, as Thaddeus sliced his sword through what would have been its head. With a howl filled with anger and pain and hatred, the ghost disappeared, leaving only the witch again.

  “Still the fool,” the witch said.

  She lifted her hands, shouted something in the infernal language, and her eyes flashed red. A sudden pain seared through Thaddeus’ head, and he dropped to his knees. The bodyguard rushed to his side, but she shouted something else, and he stopped mid-stride, frozen save for his eyes, which darted about frantically. She looked to Wulfstan and, again, cast a spell. The Bishop simply laughed.

  “I am too old to care about your beauty,” Wulfstan said, “and I have surrounded myself with the Word of our Lord. A thousand angels are protecting us right now, witch.”

  “You think you are so clever, Wulfstan,” the witch said, her voice changing from the soft, female voice she once spoke with to one that was hard, raspy, and demonic. She pointed to Thaddeus. “But your God’s warriors are weak, and death consumes this land. It is our time. As you fade away, we grow strong.”

  Wulfstan simply laughed again and, as he lifted his hands, the clouds parted, and golden rays of sun spilled over the earth. A chorus of a thousand trumpets broke through the heavens like the booming crack of thunder. The ground shook, and the witch screamed, covering her ears with her hands. Blood trickled from her ears and her nose and her mouth and, as Thaddeus looked up, the air around her swirled inward towards her, and in a flash of red, she was gone.

  As soon as she disappeared, the world around Thaddeus began moving again. The rain fell again. Sound returned. The father caught his daughter, and she giggled in his arms. The pain in Thaddeus’ head was gone, the burning of his skin, even the scratches on his cheek. He stood and faced Wulfstan, the old man reaching up and patting the giant of a bodyguard on the shoulder. The man was visibly upset, and Wulfstan continued to give him encouraging and soothing words.

  “She is a powerful one,” Wulfstan said. “I’ll give her that. I underestimated her.”

  “It has been a long time since I have faced such a powerful witch,” Thaddeus agreed. “Not since I traveled to the godless east, or the forests of Germania before they came to know Christ.”

  “She must be stopped, Thaddeus,” Wulfstan said. “Despite your doubts. Her stink is ever present on this land, and her influence will continue to be the ruin of these people, Saxon and Norman alike.”

  “I promise, I will stop her,” Thaddeus said and hoped that would be true.

  “Good,” Wulfstan replied. “She will return to Richmond. As chaotic as witch’s seem, I have always known them to be creatures of habit. She will return to Richmond to recuperate and gain strength.”

  “She mentioned the Scots and King Malcolm,” Thaddeus said.

  “Yes, Richmond it is then,” Wulfstan said. “Anywhere where there are death and war … that is her domain. You must leave as soon as you can. Follow her. Release her grip on Count Stephen and the people of England.”

  “As you wish,” Thaddeus said.

  “No,” the Bishop replied, “as the Lord wishes.”

  Chapter 20

  BISHOP WULFSTAN ACCOMPANIED Thaddeus, Gunnar, and Asaf to see Abbot Robert Losinga. As they entered his rooms, the elderly Abbot stood as quickly as he could, bowing low.

  “Your Excellency,” the Abbot said. “An honor to have you here. I wish I knew you were coming.”

  Wulfstan just waved the man off.

  “May I have a seat?” the Bishop asked.

  “Of course,” the Abbot said and gave an attending initiate a hard look. The young monk in training pulled a chair away from the Abbot’s desk, bidding the Bishop sit.

  “The Lord has been good to you in Winchester,” the Bishop said flatly, looking about the room.

  “Yes, He has,” the Abbot said with a smile.

  “More like your family’s money has been good to William Rufus,” the Bishop said, “and so William Rufus has been good to you.”

  That seemed to take the Abbot aback and left him speechless for a moment. The Bishop simply waited.

  “To what do I owe your visit, Your Excellency?” Abbot Robert asked. “And why is Lord Malmesbury accompanying you?”

  “I am here on the Lord’s business, of course. And I am not only a bishop in the Lord’s court but also a bishop in the court of our King William,” the Bishop replied.

  “Of course,” the Abbot said.

  “But I also thought it would be prudent to let you know that Lord Malmesbury is really a man named Thaddeus and that these are his companions, Asaf and Gunnar … and that he is here on my request.”

  “You lied to me,” the Abbot said, glaring at Thaddeus, who stood behind the Bishop, “and in the Lord’s house.”

  “It is no concern of yours Abbot,” the Bishop said with a simple wave of his hand. “If you truly knew who these men were, you would be referring to them with the same titles you bestow upon me. They are here because of me. And with all the little trinkets of worth you have accumulated and put on display in your rooms, one might wonder whether or not this is a house of the Lord.”

  This time the Abbot was speechless.

  “In addition,” the Bishop said, “I understand there was a murder in your abbey, yes?”

  “Yes, Your Excellency, but …”

  Wulfstan put up a hand.

  “And this man had claimed asylum, yes?” Wulfstan added.

  “Yes,” the Abbot replied. “We are looking into it.”

  “This is rather concerning, don’t you think?” Wulfstan asked.

  “Like I said,” the Abbot said, “we are investigating it right now. It is curious that this man showed up at the same time as this ... pretender.”

  “They are not connected,” Wulfstan said, “at least, not in the way you think they are
. Do not waste resources on researching this death. Justice will prevail. Of this, I can assure you.”

  Wulfstan seemed bored talking to the Abbot.

  “But if word spreads that men are not safe at Hyde Abbey ...” Robert Losinga said.

  “Don’t worry,” the Bishop replied, “word will not spread. I have an idea of who the murderer is.”

  “Who?” the Abbot asked, but the Bishop, once again, waved him off.

  “Thaddeus will be leaving within a day,” Wulfstan said. “You are to give him whatever supplies he needs to journey to Richmond. Is this understood?”

  “Of course, Your Excellency,” the Abbot replied.

  “What have you heard of Normandy?” the Bishop asked.

  “Well,” the Abbot replied, “the peace treaty between Duke Robert and King William is dissolving. I do not know why; Robert was here in England two years ago. Some say it is because of his alliance with the King that the Norman people are not too fond of him. Others say it is because of the unrest happening in the east—in Byzantium and the Holy Land.”

  “The witch,” the Bishop muttered, looking over his shoulder at Thaddeus.

  “I am sorry, Your Excellency,” the Abbot said, leaning forward and cocking an eyebrow, “but did you say, witch?”

  “Mind your business,” Wulfstan snapped, “which happens not to be my quiet conversations with my friend here.”

  “Yes, Your Excellency,” the Abbot said, lowering his eyes.

  “I will be sending some men,” Wulfstan explained, “soldiers of the church, to Winchester. You are to care for them, give them whatever they need. And take care of Thaddeus until he leaves. Is this understood?”

  “Of course,” the Abbot said, standing as the others left without another word.

  “I am truly glad my time on this earth is quickly coming to an end,” Wulfstan said as they walked back to the cell in which Thaddeus and his companions stayed.

  “The witch’s presence seems to be far-reaching,” Thaddeus said.

  “Indeed,” Wulfstan replied. “I am sure agents tied to her have a hand in peace breaking down between Robert and William, as well as between William and Malcolm the Scot. The Devil’s hand is usually present in the dissolution of peace.”

  “This is the second time I have heard of strife in the Holy Land,” Thaddeus said.

  “When is there not strife in the Holy Land?” Wulfstan asked, followed by a short, mirthless laugh. “The Pope would have us convinced that it is simply an extension of the fight between Christendom and Islam. We are saving good, Christian men from the hands of Turks and Muslims in the east, while the Iberians engage in the same fight, calling it the Reconquista. The Lord has surely sent you to Gaul several times as Christians and Muslims killed one another there.”

  “That is so,” Thaddeus said. “It is where I met Gunnar, washed up on shore after seventy of his Norseman ships were captured and burned by the Galicians.”

  “What would you say is the cause of this latest strife in my homeland?” Asaf asked.

  “As the Church blames the Muslims, the Byzantines blame the west and the Catholic Church,” replied Wulfstan. “The Fatimads blame the aggressiveness of the Turks. The Turks blame the leniency of the Fatimads. And the Jews blame everyone. Who is to know, truly? I am sure the Devil’s hand is in the midst of all the bloodshed. It didn’t seem to me that the west much cared for the east, as long as pilgrims could make their way rather unharassed to Jerusalem. The Schism seemed to solidify that. But then, when Turkish hordes crushed the Byzantines at Manzikert, well …”

  “It has been a long time since I … we have been to the Holy Land,” Thaddeus said.

  “I would be ready,” Wulfstan said. “I am certain the Lord will call you there soon.”

  “Should we go there instead?” Asaf asked as they reached their cell.

  “No,” Wulfstan replied. “Stay the course. I can understand your desire to see if you can alleviate some the problems in your homeland, Asaf, but you will know when and where the Lord calls you.”

  “But maybe you are how the Lord is calling us to the Holy Land,” Asaf countered, again showing his concern about what was happening in Palestine.

  “The people of England, both Saxon and Norman, need you,” Wulfstan explained. “I do not believe I am the vessel by which God is going to call you east. Truly, He may never call you there. It is just an assumption.”

  Thaddeus was about to say something when Alden appeared in the cloister. When he saw Wulfstan, he bowed quickly and stayed there, face to the ground, until the Bishop bid him stand. As Alden walked past Thaddeus on his way into the cell, the Greek sniffed the air around the young Saxon. He simply smelled dirty. His hands were covered in dirt, and he assumed the man had been working in the gardens with the initiates and monks of the abbey.

  “I must leave for the castle,” Wulfstan said “and tomorrow you must be on the road to Richmond. I think we can be sure the witch is already there, and her stain is ever growing. Thaddeus, a word please.”

  The Bishop stepped away from the other men, Thaddeus following him.

  “Be careful, Thaddeus,” Wulfstan said, his voice hushed. “Watch the Saxons that are with you.”

  “Yes, Your Excellency.”

  “And hurry to Richmond,” Wulfstan added. “This witch is highly dangerous, perhaps one of the most powerful I have ever come across ... or we have come across. She poisons this land that I love, Thaddeus, and I would see it restored before I leave this world. The longer she stays, the more violence and war will break out. In the north. In Normandy. I already know that I must attempt to undo what she has done to the King. God be with you, Thaddeus. Know that I will pray for you daily.”

  Chapter 21

  “WE SHOULD GO TO the Holy Land,” Asaf argued. “It is the Lord’s land, the place where Christ was crucified. It is where the Lord wants us. I know it.”

  “It is where you want to go,” Thaddeus said. “You want to return home so badly you would use this to that end. Don’t you remember what Bishop Wulfstan said?”

  “I don’t know,” Gunnar added. “It seemed to me, as the Bishop spoke, that the Lord was using him to direct us. This witch is a wild goose chase. We go to one place, and she leaves. We go another, and she leaves. If England falls, so what? It has fallen before, many times. To the Saxons. To my people. To the Normans. But if the Holy Land falls, then what?”

  “The Holy Land has already fallen, Gunnar,” Thaddeus said. “Christians do not control Jerusalem. Muslims do.”

  “All the more reason to go,” Asaf said.

  “You think God has tasked us to overthrow a whole caliphate?” Thaddeus asked.

  “And why not?” Asaf replied. “Maybe it is our last task. Perhaps it is the last deed God wishes us to do before he lets us die.”

  That thought had crossed Thaddeus’ mind as well, and it was a good thought … for a moment.

  “I thought you were afraid to die, priest,” Gunnar said. “Aren’t you afraid God won’t let you through the gates of Heaven?”

  “Right now, I am so tired I could care less,” Asaf said. “If He lets me into Heaven, great. If not, then I’ll find every witch and demon and evil spirit I’ve sent back to hell and piss in their faces.”

  “I wouldn’t mind seeing the Holy Land,” Gunnar said. “I’ve been close, but never to Jerusalem.”

  “Listen both of you,” Thaddeus said. “If we believe what Wulfstan said, then we will go soon, but not yet.”

  “We’ll be some whore’s puppet before this is over,” Asaf cursed.

  “We stay the course,” Thaddeus said. “I know that most of the time we are equal, but in times like this, you have always looked to me for my leadership. I was the first of us to be anointed holy warrior, and so I will make the final decision. We follow this witch to Richmond, where we kill her and release her grip on this land.”

  “What are we doing?” Brant asked, stepping into the cell where the three men had been conferrin
g.

  “We were just figuring that out,” Thaddeus replied.

  “What is there to figure out?” Brant asked.

  “It is over your head,” Asaf said.

  “That is a lofty statement for such a slight man,” Brant said with an antagonizing smile.

  Asaf was a smaller man, but he was ruthless and deadly. Part of Thaddeus wanted to let Brant continue to provoke the man, but it wouldn’t serve their purpose.

  “We are going back to Richmond,” Thaddeus said.

  “What?” Brant asked. “Why?”

  “Because, that is the course we must take,” Thaddeus replied.

  “Not good enough,” Brant said. “I’ve been following you all around England with naught a single thread of explanation, and now we are supposed to go back to Richmond. Are we stopping in Chesterfield? Are we letting Prince Harold know what we are doing?”

  “No,” Thaddeus said.

  He could see the thane’s face turning red and his chest puff up. Thaddeus looked to Asaf and Gunnar with questioning eyes. They both nodded.

  “This isn’t about overthrowing the Normans,” Thaddeus said, “nor is it about placing the Godwinsons back on the throne. We actually couldn’t care who ruled this land, nor does Bishop Wulfstan, nor Rome, nor Byzantium.”

  “What do you mean?” Brant asked. “What have we been doing here?”

  He clenched his fists as Thaddeus gave his companions another cautious look.

  “We’re hunting a witch,” Thaddeus replied.

  Brant looked as if he was about to hit Thaddeus for a moment. He looked livid, his jaws rigid, and the muscles in his arms flexing. And then he laughed.

  “You must truly take me for a fool,” he said, pointing his index finger at Thaddeus.

  “It’s no jest,” Thaddeus said, “no lie.”

  Brant stopped laughing as Thaddeus looked at him with a straight face.

  “You expect me to believe we are hunting a witch?” Brant asked. “What is Prince Harold then? Some ruse?”