To Kill a Witch

by Christopher Patterson

  “Yes,” Asaf replied.

  “Witches aren’t real,” Brant hissed, the mirth in his voice and on his face gone. “They are just spoke of in stories to frighten children.”

  “You’re the fool if you can’t look around you and know that evil is at work in this land,” Asaf said. “You must feel it. The Devil is present here.”

  “Fairy tales,” Brant said with a wave of his hand. “We are wasting time on this rubbish.”

  “Rowan was a servant of the witch,” Thaddeus said. “That is why he fled here, because she can’t enter this holy place. And that is why I wanted him alive.”

  Brant looked at Thaddeus for a moment before rubbing his face and shaking his head.

  “What about the evil in the lands around Richmond?” Thaddeus asked. “The House of Renne was a just house, and then, suddenly, they turn evil.”

  “They’re Norman,” Brant replied.

  “Or the unwillingness of this land to produce any fruits,” Thaddeus added. “It’s late spring, and yet, almost nothing grows.”

  “And you can’t tell me you haven’t seen strange things,” Gunnar added. “Especially around cemeteries. Deep in the forests. On old battlefields.”

  Brant’s eyes widened, but then he shook his head.

  “I need proof,” Brant said.

  “Figures,” Asaf replied. “I knew you would be a doubting Thomas.”

  Thaddeus unsheathed his sword. It still glowed with a blue light. Everyone’s eyes widened, not just Brant’s.

  “Black magic,” the thane muttered.

  “I’ve never seen it do that,” Gunnar said at the same time.

  “A blessing from Bishop Wulfstan,” Thaddeus said.

  “The bishop was here?” Brant asked.

  “Aye,” Thaddeus replied, “because of the witch.”

  “A glowing sword isn’t much proof that a witch has poisoned England,” Brant said.

  “Not just England,” Thaddeus replied, “but its people … its king even.”

  “We will see,” Brant said. “When are we leaving?”

  “Tomorrow. Today we gather our supplies for the journey,” Thaddeus replied.

  Chapter 22

  THADDEUS PATTED POLEMISTES on his great neck as they rode through the countryside outside the capital of Winchester. The day was brighter than the previous. The clouds had broken a little to allow for some sunshine, and the rain had stopped. In the light, this land looked beautiful, as did its people. Whether they were Norman or Saxon, they were pleasing in the eyes of the Lord. They were good, Christian men and women, working hard and raising families as best they could, and they deserved to do so without the interference of the Devil and his whore. They had enough to contend with already without the ever-shifting politics and fighting over the borders of this world.

  Thaddeus looked behind him, a small smile on his face, to see his companions following. Then he frowned.

  “Where did Brant go?” Thaddeus asked. “And Jarvis?”

  “I don’t know,” Gunnar replied.

  Thaddeus looked to Alden.

  “I don’t know,” Alden replied with a shrug. “He won’t talk to me. He won’t even look at me.”

  Just then, the faintest smell of rot hit Thaddeus’ nose. It was ever so slight, like the smell of an apple that just began to turn, or the feeble smell of decay on an animal that has sat unsalted too long. He saw several men, hoeing the land alongside the road, and wondered what were they digging at when they threw down their tools and reached inside their tunics.

  “Get ready for a fight!” Thaddeus yelled.

  He heard a high-pitched screech and watched as a cloaked figure appeared from behind a large oak tree, several paces off the road. Two large men, rather, headless men followed the cloaked figure. Perched upon the figure’s shoulder was a little winged creature with two curled horns sprouting from its forehead, clawed feet, a pinched face, a long nose, pointed ears, and a tuft of beard growing from its chin. It couldn’t have been more than two feet tall, where the headless men were more than eight feet tall.

  “Imp,” Asaf muttered. “Disgusting little demons.”

  “What are those?” Alden asked, and when Thaddeus looked at the Saxon man over his shoulder, he was crossing himself, his eyes wide with astonishment.

  “Blemmyae,” Thaddeus replied. “We haven’t seen them in quite some time.”

  “Not since Nubia,” Gunnar said.

  The giant, headless men were naked despite the colder weather. Their arms and legs were long but well-muscled. Two large eyes sat on their chest in place of nipples, and a large mouth sat where their navels should have been. On either side of the road, a dozen or more men gathered crude implements—anything from their hoes to rusted short swords—wielded as weapons.

  The cloaked figure removed their hood, revealing a young, pretty woman with long, blonde hair. She lifted her hands and head, spoke something, and flies began to buzz around Thaddeus and his companions. They were an annoyance, but that was it.

  “She’s an apprentice,” Asaf said, “sent to simply slow us down.”

  “Aye,” Gunnar said, and as the men on either side of them engaged, he threw his spear at one.

  The blade of the Norseman’s spear punched through the man’s chest, sending him back into another man, the blade jamming into his chest as well. Thaddeus easily beheaded one attacker, and his horse kicked out at another, turning his face into a mess of flesh and bone.

  “They are fools to attack us while we are horsed,” Gunnar yelled, his blade cleaving through flesh easily.

  “They are possessed,” Asaf said, striking another man in the head with his war hammer. “Look at them. We are doing them a favor as we strike them down.”

  Indeed, the witch controlled these men. Their faces looked gaunt and worn, and their eyes sunken. They moved with the fervor of a man who had been tortured, a man whose only hope that was perhaps, with a victory, his torture would end. Whether victory meant his death or the death of his opponent, it didn’t matter; his torture would end, nonetheless.

  All four of them easily struck down the possessed peasants, who had simply clawed and scratched at them as they sat over them on their horses. Their presence and purpose were merely to distract them as the apprentice witch, and her minions orchestrated their attack.

  The imp spit at Thaddeus. He wasn’t ready for the attack and, even though he was able to dodge the fiery spittle that flew at his face, it distracted him just as Polemistes was rearing to attack, and he fell from his horse with blisters rising along his cheek. The Blemmyae rushed Asaf and Gunnar. Asaf was able to turn his horse away, but Gunnar flew from his horse as the witch’s soldier rammed a shoulder into the Norseman’s horse’s ribs. The animal crashed to the ground and probably would have died by the monster’s hands if Alden hadn’t rushed in, sword swinging over his head. Before the Saxon could swing, however, the Blemmyae backhanded the man across the face, also taking him out of his saddle.

  It was all the time Gunnar needed to catch his breath from the fall and retrieve his spear. He jabbed at the naked Blemmyae, striking one of its giant eyes. Blood burst from the wound and the creature stumbled backward, a gurgling scream erupting from its mouth. Thaddeus too was back on his feet, and he rushed the injured monster while Asaf engaged the other. He could see his sword still glowing with that faint blue light—the blessing of Wulfstan—and that gave him a surge of courage as he slid the blade along the Blemmyae’s ribs. The creature howled again. Alden jabbed his sword into the back of the monster’s leg while Gunnar ran his spear through the creature’s spine, the blade punching through its mouth on the other side. Thaddeus stabbed it in the other eye and, in moments, the monster lay on the ground, dead.

  A hiss signified more imp spittle. This one was aimed at Alden, and when it struck the sleeve of his tunic, the wool easily caught fire, even in the damp conditions. The man swung his arm about frantically, crying as the imp fluttered overhead and laughed. Gunnar tackled h
im to the ground, patting out the flames. At the same time, a thorny vine rose up from the ground and wrapped around Thaddeus’ ankle. His boots held back the long, sharp thorns, but the vine held him in place, and he could see the witch smiling at him from several paces away.

  Asaf swung his hammer at the other Blemmyae, the steel head smacking into the monster’s shoulder. It swung wildly at the priest, but the nimbleness of his horse easily dodged the creature’s attacks. As soon as Gunnar had extinguished Alden’s burning sleeve, he rushed to Asaf’s aid, throwing his spear at the Blemmyae’s back and then drawing his long sword.

  While Thaddeus struggled with the thorny vine snaring his ankle, any attempt to detangle himself drawing blood from his fingers and hands, he heard the imp spit again. This fiery attack hit his shoulder and, even though the spittle bounced off the iron plate protecting it, he could feel the heat from the little demon’s attack.

  “Alden!” Thaddeus cried. “Get that imp!”

  The Saxon looked at Thaddeus with confusion at first, the little demon hovering at least a dozen feet above them, but then he looked at his feet and saw a large rock. He picked it up and threw it at the imp. The rock missed, but the diminutive creature ceased its attack on Thaddeus to focus on Alden. He threw another rock at the monster, this one grazing the imp’s left leg. It screeched and hissed, steam spilling from its long, hooked nose, and flew back to the shoulder of the witch.

  More vines sprouted from the ground like writhing snakes, searching for flesh to latch on to. Alden dodged several of them, as he ran to Thaddeus’ aid. Two vines snaked around Gunnar’s legs, just as he was getting ready to bring his sword down on the Blemmyae’s shoulder, and as the thorns dug into his skin, he cried out. Thorny creepers even crept up the legs of Asaf’s horse, and the poor animal neighed and whinnied as blood poured from its wounds.

  Asaf huffed angrily, threw his hammer at the Blemmyae, gripped the cross that hung from his neck tightly, and prayed. When he had finished with a loud “Amen!” a flash of white light burst from his cross and the witch covered her eyes with her hands. The Blemmyae stumbled back, falling to the ground and the imp screeched loudly. The vines loosed their grip and fell to the ground, harmlessly. Gunnar ran to the headless man, lying on his back, and stabbed it in both its eyes. It gurgled and howled, opening its mouth and Gunnar jammed his blade between the rows of blackened, crooked teeth. For a moment, its arms and legs flailed, and then it fell still.

  The imp spat at Gunnar, but missed, striking the dead Blemmyae. The monster’s skin caught fire where the spittle struck, and in moments, fire consumed the headless man. At the same time, the witch started chanting another spell, and as she spoke, large hairy spiders burst from the earth and crawled towards the four men. The imp cast a spell of its own, and wasps twice the size of a normal winged insect filled the sky, diving at Thaddeus and his companions, stinging them mercilessly.

  “Kill the imp!” Thaddeus cried. “It is giving the witch power!”

  Gunnar rushed the witch, but the imp turned to him and blew at him, and a cloud of dust rose up from the ground and surrounded the large man. Asaf ran at her as well, but when the witch snapped her fingers, the ground underneath him rolled, throwing him to the ground. Spiders crawled all over him, and he jumped to his feet, slapping them away, all the while wasps stinging at his exposed flesh.

  Thaddeus reached down, grabbed a large rock, and tossed it to Alden. Alden caught the rock and in the same motion threw it at the imp. If this Saxon were like any other, he would have learned how to defend himself with whatever he had available, including rocks and slings. The rock hit the tiny demon, and it fell from the witch’s shoulder, and as she stepped back, surprised by the attack, she stepped on the demon’s wing. Thaddeus heard a crunching sound, and when the imp got to its feet, one of its wings hung limply. It howled and looked up at the witch, hissing and squinting its eyes.

  Gunnar, the cloud of dust gone, rushed the witch from one side while Asaf rushed her from the other. The imp spat at the Norseman but wasn’t ready for the priest’s boot that caught it in the stomach. It flew through the air with a squeaky grunt, landing just in front of Thaddeus, who promptly lifted his boot and brought it down hard on the demon’s head before it could spit or even yell out a curse. Just to make sure the little demon was dead, he brought his sword down on it, cleaving the creature in two.

  Seeing the last of her infernal help dead, the witch turned to flee. Thaddeus heaved his sword at the woman, blade and handle flying end over end, and it struck the woman in the shoulder before she could cover only a few paces. As the blade pierced her flesh, it threw her forward as she emitted a howl.

  “Cover her mouth when I turn her over,” Thaddeus said to Gunnar, retrieving his sword and grabbing the witch by the shoulder that had suffered the wound.

  As she rolled to her back, she stabbed upwards with a thin-bladed knife. Thaddeus dodged it, kicked the knife from her hand, and then put a boot onto where the sword had gone right through her shoulder, pressing down hard. She screamed and began to form words, but Gunnar promptly clamped a foot over her mouth, balling a bit of cloth in his hands. As soon as it was compact enough, he uncovered her mouth only to gag her with the cloth.

  “Are you a full-fledged witch?” Thaddeus asked, pressing even harder on her wounded shoulder. “Or are you simply an apprentice, some whore for Renata’s servants? Blink once if this is the truth.”

  The witch’s eyes simply narrowed as she glared at him.

  He pressed harder on her shoulder and then pushed the tip of his sword into the witch’s other shoulder. Her screamed was muffled against her gag, but still loud.

  “Thaddeus,” Asaf said.

  Thaddeus looked at his friend over his shoulder. The priest had a concerned look on his face, and he couldn’t tell if it was from his treatment of the witch or the fact that Brant and Jarvis rode up to them.

  “Where have you been?” Thaddeus called.

  The thane simply dismounted, throwing the reins to his huscarl with not a word. Thaddeus removed his foot from the witch and walked to the thane.

  “Do you believe me now?” Thaddeus asked, presenting the field littered with dead peasants, the imp, and Blemmyae.

  Brant looked around, eyes wide. He looked confused and irritated at the same time.

  “Where have you been?” Thaddeus asked again.

  Brant just shook his head.

  “Unbelievable,” he muttered, but then Thaddeus struck him across the face with the back of his hand.

  Brant went to one knee and, looking up at Thaddeus with hatred in his eyes, stood and stepped forward.

  “What do you think you …” Brant began to say, but Thaddeus hit him again across the face.

  “I am getting tired of your sense of superiority,” Thaddeus said. “You have no idea who we are, but, believe me, I have seen more things and earned more favor in the sight of the church and of God than you could ever hope to. Answer me.”

  “I have a Wessexer contact in Winchester,” Brant said, wiping blood from his split lips; his eyes showed a mixture of fear and surprise. “I had to speak with him before we left.”

  “And why did you not tell us?” Thaddeus asked, shaking the man.

  “It was none of your business,” Brant said, trying to stand straight and become defiant again.

  “While you are with us,” Thaddeus hissed, “everything you do is our business. While you were gone, we were caught by this witch’s apprentice and her demons. Do you believe me now?”

  Brant walked to where the apprentice lay, looking about at the dead demons.

  “What do you mean to do with her?” Brant asked, crouching next to the witch.

  She said something against the cloth muffling her and her face turned red. Brant stood and stepped back, shaking his head. The apprentice looked angry as she glared at the Saxon thane.

  “I mean to interrogate her and find out what exactly the witch we seek is planning,” Thaddeus replied before he
returned to stand over the witch.

  “Watch him,” he said quietly to Asaf as he passed his friend.

  Thaddeus knelt next to the witch as Gunnar, holding her hands behind her back, helped her sit up.

  “Are you an apprentice?” he asked. “Blink once if yes.”

  She didn’t do anything.

  “Gunnar, give me her right hand,” Thaddeus commanded, and the Norseman did as he was told.

  Thaddeus unsheathed his dagger and promptly removed the witch’s index finger on her right hand. In normal circumstances, she would have been a pretty woman with pale skin, a button nose, and piercing blue eyes, but blood and dirt were smeared across her face, and her long, blonde hair hung in muddy clumps. As she screamed and cried against the gag, her skin turned ashen gray, and her eyes became sunken and less brilliant. This was the price evil took, shown as her magic began to wear off.

  “Thaddeus,” Gunnar said. “What are you doing?”

  “I will ask again,” Thaddeus said, ignoring the Norseman. “Are you an apprentice to Renata?”

  The witch blinked once. He looked over his shoulder. Asaf glared at him, Alden and Jarvis looked on in fear and wonder, and Brant looked apprehensive and nervous.

  “Is she in Richmond?” Thaddeus asked.

  Nothing. Her middle finger fell to the ground. And then the lobe of her right ear. She blinked once. Thaddeus looked to Gunnar. The Norseman shook his head, but Thaddeus had seen the Norseman do far worse.

  “Does she have a hand in the war in the north, against the Scots?” Thaddeus asked.

  One blink.

  “Does she have a hand in the friction between William and Robert of Normandy?”

  Nothing. The index finger on the other hand. A slice through the left nostril. The lobe of her left ear. One blink.

  “Thaddeus!” Asaf yelled.

  “Quiet,” Thaddeus commanded. “Gunnar, remove her gag.”

  Gunnar hesitated, but when Thaddeus gave him a hard look, he did as he was told.