To Kill a Witch

by Christopher Patterson

  “Please,” the witch-apprentice gasped. “Please stop. I can take no more.”

  Thaddeus looked over his shoulder as Brant stepped forward. Thaddeus stared at him over his shoulder, then looked back at the apprentice.

  “Really?” Thaddeus said, gripping the whole of her neck with one hand and squeezing so that she struggled for breath, “and what of the people you have led to ruin? What of the people you have possessed and tortured?”

  “She forced my hand,” the apprentice muttered. “Renata … she made me do all those things. I had no choice. I am the daughter of a poor peasant. We were starving. My mother had died. Our crops were failing. Our animals were sick. My brother was sick. What choice did we have?”

  “Turn to the Lord,” Thaddeus said, a knot growing in his stomach. Witches and their kin lied like they breathed the air, but there was truth in this woman’s words. She didn’t have the strength to fight the truth. “Ask Him for help.”

  “We did, sir,” the witch said, her head lolling to one side, sobbing in between each breath. “We prayed, and we prayed and prayed. When the fall yielded nothing, we prayed. When winter took my mother, we prayed harder. When fever took my brother, we prayed even harder. And then she showed up and made us an offer. At first, we thought she was sent from God. My brother was better. Our fields were plentiful, and our animals strong and fertile. And my father was happy. When she revealed herself to us, when she demanded to take me as her apprentice, what choice did we have?”

  “There is always a choice, my child,” Asaf said, kneeling beside her, along with Thaddeus. He put a hand on her forehead. A look of pain crossed the priest’s face, and Thaddeus knew that her very touch could burn, but Asaf kept his hand there, nonetheless. “You can always choose.”

  “She said she would kill my brother,” the woman said, sobbing even more. “She said she would sell me to the streets. Our farm would die away, and my father would die a pauper, consumed by dementia and boils. What choice was there in that?”

  “She’s a liar!” Brant yelled. “If she’s a witch, wouldn’t she try to cast a spell? Something like that?”

  “Shut your mouth!” Thaddeus said. “What do you care anyway? You don’t believe witches exist.”

  The apprentice looked from Thaddeus to Brant. She groaned as blood streamed down her face from the slice in her nose, but she still managed to scowl at the thane. She turned back to Thaddeus.

  “It is no lie,” the apprentice said. She tried to speak more but began coughing, and blood and foam spilled from her mouth, and her body twitched as the witch’s curse began to leave her.

  “It’s all right my child,” Asaf said. “Quiet yourself. You don’t need to say anything.”

  “I have one last question for you,” Thaddeus said.

  The apprentice nodded slowly.

  “Is Renata working alone?”

  Chapter 23

  BETWEEN COUGHS AND spasms of pain, the girl told them Renata was a High Priestess, part of a larger coven, spread throughout the Frankish kingdom.

  “Damn it,” Asaf cursed. “This is becoming much larger than I had hoped.”

  “As large as overthrowing a caliphate that currently rules the Holy Land?” Gunnar asked with a smile.

  “You are a rat turd,” Asaf replied.

  “Focus,” Thaddeus said. “Wulfstan was right. She is, perhaps, the most powerful witch we have ever faced.”

  “And what do we do with her?” Gunnar asked, pointing to the apprentice, bloody and dirty and crying on the ground.

  Thaddeus looked to Asaf.

  “She asked for forgiveness,” Thaddeus said.

  Brant laughed.

  “Asaf, would you say last rites over her?” Thaddeus asked.

  “After you tortured her?” Brant asked. “How quickly your heart melts for some young whore.”

  “You are a cruel and stupid man,” Thaddeus said, “and the sooner I can be rid of you, the better.”

  “She doesn’t need me to say any rites over her,” Asaf said, visibly nervous about doing what Thaddeus had asked.

  “I know that,” Thaddeus said softly, “but it would comfort her.”

  “We don’t even know what she has done, Thaddeus,” Asaf said.

  “How could you even think to offer this whore forgiveness?” Brant asked. “If she is a witch like you say …”

  “Do you still doubt?” Gunnar asked, lifting the dead imp by its legs and shaking it. He threw it at the thane’s feet, and the man gagged.

  Brant looked away for a moment, swallowed hard, and then looked back at Thaddeus.

  “She’s a witch, which means she deserves the stake and fire,” Brant said.

  “Anyone can be redeemed,” Asaf replied.

  “Not a witch,” Brant said.

  “Oh, so you’re a theologian now, then? Do you not trust the Roman church?” Asaf asked sarcastically.

  “It’s the church that backed the Normans,” Brant said flatly.

  Asaf looked to Thaddeus.

  “I still don’t know about saying last rites over her,” Asaf added.

  Brant spat on the ground.

  “Gunnar, watch her,” Thaddeus said and then looked at Brant, “and him.”

  Gunnar nodded, and Thaddeus gently took Asaf by the arm and led him over to the large oak tree behind which the apprentice once hid.

  “Are you so reluctant to give someone forgiveness?” Thaddeus asked.

  “As much as it pains me to say so,” Asaf said, “Brant is right. We don’t know what she did. We don’t know if she truly wants forgiveness.”

  “And if she doesn’t,” Thaddeus said, “what does it hurt?”

  “She doesn’t need me to say last rites over her,” Asaf said, a stern look on his face. “She can ask God for forgiveness herself. She used to be a Christian.”

  “A poor peasant girl who couldn’t read or write?” Thaddeus said. “The most Biblical and spiritual instruction she probably ever received was from some traveling friar who was more interested in her father’s coin and what was between her legs than teaching Christ’s parables and the Grace of God.”

  “I don’t know,” Asaf said.

  “Is it so hard for you to imagine such a person could receive forgiveness, given your past,” Thaddeus said, his eyes fixed hard on Asaf’s face.

  “You go too far, Thaddeus,” Asaf said.

  “Do I?” Thaddeus asked. “This coming from the priest who renounced the cloth so that he might kill his wife’s lover. The man who slept with his wife’s sister. And the man who delved into the mysticisms and witchcraft of the nomadic Arab tribes before finally coming back to Christ.”

  “You have no right to bring up my past,” Asaf said, pointing a finger at Thaddeus and growing red-faced.

  “You were the father of a whole community of Christians, in the Holy Land, nonetheless,” Thaddeus said, “only to become a murderer and an adulterer. You were present at the Council of Ephesus, only to turn your back on our Lord.”

  Asaf turned his face away from Thaddeus.

  “Do you bring up my past so I might relive my pain?” Asaf asked.

  “No,” Thaddeus replied. “I bring up your past so that you might remember how far our Lord’s grace extends. God saved you, did he not?”

  “I don’t know,” Asaf said, looking at Thaddeus with red-rimmed eyes, “has He?”

  “As much as you jest about your salvation,” Thaddeus said, “you know the Lord has saved you from damnation. Why else would you be traveling with me these last six hundred years, doing His work?”

  Asaf nodded his head and gave a short laugh.

  “All right,” he said, “I will say last rites over this woman, even though you and I both know she could simply ask for forgiveness by herself.”

  At that moment, they both heard someone cry out and saw a bright flash of light, coming from where their companions stood watch over the apprentice. Thaddeus and Asaf ran to their friends, only to find Jarvis, Alden, and Gunnar l
ying on the ground unconscious, and Brant standing over the apprentice holding a bloody sword, blood pooling underneath her.

  “What happened here?” Thaddeus asked as he rushed to Gunnar.

  His friend was still breathing and began to come to as Thaddeus lifted his head. Both Alden and Jarvis began to groan and move slowly as well.

  “She is dead,” Asaf said, kneeling next to the apprentice, his fingers at the woman’s neck and looking up at Brant with squinted eyes and pursed lips.

  “I am fine,” Brant said. “Thank you for asking.”

  “You didn’t answer my question,” Thaddeus said, helping Gunnar to his feet. “What happened here?”

  “As you two spoke of a witch’s salvation,” Brant explained, “she tried casting a spell. In fact, she did. That is why those three were unconscious.”

  Gunnar stood, still quite wobbly on his feet. Alden was on his knees, and Jarvis sat up, rubbing his head.

  “And you remained unaffected,” Thaddeus said.

  “I had looked away, just in time,” Brant replied. “She tried casting another spell, this one on me, but I ran her through and ended her miserable, cursed life before she could.”

  “What was the flash of light?” Asaf asked.

  “What was that?” Brant asked.

  “There was a flash of light,” Asaf said. “We saw it from behind that oak tree. What was it?”

  “Oh, well, it must have been the witch’s attempt to cast her spell on me,” Brant said. “She simply spoke several words to incapacitate those three, and that was when I rushed her.”

  “And you saw no light?” Asaf asked with a cocked eyebrow.

  “I must have closed my eyes, just at the right time,” Brant said, “for I saw no light before I killed this Devil’s whore.”

  “Is this what happened?” Thaddeus asked, looking from Gunnar, to Alden, to Jarvis.

  “How would they know?” Brant asked. “They were unconscious.”

  Jarvis continued to rub his head, and Gunnar grabbed his knees, seemingly dizzy.

  “I don’t know, Thaddeus,” Gunnar said. “I was watching the woman. Her breathing was slowing, and I remember thinking she was about to pass. Then there was nothing, just darkness. When I opened my eyes, you were staring at me.”

  Asaf began praying over the dead woman’s body.

  “You would pray over a minion of the Devil?” Brant asked.

  “She had asked for forgiveness,” Asaf replied.

  “And then she attacked me,” Brant said. “Clearly she was lying … trying to deceive you.”

  “Perhaps,” Asaf said. “There seems to be a lot of deception in this place.”

  “You know not the heart of this woman,” Thaddeus said, Asaf continuing with his prayers.

  “If he prays over her, and she is lying, it will be to the priest’s damnation,” Brant said.

  “According to who?” Thaddeus asked.

  “The pope,” Brant replied.

  “Truly?” Thaddeus asked. “I have never heard him say such a thing. And certainly, the Bible says no such thing.”

  Brant huffed, sheathing his sword so hard he practically pushed the blade through the leather. Walking away, he spoke harshly to Jarvis in their Saxon language. The huscarl rose to his feet, unsteady, and prepared the thane’s horse.

  “If you remember anything,” Thaddeus whispered to Gunnar, “let me know. Continue to keep an eye on the thane.”

  Chapter 24

  THEY WERE CLOSE to Richmond. The land around them looked more wretched than before.

  “She is growing stronger,” Thaddeus muttered, and Gunnar nodded. “You still don’t remember anything?” Thaddeus asked, and Gunnar shook his head, the frustration shown in the frown that furled his thick eyebrows.

  Brant had been distant since the episode after they left Winchester. Thaddeus supposed he was upset, perhaps about the knowledge of witches being real, or more so, because their whole mission had been a complex ruse. But, as of late, the thane had been acting oddly. He left every day just at dusk.

  “I’m going hunting,” he would say, and yet return empty-handed.

  “When did he ever hunt?” Asaf asked.

  “Never,” Gunnar had replied. “Jarvis has always hunted for him.”

  “But why doesn’t he take his servant now?” Thaddeus asked.

  He watched Brant as the thane sat on the other side of their fire, the flames sputtering in the light rain, daring the weather to extinguish it, and thick clouds covered the sun as the light of day waned. Thaddeus was tired, so he had opted for an early camp. They were only a day or so away from Richmond, and they would need their strength.

  “What was that?” Alden asked.

  “What was what?” Asaf asked.

  “What you did back in Winchester,” Alden said, “against the apprentice and her … her minions? You cast some sort of spell.”

  “It was no spell,” Asaf said with a frown and a raised eyebrow.

  “Then what was it?” Alden asked.

  “A prayer,” Asaf replied.

  “It looked like a spell,” Alden said.

  “It was a prayer,” Asaf repeated, “a request I sent to the Lord, which He granted.”

  “Has He ever not granted your request?” Alden asked.

  “Yes,” Asaf replied, “when it isn’t His will.”

  “Why didn’t you just do that at the beginning of the fight?” Alden asked.

  “It drains me,” Asaf replied. “It tires me. Takes away my energy.”

  “Like a spell,” Alden said.

  “No, not like a spell,” Asaf snapped, and Gunnar couldn’t help but start laughing as the priest grew more and more irritated. “Haven’t you been listening? It is a prayer.”

  “That drains your energy,” Alden added.

  “Yes,” Asaf replied, a little more patiently. “It is a gift God has given me, but it takes a tremendous amount of concentration. After reciting such a prayer, I am always tired.”

  “Like a spell,” Alden said.

  “You are hopeless,” Asaf said. “I’ll answer you no more on the matter.”

  Gunnar laughed aloud, and Thaddeus couldn’t help cracking a smile, Brant all the while chiding his huscarl about something; the fact that he didn’t pack his bags correctly or saddle his horse the right way.

  “So, Brant, tell me once again how this dying witch was able to cast not one, but two spells, incapacitate three hardy souls, and almost immobilize you.”

  “I have already told you,” Brant said.

  “Tell me again.”

  “Why?” Brant asked.

  “The details of your story may help us fight the High Priestess,” Thaddeus explained.

  Brant stared at Thaddeus, something about her name causing the thane to frown.

  “Who?” he asked.

  “The High Priestess,” Thaddeus replied, “the witch who is poisoning this land.”

  “How?” Brant asked. “How will what happened in Winchester help us fight Renata?”

  “How did you know her name?” Thaddeus asked.

  “Who?”

  “Renata, the witch,” Thaddeus replied.

  “You said it,” Brant said, “when you were trying to convince me witches were real.”

  “I did?” Thaddeus asked with pretense in his voice.

  “Yes,” Brant replied. “How else would I know her name?”

  “Indeed,” Thaddeus muttered.

  “And how would anything that happened back there help us?” Brant asked.

  “Maybe it gives us insight into her motives,” Thaddeus replied, “or her magic, or how she works or moves. Truth be told, I am surprised Renata let her apprentice—I am sorry to say I never got her name—live as long as she did. When I killed a moor in Richmond …”

  “You killed the …” Brant said, cutting off Thaddeus, looking up at him intently, and then stopping himself. “You killed a moor? There was a moor in Richmond. How unusual?”

  “U
nusual indeed,” Thaddeus said. “Did you know of him?”

  “No, of course not,” Brant said.

  “You are familiar with Richmond, though, yes?” Thaddeus asked.

  “Yes, of course,” Brant replied.

  “A moor in Richmond,” Thaddeus said. “It would be an odd sight. How hadn’t you heard of him?”

  “Am I supposed to know everything that happens in England?” Brant yelled, throwing a stick into the fire with an angry huff.

  “Well, when I tried interrogating him,” Thaddeus explained, “the witch killed him, even though she was no longer in Richmond.”

  “So,” Brant said with a shrug.

  “Why didn’t she kill her apprentice?” Thaddeus asked. “She could have, even if she was in Richmond already. She could have cast a spell and consumed her with flame, or commanded giant, hairy spiders to crawl from her mouth and suffocate her.”

  “I don’t know,” Brant replied.

  “Perhaps, she knew she would die some other way,” Thaddeus said, glaring at Brant.

  “What does that mean?” Brant asked.

  “Nothing,” Thaddeus replied. “Tell me again what happened.”

  “The witch cast a spell,” Brant said. “There was a bright light that incapacitated those three. I closed my eyes so it would not affect me and then before she could cast another spell, I ran her through with my sword. There you have it. The events that led up to that whore’s death, yet once again.”

  “I thought you said you didn’t see a flash of light,” Thaddeus said.

  “What?” Brant asked.

  “You said you didn’t see a bright light,” Thaddeus said.

  “You saw it,” Brant said.

  “That’s right, we did,” Asaf added, “but you said you didn’t.”

  “Maybe I didn’t, then,” Brant said. “I’m confused.”

  “And the witch incapacitated Gunnar, Alden, and Jarvis with a spell?” Thaddeus asked.

  “Yes!” Brant replied.

  “Then why is there a bruise and dried blood on the back of Jarvis’ head?” Asaf asked.

  “He probably suffered the wound while fighting,” Brant said. “He’s a clumsy fool.”

  “I didn’t see it,” Thaddeus said. “Asaf, Gunnar, did you see that happen.”