Dark Winter: Last Rites

by Hennessy, John

  The man standing over Toril was suddenly energised by her cries, and cruelly whipped the lash into a frenzy with the crowd urging him on. “Again! Again! Tear the witch apart!”

  Tori-Suzanne noticed that there were girls and boys amongst the crowd who could have been Toril’s age. Why weren’t they stopping this?

  She tried to reason with the situation. She believed it was a mind trick of Curie’s.

  The whip was brought down again on Toril, and this time, she slumped against the post. Although she thought it was a clever, sick game initiated by Curie, Tori-Suzanne’s opinion quickly changed.

  “Just stop it, Curie. Stop it!”

  Curie looked at her strangely.

  “You think I’m doing this? Oh no, Tori. This is actually happening. You knew Diabhal’s power was rising. You knew, and did nothing. Maria Hurley, the original protector of that Mirror died, and did nothing – unless you count giving said Mirror to a girl who could barely put one foot in front of the other. Your daughter thought she could contend with the will of Dana Cullen, and you all think you can stop what has now begun. They have taken the Mirror from Toril, and that is your daughter’s reward. You cannot stand against Him.”

  “Just stop it,” said Tori-Suzanne quietly, the realisation of what might actually be happening was in her voice. “Let me go to her.”

  “Doesn’t matter to me,” said Curie with a shrug. “But if you try to save Toril, you may find yourself up next. This crowd looks hungry to me. Hungry for more.”

  Tori-Suzanne could not unsee the image in front of her. The worst kinds of images can imprint themselves on the mind forever. She wanted to reach out to Toril, or whoever that was, and stop the relentless crack of the whip.

  She had even momentarily forgotten the warning that Curie had just given her. After all, Tori-Suzanne wasn’t wet behind the ears when it came to witchcraft. This had to be some kind of mind trick. This was the worst kind of manipulation that anyone who had never had a child of their own could come up with. Psychopaths never understood one simple rule – you do not mess with anyone else’s children.

  Tori-Suzanne knew she was not in control of this situation. If she ventured towards the girl, the crowd could grab her just as easily as they had restrained Toril. But if she left her, they would just keep whipping her to death.

  Imagined or not, real or not, this was more than Tori-Suzanne could cope with. The crowd must have been about twenty rows deep, but she forced herself through them, with Curie some way behind her, laughing the most awful sound in her eyes.

  “Move! Get out of my way! Please!” Tori-Suzanne realised her voice offered no commanding tone, sounding desperate and weak. This wasn’t about her. She could not care less what they did to her.

  “I have to get to my daughter!”

  Tori-Suzanne found herself being swayed back by the crowd. The crowd jeered the executioner as he released the girl from her binds.

  Tori-Suzanne could just about make out the image too. The girl was weak, bleeding heavily, the skin hanging off her back like the strands of a worn out dress. But she was alive.

  The crowd’s jeers became a crescendo as the executioner grabbed the girl’s wrist, holding her arm aloft as if she was the victor of a boxing contest. Tori-Suzanne wanted to levitate above the ground onto the platform, but she was still under the power of the House of Diabhal. Her powers had been rendered useless here.

  Even if she could use them, there were far too many people to contend with.

  Still, she could see Toril was alive. She could be healed; there was no doubt about that.

  Her hope turned to dismay, as the executioner chained Toril back to the post, only this time, he laid her on her back, and the crowd’s baying for blood would soon be satisfied.

  The whip cracked down, breaking the skin just above her abdomen. The girl appeared to be in a stupor, with little understanding of what was going on. But now every lash cut deep, every sound of the whip was loud and terrible in Tori-Suzanne’s ears.

  At this point, she wondered how much pain Toril was in. Does the body reach a point where you cannot feel pain anymore? In Tori-Suzanne’s head, whether it was Toril or not did not matter anymore. She wanted to stop the crack of the whip and the baying for blood by the crowd.

  Much to the annoyance of the people in front of her, Tori-Suzanne pushed herself through. She could still hear Curie mocking her, laughing at her. He was enjoying every moment of her terror. Tori-Suzanne decided that if she survived this, Curie would pay; finally and totally. There would be no comeback for him.

  He had interfered with her attempted destruction of Dana. Curie was the worst kind of entity; something that just refused to die and go away forever. But Tori-Suzanne could discern one thing from this situation – mind trick or not, this was good. Too good. Everything seemed a little too perfect.

  She knew all about the witch trials, every witch did. She imagined it had been something like this. As she reached the platform and pulled herself up, the executioner opened his mouth to laugh, but it was strange. It was like a woman’s laugh. But even then, the tone changed.

  She turned around to face the girl who was chained to the post. Yes, there was blood everywhere, human blood. But it started to change colour, and became a sticky, black-brown fluid that humans could not expel.

  Yes, the girl looked like Toril. But as it lay laughing at Tori-Suzanne, she realised she was in the presence of a zombie. One of Diabhal’s army of Zerythra. And it laughed at her, whilst Curie laughed behind her. It wasn’t Toril. Perhaps it never was. A mind trick capable of beating even the best witch; and Curie had pulled it off.

  Arms started to grab at Tori-Suzanne, and she found she could not get free. The crowd had morphed into the remaining army of Zeryths – with their hollowed out eyes that sat in huge, oversized eye sockets, with their stripped back teeth, they presented a terrifying vision to Tori-Suzanne.

  She thought they might pull her limb from limb. Instead, they moved her towards the stake.

  “I bet you’re regretting not giving me that name now, aren’t you, Tori?”

  Curie shook his head and folded his arms. “Let us hope that Toril gets back in time to save you, but somehow, I doubt it.”

  The zombies were efficient, and soon had Tori-Suzanne bound to the stake, with her arms outstretched. The rope-ties dug deep into her wrists, and she wore a look of confusion, delirium, and happily for Curie – defeat. He wondered was there any more fight left in her.

  “Any last words, Tori?”

  “Rot in hell, you cocksucking bastard.”

  “Oh dear. I thought as much. I had hoped you might have saved your last words for your daughter. Well don’t be scared Tori. The scares belong to me.”

  Instructing the demons around her, he told them to make the event last as long as possible.

  “I just want to watch this witch burn.”

  Lies Between the Lines:

  Chapter 4

  Alone in the woods, far from anyone, far from safety, the real Toril rarely cried, but she found herself with tears streaming down her face. She had little doubt that Curie or any one of Diabhal’s minions would be able to find her. The Mirror was many things. Not a simple looking mirror at all. They would follow her until they had taken it from her. Alive or dead.

  She had evaded the Circle’s wrath up until now. How she regretted ever finding them. The hollow words of listen to your mother rang in her head, over and over again. Tori-Suzanne had been most insistent.

  It awakes something evil within ourselves.

  She knew. It had awoken within Tori-Suzanne, forcing her to kill. The wound Toril had inflicted on Beth needed to look realistic, otherwise the Circle would have found Beth, and would have killed her for certain. Stripping away her friends from her, one by one, they would have found the main weakness of this solitary Wiccan, and they meant to exploit it for their own evil ends.

  Toril sat down on the ground. It was an open expanse where no trees grew, wher
e no life at all seemed to be. But it was peaceful. Even if the world is at its most quiet before erupting into violence, this was a moment to savour.

  Even so, she knew the subterfuge could not last. She had been stretched beyond anything she could cope with. Beth’s words bit at her. Going after Dana? Are you for real? You can name your next wand Whatever Was I Thinking?

  Beth may have been harsh, but she had been absolutely right too. The Circle did not care who Dana destroyed; in fact, they welcomed it. Toril knew, out here, in the cold, that she should have let things be. She had put everything she cared about in Dana’s firing line, and whilst the possibility remained of Dana being stopped, Curie seemed beyond their powers.

  Her mother could be suffering for Toril’s decision. Beth too. Toril recalled how she ran ahead of Jacinta, instead of keeping pace with her. Every decision she had made had been the wrong one. Why do these thoughts tease us wickedly, making us think it is the right decision at the time?

  Toril chastised herself heavily because she believed she was smart, clever and thoughtful.

  She was far from danger, but nowhere near any place one could call safe. Toril had thought to go to Rosewinter, but in the haze of the crescent moon, she recalled that she had set it ablaze.

  That wasn’t entirely true. She knew something awful had been happening within the wood-cabin, and yet was compelled to entrench the horror. She probably hadn’t meant to hurt anybody. She just had to get the Mirror.

  Once Toril saw my stricken body in Rosewinter, she believed I was not in a position to help myself, help anyone. Her mind was so torn, and it was an uncomfortable position for her. Toril did not care for self-pity, least of all for herself. But here, in this place, she looked for solace within, and wanted to ensure no-one was observing her.

  That could not be guaranteed, but she believed she had given Curie the slip.

  Time to check her bundle.

  Toril propped herself up against the tree, and pulled the pages out of the book that no-one else was supposed to see.

  The book had many strange symbols, full of Wiccan philosophy but with Satanic undertones. Here in the woods, it was so clear to Toril, but back when she was in the Circle, her thoughts were muddled and clouded. She could not make sense of things. That’s how they liked it. How had her mother escaped their wrath?

  The answers lay within its pages.

  ***

  Toril heard a rustle of sounds behind her. Someone or something was watching her. She gathered up the pages and stuffed them into her bag. She wouldn’t do something as so silly as to say Who’s There?

  They would have to show themselves if they wanted to play.

  Toril stood with her hands lightly clenched at her side. Her wand remained inside her coat pocket. She could reach it quickly and with ease if the situation demanded it.

  Maybe it was just a bird or a squirrel. But Toril felt the ground was far too cold for any wildlife to be scurrying around. The ground around her had not been rained on in an age; the ground was so dry it cracked under her feet.

  A liquid gushed up from the ground. Toril recoiled in disgust, because she recognised that the old forest was seeking to scare her. If only the forest understood Toril in the same way that those in the Circle understood her. She would not be scared. Bowed a little, even a smite humbled, but not scared.

  “You’ll have to do better than that,” spoke Toril out loud.

  The blood seemed drawn to her, and even when she lifted up one of her feet, the other boot attracted the blood towards it. Toril really did not want to draw her wand, because that was exactly what the forest wanted. The forest itself, or perhaps or someone in the forest. Toril understood that the two things were not easily separated.

  “At least give me a real test,” Toril spat.

  Whoever or whatever was in the woods decided to remain hidden from Toril’s far sight. She stepped back until she was on unspoiled land once again. She would have to make sense of the pages; that was the only thing to do.

  She looked around once more then reached into her bag. It was Jacinta’s old bag from school.

  Jacinta was dead and nothing could be done about that. Nothing ethical anyway. As she came into contact with her possessions Toril felt the memories of her friend hit her, one wave after another.

  Toril wondered why we collected so many things in our lives. They weren’t things we would be able to take with us. She realised she hadn’t fully let go of Jacinta. Toril still believed that Jacinta had died for nothing. It had made Toril feel angry, lost, and vengeful. She didn’t like these feelings, not one bit.

  The pentacle around her neck felt warm, and illuminated under her clothes. Her heart began to beat fast. She looked around but could not see whoever was there.

  “I know you’re there, so show yourself. I’m not scared of you.”

  The area around the wood had darkened, but a light had illuminated around Toril. The brilliance of it hurt her eyes, but soon receded as she finally fired a bolt from her own wand. She had hit something, but could not make out what it was. Before she knew it, the force was being repelled towards her, and it knocked her back several feet, with the sound of her wand clattering on the ground.

  Toril had met such force before. It just had to be the most wicked witch of them all.

  Her sight was affected by the blast, still she groped about on the ground for her wand. As her fingers found it, so did something else. A foot was pressing into Toril’s hand.

  “Dana! Get off me! To hell with you!!”

  The reply was to shock her.

  “I’m not that wicked witch, but you may think I am wicked all the same.”

  Toril processed the sound. She knew the voice. The last time she had heard that voice, things had not gone so well.

  “Lunabelle? Is that you?”

  The light around Lunabelle faded.

  “It is me, yes Toril. I have left the Circle at great risk to myself, but to warn of a great and terrible peril to you. Stand up, child.”

  Lunabelle extended a hand, but Toril waved it away.

  “I’m alright. The last time you got a hold of my hand, you stuck a knife in it.”

  “Now you didn’t look like the kind to hold grudges, little witch.”

  Toril ignored the trite comment. By calling her a little witch, Toril knew full well that Lunabelle was attempting to impose control over her. How little she really knew about her.

  “I don’t,” said Toril. “But I would like to know what you’re doing here.”

  “I’m here to help you.”

  “Now that doesn’t sound like something you’d do.”

  “I understand perfectly, Toril. You’ve no real reason to trust me, lassie. But I am here, aren’t I? Circle members don’t leave that place. Not unless we are going to war. And war is heading to Gorswood, believe me.”

  Toril took a step forward and pointed her wand at Lunabelle.

  “Yield.”

  “Oh Toril, I haven’t yielded to anyone all these years, and I am not going to start with you.”

  “You will yield, or you will burn.”

  Lunabelle looked into Toril’s eyes. Things certainly had changed since Lunabelle had forced an inexperienced Toril to leave the Circle. There was a steely determination about the girl. Lunabelle didn’t want to hurt her, so she didn’t something that no one would have believed.

  She yielded.

  Toril was thrilled with her victory, but didn’t want to show that she expected anything other than Lunabelle to compliance.

  “Surprised you, did I lassie?”

  Toril shook her head.

  “Not in the slightest.”

  “Got a big head, since you read the big book, haven’t you?”

  “So that’s what you’ve come for!” Toril exclaimed.

  “You left before I could help you with it.”

  Toril snorted. “Hmmph! I seem to remember you forcing me out of the place. Then I found Dana in my own house, who took great delig
ht in telling me that I had never actually left the Circle. Well, I am on the outside now, and I am not going back.”

  “Forgive me, Toril,” said Lunabelle, who was more contrite in her tone, “but you really do need my help. Not everyone in the Circle is a force for bad. How else can I convince you?”

  “Drop your wand.”

  “Toril! When did you become such a world-weary hardened cynic?”

  “I will answer your questions when you follow my commands.”

  For the second time that day, Lunabelle surprised Toril. Her hand had kept tight grip on her wand. Toril observed that it was the same silver-grey colour of the birch tree, almost certainly the same one that her mother’s wand came from.