Still, Madame Hesper held her tongue. The issue was no longer if the mob believed her or not. It was about why this impostor was here and how she had swung the balance of power in her direction.
“You found my poor girl’s chutney smashed on her back step,” the father bellowed. With her new awareness, Madame Hesper found that even he was off.
For a simple man, enraged, the father certainly measured his words carefully. Even though his hands shook, his eyes were hard as flint. The skin seemed stretched too thin across his face, and his muscles rippled menacingly. The girl and he were in cahoots.
The lieutenant waved a bloody glove for all to see. “We found this in the Madame’s own bed chambers!”
Madame Hesper took a closer look at the officer. Certainly the lieutenant craved power and was willing to send a woman that he knew to be innocent to her death. But was he a monster? His eyes were filled with mad lust, but the officer had blood caked beneath his nails. He was a man, no more of that. She was certain. A demon of any worth would have licked those nails clean.
“Charles, is it not?” Madame Hesper asked.
The officer wavered for a moment.
“Do you not remember when I tended your frost-bite?”
“Another trick!” the lieutenant cried out. He turned back to the crowd and rallied them to a pitch of fervor.
Scanning the rest of the crowd, it appeared that her two accusers were the only unnaturals in the group. No matter what Viola and Crystalia’s father’s true form, Madame Hesper was certain she could edge past them. The problem was sparing the bystanders. Not that she saw much reason to think of her townsfolk’s wellbeing, but she would not become what she despised.
Cries and shouts for blood rang through the courtyard. A hunger for pain and sacrifice welled up amongst the crowd. Winter truly had taken away their senses. Was it not bad enough that they had rousted the Hero? Why accuse her? She had been nothing but kind to these people. For all that good it would do her now.
“Stop!” a shout rose above the murderous din. “Stop, I say!”
Madame Hesper let out a sigh of relief. It was the baker, a man of few words but many brains. His wife had died in childbirth, but the medium had been able to pull the babe from the dead woman’s belly. The man had promised to remember her gift even in the darkest hour.
At least one of the townsfolk honored his vows.
“Have you all gone round the bend? This is the woman that has time and again saved us all!” The baker pulled his son, now a strapping boy of fifteen, before the crowd. “Without Madame Hesper, I would have no family! Is this how we treat our only healer?”
“She’s a witch, not a healer!” someone shouted.
The baker swung around and tried to identify the anonymous voice. “You, Macabe, you would have died last winter. And you, Molly. Did she not cure your cough? Does no one remember all that she has done for us?”
The mob began to break off into smaller subgroups. Some grumbled in apology while others wavered in their dedication to the burning. Still, a few called for her blood. Luckily, the baker was as attuned to the shift in the crowd as Madame Hesper was.
“You would burn her without a trial? You would believe words spoken in abject grief? This is why we have prison cells, to hold those thought guilty. Does she not deserve that respect?”
Catcalls lessened as the crowd began to part. The lieutenant, Crystalia’s father, and Viola all tried to speak at once, canceling each other’s voices.
The baker seized the opportunity to address the crowd again.
“Even if she is guilty, would you have her die with the secret of the girl’s whereabouts taken with her? What if the poor child is still alive? Are you willing to kill Crystalia along with the Madame?”
The crowd, for it really could not be called a mob anymore, had no coherent response. Shame and bewilderment rippled through the townsfolk.
The baker must have sensed the shift in the crowd. “We need to sort all this out. There will be time enough to punish her if she has done wrong.”
With those final words, the townsfolk scattered back to their homes. The lieutenant stood there, speechless. Half of his troops were pulled from Last Hitch, and not a one of them looked disposed to carry out his orders any longer. Viola and Crystalia’s father stammered, but the officer raised a restraining hand and spoke to his guards.
“Go back to the search. We will hold the witch for interrogation.”
The father tried to rush Madame Hesper, but this time the guard closed ranks and shielded her. A young guard that the medium had known all his life pushed the older man back, vowing to protect Madame Hesper until the trial. The old woman allowed herself to feel a bit of relief. The tide had turned. There would be no burning today.
The lieutenant hurried them into the courthouse and ordered her locked within a cell. Viola tried to follow, but the lieutenant insisted she go home. Anger flashed across the girl’s blue eyes, and for a moment, her pupils formed a horizontal slit. As quickly as they had transformed, they were back to a circle.
“I must stay —”
“Go home or I will be forced to call your father,” the lieutenant said.
The blonde looked furious but complied with the officer’s wishes.
“She’ll need clean linen and a water basin,” a voice called out from around the corner.
“Bailiff, do not go out of your way. She won’t be here long.”
Madame Hesper agreed, but for very different reasons.
Luckily Bailiff Omar was on duty this day. She had saved his sister many winters ago from the pox. The disease had so disfigured the girl that the Bailiff had feared she might never find a marriage bed. But with Madame Hesper’s ointments and salves, the sister’s skin had healed to a ruddy, smooth complexion. She now lived in South Town with her husband and five children. It was said they had a house larger than even Hanger’s Mansion. It appeared Omar had not forgotten his words of thanks either.
Once the lieutenant flounced out, Madame Hesper squeezed the baker’s and bailiff’s hands before being shown into her cell. “Thank you. Thank you both.”
As the iron bars clanged shut, the baker replied, “Do not be so quick in your appreciation. I have bought scant hours, I think.”
The bailiff gave a questioning look, but the baker nodded towards the office. “Not here.” Turning to Madame Hesper, he said, “There now, lie down and get some rest. Should we be worried about your son, Ma’am?”
“Nay. He is safe on his own.”
The baker nodded and followed the bailiff into his office. The solid oak door was snugly closed behind them, but it was a trifling thing for Madame Hesper to hear everything they said.
“When we hear the commotion, we send Ax’s daughter to the Garrison for help. She says the place is near deserted.”
“How can that be?” the bailiff asked, skeptical of the news.
“This high-born lieutenant cannot be trusted. He is not from around these parts.”
Omar grunted in agreement. There was no greater sin on the Northern Plains than to have arisen from somewhere else. You were forever a “stranger.”
“You’d best gather some weapons. Spread the word, but only to those you trust and who are not stricken with grief-blinded eyes.”
The baker nodded as they exited the office. “Please take care of her. This town cannot afford to lose its healer.”
The bailiff agreed and led the baker out the back door. Madame Hesper hated to tell them that no matter the turn of events, she would be forever lost to them. Her place was at Sele’s side.
Madame Hesper lay down upon the lumpy cot and gathered her strength. When the moment came to act, it would be decisive and with more force than these small town folk could comprehend.
*****
CHAPTER 21
Holt could taste the sun setting. The air always changed just as the globe dipped beneath the horizon. To his Vampyr blood it was a sweet invitation to climb out beyond the confinin
g walls of man and enjoy the world as a Vampyr should.
Moonlight was as much his lover as any woman had ever been. Sadly, Holt had to admit that there had been scant few. Besides the obvious problems of his Curse, living with your odd, eccentric mother out in Last Hitch did not drive women into his embrace.
Until this one.
Ekoli slumbered fitfully within his arms.
After he’d cleansed and sewed her wound closed, the fallen goddess had thrashed violently. So forcefully that Holt had feared she would tear open her stitches. He had thrown a blanket over her naked form, but her curves were unhidden to his hands. He tried to keep his thoughts on anything else, but her fevered body lay so snugly in his arms, it was hard to think of aught else.
Holt knew he should be planning and scheming for the moment his mother needed him, but every moan of the fragile goddess begged his attention.
To think, he — the Cursed One — the one scoffed at by the Great Counsel and the Quorum — was the one to catch the beautiful Ekoli. But he would give up this honor if only to have her radiant once again in her divine splendor. It was grievous and somewhat frightening to see a goddess fall as she did. If the gods were so delicate, what did that speaks of man’s strength?
“Holt?”
“Yes, goddess?”
She shook her amber head. “Please, speak only of Ekoli.”
“But —”
“Do not remind me of what I have lost. Please.”
Holt nodded and released her from his grasp. Slowly, she moved to right herself. She looked weak and queasy, pain contorting her face into a mask of agony. “The fall from Grace was a bit more painful than I had anticipated.”
“Be careful —” Holt tried to warn her, but he was too late. She had tugged on the stitches and fresh blood oozed through her bandage.
“Is that normal?”
“If you move, it shall be.” Holt could not keep the concern from his voice. It had taken hours to stop the bleeding and fit the ragged wound back together. One stray misstep, and it could all come undone again.
The goddess smiled tightly. “Mortality is not as glamorous as the demigods made it out to be.”
As he put pressure on the wound, Holt joked with her to keep her mind from her suffering. “I think they just wanted to make you jealous. They say the same about divinity.”
Grimacing, Ekoli played along. “Ah, but in that they are correct. The Heavens are all that they are made out to —” The goddess had tried to be brave, but the pain overwhelmed her and she cried out.
“Just a moment longer.” Holt reassured her. Cautiously, he removed his hand from the wound. No fresh blood greeted him. Holt tried to remove the soiled bandage, but the goddess would not allow it.
“Your mother is in grave danger, Holt.”
“She knows —”
“Nay. Before I... before I was changed, I could sense a Drakol priestess and an acolyte.”
Holt pulled back. “A Drakol? It could not be. Mother would have sensed it.”
“The demon is draped in the human flesh that she consumed, as is her acolyte. Without my power from beyond, I would not have known either.”
Chewing on her words, Holt rocked back on his heel. His mother was gifted, even reviled, for her spectrum of power, but a Drakol could strike unaware and consume her soul before his mother could even raise a hand to stop them. Holt looked at the damaged goddess. Ekoli was nowhere close to being fit for travel, but he dared not leave his mother in the clutches of the townspeople too long. Especially as night approached, the time of power for the Drakol.
Holt rose. “I must warn her.”
“We must flee this town before the priestess finds out the all of it.”
The goddess was right. It seemed the Drakol were already determined to neutralize his mother. They obviously did not know of his state, nor that the Goddess of Light was here in the Mansion’s basement.
In Ekoli’s present state, a Drakol could swallow the previous goddess in a single bite.
With no other option, Holt allowed the Curse to begin its transformation. He needed to exercise caution, though. The Curse was powerful, and the more he allowed the Vampyr to surface, the more risk he might lose his human soul. But for once, he welcomed the appetite for blood and the surge of power that called for him to quench it.
The transformed Holt smiled. Whatever hunted his mother now had a predator all their own.
***
Traven turned swiftly in the tunnel, his sword ready, but once again, the movement was only a shadow, playing hide and seek.
Steadying his resolve, the Hero continued forward. Every inch of their journey though the Catacombs had been nerve-wracking. Not that anything of significance had occurred, but that just made it all the more unbearable.
The Ice Princess, unaware of Traven’s prophesized doom, strode forward with her royal arrogance leading the way. The Hero had begged Glacial to ride Pale, but in typical fashion, she had eschewed his counsel.
Now Traven could see that she stepped more gingerly, and her pace had fallen off. Those beautiful, tender feet were not up to the task of trekking across the broken rock that made up the Catacomb’s floor.
In a few hours, she would be blister-footed and in need of lancing.
Traven could not let Glacial’s wounded pride get in the way of their quest. Nor, the Hero realized, could he allow his own fears to do the same. There was nothing good gained by rushing along, heedless of the consequences. Any other commander would call a halt to the evening’s march and strike camp. Not that the princess was going to like this any better than she had any of his previous ideas.
Glacial had nearly given away their escape in her rage back at the Fold. Traven had refused to leave without Lauger and ample supplies. It had delayed their escape from the Fold no more than a quarter of an hour, but the Princess still fumed. Traven did not have any easy answer for her pointed questions.
If the Hero explained his deep need for Lauger, he would have to explain the prophecy.
Traven knew from long hours at Granny’s knee that Fate was Fate, but still he could not help but try to roll the odds in his favor. The fated tale of the Catacombs had no mention of Lauger along for the journey. A small sliver of Traven’s mind hoped that by changing one aspect of the quest that he could alter the outcome.
Pale padded alongside him and sent a strong image of rest. He could not disagree. The wolf only voiced Traven’s own concerns.
Reluctantly, Traven walked up alongside Glacial.
“We need to set up camp for the night.”
“We shall stop when I ordain it.” In a huff she strode forward, but each step brought a small grimace of pain.
“This trek is long, Princess. We will not reach a safe landing this eve. It is best to keep us sharp and keen for our long journey.”
Glacial turned. Her words a blast in his face. “Are you saying I am not up to the task that has been presented to The Bride?”
Listening with his heart, he could hear the girl’s fear. Inside that porcelain armor of hers lay a girl unsure of herself and her own potential. It appeared that the voice of fear was so loud in Glacial’s head that she was deaf to reason.
Sadly, this reminded him far too much of himself.
“Nay. I’m saying Lauger, Pale, and I are not up to continuing.” Traven shrugged, taking the blame away from the Princess. “A party is only as strong as its weakest link, m’lady. If you tug too hard, the chain will shatter.”
“You will do no such thing. I command you to follow.” With that said, Glacial stomped off, quickly reaching the edge of Traven’s torchlight. “Wolf to me.”
Instead of following, Pale lay down and curled beside Traven’s feet. Traven feared for the Princess’ safety if she left the circle of light, but the Hero also knew that he was right and would not allow her to bully him any further.
“None will follow, Glacial. Make your peace and stay within our protection.”
Glacial fumed. Her pa
le cheeks a bright, unhealthy pink.
“How dare you abandon your duty! I will have you flailed for this!”
If we make it out of this, I will happily submit myself to the whip, Traven thought but did not voice. It would do no good for her to know his deepest fears. She had enough of her own.
“My duty is to keep you safe from your enemies… and from yourself. Now come and sit while I start a small fire.”
The Princess spent a moment with her fists clenched, then turned on her heel and headed down the tunnel. Traven watched Glacial turn the corner. The Hero had a pang of concern, but Pale sent an image of a child finishing out a tantrum. The wolf was right. Glacial needed to know that Traven would not yield to her royal whims. There might be a time of immediate danger when the Princess needed to heed his warnings.
It took but a few breaths for Glacial to return, cowed and pale. The Princess came towards them, but sat on the far side of the newly formed camp.
Hugging herself, she tried to sound brave. “I could not continue without light.”
Traven nodded, smiling inside. That was about as much of a concession as he was going to get from the high-born Giant. He turned to Pale. “I will take the first watch.”
The wolf replied with a definitive “no.” Traven queried Pale with his mind, not wanting the princess to see that yet another of his party was so disagreeable. The wolf shrugged off the Hero’s concern. It was only right for that Pale to take first watch.
After all, the wolf had been the only one smart enough to rest before their journey. Traven shook his head at his own folly. There was a wisdom to the wolf’s ways. It did not take much convincing for Traven to agree to the second watch. With all the multitude of disasters and current tension, he could use a rest. Preferably, without dreaming of Granny.
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