A Witch in Love

by Ruth Warburton

  Suddenly I knew. I knew where I’d heard it before. It was the man on the quay – Greg. The one who’d told Seth to flemish his line. The one who’d picked a fight with a kid half his age and borne a grudge ever since.

  But before I could think what to do, what to say, the cell door opened and two other men came in, both wearing hoods. In their hands were a collection of chains and manacles.

  ‘Undo the ropes,’ Cattle Prod instructed – I found it hard to think of him as anything else, while he was holding it out like a weapon – and the smaller of the two stepped forward, holding a knife. He sawed through the bindings and for a glorious moment my hands were free of the heavy itching rope and I could stretch and wriggle my fingers. But then, all too quick, the other man seized my ams and pulled them behind me. I felt metal cuffs close around my wrists and heard the clank of a chain. Greg – Cattle Prod – yanked on the chain, making me stagger and nearly fall, and the small man stifled a giggle with his hand.

  They unlocked the cuff around my foot. Then the other man stepped forward with a black hood. This one was eyeless.

  ‘No,’ I said involuntarily, but Greg stepped forward threateningly. Then the bag closed over my head and everything was dark.

  ‘Come on,’ he said brusquely. ‘The Inquisitor’s waiting.’ He pulled my chain and I stumbled forward, out into the cold night air.

  We walked, I don’t know how far. It felt like a long way. My feet were bare and I stumbled over stone cobbles, through puddles of water. I could smell the sea, a painful familiar smell that made my stomach twist, and I could feel sand and grit beneath my feet. Then a door opened, someone yanked viciously on my chain, jerking my wrists painfully, and I stumbled forwards into a room.

  After the dark monotony of the pigsty, the smells, sounds and sensations were like an assault. The room was warm, hot even. Above my own stink I could smell the sweat of working men, woodsmoke, dust – and petrol. The crackle of a fire came from my right, the flames heating my side and casting little sparkling shards of orange through the coarse weave of the hood.

  There was a flurry as I entered, breaths drawn, low guffaws. Then rough hands pushed and pulled me across a stone-flagged floor and up a wooden step, a door slammed and there was the clanking sound of chains being secured and the grinding noise of a padlock key turning.

  ‘The girl is secured, Inquisitor,’ said a guard in a formal, respectful tone.

  ‘Good.’ The voice was the cold, clipped one I recognized from my cell. ‘Let the trial begin.’ There was a shuffle of papers and he spoke again, suddenly formal, as though reading from a script. ‘Men of the jury, we are here today to decide on the guilt or innocence of the girl you see before you, Anna Winterson. Do you solemnly swear to judge her according to the evidence you will witness here today and give a true and faithful verdict before God?’

  There was an answering rumble from my right.

  ‘Defendant, state your name for the court.’

  For a long moment I said nothing and the Inquisitor repeated impatiently, ‘Are you Anna Winterson of Wicker House, Winter? Yes or no?’

  For a brief, crazy moment I wondered what would happen if I said no – if I told them I was someone else entirely, some innocent bystander. But then sanity returned. The worst thing I could do would be to lie so obviously. My only chance lay in convincing them that I was telling the truth when I said I was innocent – perhaps not innocent of witchcraft, but innocent of any intent to harm.

  ‘Yes,’ I said thickly, trying to speak around the bit of the bridle.

  ‘You are here to answer the following charges: using black magic to summon storms, causing harm to the village of Winter and to your neighbours. Using black magic against two boys, Samuel Evans and Roger Flint, with intent to cause their deaths. Bewitching Seth Waters, with intent to cause him to break with his friends and love you against his will. Setting fire to a rival, one Zoe Eldwick, from jealousy. Using black magic to summon evil demons to your aid, to do your bidding. How do you plead, guilty or not guilty?’

  I swallowed. It sounded dreadful, piled crime upon crime like that. My head swam and the bridle bit into my skin viciously. But I gritted my teeth and held on to the wooden rail in front of me.

  ‘Not guilty.’

  ‘Not guilty to all charges?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Let the girl’s plea be noted,’ the Inquisitor said with a heavy note of irony in his voice. Then he turned back to me. ‘Remember, if you plead guilty now, your sentence will likely be more merciful. You can’t escape death, but we can make it painless, drug you unconscious before we set fire to the house. If you persist in your lies and are still found guilty, then your death will be long and painful. We will chain you and leave you to burn. This is your last chance to change your plea.’

  ‘No,’ I said. But my voice cracked. There was a murmur and the Inquisitor banged something – a hammer by the sound.

  ‘Silence!’ he roared and the whispers subsided. ‘Call the first witness.’

  I heard the sound of footsteps as someone entered the room and walked to the far side. My heart was thumping in my chest so hard that I could barely swallow, and bile rose in my throat. I was about to be sick.

  But my body realized why I was so terrified before I did – with a rush of relief as I heard the voice giving the oath. My knees felt weak and I clutched at the wooden rail to hold myself up. It wasn’t Seth. It wasn’t Seth. I didn’t have to face the worst, not yet.

  ‘… the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help me God.’

  ‘Very good. State your name.’

  ‘Samuel James Evans, Inquisitor.’

  ‘Tell us what happened on the twenty-first of December last year.’

  ‘Well, sir, my cousin Rog and me, we was walking home from the pub—’

  ‘What time?’

  ‘About elevenish, sir. And we took a wrong turn, down a blind alley. They was waiting for us.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The witch and a bloke. Youngish, with dark hair.’

  ‘Did you know them?’

  ‘No, sir, least not at first. But afterwards we asked around, Rog and me, and we was pretty sure we knew who they was.’

  ‘How would you describe them?’

  ‘Well, him, he was about six foot and he wasn’t a big type, but he was strong, he packed a punch. Round my age, maybe a bit older – nineteen, twenty say. Dark hair, kind of dark-skinned. Like he did something outdoors. But it was the scar that did it.’

  ‘What scar was that?’

  ‘Across his wrist, like a burn or summat. When Rog asked around someone said they knew a lad from Winter had a scar like that – Seth Waters.’

  ‘And the girl?’

  ‘The witch, sir? Well, she was smaller, like. Just a little thing really, looked like you could snap her wrist with one hand. Dark hair, curly like. And these dark-blue eyes.’

  ‘No identifying features?’

  ‘No, sir, but I’d know her again.’ His voice was grim. ‘When someone near as kills you, you remember their face.’

  ‘Explain what happened.’

  ‘Well …’ He shifted, uncomfortable for the first time. ‘We got into a fight, like.’

  ‘You and the girl?’

  ‘No, me and Rog and the Waters bloke. He had the upper hand at first, but then Rog pulled a knife, self-defence like, and that was when the girl lashed out.’

  ‘It’s a lie!’ I shouted, goaded beyond endurance. ‘They attacked us, they attacked Seth, they—’ My words were cut off by a jab to my leg and the searing electrical jolt of the cattle prod ripped through me. I slumped forward, only a wooden rail saved me from pitching to the floor. As the pain ebbed I heard my own gasping, sobbing breath, loud inside the hood, and beneath that the harsh voice of the Inquisitor.

  ‘You speak when spoken to and not before – do you understand?’

  I tried to control my tearing breath and gritted my teeth.

  ‘Do. You. Underst
and?’ the Inquisitor said slowly, and with indescribable menace.

  ‘Yes,’ I whispered through clenched teeth.

  ‘Good. Let’s get on with this. What happened, Evans?’

  ‘I can’t rightly explain it – but it was like a bomb. She kind of crackled with energy, all her muscles stood out, and her face had this terrifying expression. I’ve never been so scared in my life. And then she let go this blast, like. It knocked me backwards and the next thing I knew was waking up in Brighthaven Infirmary with concussion.’

  ‘And you’re sure the blast came from the girl?’

  ‘Yes, completely sure. I can’t explain how I know, I just … I just do.’ He paused, groping for a meaning, and said, ‘It’s, it’s like when someone speaks – you just know it’s them, don’t you? You … you see them do it. You can hear the voice comes from them. Well, she made that blast – and I saw her do it, as sure as if she’d slapped me. That’s as near as I can put it.’

  ‘And your attacker, is she in this room?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ There was a rustle and I felt heads turning to look at me. ‘Her. She’s the witch all right. The one who tried to kill me and Rog.’

  ‘Are you sure now? Look at her properly. Guard, take off the hood.’

  I felt a hand seize my shoulders and another hand grip the rough material of the hood. Firelight blinded my eyes and I had a confused flash of a cramped room full of dozens of bodies; a man on a rough wooden throne with scarlet robes and a beak-nosed mask; a boy, wearing a grey hooded top, his face filled with a mixture of fear, hate and shame. He nodded, and then the hood was yanked back down, and it was in darkness that I heard the words.

  ‘Yes, it’s her. It’s the witch. The witch who tried to kill me and Rog. I’d know her anywhere.’

  The chain was too short for me to sit, but as the hours wore on my legs grew so weak I leant on the wooden rail, feeling my head droop and then snatch up again as they questioned me again, asking me to change my plea to guilty. I shook my head, the weight of the bridle dragging against the movement.

  ‘Speak up!’ barked my Inquisitor.

  ‘Not guilty!’ I choked the words around the bridle and he gave a huff and turned back to the legal arguments. They had been watching us for some time, that much was plain. They’d seen Emmaline and me together, heard us talk of magic, seen snow fall in strange places when I was there. One of the guards had even been in the pub the night that Zoe’s hair had burst into flame and spoke about the pass she’d made at Seth, and my look of hatred.

  I thought again of the footsteps in the snow around our house, of the eyes that had been watching for so long. I’d thought myself at home in Winter and all the time …

  ‘Defendant, will you change your plea?’

  ‘No,’ I said, trying to keep the sob from my voice.

  ‘Then call the next witness.’

  More footsteps, the now-familiar sound of feet across the flagged floor. Then a voice, a girl’s voice, very low and uncertain, as she muttered the oath. She spoke so quietly I could hardly hear her through the folds of the hood.

  ‘State your name for the court.’

  Another murmur.

  ‘Now, it was you who originally lodged the accusation of witchcraft against the defendant, is that correct? You said that you believed a girl in your school had practised black magic against a boy called Seth Waters, had bewitched him, and forced him to love her against his will?’

  ‘Yes.’ Very low.

  ‘And once again, can you tell us, is the witch in this room?’

  ‘I – I…’ She stopped. ‘I can’t see…I mean, I can’t tell …’

  ‘Guard, take off the hood,’ the Inquisitor said shortly. My head jerked back as the hood was ripped away and then, as my eyes adjusted to the light, I found myself staring into the white, set face of Caroline Flint.

  She gasped and put her hand to her mouth as she saw me, and for the first time it hit home what I must look like – barefoot, filthy, in my ripped evening dress, Seth’s jacket still clutched pathetically round me. I put my hand to the obscene metal bridle and Caroline touched her own face in unconscious imitation. She closed her eyes as if she couldn’t bear to see any more and then opened them as if she couldn’t look away.

  ‘Is this the witch?’ the Inquisitor asked. But Caroline said nothing – she only stared at me in horrified silence.

  ‘Is this, or is it not, Anna Winterson, the girl you accused of bewitching Seth Waters?’ the Inquisitor asked, impatience in his voice.

  ‘I – I – I don’t … I didn’t mean … No. No.’ She shook her head. I saw that her hands were trembling.

  ‘No, what?’ There was annoyance now in the Inquisitor’s voice and he turned to stare at her through his strange black beaked mask, his eyes glittering through the holes. ‘No, this is not Anna Winterson? Or no, Anna Winterson did not bewitch Seth Waters?’

  ‘I don’t know …’ There were tears in Caroline’s eyes. She shook her head. ‘Please, I didn’t mean … I didn’t want …’

  ‘It’s a simple question,’ snarled the Inquisitor. ‘Is this the witch, yes or no?’

  ‘No!’ Caroline cried. She looked at me and her blue eyes swam. ‘I want … I want to retract my accusation. I take it back.’

  ‘It’s not yours to take back,’ the Inquisitor spat. ‘You made an accusation – it’s for the court to decide the outcome, not you. You have no say in the matter now.’

  ‘Then I refuse to give evidence,’ Caroline said. Tears spilt down her cheeks, but she held her head high and spoke courageously. ‘I won’t testify.’

  ‘No matter.’ The Inquisitor looked away. ‘You’re not important. We’ve got sufficient evidence from other witnesses to convict. Take her away, guard.’

  ‘Oh!’ A cry escaped Caroline’s lips. ‘Please no! If I’d known…I thought…I thought…’ Her voice dissolved into sobs and she covered her face. There was a hurried conference between the ranks of hooded men and then a guard stepped up and led Caroline away, still weeping. As she passed the rail where I was chained she stopped and wrenched herself out of the guard’s grasp for a moment.

  ‘Anna, I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry, I never meant—’

  ‘Be quiet!’ the Inquisitor roared. The guards began to propel Caroline forcibly out of the door.

  ‘I was angry,’ she called back, twisting to get free. ‘I thought they’d just scare you, I’m so—’ The heavy door slammed shut and there was a shocked silence.

  ‘Kindly make sure,’ the Inquisitor said in a low voice that shook with rage, ‘that we have no more scenes like that one.’

  ‘Yes, Inquisitor.’ The murmur ran through the ranks of hooded men and their heads bowed. Then the Inquisitor seemed to dismiss the matter from his mind and his beaked mask swung back to face the room.

  ‘Very well. Call the next witness.’

  ‘Call the next witness,’ echoed the guard.

  The door swung open.

  And Seth walked into the room.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  I gasped and only just managed to bite back a cry as the guard stepped forward, his cattle prod threateningly raised.

  With a superhuman effort I controlled myself, but my fingers bit into the wooden rail as Seth walked across the floor towards the makeshift witness box.

  I expected him to avoid my eyes, to hang his head, look away. But he walked in calmly, his face untroubled, his gaze steady, and when his grey eyes met mine, they were like a draught of cool water. He held my look for a long moment and I felt a sob rise in my stomach. Accusations choked in my throat: Traitor, bastard, murderer.

  But I said nothing. Not just because a guard stood behind me, with his cattle prod inches from my bare neck. But because the only thing that could condemn me, from Seth’s lips, was the truth. And how could I blame him for telling the truth? If I burnt, it would be for a crime I had committed. It would be for my crime against Seth. Everything else, every other piece of magic I’d worked had been i
n self-defence, or involuntarily, or for some other good, necessary reason. I could put my hand on my heart and swear that I’d only ever done what I had to, what I’d been forced to do. All except for Seth. All except for that one, stupid, criminal act.

  I couldn’t ask Seth to lie for me, not now. But the truth, from his lips, would kill me.

  They were putting the book under his hand now and he spoke the words of the oath, so that my heart twisted inside me.

  ‘The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help me God,’ he finished. His voice was steady and his grey eyes met mine without fear. Cool. Clear. Unutterably, unbearably lovely. I looked away.

  ‘State your name for the record.’

  He turned back to the Inquisitor and spoke quietly, but I had no difficulty in hearing him across the silent room.

  ‘Seth Waters.’

  ‘Grandson of Bran Fisher?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  There was a murmur from around the courtroom and the Inquisitor banged his hammer for silence. He spoke again as the sound died.

  ‘Please tell the court how you first met the defendant.’

  ‘She moved to Winter about a year ago and we were in the same year at school. We were seated together in Maths.’

  ‘And you felt no initial attraction to her?’

  ‘I was curious about her, I suppose. I mean, she was a new girl and I thought perhaps she’d be interesting to have as a friend, but that was it. I wasn’t looking for anything more. I had a girlfriend.’

  ‘Ah yes, Caroline Flint.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And then? What changed your mind?’

  ‘I woke up one day and felt … I felt …’ He stopped and, for the first time, he looked shaken. I saw the movement of his throat as he swallowed.

  ‘Yes?’ the Inquisitor prompted. ‘You felt – what? An attraction? Would you call it a violent attraction?’

  ‘Violent, yes. I’d call it an obsession actually. I was completely obsessed with her. I couldn’t think about anything else – I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t sleep. My school work suffered. I broke up with my girlfriend and more or less stalked Anna. I behaved totally out of character.’