Witchwood and Seabound

by Ethan Proud

  “I am expecting my full benefits of a widow of a public servant, regardless of my husband’s actions, in exchange for my account of the murders and his admission of guilt,” Gertrude said in a steely tone.

  Vahrun chuckled. “Whatever happened to chewing the fat?”

  “Ah yes, my apologies.” Gertrude ducked her head. The gesture was to hide her grinding teeth with a show of embarrassment. If she had clenched her jaw any harder, she surely would have cracked her molars. “Where do you hail from?”

  “Erm. The south,” Vahrun said, realizing that he knew literally nothing about the geography of the first plane.

  Gertrude laughed easily. “There is a lot of land to the south. But keep your secrets. We are almost to the jail.”

  The jail loomed closer and Gertrude felt her heartbeat quicken and was certain that the demon could hear it. Vahrun licked his lips.

  They approached the door of the jail and Gertrude made sure that neither she nor Lily stood on the cloaked portal.

  “Be a gentleman and open the door for me,” Gertrude demanded and Vahrun rolled his eyes right at her. Nonetheless, he did what he was told and was tackled into the street by Kerfield-Volker. Vahrun tried to roll to the side when he saw his assailant, and as a result they landed to the right of the pentagram. They kicked and squabbled in the mud which was quickly stained with blood. Kerfield-Volker slammed his fist into Vahrun’s eye socket and the demon mayor’s head slammed back and cracked against the street. The sheriff wound up for another swing but Vahrun caught his fist and forced him back as he rose to his feet. Kerfield-Volker dropped into a crouch and swept the mayor’s feet out from underneath him.

  The mayor nearly fell, but he windmilled his arms and caught himself in the nick of time. In the same movement that he landed on his feet he sprang in a catlike gesture and tackled his brother across the unseen portal. When both of the demons crossed its surface, its greedy mouth opened wide and the flames ringed its roiling surface. The meeting point of the two planes looked like hands, reaching into the void for a victim or a lover. The wispy tendrils whipped back and forth like fingers on a groping hand.

  The two demons landed safely on the other side, but the damage was done. Vahrun knew. His eyes flashed red hot with rage and he grabbed his brother around the neck and lifted him from the ground. Vahrun shed his human form and the distance between the ground and Kerfield-Volker’s feet increased.

  “It’s one betrayal after the other with you,” Vahrun growled and placed one of his four arms on Kerfield-Volker’s face. He pulled his hand away and a grayish substance was stretched from Kerfield’s nose, mouth, and eyes. When the last of it had been extricated from the deputy’s body it snapped into Vahrun’s hand and began bubbling, taking the shape of the two-faced cat demon. Vahrun cast aside Kerfield’s body which rolled through the mud many times before coming to a stop.

  Volker had barely assumed his true form when Vahrun cast him into the portal. Vahrun watched as his brother’s arm flailed before the fourth plane enveloped him.

  “I will deal with you later,” Vahrun assured him from across planes. Snapping his fingers, he dispelled the door between realms. He turned to Gertrude. “Tell the witch I will make her a deal. If she trades her own life for Mission’s I will call it fair. With her life and my brother back, I have no more quarrels. But if she makes this more difficult than it needs to be I will take them both and make Volker torture them until they are both begging for death. He will strip the flesh from their bones and feast on it before their naked eyes.”

  “I don’t negotiate with agents of evil,” Gertrude said firmly, though she had no idea what Vahrun would do to her in this moment if she did not cooperate.

  “Ironic, isn’t that what your brethren call Artemisia? A wielder of dark magic and evil? You humans are all hypocrites,” Vahrun said as he warped back into his human form. He brushed his hair back with a bloodstained hand and wiped the mud from the epaulets of his jacket. “As much as I regret to be going, I have town business to attend to. Some of which will assure that you don’t see a dime for your husband’s service. His soul was most delicious.”

  Vahrun spun on his heel and departed, leaving Gertrude flabbergasted, tears streaming down her face. The widow turned to Kerfield’s prone, gasping form. His forehead was pressed into the mud while his knees propped his torso up, both his hands wrapped around his stomach. He writhed like that for a minute, muttering to himself in half sentences. Gertrude walked over to him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

  “I am so sorry James,” she sobbed.

  He rolled away from her and smacked her outreached hand out of the air. “Get away from me!” he shrieked, crab-walking through the mud as quickly as he could. “Get away! Get away!”

  “James,” Gertrude said firmly but gently.

  James skittered to his feet. “You used me! I trusted you and you tricked me! Lied to me! You let that thing inside me!”

  He turned on his heel and fled down the alley. His retreating form sent mud flying into the air as he staggered from one side of the road to the next. He moved like a drunk, constantly twisting and stumbling as he battled the voices that echoed in his head. Gertrude sank down to the street and cradled her face in her hands.

  Chapter Fifty-nine

  Artemisia rubbed a salve of bone-set on her wrist and ribs while her splint soaked in a bowl of water. She wandered over to the basin and pulled out the leather. Satisfied that it was saturated enough to mold to her hand she withdrew it and began the clumsy task of binding the willow branches to her wrist. She heard hooves and an unexpected visitor came to her doorstep. She nearly jumped out of her seat when the stranger didn’t knock. She made to chastise them, but when she saw Gertrude’s tear-stricken face, she pulled up a chair instead.

  “What happened?” the witch asked. She listened intently while Gertrude recounted the events and did not interrupt or voice her displeasure.

  At the conclusion of the tale, Artemisia tapped her finger against her lips and pursed them in deep thought.

  “We can still defeat Vahrun. We don’t have time to summon Volker back, but there is someone else who can help us. If she will,” Artemisia mused.

  “A goddess can defeat a demon, if she channels her powers through a zealot,” Artemisia continued cryptically. “Go saddle Newt if you would please.”

  Gertrude nodded and exited the cottage.

  When the door had closed Artemisia pressed the fingers of her good hand against her eyelids until she saw spots. “Dammit, Volker.”

  ***

  The widow and the witch rode south towards the Ramek Manor. Rather than follow the road where Vahrun could spot them, they traversed the countryside. Gertrude shifted uneasily in Lily’s saddle.

  “Yes?” Artemisia asked.

  “Nothing. It’s just that James blamed me before he ran off. I feel so guilty,” Gertrude sniffled.

  “Guilt is a normal emotional response, it does not mean that you did not do your best or what you thought was right. Making a decision for the best of all of Northgate will undoubtedly leave some out in the cold,” Artemisia said as she pulled her blonde hair up into a messy bun.

  “I was choosing vengeance, not righteousness,” Gertrude argued.

  “Choosing what is best for you will also leave some out in the cold, but in the end, it is your life. You need to do right by yourself,” Artemisia answered just as easily as before. She had struggled with the choices she had made in her early life and since then had reconciled them by herself.

  “Can I ask you a question?” Gertrude started.

  Artemisia turned in the saddle to face her companion. “Yes.”

  “Have you ever married?” Gertrude asked and Artemisia laughed heartily.

  “No.”

  “Why? If you don’t mind my asking…” Gertrude trailed off.

  Artemisia chuckled a little before answering. “The company of men does not interest me.”

  “Whose company does interest you
, then?” Gertrude said before she hastily added, “If I’m not asking too much.”

  “My own,” Artemisia said. The answer was harsh, but the witch was smiling.

  Gertrude decided that she had asked too many questions.

  “There,” Artemisia said as she pointed to the open gate of the Ramek property. They cut over to the road and entered the estate. “The outbuilding is this way.”

  “You are certain she will help?” Gertrude asked.

  “I am certain that she won’t. But that doesn’t mean we can’t try. I have placed wards and protections on us should she decide to attack,” Artemisia said without any humor.

  They navigated a game trail, or disused human trail and came around the grove of trees and thorns. Artemisia slid from Newt’s saddle and patted him on his neck as she approached the ramshackle building. She didn’t bother knocking but pulled the door open. She spotted Mission and De’lune snuggled in a cot on the far side of the room. The expressions on their faces were similar to the one a rat wears when he gets caught pilfering a cupboard by a cat.

  “Don’t mind me,” Artemisia said when Mission moved to stand.

  “What are you doing here?” he growled.

  “Don’t worry, I’m not here for you. I will deal with our demon problem while you frolic. I am here for her,” Artemisia said.

  Just then, Gertrude stepped into the doorframe. De’lune’s eyes grew wide with shock, but Mission had her back.

  “You summoned Vahrun. He is your problem,” Mission said obstinately.

  “I wouldn’t have needed to summon him if she had done the decent thing and killed her father and brother. We are all at fault here,” Artemisia said, though it didn’t sound diplomatic.

  Gertrude began to wonder if the witch had ever had to beg for anything in her life or if she had just demanded it and it came.

  From her position on the cot De’lune heard the whisper of the wind in the brittle grass outside.

  Listen to her, this is your chance to get close. Once the demon is gone… kill the witch, Mond breathed through the air.

  “Speak your mind and do it quickly,” De’lune said tersely.

  “I am not powerful enough to send Vahrun to the place I have in mind for him… but you are,” Artemisia teased.

  “And where exactly do you have in mind?” De’lune said as she felt the tickle of the goddess in the back of her mind.

  “Mond’s Temple. The goddess will make short work of him,” Artemisia said, breaking into a grin.

  De’lune stiffened when she heard the goddess cackle with laughter in the wind.

  “How do you plan on doing that?” De’lune asked.

  Artemisia’s smile widened wolfishly.

  ***

  Late that night in the witching hour Artemisia met with Beatrice in a dark alley behind Raven’s Barrow. She wore a heavy cloak, riding boots, and gloves lined with fox fur. Beatrice was similarly dressed, though she had not made her own stitches, found her own dead animals and bartered for their skins in order to help their souls cross over, or bought them herself. Much of Beatrice’s wardrobe had been pilfered from the late Missus Kerrick.

  In hushed tones, Artemisia told the secretary of her plan. She finished with, “Make sure he doesn’t leave that house tomorrow. Can you do that?”

  “Yes, I can,” Beatrice said gulping back her terror.

  “Good, tomorrow morning we rid this town of our devil mayor.” Artemisia smiled before she disappeared into the night.

  Chapter Sixty

  In the predawn light Artemisia, Mission, De’lune, and Gertrude moved quickly. They had seven torches of sage, dripping oil, and ready to be lit arranged around a circle, drawn around the Mayor’s Mansion. The circle was nearly perfect, each of the torches placed equidistant to each other. The three casters, Artemisia, Mission, and De’lune cut their hands with a ceremonial dagger. They stacked their hands and let the blood mingle as it ran in rivulets over their flesh until it dripped on the ground. The magic within their lifeforce sizzled and steamed when it hit the frostbitten soil. Without a word they moved to their respective positions around the circle while Gertrude lit the torches. Each one roared to life with little coaxing and sent an acrid smell wafting into the air. She heard the ominous chanting of her peers, though she wasn’t sure what language they spoke. She was certain it was from a distant plane.

  As she made her way around the circle, she saw each of the casters. Their hands were stained red and lifted in the air while their eyes were a milky pale and their mouths moved mechanically. The Coraxes weren’t nearly as terrifying as De’lune. The last Ramek’s hair was frizzy with static and the very air crackled around her. Her skin glowed as bright as the harvest moon had nigh two months ago. With the last torch lit, Gertrude retreated from the circle. As rapt as she was by the ritual, she saw a familiar figure walking down the street. She groaned at the prospect of a coming confrontation.

  ***

  Beatrice had not slept at all that night, instead she had watched Vahrun. His eyes had been closed, but he had not twitched, snored, or repositioned himself. She was certain that he had only been pretending to be in reverie. She wondered what he was thinking about. More than likely it was about massacring the inhabitants of Northgate. But why the mayor ruse? After the way he had butchered his horse he didn’t need any stealth or trickery to slaughter the town. Unless it was a sick game he gained pleasure from.

  On the opposite side of the bed, Vahrun wondered how long Beatrice was going to stare at him. It had been hours since they had made love, yet she was still awake. The very phrase disgusted him. It wasn’t nearly visceral enough to describe the foul act. He thought about eating the woman right then and there. Just to be done with her. If she stared at him with those infatuated doe eyes one more time…

  That was when he smelled the unmistakable smell of turpines burning in the air. Sage. An evil-spirit’s archnemesis. He sat bolt upright in bed.

  He felt Beatrice’s hand on his stomach, gently pushing him back down.

  “What is it?” she asked coyly as she moved her fingers closer to his waist.

  Snatching her fingers, he tossed her hand away. “Get off me. Something is burning.”

  Without bothering to put his clothes on, he marched over to the window and saw Mission standing betwixt two torches of sage.

  Uttering the foulest of curses, Vahrun turned to flee the room. Mission was safe between the two torches, but he needed to escape the house. Whatever mischief the witch was planning, Vahrun did not want to find out its purpose. When he was mere strides from the door, Beatrice cut him off. She had her hands on her hips and a resolute look on her face.

  “Where are you going?” she demanded.

  “Leaving.” Vahrun reached for her shoulder to throw her out of the way but her leg snapped up and her knee connected with his groin. Vahrun grunted and dropped to the ground, feeling the most human he possibly could at that moment. Beatrice stomped on his face, his head bounced off the floor and he lay there, dazed. Beatrice hurried and gathered her clothes, pulling them on before she darted for the door.

  “Not so fast,” Vahrun said as he regained his senses. He flew across the room and tackled her onto the bed. His skin bubbled and split as his third eye and fangs were revealed.

  Beatrice screamed.

  ***

  Kerfield stormed over to Gertrude. He kept twitching and looking over his shoulder as if he had been followed.

  “I understand why you did it,” he started as he looked over his shoulder. “But I need to hear you apologize.”

  “I can’t, James.” Gertrude had tears in her eyes. “I don’t deserve your forgiveness.”

  “I know how important Ruckstead was to you. But he was already dead, and you turned me into a pawn in your game for revenge. I can’t stop hearing that creature’s voice in my head. The least you can do is apologize to me,” James pleaded. “I need to hear you say it.”

  Gertrude looked back at the house and the stra
nge shimmer that was beginning to cast itself on the walls, lawn, and roofing. The spell was almost over. “James, I don’t think you should be here right now. You shouldn’t have to see what happens next.”

  “Fuck!” James shouted and stamped his foot on the ground. “You are just as bad as the witch! You have cursed me! Not Artemisia and not the demon!” He frantically tapped the side of his head with one finger. “You are responsible for the things I hear. You alone.”

  Before Gertrude could get in another word, he was gone. She turned her attention back to the house and heard an otherworldly humming, like a chorus of millions upon millions of cicadas. Chills ran down her spine as the seventh plane bled into the first.

  ***

  Vahrun struck Beatrice across the face as the vibrations on the seventh plane began to thrum louder and louder around them. He was in full demon form and the force of his blow sent blood gushing from the woman’s mouth. She screamed and screamed, beyond the point of being coherent. He swore and covered her mouth with one of his hands.

  “If you think that the witch is going to save you, you are wrong,” Vahrun seethed. “You are collateral damage in destroying me. Just watch.”

  As if on cue, the thrumming stopped, and the very air was replaced with the crisp scent of apples and the headiness of the divine.

  “Our death warrants are signed,” Vahrun said as the wall crumbled around him to reveal pillars of marble streaked with red and gold.

  ***

  With a mighty whoosh, the entire Mayor’s Mansion disappeared and all that was left was the foundation and weeds. Gertrude ran to Artemisia’s side.

  “Where is Beatrice?” she asked when she didn’t spot the secretary.

  “At the temple of Mond. We can only pray that the goddess has mercy on her,” Artemisia said, though she didn’t look at Gertrude. Instead her eyes were fixed on De’lune’s. The priestess’ expression revealed the one thought on her mind. Death and Chaos. To Gertrude, Artemisia said, “You may want to stand back.”