Witch Bane

by Tim Marquitz

  “And the wounded in between,” Sebastian muttered.

  “Get used to it—”

  Sebastian growled, “I know, I know. It’s what warriors do.”

  Darius started to respond, but the crunch of a branch behind them startled them both. His father spun about, dragging Sebastian along bodily, crossbow in the lead.

  “There’ll be no need for that,” a quiet voice told them.

  A woman stood at the tree line, her hands raised to show she meant no harm. She stood impassive, waiting. Though the years had settled on her face, they stole none of her beauty. Her long black hair was swept back over her shoulders in waves, snaky streaks of blue running its length. Deep pools of brown stared at them with a practiced patience, offsetting the paleness of her narrow cheeks. Full lips encircled her mouth, parted so slightly a glimmer of teeth shown through. Dressed in robes that matched her eyes, Sebastian didn’t need to smell the subtle scent of brimstone to know what she was.

  His father’s response, however, surprised him. “Have you shelter?”

  The woman nodded. “Not far.”

  Darius let the crossbow drop to its strap. “Then lead on.”

  Sebastian turned to stare at his father as the woman spun on her heals and strolled into the trees. Darius must have seen the question in his eyes.

  “Fortune takes many shapes, son. One must not discount its opportunity, whatever form it might deign to show us.”

  Though his thoughts were too clouded to winnow out the meaning behind the statement, Sebastian knew but one absolute in his life; the trust of his father. He settled into his arm and did his best not to be a burden. If Darius believed it best to follow this witch to her domain, then Sebastian would not question the choice.

  Eleven

  Every step heavy with pain, it seemed a lifetime before Sebastian felt the tingle of a camouflage warding and stepped through its illusory cover into the witch’s encampment. It was an impressive one, given the scope of what lay beyond.

  He blinked against the brightness of the campfires, which appeared out of nowhere, blocked from sight outside the sorcery’s veil. The quiet sounds of the forest gave way to the muted voices of the camp, raucous to his ears after the near silence outside the warding. The voices dropped away as the witch led them inside.

  “Devlin!” the woman called out. “Fetch me Karil, and tell the woman to hurry. We’ve a man to tend.”

  A young man, no older than Sebastian, jumped up from his seat at the fire and bolted off into the camp. He disappeared behind the numerous tents and lean-tos that littered the woods. The witch turned to an elderly woman hanging a black kettle over the nearest cook fire with leathered hands, her face seemingly carved in granite. “Be a dear, and find me a tent, Freya. We have a wounded guest with a need for peace and privacy.” The witch’s voice bore none of the sharpness it held when she addressed the boy. She turned to Darius as the woman of stone set off with only a wave. “Follow her and our healer will be along shortly. We will speak once his wounds are tended to.”

  Darius nodded and headed off after the old woman. They wound their way through the trees and tents for a few moments, until at last they came to a simple tent. It was held in place by ropes wrapped about the great trunks, each line pulled tight to raise the cloth walls high enough to stand inside. The woman slipped into the tent and gestured for them to follow. Darius eased Sebastian through the opening and led him to the cot from which the woman pulled the blankets aside.

  “Karil will see to you soon,” she told Sebastian as she helped his father ease him onto the soft cot. Once he was down, Freya gave Darius a pat on the back. “He’s in good hands.” She quietly fled the tent, leaving them alone.

  Sebastian groaned his thanks at her back and let his head fall against the down pillow. He could sleep forever.

  “Eyes open, boy,” his father told him, a rough hand shaking his shoulder.

  Sebastian glared up at him. “Bastard.”

  Darius laughed. “I’ll give you that one, but mind your tongue once the stitches are in.”

  A flurry of movement at the entryway drew their eyes. Sebastian felt a smile stretch his lips despite his pain. If the other witch could be seen as beautiful despite her years, then he had no words to describe the woman who ducked beneath the flaps and entered the tent. Her eyes were like two seas of brilliant blue, set upon a face that looked as though it had been carved by the hand of master sculptor, each piece chiseled to perfection. While age had lent its hand to draw shallow lines at the corner of her eyes and about the curve of her reddened lips, they did nothing to mar the perfection beneath. She moved to his side with a lioness’ poise, setting her bundles down beside the cot.

  Sebastian let his breath out as she leaned beside him, catching the sharp sound of his father doing the same. The soft tan robes she wore were tied about her waist and arms, pulling the cloth tight against her frame. The material seemed to glide across her skin, revealing the tantalizing shape beneath. His wounds forgotten, it took Sebastian a moment to realize the woman was staring down at him, speaking. He caught himself and his eyes darted to hers.

  She smiled at him, sunlight in its glory. “I’m Karil. Lie back and let me take a look at you.”

  Darius grinned at Sebastian. “I’ll be outside, boy. Call if I’m needed,” he said with a hint of humor and jovial jealousy in his voice.

  “I’ll take good care of him,” Karil said as his father left the tent, the only answer a quiet chuckle from outside.

  She set a warm hand against Sebastian’s chest and he reveled in her touch, keeping his tongue from mentioning the numerous complaints he’d like Karil to take care of. His ardor didn’t even cool a little when she drew a thin blade from her bag and hovered over top of him. She cut the remnants of his tunic away, tossing the pieces aside, and set to peeling his pants back from the wound at his hip. Sebastian shifted uncomfortably as she revealed his manhood, rigid despite his injuries. He looked away from her fast, his face flush.

  Karil laughed easy. “Don’t be ashamed.” She patted his arm with a gentle hand. “I deal with soldiers all the time. If your kind isn’t primed to take a life, you’re primed to try to make one.” She laughed again, no hint of offense in the sound. “Besides, it’s a good sign. If you’ve enough blood for that, you’ve enough in your veins to ensure you won’t bleed out.”

  Sebastian sighed and let his head sink into the pillow, his eyes closed. His embarrassment took rein of his excitement as he tried to ignore it. Karil’s probing the wound at his hip resolved to dampen it entirely as a searing pain washed over him. He clenched his teeth and bit back a growl as she pressed a finger into the hole that Shade’s sword had gouged out. A moment later her touch was at the groove cut into his chest. She ran her hand down its length as Sebastian hissed, her fingers at his ribs just after. He smelled the char of brimstone, light in the air.

  “You were lucky. None of your injuries are severe beyond the blood loss, which we’ve already determined isn’t serious enough to kill you.” He heard the amusement in her tone and kept his eyes closed. “I’ve applied a poultice to numb you as I work the needle and speed the healing as best I dare.” She set her hand near the wound at his hip, but he barely felt her touch. “There’s nothing I can do about this one save for protecting it against infection and covering it until it scabs over. Your natural healing will hurry it along. Keep it clean, and should you start to bleed from the wound, apply pressure with a cloth until it stops. I don’t suppose you’ll be off the leg long enough to let it close?”

  Sebastian shook his head and glanced up at her meekly. “Not likely.”

  She smiled. “It usually isn’t with you men.” She drew the blanket over his groin and settled it across his leg, his injured hip still uncovered. She then reached down and drew her stitch gear from her bag. “I’ve made the poultice strong, so you’ll feel a tug, but little more. Rest easy until I’m through.”

  He did the best he could. Karil leaned against h
im as she worked, the contact a temptation he could do without. The numbness of the medicine helped him to focus his thoughts, and he steered them as far from the woman as possible. After just a short time, having shifted about to reach each of the wounds, every touch teasing, she took a breath and straightened.

  “Finished.”

  Sebastian opened his eyes while she stepped back to gather her things. “Thank you.”

  She grinned in response. “I’ll have Freya gather some clothes so they’ll be available when you awake.”

  “Awake?” Sebastian asked, a sudden yawn stretching out the word. He felt the past few days crashing down on him.

  “You need to sleep for the spells to take hold. I’ve added an ingredient to the poultice to help you rest.” She gestured to the flaps. “Your father is outside, so all is well. Sleep and heal. Let your will make you right.”

  Sebastian blinked, his eyelids creeping closed like twin portcullises at dusk. He watched the beautiful Karil through the narrowed slits and yawned once more. Tears blurred his vision as she moved toward the flaps. His eyes closed before she made it outside.

  ~

  Sebastian woke with a start. He felt the tug of the stitches as he bolted upright, his memory instantly restored at the touch of pain. He settled back before he could do himself harm.

  “Feeling better?” the gruff voice of his father asked.

  Sebastian rolled his head and blinked the sleep from his eyes. The flicker of a campfire outside illuminated the room in dim, dancing glimmers, but it cast enough light to see. Darius came into slow focus, resting upon a wooden stool set near the flaps. Sebastian lay silent a moment, taking a mental assessment of his wounds. He did feel better.

  He took his time and eased to a seated position, his legs dangling off the cot, the fur of the rug tickled the soles of his feet. The stitches tugged at the skin as he moved; uncomfortable, though not painful. He felt a bit of tightness at his chest and side, and only a minor ache in his hip, but nothing else.

  “I am, actually.”

  “Good.” His father stood and pointed at a pile of clothing set beside the bed. “Get dressed and meet me outside. Our host would have a word with us.”

  Sebastian’s stomach rumbled. “How long have I been out?”

  “Only a handful of hours, but they’ve food and drink for us, so hurry.” His father slipped outside, his shadow cast against the tent wall as he waited there.

  A groan slipping loose, Sebastian crawled from the bed. He saw that he had been bathed, the blood that had crusted about his wounds was gone, the stain of his injuries wiped clean. His stomach urging him on, he dressed as quick as he was able and adjusted his sword belt so it didn’t rest upon his wound. Once he had his boots on, he left the tent, feeling the stiffness of the circumstances that had led him here. He wondered briefly about the witch whose hospitality he had to thank for his healing, but that thought fluttered from his head after but a moment. Food was all he could think of.

  His father waved him on, and they’d walked only a short way before the witch met them.

  “Good evening, Sebastian. How do you feel?” she asked.

  He felt strangely uncomfortable that she knew his name. “I am well, thanks to you and yours. My deepest gratitude for all you’ve done.” He nodded shallow, and she smiled in reply.

  “This is Elizabeth Bourne,” his father said, taking the moment to introduce them formally. “She was a friend of your mother from long ago, before you were even conceived.”

  Sebastian looked from Darius to Elizabeth, having never met anyone who knew his mother, aside from his father, he felt uncertainty well up. “You were friends?”

  Elizabeth smiled, the charm of it chasing away the shadows. “We were…until she was murdered by Deborah Altus and her crones; such a cruel and traitorous end.” Her smile dimmed. She waved them on and began to walk toward the edge of the camp.

  Sebastian felt a lump form in his throat, sickness settling in his stomach at her words. Darius moved off after her and Sebastian trailed behind, catching up a moment later when Elizabeth slowed.

  “Alise and I were both upon the Council, but we were friends long before that.” She glanced at Sebastian. “I see her in you: your eyes, the slope of your nose. Your chin, however, is all Darius.” She laughed gently, casting a smile at his father. Much to his surprise, his father smiled back.

  “But I’ve no doubt my words pour salt in painful memories, so I will put them away for now so we might speak of other things; no less dark, but perhaps more appropriate to the present. Come.”

  She drifted around a tree and strode toward the shadows of a group gathered in a clearing ahead. Sounds of merriment floated in the night, a number of voices raised in song, the blissful melody no less for the roughened throats that called it to be. There was a contentment to be heard in the voices Sebastian hadn’t expected. As they neared the large campfire and the shadows resolved to people, there was much more he hadn’t expected.

  In a half-circle about the fire, men and women stood hanging on one another, the group swaying in time to the song they sung. With a passing thought, he realized many of the women were pregnant, round stomachs pressed against their tunics, but it was their voices that stole his attention. Amazed that such a pure sound could come from such hardened people, it took him a moment to realize what it was they were singing for. His gaze drifted down to the circle and noticed a huge swath of naked flesh. He let the image sink in as he questioned what he saw.

  There before him, on carpets of fur, were dozens of women crawling about on their hands and knees, giggling with wide eyes and bright smiles. Sebastian shifted uncomfortably, too surprised by the unexpected view to be aroused. In the center of the women were two young men, just as naked, but clearly with none of Sebastian’s restraint. The women pawed at them, hands floating like butterflies across their bodies, sparing no part of them the lightness of their touch. Their kisses were just as plentiful, the men buried in the attention, their eyes mirrors to the bliss they felt within; their manhood, banners that stood without.

  Sebastian nearly choked on his tongue when the first of the girls, a beautiful brunette with wide, shapely hips straddled the nearest of the men, taking him inside her without shame or reserve. She rode him with intent, her arms clasped about his neck, her breasts doing their best to drown him in their mass.

  The rest of the women playfully fought over the other young man, who Sebastian unconsciously recognized as Devlin; the one Elizabeth had sent off for Karil. The victor of the battle wasted no time claiming her spoils, climbing onto Devlin’s lap to the rambunctious cheers of the crowd around them. The young man grimaced in pleasure as he settled in her, his head lolling back with a grunted laugh.

  Though he knew he looked the fool, Sebastian stood and watched, unable to turn away. Despite his earlier reluctance, he felt his borrowed pants grow tighter. His life spent in the waste lands, learning to fight, far from the charms of women of any kind, he was quite unprepared for the carnality so brazenly displayed before him. He’d never seen a woman naked, let alone witnessed one having sex. His gaze was locked on the antics in the circle as he imagined himself in place of the two young men, the women’s attention all on him. It was a pleasant fantasy.

  He didn’t notice his father’s voice until Darius grasped his shoulder and shook him roughly. As though caught with his hand beneath the covers, his eyes popped wide, and he looked at his father who motioned for him to follow. Sebastian sighed and cast another glance at the decadence splayed out before him, then moved off stiffly after his father, hoping no one would notice his unease.

  Near the edge of the trees, just out of sight of the orgy by the fire, Darius came to a halt. Elizabeth stood before him, and Sebastian trudged up alongside, planting himself in the shadows cast by the nearby tree. He couldn’t bring himself to look up at the beautiful witch. His body still played at revolt, and he didn’t trust it not to betray him.

  “I’m no puritan, Elizabeth, b
ut neither am I blind. I see what you intend with this sordid display.” He waved toward the campfire.

  She sighed. “I’m sorry, Darius. I have lived too long in the wilderness, and have lost the way of honest speech.”

  “Then think of me as I was in your previous life, and speak clear.” He shook his head, anger pulling at his lips. “You tempt the boy shamelessly to cast your net. I will not have it.”

  Sebastian realized his father meant him. His gaze shifted to Elizabeth in confusion. It was her turn to look away.

  “I only hoped to show you what life was like for his kind here, Darius. Is it too much to yearn for a few moments of happiness amidst the chaos of our world?”

  Darius laughed, but there was no humor in it. “You call this happiness? I call it sprinkling cinnamon on shit and calling it dessert. You mean to breed my boy as though he were a bull stud. This is not about him, but about how many of his kind you can birth and raise into an army.”

  It hit Sebastian right then what his father was saying. “The two, in the circle, are warlocks?”

  Elizabeth gave a slow nod.

  Darius’ gaze settled on Sebastian so heavily he could feel its weight.

  He took a moment to compose the words that raced to explode from his throat. “Like that fool from the woods, you would have me join your resistance, my own interests be damned?” His excitement died off, a candle snuffed beneath a taper.

  “That is not the way of it,” she argued. “Though I will not lie and say we would not benefit from having you part of us.”

  Sebastian growled, but she continued on.

  “Your mother was the greatest witch I’ve ever known, her power a burning sun in a sky of twinkling stars—”

  “Yet she is still dead!”

  “By treachery and deceit born of the same women I would ask you to fight against,” Elizabeth countered. “In time we could storm Cor—”

  “In time?” Sebastian countered, his voice grumbling low in his throat. “I have lived with my father telling me since I was just a child, of the cowardly betrayal of the witches who stormed my mother’s birthing room moments after I was born. They killed her as she lay there powerless, still reeling from my birth, and you want me to wait even longer for a chance at redemption?” He drew in a deep breath through clenched teeth. “I have waited as long as I am able, and I’ve no doubt my father has far exceeded his patience, the witches still alive these last nineteen years longer than they deserve. I will also not help you breed an army of warlocks to throw against the Council so they might claim more of my kind’s blood, and I will not help you fight your war. I have my own to worry about.”