Tears pinch in my throat. But the Oracle does not wait for my reply.
“You do not have much time to ponder such questions,” she says, and with a wave of her arm, the images of Anna are erased from the water, but not from my heart. “The Maltorim has created an army of possessed, yes, but you’ve been misled. Be careful from here forward whom you trust.”
Though she is every bit as firm and confident as I imagined, she’s certainly more pleasant and tranquil than I had expected. It’s her message that troubles me.
I steal a glance at William. He’s scowling. Just past him, Tess shakes her head.
The Oracle raises a tiny pale finger, closing her eyes for a long moment before speaking. “Ah, but there is hope, for a spirit elemental has indeed arrived.” Her eyes spring back open. “She is the most valuable life source on this planet. Adrian was right in one thing: you must save her, for it is her blood that one Ankou is using to perform his magic for the Maltorim.”
So Adrian had been a good enough liar to base his stories in truth. But can we trust the Oracle? I sense we can, but the last time we tried to save this elusive spiritual elemental, things didn’t work out so well.
The Oracle, however, has helped many people before. Why would she mislead us now?
In the end, I come to one realization: if we don’t try, we may be leaving an innocent woman’s life hanging in the balance while allowing the Maltorim to have an upper hand we can’t afford.
“Where do we find her?” I ask, determination so infused in my voice that it surprises even me.
The Oracle poises her arm beside her, palm up, and a flame rises above her hand. A vision of the Malleus Maleficarum flickers in the fire. “Your answers are here, in the very book the Maltorim is circulating in their efforts to stop you. The Malleus Maleficarum, the Hammer of the Witches.”
The fire dissipates, but the book remains, now firmly in her grasp. She hands it to Tess, and Tess stares down at the cover, gripping the book firmly in both hands.
“She’s being transported as we speak. You must find her before they reach their final destination. What they have done with her blood until now is only the beginning, but if she dies where they are taking her, it will break her spirit and unleash her abilities to them. You cannot let them have that power.”
She smiles thinly at us. “Now go. Fight.” Her focus centers on me. “You are our last hope.” She vaporizes before our eyes, but her voice lingers. “I see a gift for you on this journey, Cord.”
“A gift?” I ask meekly.
“From a stranger.”
The rush of the waterfall returns, nearly drowning her out.
“It could be the end of your life or the beginning of your future,” she says. “Trust your heart.”
And, with that, she is gone.
Somewhere Unknown, April 1692
By the time we arrive once again at the mouth of the cave, it’s daylight. That might not mean much if we knew where we were going, but then again it might mean everything.
“Can’t we just travel to her?” I ask. “Like we traveled to the Oracle?”
Tess chews her pouty bottom lip. “I know the Oracle, but not the spirit elemental,” she says. “I can’t travel to someone I’ve never met before.”
“Of course...” I say bitterly. Of course.
We sit down in the silence, just out of reach of the sun’s rays that are slivering past the leaves of bushes and trees that block the entrance to the cave. The Malleus Maleficarum presses into my lap, but it’s the darkness emanating from the book that weighs the most.
Here are the answers we need, as well as a list of mistruths that would have been better left undiscovered by mankind. The questions we ponder are not the ones this book addresses, and I resent that we need it to save the girl.
But we can’t go anywhere until we know where we’re going, so I take a deep breath and break the book open to the first pages. Tess takes to sitting on the other side of the cavern, sharpening her sword, while William sidles in at my side, his hand on the ground behind me and the front of his shoulder against the back of mine. He peers down at the pages, his breath warm against my neck.
I breathe in deeply, taking in his scent of an ocean breeze, and it brings me back, back to Georgia beaches, back to my mom sitting in the sand, a big floppy sunhat shading her face as she watches me splash through waves.
I shake my head, refocusing on the book. I have to re-read the sentence I just read. Right now I need to stay connected to my spirit—to Cordovae—because without that piece of me, these words are gibberish. But my spirit knows German. When Thornhart had read from this book to us in jail, I had thought it was written in English, and now I wonder how much of what he said was his own perverted translations, or if this text was really so dark and vile as he made it sound.
As the darkness of these pages consumes me, I make some mindless efforts to channel my Ferrum nature. One passage on detailing the torture of a woman accused of being a witch gives me chills, and for a fleeting moment, my razor-tipped teeth emerge. I can feel the dark energy of the book, and if I allow myself to absorb it, I get the energy I need to control my ‘gift’. But each time it happens, I’m startled, and they snap away again.
I continue reading, and it doesn’t take me long to realize the Malleus Maleficarum is a possession of its own. What need was there for Morts to inhabit the living with a writing like this in circulation? You could scare people into believing anything—doing anything—even the unthinkable.
From the start, the Malleus Maleficarum sets out to convince any good Christian that they must believe in witches, and further they must never sympathize with them, that these are beings whom the devil uses for extraordinary works. That a witch cannot perform magic without intimate cooperation from the devil.
It quotes the bible, Leviticus, chapter nineteen: The soul which goeth to wizards and soothsayers to commit fornication with them, I will set my face against that soul, and destroy it out of the midst of my people.
I close my eyes a moment, anger boiling inside at the way this book uses the beliefs of others to manipulate them toward justified hatred. It sickens me that the Maltorim would go to such lengths to manipulate humankind.
William puts his forehead to my shoulder. “You all right, Cord?”
I swallow around the tight knot in my throat.
William lifts his head, and I turn to him, his face so close to mine that our noses brush.
“Fine,” I whisper, and quickly turn back to the book. What’s gotten into him? I want to melt into his arms and disappear from this world, but I know I can’t. I point to the open pages instead. “What do you think of this?”
The page declares witches are a problem now more than ever.
William frowns and gives a non-committal shrug. “To give reason to those who aren’t possessed why these witch hunts are suddenly growing in necessity?”
I smile sadly. “It says women are the ones most commonly addicted to the devil’s superstitions, but the chapter seems to go more with its own superstitions: a woman who makes you weary may be a witch; a woman, should she be lazy or make you feel lazy, may be a witch. If she’s tempted or makes you tempted, if she has what you have lost, if your cows produce no milk, if she’s of old age—these are signs of a woman being a witch?”
William raises his eyebrows. “It’s an easy idea for mankind to believe. God has not forsaken them. They have not failed. Someone else, someone evil or influenced by darkness, is to blame.”
“But it’s all a lie...isn’t it?”
“The people reading this don’t know that. These people are terrified, and the Maltorim knows that. A little fear can go a long way; a lot of fear can create an epidemic.”
Indeed, the book has left no stone unturned in its efforts to instill fear in others. The Malleus Maleficarum implies that if you allow a witch to live, they make you ill or go as far as to kill and dismember men. Witch midwives will stop at nothing to kill your child in your
womb or offer your newborn to devils. Allowing a witch to live not only puts your life in danger, but your soul as well. And forgiving them their actions makes you sympathetic to their darkness, and should you feel that way, you may as well be a witch yourself.
“I don’t want to read any more,” I say, flopping the book lower in my lap. “I can’t grasp half of what it’s trying to say. Look”—I skip back a few pages—“it says if a woman seems good, she may especially be a witch, as the devil is most keen to tempt the good than the wicked.” I flip forward another page. “Except for when he tempts the wicked more than the good because they are easier to stray from their righteous path? It’s contradictory.”
“You’re thinking about it too much, Cord,” he says. “The devil’s in the details.”
His use of the phrase pushes a smile from me. “You’re right. This isn’t what we’re reading this for.”
“No,” he says. “It’s not.”
Still, I have to trudge through page after page, considering anything that might be a clue to where they would take the girl. The overall message remains the same: if you are good, you will get rid of these witches before you become wicked yourself.
I skim through the remedies for how to cure any ill will cast on you by a witch, and I can barely stomach the last third of the book as it details who can try a witch—not just the Court of the Inquisition; bishops and their representatives can rid their parishes of these soothesayers, and the ecclesiastic and civil court can both pass judgment as well.
Chapter after chapter delves into the process of examining the witnesses—with four witnesses—and questioning the accused in two ways.
Should the accused be imprisoned? If so, how shall she be taken? Will the accused be told who her witnesses are? Will defense be allowed, and how will the witnesses be announced? After all, you would not want the witnesses to fall ill by the spell of a bitter witch.
How will the witch be questioned on the first day? Will the witch be promised her life? How can the judge protect himself from the witch’s spells? How do you shave the parts of a witch so that they cannot conceal the devil’s masks and tokens?
What tortures shall the witch endure?
This is to ultimately lead to a definite and just sentence, which will consider what kinds of magic the accused is convicted of, whether they confess, whether they renounce the devil, whether they were accused upon light or strong or grave suspicion. And each of these—and more—have their own dedicated chapter.
It is all written to sound so very fair, so very right, so thoroughly considered and concise. But everything about it screams how wrong it all is.
“That’s it,” I say, closing the book. “Did anything stand out to you?”
William shakes his head. He leans back against the cave’s wall and stretches his legs out in front of him. “You?”
“A few things, perhaps.”
He sits up straighter, raising his eyebrows. His interest gives me a fresh burst of energy.
“Okay,” I say, “well there was the part about the trolls in Norway. Remember the part about how witches transport?”
William nods. “That was about levitation, though.”
I shake my head. “But it was also about how a witch can and cannot travel. About how God will or will not permit it. I realize the Maltorim is making up these stories, but if this is also a guide for their men, then in a way isn’t God a metaphor for the Maltorim? What ‘God’ permits is what the Matorim permits, you see?”
His whole face lights up. “You could be on to something.”
Tess’ sword clangs to the ground, and she rolls her eyes. “That doesn’t tell us where we need to go.”
I open the book and translate a passage to her: “Did not the devil take up Our Saviour, and carry Him up to a high place?”
“Are we looking for a spirit elemental or are we looking for the son of God?” Tess intones snarkily.
William glares at her. “At least let her finish. We have nothing else to go on.”
I don’t wait for Tess’ permission, nor her interest, to continue. “The chapter was talking about levitation but said when the spirit is removed from the body, then it can rise up in the air. That is what the Maltorim wants, yes? They want to retrieve the spirit elemental’s spirit.
“It says here witches have been transported on animals, which are not true animals but devils in animal form.”
William’s hand slides down to mine and gives a gentle squeeze. My cheeks heat and it spreads down my neck. My heart is racing so fast I can’t feel it beat...or maybe it’s stopped beating altogether. I swallow and break away from William’s stare. We have to stay focused.
I clear my throat, and the trance is broken. “Sounds a bit like how most of the Cruor view the Strigoi, doesn’t it?”
“Sure,” he says. “That’s one way to look at it.”
Tess crosses her arm and offers a reluctant, “Yeah. Maybe.”
“There’s a story in this book on transportation that took place during the daytime in the diocese of Constance. A woman, detested by the town, was not invited to a wedding celebration that the rest of the town was attending. She sought revenge by summoning a devil and asking him to raise a hailstorm. The devil agreed, raised her up, and carried her through the air to a hill near the town, as witnessed by nearby shepherds. But she had no water to pour into the trench to raise the hailstorm, so she filled it with her urine instead and stirred it with her finger. The devil, standing nearby, raised that liquid and sent a violent storm of hailstones to rain down on the townsfolk.”
“We already know what they want to do, Cord!” Tess glares at me. “WHERE? Where is this supposedly going to happen?” she demands. “That is what we need to find out.”
“The book named a few places in passing. It spoke of the Bishop of Brixen, the Count in the ward of Westerich, and the Diocese of Strasburg is mentioned several times. There’s also the priest in Oberdorf, and the transport of Habacuc in a moment from Judaea to Caldaea. The diocese of Freising is mentioned in the ‘transportation of witches’ chapter.”
Tess shakes her head. “Can you narrow it down at all?”
“I’m getting there. We know these things: they need to transport the witch in a way the ‘God’ of this book would allow. The only witnessed transport mentioned here was in the diocese of Constance.”
“So that’s where we go?” William asks.
“If it’s not there, I still think it will be in Germany. Freising, maybe.” My blood is pumping so rapidly I feel like I’m buzzing. “It won’t be under the stars,” I say, “because the book said the stars are governed by the good angels, and also for the general order and common good of the Universe that evil spirits cannot alter the influence of the stars.”
Tess goes back to sharpening her knife. “You think daytime, then? The Maltorim won’t want to be out during the day, but sounds like they can’t do it at night.”
“Unless that is to throw people off,” I say. “They are doing this to bring forth a change, correct? Well...they want to walk in the day, right? Isn’t that the purpose all of this serves?”
“I think you’re right,” William says. “It’s what they’ve always wanted. To walk during the day; to govern the stars.”
April 1692, Diocese of Constance
When we arrive at the Gotthard Pass, night has already fallen. That narrows down the Oracle’s current location to somewhere on the other side of the world . . .
We stick to land as much as possible; our bodies cannot handle much more traveling. Even Tess is vomiting blood after some of our skips through space. But time is not on our side, and the diocese of Constance stretches for miles.
We cover the ground of the Upper Rhine and scour the German land near Lake Constance, but there is nothing in any of these places to set us on a clear path. Tess’ apparent irritation grows with each travel that leaves us no better off than where we began. If we don’t find something soon, I fear she’ll give up.
&n
bsp; But we’re close. I can feel it.
When our travels east to Freising prove fruitless, Tess tucks her hands on her hips and turns to me. “This isn’t working. I told you we need to narrow it down.”
I shrug one shoulder, wishing I could stop her from speaking. I can’t deal with the stress. “There was nothing else in the Malleus Maleficarum to give any indication where the Maltorim would be taking the woman. How else are we to narrow it down? If there are any other hints on where to go, we’re going to find them here.”
William stands at Tess’ side, and I feel the wall being built between us already. “Tess may be right, Cordovae. Our bodies can’t handle much more, and the night is already half through. We should consider going over the book a second time and trying again tomorrow night.”
I push out my bottom lip. “We’ll be stuck inside all day tomorrow anyway. We can look at the book again then, if we don’t find anything tonight. We don’t have enough time to waste the night.”
“No,” Tess says, stepping nearly toe-to-toe with me, “what we don’t have time for is prancing around Germany with no clue where we intend to go.”
I scowl, then turn away from her, glaring at William with a challenge on my tongue. “Then you two go rest. I’m not giving up now.”
With that, I head north to Frankfurt.
And that is where I find the destruction.
* * *
At first, I’m not certain what I’m looking at. There’s a lot of blood and a lot of commotion. Grown men weeping over women, clutching those lifeless bodies to their chests, rocking back and forth, the blood staining their own clothing. Abandoned horse-driven carts turned over, their contents scattering the blood-moistened soil. Children crying in doorways and windows. Old women wailing beside their lost husbands.
At my feet lies the freshly murdered body of a young woman, her dress ripped away to reveal a naked bosom, her head rolled to the side, revealing the all-too-telling pierce marks on her neck. No one sheds a tear for this woman. No one but me. Gently I cover her exposed breast with the loose flap of fabric from her dress then step over her body to assess more of the town.
COME, THE DARK: (Forever Girl Series Book Two) Page 25
