by Anne Bishop
“They courted ambition and other barons’ purses,” Padrick said. “During all their talk in the council chamber, they were very careful not to explain what the ‘procedure’ was. And I’m not sure it’s madness that has consumed them.”
“What else could explain this?”
“The Fae aren’t present here in the east, are they?” Padrick asked, as if seeking confirmation.
Puzzled by the change of subject, Liam shook his head. “You hear things once in a while about them coming down the shining roads when they want to amuse themselves in the human world. I’ve certainly heard stories about people who have sworn they’ve seen one of the Fae. More often than not, it’s a young woman with a swollen belly claiming that she was seduced by a Fae Lord, but sometimes it’s someone who needed help and was answered by one of the Fair Folk.”
“In the west, the Fae’s presence balances the power the barons have in the counties they rule. No human touches an Old Place, or the witches who live there, without answering to the Clans. If the Fae are nothing more than visitors here in the east, there are only the witches in control of large tracts of land that the baron and the gentry can’t touch. Prime timber, prime pastureland, prime hunting. If a man is greedy enough, wants that land enough, perhaps even fears that those women have power that could rival his own if they chose to use it, would he refuse the assistance of men who can promise to get rid of the witches in a way that no one will dare protest? If the Inquisitors have the means to force women to confess to things they’ve never done, then the baron conveniently eliminates the obstacles between himself and what he covets. Would such a man actually refuse to have a family of witches killed—especially when he doesn’t have to get blood on his hands? I think not.”
Padrick looked up at the leaves over his head and sighed. “But the blood is on his hands because he brought the Black Coats to his county. I imagine the eastern barons who agreed to that bargain discovered soon after that they were... ensnared... and don’t dare refuse to carry out any other suggestions the Inquisitors now make about controlling females.”
“I can’t believe the barons who voted on the decrees would agree to have this carried out throughout Sylvalan. I won’t believe it.”
Padrick gave Liam a long, thoughtful look. “I wonder how many barons in Wolfram and Arktos said the same thing at one time. And I wonder how many of those barons who refused to follow the Inquisitors’ dictates met with accidents. If you had died and the Inquisitors came to Willowsbrook to eliminate the witches and the female power they represent, would your successor have stood against them? Would he have risked his newly acquired wealth?”
“I— I don’t even know who my successor would be,” Liam said. “Probably some cousin on my father’s side.”
“You don’t know,” Padrick said quietly. “I think they do. I think the Inquisitors control the eastern barons now, and whoever controls the Inquisitors ... If you ever see him, you will see the face of evil.”
A child laughed. Was quickly shushed by the others.
Such a normal sound, Liam thought. A child laughing.
Would his father have ordered this “procedure” done to Elinore? To Brooke?
Oh, yes. And the bastard would have smiled while giving the order. And he would have rejoiced if they’d taken Nuala and Keely and Breanna and...
No. That had been a nightmare, a fever dream while they’d ridden through that Old Place. Just a nightmare. Had to be just a nightmare.
But Padrick had cried when they’d ridden away, too late to do anything, too fearful of who might be coming after them to stay a moment longer.
“What can I say to my mother?” Liam asked. “What can I possibly say to her about this?”
“I don’t know. But I think, if they are willing, we need to talk to the Daughters.”
“Not Keely. She’s ... damaged. Nuala and Breanna... yes, I think they’ll talk to us.” Folding the letter carefully, Liam tucked it in a pocket. He stood up—and felt old, used up. “Let’s get it done.”
As Padrick rose to stand beside him, a boy raced toward them, skidding to a stop a few feet away.
“Rory and Clay say there’s a rider coming. Clay says it’s Squire Thirsty and wants to know if the men should let him come in.”
“His name is Thurston,” Liam said, “and, yes, you should let him come in.”
The boy raced back to the arch where the armed men waited. Liam and Padrick stayed where they were. Since the children had moved toward the stables, the bench under the tree was a good place for private conversations.
Squire Thurston rode through the archway, dismounted, and threw his horse’s reins to the boy standing closest, then trotted toward the tree where Liam and Padrick waited. He was a middle-aged man who doted on his wife and was a good father to his four children. His land was well tended, his tenant farmers and servants well cared for. A cheerful man who was content with what he had, his opinion about almost everything was respected by villagers and farmers alike, which had always incensed Liam’s father.
The man trotting toward them didn’t look cheerful or content. There was fear, almost panic, in his face.
“Baron Liam,” Thurston said, panting. “Thank the Mother you’re back! Is it true, sir? What did the barons say? What are they going to do?”
“Do about what?” Liam asked.
Thurston gaped at him. “About what happened in Pickworth!”
Pickworth. Moira’s village. “What happened?” Liam said sharply.
“I—I thought that’s why you were delayed,” Thurston stammered. “I thought the riders had reached Durham before the council ended and that’s why ...”
“Mother’s tits, man,” Padrick snapped. “Just tell us what happened.”
“Baron Padrick and I left Durham on the night of the Summer Moon, after I... became ill,” Liam said.
Thurston stared at them for a moment, as if he couldn’t quite understand what they’d said. Then he whispered, “That’s when it happened. On the night of the Summer Moon. The women...”
Liam’s stomach churned as he remembered Moira’s words. On the night of the Summer Moon, a night when the women of Sylvalan have traditionally celebrated their sexuality, we will gather at the Old Place for the last time. “What about the women?”
Thurston’s eyes shone with tears. “They killed themselves. They killed their daughters, even the babes. They— They’re all dead, Liam. All dead. From the oldest granny to the youngest babe. Many of them snuck out of their homes and went to the Old Place. But even the ones who were still safely at home ... They’re all dead. All of them.”
Liam stumbled back a step, sank down on the bench as his legs gave out.
Padrick muttered, “Mother’s mercy,” and wiped his hands over his face. “How did you hear of this?”
“A rider came by yesterday,” Thurston said. “Said the barons’ council had sent out messengers to warn other villages that the men should be on their guard and keep a more vigilant watch on the females in their communities. The rider said...” He looked around, suddenly nervous. “The rider said the eastern barons were claiming this was the work of the Evil One ... and that witches were the Evil One’s tools. That they caused the madness that made the women do such a terrible thing.”
Padrick swore softly, viciously.
“Liam,” Thurston said. He took a moment to steady himself. “Baron Liam. I—I have a wife and two daughters. I’m afraid for them. For all the women in Willowsbrook. What if this madness comes here?”
“It won’t,” Liam said numbly. “As long as I rule this county, the things that were done that made those women welcome death will never happen here.”
“But what about the Evil One?” Thurston looked around, lowered his voice. “And the witches?”
Liam bristled at the suspicion in Thurston’s voice, but Padrick asked calmly, “Do you know the ladies who live here? Have you ever talked to them?”
Thurston stiffened. “Course I know them. I
know all my neighbors. Fine ladies. When our youngest was born and my dear wife was feeling poorly, wasn’t it Mistress Nuala who came by with a simple that she said had the strength of the earth, and didn’t my wife start getting stronger within a day? And weren’t they the ones, that year when we had a hard winter, who told me my tenants could take a deer or two from the Old Place and share the meat among them, and didn’t that make the difference in keeping them all healthy and fed? Every year I send a few of my men over for a day during planting and harvest to give Clay and Edgar a hand with the fields, and I’ll send them again this year if extra hands are needed. They’re fine ladies, and good neighbors, and I won’t stand by and let anyone say differently.”
“They’re witches,” Padrick said quietly.
“I know they’re witches,” Thurston said testily. “Doesn’t mean they aren’t fine people and good neighbors.”
“And yet, when you rode in here, you were suspicious of them, almost afraid to be here.”
“I—” Thurston frowned. “Maybe it was the messenger’s talk of the Evil One that disturbed my mind. Or maybe it was Dudley’s talk about men needing to do their duty and keep their women modest so that they won’t draw the Evil One to them.”
A chill went through Liam. “Did you get my warning? Have any strangers come to Willowsbrook over the last few days?”
“Two men rode in a few days ago. Tucked into a big meal at the tavern, and also bought a couple of the meat pies to take with them. Dudley remarked on it when I stopped in. Said he’d told them the beef in the pies would likely spoil at this time of year if they weren’t eaten soon, but the men didn’t pay him any heed. They bought a jug of ale from him, too.” Thurston paused. “It was after that he started talking about this Evil One.”
“Four men, four strangers, would have drawn more attention than two,” Padrick said thoughtfully. “They could have been buying the food for the two who stayed away from the village.”
“Why would they care if anyone noticed four travelers or two?” Thurston asked.
“Because they were Inquisitors,” Liam answered softly. Those men had been so close to Elinore and Brooke... and Breanna. If there hadn’t been so many of Breanna’s kin around here, so many armed and wary men, would he have ridden up to this house and found something very different? Something that would have haunted his dreams for the rest of his life? “They were Inquisitors. Black Coats. The Evil One’s servants.”
Thurston paled. “They were in our village. Why were they in our village?”
“To do exactly what they did,” Padrick said. “Plant a seed of fear and suspicion about witches in the people here.”
“But... why?”
“So that you would stand aside when they returned and not utter so much as a protest when they tortured the witches into confessing to things they never did in order to justify killing them,” Liam said.
“If they accuse the witches,” Thurston protested, “what’s to stop them from accusing other women and killing them?”
“Nothing,” Padrick said quietly. “Nothing at all.”
Thurston took out a handkerchief, mopped the sweat from his face. “What do we do?”
“Your opinion is respected, Squire Thurston,” Liam said. “If you refuse to give in to the fear that was planted, if you stand by what you believe to be right and good, we can stop this before it has a chance to take root.”
Thurston studied Liam thoughtfully. “You stand against these... Black Coats?”
“I do.”
“Then I’ll stand with you.” Thurston stuffed the handkerchief into his pocket. “I’ll talk to the magistrate, if you like. And I’ll talk to my tenants, make sure they know to inform me about any strangers.” He turned away, then turned back. “Don’t you have kin in Pickworth?”
“My mother’s cousin and her daughter lived there.”
Thurston looked at the ground. “I am sorry, Liam.”
“So am I.”
“My condolences to your mother. If there’s anything my wife and I can do...”
Liam smiled stiffly. “Thank you. If there is anything, I’ll remember to ask.”
He watched Thurston stride across the lawn to where the boy still held his horse. He watched the squire ride through the arch.
“What am I going to tell my mother?”
Padrick sat on the bench beside him. “The truth. You weren’t hearing what was under the message the council sent out, Liam. The eastern barons aren’t going to want women to know about this. They’re sending out riders so the men will smother the truth of what happened. If the women in one village are willing to make that choice, what’s to stop others from making the same choice? And if the women who haven’t been caged hear about it, it will be far more difficult for any man, even an Inquisitor, to ride into a village and try to turn things to his advantage.” He paused. “They must have some kind of magic similar to the Fae’s gift of persuasion. That would explain how the ideas get planted.”
“And some ability to draw power from an Old Place and turn it into a... wrongness,” Liam added. “But what does that wrongness become?”
“Let’s hope that information is something the Bard passed along to the ladies here.”
Liam felt his strength waning. Would Nuala object if he stayed here for a few hours to get some sleep? Would Breanna? “Let’s talk to them.”
Sitting in the formal dining room, Breanna laid her head down on her crossed arms. She felt exhausted, numb, tangled up in too many feelings.
A whole village of women desperate enough to gather on a night that had always been about life and feeling alive and choose Death as the lover—and angry enough and courageous enough to make that choice for their daughters.
Not a choice she would want to make, and she couldn’t say with any honesty that she thought it was the right choice. But she didn’t know what it was like to live as those women had lived. She couldn’t say if having your life stripped away piece by piece until you were a mind and heart locked in a body someone else controlled could produce a rage that festered until it found the one thing a man couldn’t control.
It wouldn’t have been violent. She was certain of that. She could picture them slipping away from their houses—some of them probably slipping out of beds while the men who had used them snored contentedly—and gathering in the Old Place. There would be hugs, a few silent tears. Some of them would have had second thoughts, especially those whose husbands or lovers were good men who grieved over what had been done to their wives, their daughters, their sisters and mothers. They would have had second thoughts. And those who held a baby girl to the breast for the last time... A minute of desperate hope that, perhaps, if the child were spared, by the time she grew up things would be different, someone would find a way to fix the wrongness and the girl would grow up in the same kind of world her mother had before the Inquisitors came to Sylvalan to spread their plague of hatred against women. Then the hope would fade, and the desperation would remain.
It wouldn’t have been violent. There were plants that were deadly if picked and distilled the right way. Some of those women were bound to know enough about herbs to make a drink from those plants. Just cook it on the stove, right next to the day’s soup. Pour it into jugs and hide everything in the pantry until it was time to go. Then, in the Old Place, a cup someone had hidden in a skirt pocket. The jug passed around. Stretch out on the ground, with your arms around a daughter or a friend, and just slip away from the world, following Death’s song.
It wouldn’t have been violent. There would have been no pain. But even for the oldest of them, it had been a life that had ended too soon.
Hearing footsteps, Breanna forced herself to lift her head. She jabbed her fingers through her hair, pushing it away from her face.
The dining room door opened. Nuala came in first, followed by Padrick, who carried a tea tray. Liam came in last, shutting the door behind him.
Just the four of them now. The large room had been cr
ammed with the adults while Padrick and Liam had talked about what had happened at the barons’ council—and had broken the news about what had happened in Pickworth, while she and Nuala had told them everything they could remember about the things Aiden and Lyrra had said about the Black Coats and the nighthunter creatures that may have been created when the Black Coats who had come to Willowsbrook had drawn power from the Old Place.
He’s exhausted, Breanna thought as she watched Liam take a seat at the table. And he’s still far from well.
“I won’t take much more of your time,” Padrick said. “There are still a couple more things I need to know.”
Breanna accepted the cup of tea Nuala poured for her, then set it on the table untouched. “What do you want to know?”
“Thank you,” Padrick said, taking the tea Nuala offered. “I need to return home as quickly as I can.”
“Yes,” Nuala said. “I suppose you’d like to know how the vote turned out, and the other barons can tell you that.”
Padrick shook his head. “It doesn’t matter how the vote turned out. The west will never accept what the eastern barons have done. I’m not as concerned about that as I am about my family.”
Breanna saw Liam jolt, saw his face become paler.
“You think the barons or the Black Coats might go after your family because you helped me?” Liam said.
“They came here, Liam,” Padrick said. “Whether they came here to finish what they’d started in Durham or to do harm to your family and your people doesn’t matter; They came here. The Inquisitors aren’t stupid men. Once they questioned the men who had been hired to kill you and make it look like a robbery—”
“Wait,” Breanna said. “How can being poisoned possibly look like robbery?”
“They sent men after him,” Padrick said. “If he’d been beaten to death, the physician who was called to confirm the death wouldn’t have looked for anything else.”
“Padrick got me away from them,” Liam said. “But I was already poisoned. At my club.”
“So it wouldn’t have taken the Inquisitors long to have someone report on which barons didn’t show up the next morning for the vote, question the men for a description of the man who got you away from them, and come to the conclusion that it was me,” Padrick said. “If they took a ship, or simply rode hard, there would have been plenty of time for them to get to the west and find my wife and children.”
