Cast In Stone: A Cré-Witch Chronicles Prequel (The Cré-Witch Chronicles Book 0)

by Sarah Hegger

  Still more villagers drifted out of their cottages, clogging up the path between them and the church.

  As Alexander stalked her, Maeve backed away.

  “Good morning pretty cré-witch. Did you come to play?” he whispered.

  “They thought I was too sick to know what they did.” Spittle flew from Agnes’s mouth. She lurched from one person to the next. “They took me for dead, or so near to it that it didn’t signify. They took me for dead so they could steal the life from my baby.”

  “We came to help.” Maeve had to raise her voice against the increasing babble. “We heard there was disease in the village, and we came to help.” She waved her hand toward the cottages they had already visited. “Ask those who were sick, and they’ll tell you. They’ll tell you how they were sick and are now better.”

  “Better?” Malice gleamed in Alexander’s dark eyes. His voice carried as he said, “You say better, I say bewitched.”

  Angry voices swirled around Maeve.

  “What’s Alexander saying?”

  “Who killed Agnes’s baby?” Prudence pushed to the front of the crowd. “What’s happening here, Alexander?”

  “I always said they were no good.”

  “My mum warned me to have nothing to do with them.

  “You have bewitched them,” Alexander said. The wave of power hit Maeve like a blow to her belly. Dark, metallic, rotten, the power that came of wresting magic through death, eddied and billowed around him like a dark cloak. “Your healing is nothing more than sorcery to turn them to your dark master.”

  Agnes screamed. “Satan! They are in league with Satan.”

  “Take them.” Alexander grabbed her arm. “We must take them and force them to release our folk.”

  The matron tried to speak for them. “They’re not—”

  “They killed Agnes’s baby.” Prudence stood beside Alexander, her eyes glittering.

  “They killed Agnes’s baby so they could use her body for their black magic,” Alexander said, and he should know. He was a creature of blood magic. Maeve hadn’t even known that was possible. Her flesh shuddered where he touched.

  “Well met, little Maeve,” he whispered to her and smiled. “I want you to say my name in your mind. I want Roderick to know who killed you.”

  Roderick’s fury lashed down their bond.

  Voices roared in anger all about them. Disembodied accusations were thrust forward and grew wilder and wilder. The wall of bodies swelled and circled their small party.

  Maeve had thought herself so clever in giving Roderick the slip. Now it rose to taunt her, and she screamed his name in her mind.

  Alexander’s grip on her arm tightened painfully. “That’s even better.” His smile was more terrifying for its mesmerizing beauty. “Call him to you. Bring that whoreson to me.”

  She struggled against his hold, but he was strong, and the waves of blood magic buffeted her, draining her strength.

  “They dance naked to entice men into their snare,” Alexander yelled to the crowd. “Have congress with animals.”

  Maeve clawed at his hand, trying to make herself heard, to end this insanity. “None of that is true. We are servants of—”

  “Satan. Servants of Satan,” Alexander bellowed. “You heard her say it herself. She drinks the blood of newborns. Newborns like Agnes’s baby.”

  The crowd grew around them in size and hysteria.

  “They raise the dead.” Alexander’s grip bruised.

  Agnes resumed her screaming. “My baby. They killed my baby and now they’ll drink her blood.”

  “Check them for the mark, the mark of Satan,” another man shouted.

  Prudence’s voice cut through the din. “We must subject them to the ordeal by water. It is the only way to know for sure.”

  “Aye.” Alexander almost yanked her arm out of its socket. “The water trial. ’Tis the only sure way to know.”

  Sheila and her other healers huddled closer together. Pale as parchment, young Rose attempted to stay on her feet.

  Maeve looked at her fellow blessed. They might die here today, and because of her. If she had listened to Roderick, none of them would be here. If she did nothing, Sheila and the others would die because of her.

  “No,” she shrieked, loud enough to scrape her throat raw. Loud enough for her voice to rise above the noise. “Not the water. Anything but the water.”

  Sheila stared at her in horror and shook her head.

  “What are you up to?” Alexander hissed.

  “I’ll tell you anything you want to know.” Maeve rolled her eyes about like a crazed person. Roderick was coming. All she had to do was distract the villagers until he got there. “I’ll tell you all, only please, please don’t put me in the water.”

  “See there.” Prudence jabbed her finger in her face. “We have only to speak of the ordeal by water, and already she confesses.”

  “No.” Sheila paled, shaking her head vehemently. “Don’t do it.”

  “I’m a witch.” Maeve cackled. “And Satan is my lover. I’m in league with the devil.”

  A woman screamed.

  A man’s voice rose in prayer.

  Voices swelled about her, braying for blood. Her blood.

  She pointed at the small cluster of healers. “I sucked the life out the baby. Not them. They’re too stupid to know what to do.”

  Even above the noise of the villagers, she could hear Agnes wailing.

  “They didn’t do it.” Maeve spat, narrowly missing the hem of Sheila’s skirt. “They are weak. Mewling. He does not want them. He despises them.”

  “We must burn her,” Prudence yelled in triumph. “It is the only way to be sure she’s dead.”

  All this hated directed at her made Maeve feel ill. “You can’t burn me,” she screeched. “My dark lord will rise and pluck me from the fire.”

  Alexander’s gaze stayed on her. “Give her to me, instead. I’ll get the truth out of her.”

  The villagers had moved away from Sheila and the other healers. All attention was now on her.

  “Yes,” Prudence yelled. “Let Alexander have her. He knows what to do with these she-devils.”

  Agnes cackled. “Let Alexander have her.”

  She kept moving away. She didn’t want to die. She had only recently celebrated her twenty-fifth year. She really, really didn’t want to die. There was so much that she had yet to do, yet to discover.

  The wall of bodies blocked her view of Sheila and the others. She willed them to run for safety. All eyes must stay on her. She raised her voice as loud as she could manage. “You can’t kill me. The devil will save me.”

  Roderick’s bloodthirsty bellow silenced the crowd. “Alexander.”

  As Alexander turned, his grip on her arm slackened. A feral smile twisted his face. “At last.” He grinned and shoved Maeve at Agnes. “Hold her.”

  Sword raised, Roderick stalked through the crowd. “Let her go.”

  “I’m afraid not, Roderick.” From beneath his doublet, Alexander pulled a sword. He swiveled his wrist, his sword catching the sunlight, as he waited for Roderick. “She knows too much, and my mother wants her dead.”

  Roderick reached Alexander and attacked. “Your mother must be used to disappointment by now.”

  Chapter 12

  Maeve stood stupefied as Roderick fought Alexander. Faster than her eye could follow, their steel flashed through the air. Blades met, clanged and struck sparks.

  The watching villagers shrank back, giving them space.

  Roderick and Alexander fixed hard stares on each other. The grim certainty of death as the only outcome shrouded both of them.

  “Come on.” Sheila pulled her arm.

  Agnes lay crumpled behind her and Sheila still held the blood-stained log in both hands.

  Ma
eve’s brain was working too slowly. “You hit her.”

  “Aye, I bloody well hit her.” Sheila growled. “Unnatural beast that she is. She used her baby’s blood for the magic.” She tugged on Maeve’s arm. “Now come, while Roderick keeps them busy.”

  The crowd circled the fighting men. They were evenly matched but for Maeve there was only Roderick. “I need to help him.”

  “Don’t be stupid.” Sheila quickened her pace, dragging Maeve behind her. “You’re wasting the chance he’s buying you. Now come.”

  Sheila was stronger than she looked, and Maeve couldn’t break free. Trying to look behind her, she tripped over her feet. “He needs help.”

  “And he will get it,” Sheila said. The other healers clustered around them as they ran for the churchyard. “But not from the likes of us. The other coimhdeacht will come for him.”

  A village woman glanced their way, froze, and turned back. “They’re getting away,” she screamed. “The witches are escaping.”

  More heads turned.

  Steel clashed against steel and the villagers turned back to the fight.

  “Go!” Sweat poured down Roderick’s face. “Now, Maeve. Now.”

  “You must come.” Sheila jerked her arm. “Don’t render his sacrifice pointless.”

  Sacrifice. The word echoed through her entire being. Roderick had sacrificed himself for her. He’d tossed the dice on his own survival to ensure hers. It wasn’t right. But Sheila wouldn’t let go of her hand, and another healer had taken hold of her elbow and they tugged her between them.

  Screams, grunts and shouts came from behind her. Yet, Maeve couldn’t even turn to see how Roderick was faring. Inexorably she was compelled to keep running.

  Even Rose managed to get her limp legs to move.

  In the end, Maeve was half dragged, half pulled into the churchyard, down the narrow staircase to the crypt, and into the sudden quiet and dark below the church.

  Only then did they stop, sides heaving as they tried to catch their breath.

  “The incantation.” Hands on her knees, Sheila bent over panting. “You’re the only one who knows it.”

  Maeve stepped to the rock face and by rote uttered the words that would open the portal to safety. Her attention remained with Roderick in the village. Did he still live? She reached through their bond and felt him there. Please Goddess, let the strength with which being coimhdeacht imbued him save him now. As the other women stumbled into the passageway, Maeve stood to the side, her bond with Roderick as wide open as she could achieve without distracting him.

  Three steps in, and the wards of Baile Castle encased the five healers. Maeve breathed a sigh of relief. Sheila and the other healers were now safe.

  “Get back to the castle,” she said. “Send the other coimhdeacht. Tell them Roderick needs them.”

  Sheila opened her mouth as if to argue, and then nodded. “You’re going back for him.”

  “I can’t abandon him. Especially not when it’s my fault he’s here.” She motioned the healers to go. “There may be some small thing I can do to help him.”

  “Goddess bless you, Maeve.”

  “And you.” Maeve whispered the incantation to Sheila. “Now get to safety.”

  Sheila closed the passage.

  Maeve spun and ran back the way they had come. Twice, her rubbery legs brought her into painful and jarring contact with the ground. The noise from the village rolled on unabated. That had to be a good sign, right? It must be a sign Roderick was still fighting.

  If the villagers caught sight of her, all would be lost. She had no intention of compounding her stupidity with yet more stupidity, so she kept herself hidden in the beech copse and crept closer to the heaving crowd.

  She could start a fire, that would—

  A victorious yell rose from the crowd, and several thrust their arms in the air.

  Maeve’s stomach churned, and her breath lodged like a barb her chest.

  Sword raised for the killing blow, Alexander stood above Roderick.

  Maeve pulled fire, her scream burning the back of her throat. Flame licked between her hands, wild and impatient, feeding off her churning emotions.

  Yet, she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t send a fiery ball into the center of the people gathered about Roderick. It was her sacred oath as a cré-witch never to use her magic to harm. Even the trees about her were sacred.

  Kneeling, Roderick fought. Sweat and blood streaming down his face, he brought his blade up in time to stop Alexander’s. Blood soaked the white sleeve of his chemise and plastered it to his skin.

  He lurched back to his feet.

  The crowd pressed closer, now fearless in their much greater numbers and with Roderick showing signs of weakness.

  Roderick crashed to his knees a second time. His head hung heavy on his neck, and his sword came up slower. He swayed and caught himself.

  Gathering her strength, Maeve pushed it down the bond.

  Up came Roderick’s head.

  The crowd bayed for blood. More of Roderick’s precious blood, and he had already spilled too much.

  “Goddess, help him,” she whispered to the beech trees, standing in silent judgment all about her. “Goddess, please help him.”

  Roderick sagged. The bond went silent between them.

  She pushed into the nothing, but he had blocked her as if he didn’t exist.

  A thick, black tendril shot from them Alexander to her. He spoke to Roderick, but Maeve could hear him as if he stood right beside her. “Be a brave boy, Roderick. Your witch is watching as I kill you.” Alexander raised his sword. “Your death will stun her, and then she’s mine.”

  Utter despair overpowered Roderick’s block and almost brought Maeve to her knees. Roderick had failed her, and he knew it.

  “Blessed.” A hard hand shook her arm. “Get back to the keep.”

  Past her they streamed, intent and deadly, the other coimhdeacht. Swords, staffs, battle axes and daggers raised, they attacked the crowd surrounding Roderick.

  Maeve barely dared hope they were real.

  “Now.” Thomas shook her arm again, his face an angry mask. “We need to get to Roderick, and we can’t do so until you’re safe.”

  Of course, it was their creed. To first save the blessed. Always blessed first. Whether she deserved such loyalty or not.

  Maeve didn’t even know all their names, these men who had come to save them. She should know the names of her saviors.

  Thomas shook his head and shoved her in the direction of the church. “Go.”

  Her disobedience was the reason for this in the first place. Maeve stumbled, staggered and tripped her way toward the opening in the rock, and through it. Once on the safe side of the wards, she stopped.

  She waited, her heart pounding loudly in her throat. Straining her ears, she tried to catch some hint of what was happening.

  They appeared so suddenly they startled her. Bodies, big male bodies, crowded into the passageway and brushed past her. Someone muttered the incantation and the portal closed. Sweat and blood stink filled the narrow space. She was jostled out of the way and Maeve clung to the wall at her back.

  The coimhdeacht were moving already, carrying someone between them.

  “Roderick.” She tried to peer through them to see if he still lived. Goddess please let him live. Hope clawed at her, painful in its uncertainty.

  “Come.” Thomas grabbed her arm and propelled her forward at a swift pace. “He breathes.”

  Chapter 13

  Maeve dipped her cloth in the basin of cool water and wiped Roderick’s brow. He lay on his cot in the barracks. His fellow coimhdeacht moved around them. Not one word of condemnation had any of them spoken. Not even by a look had they blamed her for Roderick’s condition. But Maeve knew it was all her fault. Roderick had told her, their bond worked
better if there was honesty between them.

  She hadn’t listened and she deserved the censure of the coimhdeacht and also the combined condemnation of the entire coven. It wasn’t her, however, who suffered most. If her punishment had affected her alone, she could have borne it much better. With fiendish accuracy Fiona had homed in on her weak spot and struck.

  Because of her actions, six witches might have died, herself and the five healers. Compounding her disobedience was the charge that by using the secret passage to the church, she had risked someone in the village discovering it. Further, in order to save her, Roderick had risked his life. To her transgressions was added the risk to the other coimhdeacht who had rescued him.

  Sickened by her own actions, Maeve had barely said a word during her disciplinary hearing with the council. What could she say? Her actions had been indefensible, and she was justly accused.

  Her punishment, however, was unjust. No healer was permitted to attend Roderick during his convalescence. Maeve must nurse her coimhdeacht back to health alone. Only then, according to Fiona, would she truly understand the gravity of putting another’s life at risk.

  Maeve didn’t agree. This punishment hurt Roderick more than it did her. Yet, he suffered it with inhuman stoicism. Maeve couldn’t imagine how much pain he must be in but several of his ribs were broken, one of his legs, his face swollen until it was nigh unrecognizable, and the rest of him covered in deep purple welts and bruises. Alexander’s blade had also found its mark across his thigh and shoulder and a vicious gash to his belly.

  Yet, none of his pain or discomfort leaked into the bond. She wished it had, so she could at least feel what he felt.

  As per Goddess’s gift to all who protected her blessed, Roderick would heal completely and much faster than normal folk, but he wasn’t immune to pain while his body knit back together.

  As gently as she could, Maeve spread healing salve over Roderick’s torso. Every one of his injuries silently rebuked her.

  Slippers scraped softly over stone and Sheila joined her at Roderick’s side. “How is he?”