The Witch Hunter

by Virginia Boecker

  “Oh, aye, he was coming back. To escort you to the stakes.”

  “Stop.”

  “You know I’m right. Surely you know that.”

  “Stop,” I repeat. “I’m serious, George. If you say another word against Caleb, I’ll leave. I don’t care what you offer, or what happens to Nicholas.”

  “Elizabeth—”

  “Not another word!” I’m shouting now. “Or I swear, I’ll—”

  The sound of someone clearing his throat interrupts me. I jerk my head around and there’s John, standing in the doorway. He’s wearing a thick black traveling cloak, a large canvas bag slung over his shoulder, traces of rain still on his face and hair. He must have gotten back and come straight upstairs.

  George stands up. “Didn’t hear you come in.”

  John shrugs. “Sorry to interrupt. I knocked a few times, though.” He looks at me, then back at George. “Nicholas wants to see you,” he says. “He’s downstairs.”

  George moves to the door, eyeing me warily. Probably thinks I’ll try to escape again.

  “I thought I’d clean up,” I say.

  “I’ll ask Hastings to prepare a bath,” George says. Then he leaves. John lingers, looking at me with the strangest expression. His eyes travel from my hair, which I know is still covered in flour, to my grubby, egg-stained trousers, then to my hand, which is fully healed now and still unwrapped, back to my face.

  “We leave at five,” he says. “Be sure to wear something warm.”

  WE LEAVE AT FIVE O’CLOCK, right on schedule. Peter and Gareth stay behind; apparently Veda has a fear of all old men, except Nicholas. I wonder why.

  Outside, the night is cold and crisp, and I’m grateful for the clothes Hastings brought me to wear. Close-fitting green trousers and a soft white shirt. A long black velvet coat and knee-high black boots. Fifer’s clothes. I knew by the scowl she gave me how much she hated having to give them over.

  Nicholas says it’s an hour’s walk to get there, none of it on open road. He knows the path well, directing us around trees and over fallen branches, until we’re deep in the woods. The moon is completely black tonight, not a single sliver of light to guide us. I walk beside George, and while I’m used to walking in the dark, he’s having trouble. He stumbles every few feet, tripping over fallen logs and into potholes.

  “A pity Veda can’t see in the daytime.” He pitches forward again, and I grab his arm to keep him from falling. “Honestly, is the bit about the moon really that important?”

  “The bit about the moon?” Fifer tsks beside me. “The dark phase of the moon is only the most significant aspect to divination. The time when seers are at their most powerful. And you call it ‘the bit about the moon.’ ”

  “Well, not all of us are witches,” he replies.

  I feel Fifer’s eyes shift to me when he says it.

  “You said the phase lasts three days,” George continues. “Can’t Veda see at any point during that time?”

  “Strictly speaking, yes,” Nicholas replies. “But the energy is strongest in the first few hours. We want to take advantage of that. Anyone with any seeing power will be looking in these three days as well. It’s best to be done before the energy starts to wane.”

  I knew some of this already. Witch hunters are always sent out during the dark moon. Not just to look for seers; it’s also an ideal time to find witches and wizards performing dark spells and curses. They work best during this time, too. Then it occurs to me.

  “They’ll be looking for us, won’t they?” I say.

  “Undoubtedly,” Nicholas replies. “But I’ve taken every precaution. Veda’s home has a protective spell on it. No one will be able to see it, nor us once we’re inside. Using Fifer’s help, I’ve extended that spell so we can walk through the woods, virtually undetected.”

  “Why take the risk?” I say. “Isn’t there another way to get there? One where we don’t have to walk?” It’s clear he’s having trouble with that himself. He takes slow, cumbersome steps, clutching John’s arm for support. Unlike George, I know that’s not because of the dark.

  “There are ways to use magic for travel,” Nicholas says. “Lodestones, primarily, though they are few and far between, not to mention extremely difficult to procure. People have died for a lot less.”

  “Died?” I raise my eyebrows.

  “Yes. Like from an excess of curiosity,” Fifer mutters.

  John shoots her a look. She sticks her tongue out at him.

  “Lodestones are formed when lightning strikes certain types of minerals,” Nicholas continues. “Typically they explode, which is why they’re so difficult to find. But sometimes a wizard will attract the lightning himself and try to hold the mineral intact as it hits. Perhaps you can guess what happens next.”

  “I can?”

  John nudges me and makes an exploding motion with his free hand.

  I clap my hand over my mouth, stifling a laugh.

  “It’s not funny,” Fifer snaps.

  “No,” John agrees. “But what else do you expect when you play with lightning?”

  Nicholas gives an indulgent chuckle that turns into a horrible, hacking cough. John and Fifer exchange a worried glance.

  “Quite right,” Nicholas finally manages. “But there are other restrictions as well. A single lodestone can only be used once, and by two people at most. We’d need six to manage the trip here and back. I don’t think I’ve come across six of them in my lifetime.” He smiles at me. “Don’t worry, Elizabeth. You’re safe with us.”

  We continue walking, the five of us falling silent. The only sound is that of leaves and twigs crackling beneath our feet. It’s just as well. I don’t feel like talking anyway. I’m nervous about meeting this seer. Worried about what she might see. Afraid of what she might say.

  It’s almost a certainty she’ll name me as a witch hunter. To be found out that way, in a roomful of vengeful Reformists… what would happen then? I’ve got a few ideas, none of them good. And I have nothing to defend myself with. No knife, no ax, not even that tiny three-pronged fork. George took them all.

  Still, I’ve been in worse situations and come out ahead. There’s no reason to think this will be any different. So I try to relax. Tilt my head back, watch the sky. It’s clear tonight, full of a thousand stars. I watch them as I walk, searching for constellations I know. It takes a minute, but eventually I’m able to make out a few.

  First, I see Cygnus. He’s a swan but is actually shaped like a giant cross. Easy to recognize. Left of that is Pegasus, the winged horse. He looks like a giant crab. Above him is Andromeda. She’s the girl who was chained to a rock, a sacrifice for her mother’s arrogance. Above Andromeda is her mother, Cassiopeia. Her constellation is simply five stars in the shape of a W. Caleb told me it’s meant to depict her punishment. Because of what she did to Andromeda, the gods tied Cassiopeia to a chair and banished her to the heavens. She’s stuck in the sky, forever.

  I feel a hand on my arm, pulling me firmly but gently to one side.

  “Careful,” John says. “You almost walked into a tree.”

  “Oh,” I say, feeling foolish. “Thank you.”

  “Stargazing?” He falls into step beside me.

  “A little.”

  He nods. “I guess you didn’t do much of that at court, did you?”

  “Not really,” I say. It isn’t true, but I know what he means. In Malcolm’s court, it was never a good idea to show an interest in stars. Because knowing astronomy might mean you have an interest in astrology. Charting stars, knowing the positions of planets, understanding the zodiac… that’s too closely related to divination. Even if you can’t replicate a full-scale model of the universe on your ceiling the way Nicholas can, it’s still forbidden.

  Oddly enough, though, Blackwell encouraged it. Part of our training as witch hunters included education. Of course, most of it involved mastering subterfuge, armament, and the subtle art of poisoning, but there was a softer side, too. Blackwel
l was nobly born, highly educated. He had the best tutors in the kingdom at his disposal, and he brought them in to teach us art, literature, arithmetic, languages, geography, and, yes, even astronomy.

  When I first went to live with him, this surprised me. I thought his desire to educate us meant he was interested in us. That he cared. Eventually I realized that wasn’t the case. He may have clothed us, fed us, housed us, and educated us, but we were not his children. We were his soldiers: indispensable, yet replaceable. He needed us smart because he needed us alive. But if he lost one of us in training, he never said a word about it. There’d just be one less place at the dinner table, and we’d never hear that person’s name again.

  But Caleb said it didn’t matter. He jumped at the chance to learn. If it weren’t for Blackwell, he never would have gotten an education. He studied everything he could, insisted I did, too. I resented it at first, but now I’m glad. I’m as educated as any man in the kingdom now. I can’t help feeling proud of that.

  John is still walking beside me, and I realize I haven’t said anything in a while.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, finally. “For not talking, I mean. I guess I’m just worried.”

  “Not at all,” he says. “But you have nothing to be worried about. Veda is very sweet.”

  Sweet? He must be joking. Trying to lighten the mood. Because I’ve come across my fair share of seers before, and they were all cantankerous, grouchy, sour old cats.

  I start to reply, but Nicholas’s quiet voice cuts me off.

  “We’re here.”

  We’ve reached the edge of the forest, the trees ending in a clearing. I can just make out a small village in the distance.

  “Somewhere in there, then?” I whisper, pointing at it.

  “A little closer than that.” John directs my hand toward an old stone well about twenty feet away. It’s about three feet high on one side, but the other side has collapsed and lies in a broken heap of stones.

  “What, we have to go through it?” My chest tightens at the thought of crawling into such a small, dark space.

  “Not quite.” Nicholas steps up beside me, reaching into his cloak and pulling out a small object wrapped in cloth. He unwraps it, peeling away layer after layer until I can see what’s inside. It’s a stone, one from the well by the looks of it. He places his hand on top of it.

  “Reveal.”

  In an instant, the broken-down well is gone, replaced by a small house. It’s made from the same rough stone as the well and like the stone in Nicholas’s hand. The house is tiny and ramshackle, but it’s got a small garden out back, along with a pen filled with chickens and a single tiny pig. It’s so quiet I can hear him snorting as he roots around in the mud.

  “Fantastic,” George murmurs. “I tell you, I never get tired of watching him do that.”

  A concealment spell is very difficult magic. It calls for a strong enchantment on not just one object, but two: the thing being concealed as well as the thing that links the concealed object to its illusion. Most wizards don’t have the ability to execute a spell like that. If Nicholas is cursed—dying, even—and can still manage it…

  I’m suddenly wishing for those weapons again.

  “I’ll let her know we’re here,” Nicholas says. “Stay here until I call for you.”

  He walks to the narrow wooden front door and scratches a soft knock. After a moment the door opens and Nicholas disappears inside. Minutes pass. I’m starting to get fidgety when Nicholas finally comes back out. He crooks his finger, beckoning us to come inside.

  THE HOUSE IS DIMLY LIT as we enter. A small sitting room, sparsely furnished. A table in one corner with a couple of stools, a single bench, a few lit candles scattered on the surface. On the other side of the room is a fireplace. There’s wood inside, only it’s not lit. I wrap my arms tightly around myself.

  “The ritual requires the house to be as cold as possible.” Nicholas gestures to the dark fireplace. “We’ll light it again after. Come. Meet Veda. You three, wait here.”

  He beckons me toward the only other door in the cottage. It’s open slightly, revealing yet another dimly lit room. Fifer hops onto the table; George settles on the bench and pulls out a deck of cards. I glance at John, still standing beside me. He nods and gives an encouraging smile.

  Nicholas and I walk into the room, and a woman approaches us.

  “Avis, this is Elizabeth. Elizabeth, this is Avis. Veda’s mother.”

  Veda’s mother? I take another look at her. She’s got brown hair tied back in a knot, no gray in it at all. She gives me a bland smile—no wrinkles around her eyes, either. She’s twenty-five, if that.

  “And this is Veda,” Nicholas says. I look around but don’t see her. “Look down,” he tells me, and I do. Before me stands a tiny little girl. She looks to be around five years old. My eyes go round with surprise.

  I crouch down to take a better look at her. Long brown hair, huge brown eyes. She smiles at me, and I notice she’s missing her two bottom teeth.

  “Hello,” she pipes. “I know you already. I saw you in my head! I’m glad they finally found you. They kept looking for some ugly, old lady. But you’re not ugly at all!”

  “Well… thank you,” I say, and Nicholas laughs.

  “Veda, now that Elizabeth is here, we need you to tell us what she’s supposed to do.” It’s a careful choice of words. Nothing at all about needing me to find something for him. “Can you do that?”

  Veda nods.

  There’s a single wide bed pushed into the corner of the room, and next to it is a small table covered with a clean white cloth. On top is a scrying mirror, surrounded by six flickering candles. The elaborate silver frame is dull and choked with tarnish, but the glass is clear: deep, black, infinite.

  Nicholas takes out five round, flat objects from his cloak and places one at each corner of the table, the last one in front of the mirror. Each stone is inscribed with a different symbol, runes by the looks of it. Finally, he sets down a small hourglass.

  “Are you ready?” Nicholas asks Veda.

  “Yes,” she crows, hopping into a chair.

  “Elizabeth.” Nicholas turns to me. “Please stand back. Veda shouldn’t be able to see any shadows inside the mirror.”

  I move to the far wall of the bedroom, by the window. Nicholas settles into a chair beside Veda, and Avis hands him a sheaf of parchment and a pen.

  “We’re going to need absolute silence,” he tells me. “No matter what you hear, you’ve got to remain silent. Do you understand?”

  My stomach gives a little tug of unease. “Yes.”

  Nicholas clears his throat and begins speaking, reciting some sort of poem. He repeats it, over and over in a low monotone. Despite the cold in the room, I feel myself grow warm and relaxed. It has the same effect on Veda. Her little head droops forward, nearly touching the table. She sits like this for a moment, and I wonder vaguely if she’s fallen asleep. Then she jerks her head up. Her eyes are wide open as she stares into the mirror.

  “What is your name?” Nicholas asks her.

  “Veda,” she intones.

  “How old are you?”

  “Five.”

  “What did you tell me, last time I was here?”

  “Look beyond what you see, to one made blind.

  The thing you seek only she can find.

  Betrayed, sent to a place of no return,

  Elizabeth Grey, forsaken to burn.”

  At those words, I give a little gasp. But Nicholas turns to me, his finger on his lips. Then he tips the hourglass over. I watch the tiny grains of sand trickle to the other side.

  “What is she supposed to find?”

  Silence.

  “Can you tell me where it is?”

  Silence.

  “How much time do we have?” Nicholas presses. His pen hovers over the paper, but he hasn’t written a thing. The sand is a quarter way through the hourglass now. I’m about to dismiss this entire scene as a joke when she finally sp
eaks.

  “Upon this stone are etched meters of death.

  From you it will draw your very last breath.

  Come third winter’s night, go underground in green.

  What holds him in death will lead you to thirteen.”

  None of this makes sense to me. But Nicholas is hunched over the table, nodding and writing furiously. The room is so quiet I can hear his pen scratch the parchment.

  “Trust the one who sees as much as he hears,

  For always, things are not as they appear.

  Betrayed by three, beholden to four,

  One who lost two is loath to lose one more.”

  Nicholas’s brows twitch together a little at this, but he keeps writing. Veda continues.

  “Darkness comes; the circle closes its end.

  The ties that bind do both break and mend.

  The elixir of life will pass between,

  Because she bears the numbered mark unseen.”

  Nicholas jerks his head in my direction, a look of surprise on his face. It takes me a moment to realize what just happened. The numbered mark unseen: my stigma. Veda just named me for a witch hunter. Just as I thought she would.

  My first instinct is to leap out the window and run like hell. But where would I go? So I force myself to stand still and face whatever happens next.

  The last grains of sand slip through the hourglass, and Veda slumps forward onto the table. Nicholas takes her by the shoulders and gently leans her back in the chair. After a moment she stirs, her eyes slowly coming back into focus. She looks at Nicholas.

  “How’d I do?”

  “Beautifully.” Nicholas gives her a kind smile. “Now why don’t you run and see Fifer? She has a gift for you.” Beaming, Veda jumps off her chair and charges into the next room. He looks at Avis. “Would you mind if I spoke with Elizabeth privately for a moment?” She nods and leaves the room. I notice she avoids looking at me.

  The door quietly shuts, and Nicholas leans back in his chair. He clasps his hands together, the tips of his fingers resting against his lips as he studies me. His gaze is hard; there’s no hint of the levity or kindness I’ve seen before.