Witch Hunter: dark medieval paranormal romance (Witches of the Woods Book 1)

by Steffanie Holmes

  The rain pelted down harder. I drowned the rest of the mead, the alcohol doing nothing to ease the chill in my gut. Soon, our fire fizzed, and went out. Tjard unrolled furs for us, and strung his cloak between the edge of the wagon and a tree, creating a shelter from the worst of the rain. Darkness fell quickly in the forest, as it always did. As soon as the sun dipped below the trees, the blackness surrounded us. The rain eased off a bit, and Tjard was able to light the fire again. We huddled around it, turning our hands toward the flames and trying to dry out our damp clothes. Usually, if a night was miserable and we weren’t sleeping we would drink, and sometimes play bones or dice. But tonight, I couldn’t find the words for conversation or the spirit for games. My mind was back at the grove with that beautiful woman, committing every part of her to memory. Tjard and Clarissa stared at me across the flames. I could tell they knew something was wrong, but they knew better than to ask me.

  Who are you, woman of the grove, and what are you doing out here all alone? And why do you call to me so?

  Ada

  I spent the night in the grove, sleeping beneath the stars in the presence of the Goddess. The rain came down in giant splatters, and then thick sheets, but I barely even felt the cold. My body buzzed with energy, filled with the spirit of the man who had claimed me.

  In the morning, the rain had stopped, though a thin mist clung to the woods. I wrung out my wet clothes, then hiked a little further into the forest, and practiced hunting. I brought down a rabbit, which I skinned and cooked for my breakfast, humming under my breath as I roasted the meat over a small fire.

  My walk back to our cabin seemed to take minutes, instead of hours. I felt light, weightless. My body still tingled where he had touched me. I dawdled, bending down to pick edible herbs and a few remaining berries to bring back to my aunts. I arrived back at the cabin just as dusk was falling, and the forest came to life with the hoots and rustlings of the nocturnal creatures.

  "Did you complete the ritual?" asked Aunt Aubrey when I floated through the door.

  I nodded, smiling broadly. "The Goddess has answered my prayers."

  "Do you mean–"

  I nodded again, allowing my smile to grow a little wider. "Your powers are safe, Aunt Aubrey. At least, safe for another seven days."

  "Oh. Oh!" she embraced me. "But how did you–"

  "A man came to the grove – a black-haired warrior. He was a gift from the Goddess."

  She held me tighter. "Oh, Ada. That's wonderful. What did I tell you? You have some magic after all–"

  "And where is your black-haired warrior now?" snapped Aunt Bernadine, who hadn't even bothered to get up from her chair by the fire. "You'll need him again in seven days time."

  "He–" I blushed. "He rode away. He said he was dangerous, that I had to forget him. But don't worry, I saw fresh horse hooves on the road. I believe he's gone down to the village. I will find him again."

  "Hrmph," Bernadine’s face soured even more. "I've never known a man to turn away the chance of a regular woman. You must have been terrible. Did you even use the herbs we talked about?" Before I could answer, she turned her chair away, indicating that our conversation was over.

  I sank into a chair, tears welling in the corners of my eyes. Aunt Aubrey banged a dish of stew down in front of me, but suddenly I didn’t feel like eating. Why did Aunt Bernadine always have to ruin everything?

  And yet, was she right? It had been so … amazing, but maybe I had done, or said, something wrong? Maybe I repulsed him? Maybe that's why he told me to forget him?

  "I'll … I'll find another man," I sniffed. "Please don't worry, Aunt. I won't let you lose your powers."

  Aunt Aubrey sank down into her own chair, pulling a half-finished basket into her lap. Her thin fingers expertly pulled and wove the grass. "Pay her no mind. She's only grumpy because she was worried about you."

  "Aunt Bernadine? Worried?” I glanced at my aunt’s back with dismay. “I don't believe it."

  “I wouldn’t.” Aunt Bernadine snapped.

  "'Tis true. We were about to come after you," Aunt Aubrey busied herself at the scullery. "There's word in the village that the witch hunter is already on his way. It seems the elders have convinced the whole village the pestilence has some supernatural cause."

  "That's ridiculous."

  "Try telling Elder Ernust that." Aunt Aubrey added a bowl of chopped rabbit to the stew. "Apparently this witch hunter has a reputation for being uncommonly cruel. He burned five women in Rothenberg last month."

  I shuddered. We had all heard of the methods of the witch hunters: These men entered the executioner’s trade as boys, and were responsible for travelling throughout the region, administering justice in exchange for a fee. From these bloodthirsty men, these scharfrichters, the bishop hand-picked those who demonstrated exceptional godliness and lust for torture to become officially-sanctioned witch hunters. Their job was to scour the countryside for practitioners of the Old Craft, and to place them on trial for the crime of witchcraft and Satan worship. They used all sorts of unspeakable methods to furnish confessions from their victims, and the unfortunate few who survived the tortures – some fellow witches, many not – were drowned or burned at the stake in order to rid their godly bodies of the unholy spirits that dwelt within them, so that their souls may find peace.

  All it would take to ruin us was for someone in the village to accuse us of witchcraft. Although we were careful to keep our rituals secret and attended church every Sunday with the rest of the village – and between her meat and my medicine, Aunt Aubrey and I at least had a good reputation within the village – we were still three strange spinsters living on the edge of the forest. If a scharfrichter came seeking witches, he would soon find us.

  "We must leave," I said. "Perhaps if we travel South–"

  Aunt Bernadine whirled around. "We cannot," she rasped, her eyes flicking. "Do you not understand, child? If we leave now, we only admit our guilt. We've no horses, and there isn't a house in these hills that will hide three strange women on the run from a witch hunter. They'll chase us down the road and kill us. Besides, I'm not going anywhere. This is my home and I've every right to live here and conduct my affairs however I please."

  "But Bernadine," said Aunt Aubrey, "we must do something."

  "Of course." Bernadine gave a toothy sneer that appeared to me to be more like a grimace. "There are protective spells we can cast, spells to confound, spells to influence. Perhaps we can distract this scharfrichter, direct his attention to some other cause ..." She rummaged around in the cupboards. "We must return to the forest tonight. There is much to prepare. Aubrey, do we have any rabbit's livers?"

  We three were huddled around the dying hearth, wrapped in blankets and sleeping through the morning when the bell in the village tolled twelve times. The witch hunter had arrived. We'd been out all night, dancing naked in the trees, smearing our bodies with the entrails of a deer and calling down the goddess to protect us. Now, we had to front up to the church, dressed in our Sunday clothes, and look our enemy in the eye.

  I gulped back my fear as I pulled on my thickest winter cloak. Rain streamed past the windows, the violent pattering matching the rhythm of my heart. Aunt Aubrey looked stricken as she handed me a wooden crucifix that I would wear around my neck. I tucked my Goddess amulet beneath my clothes and arranged the cross on top. Aunt Bernadine looked down at my chest with distaste.

  "You won't fool anyone." She snapped. "You have guilt all over your face. Snap out of it. We must give this witch hunter our best impression of three devout Christian ladies. Aubrey, I trust you've got that protection spell safe."

  Aubrey held up the leather pouch of herbs. We planned to plant it in the bushes outside the church when no one was looking. It would help cast suspicion away from us.

  We dashed out into the rain, and ran through the forest and down the road toward the village, our boots sinking into the fresh ruts in the road made by a carriage that had passed recently. I wondered if
it had been the witch hunter, riding into town. There were no fires outside the gates today, although the pyre was still piled high with shrouded bodies.

  By the time we reached the village, we were soaked right though. The water ran down my hot, clammy skin, the cold numbing my body, a welcome respite from the hot flush of fear. A huge crowd of people had gathered inside the church, and we joined them, finding a place in one of the pews to the rear. Aunt Aubrey nodded a greeting to her friends in the village, and I waved at Rebekah, but no one was speaking above a whisper. All eyes fell upon Ernust, the village elder, as he stood at the altar and led the welcoming prayer. As soon as this was over, he dashed forward and began to speak his mind, his words barely audible over the pounding rain as it hammered on the roof of the church.

  "Our godly little village has been assailed by dark forces. Witches have scoured this valley for too long," cried Ernust. "Their marks are everywhere in this village – in the eyes of sick children, in the barren bellies of our women, in the bulging sores of our finest men, cut down by the great pestilence. We must rid the village of their scourge, so that God in his Glory might spare us from this divine punishment–"

  Behind him, two men stepped out from the vestibule, each cloaked in black from head to toe. Their faces were hidden behind leather masks and black hoods pulled low. One of them towered over the other, his shoulders broad and his stance proud. His billowing black robe - the mark of his profession - was open down the front, revealing the blackened armour and sword of a warrior.

  The witch hunter.

  I stared up at that looming shadow, trying to read some kind of emotion, trying to see something of this man who'd tortured and killed hundreds of women in the name of his God. But he was a stone, cold and solid. His brown eyes surveyed the crowd from behind his mask, and as they met mine, I saw only cruelty and malice. I shivered, but not from the cold.

  "These men–" Ernust gestured to the witch hunter and his löwe, "–have come on direct orders from Lord Benedict. They are the eyes and ears of the bishop. They are here to do God's work – to hunt out and destroy any witch who walks among us, and cast out the evil that is plaguing this village."

  The crowd cheered. My aunts raised their hands and clapped and cheered too. Bernadine jabbed me in the ribs with her elbow, but I could only bring myself to clap feebly. My eyes were still glued on the witch hunter, mesmerised by his imposing figure and his cruel gaze. I imagined being stretched out on the rack in his torture chamber, with that horrid figure standing over me–

  We have to do something. We have to leave the village, or go into hiding. He will find us. He will show us no mercy.

  My stomach tightened with fear as the witch hunter strode forward and with a wave of his hand forced Ernust to step aside. I saw a look pass between them, and Ernust backed away from the altar, his face pale. Even Elder Ernust, the most god-fearing man in the village, was afraid of this soldier of death.

  The witch hunter stood in silence behind the altar for some time, his hands resting on the hilt of his sword. He did not remove his cloak nor mask, but stood before us, his eyes sweeping through the crowd, watching every face, noting every expression. When his gaze fell on me, I looked away, fearful my eyes would give us away. When he finally spoke, his voice dripped with cruelty.

  "I am Ulrich of Donau-Ries. I carry with me the seal of the Bishop, and my authority comes from the highest order – that of the Lord God himself. I am a soldier of the Lord, and I am charged with a sacred duty. You will not find me in your public house or lying with your women. My task here is to hunt out the witches and evil-doers from among you and cleanse this village of their unholy deeds."

  He paused, and his löwe – a short, stocky man with frizzy hair who looked as if he'd be more at home as a travelling troubadour than in his black robes – raised his arms in the air. Clenched in his fists were two hideous-looking devices; a pair of long-handled tongs with spikes protruding from the handle, and a poker shaped as the Bishop's seal, its metal tarnished from where it had met the skin of hundreds of unfortunates. The crowd murmured, and I felt a cold chill settle in my chest.

  "I have brought with me instruments of torture," said Ulrich. "These are only two such devices - the tongs, and the brand - which I have at my disposal. I will use any means necessary to elicit a confession of witchcraft, and to purge the unfortunate’s body of the demonic forces that possess it. We will not leave this village until every last evil demon has been cast from your midst."

  I tried to meet Aunt Bernadine's eye, but she was focused on the witch hunter, her face blanked of all emotion. Aunt Aubrey squeezed my hand. "Stop looking around, my dear," she whispered. "You'll draw attention to yourself." Obediently, I turned my gaze back to the black-clad man.

  "You might ask, as god-fearing men and women, how can you tell a witch from a woman?" Ulrich continued, his deep voice muffled by his leather mask. "A witch is conniving, she is scheming, she uses her looks and her wiles to get what she wants. She has animal familiars – demon beasts in the form of cats and birds and insects – who do her bidding. She will at all costs avoid godly things, so you will not find her in the church or at confession. She may bear a mark of the Devil – a scar, a mole, or an extra nipple, that does not give her pain when it is prodded or burned or pinched. She may seem kind-hearted and wise, but don’t be fooled - she is evil incarnate."

  He paused again, letting his words sink in. The coldness in my chest crept through my body.

  "If you know of a woman such as this, if you think you have seen the work of a witch against you, or if you have any other information about sinners and witchcraft you would like to share, you will find me here, in God's house, or across the road, in the town hall, where I will be taking over proprietorship of your jail and dungeon. Your words are safe within these walls."

  His voice cut through me like a dagger. He carried with him all the ardour and madness of the truly righteous. He would stop at nothing to hunt us out.

  The witch hunter stepped out from behind the altar, and descended the steps toward the assembled crowd. Women and children shrank away from him as he strode back and forth down the aisle. He stopped, standing in the centre of the nave, his cruel gaze sweeping over every face.

  "Remember my face, demons among you," he said. "For you shall see it in your nightmares."

  He reached up, lifted off his cloak, and pulled down his mask, revealing a face that filled my heart with dread.

  Long, black locks flowed around his handsome face. A line of stubble formed along his strong jaw. A battle scar ran down the left side of his nose. Ulrich of Donau-Ries, the witch hunter sent to kill me, was the very man who lay with me in the grove. He was the man the Goddess had sent for me.

  Ada

  I gasped and hid behind Aunt Aubrey. She reached around and grabbed my hand, squeezing it tight.

  "Get a hold of yourself," Aunt Bernadine hissed through gritted teeth. "Are you trying to get him to notice you?"

  "He, he's–" I stuttered, but she shot me a look. People were turning to stare at us. I shut my mouth.

  "He's leaving," Aunt Aubrey whispered to me. "Ada, what's wrong with you?"

  I peeked over her shoulder. Ulrich had replaced his hood, and he and his subordinate exited the church, their heavy boots stomping against the stone floor as they marched to the main door, slamming it shut behind them.

  After several moments of stunned silence Elder Ernust cleared his throat nervously. “I’ll now continue the sermon,” he said, and opened his bible to read from the book of Exodus, his lips quivering over the words “thou shall not suffer a sorceress to live.” I hung my head, my body numb with shock and fear. Beside me, Aunt Aubrey squeezed my hand, trying to reassure me. But she didn’t know the truth about the danger we were in.

  My dream. This must have been what it was predicting. The man I met in the grove would bring my death.

  The service seemed to take a century, but finally it was over, and the crowd began to dissipate. W
omen headed towards their houses, talking softly in groups of two and three. The men trudged back toward the fields or the forest, their tools resting against their shoulders. Even though it was the Sabbath, and technically a day of rest, firewood needed to be chopped and bodies still needed to be buried, and it was best to do it now, before the winter set in properly and the ground froze solid.

  Aunt Bernadine dragged me out of the church, her tiny frame pushing aside the crowd. As soon as we were standing out of earshot, she whirled around and snarled at me, her eyes blazing.

  “Well? What was the meaning of all your gasping and whimpering? You all but gave us away in there.”

  “I …” I couldn’t manage to form the words.

  "Ada?" Aunt Aubrey prodded, her features drawn.

  I shook all over. The terror clutched my stomach, twisting it into a knot. I looked at my aunt's faces, one worried, the other stony. I had to tell them – their lives were in danger.

  "He's the one," I mumbled. "The man from the grove."

  Aunt Aubrey clutched her hands to her mouth. Aunt Bernadine looked ready to kill me. She raised a hand, as if she might slap me, but a hand grabbed my shoulder. I cried out, certain it was Ulrich the Scharfrichter, ready to drag me away to my death.

  "It's only me, silly!" Rebekah said, giggling. "Why do you look so frightened?"

  "I didn't–" I started to say, but Rebekah didn't let me finish my sentence.

  "Isn't the witch hunter gorgeous?" she exclaimed, her blue eyes twinkling. She began pulling me away from my aunts, who turned away and hurried back toward the church to plant the protection spell. I could see Aunt Bernadine gesturing madly at Aunt Aubrey. Probably she's plotting to kill me in my sleep, I thought gloomily. She will never forgive me for this.

  "Rebekah!" I yanked my arm away. "I hardly think he's got women on his mind." I could feel a blush creeping up my cheeks, a common occurrence during any discussion with Rebekah.