But that’s exactly why you feel like this, my father’s voice screamed in my head. She’s hexed you with a love spell, and you were weak enough to fall for it. You were always a weak man, Ulrich.
I couldn’t go back into the torture chamber, not with the memory of her writhing against my cock still fresh in my mind. I couldn’t go outside, for I would be mobbed by the villagers, wanting to know if I had elicited a confession … which I guess I had done.
I lifted my hand to my mouth. The scent of her was still on my fingers. I felt sick. I needed to cleanse myself, to drown my disbelief in alcohol.
Witches are real. And Ada is one of them.
I’d spent my entire life certain that witches were a myth, a fairy-tale told to scare children into behaving and Christians into tithing. But I had seen her light that candle. And that one, tiny flame had altered everything.
I dashed into the chamber and grabbed my clothes, pulling on my breeches, tunic and cloak in the stairwell so I didn’t have to stay in a space that still smelled like Ada. I neared the top of the stairs and pressed my ear against the door to the hall. I could hear voices on the other side. Elder Ernust was holding court, loudly discussing arrangements for Ada’s trial. The last thing I wanted to do was to get caught up in his plans.
My chamber. The Elders had given Tjard and I a small cabin at the rear of the hall to use for our lodgings. The roof leaked and a family of rats had taken up residence beneath the bunks, but at least I could be alone there.
I pushed open the door and stepped into the hall, setting my mouth into a grim line, an expression that said, don’t speak with me. The hall was filled with the village elders, who would act as jurists or beadles at Ada’s trial. I elbowed my way through the crowd, shoving one old man so hard he fell over a chair and crashed to the ground.
“Ulrich, if I might have a minute-” The Elder’s voice was cut off abruptly when I slammed the back door of the hall in his face. Outside, everything was quiet. It wasn’t raining, although the ground was slick with water from an earlier downpour. Willow and Sycamore looked up from their stall, their mouths full of wet hay. Willow nodded at me, as if to say, I understand.
I marched into the cabin and yanked open the door. I hope Tjard filled the water pitcher, so I can wash off the scent of the sorceress -
I stopped short, my rage bubbling in my throat. Someone was in the cabin, and it wasn’t Tjard. Clarissa laid across my bunk, completely naked, her face painted up like an actor and her body laid out like a cat in repose. “So, did you have a good time with the harlot?” she simpered.
“Get out.” I growled.
“Did she scream when you pushed your fingers inside her? She looked like a screamer.”
“I’m serious. I’m not in the mood.”
“Did you take her in the ass? Because that’s was a mighty fine ass, from what I remember. At least, it was certainly substantial. I hope she’ll be able to lose enough weight before the trial -”
I pulled off my cloak and tossed it over Clarissa, muffling her insults. While she scrambled out from beneath the material, I grabbed the pitcher and poured some water into a ceramic bowl, adding some rendered fat. I started to scrub at my arms, rubbing so hard the skin soon turned red. I had to rid myself of the scent of her.
As I bent over to splash water over my face and hair, my chest constricted so tightly that red welts appeared before my eyes. With Ada’s admission, everything that I believed, that I had fought for all these years was a lie. My father was right. And Ada was … what she was. A thing that should not be, a witch who had seduced me into falling for her. This pain that stabbed at my head when I thought of her shivering in her cell was not real, it was part of an elaborate illusion. The woman who had occupied my every waking thought since the moment I met her was no better than a common whore, casting her wiles to get what she wanted.
My heart hardened to stone, the last vestiges of my humanity melting away, replaced by a cold, hardened rage. I would never again succumb to such weakness. I would finish my duty, and then I would be free. I would be able to wander alone without ever encountering another witch, or another woman who would tempt me into love ...
“Ulrich …” Clarissa leaned forward, her voice concerned. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing,” I scrubbed furiously at my face, my skin tingling from the friction. “I’m fine.”
“It’s the skinny witch, isn’t it? Has she done something to you?”
At the word, I jerked my head up. “What did you say?”
“She’s a witch, isn’t she? I knew it. My grandmother was a witch, Ulrich, as were many of my people. I can recognise one on sight. Just because you don’t believe in something, doesn’t mean they don’t exist. She’s not very powerful, otherwise I would have sensed her presence the moment we rolled into town, but she’s a sorceress, all right. Why do you care? Did she cast a spell on you or something?”
“Of course not,” I grunted, both of us knowing that she wouldn’t believe me. “I would never fall for some stupid enchantment.”
“I’m sure.”
I kept scrubbing, and Clarissa kept staring at me. I could feel her eyes in my back. Finally, she cleared her thought, and spoke softly.
“I’ve been thinking. I don’t think we should set this girl free, Ulrich. She seems to have a hold on you, and that’s dangerous. She’s clearly guilty. I think we should just let her burn.”
Despite the hatred I had for her, the thought of Ada burning was more than I could bear. I knew it was just her enchantment playing with my emotions, but the knife that twisted inside my stomach felt uncomfortably real. “Don’t say that. I don’t care what she is. I will not be my father, destroying himself for his fear of witches and his hatred of women.”
“But you do hate women, Ulrich.”
I whirled around, grabbing Clarissa by the arm and pulling her face close to mine. “Be careful what you accuse me of.”
“I know you better than you think. Even though you rescue these women, even though you have your fun in the dungeon, you secretly loathe them. You loathe that it is they who tether you to this horrible life. You ravish their bodies, yet you recoil in anger as soon as one even tries to get close to your heart. As soon as you’ve had your way with them, you dump them on the edge of the forest and make them fend for themselves.”
Clarissa glared at me, the corners of her eyes wet with tears. I tightened my grip on her arm, and she winced.
“I hate no one, save my father.” I hissed.
“You hate your mother.” Clarissa sobbed. “You hate her because she killed your sister, and her death made your father the man he was. That’s why you won’t marry me, because you’re afraid of your anger. You’re afraid you’ll end up like him, and drive your wife to insanity.”
I dropped her arm, and spat in her face. My spittle landed against her cheek, trickling down her soft skin to dribble off her chin and join a pool of her tears that had collected in her clavicle. “That is not the reason. I won’t marry you, because you disgust me. Now get out of my face.”
Clarissa stood her ground, glaring at me with wild, defiant eyes. “I can’t go out there, or I will reveal your secret, Scharfrichter.”
I whirled around and flew out the door, slamming it behind me. Willow snorted, frightened by the loud noise, but I paid her no heed. I stormed across the grounds to the hall, faintly registering Clarissa’s anguished sobs from the cabin behind me. I stalked back through the hall, thankfully deserted now, and descended the steps to the torture chamber. From the cells I could hear Ada’s sobs, so raw and anguished they twisted the knife in my chest deeper. It’s just an enchantment. It means nothing. I ducked into the chamber, slamming and bolting the door behind me.
Inside the chamber, I felt instantly calmer. It didn’t seem to smell like Ada anymore. I leaned my back against the door, and tried to get my breathing under control. My chest still felt tight, and my head swam with emotions. Ada’s tear-stained face swam across
my vision, and I wanted nothing more than to reach out and clasp her to my chest, to crush out her pain and fear with my embrace.
It’s a lie! I pounded my fists against my skull, pushing out the image of Ada with the pain. She had done this to me, filled my head with lovers’ notions until I didn’t know what was real any more. I lay down on the rack, the restraints poking into my arms. It was only a few hours ago that I had Ada right here, and I had gazed into her wide frightened eyes, and revelled over the power I had over her.
I could feel my cock growing hard as the image of her naked body flashed in my memory. My hardness pressed against the waist of my breeches, twitching with anticipation as it thought of Ada’s supple breasts and curvaceous thighs. I knew what she was, and yet my body still craved hers. Her face filled my waking thoughts, her voice called to me in my dreams. I’d never felt this way before. I’d never met a woman that I’d even consider …
Crying with frustration, I leapt up again, closing my fingers into a fist and smashing it against the Saint Andrew’s cross. The wood gave a crack as a long split appeared, and my hand exploded in pain. At least my bleeding knuckles helped bring my thoughts back to reality.
All this feeling, all this intensity washing over my body … it was all a lie. It was all part of Ada’s spell. I stared down at my bloody knuckles. How could I rid myself of the enchantment’s cloying presence? Would I have to go against my vow, and kill Ada in order to set myself free?
Ada
I must've cried myself to sleep, for I woke some hours later in the darkness, still curled in a ball, naked, on the floor of my cell. My face sticky was from my tears, my body aching from the tortures it had endured from the villagers and in Ulrich’s dungeon. I sat up, hugging my knees to my chest – ignoring the sting of the whip welts as they rubbed against the dirt floor – and wondered what awaited me.
Now that Ulrich hated me, I could no longer count on him to get me out of my predicament. That meant I was going to go through a witch trial for real. I would have to stand up in front of the village and hear people I had laughed with and ate with and healed give evidence against me. I’d have to hear Waltraud recount the whole shameful incident in his cottage. I bet he would relish his role in my trial, and his chance to show off in front of such a captive audience.
In a few short hours, Elder Ernust and his men would open the hall so the village could come down here and taunt me. It was a beloved part of any trial, heading en masse to the jail cells to mock and jeer the condemned. They'll be collecting dung from the fields right now, especially to hurl at me.
My whole body shook with panic. I couldn't control the fear that started in my belly and consumed my whole being. I thought of my aunts. What would become of them? Would they be arrested, too? Have the villagers already gone to burn our cottage, or would they wait until after my trial?
As the light of dawn broke through the high window, I searched my cell for anything that might help me in my plight, or that might ease my passage from this world into the next, that I might avoid the torment that awaited me.
But there was nothing, save the three stone walls, the iron door, and the straw covering the bare dirt floor. There was a small window, high in the outer wall, that let in a thin shaft of fading moonlight. The metal bars across the window blocked my escape.
I was too terrified to sleep, so I leaned against the cold wall and watched the golden light of dawn rising through the window, listening to the sounds of the village coming to life. The merchants setting up their stalls in the square outside, the farmers herding in their stock for market, the hushed conversations as news of the night's plague victims spread through the crowd. My aunt’s names were not among them, thank the Goddess.
Above my head, I heard angry voices yelling, and fists pounding against the shuttered door of the hall. With a creak, the door opened, and footsteps thundered down the stairs. The angry voices grew louder. My stomach churned with fear. They are coming.
Villagers crowded into the passage in front of my cell, pressing their faces against the bars. I covered my face with my hands, my cheeks burning with shame. I watched them through my fingers, my breath caught in my throat, waiting anxiously for them to make their move.
"Mommy, she doesn't look like a witch," said Brom, a boy of seven summers I'd treated for whooping cough last year.
“Hush,” his mother covered his eyes and turned him away.
Waltraud stood in front, smirking as he stared down at me. Just behind him, Simon and Helmut held baskets of rotting vegetables and filth from the pigs, their faces set into tight lines. I felt a sob rising in my chest, but I pushed it down. I would not give them the satisfaction of watching me cry.
Waltraud took a big handful of the muck from Simon’s basket and tossed it at me. His throw was weak – the rotting carrots landed in a heap a foot from my body. I snorted, and the villagers laughed, wiping the sneer from Waltraud's face.
"What's wrong, Waltraud?" I asked, pulling my hands from my face. "Losing your strength? Your carrot is looking awfully droopy."
That was the wrong thing to say. Waltraud leaned against the bars, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "Are you casting another spell on me, witch? I'll be sure to inform the jury during my testimony that you threatened to curse my member with your unholy touch. Simon here is giving testimony, too. He says you also tried to seduce him. And Heloise claims you poisoned her daughter with the plague. So you can laugh all you want, but you're going to burn, Ada."
With that, he hurled another handful at me. Something hard struck the top of my head. Rotting, stinking filth dripped over my face and into my eye. I winced as more muck slammed against my body, raising my hands to cover my face. Something large hit me on the shoulder, and exploded. Foul-smelling fruit erupted over my flesh, the sticky juices dribbling down my arm. I turned toward the wall, presenting my back for them to hurl their missiles at.
It was over quickly, as they soon ran out of filth. I stood there, silent and still as stone, while they hurled insults for a time – Witch, Succubus, Devil's Spawn – but when I didn't acknowledge them their interest waned, and the crowd began to disperse. As he shuffled up the stairs toward sunlight and freedom, Waltraud called over his shoulder, "See you at the trial, Ada. And don’t worry about being lonely in your cell, I imagine your aunts will be joining you soon enough!"
At his words, my body went cold. Whatever happened to me, I did not want them to share my fate. My aunts were powerful witches, and had much good still to do in the world. I prayed to the Goddess they'd had the good sense to run away, as we had planned to do before I’d been foolish enough to get caught. I did not want them to witness my trial, nor share my fate.
Daylight faded into dusk, and still I had been brought no food or water. If no one came for me soon, I'd be forced to lick away the rotting fruit that congealed against my skin. With nothing to occupy me but dark thoughts of what was to come, I paced the cell, wringing my hands and trying to formulate a plan of escape. My body, weak with hunger and thirst, soon became slick with sweat from the exhaustion, and I slumped back to the ground again. The sky grew dark as night rolled in. My stomach growled.
I faded in and out of sleep, my dreams fraught with tortures and Ulrich's snarling, hate-filled face. This time, when I awoke, a faint ray of light entered the cell – I sat up. The moon had risen high above the square, streaming a cold light across my filthy body. My heart pounded in my chest as I heard the door to the passage open.
It must be Ulrich. He's come to torture me … for real this time.
A figure stepped into the shaft of moonlight, her tattered white shift illuminated with an otherworldly glow. My heart beat faster when I saw it was not Ulrich, but Clarissa. She carried a bowl of gruel and a pitcher of water in her skeletal hands.
Clarissa stopped in front of my cell, her fiery eyes regarding me with scorn. I opened my mouth to say something, but my mind was too warped with hunger to think straight. I couldn’t think of what to say, so I
snapped my mouth shut.
Clarissa smiled, but it was more of a sneer. "You're not his usual type."
I blushed, pulling my legs to my chest in an attempt to hide my nakedness. "What are you talking about?"
"Ulrich usually chooses them a bit thinner, little waifs with big eyes and tiny noses. He likes the sounds of their bones cracking as he's mounting them. I know that's something he enjoys when he's with me."
I turned away from her, feeling my cheeks growing hot. "If you want to be vulgar, then you should leave me, as I've no desire to hear it."
"But don't you want your food, witch?"
As if responding to her question, my stomach growled loudly. Clarissa snorted. She set down the food just outside my cell, and held up a set of iron cuffs. "Kneel here," she instructed, pointing to the patch of earth in front of the iron doors. "Turn and face the wall, so that your hands are against the bars."
"I don't understand–"
"You're a prisoner. I don't have to explain my commands to you. Do it now, witch, or you won't be eating anything today."
I obeyed, getting on my knees in front of the door and placing my hands against the bar. Clarissa threaded the shackles through the metal bars, clamping them around my wrists, so that I was shackled to the door. Clarissa had tightened the shackles, so that the metal pinched my skin painfully. My stomach gnawed with hunger, my legs starting to cramp from being bent beneath me.
"Now," she said, giggling a little as she passed the food through the door, setting it down in front of my knees. "Bend down and eat that gruel, like a dog."
I squeezed my eyes shut. "No."
"Then you will have nothing, for I will not be untying you until you do."
She sounded so pleased with herself. I didn't want to do it, as I knew she was taking great satisfaction in my humiliation, but I was starving. I could smell the wet oats and stale bread, and to my gnawing, hungry stomach they smelled better than a Lammas feast. Blinking away tears of shame, I leaned forward, using my chin to bring the bowl closer as I nibbled at the cold gruel, gulping it down quickly, so she could not take it away.
Witch Hunter: dark medieval paranormal romance (Witches of the Woods Book 1) Page 14
