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

by Steffanie Holmes

  The thought of Ulrich doing the things he'd done to me to Rebekah, sent me over the edge. With a cry of defiance I threw myself at her. She screamed as my body slammed into the cage, rocking it against its platform. I thrust my hands through the bars, grabbing a handful of her hair and pulling it as hard as I could.

  Rebekah howled as I yanked her back against the bars, twisting her hair around my hand. She clawed at me, but I had all my rage behind me.

  “Help me!” Women dropped their wood bundles and raced across the square, grabbing Rebekah by the arms and pulling her away. I heard a tear, and Rebekah was wrenched from my grip, leaving me holding a clump of her hair, still attached to a bloody piece of her scalp.

  "I'm bleeding!" Rebekah wailed, her hands cupping a clump of her ruined hair.

  I threw the clump of hair into Rebekah’s face. “I hope you choke on this and die!” I screamed at her.

  "See, she's got the devil in her!" cried Heloise. "What more proof do you need?"

  "She'll curse us all!"

  "We won't let her. We'll burn her right now!"

  I stared into the faces of the villagers, people I’d known my entire life. There was Heloise, whose daughter I had loved like my own sister, and Maria, who I had played with in the stables as a child. Every face had once greeted me kindly in the market, and now they were calling for my doom.

  My blood went cold. All the fight flew out of me. I could see that pyre behind them, wood stacked high on the altar of my death. I collapsed in the centre of the cage, and wept.

  Ulrich

  “Help!” I yelled at the darkness. My voice bounced off the stone walls and pounded back in my ears.

  I’d been yelling for hours, and my voice was growing hoarse and weak. No one had come to my aid. Likely, the whole village was at the courthouse, viewing Ada’s trial and helping to stoke the fire of her pyre. I didn’t even know how far my voice was carrying - the deep stone well seemed to absorb my words and throw them back at me. But I had to try. I wasn’t ready to give up. I had to find a way, for Ada.

  She’s going to die, and it’s all your fault.

  I threw my head back, ready to yell again, when I saw a shadow appear over the tiny hole at the top of the well. A face peered down at me.

  “Ulrich?” A female voice called, muffled by the deep well.

  “Clarissa?” I’d never been so relieved to hear that gypsy drawl in my entire life.

  “Of course. I heard Elder Ernust bragging that they had thrown you down here. Apparently, he’s already sent word to the Bishop that he’s caught the heretic witch hunter. It won’t be long now before your father shows up here. I don’t know exactly what he’ll do to you, but I’m pretty sure it won’t be pleasant.”

  I groaned. “Thanks for the update. Now, if you wouldn’t mind helping me get out of here. There’s a rope in the dungeon, the one we use for the winch. If you tie about six knots into it I can use it as a ladder, it should be long enough to reach down here-”

  “I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

  “It will be fine. Get Tjard to help.”

  “Tjard is in jail. That oaf Waltraud came in this morning and arrested him. They’re keeping him in the cellar under the tavern. I was lucky I was able to hide in time, or they would’ve discovered me, too.”

  “Well, tie the rope to a tree, then. There were at least four close to the well. Quickly, Clarissa, they could be back here any minute-”

  She laughed, a high-pitched, tinkling sound that always grated on me. “No, Ulrich. I mean, I’m not here to help you. I’m just here to tell you goodbye. I’m leaving.”

  “What? But you can’t leave yet. We still have to save Ada-”

  “You can’t tell me what to do down there. I’ve had enough. For years I’ve lived my days trapped in crates and under blankets, your hidden little secret. I’ve comforted you when your demons overtake you, and I’ve risked my life in fire and flames to bring you some kind of absolution. All I asked in exchange was for you to make me a simple promise, so that I may continue to serve you. All I wanted was to become your wife. But now I see that as long as she lives, I will never get my wish. So I’m through with all of it. I’m through with you.”

  “But, Clarissa-”

  “Goodbye, Ulrich!” She called gaily. “You’re a splendid lover, but you’d make a lousy husband, anyway. I hope you starve to death down there.” Her head disappeared.

  I buried my face in my hands, despair overtaking my body. Even if I could somehow manage to escape this cursed well, without Clarissa I had no way to convince the villagers they had burned a witch. Without her, Ada would surely die, and so would I.

  Hours passed. Rainclouds rolled overhead, blocking out what little light I had and sending a torrent of cold, wet water down on top of me. I pulled my leg out of the rising water and propped it against the wall. It was in bad shape, twisted in a way it shouldn’t twist. I could feel a lump where the bone had broken and was pressing against the skin. Luckily, it hadn’t yet pierced through. I fished around in the brackish water and found a short stick - likely a branch torn from one of the nearby trees. It was relatively thick enough. I tore a strip from my trousers and wrapped it tightly around my leg and the stick, forming a splint.

  So that was done, but the rain continued to pour down on top of me. I was freezing cold, and the throbbing in my leg was starting to get worse.

  On the bright side, at least if I die down here, I won’t have to face my father and whatever torture he’ll inflict on me to cure me of my enchantment.

  I heard something clatter down the side of the well. My head snapped up. “Witch Hunter?” A head appeared in the mouth of the well, a silhouette in the fading sunlight.

  “I’m down here!” I yelled up. “Who’s there!”

  “This is Aubrey, Ada’s aunt!” the woman yelled back. “Bernadine is with me, also. What are you doing down the well?”

  “Elder Ernust and his men threw me down here,” I called back. “Ada and I … I was going to save her, but they …”

  “I know.” Bernadine called back. “We just came from the square. Ada has been convicted of witchcraft and sentenced to burn at the stake. They are building her pyre right now, since the rain has eased off.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut, as pain arced across my chest. I knew it was coming, but hearing confirmation made the pain of losing her, of failing her, fresh and raw once more.

  Aubrey yelled down. “If we get you out, can you save her?”

  “I’m not getting out of here. I’ve broken my leg badly. I’m no use to anyone.”

  “Oh, stop your bellyaching.” Snapped the other aunt. “I’ve never heard a witch hunter give up so easily. Don’t worry about your leg. We’ll see to that. Can you save her?”

  “I’m willing to sacrifice myself to save her.”

  “Don’t do that, then you’re no use to anyone.” Bernadine sounded exasperated. “Just save her and try not to get killed, okay?”

  “Certainly.”

  Something dangled in front of my face. A rope. The ladies had tied it into a simple sling. I wrapped it beneath my shoulders, and pulled it tight, wondering how they planned to pull me up. “Ready!” I called up.

  The rope pulled taut, biting into the armpits. I gripped the rope with bloody hands and steadied myself. My body jerked up a few inches, and then a few more.

  Goddamn it, they were really doing it!

  I used my good leg to steady myself against the walls, pushing myself off so that my broken leg dangled freely. The pain was intense as the rope dug into my skin and my leg jerked about, but I was getting nearer and nearer the light.

  When I reached the top, I let go of the rope and grabbed the edge of the stone circle. Bernadine kept her hands on the rope, while Aubrey grabbed me around the waist and dragged me over the edge. I flopped headfirst over the lip and landed in a heap.

  A groan escaped my lips as fresh, biting pain flaring up my leg.

  “Don’t be such a crybaby
,” muttered Bernadine. “It’s nothing we can’t fix.”

  Now that I was back in the light, I could get a good look at my leg. I almost wished I hadn’t. All the jiggling and jerking had loosened my splint, and the material was soaked with blood. As Aubrey unwound the bandage, I saw the jagged edge of my bone poking through my skin. My head spun from the pain, and I could feel bile rising in my stomach.

  “Quickly, Aubrey,” Bernadine growled. “We’re about to lose him.”

  “I wish Ada were here,” said Aubrey, as she set down her satchel and started pawing through it. “She is much better with herbs and healing.”

  “Oh, stop your complaining, and hand me that feverfew.”

  I turned my head away as Ada’s aunts poked and prodded my wound, pulling pouches of foul-smelling ingredients from their satchel. Bernadine shoved a wooden stick in my mouth. “Bite on this,” she said.

  I bit down, my head reeling, as they pushed something into my wound. Pain seared through my leg. I could feel slivers of wood coming away between my teeth. My whole body felt as if it were on fire.

  The flames burned hotter, searing my insides. I clawed at the soil as my organs bubbled and burst. Blood pounded in my ears, and red welts appeared before my eyes, swelling and pulsing before clumping together so all that I could see, all that I could sense, was red, red, red.

  “Just kill me now!”

  “By the gods, he’s a dramatic one,” Bernadine said, dusting off her hands. “I don’t know what Ada sees in him.”

  “I have a fair idea,” Aubrey reached down her hand. “Come on, warrior. On your feet.”

  As soon as her hand grazed my leg, the pain quickly faded. I wondered briefly if I had passed out, but the red welts faded from my eyes. I blinked. The sky above was grey and angry, the sunlight dulled to a grim flicker. It was not long now until darkness fell, and the flames of Ada’s pyre would light up the sky.

  I looked down at my leg, and nearly fainted when I saw that it looked completely fine. The blood was congealing on my skin, but the jagged bone had been pushed back inside my leg, and the lump had gone. I flexed my leg, and wriggled my toes. My muscles twinged, but otherwise, they worked fine. It was a miracle.

  No, it’s magic.

  “How did you do this, you harpies?” I grinned as I stepped forward on my foot. It stung as I put weight on it, but it was nowhere near as bad as it was supposed to be.

  “It’s just a little poultice of feverfew and comfrey, to knit the bones together and purify the blood-”

  “Thank you. But I meant, how did you pull me out of the well? I’m not exactly a skinny lad.”

  “That you aren’t.” Bernadine growled, staggering under my weight as she shrugged my arm off her shoulder. “Luckily, we have a few tricks of our own. Nothing you’d want to know about, witch hunter.”

  “I am eternally grateful.”

  “That’s good. It means you owe us,” Bernadine grinned. “I like it when people owe us.”

  “We brought you something.” Aubrey bent down and picked up a bundle of cloth, rolled up into a long bolt. I frowned at it, unsure what use it would be. But Aubrey unfolded the edges, and revealed a metal object. I leaned closer, watching the dim light play off the heavy blade, illuminating the edges of the inlaid design.

  My sword. I couldn’t believe it. “Where did you get this?”

  “Do you always ask so many questions?” Bernadine demanded.

  “I’m a scharfrichter. It’s my job-” Something behind Aubrey’s head caught my eye. I pointed to the sky, where a plume of black smoke rose up from the centre of the village, staining the grey cloud with an ominous dark shadow. “The pyre!” I yelled. “We’ve got to hurry!”

  Aubrey tossed me the sword. I grabbed the pommel, relishing the familiar weight of it in my hand, and broke into a stiff, shambling run. I didn’t stop to see if Ada’s aunts had followed me. My heart heaved as I flew through the empty streets toward the square, my muscles tense and ready, my blade crying out for blood.

  Ada, please still be alive. I’m coming to save you.

  Ada

  The pyre they made was nearly as high as the church roof. At last, Elder Ernust clapped his hands and announced he was satisfied that it would be large enough to destroy the demon inside of me and ensure the Lord would be witness to their piety from his high seat in heaven. Waltraud and Helmut erected a great wooden stake in the centre, securing it upright with wooden struts. The villagers crowded around, carrying torches and passing around skins of wine and mead. Gay conversation filled the cold air, and I could see clouds of vapour in front of many faces as mouths moved, spreading the latest gossip. My death was proving to be quite the party.

  I heard a key turning. The lock to my cage clicked open. Rough hands reached in and dragged me out. I screamed as they pulled on my hair, tears streaming from my eyes as my scalp throbbed. In order to stop the agony, I had to scramble backward, using my own legs to move closer to the pyre. I kicked and yelled, but it was no use. No one paid me any heed. I was the witch. My pain did not matter.

  Filth and rotting food pelted my body, but I barely even noticed. My scalp and limbs went numb with terror, my whole body shutting down as I was dragged closer and closer to that towering pile of wood.

  The guards lifted me to my feet and shoved me forward. I had lost control of my body, I could no longer stand. My feet fell out from beneath me, and I toppled to the ground. My body bounced against the stones, but I felt nothing, nothing. It was as if I was sitting behind my own shoulder, staring down at someone else, some other poor wretch who was soon to meet her doom. I’d felt this detachment once before, when they had first dragged me into the square, but now it was even more real, even more vital, for it allowed me to maintain my final shred of sanity. As they dragged me across the cobbles, I kept up a silent prayer to the Goddess, the words flowing through my mind, distracting me from the overwhelming terror.

  Please, Goddess, let my death come quickly. Please let me choke on the smoke before the flames touch my skin. Please ...

  I wanted to ask for Ulrich to save me, but I knew it would not be so. He had shown once and for all that he did not care for me at all, that he had merely used me for his own amusement and lied to keep me pliant to his will. And it had worked. I’d fallen for all of his lies, for his deep kisses and ferocious lovemaking.

  Voices shouted around me. I was dimly aware of Elder Ernust, standing a few feet away, his hands raised in prayer and his deep voice recounting my sins. “-Ada’s crimes include poisoning the village with the Great Pestilence, hastening the deaths of not less than ten unfortunate souls with her wicked potions, consorting with demons, employing animal familiars to undertake her heinous deeds, and using enchantments to ensnare good Christian men, including Ulrich of Donau-Ries, the scharfrichter who had been sent to uncover her.”

  At the mention of Ulrich’s name, I looked up, searching the crowd through the fog of my detachment for his face, but I couldn’t see him anywhere. That’s odd. I thought. Surely he would want to be here, in order to light the fire himself and mock me while he watches my body burn ...

  “Dear Lord, because her crimes were so heinous, we will not offer her the mercy of strangulation. Ada will die in the cleansing flames of the fire!”

  The crowd roared their approval. Hands came in and grabbed me again, lifting me up above the crowd. Faces flashed before me: angry, gleeful, hate-filled faces turned grotesque from their hatred. They grew smaller in my blurred vision as I was carried over the wooden pile, higher and higher until I could see the roofs of the shops and stalls, and the spire of the church stretching up into the clouds, like an angry finger pointing accusingly at heaven.

  My hands were pulled behind my back. Rough rope scratched against my wrists. I floated around myself, watching with a kind of detached interest while the men secured my bonds, before climbing back down to join the crowd.

  I saw Elder Ernust raise a blazing torch above his head, and toss it on to the pyre
. At that moment, my spirit slammed back into my body, and I was once again inside myself, and everything was horribly real.

  The flames caught quickly, leaping from log to log, the orange dancing around me. Wood crackled and sparked, the sound familiar and comforting, reminding me of all those bonfires we’d had on cool nights.

  Now, I was the bonfire.

  I felt no more fear, no more anger at the people who had condemned me. Instead, a strange kind of peace washed over my body. A simple acceptance that this was to be my fate. I could no longer see the orange flames or the grotesque villages. The only vision in my mind was Ulrich’s beautiful face.

  The last words we exchanged were in anger. I hadn’t been able to say to him all the things I so dearly wanted to say.

  I wish we’d had a whole lifetime to discover each other’s hidden depths. I wish I’d been able to help you find the peace you so desperately craved. I wish I’d been able to tell you, I love you Ulrich.

  I squeezed my eyes shut.

  I could smell wool burning. My cloak must have caught fire. The end would come soon.

  Suddenly, in the midst of the crowd’s cheering, I heard screams. I’m the only one who should be screaming. I opened my eyes, and I saw him.

  Ulrich.

  He was super-human, a man possessed by the fury of the old gods unleashed. Three men clung to Ulrich’s body, but still he charged forward, hacking and slashing at anyone who tried to get in his way. Blood ran down his face in rivers, and he cried out - an inhuman sound, the battle cry of a soldier in the heat of bloodlust.

  Ulrich leapt onto the pyre and raced toward me. The corner of his cloak caught fire, and soon he was a roaring, flaming ball of fury.

  “Ulrich!” I cried, tears streaming down my face.