A Witch's Tale
Authors: Karolyn Cairns
Witch’s Tale
By
Karolyn Cairns
~***~
This book is dedicated to all my favorite witches ~***~
~***~Text
Copyright by Karolyn Cairns 2012~***~
All
Rights Reserved
Table of Contents
~****~ Chapter Seventeen~****~
~****~Chapter Twenty-One~****~
~****~Chapter Twenty-Two~****~
Pixie,
kobold, elf, and sprite,
All are on their rounds tonight;
In the wan moon's silver ray,
Thrives their helter-skelter play.
~Joel Benton
Village of Valmont, England 1603
“Ahem…uh…hmm…where was I again?” The aged
priest fumed in confusion under his breath. He stood at the top of the
hastily-erected scaffold fumbling with his bible. He was frowning in
consternation at the young cleric at his side.
“You were smiting the wench for the blighted
trees, Your Eminence,” the cleric reminded behind his hand, smiling helpfully.
The young man looked back at the prisoner bound behind them with a scowl in a
show of divine support.
“My thanks to you, Roderick,” Father Belsay
whispered under his breath, rocking back on his heels.
The priest’s black robes billowed around him
in the midday breeze. He eyed the expectant faces below him. The crowd of
villagers grew as the morning wore on. They were surrounding the scaffold now,
elbow to elbow, blood lust evident in their simple expressions.
The highlight of their day was the burning of
a condemned witch. Whether the sad creature was guilty was neither here nor
there. Someone needed to be blamed for the pathetic existence that was theirs.
He appeared to enjoy being the center of their attention, drawing himself up
proudly. His pale eyes lit up to recall the list of charges heaped upon the
condemned witch. He took an inward breath, as if to expel such deviance.
“Ah yes, and for the crime of blighting
the trees in yon field, I commence thee to burn in the fires of hell for all
eternity!” he raged suddenly with exuberance. “For creating the recent droughts
that have killed the fields; I command thee to the fires for cleansing! For
causing the Widow Perkins bread to foul upon sitting; I do offer this
instrument of Satan to stand in judgment before you!” the priest expounded to
his eager audience. The villagers all muttered in agreement, fists rising in
agreement, adding to the voracious zeal that was just warming.
****
Madeline Farrand was the recipient of the
church’s justice. The girl cringed as the unwarranted charges were read against
her. The priest left out the most ridiculous charge of all. That was the crime
of making the minstrel’s song fall flat to the villager’s ears at the last
festival.
No otherworldly power could have improved that sad man’s
performance
, she thought with sinking despair.
Such was the fate of one like she. She
winced as the priest continued to heap the ills and misfortunes of every soul
there upon her hapless shoulders. She listened to the next list of charges with
narrowed blue eyes. These were sole reason for her arrest three days before.
“You stand guilty of tempting the baron’s son
to lust beyond his reason. You stand accountable for the man’s present
infirmary,” the priest added contemptuously. Several women in the crowd jeered
in agreement. “And for the crime of rendering him now unable to perform as a
man; you have declared yourself to be the mistress of Satan, you foul unclean
wench!”
Madeline might have laughed to learn that
Hugh de Valmont was unable to rise to the occasion of rape anymore. She was
satisfied at least one of her spells held fast. She stiffened as the charges
spewed forth, damning her further.
Get on with it,
she thought as she
gazed heavenward, finding a spot in the clouds to focus upon. Burning to death
couldn’t be as bad as listening to such ridiculous claims. She shivered despite
the warmth of the day, fighting the hysteria at the thought of the agony that
was soon forthcoming.
“You stand accused of fouling the village
well, oh unrepentant creature! You stand responsible for making the flies
accumulate around the privies!” the priest nearly shouted in outraged fervor,
as the masses that stood grumbling within the town square. They grew more ugly
and vicious as they swatted at the marsh flies that bit at them as they waited.
Some threw rotten vegetables, pelting the girl during the priest’s rant.
Madeline winced as the rotten volleys hit her
about the head and shoulders. She wished the pyre would self-ignite. She might
have scoffed at his claims were she not gagged and denied a voice in this
proceeding. Her blue gaze hardened as it fell upon the reason she was brought
here today.
Hugh de Valmont was handsome in a surly sort
of way; his lips curled in a perpetual sneer. He stood with his father, the
Baron de Valmont. The older man was the highest power in the village; the one
responsible for her sentence. The pair stuck out like sore thumbs amongst the
villagers
. They stood side by side in the rear; regally
dressed book ends that avoided rubbing elbows within the crowd. Their only goal
here today was to see her punishment met. Normally the baron didn’t deign to
enter the humble village. His son preyed upon the young women there though,
known for taking what wasn’t readily offered.
Hugh’s handsome face was etched in
gloating as he met her gaze for the briefest moment. He shifted under her
unrelenting stare, knowing his lies against her brought her to this sad end.
Her only fault was refusing his lustful advances in the woods. Her reaction was
to chant a hasty incantation that rendered his manhood now useless.
Hugh looked away, fearful of what other
wretchedness she could visit upon him before the fire claimed her life. She
smirked to see him look away; satisfied he’d be unable to harm another woman
again, even if she must die.
“You stand accused of heresy in
refusing to attend mass,” Father Belsay continued and glared back at the
accused as if that were the worst of her crimes. “You’ve been heard to use foul
profanity. Your words have betrayed you to be His servant.”
The girl chuckled behind the gag, reserving a
few choice words for Father Belsay. If her situation were not so dire, she
might have laughed until her sides ached. A few days before she’d planned to
pack up her cottage and leave the village of Valmont for good.
Now she was branded a witch by the lecherous
son of the local baron, blamed for everything they could throw at her head.
Even those who knew the charges to be false didn’t speak up in her defense. The
friends she believed she had ducked now, avoiding her eyes.
She looked over the heads of the villagers,
wishing to be somewhere else, away from this spectacle. The injustice of it all
left a bitter taste in her mouth. The same people who sought her out to heal
their ills now stood poised with rotten vegetables to pelt at her. Those same
people that benefited from the smattering of magic she knew gave testimony
against her.
It was so unfair,
she
thought in sudden fury. They would solve every problem with her death. They
listened to the fanatical priest and Hugh de Valmont’s lies. Forgotten were the
good deeds she performed for the betterment of all. They would focus upon her
mistakes instead.
Was it her fault she was a novice witch with
no mentor since Minerva died? Minerva Farrand was her grandmother. She lived in
the village for a handful of years here and there, always moving on and coming
back. It was expected Madeline would take her place. The old woman wasn’t able
to finish her training before the Goddess claimed her. Madeline was learning on
her own; with sometimes unfortunate outcomes. Her spells needed much work.
Intent only to help increase production in
the dairy; she’d succeeded in flooding the barn. The cow’s udders swelled and
gave way in the night. Desiring to help the fields flourish, her spell caused
the recent drought. Her attempt to remedy that brought the floods. The rotting
fields produced pests, an explanation for the abundance of flies swarming the
area.
Her experiments were many and disastrous. The
only real, debatable crime she could claim was rendering Hugh de Valmont
impotent. That was one of the few times she used her magic to harm another.
She’d do it again and felt no guilt.
Just recalling the man’s near rape of her
made her stiffen in outrage. She’d been up all night delivering a village
woman’s baby. Exhausted and not paying attention, she didn’t see Hugh tailing
her on the road as she made her way home.
As soon as she was in the forest, she noticed
him and ran. Hugh was known to be relentless in his pursuit. She’d been warned
to stay clear of him. He gave chase, running her down on his huge mount. She
screamed and fought. He struck her and forced her onto the ground.
Seeing him hover, poised to violate her; the
words came quickly. Seeing Hugh’s punishing sex shrivel in an instant gratified
her. He looked down in shock; then back at her, eyes filled with fear.
Hugh looked at her in disbelief and backed
away, pulling up his breeches, stumbling to get to his horse. His expression of
terror was to know the stories of her were true. He saw her as just another
pretty maid in the village. He’d not actually believed the tales of Minerva’s granddaughter.
Her relief to know her spells improved was
short lived when the baron’s men arrived to arrest her. She was clapped into a
cell to await trial. For three days she was denied food and water. Condemnation
came quickly after an absurdly short trial. Her sentence was to burn until dead
to pay for her wickedness.
One~***~
Hath not this present Parl’ament
A Lieger to the Devil sent,
Fully impower’d to treat about
Finding revolted Witches out?
And has he not within a year
Hang’d threescore of them in one
Shire?
Some only for not being drown’d,
And some for sitting above ground.
~By Samuel Butler
“Can we go, my lord? How much of this idiocy
must we listen to?” Sir Alastair Marlowe complained sourly. He shifted in the
saddle, eyeing his companion with a pleading look. They rode into the village
square, cut off from the well they sought, by the throng of villagers in their
way. The square was filled to capacity. The cloying stench of unwashed bodies
was thick in the mid-morning air.
Sir Gavin de Mortaine laughed at his
companion’s words. He stared at the beautiful girl tied to the wooden pole on
the platform. He was riveted by her from the moment he set eyes upon her. He
was impressed with her lack of fear. For one about to burn, she looked fairly
composed.
Gavin was intrigued enough to stop when
their party arrived to water their horses. They were in time to see the
spectacle unfolding. He didn’t usually interrupt such proceedings. The
recipient of the church’s justice was never one so lovely. His anger at such
fanatical ignorance now rampant in England made him spur his horse forward. His
eyes scanned the scene grimly.
“Please tell me you don’t intend what I think
you do?” Alastair groaned under his breath as his companion passed by on his
mount. “We are already late as it is. We haven’t time for this.”
