CHAPTER 77

The crack of a gunshot sent Katarina flying from her bed some scant few hours later. Her eyes darted around the pre-dawn gloom of her meadow while the echoes from the shot curled round her ears, reverberating from the cliffs near the river’s edge. She turned in a slow circle, trying to pinpoint the source, when a second shot cracked out with the ancient authority of a thunderbolt.

She didn’t hesitate. She couldn’t hesitate. Her legs were already moving, and as she realized she was moving, she broke into a run.

She’d been casting back and forth in the forest for about an hour, nervous and jittery, before a coughing grunt jolted her from her unthinking search. She pivoted on her heel, consciously aware of the feeling of her breeches tightening against her legs uncomfortably, so unlike her skirts.

An enormous bear, a shambling furry boulder of a bear eyed her not more than fifteen feet away. They stared at each other for a long moment as adrenaline gushed and stormed through Katarina’s veins. The bear suddenly rose up and up and up, standing upright it towered over her nearly twice as tall as she was.

Katarina couldn’t move. Her feet seemed rooted. Her insides were a hot, loose watery ball and she was sure she’d pissed herself. Her arms seemed numb and detached, and a dull roar pounded in her ears as the bear swiped at the air a little with a brutally massive paw that was bigger than her head.

"Oh, you’re done for, girl." A voice wheezed behind her. "Love of the Goddess go with you."

The new voice was a shock; Katarina fell to the ground as her knees gave way. Her vision washed in and out, gray with shock. Her heart labored in her chest and it was impossible to breathe, but miraculously, the bear simply lowered itself to all fours and shambled off, stopping every few minutes to ponderously swing its head around and eye her until it finally disappeared into the forest.

Katarina came back to herself some length of time later. She rolled to a sitting position, and took stock of herself. She’d been scraped and scratched here and there in her search of the forest, but nothing serious. Her arm ached with a dull throbbing pulse, and she hazarded a glance at it and discovered that she still somehow held her knife, fiercely clamped down on it until her hand had cramped.

"...girl..." A voice wheezed behind her, and Katarina whirled about.

An older man lay in the dirt, lines of age etched into his face. His clothing had been charred and seared, hemmed and patched. A massive hat lay near his hand.

She approached him warily.

"Wearing trousers like a man?" He growled. "You’ve got the Goddesses’ own luck that i can’t whale your hide for your heresy."

She sneered and made an obscene gesture at him. "I was given permission and I don’t need yours." She replied impudently. "Who are you?" She asked curiously, and he rolled his eyes at her sardonically.

"That’s my question, girl." He wheezed, voice cracking with authority. "Don’t need my permission? By the Goddess you’re pert." He let out a short sardonic laugh and immediately groaned, clutching his belly. "I’m the ranking authority from the Church of the Golden Lady here, which means you do." He replied and stopped, panting with exertion. "Though I suspect my authority will be quit from this world soon enough." He allowed reluctantly.

"I should help you." She offered, but he shook his head. "Not... not yet. First things first." he replied stubbornly. "Answer my questions." he finished, and katarina nodded slowly, wondering if she would be able to carry him back to her camp.

"You’ve got Darnell on your tongue, but white hair? Cheekbones like that? Are you from Nauders? What’re you even doing out here?" he demanded querulously. Katarina frowned at him. What was he doing out here?

"My name is Katarina." She replied. "I’m a-" She paused, trying to frame her answer. "I’m a Witch Hunter Initiate." She finished awkwardly. The old man surprised her by gaping at her in undisguised astonishment.

"Is this your answer, Lily of the Dawn?" He asked curiously. "Is this why I’m here? This slip of a girl?" He asked.

"Are you all right?" Katarina asked, taking an uncertain step towards him.

The old man sneered. "I’m far from all right, girl. Answer my question. Where were you born?"

Katarina shook her head at him. "I’m from Begierde." She replied.

He nodded then. "Ah, that makes sense, then." He replied cryptically and tried to adjust his position, but discovered he couldn’t. Sweat stood out on his forehead in great watery drops. "At least something makes sense." He slumped limply, and Katarina hurried to him. Concealed in his side was a gaping, ragged gash from which she could peek his entrails slithering about.

In her panic she’d forgotten her hatchet, but she still had her knife, with which she was able to trim down a few saplings and construct a travois that she rolled the older man onto. Once he was settled, she picked up the end of the drag and began the labor of taking him back to her camp.

While she cleaned him up she racked her brain for every scrap of knowledge she’d picked up from Frederika in the healing arts. She bandaged his wound and prayed over him several times.

The light was fading into dusk when he awoke again.

"...you." he mumbled around a grimace. She sat next to his prone form. "You’re an Initiate, then?" He asked, and she nodded. He shook his head. "Not an Apprentice, then?" he asked, and she shook her head. "Don’t suppose you’ve earned your Shield, then." he replied, and she shook her head.

"Tell me your name, girl." he spoke after a long minute.

"I did already." She replied. "My name is Katarina."

He glared at her from his bedding. "Your House name?" He asked, and she raised an eyebrow. "Pavlenko." She replied, and his face softened. "Ah. Pavlenko." he mused. "Merchants, then." he decided, and she nodded.

"Good. good. That’s good, then." he allowed in a thin whisper. "Witch Hunter Initiate Katarina of House Pavlenko, I am Lord Donald of House Christensen, Witch Hunter in service to the Church of the Golden Lady." He gestured weakly at his pack. "My Writ and Warrant is in my pack."

She nodded again, and he frowned and his eyes blazed in anger. "Don’t just stare at me, girl!" he snarled. "Get my Writ and confirm it!" He swore and grimaced in pain. "If you’re truly to be a Witch Hunter, you need to confirm the facts. That’s your job!" He cursed again.

Katarina scrambled for his pack and pulled out a long leather and wood scrollcase. She opened it and shook out the papers within. They identified him as a Witch Hunter, though his papers were decades out of date.

"I came here some thirty or forty years ago." he allowed. "Follow-following after a mage. Archibald the Heartsbane."

Her mouth dropped open in shock. Archibald Heartsbane was listed as a runaway mage that had evaded capture for nearly a half-century. He left a trail of death in his wake, including a Witch Hunter that had been elevated to the realm of legend.

"You’re the Wolf of Alastor." She breathed in shock and he sneered. "A name." He invested the title with as much disdain as he could. "Fat good a name does in the trash of the woods." He spat thickly, hate curdling his speech. "Names are nothing. Worse than nothing, because they accomplish nothing but are a pointless chain ‘round the neck of the foolish that take pride in such things." He sneered. "‘ware you don’t get a name yourself, that it doesn’t strangle you in your sleep someday."

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-We’re okay. She’s safe. You’re safe, Katarina. It’s okay.

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The calm, chanting voice seemed to lull Katarina back to that strange, flexible dream that leaped about.

Besides, even though he was an ass, he was her Master. As much of an irascible, incorrigible monster that he was, she loved him fiercely.

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He rolled his eyes at her again, and after a moment he sighed. "There’s no doing for it, I guess. If you’re to be a Witch Hunter, then I suppose allowances would need to be made. I suppose you can’t hike or traipse through the woods or even properly sit a horse in a dress." He begrudgingly allowed; "Which means I’ve no choice but to allow it."

He spat a dark clot off to the side. "Listen, because my time is short: By my authority as Witch Hunter, by my authority as a Lord of the Land, by my authority as last of the Rubin Rytsar, and by my authority as a true and faithful servant of the Lily of Spring, Goddess of the Dawn, the Golden Shield of the Defender, the Light which cradles and protects us all, I appropriate you into my service." He intoned formally, and then trailed off into a series of weak, bubbling coughs that brought blood -flecked spittle to his lips. "You are elevated to the exalted and honorable position of Apprentice." He whispered and rolled his eyes ostentatiously.

Katarina’s heart lurched in her chest. She’d been an Initiate longer than the others. She should have earned her gun by the age of fourteen, but she’d found herself held back each year. The cited reasons were because she routinely flaunted a disregard for authority, and after two years of not being called to the ranks of the graduates she suspected that they simply would not allow her to take that last step into the world of the Witch Hunter.

"Why?" She whispered, and he shocked her by sticking his tongue out at her rudely. "What, you think I do this for you?" He sneered in a whispery voice. "I do it because someone needs to continue my work. I’ve finally found him and I can’t do anything." He spat bitterly. A thin rill of blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.

"There are people in these woods." he whispered. "Good people. They’ve left the cities and towns and churches to worship the Golden Lady in the splendor of the natural temple of the forest. They swear allegiance to no nation, only to her... her will." He croaked. He smiled crookedly. "To them I’m known as Old Don... or Don the White-hair." She nodded.

"I met one of them yesterday." She affirmed as He took a hitching breath and let it out slowly.

After a long moment Katarina reached over and held her fingers under his nose. She drew her fingers back when she realized that he was still breathing, shallowly.

Katarina retrieved her holy symbol and began praying as Frederika taught her.

The Supplication of Healing complete, Katarina opened her eyes, and Donald lay there, unchanged. Katarina grimaced. He couldn’t die, not yet. She began her Supplication again, and halfway through she stuttered and bit her tongue.

"Oh Goddess, for fuck’s sake, heal him!" She cried out in frustration. "I can’t complete his work if he’s dead!" She demanded hotly, angry tears springing to her face. Through her tears Donald seemed shrouded in a flickering green-yellow light, but when she dashed her tears away, it seemed as though it was just reflected firelight.

She closed her eyes and prayed again, starting over from the Supplication of healing, through the Invocation of the Green, the Declaration of the Defender, every prayer she’d been taught.

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-I ... what was that?

-Nevermind that. Keep going.

-No, no, no, I have to know-

-As High Lady Inquisitor of the Inquisition of the Golden Lady I am hereby declaring this Confession Sealed to the Emerald. Neither you or I will speak of it except in our very silent prayers to the Goddess. Do you understand me?

-We have to go back, we have to see-

-Do you understand me, Confessor?

-...I- I understand. Please put the knife away. There’s no need for that.

-You’re sure?

-I’m sure.

-Shall we continue?

-....as you wish.

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She opened her eyes as the birds began their morning cries. She’d fallen asleep in a sitting position.

The old man eyed her and grinned inwardly. She had a ferocious will burning beneath her fair skin. A passionate heart that demanded much from the world. Apparently it demanded much from their Goddess as well, if the flickering strength in him was any clue. He was certain he was quit from the world last night, but here he was, facing the dawn. Perhaps one of her fervent prayers had made it through to the Golden Lady.

"Have you bandages?" He asked, and her head came off her chest in a flash.

"You’re still alive!" She exclaimed in a rusty voice, and he nodded wearily.

"For now, it seems." He allowed. "As far as I’m concerned, you’ve already earned your Shield." He remarked drily. "Because it seems as though I've been healed. Somewhat." He allowed.

Thinking back, she shook her head. "I haven’t any bandages." She answered his earlier question, and then shrugged out of her vest and began unbuttoning her blouse.

"What’re you doing?" He demanded. "Whatever vulgarity you’ve planned won’t fly with me, girl."

She doffed her shirt. "You need bandages." She insisted. "I can make do without a shirt." and began tearing the shirt into long strips. He would have disagreed, but he was already slipping into unconsciousness.

When he awoke he discovered a thick binding across his side and Katarina cooking at the small firepit.

"In my pack." he commanded. "There’s a spare shirt. Dirty, to be sure, but a woman must maintain her modesty." he added. "And besides, you won’t last a day wearing naught but a shift and breeches."

She rolled her eyes at him, but rummaged in his pack.

He took a breath. "It’s your pack, now." He allowed, finally. "Your healing helped a bit, but..." He trailed off. "I fear you’ve only delayed the inevitable. I will die soon. So take it. All of it."

She shook her head. "I can’t take it." He waved his hand weakly in dismissal.

"Sure you can, you silly bint. Look, it’s easy. You just take it." He groaned rustily. "I’m a Witch Hunter and you’re my apprentice. Your first responsibility as my apprentice is to follow my orders. Now take my fucking possessions because I’ve fucking given them to you!" he snarled, and settled back, gasping in pain. He flapped his hand at her. "Let me see your sigil." he whispered, and she produced it. Her holy symbol was carved wood, painted in the three sacred colors, the green of Spring, the white of the Healer, and the red of the Defender. He eyed that and threw it haphazardly at her campfire.

"Bah." He spat. "Rubbish." He declared. "Take... take mine. It’s proper bloody metal. You’ll not get anywhere with that shit." he added. He gestured at his belt and weakly tugged at something beyond her sight. She got up and moved to the other side of him; he’d looped a heavy gold chain around one of his belts, and suspended there was a palm-sized holy symbol- the shield of the defender, with a lily emblazoned on the front.

"Take.... take it." He whispered. "It’s proper. It’ll serve ya well."

He subsided again, and his frantic, shallow breathing slowed again.

Feeling guilty but bolstered by Lord Christensen’s words, she pawed through his pack and took an inventory. Her eyebrows rose at the sight of many of the goods he’d kept on himself, including a pan and kettle, a number of knives, a bullet reloading kit with matched powder horns, and a small piece of simple glass, no larger than a coin. He had a pair of waterbags, one held wine, the other held water. She emptied some of the water into the pan, added some meat and some of the vegetables she’d scrounged up and stuck it in the coals of her fire.

As it cooked, she began praying again. A thousand thoughts and feelings assailed her from a thousand different directions. She cursed at herself angrily. It took a clear mind and a calm heart to communicate with the Golden Lady.

After a long struggle, she finally just prayed from the heart. She was tired, she was afraid, Donald was dying, and if she was expected to carry on his work, he damn well needed to stay alive long enough to teach her what she needed to know. She cracked an eye and peeked at his gun, a richly decorated gun with three barrels chased in gold, the handle worked and carved into the head of an eagle. She’d had gun training on the ranges, but his gun was an unknown quantity. She would have to learn the correct Rites of Cleaning, how the gun was loaded, and the weight and measure of the ammunitions and powders. She also needed to learn about her prospective prey. All she knew of him was that his magic was foul and caused the hearts of his foes to rupture in their chests. She needed more time, more knowledge.

She finished her prayer, feeling embarrassed and ashamed. That was no way to pray to the Golden Lady. Upon opening her eyes, she fell back in shock. Donald was struggling to a sitting position, and Ancha, the boy from the other day was helping him.

"I’m beginning to wonder if you should maybe be a priestess." Donald remarked in a sarcastic tone. "Every time I think I’m just about done for, you come and drag me kicking and screaming back from the brink." He complained.

Katarina settled herself in front of Donald, and pointed at his gun. "I need to know the rites of cleaning, how to make the ammunition, how to load the ammunition, and anything else about this gun I’ll need to know." She replied authoritatively. "I’m also going to need to know everything you know about Heartsbane." She reached into his pack and pulled out a battered wooden cup and ladled out some broth for him. "You want me to do this, fine. But first you’re going to show me how." She stated, and thrust the broth at him.

His face softened suddenly from the hard tangle of bitter roots to something she expected to see from a kindly grandfather. "Right." He remarked. "We do this the right way."

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"The question has been asked, Katarina lon Pavlenko: Do you stand ready for what comes?"

-Fuck, not this again

-No no no, it’s fine, look. She’s breathing normally.

-By the Void of Oblivion I fucking swear-

-You do much of that, it seems.

-Don’t start with me. Keep going.