Erika Blackwell, the mother of Marta, Iris and Amelia, was busy grinding ingredients for future potions with a mortar and pestle. One of her books on magic was open on the dinner table, but to the uninitiated, it appeared as a book of herbal remedies. Amusingly enough, it actually was both a book of herbal remedies and a book on magic, because the bits on magic were written in code, taking the form of recipes with ingredients that were fictional, but sounded normal enough to someone that knew nothing of magic. It was currently open to one of the pages for a real recipe.
She was forty-two years of age, as was her husband, Tim. They’d met as children and their parents had arranged for them to marry, because in those days, witch families looked out for each other and made sure their children married another of the ancient bloodline. Erika had been grateful that Tim was a good man and even her friend, but it had been awkward to be suddenly told at the age of sixteen that they’d been engaged since birth. She hadn’t liked the surprise, and hadn’t done the same to her girls, who’d found and lost their loves on their own. She just hoped Amelia would have better luck than her sisters.
Erika still wasn’t happy about what Tim had discovered regarding the death of Conrad and where all the evidence pointed-
There was a thunderous knock on the door, which was far too familiar to Erika, causing her to sigh with frustration. She’d been accused of witchcraft by Mayor Rumblecleaver on no less than fifteen occasions, though all of that had been settled before Amelia was born. She’d successfully given everyone the wrong impression all her life, aside from a teenage slip-up, in which the young man that became Mayor witnessed some minor magic, though he’d been in such a drunken stupor at the time, it was surprising he’d been able to see straight, let alone remember.
Nothing had stuck, but that never stopped the old fool from using every opportunity to harass the Blackwell family. Nonetheless, the mayor always knocked as hard as humanly possible when he thought he’d finally obtained sure-fire evidence.
Tim rose from his rocking chair by the fire, where he’d been taking a rare, weekend nap. He was rather tall and broad of shoulder, with a physique built from chopping and hauling firewood for most of the village. He was nearly as strong as the smith, but in contrast to the gentle and quiet nature of the latter, Tim had always been easily riled, ever ready for a fight. Fortunately, when Erika was around, he deferred to her more measured judgment, which was normally finely-calibrated.
Tim growled, “I’m not putting up with this even one more time! I’ll thrash him myself and-”
“Calm down and leave it to me.” Erika spoke with the practiced authority of a professional healer with the confidence to supervise a triage situation, “The more angry you are, the more likely the mayor will be back.”
Tim nodded and sat down, though he added, “Fine, but say the word and I’ll beat him senseless.”
“I’ll keep that in mind, dear.” Erika looked at her husband and gave him a disarming wink, causing him to smile.
After wiping her hands clean on a rag, Erika stepped over to the door and swung it inward.
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The Blackwell sisters were finally on their way home, after a pleasant day spent driving through the hills surrounding their land. They’d had an enjoyable picnic lunch along the way and after that, Amelia drove for a while, because Iris had been a little too enthusiastic for comfort.
Around mid-afternoon, Marta finally got her chance to drive and of the three of them, she was the most relaxed, taking the time to do everything with care, though she did enjoy the sensation of her hair streaming backwards in the wind.
As evening approached, Marta slowed down, because her sisters had fallen asleep in the back, and she didn’t want to disturb them.
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As expected, Mayor Godfrey Rumblecleaver stood on Erika’s porch. He was a tall and imposing man, at least in the heavily-furred official robe he wore as Daleshade’s mayor, sheriff and judge, a series of titles Erika was certain should belong to three separate individuals, though a stupid and ignorant tradition had made them one and the same. He was a year older than Erika and his dark hair was starting to gray.
Behind him stood a number of men from the village, with pitchforks and yes, torches, since evening was soon to arrive. There was a certain tradition to the proper running of a lynch mob, after all, and to the stupid and ignorant mindset of the locals, if they were going to do a thing, they may as well go the whole nine yards. To that end, a horse and wagon had been brought, which was loaded with wood for the pyre, topped off with a rather large log, which surely was intended to be the stake at which Erika was to burn.
Deputy Nicklebender stood to one side with a rather heavy and lethal-looking crossbow in hand, which was loaded and ready to go. He wore some slightly rusty chain mail, which was effectively his badge of office. He was sixteen years old, just old enough to be an adult, according to Daleshade law. He was also as impressionable as wet clay, the perfect patsy to serve as the mayor’s right-hand man.
Erika smiled and spoke with words alone, because her expression and tone screamed other things, “Mayor Rumblecleaver, it’s always a pleasure. What gives us the joy of your company this afternoon?” Sarcasm dripped from her every word.
As expected, the mayor pointed the accusatory finger, “She’s a witch! I’ve seen it with my own eyes! This woman, Erika Blackwell, has had congress with the devil! I saw her dance in the forest, naked, alongside a demon!”
Erika remembered the incident well, though not quite the same way the mayor did. It had been the night of a harvest festival, when strong drink had been freely given. Erika hadn’t been old enough to drink, but she’d been out in the forest, dancing in time to the singing coming from the village outskirts. She’d been caught up in the moment and cast a little spell that attracted some fireflies to join her for a dance, just as Rumblecleaver drunkenly stumbled along, probably looking for a place to relieve himself.
He got bolder and his imagination went a little more wild with the details of his accusation, every time. On the occasion of his first public denouncement, he’d said she danced in the moonlight and cast a sparkly spell, which had been true in the broadest sense. Four or five times later, his mind had twisted the details until she’d been naked, probably a little wishful thinking on his part. Apparently, now the devil was involved! There was a murmur of agreement from the crowd, though with a lynch mob, that meant next to nothing, since they’d agree to most any statement, just to avoid being the next victim.
“Is this the same old accusation or a fresh one?” Erika asked, “I need details, so I can mount a proper defense. Also, ‘In the mouth of two or three witnesses shall every word be established.’ According to my youngest daughter, who has read the laws of this land, your word alone, is not enough.”
By the mayor’s own past admission, because he was very persistent about outwardly portraying himself as an honest and upstanding man of law, an accused witch could be set at liberty if she could disprove the accusations or there wasn’t enough evidence. In that regard, Erika had been running mental circles around her old nemesis for decades. With extra details of the law provided by Amelia, Erika had no fear.
“I seen her, too!” Another man stepped out of the crowd, “It was just last week! She was dancing nekkid in the woods, with a goat-horned demon!”
There was another murmur from the mob.
Erika looked the man up and down, not quite recognizing him for a moment, because he was actually sober for once. He was stick thin, probably because he drank his dinner most days, and wore an ugly, brown, leather skullcap that made him look like a twerp. His jacket was several sizes too large for him, because it had been purchased by a much younger and more muscular man that barely resembled the one wearing it, though they were technically the same individual.
Watkyn Hawkbender was the local distiller of booze and the town drunkard. He sold cheap moonshine to most anyone that would pay and was well-known for his habit of sampling everything that came out of his still, even if it was likely to poison him. Erika had saved his life on no less than four occasions, because he’d gotten the mix wrong. As it was, he was half blind, due to an incident in which he’d accidentally brewed some wood alcohol.
In truth, Erika had gone to visit the man just last week, because she used alcohol during the purification process for her potions, though she intentionally boiled off the alcohol, once she was done with it.
Erika shook her head, “Watkyn, with how drunk you were on moonshine when I showed up, it’s no surprise you hallucinated my clothes away and imagined a wandering mountain goat as a demon. I turned around and left, because you were obviously far too inebriated to make a sane bargain and I didn’t want you to regret the sale. Besides, you were leering at me and giggling in a way I wasn’t comfortable with.” She looked past her accusers, to the crowd, “Am I the only one that’s witnessed this kind of behavior? Can I have a show of hands from anyone that considers our dear Mr. Hawkbender to be a reliable witness while he’s drunk, which we all know is the majority of the time he’s awake?” Since not one hand went up, Erika turned her attention back to the mayor, “So, is your claim new or the same old one from when I was a teen? Honestly, if it’s the same, I’m surprised you’d bring it up with Watkyn as your second witness, considering how many witnesses I found to go on record about how drunk you were that night, so long ago. It’s no surprise you were hallucinating, since I gather that was the first time you ever touched alcohol and by all accounts, you treated moonshine like it was water.”
The mayor looked at his shoes, “It’s the same.”
“Okay.” Erika sighed, “Are we done here?”
Rolf Mossflaw stepped up, towering over even the rather tall mayor, “Sorry, ma'am, but my father would come back from the dead and tan my hide until next Thursday if I didn’t speak the truth. I saw your daughters using witchcraft, all three of them. They made a carriage work without a horse.”
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This produced a series of astonished gasps from the mob.
“So what? Amelia has been working on a horseless carriage for months. It’s powered by a steam engine, from what I gather, though I hardly understand. It’s science, not magic.” Erika explained.
The mob went dead silent for a time and she realized she’d repeated something Amelia would have said. Science was nearly as bad as magic, at least as far as the ignorant, stupid locals were concerned. Building machines was okay, but going around talking about science was suspicious. Still, there was nothing illegal about science, thank the gods.
In truth, it wasn’t magic or science that everyone feared and hated, but people being smarter than they were. Erika had always tried to avoid drawing attention to herself and she’d been fairly successful in that regard. After all, due to the magic of her potions, they absolutely failed on anyone that hated witches, a fact that had been extremely useful during the last round of accusations, just before Amelia was born, because every attempt the mayor made to prove they were magic caused them to publicly fail, embarrassing him. It had hurt sales for a couple years, but put the matter to bed for more than a decade, which had been worth the trouble.
“Sorry, Erika,” Rolf shook his head, “but I know how her steam engines work, because Amelia explained it to me. There’s always a firebox, so there’s no way to avoid smoke from a real steam engine and I’ve seen plenty of them in my travels. I saw no smoke from her carriage, only steam.”
The crowd went back to murmuring.
Erika sighed, “Have you got a second witness?”
Rolf’s son stepped out of the crowd and reluctantly nodded, “I saw it, too. We were in the woods near your home, on our way to…to…” The boy trailed off, nervously.
“Go on.” Rolf prompted.
The boy finished, “We wanted to see Amelia’s carriage. That’s all we wanted.”
The mayor finally spoke again, “There you have it: two witnesses of witchcraft. Your daughters are guilty, but there’s an old law that’s rarely used, because it’s so terrible,” the sick smile on his face was unsettling and the gleam in his eye was one of pure hatred, based on decades of embarrassing defeats handed to him by Erika’s superior intellect, “but a parent can pay for the crimes of a child, as their substitute. I’ll overlook the actions of your daughters, this time, but only if you offer yourself in their place.”
Rolf and his son hung their heads in obvious shame.
Erika’s mind ran light lightning, but all roads led to death! She couldn’t see a way out! Never before had she felt so helpless!
In the background, there was a creak from Tim’s chair as he sat up, in preparation for violence.
“Sit down, Tim.” Erika spoke so softly, she was barely heard.
Tim obeyed, though his face remained full of lethal intent.
“You or your daughters? One life for three is a good bargain.” The mayor’s expression was an obscene mask of mixed pleasure and hatred, because he was enjoying Erika’s discomfort, “Why don’t you do your children a kindness and finally admit you’re a witch! Do that and I’ll leave them be! Alternatively, I can burn three witches!”
Erika openly wept, because she was caught in the worst kind of trap, one she’d made for herself by being careless with magic. She’d endangered her family, through one little misstep that had never stopped following her around, all because a small-minded, stupid and ignorant man refused to let it go.
With tears rolling down her cheeks in a torrent, Erika spoke even more softly than last time, “I’m a witch.”
“No!” Tim screamed and leaped to his feet, rushing toward the mayor, only to be struck in the shoulder by a crossbow bolt!
He fell to the floor, bleeding heavily! Erika immediately got to work, tearing strips of cloth from her dress to bandage his wound, followed by placing his other hand around the bolt.
“Hold your hand there!” She commanded and put pressure on it, until he cried out in pain, though the bleeding significantly slowed.
In the background, the deputy cocked his crossbow, using a built-in foot stirrup to apply far more strength than his arms could manage.
Erika looked around the room for supplies, which were always near to hand, selecting a needle, thread and a bottle of moonshine she’d been using for purifying potion ingredients. She ran the thread through the eye of the needle with a practiced, expert hand. Next, she poured a measure of the alcohol over her hands, then everything else.
She stepped back over to Tim, pulled back the bandage and asked, “You ready?”
He nodded and Erika yanked the bolt out. Next, she poured some of the alcohol into the wound, which caused Tim to scream, because it stung so badly! After that, it took only a momentary glance to satisfy Erika that an artery hadn’t been hit, and she got to sewing, eventually cutting the left-over remnant of thread with her teeth. When she was done, Tim was bleeding only a tiny bit, though he’d passed out. She re-wrapped his wound and looked up.
The mayor clapped three times, very slowly, “Bravo, but I didn’t hear what you said.” Once again, his face was an awful rictus of evil pleasure.
“I’m a witch.” Erika openly sobbed, her tears soaking her dress, while her husband’s blood dripped from her hands.
“You’ve got to say it louder, because I still haven’t heard you.” The mayor leaned close, until their noses nearly touched.
“I’m a witch.” Erika spoke normally, aside from how emotionally distraught she was.
The mayor’s sick grin spoke volumes about the way he reveled in the moment, while Rolf and his son looked away, so very ashamed of themselves, though they did nothing to intervene.
The mayor growled, “Louder!”
“I’m a witch!” Erika spoke with greater volume.
“So everyone can hear you, whore!” The man growled.
“I’m a witch, you stupid, ignorant fool!” Erika screamed in the mayor’s face, “I’m proud of what I am! I’ve spent a lifetime tending the wounds of Daleshade, healing you with magic! Nearly all of you owe me your life, because I was there when you were born! I spent my life in service, because that’s what my mother and grandmother taught me to do! Magic isn’t evil,” she nearly put a bloody finger in the mayor’s eye, to accuse him, “but you are! I never did anything to hurt you, but ever since I was fifteen years old, you’ve been looking for any excuse to call me a witch!” She finished, breathing heavily, because she’d finally shouted her hidden truth.
The deputy stepped forward, using a length of rope to bind her hands behind her back.
Erika wanted to use the magic she’d hidden all her life, knowing full-well that she could call on powerful flames to burn her accusers to ash. It was so very tempting and would be so easy to do!
Never, ever use magic to harm another! The memory of a scolding Erika had received from her grandmother, Starla, echoed in her mind, after she’d used a spell to trip a boy for the sake of mischief, That power exists to help others, not to entertain you!
Starla had been an exceptionally powerful witch, who’d made healing potions that were only slightly more powerful than herbs. She’d quietly set and knit bones with magic, but only when no one could prove it had been done that way. She’d quietly served Daleshade to the day she died, for which she’d gotten little thanks, only for her funeral to be full of gossip about witches, because everyone suspected, but wasn’t certain.
Erika made up her mind that she wouldn’t violate the vow she’d made to Granny Starla, not even to save her own life. She waited patiently as the pile of firewood was assembled in one of the disused farm fields, with the big log in the center, held up by the pile, though some attempt had been made to dig a hole and plant it inside.
By the time they were done, the sun was setting.
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Marta was eager to get home, but also felt there was no reason to rush, especially since it was getting dark and they hadn’t brought a lantern. It would probably also be better to let her sisters rest while they could, because Mother and Father were sure to have questions, which might keep everyone up half the night, since the carriage was such an exciting and new thing.
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Erika was dragged to her place of ignominy on the pile of wood and another rope was used to tightly secure her arms and waist to the stake, while others poured some of Mr. Hawkbender’s moonshine over the logs, to ensure they’d easily light, leaving her eyes and nose stung by the touch of powerful vapors.
When all was ready, the mayor stepped over, spat in Erika’s face, then whispered, “I had to kill my own son, because one of your whore-of-the-devil daughters bewitched him, just like I did with that poor fool that married your oldest! I’m glad I finally get to see you burn for what you’ve taken from me and this village!”
Erika shook her head and muttered words of power in an ancient language known only to witches and wizards, mouthing the words of a spell that would amplify her voice and create an aura of fear around her. The spell was harmless, but after what she’d just heard, something had to be done to rattle the real monster of Daleshade.
She was tempted to repeat what he’d just said, but knew no one present would accept the word of a confessed witch. Instead, she decided to go with something a little more traditional and witchy.
She spoke at a volume comparable to a megaphone, her voice magically enhanced to ensure all ears present would take notice, “Know this day, Mayor Godfrey Rumblecleaver, that your sins will follow you to your very last day, while the gates of the infernal realm gape open and ready to take your soul!
“I declare to all: if any of you ever harms so much as one hair on the heads of my daughters, I will return as a vengeful spirit, with bloody intention to wipe out this entire village, guilty and innocent alike, because evil triumphs when good men do nothing!” Erika gave Rolf and his son a particularly scathing glare, before she looked once more at the now cowering mayor, to speak so softly only he should have heard her final words, though the magic still took them far and wide, “With my last, dying breath, I curse you to never know peace!”
Unwilling to give Rumblecleaver and his mob the satisfaction of taking her life, Erika screamed the word for ‘fire’ in the ancient language of magic, producing a whumph as the alcohol lit and flame engulfed her body!
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Marta was surprised to see some kind of huge bonfire in the distance, near the old cottage, which wasn’t at all normal. With how much work went into chopping wood, Father hated to waste it and would never have approved such a large fire for anything other than a festival.
Marta set aside caution and pushed the throttle forward, shouting, “Wake up! We’ve got trouble!”
“What’s going on?” Amelia asked as she rubbed her eyes.
Iris lifted her goggles and stared at the distant fire with shock.
“I don’t know, but something’s very wrong!”
Marta drove the carriage into the yard around the house, while a wagon full of men was hauled away by galloping horses, though Marta paid them little heed! Instead, she looked into the bonfire, barely able to make out a scorched, human form tied to the upright central log!
As she cut the throttle and set the brake, a cold certainty settled on her mind that the mayor had finally done what he’d been promising as far back as Marta could remember and she stared into the flame with frozen disbelief!
Amelia stepped down from the carriage and sputtered, “Who…what…why?”
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Acting without much thought, because she was too shocked to feel a thing or even reason, Iris ran until she was right beside the bonfire, intent on saving a life!
She held her hands out in front of her body, shouted the ancient word of power for ‘extinguish’, then separated her hands, effectively parting the flame like Moses parted the Red Sea, creating a path to the woman on the stake!
With another word of power, namely that for ‘loosen’, the ropes dropped and the body fell free! Despite the heat of the wood scorching her through her shoes, Iris caught the body and dragged it free of the blaze, which was hot enough to singe her hair and char the sleeves of her dress as she worked!
When they were both clear, she allowed her magic to lapse and the bonfire sprung back to a full blaze.
An evaluation of the victim brought the conclusion the woman wasn’t breathing and there were third-degree burns over her whole body! Iris gingerly checked the neck for a pulse and found none. As her hand came away, it brushed a copper necklace, with little smoke-blackened stones, which looked awfully familiar.
With a terrible feeling of horror, on top of that which already filled her frame, Iris hesitated for a time, before she wiped one of the stones with her sleeve, revealing the purple of those set in Mother’s favorite necklace!
Iris screamed and howled as tears dripped from her eyes, brought on by more grief than she could bear!