Title: "The Ritual of Purification"
Author: Irwin Kwan (with thanks to Amber Michelle)
Game: Valkyrie Profile
Website: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/valkyrie_profile/

Comments:

This is a story adapted from "Illusion of Memory", a Valkyrie Profile-based interactive writing group, locatd at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/valkyrie_profile.  In addition with providing the community some Valkyrie Profile fiction, I hope that this may attract some attention to the writing group as well.  Please visit the group if you enjoyed this piece and would like to contribute to the fanfiction community.

-- Irwin Kwan

Credits:

Amber Michelle, my proofreader
The Illusion of Memory members, including (you know who you are) Lenneth, Lezard, Lorenta, Celia, Lawfer, Freya, and Jayle.

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"The Ritual of Purification"

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Chapter 1

--

Echo.

Voice of an angered man. "You're the witch!  You're the..."
Woman yelling.  "Things will turn out right in the end!"

Sound of a hand slapping a cheek.

Sobbing woman.  "I'm... I'm such a fool."
Voice of a solemn man.  "I'm a fool too."

Teenage girl.  "You miss her, don't you?"

Woman's voice, on the verge of tears.  "Can you look me in the eyes and tell me that it'll be okay if you never see me again?"

End echo.

--

Coriander Village

--

The outskirts of the small idyllic farming village were empty of activity.  In this already barren town, the fields lay untilled, the ground to hard to cut.  The refuse of dried, yellowed stalks of corn and wheat were beaten down for acres and acres.  Where there were no shrunken, pale stalks, there was only hard dried land, land so tough that no life could grow.

Only close to the centre of town, a simple path through the village around a small mountain stream, did you see people.  In the centre of the town, on a roughly constructed pile of stones on a gentle hill, was a wooden stick.

Stephane stared intently at the shaft, standing almost six feet tall.  There were three others like it.  The man, tall, dark-haired, and standing with only a little bit of a slouch in his back, kept his gaze on these simple poles, much like the rest of Coriander village - all seventy of them - did.

There was a drum, beating evenly, echoing its thundering bass across the valley and the forests, intimidating enough to scare the dead away.  Stephane turned his head toward the group coming up the village path, all wearing black, all wearing long robes, and holding wooden and silver crosses across their breasts.  Behind them were four pairs of young men wearing white robes with black trim.  In between each of these men , held by their arms, were figures dressed in an off-white colour: three women and a young girl.  These were the ones that would take the holy trials.

Stephane moved his gaze toward the second woman in the row, lowering his eyes so he cold focus his gaze on her.  She was approximately forty years old now, and her brown hair was laced with the first traces of grey.  She moved with confidence, keeping her head up defiantly, her dark hair loose and floating gently as the wind played with it, her brown eyes staring forward, prepared and determined to face her test without any sort of fear.

Stephane stared for a moment longer.  Her gaze turned and caught his, and he was fixated by her piercing brown eyes.  Piercing, because they looked at him, as if they peered through them, directly into his heart, and directly into the workings of his soul.  But yet, even as she stared at him, her eyes were soft, compassionate, warm.  One could even say loving.

Stephane stared back, unable to close his heart to the situation anymore, and, faced with the sight of her eyes, he felt the memories trickle back into his head.  He wanted to shut his eyes and cry, but he could not.  He did not want to close them, or else he would miss something.  When the woman turned her gaze away, he felt his exterior harden again, and he took a deep, sharp breath of the cold mountain air, feeling the sudden rush sober his mind.

The dark-robed ensemble stepped up around the wooden posts in the centre of the square and  stopped before advancing onto the hill.  The white-robed men behind them led their escort in front of a wooden post.  Stephane felt his eyes waver slightly, and his muscles began to tense.  His heart began to beat a little bit faster, and he felt himself holding his breath.  It was actually happening.  He watched the woman.  Isabelle, his darling. The truth would be seen now... everything would be turned to right...

The young men led the person they were escorting to stand onto the rocks, and then silently procured thick ropes.  They proceeded to tie the woman to the wooden shaft, preparing her for the ritual of purification.

For some reason, Stephane knew that she would never be the same after this... and that he would never be the same either.

He stared at her.  She was ready to take the trial that would be placed before her.  Ready to withstand the forces against her in God's name.  Stephane lowered his head, but he found that he could not do so.  Her eyes, dark and enveloping, were looking directly into his clear, sky-blue ones.  He held in a gasp of breath, but could not keep it inside, and he gasped.  Isabelle...!  The name rang out to him, clear as the call of a herald's bugle, as if it was the first time  he had heard it in months.  Isabelle!  The rush of exhilaration flooded his mind as if a spell had suddenly been lifted. 

Isabelle!  His dear, lovely wife!  What was he doing over here... standing here and watching?  He had a role to take part in.  And as the ceremony commenced, Stephane let out a shout, and his legs moved, flying through the air like a feather shed from a bird up in the high skies...

~ *** ~~ *** ~

Autumn in Coriander Village, some time ago.

--

Stephane bounced his daughter Colette on his knee.  She giggled at his antics, and then twisted a little bit so the next bounce would direct her to the floor.  Her legs moved under her and she stepped on the ground, bracing her knees to absorb the shock.  Her long blonde hair flew through the air, fluttering in spidery strands before settling down.

"Where are you going now, /petite/ Colette?" asked Stephane, keeping an arm close to Colette so that she would not accidentally fall.  The six-year old girl was starting to become quite independent despite her youth.  This was a good sign, in a way: it proved that she was going to be as adventurous as her father and her mother.  However, it also meant that she would also face a time of rebellion: defying her parents.  But Stephane laughed at this thought.  He was like that.  Isabelle was like that as well.  If they were prepared for it, would that make it any easier?

"I'm going to Armand's," Colette said.  "What's so funny?"

"No, nothing... I'm just thinkin'.  About you, when you grow up."

Colette thrust out her chest and sucked in her breath in an attempt to look big.  "I will not grow up!  I'll be a kid forever!"  With those words, she scurried out of the front door, hopping the last two steps, blonde hair flying behind her like a cape.

Stephane's smile faded as he acquired a serious frame of mind again.  There was work to be done... he had to go back to cutting more of his corn from the fields.  For some reason, despite the drought, he and Isabelle had managed to do quite well for harvest.  Although this was by no means anything close to what they would get in a mediocre year, the fact that they had anything growing in the first place meant that they would be able to eat and feed themselves, a fact that many others could not rely on.  He wondered idly why he was lucky this time around: why he, Isabelle, and Colette would be able to eat, even meagerly, when other would not be able to eat at all.  But he did not gloat or regret the fact.  He was simply lucky.  Perhaps his field was wetter than everyone else's.  The last two years had saw a decent harvest.  Most of the grain they ended up giving away to others of the village so they they would be able to eat.  It was harsh times in Coriander Village... so harsh in fact, that people were even selling their own children to the Slave Trades in Villnore because it was a two-fold victory: they would have money to buy food, and they wold have one less mouth to feed.  Theoretically, their children would also be better as a slave than even here in Coriander Village, but Stephane didn't know anything about how slaves were treated.

The front door steps creaked and a woman reaching her middle years stared at him through the doorframe.  Her hair was thick and wavy, coloured a dark, deep brown.  Her eyes were brown and although she was developing wrinkles at the base of them at her age, she still looked vibrant and youthful.  of course, he was biased.  Isabelle wiped her forehead and then walked inside, slumping down at the table.  She placed her head down, then glanced up again at Stephane after a minute.  "I'll make supper now... you should go out and start collecting the stalks."

Stephane nodded at her and then went outside to complete the chores that Isabelle started.  The woman was utterly fearless, he reasoned.  She did every kind of work, even if it was considered a man's job.  As a result, he was sometimes teased for it by the other men, but he was easily a hit with the ladies because he was quite able to cook, clean, and sew: occupations traditionally considered to be a woman's job.  He hefted the scythe and then began to mow down the stalks of maize that remained standing.

-=-=-

Jessica, Colette's friend, was wide-eyed at the barn full of grain.  She moved her fingers through the rough stalks in awe, looking at the grains.  It would take time to make the grain ready for eating but they still had time before the cold season settled in.  "You're so lucky to have this much!  Our family has barely anything."  She glanced over at Colette.  The young blonde-haired girl had a wide smile on her face, unable to feel anything but pride for her parents.

"Both /maman/ and /papa/ are great farmers," she said.  "I help them, too.  We have a lot of things to do but it's good that it turns out in the end."

Jessica sat on the ground, twirling her fingers in her long brown ponytail.  "My mom says that... and don't tell anyone.  Can I tell you a secret?"

Colette assumed a suspicious glance and then giggled.  "Of course you can Jessica.  She reached for Jessica's hand and then pulled her into the corner of the barn, out of earshot of the entrance.

Jessica leaned forward toward Colette.  "My mom says that... that your mom uses magic to grow the grain.  And that she hates everyone else in town, so she made sure that they didn't have any grain to grow."

Colette cupped a hand over her mouth, her eyes widening.

"It's true, I heard her."

Colette shook her head so furiously that the blonde hair formed a halo around her.  "/Maman/ is not a witch!  I don't think she's a mean person at all.  You know /ma maman/ too, Jessica."

Jessica nodded.  "Yes, she's nice to me so I don't know where my mom is coming from, but that's what she says.  I don't want anything to happen."

"My daddy wants to give a lot of the grain to the town so he can help them out."  Colette stepped out of the shadows, and then peered out of the barn toward the farmhouse.  "I thought I heard something..."

"I didn't hear anything..."

"Oh!  I was right.  /Ma maman/ is calling.  Jessica, want to stay for supper?  I think we're going to have a small feast because we had such a good harvest!  There'll be fruits and meat and everything!"

Jessica's eyes lit up and her lips broke into a wide smile.  "Okay!  Thanks, Colette!  You're so nice to me."

Colette went back with Jessica, and they had a good meal of bread and light meat.  Meat at this time was a delicacy, but it was their personal celebration to a relatively good harvest when most people couldn't get anything to sprout.

-=-=-

"I really don't want to deal with some people in town," Isabelle counted the metal coins on the table, pushing them into a pouch.

Stephane shrugged from where he was cleaning some dirty rags in the wash basin.  "I don't see what the big deal is, Isabelle.  You don't need to talk with them.  We just need to get some tools from the store.  Ronwald doesn't really pay attention to who it is who walks inside... just if their money's good."

Isabelle glance down at the table.  "There are other people who tend to be there often too, it's not just him.  It's a stressful time for everyone," she added.  "We're so busy.  Everyone else is twiddling their thumbs, wondering if tomorrow'll actually come, or if they'll waste away."

"We've been lucky."

Isabelle nodded, slowly.  "That's right.  And a lot of people that we know aren't."  The drought was continuing this year, and most of the farmers in Coriander Village could barely scrape up food for themselves, let alone their beasts and families.  There had been a shortage of cattle in the village because they were being slaughtered for their meat.  They were lucky: they still had a dairy cow left that was doing relatively well.

Stephane hung up a cloth to dry and withdrew the utensils from the basin.  "We can take care of only so many people..."

"I know.  I wasn't complaining... just observing, really.  I know that we can't support the town.  We had a fortunate harvest, the rest of them didn't."

"I'm not adverse to helping out, though.  This isn't anything dramatic, but the fact that we can feed ourselves, and more sort of says something."  Stephane glanced outside of the window at the healthy wheat and corn stalks.  "I'm going to take down the rest of the good crop.  Will you go to town and get some tools?"

Isabelle nodded.  "I can do that."  She swept the coins into a small cloth bag and tied it to her waist, shaking it to adjust the slack on the pouch.  She put on a cap over her ears and then left the house.

About ten minutes later, after sharpening the scythe, Stephan began to work.  He had managed to get a decent portion of the crop cut when he heard a voice cry out for him.  It was difficult to hear between the beating of the pulse in his head, but he could make it out to be Warren, his neighbour from a few fields away.  Passing through toward town, perhaps.  Stephane glanced up when he was sure that it was his name being called out.

"...phane, Stephane!  How do you do, neighbour?"

"I am quite fine," Stephane replied courteously, his head nodding toward the tanned, rugged man.

Warren removed his straw hat and then wiped at his brow.  "I see that you're reaping a strong harvest this year."  He motioned toward the long sheaves that Stephane left lying on the ground.

The man nodded slowly at Warren.  "We're fortunate..."  He propped his scythe up.  "Corn grows well in drier conditions, so we've stuck almost solely to it in this dry season."

"It's strange that you can get anything to grow at all, when the rest of the farmers have also tried corn, and have come up with nothing."  Warren had a bit of an edge to his voice as he scanned Stephane's farmland.

Stephane straightened his back.  "We're fortunate," he repeated.  "Lucky to have the food  that we've worked for.  We can feed ourselves and help out the rest of the village as well."

"Your wife... she works a lot on your fields as well.  She doesn't move the rocks from the field.  She doesn't fill in the earthen pits..."

Stephane stared, and waited for Warren to continue.  He glanced over the man's shoulder and saw a few more farmers approaching on him.  They were all familiar faces: Thomas, Johannes, Ludvig.  He was more surprised to see some women: Ludvig's wife Anna, her sister Lisa, and a third woman named Olivia, Jessica's mother.  The women wore crosses around their necks, and some of the men, he realised sarcastically, also wore pewter crosses as talismans.  He wondered what the convergence was about.  Warren waited until the others were behind him before he continued.  Stephane darted his eyes among the group, suspiciously eyeing them carefully.  "Okay.  What's up here?"

"I can sense it..." Olivia started, swinging her long, black straight hair out of her face.

Johannes spread his large shoulders.  "Your wife Isabelle visited us a few years back... after that, for two seasons, we weren't able to grow anything.  She took the rocks from our field and cleared them... yet, you seem to have many rocks on your own."

Stephane grit his teeth.  "What are you saying about Isabelle?" he started, a hand moving his scythe closer to his body.

Johannes crossed his arms, his tanned bare arms rippling.  "Isabelle visited us too... she took a lock of Mary's hair, and since then..."

"Mary had her hair cut by Isabelle," Stephane interrupted.  He glanced around at the crowd.  He had never thought of Isabelle as any sort of outcast, and her reluctance to go to the store today stood out in his mind.  Her tendency to want to do man's work ostracised her from some of the wives, who followed a tradition of cooking and cleaning, and her strong will was more than  the men could take from a women.  He was beginning to get the hints here.  "Look.  If what you're going to say is that my wife is in league with the Devil... you're wrong."  He waved his hand animatedly, cutting the air with it.  "Wrong!  My wife is not a witch!  I have not seen her practice any magic.  You have no proof that she practices magic!  You only speak against her because she is a little bit unique, and a little bit boisterous..."

"She ploughs your fields, and bewitches you to cook and clean for her.  She talks about the old gods and wields a sword." Ludvig grumbled.

Olivia tilted her head sideways.  "Your child... she shows the signs, too.  Too bawdy, too aggressive.  Too active and outgoing."  The woman narrowed her eyes at Stephane, studying him.  "Do you ever wonder... what happened to your first child?"

Stephane lowered his scythe.  The action was casual but threatening at the same time, because he could now swing it and catch them all in its blade.  He began to turn back to his work.  "Don't bring Chantelle into this... let her rest."

The long-haired woman lowered her head, but kept her pupils focussed on him from beneath half-closed eyelids.  "I see you still don't know..."

Thomas flicked Stephane a sympathetic gaze, stepping between Olivia and the farmer.  "I'm sorry, Stephane..." he started, letting out a sigh.  "We don't mean to be so offensive to you.  We've gotten carried away."

Oh, very much so, Stephane thought.  At least Thomas was being civil, as always, about the entire dealing.

Thomas continued to talk, his voice soft and gentle.  "My friend and neighbour... we come only to warn you about Isabelle's wicked deeds.  If you stay with her for any longer, then she will grasp a hold of you, fully.  She speaks too much blasphemy... knows too many rituals.  She will make Colette disappear.  She will make you disappear.  We want you to avoid the Devil's Eye... to waive off the Dark Mass and its temptations.  Evil takes many forms, and the face of beauty is one of them.  I know Isabelle... and her soul is vulnerable, like any of ours is."

Stephane found it slightly flattering that some other people still thought of Isabelle as beautiful.  It was strange because Thomas used to chase her when she was young.  The two used to be very good childhood friends until something happened in the forest, that fateful day.  Stephane wasn't there: he only knew that the two of them returned from the forests, beaten and bruised, Thomas nearly at his death, Isabelle the stronger of the two, supporting him.  They said that they were jumped by wildcats.  Back then, Stephane hadn't really had reason to doubt them, but now, noticing Thomas' reference to her, he began to wonder.

"Do you understand, Stephane...?  Protect yourself, and be careful... for yourself, and for Colette."  He offered a silver cross to Stephane, but Stephane only stared at it, and Thomas withdrew it, putting it back into his shirt wordlessly.  Thomas nodded to Stephane and then bowed shallowly toward him.  The others in the group awkwardly followed suit.

Stephane watched as they turned and walked away.  He finished his job outside: gathering the corn after they left, and when Isabelle returned from town, she seemed oblivious to any activity outside.  The topic had come up a few times before, and Isabelle had been quite good at convincing him that she was not truly a witch.  When he tried to bring it up today, Isabelle kissed him gently, and then held him tightly, her breath coming up short, her voice becoming tight with worry rather than fear, saying, "I wouldn't ever have made Chantelle disappear, /mon cher/ Stephane... never, ever... she died... swept away in the icy streams when she was playing in the forest.  What Olivia tells you is lies."  Then, she would smile and add, "The others are jealous of you.  Just because I'm outgoing and I have my own mind."

And Stephane believed her, because her omniscient eyes didn't flicker one bit when she said this, because her voice was even and unyielding, revealing no sign of nervousness or guilt.