I fell to my knees, gasping for air. I was exhausted; heavy physical exertion, combined with a lack of any decent rest and my own loss of blood, had sapped me of my strength. My eyes blinked desperately to rid themselves of the blood that dripped into them…
See the twinkling of the sta-ars… Even beneath the cold, drizzling gray clouds that called themselves the sky today, I was hot as hell. I felt like I was burning up inside my armor, like someone had lit a fire outside my breastplate and was trying to roast me to perfection. Sweat beaded my forehead, mingling with the blood from my various wounds. I reached up to pull off my helmet…
See them winking from afa-ars… I pulled off my helmet and sommer-saulted forward, avoiding a blow from behind. I then rose to face my adversary, who prepared his sword for another strike. He wore no armor, even though I did. He did, however, have a sword, whereas I had left mine in some poor bastard’s chest a while ago. In his mind, frenzied with battle-madness as it was, he was the one with the advantage, for what could I do without a weapon?
See them all, Venus to Ma-ars… Not much, I’ll have to admit, except I still had two.
I threw my helmet at him. In a show of bravado, the fool swung his blade, smashing it away as it flew at him. This, however, gave me the opening that I needed. Roaring, I rushed forward, my fists raised. I was wearing a pair of steel gauntlets, each one with a small bladed rim above the knuckles. They had been welded into the plate that guarded the back of the palm and didn’t look like much from a distance. They were, however, razor sharp, and a soldier’s best friend when a sword couldn’t fill that position.
First I grabbed his sword arm with my left hand and squeezed, drawing a strangled cry from my adversary. Then, holding it away from us, I punched him in the chest with my right hand. Feeling the ribs crack as blood spurted, I punched again and again, each time drawing another painful cry. Blood spattered my armor as I pummeled his chest into a red pulp, even after I knew he was dead. I just hated that man so much…
Finally, I let him fall and turned my attentions to a duel nearby. Two women were battling ferociously, one with a long, thin sword, the other with a pair of large meat-hooks. They circled as they fought, the first desperately trying to convince the second to cease her resisting, to come peacefully. I sighed, shaking my head sadly; after all this, she was still determined to save her. She just couldn’t accept the truth. anus
The battle was not going well for the woman with the sword, though. While she fought defensively, trying not to hurt her adversary, the other battled viciously, like a cyclone of whirling hooks and hatred. She was completely berserk and would kill her opponent if nothing was done to stop it…
I reached down…
Let… Grabbed the dead man’s sword…
Them… Raised it into the air…
Be… Prayed that my aim be true…
With… And let fly the blade.
Peace…
A week earlier…
Thatch
I leaned back on the side of the river, my fishing rod propped up in the mud. My straw hat shaded my eyes as I drifted slowly upon the line between sleep and – well, non sleep, I guess. I don’t know much about words, to tell it true; I’m just a fish-monger’s son.
My name is Thomas Trueman, although my nick-name is “Thatch”. I’m called this not only because of my hair, which is the color and feel of straw, but because I’m one of the few people in Homesdale who still lives in a thatched hut. I am thirteen years old; not yet a man, but no longer a boy. My only ambition in the world was to follow in my father’s footsteps and become a fishmonger, just like him. I like fish; they taste good, they smell good, they make great stews, and it’s even fun to catch them. That’s why I even fish during my free time, like now…
Suddenly, I saw the string grow taught, and knew that one of them had taken the bait.
Normally, my family fishes with boats and nets, but that’s just for catching the fish that we sell. For fun-fishing, I prefer using a fishing rod; when it bites, you get to wrestle the fish onto the land, to challenge yourself not to lose the rod. The harder they struggle, the more fun it is. And this one was a real fighter!
I grabbed the fishing rod before it was yanked out of the mud and pulled with all my might. For a while, the fish and I were locked in combat, each seeking to win over the other. The thrill of this fierce tug-of-war surged through me, giving strength to my arms as I pulled. Still, the fish was obviously a big one, and for once I found myself losing…
A muddy hand reached out from behind me and grabbed the fishing rod, holding it firmly. Then, with only the barest trace of effort, it pulled back, swinging the startled, gasping fish from the water and into my arms. I was so shocked that I let the fish drop onto the ground, where it wriggled around in the mud, gasping for breath. It was then that I saw the face to whom the hand belonged.
There, right behind me, was a bedraggled woman if I ever saw one. She wore a dirty, tattered skirt and sleeveless white shirt, as do most women from farming families. She couldn’t have been more than twenty-five, and though she was bedraggled, she still didn’t look all that bad. Her hair hung down in scraggly red locks, and her face was smeared with mud. Her face, though, was the most prominent thing about her; I don’t know if it was her staring, almost unblinking green eyes or her disquieting smile that told me there was definitely something abnormal about her.
“Um, hello,” I said, trying to be polite, “Thank you, milady. I’d have been pulled into the river if not for you.”
Still she kept staring and smiling as if I had said nothing. Feeling more than a little discomforted, I asked, “Are you well?”
She snapped to attention. “Hello,” she said, as if she were the one who had started the conversation, “Do you do what I do?”
Strange; could she have meant, “How do you do?” by that? Just in case, “I’m fine. You?”
She kept staring. She kept smiling. I kept wondering just what was happening. “Do you do what I do?” she asked again.
“Um, I don’t know,” I said, now thoroughly confused and more than a little discomforted by those staring green eyes and unceasing smile. “What do you do?”
“I suffer,” she responded cheerfully, “Do you suffer?”
“What?” I blurted, “Well, no, not really…”
“Yes you do,” she smiled, her hand drawing along the string that led to the fish, “Everybody does. Even this fish,” she bent down to tug the hook from its mouth, “Is suffering right now. It can’t breathe, you know, and it knows it. The wound in its mouth causes it pain, too, and the fear it feels for its death makes it suffer all the more.” She shuddered, the smile disappearing. “I can feel it now; feel its fear, its pain, its need to breath…it suffers, believe me, it does…” she turned and smiled frighteningly happily at him. “Do you want to suffer?”
I couldn’t answer. Her hand moved quick as a flash, swinging the fishing hook at my throat…
I fell back, gurgling blood as she stabbed me again and again. Blood – my blood! – spurted all over the place, covering everything in red. It did not take long for my senses to numb themselves to the pain, though, and for all the light to drain away from my world until all that remained was darkness…oh, the wonderful darkness…
Harold
It was never easy being Head Witch Hunter. You constantly have to be on the lookout for those conniving hags, arranging hunts and trials, finding reasons why the witch is guilty, and so on. There is no peace for the wicked, but the righteous don’t get much rest either when they have to keep it that way. Still, it was my duty help cleanse this world of those insufferable witches, and I’d never walk with a clean conscience again if I left it undone.
There are those, however, who are too blind to see even in the unwavering light of truth. Although the witch hunters hold a lot of power over these lands, their leaders (like myself) walking with political influence to rival that of the lords or clergymen, there are still small cities and towns that resist our power. One city in particular – named “Colmatrent” – holds out firmly against us, and all because of some stubborn ass of a watch commander. They are the ones who maintain order in that sinful hive, after all, and they are said to be unmatched in doing this. If it were up to me, the place would be burned to the ground, but alas!, that city simply has too large a standing army – not to mention the best city watch – to do so. The best we can do is send envoys to them to try and convince them of the folly of their ways. Failing that, we send preachers to yell in the streets and condemn its people to hell with loud, angry words. When that doesn’t work, all we can do is sit and fume at their insubordination.
It’s frustrating, really, how they manage to hold out. Despite all the propaganda we’ve spread throughout the land, rumors of the terrible witches, demons and other devilish beings that no-doubt lurk their streets, of the bloody sacrifices of virgin women and children that they no-doubt commit in their secret places of worship, of all the other depraved doings that they perform, the fact still remains that it never affects them. We’ve tried bribing bandits to cut off their trade routs – trade is a big part of life in Colmatrent. They don’t grow anything, but they do produce a large amount of manufactured goods, such as textiles, furniture, utensils, and the like. But the first (and last) time this happened, that town’s Watch Captain is said to have went out with only a few of his retinue to guard him and confronted our hired robbers…
I swear, I’ll never forget the sight of those robbers’ bodies hanging from the trees in the forest surrounding the town. And we could not hold it against the Captain either; the price of banditry is hanging, after all. Of course, some had been slain with swords first – one of them hung from two ropes, his top half from one, his bottom half from another – which was also a suitable punishment for banditry. And besides, were we, the witch hunters and defenders of the land from evil, who everybody trusted and adored (I’m sure they do), to admit that we had willingly engaged the services of lowlife cutthroats like those bandits? Surely not!
There were other important matters to attend to, though; just yesterday, a thirteen year old boy had been found hung like a fish from a tree, by the jawbone, ironically by what appeared to be his own fishing line, with his throat completely torn out. This could have been the doing of some insane murderer, but there could also have been fouler play involved. And thus I, the most powerful figure of authority in the area, had set out to do my duty and bring whoever had done this to justice.
At first I had found doing the job of some lowly city guard irritating, but eventually I learned something quite worth knowing. Regan Droil, one of our elite witch trackers, had come across tracks that could very well have been left by the murderer. The victim had been killed and hung in a very muddy place, but there were tracks in the mud leading away from his body to a road.
And that road happened to be the one that led through a forest.
And to the town of Colmatrent.
Meshima
Beams of light filtered through the branches of the trees as I walked along the old, beaten path, my sturdy old horse in tow. For my part, I wore a pair of brown woolen pants, a brown shirt, and an old, fraying brown cloak. It was best to wear these colors in the woods; they added camouflage to the short list of things I had going for me. If that didn’t work, then I always had my trusty weapon. Be not fooled by its appearances; though it seems a meager hiking stick, it is much more…
Hah! I know what you’re thinking. You’ve probably deduced the brilliant conclusion that I’m a witch who can use my little magic wand to cast spells that turn people into frogs or piles of horse-shit, no? Well, you’d be right about the witch part – that’s what many call my kind – but you’re dead wrong about the magic wand. In truth, it’s actually a nifty little invention; a rather new one, too. There is a long, thin sword’s blade sheathed within the staff, which can be pulled out at will to defend oneself. In skilled hands, this sort of weapon can be used to deadly effect.
Most witches don’t carry weapons, it is true. I have, though, heard of tales of seekers – witches who go out to rescue their sisters – who are captured by the ruthless witch hunters, and what happened to them. I will never let those things happen to me – at least, not without a fight.
This day I had been sent on an extremely high-priority mission for the coven to find and return an especially “gifted” witch. Every witch has a gift, you see, which is passed onto another after her death. Mine is the gift of Understanding; simply by hearing the voice of somebody, I understand who they are, the reasoning behind their actions, and yes, even the entire content of what they’re saying. It’s a surprisingly useful gift; there is so little understanding in this world, and the Witch Hunters are the best example of that.
But if anyone could understand and bring to peace the witch I was after, it was me. This poor soul was a unique one indeed; like many others before her, she saw suffering with the vivid intensity of which it is felt by the sufferer. Still, for some unexplained reason, her gift was different; it was a mutation, I guess you could call it. While most witches who saw suffering feel only the suffering of the one they touch, her inheritance causes her to feel suffering as it happens to those around her – and that means all of those around her. And this does not merely apply to humans, either; if even an ant is crushed under some careless pedestrian’s boot, she will know of every feeling that buzzes through the creature’s limited brain as it dies.
This would be a very unfortunate “gift” indeed.
The last time in history something like this happened, the victim had been driven to madness by all of the suffering she saw around her at every moment and had taken her own life for grief. Suffering had consumed her entire world until it was the only thing she believed in, and the same had obviously happened here. However, this one had still been alive for months after the inheritance, which called into being another, even more horrifying theory.
There was no doubt that this witch’s entire world had been consumed by the terrible agony of all those around her. However, it was speculated that this one, through sheer force of will to quell the suffering – or at least hold it at bay – had learned to take some perverse pleasure in the suffering of others. This was why she had to be reached as soon as possible; the witch was potentially dangerous, and may even have been about to cause some suffering herself…
And so I traveled through the woods. It would only be about a day until I reached her most probable destination; Colmatrent, one of the last free-thinking cities in these lands.
Suldir
I leaned back in my chair, swinging my hard, metal-toed leather boots up onto my desk as I did so. I wore the normal watchman’s garb at the moment; woolen pants, iron breast plate, leather boots (the iron toe was my innovation), and that damned itchy tunic. The thing that separated me from the other watchmen of Colmatrent, though, was a big, fancy helmet with a big, colorful plume poking out of it. It showed that I, Suldir Solgersson, was captain of the City Watch, and lay on the desk amongst the other crap that littered it. I never liked that foppish piece of dog-shit anyway.
It hadn’t been the most action-packed day my long, storied life had ever seen. Or at least, my life seems pretty long and storied. I’m actually only 35 years old, living with my wife, Senna, and my son and daughter, Sul and Sammy (S’s run in the family, it seems). Before I had settled down and married, though, I had been a soldier, and a damn good one at that. I had spent several years off fighting in foreign lands for the “glory of my country”. Hah, “glory”; what a joke! As if this bloody hole’s got any more glory than any other nation in the world.
When I had signed up, I thought that I was off to win fame and fortune for myself and my country. I thought that I was an individual, not just another face in the army of young fools like me who thought the same thing. Turns out, I actually was different from most of them.
And by that I mean, I came back alive.
7 years’ service taught me many important lessons about life. For instance, it taught me that war isn’t glorious, killing isn’t glorious, and just because soldiers are on your side doesn’t mean they’re any better than the enemy. I’ve seen the men who served in the same armies as I kill innocent peasants, burn their fields, rape their wives and daughters, and do all of the things that we supposedly hated their country for doing to us. The difference? We were doing it to them this time. We were showing that we were just as bad.
Not all soldiers were bad people, though; I’ve made several friends during those bloody campaigns. There was Loggar, son of Timbur (a logging family). He was a big fellow I had known and been friends with since childhood. We formed a sort of fighting duo; he wore the boot, and I show him the ass to put it to. Don’t get me wrong; I’m perfectly capable of handling myself in a fight. It’s just that, well, Loggar can handle himself better. It’s why he gets the two-handed sword that’s almost as long as me, and I get the puny little long sword.
The next was Connor, son of Conrad and Conchetta (C’s seem to run in his family). He had started out as my corporal, three years my senior, but he was still corporal when I became his sergeant. I still tease him about it occasionally, even today; “As you say, corporal,” or “Just ‘sarge’ is fine, thank you.” Still, he’s a good fighter whose area of expertise lies in the axe – or just plain brawling with his fists. I’ve never seen a man fist-fight like him, and he’s a good person to boot.
Then there was Sam – no last name that we know of. He’s the quiet, reserved one, hanging in the background and watching how things happen. If something bad starts, the person who starts it had best be either immune to a crossbow bolt ‘twixt the eyes or ready with a measurement of their coffin size. Still, he wasn’t a bad man either; otherwise I wouldn’t have befriended him.
After we left the army, we decided as a group to go and look for work together. Eventually, we found the city of Colmatrent and enlisted for the city watch. My ascent to the level of captain was surprisingly fast; I just had a knack for the job. Loggar made drill sergeant for the new boys, Sam seemed content as a mere constable, and Connor, ironically, hasn’t moved from the rank of corporal for 8 years.
They hadn’t been my only friends, though. There had been others – Kyle, Jip, Nochtol, Terrance... I had liked them, called them friend, buddy, pal, whatever, it all means the same thing. All were dead, though; some of them I had only heard of dying, and others I had watched die with my very own eyes…
But those days were over. Things weren’t going too badly these days; I had a good job that I was good at, a good family, and the ability to keep things that way so long as I could stave off those damned witch hunters.
Speaking of which, I was brought back to reality by the sound of obnoxiously loud shouting coming from the town square. Sighing, I swung my feet off of my desk and got up, straightening my pants and putting on my helmet as I did so. One of the things that I didn’t like about watchmen’s equipment was the fact that it was, well, watchmen’s equipment. One of the few good things about the army was that you got to wear armor that actually protects you. As it was, my helmet might protect me against a crossbow bolt – if the archer missed. Otherwise, I’d be dead. Still, my breastplate is the one that I used in the army. It’s out-dated, but hey! – it’s better than nothing.
I stepped out of the building and started my journey towards the source of the yelling. Naturally, a crowd of inquisitive bystanders had shown up, patrons of the art of street-theatre. In the town square was a preacher – dammit, how I hate them! It’s bad enough they have to go around forcing their delusions on everybody else, but do they always have to do it so loudly? I wouldn’t even complain so much if they weren’t constantly preaching about stupid crap like heretics and demons and how they’re going to burn us to cinders before burying us alive (yes, you heard that right) and offering our souls to devils. So far, I’ve never seen anything like this happen, and I doubt that it ever will.
What they needed was someone to put a foot to their pious asses, and this time, like all others, it was I who was wearing the boot.
I pushed my way through the crowd until I had reached the centre. There, upon a large wooden crate, stood the preacher. Typical; big, fat, cowled in a gray robe, with a badge in the shape of a triangle (supposedly a witch-ward) over his heart. At this, I had to smirk; if the man had come with the intention of causing more trouble than necessary, he was just inviting one of Sam’s arrows. Still, he didn’t look like he cared much about the consequences of his actions. He was one of those preachers with a fat, red face, a large, booming voice (just once I’d like to see them send a reedy little bugger who would lose a shouting match to a moth) and, worst of all, the angry look of misguided righteousness that I’ve seen in the eyes of so many before him.
I stood before the man on top of his crate and looked up, crossing my arms over my chest and adopting a casual stance. The preacher paused in mid-tirade to glare down at me. “And you are the Watch Captain?” he snarled with so much venom, it was practically dripping from his jowls and down his 1…2…3 chins.
“Aye,” I responded nonchalantly.
“FIEND!” he roared, “WATCHMAN WHO DOES NAUGHT BUT WATCH HIS OWN CITY FALL INTO THE HANDS OF THE WITCHES AND HERETICS! WATCHMAN WHO DOES NAUGHT BUT WATCH AS SIN AND STRIFE CONSUME YOUR PEOPLE! WATCH YOU DO, BUT MAN YOU ARE NOT! YOU ARE NAUGHT BUT A FILTHY DEVIL, YOU VILE ADDER! HEAR ME, YOU PEOPLE, YOU HAVE ELECTED TO KEEP A DEMON AND A HEATHEN FOR THE CAPTAIN OF YOUR VERY TOWN GUARD! ARE YOU HAPPY, YOU SCUM? YOU VILLIANS? ARE YOU…”
I sighed, rolling my eyes. I had expected no less from this maniac. Instead, I looked down at the crate upon which he stood. Hollow, not very sturdy either, especially with a fat fock like that preacher standing on it. The box looked like it would give way any second, landing his fat ass on the ground.
One kick from my iron-toed boot helped that process considerably.
The preacher got up, his red face turned even darker crimson from the laughter of the crowd. For my part, I just smirked as he brushed down his robe, rallying what was left of his dignity for a final assault on the castle of common sense. “You,” he growled at me, waggling a finger in my direction, “Are a low-down, loathsome, soul-selling sodomite and demon worshipper.”
“Really?” I smirked, “What proof do you have of this?”
This made him stop and think for a bit. Then he continued, “How could you do this? You sell your own city into the hands of evil! And why? Do you not know that witches lurk around every corner? Do you not know that demons and monsters do guide their actions, and dance naked with them at their perverted rituals and orgies? Do you not know that they sell their souls for the darkest of power? Do you not know of all this?”
“I’ve heard of it,” I muttered, “And quite frankly, I am unconvinced. How do you tell who’s a witch, anyway? I’ve heard that people who worship devils are witches, that's a given. I’ve also heard that women who enjoy the advances of men may be suspected of witchcraft…”
“Yes!” the preacher agreed triumphantly, “Witches are all filthy adulteresses who crave the unnatural physical pleasures of this world, and seek to use them to lure men into Hell’s claws!”
“..and I’ve also heard that women who do not enjoy the advances of men may be suspected of witchcraft as well.”
“Yes, indeed,” the preacher agreed again, “To ply their wicked trade their bodies must be completely pure of everything save for the raw evil of the magic they…” he stopped, realizing that the trap had been set, and he had just fallen into it.
I grinned. “So,” I chuckled, “Let me get this straight; witches are whores who constantly seek to receive sexual ecstasy so that they can weave the evil magic that can only be done by someone who’s as celibate as your average saint, am I right?” My grin widened as he fumbled with his words, trying to conjure a response.
Aware that the eyes of the masses were upon him, the preacher eventually came back with “Is it not said in the Book of the Gods that ‘you shall not suffer a witch to live?’ ”
“Not really, actually,” I said, “A more correct translation of the word “witch” is “poisoner”; those people can do terrible damage if they get at the village well.”
“Oh?” the preacher snarled, “Then what about the one that specifically, in no uncertain terms, tells us to slay any and all magicians, and that includes witches! They are all our enemies and must all be purged!”
“Oh?” I snarled, suddenly feeling a lot less humorous, “And have you ever seen a real witch? Have you ever seen anybody do what you say witches do? Have you ever seen witches dance with naked animals and perform bloody sacrifices? What’s that? No? I didn’t think so, and do you know why? BECAUSE THERE IS NO-SUCH-THING-AS-WITCHES!”
The man and the entire audien- er, crowd, all stared in shock as I continued, “Every day terrible things happen here and everywhere else. Soldiers destroy villages, people die of sickness and plague, bandits waylay travelers on the roads, people steal from one another, quarrel with one another, even kill one another. Things that cause all of this are the real enemy, not some poor girl who either likes or dislikes the stems seeking her flower! Thieves, murderers, enemy soldiers, and plagues are our enemy and the things we should be fighting against because they exist. Witches and demons and devils and little goblins that go bump in the night, however, do NOT exist, SO WHY THE HELL ARE WE FIGHTING AGAINST THEM? We don’t need to fear the hell that you say they bring, oh no – as long as bigoted assholes like YOU are around, we’ve got enough hell for all!”
I unsheathed my blade and pointed it at his throat. “Now I’m going to break that little commandment you told me about,” I snarled, “And, poisoner of minds you may be, I’m going to let you live. Be warned, though; if I ever see you in my city again, well, let’s just say my sword and your neck are doing dinner.” With that I lowered my sword and pointed down a street with my left hand. “That street will lead you to the gates. Now GET OUT.”
Wordlessly, the preacher stalked away with as much stiffness as his jiggling mass could manage. I watched him for a while, then shouted “ASSHOLE!” after him just to make him jump from surprise. This being done, I turned to the crowd. “Nothing to see here, folks, nothing to see here. Move along there, move along.”
Gradually, the crowd dispersed, leaving me alone in the streets. I sighed, letting my shoulders drop, and then started off back to my office. It hadn’t done any good, I knew; the mental wall of bullshit surrounding that preacher’s mind had been shaken, but it wouldn’t take long for his zealous ignorance to build it up even higher and thicker than before. He would never come back to this city – I actually would kill him if he did – but he would go back to where he came from hailing tales of an evil city of sin and vice, shouting of how we had shied away from the light of his “redemption” like roaches from an open flame. Every imperfection with the city – and this city had a few – would be told to be a hundred times worse than it actually was. It was a sad thing that this would have to happen, but there was no stopping it. All I could do was what I could to at least keep this city safe.
Loggar and Connor soon joined me as I walked back to my office, who accompanied me back to my office. Those two were all grins right now, one on each side, congratulating me on how I’d handled that sorry bastard back there.
“We saw the whole thing,” Connor told me, “Man, that pig fell quicker than most of them ever do! Loud, dumb and overzealous, just like most of ‘em, eh?”
“Yeah,” Loggar chuckled, “I could outsmart that moron!”
I had to smile. Loggar was big, muscular, as good with a sword using his left hand as he was with his right, and surprisingly friendly and patient, too. Still, he wasn’t very smart, and he knew it, too. He couldn’t even read; no matter how hard I had tried to teach him, he just couldn’t seem to get the grasp of letters. He wasn’t stupid, though; being dumb doesn’t make you stupid. Trying to burn an innocent person because you think they’re a witch makes you stupid.
“So,” I asked, “You two and Sam were just watching the entire thing? I’m surprised you didn’t join in yourselves – and where is Sam, anyway?”
“His next child’s due today, remember?” Loggar said, “He says he’s sure that this one is it, but let’s face it; it’s probably gonna be another daughter.”
“Yeah,” Connor laughed, rubbing his hands together, “I’ve got good money on it being a girl this time, just like the other 7. Placed the bet with Sam himself; he’s pretty sure, though.”
I nodded. Sam’s daughters were famous throughout the Watch. Apparently, the way S’s are tradition in my family and C’s are tradition in Connor’s, “Sam” is a traditional name for people in Sam’s family. Of course, no san man is going to call his daughter Sam (mine’s named Sammy, so shut up), and of course Sam loves all of his children. Still, I know he wants someone to carry on the family name, if only for the sake of tradition. He’s been trying to get a son for years (somehow I get the impression that his wife doesn’t mind this one bit). I doubt that he’d have one this time, but maybe he would get lucky.
“Well,” I suggested, “Maybe we should visit him, see if what’s happened.”
“Sure,” Connor replied, “When are we free?”
We had finally come to my office. I threw my helmet on the table and turned to them. “How about now?” I asked.
The Preacher
My journey out of Colmatrent, the city of Evil, led me through the poor quarter. I have to admit, I was still shocked by the haranguing delivered by their villainous Watch Captain, yet still I could not ignore what was around me.
Sin. Scum. Evil. It was all over the place, thick as the squalor of these streets. Refuse stained the tiles – filthy! – and poor, unkempt men and women walked around, smelling as though they wished to make a ripe corpse jealous. Children played in the streets, the poor wretches. They played and laughed, not knowing that in their infancy their souls had probably been promised to the devils, so that they would grow up to be just as wicked and immoral as their wretched parents. That’s what witches do, you know; they help the woman give birth to the child in the guise of a midwife, then bring it to another room to “warm” it. And it is there that they consign the poor baby’s innocent soul to Hell, I’ll tell you that! They do it at every opportunity! Always are they after our very souls, and they will do anything to get what they’re after.
I jumped in shock as something wet and rancid poured down upon me from above. I looked up to see that someone in a building beside me had just emptied their cess bucket right above my head. Shaking my fist, I yelled, “Curse you, you vile sinner! May vile excretion fall upon you with twice the force!”
“Get ye gone, asshole,” a voice from above shouted, “We don’ need yew or yer damn witches!”
“My witches?” I scoffed, “It is you and your sinful kind that does harbor their scum!”
A man walking on the street nearby stopped and scowled at me. “Look, mate,” he snarled, “I’m poor’s the piss all o’er yer head, see, an’ so’re most o’ us in the poor quarter. ‘S ‘ard enough jus’ ter make an ‘alf-decent livin’ wi’out ‘avin’ ter wurry ‘bout wastin’ good firewood burnin’ some bitch yew don’ like. So do us all a favor an’ fock off, ‘right?”
I scowled at him, the righteous anger in my eyes not even fazing his sinning soul, and then continued towards the gates. Eventually, I came to a place where the streets were deserted of all people. It was still part of the poor quarter – I could tell by the slipshod housing, and the infernal reek of sin and poverty. It was then that I rounded a corner and tripped on something odd.
As I got up to see what it was that had caused me to fall down, I could not help but cry out for shock. Right there, in the street, was a dead body. It was that of an old woman, widowed by the look of her clothes. She was probably a seamstress, to, because of the overturned basket of thread and scattered needles. Her throat had been torn out, as if by some heinous demon’s teeth…
Something moved behind me. I whirled about with a startled gasp to meet whatever horror waited for me behind my back. And there, to my terror, stood another woman, this one with dirty clothes, red hair, and a mouth stained with what could only be the poor old widow’s blood. She raised her right fist, which, as my fearful eyes told me, had a long, sharp sowing pin between each of her four fingers.
“Hello,” she smiled cheerfully, “Do you do what I do?”
Sam
Seeing my wife giving birth was not a new experience for me. I had seen it several times before, but I wouldn’t have missed this one for the world. I loved all of my daughters; little bundles of joy, all of them. Still, I wanted a son, if only for the sake of tradition. I wouldn’t hate this child if it was born a girl, though, but I still hoped that this would be a son.
My wife, Jaina, was a wonderful woman. She was, in actuality, quite exuberant and excitable, in contrast to my calm demeanor. Still, I loved her, and I knew she felt likewise about me. All of our daughters were spitting images of her very personality, which wasn’t a bad thing. They were nice girls with good hearts, and were all my daughters. Still, I knew that they would only ever truly be their mother’s children; I knew they preferred her, and why not? They were more like her. I could understand that.
Still, it would be nice to have a child to truly call my own; someone who was more like me. Hopefully, this one would be it…
Before I knew it, the child was born. The birth had gone flawlessly, as I knew it would. I had gotten the best midwife in the city to deliver the child; I never took any chances with the safety of my wife or children. The midwife then handed me the baby, and I took it as gently as my hands could.
Just then, Suldir, Loggar and Connor burst into the room. “So,” Suldir asked, “Has she been born yet?” I didn’t even answer; I just stared into my baby’s calm, blue eyes. It hadn’t cried a bit since it had been handed to me, I noticed…
“Uh, Sam?” Connor chuckled, “You ready to pay up yet?”
I snapped back to reality and turned to face them slowly. My eyes were stained with tears, and I couldn’t restrain my smile. “Not now, Connor,” I said, choked with happiness, “Guys, I want you to meet Sam, my son.”
Suldir
Suffice it to say, our meeting with Sam was short-lived. Constable Colon Petry had rushed in on us while we were congratulating him to report a mass-murder which had occurred in the poor quarter. It was my duty to go and do something about it, so that I did.
Leaving Sam behind with his new bundle of joy, I followed after Colon with Loggar and Connor in tow. The crime scene was surrounded with Watchmen, and the sight that greeted our eyes when we came upon it was terrible. Several bodies had been found on the streets, although there didn’t seem to be any connection between them. None of them were related, none of them shared a common trade, none of them probably even knew who the other was. It was as if somebody had just gone through the streets killing anyone who got in their way.
Great, I thought, surveying the bodies that had been lined up before me, All I need right now is a demented killer to deal with. This is not a usual thing to have happen, even in a city like this. In my experience, it’s usually only enemy soldiers who go around killing people randomly in the streets. Most murderers are normal people who no one would have suspected; men who struck their wives or children a bit too hard, people trying to call in a debt but not receiving repayment, some bloke who carried a minor issue with someone else too far, wives who catch their husbands in the act of disloyalty, and so on. No matter who they are, though, they all have the same thing in common; they all have a reason for doing what they did. No matter how small or large, there’s always a reason with them.
I didn’t think that there was any reason behind these murders, though. This was random violence; some lunatic had come into my city in order to kill my people just for the hell of it! Worse than witch hunters, these kinds of people; at least witch hunters are selective in who they kill.
Speaking of witch hunters, it also came to my attention that the latest victim had been that fat old preacher I had yelled at earlier today. He had been found in close proximity to one of the other bodies, that of an old widowed seamstress. It was lucky that he had caught my eye, too; his corpse was an unusual sight.
I bent down near the old man’s head. His eyelids were half closed, his eyes just staring listlessly. Blood had welled up in his mouth and dribbled down his chins to stain his old robe. Examining him carefully, I saw what had killed him; in his throat had been stuck sewing needles, like those found near the seamstress.
It was the fact that he had been killed by a weapon that set him apart from the rest. The other victims had all been killed without the use of weapons; strangulation, trauma to the skull – one even had her throat bitten out! – but there wasn’t a single fresh knife-wound among them. I called my men together for a discussion.
“All right, boys,” I said, “What we’re dealing with her is a certified lunatic. He’s probably not armed, as is shown by these peoples’ manners of death. This is good and bad at the same time; good because if we’re going to have a serial murderer in our city, we don’t want him to have a weapon, but bad because we have little way of knowing who the perpetrator is.”
“Actually,” Constable Dole, one of the new boys, said in his classic peasant’s accent, “I think whoe’er it is’ll be a bit more rec’nizable ‘n that.”
“Oh?” I responded, “How so?” It’s sometimes so cute to watch the boys act like men…
“Well,” Dole said, “I no’iced that there’s dried mud an’ filth on the victims’ clothin’. Whoe’er did this ‘ad to get pre’y close up, an’ dirt from ‘is clothes’ll get all o’er the victim.” He paused, then added, “If’n ‘e’s dirty, that is.”
I nodded. Not bad. The kid had the makings of a good cop. “Right you are,” I said, “So, we need to find this madman…”
“Uh, sir?” Loggar butted in.
“Yes, sergeant?” I responded. Loggar never interrupted me while giving a briefing unless something was really important. Especially when he referred to me as “sir”.
“We’ve found a witness, sir,” the big man said, ushering forth a small, frightened little boy, “He says he hid and watched while the killer did all of this. The killer isn’t a madman, sir; it’s a madwoman.”
* * * * *
I started on my way home late that night. The entire Town Watch was on alert for the murderess. Aw hell, the entire town was on alert. In retrospect, that wasn’t such a good thing; rumors about there actually being witches were starting to spread, as everybody knows there’s no such thing as a demented killer, right? Psh, gimmie a break.
My city is, in truth, no better or worse than any other. Crimes still happen, unfortunate accidents as well. The only thing that makes us different is the fact that we don’t pounce on stupid scapegoats for our problems, and instead get right down to fixing what is wrong.
That’s all witches are, I thought, Just scapegoats. And now that the preacher’s got the people all riled up with talk of witchcraft, followed by the recent killings by an insane woman, the people are starting to take those silly tales more seriously. Well, if they wanted to start witch hunting, they could haul their asses out of my town. As long as I was Watch Captain, my city would remain free of witch hunters, scapegoats, and all other manner of bullshit. In a crazy world like this, someone has to be sensible…
A ruckus sounded from a building nearby. I turned my head to look at whatever had made the noise. What I saw was Franklyn Marx’s “Ye Olde Bucher Shoppe”, spelled as it was out of sheer spite for our language. There were sounds of a scuffle coming from inside, and someone cried out. Drawing my sword, I rushed to investigate.
I kicked down the door – I love my iron-toed boots – and stepped into the building, sword clasped in both hands. The scene inside was illuminated by a lamp which had been spilled all over the floor, lighting the floorboards on fire. Franklyn, the host of this establishment, now lay dead, his guts spilled across the floor. A figure in a bedraggled, bloodied and muddied dress stood over him, staring intently at his corpse. I couldn’t see here face – her red hair fell down over it – but it was certainly clear that she had been the murderer. She stood there, as guilty as the bloody meat-cleaver in her hand…
“You!” I shouted in my most authoritative voice, “Stop in the name of the law! Put that cleaver down and come peacefully, or I will not be responsible for my actions! Comply immediately!”
The fancy-talk didn’t do much good. She just looked up at me, smiled, and said, “Do you do what I do?”
“If you mean kill people,” I snarled, taking a cautious step forward, “Then yes, I have done what you do. I don’t do it to normal, defenseless people like you do, though; I’ve only ever killed soldiers, bandits, murderers, people who actually know how to fight worth a damn. So don’t think you stand one bit of a chance against me, lady, or it’s your head!”
The woman kept smiling. “I know you have killed people,” she said, “I can feel their suffering all over you. You’re rank with it. I can also, feel, though, exactly how you caused them to suffer.” She adopted a soldier’s fighting stance. “You’ve taught me much.”
There was nothing for it now. I would have to bring her down myself. Lunging, I swung my blade over my right shoulder and at her neck. She ducked under it and charged, ramming her shoulder into my breastplate – that was one of my moves! She didn’t have my shoulder, though, and didn’t take my breastplate into account. Thus, I wasn’t barreled into the wall, but she at least knocked me back a few steps.
It was then that she swung with her cleaver. I brought my sword up and blocked it, then kicked out with my iron-toed boot. The madwoman jumped back, then surged forward again. She feinted a blow to her right, then switched the cleaver to her left hand and drew a large red gash across my right arm. I gasped, briefly remembering someone else who had done this to me. It had been an enemy soldier, ambidextrous like Loggar, who had switched hands with his weapon during combat and hit me a good blow to the shoulder-guard. I had been trying to block to my left where I thought the attack would come from when this happened, but quickly brought my blade right and sliced off his head. Maybe…
I swung in the exact same arc that I had used to decapitate that ambidextrous man so long ago. I saw the sword flash through the air towards the woman’s neck…
And I saw her bend backwards, the sword’s blade barely catching the skin on her nose. I couldn’t believe it; she had seen it coming!
The force of the swing, combined with the shock of what had just happened, carried me around a bit further than I had intended. Still, I recovered easily and brought my blade over my head and down at the madwoman. She dodged aside, letting my sword plant itself firmly in the floorboards, switched the cleaver over to her right hand again, and struck a blow that would have surely lopped off my head had I not jumped back just in time.
So, there I was, in a room with a dead butcher, a sword stuck in the floorboards a few feet away, a psychotic woman who seems to know every move I ever used in a fight standing between it and me, and, just for kicks, the room had become the makings of a blazing inferno. Great. Just great.
The madwoman seemed to notice the flames growing around us as well. “I know people suffer,” she said, “And I also know how they suffer, and what would make them suffer even more.” She then gave me a smile so wide, bright and happy, I had to gulp in disbelief. “I know how to make you really suffer.”
With that, she charged into me, barreling me over, and disappeared out the door.
* * * * *
It didn’t take long to gather up the night watchmen and commence the hunt. A fire brigade was assembled to put out the fire at Ye Olde Bucher Shoppe, and I myself led the chase.
It wasn’t easy, I’ll tell you that. The woman was clearly insane, but she was fast too. Combined with the fact that we had no idea where she would go or what she would do next, it was basically a run-through-the-streets-and-hope-we-get-lucky sort of hunt. I can tell you this also, what happened next was by no means lucky.
Her words “I know how to make you really suffer.” rang in my head the entire time. Perhaps she was going after my family? I sent several soldiers to my house just in case. It soon became apparent, though, that it wasn’t my family that the madwoman was after.
The hunt brought us past Sam’s house. There was no time to hesitate; Sam was the best archer in town, and I needed his skills. His wife could take care of her child herself for a while. If he was urgently needed, nothing would stop Sam from doing his duty.
I knocked on his door. Receiving no answer, I knocked down his door. I then ran up the stairs to the second floor, where he and his wife had their bedroom. I barged in to witness a terrible spectacle; his daughters were all there, crying their eyes out. His wife, Jaina, lay fainted on the bed. And there, beside the bed, knelt Sam, crying into a small bundle of blue cloth, which obviously held the baby.
The cloth was stained red.
“Oh gods…” I gasped.
Sam
I had loved my son. From the first time I had laid eyes on him, I knew he was different from my other children; that he was like me. I knew that he would grow up into a good person. I just knew it.
Apparently, I was wrong. He’d never grow up at all, now; he’d never get the chance.
I guess I’ll start from the beginning. I had left our little Sam in Jaina’s care while I checked on the girls. As I returned, though, something came shooting up the stairs so fast that it smashed me into the wall. I had blacked out momentarily, and when I came to I heard the distressed wailing of my daughters coming from my bedroom. Still disoriented, I had stumbled in to see what had happened.
I gently pushed my way through the crowd of frightened girls and knelt beside my wife’s bed. She had fainted from shock, but something was still held loosely in her arms.
The baby. The baby was dead.
As my wife would tearfully inform me later, some terrible woman, smiling crazily and swinging a bloody meat cleaver, had stormed in, ended my son’s life with one hack, and jumped out of the window. I didn’t blame my wife for not doing anything; how could she? She had been nursing him when it happened, and didn’t even expect it when the murderess bore down upon her.
So there you have it. That’s how my son, my only son, had died. It hadn’t affected my daughters too badly – he had gone before they could become to attached to him – and my wife would even get over it in time. I would eventually recover as well, although something in my heart still mourns the loss of that one child who was truly my son…
Even my sadness soon subsided. It was not long before I stopped wanting to cry over my son’s death, and started wanting to kill the one who had caused it.
Suldir
According to witnesses, the madwoman had fled through the North Gate of the city. We couldn’t just let her get away, though; the blood of several people, including Sam’s newborn child, stained her hands, and who was to say that she wouldn’t resort to banditry in the forest around Colmatrent?
Besides, word would reach the other cities that a madwoman had slain one of their preachers in our city. Naturally, the witch hunters would go after this issue, claiming their agent’s death to be the responsibility of heathens and witches. Who knows? Open war could even be declared on our city, with that fat old ass of a preacher being used as a martyr for their cause. And so one of the last bastions of sensibility would fall under the crushing power of ignorance and fear – if I didn’t make a show of going after the madwoman and bringing her to justice…oh hell, who am I kidding?
Although the reasons I’ve already stated are what I’d tell everybody, they were not the main reasons. The main reason was the sight of Sam kneeling there beside his bed, crying uncontrollably as he held the lifeless body of his murdered son. The poor kid’s death had struck us all pretty hard in the City Watch, and none of us would let the murderess get away with her crimes. By the end of this entire thing, that woman would be hanging from the long-unused gibbet in the town square, her rotting body swaying in the breeze as a warning to other criminals.
That morning I briefed the crew I was taking with me on our plans. There were 15 of them, all bachelors – except for Sam, who insisted on coming along. Aside from him, there was Loggar, Connor, and a bunch of guys from the poor quarter. They were the toughest of theirs, and if anyone was fit to take down that madwoman, it was them.
It was also that morning that another report was brought to my attention. Apparently, the meat cleaver wasn’t the only thing the murderess had stolen from Franklyn; several of his knives had not been accounted for. With an inventory of even those paltry weapons, I know that I, for my part, could do some serious damage. No doubt that madwoman could do just as much.
We left at noon that day after all preparations had been made. All the supplies we needed for the journey had been packed into satchels which each of us carried. I donned my old suit of armor, said goodbye to my family, promised them I’d be back before too long, and left with the guys. At the last minute, I had Constable Dole bring a message to the ruler of our city telling him about our intentions. I may as well not have bothered; the ruler and I have a certain manner of interaction (namely I lay down the law and he lets me), so sending someone to clue him in on my activities was probably a useless endeavor. And with that we were off.
Meshima
I sat down on the roadside to quickly review my map. I was now about an hour’s walk from Colmatrent, so I probably wouldn’t meet any witch hunters on the last leg of the journey. And if I did, well, I felt quite certain that I could easily handle any one of those bigoted bastards. I knew that I was, in truth, quite anxious to put my sword to the test; if anyone truly understands their own emotions, it’s me.
The sound of approaching footsteps made me look up to see who was coming. What I saw was a small group of armed and lightly armored men, led by four men bedecked in military armor. I rose to my feet and stood before them, my staff clutched tightly. “Greetings,” I said, “Who are you?”
The man at the front of the group, a 35 year old soldier with a long sword in his belt, called a halt to the group. “My name is Suldir,” he told me, “And these are the some of the watchmen of the city of Colmatrent.”
From those 17 words I gleaned almost everything I needed to know about this man and his personality. He was a good man by most accounts – a natural leader, a man of action, an honest, straight-forward to the point of almost being blunt kind of person, yet still someone who always kept his wits about him, and a lot of wits did this man have, too. He was a loving husband and father with 1…2 children, as well. I also sensed in him a certain sensibility that was so rare in most people I met; this was not just some ignorant sheep who followed the rest of the panicked flock, but the shepherd who tried to bring it back to order.
These were not the only things I saw in him. I also saw a life of violence, hardship and death in his past. Truly, much of what he was today had been forged in the furnace of the battlefield, sculpted by the hammering blows of enemy swords upon his own flesh and that of his friends. This man had known injury, loss, sorrow, all the feelings that swirl within soldier who sees the ugly face of real war.
“I am looking for somebody,” I told them, “And it is imperative that I find her as soon as possible. Her name is Kiri. She will have red hair, green eyes, a bedraggled look, and is potentially dangerous.”
Suldir nodded. “We’re looking for her as well,” he said. I understood full well what this meant.
“But you cannot harm her!” I told him, “Her condition is not of her own doing! I have been sent to find her so that I can bring her back to my superiors. We can mend her, I just know it. She’s unpredictable, and could very well be dangerous…”
“She is dangerous,” Suldir interrupted. Those two words said it all. I now knew that she not only had the potential to kill, but already had repeatedly…
“Nevertheless,” I maintained, “I have been charged with finding her and bringing her back to my superiors to be mended. You must understand, we…”
“And I have been charged with finding her and bringing her back to Colmatrent to be hung,” Suldir barked, “Murder is a crime, and cases like this are punishable by death. We won’t draw it out or put her through any unnecessary pain…”
“I can’t allow it.” I stated firmly.
“Oh yeah?” Suldir growled, his hand straying to his blade, “And you’re going to stop me?”
My blade was out in a flash. Unfortunately, all of the watchmens’ blades shot out of their own sheaths, and soon I was facing what might as well have been an army of men with blades. One of the soldiers at the front pointed a crossbow at me.
“I don’t think you know exactly what that bitch you’re hunting has done,” the archer snarled, barely surpressing his rage, “My first – my only – son was born yesterday. And just last night, do you know what that lunatic did? She barged into my house and killed him! For no reason! Just for the sake of making people suffer!”
The man was yelling by now, and tears were starting to stream from his eyes. The other men looked at him in awe; they obviously weren’t accustomed to seeing him like this. “I didn’t deserve this, dammit!” the man cried out angrily, “My wife didn’t deserve this! My daughters didn’t deserve this! My son especially didn’t deserve this!” he lowered his crossbow, reigning himself in. When he spoke again, his voice was a low, trembling growl. “When I find her, I’m not giving us Suldir the chance to capture her. I intend to put an arrow right through her heart and avenge what she has done to my family.”
I nodded. I understood exactly how he felt, and felt sorry for the man. Still, I had a job to do. “And will killing the killer bring your son back?” I asked.
The man fumed for a while. Another man, about 38 years old, patted him on the shoulder. “Take it easy, Sam,” he said, “Take it easy.”
Sam seemed to calm down for a second, then suddenly raised his crossbow and fired. The ring dangling from my left ear lobe was torn off as the arrow disappeared into the forest. I stood stark-still, as if transfixed by the arrow that had almost hit me. Another bit of knowledge I had gleaned from Sam’s voice was that he was the best archer whose path he or anybody else he knew had ever crossed.
“Very well,” I said, “I shall travel with you and help you find the killer. When we do, we shall decide what to do with her. Agreed?”
Sam snorted. “What’s to decide?” he muttered. It doesn’t take a gift of understanding to know that his mind was already made up.
Suldir stared his comrade down, then turned to me. “Agreed,” he said.
* * * * *
I was right not to want to cross these men. Simply by hearing the conversations held among them, I attained a detailed understanding of each one’s personality and even a rough knowledge of their respective pasts. These men hadn’t been rich growing up; some were former gang members, thieves, and other such scum. I could sense that Suldir knew this, yet still he allowed them to stay in his employ. To him, it wasn’t what someone had been that counts, but what someone is.
The four soldiers were the most interesting minds, I soon found. Most of the watchmen were just normal men, doing an honest, normal job. There was more to the soldiers, though; they had been many places, seen many things, and had come back veterans from their experiences. I’ve already described Suldir enough, so I’ll share my insight about the others.
Apparently, the hulking armored figure that flanked the Watch Captain was named Loggar. A lumberjack by birth (with a fitting name), I’ll have to admit that he was not the smartest tool in the shed (as he would have said, proving my point very well). Still, he was did have good sense, although this sense was much different from Suldir’s. Suldir was mostly sensible in that he knew what was wise and unwise. Loggar was sensible in that he knew what was right and wrong. Neither would support witch hunting, although for different reasons. For Suldir, it was because it was a stupid waste of life that just distracted from the true problems in life. For Loggar, however, it was because his sense of morality told him that it was just plain bad.
Connor was a bit different from Suldir as well, although he was the same in many ways. For example, while Suldir was a good family man, Connor was the type of person who was born to be a bachelor, which suited him just fine. Quite frankly, he had no romance in his soul whatsoever, and a male-female relationship with him would probably last all of a few days. He was somewhat argumentative, capable of astounding rage when provoked, and probably had a legacy of scars all over his body from when he had become riled into action. This man possessed a blend between Suldir’s impeccable common sense and Loggar’s moral compass.
Sam, however, was entirely different from the other three. Granted, they all shared several common traits; they were all-around good people, they were all loyal friends and men of action, and they all had a good sense of humor. Sam, however, was much more pent-up than the rest. He mostly kept his emotions hidden as he lay back and observed whatever was happening. In this emotionally turbulent time, his outbursts of anger and grief had shocked all, including himself.
I felt sorry for the man. He, like all the other soldiers, had also felt loss, sorrow, fear, and all other terrible feelings that every man who partakes in war is heir to. But he had thought that all of that kind of suffering was behind him; that he could go the rest of his life without reliving the sort of grief he had experienced in war. And now he had not only seen the face of that sorrow once more, but it was more terrible than ever. The loss of a friend on the battlefield is one thing. The loss of your beloved son before he has seen his fist sunrise is quite another.
In the face of suffering this strong, it’s easy to forget that there are other things in life. If all we were meant to do in this world was suffer, then what would be the point of living? Sam would eventually remember that there are other things in this world to live for, I knew; he was no fool. Still, it would only be when he decided to. People can aid the healing process, but in the end it is the sufferer’s choice when he recovers.
Maybe Kiri, the “madwoman” these men searched for, really was incurable. Maybe it was true that I could only aid her in a limited way, and in the end it was her choice if she wished to let other things other than suffering enter her world once again. But what if she wasn’t strong enough, or if the power of the gift was too strong for her? What if she was completely beyond hope? And what if I realized this too late? How many innocent lives would be lost before I learned that her misfortune is incurable?
I was confused, and knew this. When you spend so much of your life understanding everything, it just makes confusion all the more unbearable.
Suldir
The march was a silent one. At first there had been some conversation, but most of that had faded away with Meshima’s arrival. Now we walked in tense, rigid silence.
Storm clouds were now rolling in to usurp the azure empire that once ruled the sky. The sky had darkened considerably, and the forest had become all the more shadowy and creepy for it. The gloomy, forboding environment brought me back to my first skirmish, something I wished never to relive.
Now that I look back, I remember it quite clearly; it had been the first time Loggar, Sam, Connor and I had been in the same unit. Connor was our corporal, of course, and the sergeant we had served under had been Nobul “Swart” Ramishad, called “Swart” because he had been a mercenary from the “Heathen Lands” to the South, where the sun turns men’s skins brown or even black. Nobul really didn’t deserve the degradation he received; he was a good man, an inspiring leader, and very smart as well. Without him, I fear I would have been just as ignorant and close-minded as any of those damned witch hunters. Nobul had taught me a lot of what I know, and I do miss him…
Anyway, back to the skirmish. Loggar, Sam, some other guys and I had been part of Connor’s corporal’s guard, and he had been under the command of the “Swart Sarge”, as some called Nobul (with no particular amount of reverence). We had been part of a mission in another land; an invasion of sorts. Our tactic of invasion was a risky one, and one that had to be carried out with the utmost caution. If it was pulled off correctly, though, it could not fail. If it wasn’t, then a crippling blow would have been struck to our nation’s armies.
Basically, the plan was to infiltrate and invade. We had scouted out the most strategically advantageous locations in the enemy’s territory, and were slowly sending small squadrons of troops to infiltrate their country. While the main bulk of our army held the enemy forces at the front lines, small forces gradually gathered in these strategic locations until our forces were big enough to strike at the foe within their own borders. It was a long shot, but the war at the front lines was going no-where fast. Something had to be done to push it in our favour.
Nobul had led us on the carefully planned-out rout to our destination. It had been through a dark, gloomy forest, just like this one now, except we mostly stayed away from the paths (where we would surely have been seen). Once our rout brought us to a place where we had to cross one of the paths, though; just go from one side to the other, no big deal. Well, that’s what the last squad had thought. We found the path littered with bodies, and only one survivor; one of ours, as luck would have it. He had been badly wounded, though and had lost too much blood for us to save him. Before he drew his last breath, he told us that his squad had run into an enemy patrol on the crossing of the path. Out numbered, they had been overwhelmed, though not without putting up one helluva fight. Thus, as Nobul reasoned, the enemy patrol would have been reduced significantly, and their progress slowed by their wounded. They had about an hour’s head start, not nearly enough to get out of the forest, and finding and killing them all was our only option.
Thus we set off in the direction that they had supposedly taken. It didn’t take us long to overtake the patrol, and this time it was they who were outnumbered. Still, the bulk of our force was made up of younger, less experienced soldiers. Thus, it was the older, more battle-hardened men in our squad who did most of the killing, and it was the new boys among us who did most of the dying. Still, it was inevitable that victory would be ours that day, although it did not come without a price in blood.
Many of us new boys were left absolutely traumatized by this experience. Most of the older grunts had given us sneers of contempt, asking if we really thought that war was all golden and glorious like the bards say it is, and that friends and loved ones never died during it. Nobul, however, regarded us with understanding and sympathy. It was that day that he had taught us the song…
See the twinkling of the sta-ars… “What’s that?” Meshima asked, making me snap back to reality with shocking suddenness.
“Huh?” I muttered, “What do you mean? What’s what?”
“That song you were singing,” she told me, then corrected herself. “Well, humming, actually. What is it?” Somehow I got the feeling that she knew exactly what it was, but just wanted to hear it from me.
I looked at the rest of the men. They were regarding me with just as much curiosity. Damn, I thought, Damn it, I’ve been humming that song the whole time! Oh great…
I sighed. I knew that I wouldn’t get out of giving an explanation. “Just an old war-song,” I told them, “Being on the march again just brings back, well, memories…” I paused awkwardly. “You know, about war and stuff.” Then I fell stupidly silent.
Meshima nodded. “What was the song about?” she asked.
“Yeah,” one of the men added, “What’s it…”
That man was immediately grabbed and slammed against a tree by Loggar. The entire company halted, staring in awe at the giant man’s enraged actions. Loggar, however, just stared angrily into the man’s eyes and snarled, “It’s none of your business, constable. This is a soldier’s song, not…”
“Ease off him, Loggar,” Connor came to the poor man’s rescue, “We’re going up against a demented bitch who can beat Suldir and his sword with just a meat-cleaver, in lands where the people think us to be right down there with devils to boot. There’s a good chance that some of these men are going to die on this mission, just the way there’s a good chance somebody you know is going to die in battle.” He turned to me. “You might as well tell them, Suldir.”
Loggar grunted, releasing the stunned man. From there the march resumed, and I explained as we walked. “Well, it’s sort of a re-re-reck…”
“Requiem?” Meshima offered.
“Yeah, that’s it. Yeah, it’s sort of a requiem, if you know what I mean. You know, a song for the dead. We soldiers usually sung it after a battle, when everybody who’s going to die on the battlefield has died, and before those who are mortally wounded can die. In short, it’s a song for all of our comrades and friends who aren’t there to sing it with us.”
Meshima nodded. “How does it go?” she asked.
I sighed, took a deep breath. Connor was right; there was a good chance that some of these men would die before our mission was done; I immediately felt guilty of bringing them along. It would mean that, whatever happened to them, it would be my responsibility. All commanders had to deal with this sort of thing, although I didn’t feel right about it; these men were coppers, watchmen who had signed up for the work of watchmen, no the work of soldiers. Still, they had volunteered for this operation; their fate was their own. Still, in the chance that some did die, I might as well teach them the song. “Very well,” I conceded, “But I must warn you, I’m not much of a singer, and quite frankly, this poem was made by soldiers, so don’t expect it to even be half-decent…”
“This song means something to you and a lot of other people,” Meshima said, then her mouth snapped shut. “Well, I’m assuming it does, anyway. Well, the point is, it can’t be to bad if it means something to you.”
I sighed. “Well, here goes…
“See the twinkling of the sta-ars
See them winking from afa-ars
See them all, Venus to Ma-ars
Let them be with peace.
They are done with death and wa-ars
They can now lay down their swo-ords
The grunts and the kinghts, the peasants and their lo-ords
Let them be with peace.
Thoooough they cannot march with me-e
Twink-ling down so mer-ri-ly-y
Their friendship makes good comp-an-y-y
Let them be with peace.
One day, whether by swords or mace-es
I’ll go up and join them in the space-es
Our stars will twinkle in those high place-es
Let me be with peace.”
And with that I fell silent, somewhat embarrassed. It was not until then, also, that I noticed that the entire company had stopped in order to listen to the song. “The stars, um,” I said dumbly, fumbling with the explanation, “They represent the souls of our fallen comrades, you know, because whoever made this believed that your soul joins the stars when you die, and, well…” I fell silent again.
Meshima nodded. “It wasn’t that bad,” she said.
“Yeah,” one of the other men said, “Not like we c’do much better.”
“We ain’t poets, ye know,” one of the others chuckled, “Elsewise, I’d ‘ave a better job!”
There was some laughter at this. Someone beside the man slugged him on the shoulder. This was good; soldiers in high spirits fight better.
“Tell yah what,” the first to speak suggested, “Why don’t we sing it all together so’s we’ve all sung it together the first time?”
“Sure,” I muttered, “Why not?”
And so the entire company started singing the old nameless requiem – I finally remembered what it’s called! Even Meshima cheerfully joined in the singing. Outwardly I beamed, but inwardly I could not but wonder how many of these lads would be alive for the second rendition.
Harold
I set off on the forested road to Colmatrent with a guard of twenty-five men. Good lads, every one of them; I could see the holy fire of our gods burning in their eyes. Their zeal and fervor were a good, heartening sight in a world filled with devilry, witchcraft and sin, where even the most righteous must resort to the lowest means possible to fight evil on its own turf.
It was just logical that they would be like this, I knew. These men had been born poor, and growing up in poverty had hardened them against the evils of the world. Thus, they were hard, strong men of righteousness, the kind which are needed by the droves if this world is to be cleansed of wickedness, and also the kind of men needed for this job. We were tracking a devil, after all; why else would it be heading to Colmatrent?
Regan Droil tapped me on the shoulder. “Stop,” he said, “Listen.”
I raised a hand for the company to halt. It was a good idea to listen to Regan; though he mostly spoke in short phrases, using only one to make his point whenever he could avoid using more, he never said anything unless it was of the utmost importance. He also had hearing that would put a fox to shame.
At first, I heard nothing. Slowly, however, my ears began to pick up the sound of singing, coming from afar but gradually approaching. In fact, they were coming from just around the bend in the path. With several hand-movements, I beckoned Regan, Trent, Crowf, Mindor, and Wayn to the front. These men all carried crossbows; they knelt in front of us and took aim at the bend in the path about 25 feet away.
Finally, we saw the group of singing people come round the bend. “Halt!” I called to them. Dropping off in the middle of their song, they complied instantly.
One of the men stepped forward. He was a tall, rough looking man, bedecked in soldier’s armor. Three other men in soldier’s attire there were, also, along with a bunch of lightly armored men and – a woman?
“Harken, stranger,” the man said, “We wish no harm to you or your men, and our only intent is to pass in safety and peace.”
“And why should I believe you?” I asked, “Where are you from, anyway?”
“Didn’t you hear me, you asshole?” the man barked, “I said let us through, or you’re going to be charged with banditry! My name is Suldir Solgersson, and I’m the Captain of the Colmatrent City Watch! Now you pack up your sorry asses and get the hell out of my way!”
I was somewhat taken aback by this. The Watch Captain of Colmatrent here, before my very eyes? Surely not; but who else could it be? He fit the profile if any man did.
This gave me an idea. Would I not be hailed as a hero throughout the lands if I was the one who ordered the barrage of arrows that killed the wicked Watch Captain of the most sinful city in these lands? I quickly thought better of this; there was a reason this man was out here, and I had to find out what it is.
“And what are you, Suldir, son of Solger, doing outside of your precious city?” I sneered, “Is it becoming a bit too sinful even for your tastes?”
“Hah,” Suldir snarled, “We both know that the rumors you and yours spread are all bullshit. You don’t know shit about anything, so you make shit up to compensate.”
I didn’t let the insult get to me; I never do. “Indeed?” I retorted, “Then is it not true that your city does not practice witch hunting?”
“Aye,” Suldir responded, “That it is.”
“And why would you not hunt for witches,” I pressed further, sensing victory within sight, “Unless you allowed their activities to take place in your town? Why would you not seek to destroy devils if you did not allow them to roam your streets at night? Tell me, why don’t you?”
“We don’t hunt for witches,” Suldir snarled, “Because there are no witches. We don’t hunt for devils because there is no such thing as them, either. You stupid morons just use demons and devils and witches as an excuse for all the bad things that happen in your society, so that you can blame them instead of actually solving your real problems. You’re just a bunch of cowardly, superstitious idiots, and I don’t have time for this. Now get-out-of-my-way!”
This little speech caused me to wonder; was this man trying to lull me into not believing in the real enemies for his own evil purposes, or was he himself just deluded? I shook my head; of course he wasn’t deluded! Nobody could actually believe that there was no such thing as witches and devils! No, this man was as a deceitful incubus, and would need to be punished. Still, punishment would have to wait; what was he doing here, anyway? “And just what are you doing here, anyway?” I asked.
“We’re on the trail of an insane murderess,” Suldir responded, “She entered our town yesterday, killed a whole bunch of people, and has now left. As long as she is in my woods, however, it is our responsibility to see that she is brought to justice.” He smirked. “I assume that you know the meaning of that word?”
“Better than you ever will,” I growled, “But, as it happens, we too are searching for a murderer – or murderess. Strangely enough, we have reason to believe that he or she was heading towards your city a couple days ago. Perhaps we pursue the same criminal?”
Suldir nodded. “It’s possible,” he conceded.
“Very well,” I said, “Then I suggest that we combine forces and search out this heinous murderess and see that she comes to justice together. By week’s end, she shall be burning at the stake…”
“Let’s clear up one thing,” Suldir snarled, “When I catch her, I intend to drag her back to Colmatrent and string her up from the gibbet in the town square…”
“She killed my son,” one of the soldiers, an archer, barked, “So I’ll be the one who’s going to kill her with one of my arrows!”
“You’ll do what you’re told, Sam,” Suldir snapped, “Remember, you’re still just a constable. I’m the Captain here, so you do as you’re told, got it?”
Sam glared at his Captain, then snorted and looked away. Suldir seemed content to let it drop there. I had to admire Sam; he was probably a good man at heart, just one lost among the wrong crowd. Perhaps I could make him see the light…
“Look,” the woman interrupted, “We can sort out what we’re going to do with the wi- the woman later, alright?”
“And who are you,” I asked suspiciously. I didn’t need an answer; I knew that these men had employed this witch – what else could she be? – to cast spells and summon demons for them. Who knows? Perhaps they were under the control of this witch, and that’s why Suldir allowed sin and wickedness to spread so much throughout his city. Perhaps he was just a fool under a witch’s influence, watching helplessly as his treacherous body damned his soul to Hell…
The woman’s eyes widened, and she sought desperately for an explanation. “Well, I, um, I’m, um,” she stuttered. Then a wide, silly smile spread across her face as she looped an arm around one of the soldiers – a battle-axe man, by the look of him. “I’m Connor’s wife,” she explained desperately, “He never goes anywhere without me; thinks I’ll be up to no good if he leaves me at home, don’t you? I said, don’t you?”
Connor seemed to get the message quickly. “Oh, um, yeah,” he said, throwing his arm over her shoulder, “Uh, yeah, um, she’s a filthy whore, yeah…”
The woman gritted her teeth at the insult while still smiling widely at me. My eyes narrowed; I didn’t believe a word of it. Still, I would have to bide my time, wait for the right moment to strike the killing blow to these scum. I’ll kill them last… – the secret thought of every witch hunter who has been forced to consort with darkness so he can destroy an even greater evil. I was no different.
“Very well,” I said, “Then let us be off. We have a wi- woman,” I smirked nastily at the witch (I had caught it when she said that) “-to track.”
Meshima
The march continued, except now we march among twenty-six more men. I knew what they were; from their voices as they muttered to each other, I realized that they, too, had been poor men from the very start. These were not like the watchmen under Suldir’s command, though; while those lads were decent people to be around, regardless of their respective pasts, the men serving under Harold (as he identified himself) were ruffians, scoundrels, and bullies. They were lowly dogs who just looked for evil to do, and the witch hunters had just given them the ability to do it in the name of “good”.
These men were the lowest of the low. I could hear the screams of agony of the people they had tortured false confessions out of as they spoke to one another, could sense the perverse pleasure they felt as they raped women while they searched for “Devil’s Markings” on their breasts and pudenda. I felt the aching in their knuckles as they beat someone to death. There was only one thing to understand about these brutes; they were monsters, to the very core of their beings. If devils truly did walk this earth, then these were the forms that they took.
My horse and I walked closely to my “husband”; I didn’t trust those thugs as far as I could throw them. For a while, they seemed to watch me suspiciously, but eventually stopped. It was then that I slapped Connor angrily across the face.
“A filthy whore?” I snarled, “You called me a filthy whore?”
“Hey,” he said, rubbing his face, “What was I supposed to say? You told them the same thing!”
“Yes, but, but…” I was furious, “You called me a filthy whore!”
“So?”
“So? So? I am not a filthy whore!”
“I didn’t know that.”
“What? So you meet a woman and instantly assume she’s a filthy whore?”
“No, you were the one who said you were.”
“I said that you didn’t trust me! I didn’t say…that!”
“Oh.” He fell dumbly silent. “Sorry,” he apologized finally.
We walked in tense silence for a while. Finally, Connor spoke up hesitantly. “Um, Meshima…” he started.
“Yes,” I said, smiling in a nastily sweet way.
“Well, um, they think we’re married, right, so…” he trailed off.
“What is it?” I asked sweetly, knowing what he was about to say and trying to warn him to forget about it.
“Well, since we’re married, does that mean that we get to, um, you know, um…” he stopped, his mouth snapping shut with embarrassment.
I halted in my tracks, my mouth forming an O of shock. Connor shrugged sheepishly, then continued walking, leaving me standing there gaping. That…that pig! “Hey,” someone grabbed my left arm from behind. Gasping in shock, I was pulled along by one of Harold’s big, burly men. His face was ugly and scarred, with a nose that had seen many a breaking. His name was Dorg, and his soul was more vile than his face would ever be ugly. He had killed, tortured, beaten and violated more people than even he remembered.
He pulled me closer. “Why ye hangin’ wi’ a dirtbag like that?” he grinned, showing several missing teeth, “A man like me knows ‘ow ter give a lass a gudd time, eh? Whaddaya say?”
“Let go of me,” I cried, trying to struggle out of his clutches. He just laughed, tightening his grip.
“Fiery, ain’t she?” he chuckled, looking to a couple of Harold’s other men, “We knows ‘ow ter deal wi’ that, eh?”
The entire party had halted by now. Connor pushed his way through the other men to confront the big man. “Let her go, scum,” he snarled.
“Oh-aye?” the thug snarled, pushing me into the hands of his two comrades and pulling out a cudgel, “You challengin’ me, mate?”
“Alright, that’s enough,” Suldir snarled, coming between the two, “You stop this right now, or else…”
“You’ll not come between these two men,” Harold stepped in, then explained, “Your man has offered a challenge, and mine has accepted it. You cannot intervene.”
“What?” Connor asked, “I didn’t…”
“Well, my man has accepted it at any rate,” Harold smirked, “So there you go.” He turned to Suldir. “Where I come from, it is law that they not be interfered with.”
Suldir looked at Connor. “Agreed,” he muttered, then backed away. That one word said it all; he knew that Connor was going to win, and wanted that dumb brute to get what he deserved.
Dorg grinned nastily, patting his cudgel. Connor threw his axe to the ground, then chucked off his gauntlets and stood with his fists up. The ugly man laughed, then charged forward, swinging his club. Surprisingly, Connor reached up and caught it in mid-swing. Then he twisted it out of the man’s grip and threw it away.
The thug stared in astonishment, but didn’t have much time to recover. Connor threw a punch, hitting the man square in the nose and sending him reeling. Dorg stumbled back, cursing and holding his blood-gushing nose. Connor didn’t stop, though; he surged forward, subjecting his opponent to a barrage of hard, well-aimed punches. It was an absolutely astounding sight; the man was at least a head taller than Connor, and much thicker with muscle, yet still the hearty fist-fighter triumphed, ending the fight with a final blow to the face. Dorg crumpled into a crying, moaning heap on the ground, his pride more scarred than his ugly face. Connor smirked, then walked away to retrieve his axe.
Suddenly, Dorg grunted as he rose. This sound didn’t tell me much, but it told me enough. I saw him pull the knife out of his belt, felt his eyes seek the ideal place to hit the unsuspecting Connor with it…
I couldn’t just let this happen. Connor was a pig, the type of man no woman should have the misfortune of knowing, but he wasn’t a bad man. Dorg, on the other hand, was just plain evil. I had to intervene somehow.
Breaking free of my unsuspecting captors, I threw the staff-sheath from my blade and lunged…
Suldir
I had expected Harold’s man to do something underhanded like that. For this reason, I ordered Sam to keep him in his sites. I needn’t have bothered, though; as the cowardly bastard slung out the knife, Meshima pulled free of the rogues who were holding her and had her blade out faster than you could blink an eye. The next moment, Dorg was standing there, his body trembling as he stared stupidly at two feet of sharp steel that had been pushed through his back and out his chest. Blood dribbled from his mouth and squirted out around the blade in his chest. After a couple of seconds, Meshima put her foot to the man’s back and pulled her blade free, letting the blood spurt freely all over her and everyone who was too close to the scene. No sound passed Dorg’s lips as he fell dead to the ground, his eyes staring vacantly.
For a while, everybody was silent. Even Loggar, Connor, Sam and I had to stare in shock; we had all seen enough bloody death for several lifetimes, but never at the hands of such a seemingly normal woman. We were all surprised by the suddenness of these actions; most of us were rendered speechless; even Meshima was gasping in shock, staring down at the blood that had spattered all over her clothes. Her sword clattered to the ground.
Finally, Harold stepped in and spoke up. “You cowardly, murderous witch,” he snarled accusingly, “We ought to burn you right here and now!”
Meshima
Harold’s accusation jerked me quickly back to reality. Before I could respond, however, the two who had held me before grabbed me again, tightening their meaty palms around my arms. I tried to struggle, but their grip was too strong.
Suldir had immediately drawn his blade. “Let her go,” he threatened them, “Or else…”
“Or else what?” Harold scoffed, “You’ll poke me with that big pig-sticker? Go ahead; I fear not what can fell my body, but only what can harm my soul-“ he pointed dramatically at me, “-like that wicked bitch!”
Sam appeared at Suldir’s side, leveling his crossbow with Harold’s heart. The man took a step back, and I thought I caught a flicker of fear in his eye. It took little time for Harold to recover, though; chuckling, he said, “My dear Samuel, you and I have no quarrel. A witch has wronged you in murdering your son, as many witches have wronged others by slaying their sons. We fight on the same side, you and I…”
“Fock you,” Sam snarled, then added, “And that’s ‘Sam’, mate.”
Harold smiled patiently. “Alright, Sam,” he said, “Have it your way. But this,” he pointed at me again, “Has murdered one of my men, and must be brought to punishment for that, if nothing else.” He turned to Suldir. “Even you cannot argue with that, my good watch captain.”
“The duel was over,” Suldir snarled, “Your man tried to stick a knife in Connor. Meshima was merely protecting her…husband.”
I watched all this in silence. Clearly, Harold was trying to use Sam’s emotionally unbalanced state to turn the man to his own misguided cause. Normally, Sam would be on his guard for such things, but you couldn’t tell with him like this…
“The duel is not over until one or the other of the men is dead,” Harold snarled. It was true, too; I saw no lie in the man’s statement.
“Not where we come from,” Suldir barked. Now this was a lie; in Colmatrent, duels are considered brawling, which is a crime (it disturbs the peace).
“Never you mind that,” Harold snarled, sensing victory, “Even by your law’s skewed and illogical system, this is still an act of murder. Not only did she intervene, breaking the covenant of combat set down by my laws, but she killed somebody in a duel, which breaks your laws as well. What say you to that?”
Suldir thought for a while, then said, “Murder in self defense or the defense of others is not a crime in my city, and these lands are owned by my city. So, unless you want my ol’ buddy Sam’s arrow through your thick skull, I suggest that you tell your goons to let her go.”
Harold fumed for a moment, then smiled. “Right then,” he said cheerfully, “I’d hate for there to be enmity between brothers in the same battle.” He turned to his men. “Let the witch go,” he ordered them, his tone dropping to a disgusted snarl.
I felt the large hands let go and push me roughly away. The march then continued, with Connor walking at my side once again. He spoke but a single word; “Thanks”. That single word said a lot.
* * * * *
We emerged from the forest late that evening. Ahead was a small town near a river. Probably where they dunk the witches, I thought bitterly. Stupid, ignorant people; perhaps they deserved a crazy murderess to punish them…
But the Kiri didn’t deserve to have to be the punisher. She was probably just as good a person as any other, only she had been afflicted with a most terrible predicament. Even if she was cured, who’s to say she wouldn’t take her own life for grief over the blood she had spilled already? Harold had already told us that the people of Colmatrent were not her first victims; a young boy from this very village had been slain as well, his body found displayed in a manner most gruesome. I doubt that the boy deserved his fate, either; Sam and his family, especially the baby, sure as hell didn’t…
We intended to stop off at the village for the night, then continue in the morning. A grubby little rat of a man named Regan Droil, apparently a witch tracker, said that there’s reason to believe that this was the way she had headed. Her feet were unshod – Suldir confirmed this – and he had seen several tracks from bare feet in muddy ruts in the road we were travelling on. We reasoned that she must have found a way around us.
This theory was proven when we came close enough to the village to see the smoke rising from the buildings, and the bodies that littered the streets…
Kiri
Came to a village…saw people in a crowd…they were angry…they were shouting…they wanted someone to die…
Walked through the crowd…felt everything. They were scared, too…scared of a witch. Me? No…not me. A girl…an old woman, too…middle of village…tied to stakes…slick with oil…fire on oil…burning…writhing…screaming…hurting…
Suffering…
I laughed…happiness, suffering…happiness from suffering…HAHAHAHAHA! The joy! The wonderful joy! Suffering! Joy! SUFFERING! JOY! AH-HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! I laughed, laughed hard, laughed loud. Everyone stared at me…laughed so hard I cried…pulled out a knife…put in little boy nearby…laughed more…
“Do you do what I do?”
Harold
And I had thought that other witches had been bad. And I had thought that I had seen the worst of them. Truth be told, I had seen nothing until that night; until then, I’d had no idea what witches are truly capable of.
There had been survivors. There always are; people who manage to hide and watch in horror as witches and devils ply their foul trade. This witch had come to their city much earlier than we had – several hours, in fact. They had been burning another pair of witches, it seemed; three had been convicted, but one had failed to pass the ordeal by water, thus proving herself merely to be demented. The witch who had caused this, however, had stood among the crowd and laughed insanely as her sisters burned. Then she had asked them something about doing something, pulled out a pair of large knives, and attacked.
This was a small town, inhabited by naught but humble, hard-working peasants. Righteous they were in their persecution of witches – not a man or woman or child had been left uninvolved in the hunt – but they were no soldiers. They were farmers, not fighters; they were completely unprepared for the sheer demonic force that had crept into their midst.
Several stands had been made against the mad witch; men armed with pitchforks, spades, torches and scythes all resisted her while the women fled to their homes with the children. None of it worked; every time a stand was made, the witch would merely assault them, kill several and force the rest to flee in terror, and plunder any of the homes around. Disinterested was she in these poor peasants’ paltry possessions; all she wanted was to kill. Peasant huts are not large, and there is often almost no-where to hide in them. Besides, they’re made of wood, and there were plenty of torches among the slain farmers with which to set the buildings aflame…
Many had died in this terrible confrontation, and the witch was not one of them. The butcher’s son had said he had seen her leave the city by the northeastern road, laughing and singing gaily. According to him, she was holding one of his father’s large meat hooks in each hand. The boy had returned home to see his father and mother lying by one another, their heads and bodies separated permanently.
This was what witches were truly capable of? They could do all of this? Granted, I had known full well of their abilities long before this day, but I had never before seen it with my own two eyes. It’s times like this when a man truly realizes the strength of his enemy, and just why they must be stopped…
And there was another witch, right in our midst, waiting for the right time to strike. That fiend; that filthy murderous whore of a witch! We could not take the risk of keeping her in our company; she would have to die.
For some reason, whenever I think of someone I want to die, Regan Droil, the best scout, tracker, and assassin I have ever known, always comes to mind…
Meshima
I walked through the streets of the small town that night, unable to sleep. The rest of the men had taken refuge in what few structures had been left standing, leaving only a few watchmen and thugs awake to keep watch. Neither party trusted the other.
Even now, I was shocked with myself for even thinking that these people deserved Kiri’s wrath. Nobody deserved this! These peasants were just stupid, frightened, ignorant folk who let superstition rule their actions – and some of them probably only went along with the witch hunts for fear of their fellows. And besides, even if the adult men and women deserved to die, surely the children, who had seen so few years and whose minds were still forming, did not deserve death, be it their own or that of their caretakers. Yet death they did receive, and some of the gruesome manners of death chilled me to the core.
I looked around again. Harold had ordered that the bodies be piled up and burned, which shocked me. It was not so much the burning of the bodies that shocked me – we couldn’t have them become breeding grounds for plague, and it would be disrespectful just to leave them out for the carrion – but the main reason for their cremation. I could see in his words that he was afraid that a witch’s curse had been placed upon these corpses, and that they had to be destroyed because of it. A witch’s curse! What in the hell was he thinking?
Most of the houses had been burnt to their frames – the fire spread quickly indeed inside these completely wooden huts. This small farming community couldn’t have mounted much resistance to Kiri, and now they had supplied her with a pair of large meat hooks. The survivors were now as paupers. Perhaps they could move to Colmatrent and try to get back up on their feet there. The manufacturing shops would surely need more workers.
I saw Sam standing by a tree near the river. He was humming, just as Suldir had today on the march. I knew what was on his mind; he was thinking of his son, and what he could have been. The poor man; the loss of the child had hit him very hard. All he wanted now was vengeance, and with my responsibility, I couldn’t even allow him that. His situation was very sad indeed; perhaps I could talk to him…
Not now, though; I saw Harold walk over to him, obviously with the intent of starting a conversation. Fortunately, he hadn’t seen me; otherwise, I’d have heard nothing.
At first, Harold stood in silence. Then Sam, as if noticing the other man for the first time, grunted and looked at him. “What do you want?” he growled.
“Just a moment of your time,” Harold said patiently. He sighed, looking at the tree. “This was it, you know,” he said, “The tree that the first witch’s victim was hung from. A bit ironic how he was displayed – brutal, but ironic none the less. I may tell you of it later…”
“It isn’t a witch that you hunt,” Sam muttered, “It’s just a madwoman.”
“Just a madwoman?” Harold scoffed, “Yes indeed; a madwoman who can outfight an expert swordsman using a meat cleaver, and one who can slaughter the better part of a town’s population with a few knives and not much else. Face it, Sam, this is no normal being; not even the most insane madwoman could do this.”
“Yes she could,” Sam grumbled, “This bitch has proven it.”
Harold smiled wanly. “Alright,” he said, “Let’s pretend, for a moment, that we both believe she’s a madwoman. In that case, how would she know that you had a son, on that you cared for, who would cause you much grief if he were lost? Your…captain gave no indication of such when he faced her. And besides, where would some peasant, a woman especially, get such a martial education?” Sam stayed silent, pondering what he had just heard. Sensing victory, Harold smiled benevolently. “I’ll leave you to think about it.”
Harold walked away, still not seeing me. Something wasn’t right about this; maybe it was the tune he was whistling that put me off-edge. Whatever it was that made me follow him, it saved my life; allow me to elaborate.
I saw the cowled figure of Regan appear from the shadows surrounding the ruins of a building. He was small and wiry, but had a look of unfettered cunning about him. Under his right arm was tucked a long crossbow, and in his left hand was a short sword. Harold greeted him hastily, with the words “Are the preparations all made?”
Regan nodded. “Every one of ‘em,” he said, “I’ve got five special poison arrows I made myself for just such an emergency. If the venom gets in your bloodstream, you’re either dead or paralyzed, depending on the amount. I’ve got the perfect amount on these arrows to make it so that the hag won’t be able to lift a finger.”
I shuddered. That “hag” was me.
Harold nodded. “And where are the other four crossbowmen?”
“Readying the bonfire,” Regan grinned, “My plan is to get the witch where we want her, shoot her with one of my arrows, then get her to the kindling, and boom!” He motioned with both hands, “It’s gonna be a barbecue!”
“Very good,” Harold muttered, “Just don’t hit her anywhere vital with those arrows. But please tell me, how do you intend to lure her into your snare?”
“That’s easy,” Regan explained, “We just…”
A hand closed over my mouth and an arrowhead pressed against my neck. I tried to struggle, but was held firm. “Quiet,” Sam’s voice whispered in my ear.
Sam let go and led me to safety behind the hanging tree. There was still some fishing line on one of the branches, I noticed. Still, there were more important things on my mind now.
Sam reached down into his satchel and pulled out a wooden box. He opened it, revealing its contents to be a bunch of different parts, which he assembled into an odd sort of crossbow. The finishing touch was to place a magazine of bolts on top of it and pull the string back using a weird sort of lever. One of the bolts fell into place, and he was ready.
“It’s a repeating crossbow,” Sam explained, “It’s a very rare invention, from further East than I have ever set foot, and I intend to use it.” He paused, thinking. “A chew-cone-ew , I think they called it.
I nodded dumbly. This was a very dangerous weapon; it could empty that magazine of bolts within a very short time, and I knew exactly who it was he would be emptying it into…
Sam took out a belt from which several other magazines hung. “I know,” he said, rising, “That you’re not just anyone. I know that there’s something about you that you’re not telling us. I doubt you’re a witch, but whatever you are, you aren’t normal.” He looked up to see that Regan and Harold had gone. “But if I want to find out who you are and why you want my son’s killer alive, then I’ll have to see you live through this night.” He looked me in the eye. “Got it?”
Again, I nodded. He, in turn, nodded in acknowledgement, then set off forward, me trailing him for lack of anything better to do. He spoke to me as he walked.
“I overheard these bastards weaving their little web earlier today. They intend to lure you away from the rest of the men and then stick you full of arrows. Don’t believe that horseshit about special poison; most of those men believe in witches about as strongly as I do, maybe less now. To humor their boss, however, they’re going to then take you to the stake and burn your corpse, as per instruction.” He hefted his crossbow meaningfully. “But I intend to see you through this alive.”
“You’re going to take them all on alone?” I asked, although I already knew the answer.
“Come on,” Sam grunted, “You already know the answer.”
I nodded and fell silent. This would not be a silent night.
Sam
I walked into the location of the ambush with my repeater crossbow held at the ready. Everything was silent; the men were watching me, I knew, but not doing anything. Probably just staring at the big piece of “junk” in my hands.
I knew exactly where each assassin was hiding, although Regan was out searching for Meshima. I suppose, though, that you’d want to know just where I am, and I don’t blame you. Surroundings are very important in a guerilla battle like this.
I was in the middle of a street. On my right was an old blacksmith, still mostly in tact (the same could have been said for the blacksmith when we found him – well, the pieces of him were in tact, anyway). Two of the crossbowmen would he hiding somewhere in the shadows of the forge. To my left was mostly rubble; a house whose roof had caved in, its walls no longer able to support it. One would be hiding within the ruins. And finally, a hay wagon, somehow having managed to escape the fires that had spread throughout the town, had been rolled up in front of me to block my way. Another assassin was hiding in it, peeping out through a knothole in the side…
A word of advice; when peeping out of knotholes while facing an experience crossbowman…well, don’t peep out of knotholes while facing an experienced crossbowman!
I took aim at the tiny knothole and fired a single shot into it. Something went thump, and blood leaked from the knothole, from which the butt of the arrow still protruded. It was on now; three crossbows fired at the same time.
I dodged out of the way of all three, then turned to the blacksmith. I emptied three shots into the shadowy forge, side-stepping away from the wagon as I did so in order to avoid any other arrows. I thought I saw something move in the shadows and let loose two shots at it. The sound of cursing greeted my ears, and I knew that I had at least struck a wounding hit.
I then swung around and started side-stepping towards the wagon, firing four shots into the rubble. One of them must have come dangerously close to the crossbowmen, as he jumped out of his hiding place with a small cry of astonishment. Bad move; several consecutive shots turned his chest into a pincushion.
By now, however, I had exhausted my first magazine. Dodging two more inexpertly fired bolts, I jumped into the spot where the man had been hiding. Ignoring the pool of blood that stained my boots as I stepped into the cover, I reloaded my repeater bow and stepped out to continue firing…
Screams echoed from within the forge. Something thumped to the ground, and seconds later one of the men stumbled out into the moonlight, gasping for breath and holding a bloody wound in his gut. He fell forward, then tried to crawl away from whatever had done this to him. I then saw Meshima stride grimly out of the shadows, her clothes and sword now slick with even more blood, and, easily catching up with the poor man, reversed her grip on her sword and skewered him through the back. The assassin let out a strangled cry, staring forward with panic-stricken eyes as blood welled up in his mouth, then slumped to the ground and lay still.
Meshima wrenched free her sword, letting the blood cascade upwards in a giant red fountain. The woman shuddered as the gore splattered her already soaking clothes, then looked at me. “You’re right,” she muttered, “I am not normal. Not by any means.”
Regan
I didn’t get it; I had searched the town through and through, and still hadn’t found that bitch. I looked and looked, and still I found nothing. Nothing! Dammit, that’s annoying! And I don’t like being annoyed; not one bit…
I have to admit, being part of Harold’s outfit is a pretty sweet deal. You’re above the law, you can beat up, kill, rape or steal – let me rephrase that, "punish", “execute,” “examine,” “confiscate” – from anyone you want, see, and it’s all fine ‘cause you’re a witch hunter, and everything you do is for the extermination of evil, right? Hah; good and evil, them’s just words. Me, I don’t give a damn about either of ‘em, and I’m perfectly happy that way.
I decided to go back to my men, y’know, to see what had happened. Instead, however, I found one of ‘em lying bleeding in the street, with the witch and that crossbowman standing over his body, ‘cept that crossbowman was holding some funny looking machine…
He took one look at me, then swung his machine in my direction, pumped some lever, and fired. There was a dull thud as something hit me hard in the gut. I looked down to see an arrow lodged in my stomach – what the…
He pumped the lever again, and fired another arrow, which took me in the gut as well. Then he pumped and fired again. And again. And again. And again. And again until finally he must have run out of arrows, but by that time I had more bolts in my stomach than actual stomach.
Trembling, I looked up at him through a red mist of pain. I could feel the blood welling up in my mouth, and the pain in my gut was receding to a numb, cold feeling. My legs gave way, making me fall to my knees as darkness started to invade my world. I was dying, I knew, but if I was going to die, I’d at least make myself heard before I went…
“EuuuuuuuuaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRrrrrggggh….”
Harold
I had heard the wail echo across the town. It wasn’t too loud, but loud enough to rouse me and all the others who heard it to the spot where it had come from.
When I, my warriors of righteousness, the sinful Colmatrent watchmen and their wicked captain, had reached the source of the wail, we were beholden by a gruesome spectacle. Sam and Meshima stood over Trent’s dead body; no doubt Crowf, Mindor and Wayn were lying dead in their hiding places as well. It was a good thing that I had not taken another step forward, else I’d have tripped on the corpse of the late Regan Droil. He lay on his side, having fallen to his knees first. His entire belly had been peppered with crossbow bolts, and I now realized that it was him who had wailed his last and brought me here. I had to admire the lad; even in the face of death, he still remained loyal to my cause…
What could have done this? Surely Hell had not conceived some way of firing a thousand arrows from a single bow? It was all clear now; Sam and the other watchmen were either devils or incurably seduced by this heretical harlot, and now bore demonic weapons with which to smite the righteous and the innocent alike. For what else could that devilish contraption in Sam’s hands be but a tool crafted in Hell itself?
“You…you have killed my men!” I blurted, staring at Sam in shock and righteous fury. I had hoped so much that he could be saved...
“They had it coming,” the treacherous man retorted, “They tried to kill Connor’s wife, and I’ve the sneaking suspicion that you set them up to it.”
“What?” I roared, “Lies! Filth! And even if I had, they would be completely justified in doing so! This woman is no mere wife of a man! She is…” Unless Connor had sold his soul, and this demonic bride was his familiar? That would explain how he had beaten a man so much larger than himself with only his bare hands. “She is a witch, a harlot, a worshipper of devils, and she is, above all, evil. You yourself must admit that she is no ordinary woman.”
“You’re right there,” Suldir said, stepping in. All eyes turned to him, and he continued. “She is no ordinary person alright. For one thing, she isn’t a stupid, ignorant little peon like most people these days, or a cowardly twirp who doesn’t believe in witch hunting but does it anyway just because society will punish her if she doesn’t. She isn’t a superstitious moron like you, Harold, or an ignorant, cruel bully like your men. She is a sensible person, the kind we need more of in this world, and she is one of us.” He drew his blade. “And I for one will lay down my life in defense of one of my own.”
Sam reloaded his devilish device and aimed it at me. “I second that,” he snarled.
Connor, the devil’s husband, stepped forward with axe in hand. “I third it,” he growled.
All around, Suldir’s men drew their swords and professed their agreement. Finally, I felt a large, gaunleted hand come to rest on my shoulder. I looked back and up to stare into the face of their giant – Loggar, I think he was called.
“I think you should back down, mister,” he said companionably, squeezing my shoulder so hard I had to gasp, “Before I do something bad to you.”
I’ll kill them last… I reminded myself. Pushing Loggar’s meaty hand from my shoulder, I snorted. “All right. Your witch can live…for now.”
Suldir
We started out the next day along the road that Kiri had supposedly taken. My watchmen and Harold’s thugs stayed on either side of the road, not one of us straying into the other’s group. Occasionally, Harold and I would exchange hateful glares. The only reason we still accompanied one another is because we were both looking for the same madwoman, and we both knew that she would take quite a capturing. Meshima stayed with our group; it was her safest option. She may have had different intentions for when we catch the murderess, but for now she was one of us.
We marched all that day until we found another village. This one had been visited by the madwoman as well. They, too, had been on a witch hunt, and she had stumbled right into the middle of it. In fact, they had tried to convict her of witchcraft! As you can imagine, the results were catastrophic.
Still, this town was much larger than the last, with even a small militia guard. They had managed to drive Kiri off into the woods, and now boasted of how they had imparted righteous wrath upon the heretic. Yes, that’s right; with a pile of their own townspeople’s bodies that comes up to my chin, they still boasted of their “mighty” banishment of the evil among them. And now there was an unpredictable murderess who could be anywhere in the woods by now! Great. Just great.
We stayed at the town for the night and were off searching again in the morning. We had the townspeople show us where the witch had disappeared into the woods. “It’s a shame Regan isn’t here,” Harold muttered bitterly, “He could have tracked the witch through Hell’s most tangled labyrinth.”
“Really?” I muttered, “Then that means the monster within wouldn’t be the only thing that pumps out bullshit.” Harold stiffened at the insult, but said nothing.
Sam looked around. “I can track her,” he said, “It’s just going to take some time.”
“I can, too,” Meshima said, “I’m good at that.”
“Indeed,” Harold spat, “I suppose a witch always knows where one of her sisters is, eh?”
Before a fight could break out, Loggar stepped in. “I’d be treating Connor’s girl nicer if I were you,” he said, beaming a dangerous smile, “Remember; I could crush you just by falling on you.”
Harold grimaced. “Fine,” he snarled, “Let the witch work, then.”
And so the two set about their work, searching for the madwoman’s trail. It wasn’t hard to find; Kiri had no sense of caution, and left clues of her passing wherever she went. We were soon on the right trail, and it wouldn’t be long before we caught up with our quarry.
Or so I thought.
Meshima
My new clothes which I had bought at the last village were tattered and muddy by the second day of tracking in the woods. Still, they had been better than my last garments, which I had been forced to burn. I just couldn’t get all of that blood out…
I have to admit, killing is nothing like what most bards say it is. While they describe how heroes mightily smite their enemies, they neglect to mention all the blood that spurts everywhere, the twitching of the victim’s corpse as its nervous system shuts down, the gurgling as he tries to breath through the blood in his mouth…war and killing are not glorious, or anything like it. I felt little remorse for the three men I slew; having seen all of the evil they had committed, there was no way any decent person could but hate them. Still, their deaths were awful to behold none the less; I hoped never to kill again.
Over the last few days, the two parties had grown further and further apart from each other. It was generally understood that neither would turn their back on the other, and hateful glances between members of the two were all too common. Connor stayed with me for most of the time, which surprisingly turned out not to be all that bad. Something buried deep within him had surfaced as of late; something that made him actually tolerable for a female to be around. I knew that he had never been this well-mannered around a woman before. He actually wasn’t all that bad looking either…gah! Forget I said that right now! Our search soon led us to a stream that ran through the woods. Apparently, however, the trail had ended here.
“Dammit,” Sam snarled, “She must have taken to the water to throw us off.”
“Impossible,” Harold had interjected, “With a pair of huge meat hooks, she’d have…” he paused, “…drowned.” He finished weakly. I rolled my eyes; now the fool was thinking about Kiri having used her witchy powers to make the hooks as light as feathers or float or something. Oh brother; how stupid do you get? Shouldn’t there be laws against this sort of idiocy?
“Well,” Suldir said, “It’s getting late. We make camp here tonight, then follow the river downstream tomorrow. But for now we set up camp.” He turned to the watchmen. “Move to the other side of the river lads. We don’t want to disrupt our good-” he grimaced “-allies’ privacy.”
The watchmen traveled to the other side of the river under the heated glare of our thug “allies”. Sleeping bags were unrolled, cooking fires were set up, and soon the entire camp was settling down for the night.
Looking back, settling down wasn’t such a good idea.
Constable Poltz
I set my sleeping bag against a hollow, dead tree and lay back on it, stretching and yawning as I did. Sleeping like this was easy; I’d never had a proper bed in my life. No straw mattress has ever felt my back, and just you forget about feather-beds! I’m a poor quarter man born and raised; a plush bed would surely reject my very body!
My name is Gregory Poltz, one of the constables in the poor quarter. It’s where most of us are needed, I’ll tell you; more crimes happen there than anywhere else in Colmatrent. Well, more serious ones, in any case. Thus, the lads who patrol that place (like me) have to be pretty damn tough, or else they become pretty damn dead pretty damn fast. That’s pretty damn true.
Life was never easy for me. I’ve had to take the law into my hands on several occasions growing up. Strange; now my job is to take that same law is in my hands, and it’s my duty to uphold it. Go figure, eh?
Technically, though, the law is out of our hands, now; the murderess is outside Colmatrent’s territory, and is no longer our responsibility. Still, that madwoman has struck our city, especially our town watch, a terrible blow, and we can’t just let that slip.
Still, I had to wonder where she had gone. She couldn’t have swam with two big meat hooks, and she couldn’t have just crossed the river; the trail disappeared here. There’s no sign of her walking along either side of the river, according to Sam and Meshima. Now this is a mystery; the kind you see in a theatre, played by those people who play in theatres…theatrers? I think they’re called theatrers…
Whatever they were, though, it didn’t matter to me at that moment. Right now, my attention had turned to the large blade pressing against my neck…
“Do you do what I do?”
Meshima
The attack came without warning. One of Suldir’s men, constable Gregory Poltz, had just cried out as he died, spurting blood every which way. The next thing we knew, a dark figure had leapt from a hollow tree and started attacking us. When it came within the firelight, I saw that, to my horror, it was Kiri!
So that was what happened! She hadn’t swam or walked along the river side! She had been hiding among us all that time, waiting for the moment to strike! And now she had struck – and the watchmen and I were the first to take the blow.
Kiri carved up three watchmen before they could even rise from their sleeping blankets. Another charged at her, swinging his sword. It was a pity he did not have his breastplate on; it would have saved his life. As it was, Kiri merely laughed as she ducked under the blade and gutted the man with one of her hooks. Two more attacked, but one deft stroke from the other hook swept the heads off both, causing two red fountains to simultaneously burst from their severed necks.
“Everybody fall back!” Suldir ordered, “Get back, men! Get back!” As his men rushed to comply, he looked to the other side of the river. “Harold! Get over here!”
Harold
I awoke with a start, hearing someone yell my name. Groggily, I rose from my sleeping bag and looked around with bleary eyes. My men were all watching something on the other side of the river. I looked up to see what it was.
Now this was interesting. Evil truly does turn upon itself. For now, I just sat back and watched how it would all play out.
Suldir
“Dammit to hell, Harold!” I cried, “We need your help! GET YOUR MEN OVER HERE!”
The madwoman was now striding confidently towards us, giggling like a happy little girl. I drew my sword; this was not going to be an easy fight. Maybe if we all surrounded her…
That would be a very bad idea. If I were her and surrounded, holding only a pair of large hooks, then I know that I could do some serious damage. And if she really was as good a fighter as me…
Fortunately, there was still one among us who only gave caution an afterthought. Roaring angrily, Loggar surged forward, swinging his giant two-handed sword. I smirked in satisfaction; even I couldn’t beat Loggar. Plus, armor usually only slows Loggar down (not substantially, but just a bit). Now that he was bare-back, though, he had more versatility and speed than he almost ever did in a fight. This bitch was gonna die…
Loggar swung at Kiri, aiming to cleave her torso in two. The madwoman ducked under the swing and, rising quickly, drew a gash across Loggar’s right arm. Roaring with pain and anger, Loggar brought his blade back in the direction it had come from, except a bit lower this time. Kiri, however, just jumped up, her foot landing on the flat of the blade, and jumped over him, cartwheeling in the air as she drew twin gashes across each of Loggar’s shoulders. The huge man roared in pain, then whirled around, bringing his blade about as he did. Kiri jumped back, planted both hooks in the ground, and pulled out several knives. “Do you do what I do?” she grinned sillily as she threw the first one.
Grunting, Logger swung his blade, catching the knife and sending it spinning away. Then Loggar advanced, holding his blade defensively. Laughing joyously, Kiri threw another knife, and another, and another, and another. Each time, however, Loggar swept the knife from the air without even slowing his advance. Finally, however, he was upon the madwoman. He raised his blade over his head and swung down. All Kiri could do was laugh as she raised her hands to defend herself…
Kiri
Thoughts in my head as the sword came down…lots of thoughts…all the time…stronger now, though…
Suffering Empathic Reciever…that’s what they call me…how do I know this? I don’t know…maybe from witch’s head? Yes. Probably.
But suffering Empathic Recievers…we aren’t like this…this is a mutation…of the gift…very rare, yes…how did it happen, I cannot know…nobody knows…nobody can help me…nobody…
Perhaps…if I can receive…also return? Yes…much suffering…wonderful suffering…coming from man with the big sword…and the others…maybe can give back? For a short time? Concentrate…
Hah! Hahahahaha! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
It worked!
Meshima
Loggar’s blade froze in the air, as did his entire body. Everyone around seemed to completely freeze as well, as if a wind so cold had blown through that it left us all frozen solid. Even I could not move my limbs. Something was trying to get back into my head, into my memories…oh no…oh no…
I shrieked, adding my distressed cry to all of the others around me. Every time I had ever suffered in my life flashed through my brain once again, redoubling in intensity as it did. It only lasted for a few seconds, but every one of those seconds felt like a lifetime…it was so horrible…
This was what Kiri went through every second of every day. This was what she saw…and never stopped seeing. And not just this; not just one lifetime of suffering. She saw everybody’s suffering, all the time. She didn’t even have to touch them to feel their suffering, whether in the past or the present. That poor, poor woman…
I completely blacked out.
Kiri
And then, for just a few short moments, I was no longer the witch who was being hunted, the madwoman damned to the gallows. I was no longer the woman who had to take joy in suffering, or else there would be nothing left in her world.
I wasn’t any of that any more. I was Kiri again. Just normal Kiri.
My old uncle used to say that your life flashes before your eyes when you die. I felt like I was dying then, for I could see my entire life up until now…and all the atrocities I had committed…
I gasped, backing away from the scene. There were people lying everywhere, moaning, crying, writhing in the agony of every suffering moment they had ever known. The big man with the big sword was now curled up on the ground, weeping like a child – he especially, along with a few others, knew the true meaning of suffering. I stumbled back, unable to believe what I had done…
…and my foot slipped in the intestines of the man I had just gutted. Crying out in fright, I fell over his body, soaking my already blood-encrusted clothes with even more gore. I shrieked in terror, not at the sight of the body but at the remembrance that I had caused this, and scrambled to my feet. How could this be? How could I have done this…?
I walked over to my hooks, still stuck in the ground, and pulled them free. Then I ran further into the forest, hacking and slashing my way through the underbrush. It would all end, I decided…I would run to the middle of the woods and take my life with my own hooks, and end this suffering once and for all…
…slowly, though, I decided against it. I was starting to…remember…how beautiful all this…suffering…was…
Kept running…laughed again as I did….remembered…all the suffering…all the joy…the joy…the JOY! HAHAHAHA! What joy! What JOY! WHAT JOY! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
I understood again…suffering was all there was for me…and joy…suffering and joy…
Suldir
I rose slowly, shuddering uncontrollably as I did. I couldn’t remember ever having been happy – was I ever happy? I couldn’t remember…all I saw was suffering…all there was was suffering…
No, I told myself, No, suffering is not all that there is. You’ll snap out of this soon enough; you have to! There are other things in this world. Granted, there is much suffering, but what would be the point of living if that’s all there ever was? There’s still happiness, there’s still laughter, there’s still joy… “…and there’s still justice.” I growled meaningfully. There was a monster out there in the woods, a worse monster than even the overactive imaginations of the witch hunters could ever produce. What made this monster worse? The fact that it was a real monster. A real enemy of what’s good and just, a real threat to society. I had dedicated my life as watch captain to the removal of the real threats to society, and this was one of them.
That’s what justice is all about; being fair to everybody and seeing everybody get what they deserved. And it was my job to uphold justice, and see to it that those who harm others get what they deserve.
I looked down. Meshima lay near me, completely passed out. All the suffering must have been too much for her to take, I reckoned. Still, she was one of the contenders in this hunt, so I shook her awake.
Before she could say anything, I pulled her to her feet and looked her dead in the eye. “Rouse the men,” I ordered her, “Make sure they’re all up and awake. I don’t know what that madwoman is, or what sort of ooga-booga magicy powers she has, and I don’t know what it is that you want with her, but let’s get one thing straight here. This is no longer just a fetch-and-return mission for you or me. We are going to find this murderess and destroy her on the spot! Nobody is taking her prisoner, got it? When we find her, she is going to die! Have I made myself clear?” Not waiting for an answer, I continued. “You have your orders. Now get rousing those men.”
Without a word, she set about doing so. As I went over to Loggar to help him, I couldn’t help but notice that the first person Meshima went to was Connor. I dunno…just thought it was worth the mentioning.
Harold
The march began anew the very next morning. It was not hard to track the witch at all; she seemed to have just tirelessly hacked her way through the underbrush, tearing a straight path right through it for us to follow. Still, I was surprised to have not been frozen solid by the icy contempt we were given by Suldir and his watchmen.
So we hadn’t gone to their aid. So what? We were just seeing how it would all play out, who would win in the end. It was their fault that the witch managed to use her powers on us and escape.
I have to admit, though, I’d have never thought that even a witch would have a power such as that. To make a man relive every painful moment of his life within the space of a few seconds? Surely only the most powerful servants of Hell could possibly achieve this!
And now the watch captain was bent not upon hanging the witch, but upon killing her on sight. The fool; even after all of this, he still seemed not to believe in witches! Did he not know that they could only truly be undone using righteous fire? Or perhaps he did…and wanted her to live on! Yes, that must be it! That tricksy fiend wanted to release her from her mortal shackles using his blade, that she may rise again from the crumpled wreck of her old body and be all the more powerful for it! That must be it!
I’ll kill them last… That wasn’t going to cut it any more.
Meshima
The procession along the trail that Kiri had carved in her madness was a somber one indeed. Everyone kept their eyes forward, ever looking before them, as if they expected their quarry to jump out in front of them at any second. Connor walked close to me, his axe clenched tight in both hands. Sam never lowered his repeater crossbow, Loggar held his giant sword ever at the ready, and, now that I looked around, I saw that not a single watchman did not hold their weapon at the ready. Meanwhile, Suldir strode grimly at the front of the group, his face as hard and cold as stone.
If this experience had done anything to Harold, it had only re-affirmed the existence and power of witches in his mind. Fear and awe swirled within him so strongly that his very breath told me its tale. Even his thugs were frightened; true to the nature of any bully, these men were cowards to the very core of their beings. They had never really believed in witches, and now, faced with something definitely abnormal and unexplainable, they were scared. Now they believed with all their hearts that there were other, much more powerful forces at work in this world, figments of their fearful imaginations though they were.
And I could feel those thugs’ eyes on me, even though they would always jerk their heads away as I looked back. They now believed that I, too, was a witch. This was true, but not at all in the way that they thought. They believed that I was a supernatural evil entity capable of terrible magic and all other forms of fantastical, nonsensical miracles. My gift is that of Understanding, true, but I may never understand how people could ever become so ignorant.
This was the true difference between Suldir’s men and Harold’s. Suldir’s men had been through a rough life, as had Harold’s. Suldir’s men were hardened by the streets, as were Harold’s. But the main difference was that Suldir’s men were good people; they had a job to do, and they’d do it without distraction. Harold’s men, however, only did the job that they did because it allowed them to do all the evil they wanted; in essence, their job was to do evil. Evil in the name of good, and nothing more. The only reason they were doing this job, however, was because their emplyer, the man who allowed them to do so much evil, wanted it done. And he still wanted it done, so they would have to do it. But that didn’t mean that they wouldn’t succumb to superstition as they did so, blaming others of ridiculous crimes and even fighting amongst each other. That was the true difference between the two groups; one was made up of overall good people, the other was just plain evil.
The path was not a straight one. It was as if Kiri had hacked her way straight forward for a while, then gone zig-zaggin and looping through the forest for whatever reason. Suffice it to say, it was an annoying journey, which led us to a large clearing in the woods that evening. The trail stopped there; knowing Kiri, she was probably hiding again, biding her time, waiting for the right moment to strike…
We set up camp in the middle of that clearing. We were safest out in the open; there were many fewer places for her to hide. A large watch was set up, each shift with at least one watchman up, although there were many more thugs willing to stay awake for the better part of the night.
And so the twinkling stars lit up the dark sky. Above the treetops in the distant horizon, clouds could be seen moving in; by daybreak, they would be all over the sky. All we cold do until then was wait.
Suldir
Dawn came the next day, and y’know what? It didn’t make a helluva lot of difference. In fact, to make things worse than they already were, it started drizzling on top of all that had happened so far. Now isn’t that nice?
It didn’t take long to rouse the entire party. What we needed now was a plan of action; what we were about to do this day would be instrumental in the capture of the madwoman. But what were we going to do? None of us had any idea.
Fortunately, Kiri seemed to have our entire day planned for us already.
Meshima
I’d never have believed it if I hadn’t seen it myself. The entire band had been awaken to start planning, although nobody knew where to begin. And then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a shape walking from the edge of the clearing towards us. Not running, or even striding. Just walking.
It was Kiri. Walking normally towards us, as smile on her face and a hook in each hand.
So that was her plan? To lure us into the clearing, then walk up to us and kill us all the next day? Not a novel idea, but you have to admit; few of such things have ever come from a madwoman. Perhaps it was deviously clever in her mind; I had no way of knowing.
Fortunately, I had seen her first. Grabbing my staff, I walked over to her. There was little chance of saving this one, I knew, but I could at least try.
“Kiri,” I said, “Kiri, you must stop.”
Kiri halted in her tracks, smiling at me. “Hello,” she said, “Do you do what I do?”
I stumbled as I walked, almost fell over. I saw her mind with vivid intensity, and it was much worse than I could have ever imagined. She took genuine joy in the suffering, as that was all there was left in her world to take joy in. Deep down, though, her soul screamed for a release from this constant agony…screamed to be let die…
I couldn’t kill her, though. I still had a job to do. I would bring Kiri back to the Witch Home kicking and screaming if need be, but I could not let her die so easily.
I regained my posture, then looked her dead in the eye. “Yes,” I said calmly, “Yes, I do do what you do.”
Kiri wavered, obviously not having expected that sort of answer. Then her face broke out in an insane smile, and she started laughing uncontrollably. It was sickening, how mad the gift had made her become; the only reason she was laughing was because she thought my answer was funny. There was nothing else to it; it was just funny.
Without another word, she attacked, slicing at me with both hooks at once. I leapt back, then thrust my staff forward. The sheath shot off of the sword, hitting her in the gut, and I lunged, pressing my advantage. Kiri recovered quickly, though, and blocked my blow deftly with her right hook while swinging at my gut with her left. I dodged back once again, then quickly swung my blade right, left up, down, and then thrust forward. Kiri merely jumped back, laughing, and surged forward again, both blades swinging wildly.
Thus started a wild, frenzied dance of death. We circled as we fought, sword clashing with hook. We dodged away from each other’s weapons – neither of us were armored, and even a single well-placed blow would incapacitate either. I tried to plead with her as we fought, but it seemed to be no use; there was just no getting to her…
Where the hell were all the others?
Harold
We all saw the two witches confront one another, saw them engage in combat. Suldir wasted no time. “Quickly, men,” the corrupt watch captain said, “We have to…”
I drew my blade and leveled it with his heart. “We don’t have to do anything,” I said, “At least, not until one of them is dead.”
Obviously, the two witches were rivals; evil does turn upon itself after all. Surely they have knowledge of how to permanently kill one another without the use of fire? Yes, of course; that’s the exact sort of thing a witch would know. It was all so simple now…
The rest of my men drew their weapons, as did Suldir’s. We stood on two sides, but alas! – we far outnumbered them. Still, the wicked captain was stubbornly defiant until the end. “You’re making a big mistake, Harold,” he snarled.
“Oh?” I chortled, “I do think that you are mistaken, my fellow!” My eyes then narrowed, filled as I was with righteous fury and wrath. “Warriors of the Light,” I bellowed, “ATTACK!”
Suldir
I swung my longsword, decapitating the first man to come near me and sending up a fountain of gore. Beside me I heard Loggar roar as he swung his blade, and heard two men scream at the same time as their lives ended in a shower of blood. Another man charged at me, swinging an axe. Although these men were obviously vicious fighters, they wore no armor, and all their training had been on the streets. I blocked the axe-blow, then swung my blade around at his left shoulder. This one was more cautious, though; he backed up and hurled his axe at me, catching me in the thigh. “Son of a bitch!” I snarled as I surged forward, burying my blade up to the hilt in his gut.
I didn’t have any time to pull it out, however; immediately, another man had come at me, swinging at me with a brass-knuckled fist. I was hit hard in the nose, felt blood gush as I stumbled back. Still the man pressed the attack, pummeling my breast plate with the brass knuckles and causing painful vibrations to ripple through me. Mind you, my newly achieved limp didn’t help this situation a single bit, but its cause may have saved my life.
Eventually, the thug backed up, wringing his hands for a while. Obviously, my armor had hit him as badly as he had hit me – his hands were very red! I used this to my advantage; painfully prying the axe from my leg – because of the armor, it hadn’t hit me too badly – and I brought my left foot up to kick him in the crotch with my iron toe. Gasping, the man doubled over, exposing his back to me for a single chop…
As the thug’s body slumped to the ground, I faced an attacker I had really been looking forward to fighting. Harold stood before me, his blade in hand and an angry snarl on his face. Nothing short of my instantaneous death would please him now, and he proved this pretty well by swinging straight at my head. I jumped back as best I could, but didn’t go entirely unscathed; his blade managed to draw a large scar straight across my brow. Then, before I could recover, I was subjected to what seemed to be a whirlwind of blades; Harold’s sword was here, there, flashing around me everywhere. He scored several hits to my breastplate before stabbing into my right oblique. I cried out in pain, swinging wildly with my axe. He dodged aside, swinging his blade and lopping the axe’s head off as he did. Then he moved behind me and kicked me in the back.
I fell to my knees, gasping for air…
NOW
Meshima
Even as I fought, I saw Suldir hurl the blade at Kiri. The witch, however, had expected this; laughing, she swing around, both hooks held out, and deflected the blade off one of them. I saw Sam rush to Suldir’s side, saw him level the repeater crossbow with Kiri, saw him let loose a barrage of arrows. Kiri merely laughed as she swung her hooks about in front of her, deflecting each and every one until Sam was all out. Both men stared at her in shock and horror as she laughed louder than ever.
It was up to me, I realized. There was no cure for her; all I could do was satisfy the death-wish buried deep within her soul. Raising my blade, I took aim at her heart, just as I had with Dorg, and thrust… And she spun around, swinging both hooks with unbelievable strength. My blade was shattered, and she managed to cut into my torso in several places in her battle-frenzy. Gasping from shock and pain, I fell back and looked up into her bright green eyes.
Kiri raised her right hook over her head, then stopped. She didn’t even break eye-contact as she fell to the ground, right onto my fallen form. The blow knocked the wind out of me, but I managed to see, over her shoulder, the axe that had lodged itself in her back…
Connor’s axe.
Soon, Connor was by my side, helping shift Kiri’s lifeless form from my own body. He helped me to my feet, held me to keep me steady. It was then that I looked at the battlefield.
The thugs and watchmen had completely killed each other off. Only Suldir, Loggar, Sam, Connor and I were left alive now. All of the rest were dead; every last one of them. Dead. Gone. Never to be seen again.
For a while, we all just stood in silence. Then, Suldir started singing;
“See the twinkling of the sta-ars
See them winking from afa-ars
See them all, Venus to Ma-ars
Let them be with peace.”
Loggar and Sam and eventually Connor joined in their voices for the rest of the song. It meant a lot to them, and I could feel the meaning they took in it wash throughout their entire beings and into their voices. It was times like this that it meant most to these people, and it even meant something to me. I tried to sing it with them, but I just couldn’t…I was so weak…so tired…so cold…
“One day, whether by swords or mace-es
I’ll go up and join them in the space-es
Our stars will twinkle in those high place-es…”
As the song began to end, I felt myself start to slip away into the cold and darkness. I tried to stay awake, if only for Connor’s sake; I wanted to tell him how I truly felt about him, wanted him to tell me how he truly felt about me, even though I already knew he loved me. Alas, in the end, I could fight against the inevitable no more. “Let me be with peace.” I whispered the distantly, then succumbed to the cold.
Death took me before I even hit the ground.
Suldir
We held a funeral that night for our comrades who had died in battle on this hunt. Even those whose bodies were not present for the funeral were lamented by our sad group of four. Not Harold and his thugs, though; we had just set up a pyre somewhere off to the side for that lot. We didn’t even give Harold the place of honor at the top of the pile; how I hated that fool. We didn’t burn Kiri with that pile, though; she was mad, not evil. People in their right minds who still do terrible things are evil, not mere lunatics.
The sky had cleared up tonight, letting the twinkling, winking faces of our comrades look down upon the funeral pyre we had made for Kiri, Meshima and the other watchmen. We had set it up very neatly, not in the hap-hazard way we had piled up the thugs’ bodies. Rather, we had lined up a bunch of logs in the middle of the clearing and filed the 11 bodies present along them. It had helped that each of the thugs had brought a container of oil with them (in case of a witch burning), and we used it to help cremate the mortal shells of our old friends. It was the best we could have done for them out there.
When the fire was lit, we just stood there, watching it in silence. Nothing could be said that was not already understood; the watchmen and woman had given their lives for the sake of upholding justice, so that no more innocents would suffer needlessly at the hands of others.
Suffering is a very real thing in the world, a very prominent thing, too, but it is not the only thing in the world. If we forget that, then there is no more point to living at all. I don’t know how I knew this, but somehow I just knew; Kiri had seen the suffering of people all around her, as she had made us all see our suffering just the other night. She had seen so much of it, in fact, that it was all she could find joy in – I still don’t know how I know this. Maybe part of her mind had been shared with mine on that night – I don’t know. But wouldn’t the suffering she saw be enough? Did she have to hurt everybody else? Yes; she felt she had to. She saw no more meaning in their lives, now that she could see only their suffering. It was a cruel fate indeed that had befallen her. I would never have wished it upon even the worst of people.
I looked to the rest of my men. We all stood together, bandaged, bedraggled; a depressing sight, I must admit. Sam just stood silently watching the flames, still as a statue and deep in thought. Connor was staring sadly at his feet; Meshima’s death had struck him a powerful blow. He’d even cried when he had realized that she was dead. I’ll always wonder whether or not it would have worked out between the two of them…
Loggar stood beside me, staring solemnly into the flame. He had been the key to defeating Harold’s force; about a quarter of the thugs had fallen to his blade. He was silent, contemplating the last week’s events. You had to admire him; he wasn’t intelligent by any means, yet I knew in my heart of hearts that he felt the exact same way about this as I. They all did. Even to the watchmen, it was probably crystal clear, looking down on us from the stars above. I think that’s what they were doing, anyway; it’s a nice thought…
Loggar looked at me. “It’s done now,” he said, “It’s all over.” He fell silent and thought for a while. “What now?”
I looked to him. He was a good man if ever there was one; not even a stupid man either. “We stay here for the night,” I responded, “And then we go home. I’ve still got a family to take care of, and a city to watch.”
And justice to uphold, I remembered as well. As long as there is justice, there is still hope.
