CONTENT WARNINGS: Concerns for health of an unborn child, mentions of violence and death, a dead body in a fire. And an all-around pretty-horrible nightmare sequence.
Áine
I tried not to think of the child growing inside me, though my mind gave me little choice. I couldn't bear to think of it, not until it quickened- not until I had a sure chance of at least bringing it into the world. The nausea is starting to be less of an issue, but my body aches from just a few simple botanical spells. I realise that I must be honest with Katlego and say-
"I have something we need to discuss. I am fine with having you here for the moment, but I wanted to tell you that you can't stay here forever, Áine."
"Oh. I was just about to say the same to you, Kat."
"Oh. Well, that's great. Removes the awkwardness from the situation, doesn't it?"
"I understand, Katlego. It wasn't my plan to remain here, especially not when I'm having a child- but I won't be much use to you soon. The baby is already taking much of my energy out of me, and it's no good me doing a lot of manual or magical labour right now. Trouble is, I feel like I don't belong anywhere. I just want a place to settle down and call my own."
"Seems a little too much to ask for, for a witch," she replies, with a smirk. "Is there a chance you can look for another job in the meantime? There's a noticeboard in Finchwick, isn't there?"
Kat's right. I can see if I can find something less physically demanding until the time comes. Kat puts her 'thinking face' on- never a good sign.
"Hmm, what would suit you...what about becoming a cunningwoman yourself? - No, that would boost the competition and I already have to deal with that wretch Annorin...Or I could use a spell on you that turns you green and hideous, and then you can join one of those travelling oddity shows!"
After almost thirty minutes of brushing off Kat's unbelievable 'grand ideas', I do come to a sort of conclusion...My mother was a teacher, wasn't she? There's still a possibility for something I could do. I didn't know how I'd find the work, but maybe I could be like her- a magic teacher. There must be plenty of lost witch children around...children who had lost their parents, with no-one to teach them how to use their gift.
Kat was earning enough money to give me a wage, but I couldn't rely on her forever; it didn't seem fair. She'd only just got here, and her planned income was taken from her when her boat was stolen. I respect Kat, but I want what she earns to be hers entirely.
* * *
The Finchwick noticeboard doesn't have anything of interest. All of the jobs involve hard labour- not ideal while I'm carrying a child, and I imagine none of these sorts of jobs would ever take on a woman anyway. There's a noble hiring a witchfinder, but I don't think I'm smart enough to take that on to lead them off the scent the way Kat is doing.
It feels like there is no hope. I can't do any of this while pregnant. Even if an employer was fine with me being a woman, if I were too good at my job, they'd call me a witch anyhow.
"You've got no chance, love," says an unfamiliar voice with a heavy accent. "A young lady like you isn't going to get any employment around here. You can blame the factories and the fancy mechanics for that. Soon all this greenery will be done with. No farms, no fields, no future. All of these 'innovations'...What's wrong with the way things were?"
"Well, some of the innovations are interesting. I hear some clever men have found a way to fly in the air in a balloon with a basket attached. Isn't that amazing? Don't you think it's incredible that man have found a way to fly?"
"Not in the slightest, sweetheart," he replies, tipping his hat and kneeling against the noticeboard. "We have to accept that there are some things in this world that just weren't made for us to discover. What's the point in living when all the mysteries have been solved, hm? No joy in curiosity when we know all of the answers. All I need is my animals, and me missus, and I'll be happy. None of this fancy mechanical nonsense."
In a way, he was right. I too worried for the world and the way things were changing. I could almost feel it, the anger of the Earth, the Sun, the Moon, even the Aos sí ... in time, they will all retaliate. People believe the machines will cause ruin to the world, others are encaptured by the new technology. On top of that, he had a point; even us witches didn't know the answers to everything, and part of the joy of witchcraft was in the unknown itself. If only I could live like this farmer. Just me, Reynold, and if all goes to plan, our child. The more I search, the more hopeless it seems. For now, at least I have the money from Kat. I guess I'll just have to wait and see what opportunities come to me.
Reynold
I had waited for Clem outside of the Jacoban cathedral the day after my meeting. She acted completely clueless as to why I was there. We take a walk into the fields; I don't wish to cause a scene right outside of the cathedral. It wouldn't be fair on her. I tell myself to be firm with her. She may be my sister, but I absolutely have to know the truth, for both our safeties. Clem and I aren't exactly close. I wouldn't be surprised if she'd broken her promise.
"What did you tell him, Clem?"
"What? Tell who-"
"Who do you think?"
"I didn't- Reynold, I told you I wouldn't tell anyone about-"
I don't believe her, at all. The way that Shepherd Julian was talking about it, the way he stressed those words, he knew something. I was sure of it. Why else would he challenge me specifically on the occult before anything else that could be going on in Henford?
"You might think you're safe because it's not in your blood, but if they find me, they'll find you as well, and it won't matter to them! Your association with me is all they'll need to slit your throat as well as mine!"
She doesn't respond. Her eyes widen. She freezes, slowly lowering herself to the floor, heavily breathing, and dissolving into tears. I already realise I've gone too far in my accusation, and the heavily feeling in my chest is already sinking in. I promised her I'd work on this, and...
Her words begin to slur together with the tears. "I told you I wouldn't tell anyone, I promised you I wouldn't tell anyone. I promised, I promised..."
I put my hand on her shoulder, and she shakes it off initially. I try to relax myself before speaking to her. I think of Áine, and of our future child. All it does is make me feel even more guilt, and being flooded with guilt does no-one any favours.
"Clem..."
I lift her gently to her feet by her arm, but she still refuses to look at me. I wipe the tears from her eyes, reassuring her.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have accused you like that."
She finally tilts her head until her watery eyes meet mine. "I wouldn't ever tell anyone, Reynold. I told you I would never-"
"I know, I know you did, and I'm sorry. I shouldn't have raised my voice."
Clem gathers herself again, and her expression quickly turns from tearful to bitter. "You told me when we last met that you were working on your emotions, and you clearly haven't been doing anything of the sort. Only one of us doesn't keep our promises, Reynold, and it isn't me."
* * *
Mother Joyce took care of this morning's sermon, telling everyone that I'd taken ill and was resting at home. Resting- what a thought. Maybe once the Watcher decides it's my time, I might have a moment to rest.
"Well?" is the first thing that comes out of Joyce's mouth as I enter the study. "How did it go?"
Part of me even considers making up a white lie, but I don't bother. Not in a house of the Watcher.
"I lost my temper with him, Mother Joyce. I also lost my temper with my sister not too long ago."
Her reaction is as expected at first, but eventually she seems more disappointed than angry.
"I warned you that he'd try to test you, Brother Reynold. I understand that there is a lot on your mind at this moment in time, and that this role is not easy- but you can't let people like him get to you. You have to have a thick skin with the Jacobans; they'll always find a way to try and break people. That's how they get followers, after all."
She didn't have to say what was on both of our minds at this point. The sanguis maleficarum was very much tied to the emotions. Losing control of your emotions could eventually lead to dark intent, and the main ingredient of any spell, other than necessary components for particular spells, was intent.
"I trust you, Reynold, I really do- I wouldn't be having you succeed my position if I didn't. However, we both know how bad this could get. How did Clementia react when you lost your temper with her?"
"As expected. She started crying and panicking. I managed to calm her down, but..."
"I understand," Mother Joyce replies. She gives me a nod, and heads to wipe the pews down. I realise that I shouldn't be a burden to Mother Joyce with such things, and instead turn my attention to the Watcher.
Both Mother Joyce and the Watcher had something in common, in that there was nothing I could hide from either of them.
Dearest Watcher- guide me. Give me the strength to not give in to negative emotions. We both know it's not a risk I can take.
Gideon
When I came home today, Daniel and Josiah ran to the door and asked me if I've caught a witch today. They've been doing it all week, and the answer is the same every time.
I still haven't found that witch. She's probably long gone at this point, but I can't bring myself to go after her anymore. These past nights have been almost sleepless. Dreaming of their voices, of her voice, of screams and pleads for life in the distance.
"Gideon...how could you?"
It's her voice again. I try and lift myself out of bed, but as I stand up, she's stood in front of me. She holds out her hand, and as I reach for it, she retracts it to her chest.
"All of those women, Gideon...why would you do it? What if they'd accused me of witchcraft for the mere crime of being a woman? How do you know if all those women you killed were truly witches, anyhow?
What if they'd done to me what you did to them? What would our boys think?"
A chill runs down my spine and spreads throughout the rest of me. I put a hand on her shoulder, but it moves right through her.
"I'm doing this for us, Ruth. I'm doing this so our children can eat. So they have a roof over their head. No-one else's family matters as much as my own, and no other woman matters as much as you, Ruth."
"If I matter to you so much, then why did you do this? Why did you think I would be okay with any of this? Did you think that I wouldn't care so long as my head wasn't on the chopping block?"
Her crying echoes throughout the room. I move in to embrace her, and she disappears. Another voice mumbles in the corner of the room, and I don't hear what she's saying for a second.
"I had children of my own, Gideon. What about me and my children? They've had to grow up without a father and a mother."
My heart races in my chest. What is going on? Have they come back from the dead to haunt me? to mock me?
"I begged for my life for my children's sake, and you still ran your blade across my throat."
The way the blood poured from her throat, the wet choking sound that erupted from her throat, and her wide, deer-like eyes. That whole moment is as clear as if it happened yesterday.
She draws a rusted blade from her pocket. "Tonight, it will be me watching you beg for yours, Gideon. It will be your children made into orphans."
I sprint out of the door, banging on Daniel and Josiah's, only neither of them respond. The door is locked for some reason. The scent of smoke and cooking meat fills my nostrils, and a bright orange light burns my eyes. It's coming from the living room. I turn my head, and a fire tears throughout the home, a crowd of faceless people watching. There's something in the middle...
It's a body, its face still frozen in unimaginable agony. Everything that made her who she was had melted away into the flames, leaving an unidentifiable husk.
A cold hand touches my shoulder, followed by another, and another, and another. An unknown force is trying to push me towards the flames, their disembodied voices chanting, "burn him, burn him," over and over...
I scream and thrash about, only to find myself at the end of my bed on the floor in a cold sweat. I try to steady my breathing, telling myself over and over that it was just a dream, even if it was the worst of the dreams I've had.
I hear Daniel and Josiah's voices behind the door. "Father? Are you okay?"
"I'm fine. Go back to bed- it's late."
I don't know what I'm supposed to do. I can't keep living like this.
* * *
I didn't sleep at all. Once morning arrives, I receive a letter. It's from Lord Volpe. My children's assistance with reading has done some good at least. The words that stand out are: witch, when, time, dead. He's still waiting for the witch I said I'd find, who I've no chance of finding. I don't know when I'll be ready to tell him that I likely won't go after him again. It did mean I lose out on the rest of the money, but I'm no headspace to go witchfinding at the moment. I don't know when I'll be back to it again.
The dreams keep getting worse and more horrifying. I can't keep living like this, but there's little in the way of options that don't involve medicine I likely can't afford, a visit to an asylum, or a visit to one of the organised religions that I want nothing to do with. The Peterans and Jacobans had their heads so far up the Watcher's ass that I doubt either of them could be of any assistance to me.
That said, it's either that or risking being locked away, and risking losing my children. I have to do this for them. From what I know, the Peterans generally seem the gentler of the two. There was the monastery I visited in Withernham, where I spoke to the young prior. As little as I wanted to do with any faith, I would likely have to pay a visit. They'll probably try converting me or whatever, but what choice do I have?
* * *
Reynold
I'd hoped to have rested and written with the Watcher for a while since I've just finished a sermon, but the peace is promptly shattered by Mother Joyce. Someone has arrived asking for counsel, and she's decided she's going to leave it to me. I'm not entirely sure how ready I am, but I'm hoping all of the books I've read on the human mind might give me something to go on.
It isn't until I take a step outside the door of the monastery that I realise just how difficult this is going to be...it's the witchfinder, Gideon. This entire week has been a horrific test of faith, and it's only gotten worse. I almost want to refuse, but I have little choice. I gather myself before I speak.
"You asked for my counsel?"
"Yes, Prior Morgan. However, I must be honest about my wrongdoings first. I'm a witchfinder. Many people with magic in their blood have died by my hand."
The way his voice quivers, and the way he looks down at his palms...he's shaking. It really does seem like genuine remorse...so far.
"Lately, I've been having dreams about it all, and they keep getting worse and worse. Last night, I dreamt that my dead wife had told me how ashamed she was of me. I dreamt that one of my victims was going to kill me. To top it all off, a burning stake in my living room, and what was left of a witch atop it..."
His voice sounds as if it is on the edge of tears. Mother Joyce may talk about Shepherd Julian's desperation to make others Jacoban, but she was guilty of the same when she was called upon for counsel. When I went to her for some years ago, I was already Peteran, but it was often her go-to response instead of helping people sometimes.
"I don't know how to carry on like this, Prior Morgan. I've brought shame upon my entire family. I don't want Daniel or Josiah growing up like me. If Ruth were alive, she'd have hated me for this..."
"Why did you become a witchfinder, Gideon?"
"I wanted to make enough money to look after my kids and give them a good life. I wanted to protect them from the danger of witches. I've never killed a single witch without proof- every single one, I caught them using magic. That was more than what any witchfinder would do. Most would kill anyone without proof for a quick Simoleon."
Whilst he sits there weeping, I don't react at all. I don't feel sympathy for him. Part of me hates to say this, but I do understand why some people become witchfinders. It's harder to get a job nowadays, and witchfinding pays fairly well. It's also considered righteous because, as far as people are concerned, witches are a detriment to society. On top of that, it's easy money, and money is becoming harder and harder to make for most people. People will go to almost any length for family, but that doesn't mean I feel any sympathy. I make this very clear to him.
"Your guilt won't change anything, Gideon."
I knew his reaction would be anger- it always is. No-one wants the honest and necessary answer. People want to be forgiven, they want to be told that deep down they are good people. No, Gideon called upon me for counsel, not for a pat on the back. He will get what he came here for.
"I know that isn't what you want to hear, Gideon, but the truth is-"
"Go on. I'm not forgiven until I become Peteran, is that it?"
"No, actually. Whether or not you're Peteran has nothing to do with it. Thing is, the moment you focus on guilt and wanting forgiveness, you're making it about how you feel. What you should be thinking of, is how your victims felt. How their families must be feeling..."
"Don't make me feel even worse, Prior Morgan. I didn't come here to be made to feel even more like shit than I already do now!"
"You came here for counsel, Gideon," I reply. "That's precisely how it'll make you feel- but if you listen to me, then it'll be worth it in the end. You can't make change without a little painful self-reflection, can you?"
You have no idea what I'm going through, do you, Prior Morgan? The mental anguish, the sleepless nights-"
"Don't make assumptions, Gideon. I can't help you with the nightmares entirely, you might need to go to a herbalist for that- but I know that dreams are heavily influenced by what's on the mind during the day. The only way you can ease them is to work on casting aside your guilt and self-pity. Don't expect people to forgive or trust you straight away. Try to find yourself alternative work, if you can, and most of all, put a stop to all this. No more witches will die by your hand. Be the kind of man you want your children to look up to. Give them a good role model- one who makes his way through life without the need for bloodshed."
His breathing calms, and he lifts his head. It feels like he's looking through me.
"I understand, Prior Morgan. The noble that hired me to find a witch, he sent me a letter asking for my progress. I'm going to tell him that I won't be working for him any longer."
I nod to him, just glad that I seem to have gotten through in some way. "That sounds like a decent start, Gideon."
With that, he gives me a nod, and leaves without another word. I sit beside the Watcher statue, and end up in some kind of discursive prayer with Them. The whole conversation has me reflecting on my own future, and my own child- or children. There's every chance I could end up like Gideon, forced to do unspeakable acts for the good of my family. I may consider myself a man of peace now, but it may not always be that way, and that alone frightens me.
During his speech at the Jacoban cathedral, Shepherd Julian mentioned that the world was 'no place for the meek'. It enrages me to think he may have actually had a point.