CONTENT WARNING: death and losing a loved one, trauma, familial issues, mention of blood, violence, threat, bad language...the list goes on!
NOTE: This chapter takes place two months after Chapter 1:12. There will be a lot of timeskips in this story given how many years I have to cover. This may not always affect the plot in a way that makes sense, but I have no other choice, otherwise this story will go on forever!
Julian
It was lucky that we'd managed to get the renovation of the cathedral done before the bimonthly arrival of the Great Convincer. The last woman was a comparatively-friendly soul. Instead, the lovely Yacothian lady has been replaced with some battleaxe named Juniper from Willow Creek, whose expression implies she's yet to take the stick from out of her backside that's been lodged there for over thirty years. These people get one step above you and think they're the Proxy himself!
The Great Convincer's job is rather thorough, analysing every corner of the church right down to the High Shepherd's backside to see what can be done to improve conversion numbers. Our numbers had vastly grown in the past few years, mostly due to the fear of the witches. Many saw them as the Watcher's punishment for our misdeeds, and so most Jacobans stood by the witchfinders. Others saw them as a test from the Watcher, one which needed to be overcome if we were to join Them in our afterlife.
"They're good, Julian-"
"Shepherd Julian-"
"The numbers are good, Julian, but they can always be better. In fact, it doesn't seem by your sermons that you are at all trying hard enough to convince the people of the terror that is the Watcher's wrath."
"What on Earth are you talking about? I discussed little else! I spoke of the witches, the punishment that would befall them if they didn't join us...I don't do this because I want to 'up numbers', Miss Juniper. I do this because I want to help people become their best selves and get into the afterlife they deserve- including myself!"
"And what's this about you having a High Shepherdess? And fraternising with a Peteran prior?"
"You, as a woman in power, are criticising me for putting a perfectly-capable woman in a position of power. I know you're Jacoban, but my goodness, this level of self-flagellation is mortifying!"
"You watch your tone, Julian-"
"You listen to me, Juniper-"
"Great Convincer Juniper-"
"Listen to me, Juniper- first, I don't care what you or any man in the Jacoban church thinks. Shepherdess Clementia is more than capable of doing her job, and if people decide they don't want to listen to her when I'm gone, then she'll give them no choice.
Secondly, I was not fraternising with him- merely getting to know a rival, the same as I did with Mother Joyce. I know I've lost people to the Peteran monastery. The people are losing interest in the harsh truth, and they want hope and faith and to be held in the 'Watcher's warm embrace.' It's little about genuine belief and loyalty anymore. Those days are past us. It's all about going along with whoever's fairy story is the most comforting.
If I can convince the Peterans of the fact that their beliefs are entirely self-soothing lies, then Jacobism will spread across Henford and the surrounding country like wildfire."
Juniper huffs. "Well, after that empty tirade, may the Watcher have mercy on you when the time comes. Oh, and dust your pews once in a while."
Clementia
After reading my brother's letter, I'll have to cancel tomorrow's sermon to be with him for some time. It's late, but I know Shepherd Julian is dealing with the Great Convincer visit. I hoped it'd gone well, but by the time I get through the door, still startled by the gaudy new red wallpaper- I see Shepherd Julian sitting on the pew. His head is in his hands, and he's mumbling something to himself. It's not like him to seem so downtrodden.
"Is everything okay, Shepherd Julian?"
"Argh, don't worry too much about it. The Great Convincer has been replaced by some awful woman who doesn't understand how people work because all she does all day is sit at her study, whilst the Proxy blows smoke up her backside!"
"I don't think that's any way to talk about people higher up the hierarchy..."
"I just can't stand the obsession with number-crunching over spreading the word." He adjusts his posture. "I love money and attendance as much as anyone else does, but there won't be any numbers if I can't keep people here in the first place. Anyhow, you're here late. You do realise your sermon isn't until tomorrow morning?"
"I won't be able to make it tomorrow. I apologise for the short notice, but I'll need to be with my brother. Something terrible has happened, and, well...I'll have to be there for him."
I do tire of having been the supportive sister for so many years. His lack of control shouldn't be my problem. It feels like I've done nothing but babysit my brother's wild emotions since we were children, but the news has hit me just as badly as it's hit him. We could both do with some time to reflect on it.
"I understand, Shepherdess Clementia. We can always do your sermon sometime in the week. I've been meaning to ask your brother to pay another visit, though the last one was...something of a disaster," he replies, looking down at the floor. "I don't mean to pry, but what has happened?"
"Mother Joyce has passed, Shepherd Julian."
Even he seems slightly hurt. He tells me that he and Mother Joyce constantly butted heads with one another, though Mother Joyce never turned down a visit with him. She'd put her foot down as much as possible, as many times as she had to. Though they never even came close to getting along, or even a mutual understanding, I know that he had a level of respect for her deep down.
I never did give myself the time to thank her properly for what she did for me. She'd let me rest in the Peteran refuge until I were well enough to walk, though the moment I saw my brother there, sitting on my bedside, I fled as quick as I could manage without even uttering a 'thank you' to the abbess. Nothing that happened back then could convince me of a kind and loving Watcher. That hasn't changed. The Watcher is a judge, not a hand to be held. The kindness and love was, very occasionally, in the people, and Mother Joyce had a good heart. If only my birth mother was so kind. I have as much reason to mourn Mother Joyce as Reynold does. She saved us both.
On top of that, if it weren't for Mother Joyce, then there would have been many more victims of the werewolf, no doubt. I'd heard recent stories of werewolf sightings, witchfinder killings, but I don't know how many are true. People will see any old dog, or even any old shadow and think it's a creature of 'myth'. I knew that Reynold had managed to control it for months, but with all that's been happening, I wouldn't be surprised if that control has started to slip.
I would have a lot to confront, both with myself and my brother. I'd have to revisit a lot of horrific memories, and I'd have to avoid causing an argument, but perhaps this might be a time to try and reconcile...if it's at all possible. We'll both need all of the peace we can get with the news of Mother Joyce's death...
* * *
The monastery has been shut all week. He's not letting anyone else in until her funeral, but he knows that I also have a very good reason to mourn her and allows me in. I'm staring right at her, and yet I still find it hard to believe. I tell myself she is just resting, but it doesn't bring me any peace.
Reynold is kneeling on the floor in prayer, something in Old Simlish and something else in the mooncaster tongue.
"You can join me if you'd like."
"I'm good. Wouldn't feel right giving a Jacoban prayer to a Peteran abbess."
Instead, I kneel beside her and I thank her, far too late, for all that she has done- for me, for Reynold, and for everyone around Henford. She was lovely. She saved us both. I don't do it without crying, but at least I got it out eventually. I can't stop thinking about it. The images flash through my mind over and over. The moment I saw that glint in his eye, my brain didn't register what was going to happen until I woke up in the monastery. I still can't look him straight in the eye, just in case.
I am mostly thankful for the lack of magic in my blood, but sometimes I wonder if things would have been better if I, too, were a mooncaster. Would my parents have put as much effort into raising me as they did into him? Or would it have made no difference? What part of me was it that let them down so much- my lack of magic, or my lack of member?
He lifts himself from the floor. For once, I just want to feel like we're on the same page...or at least as close to that as we can get. There's an awkward but necessary silence for some time. I try and force myself to make eye contact with him, but it's tough.
He seems so gentle to everyone else- the warm and friendly prior, but I can't see that. No matter how much he tries, I won't see anything other than the bloodthirsty monster. The dark fur, the claws, the piercing blue eyes that left trails of light as he tore me to shreds. The trouble is, I don't want it to be that way. I want to believe that he is the kind person everyone else says that he is, but I don't know what it'll take to convince me.
He puts a hand on my shoulder. It should be comforting, but it isn't.
"I know it's rough losing her, Clem, but..."
Even he can't bring himself to say anything more. I risk his ire telling him, so I won't- but he isn't ready to become an abbot at all.
"It's going to be a lot on your shoulders, Reynold."
He nods. "I know. And I know what you're worrying about. And the answer is, I don't know. I can't be more honest with you than that."
I hate when I cry. I hate it so, so much. Every time I try to avoid showing weakness, weakness finds its way out. Shepherd Julian has done his best to help me overcome it, but it still finds a way every single time. I can't keep staying silent about this, though. The silence drives me mad.
"All of these people that trust you and depend on you, and they don't even know- and you don't even know whether or not they'll be safe around you. How do you live with yourself?"
To my surprise, I don't see that familiar glint in his eye. In fact, I don't see much of anything in them. We head upstairs to the main hall, where we aren't staring right at Mother Joyce or arguing in her presence.
"I know what people have been saying, Clem- about the witchfinders and the supposed werewolf. And if it is definitely me, then...honestly, so be it. So long as no innocent people are being harmed."
Reynold doesn't want to face the reality that he's likely the last mooncaster in Henford; the hunt against them was arguably worse than it was against the rest of the witches. He doesn't remember anything from the transformations, or so he claims. I don't know how much I believe him, but he tells me it's because the mind and thought processes of a wolf are more or less incomprehensible to a human. "I thought Peterans were supposed to be non-violent."
"I understand, Clem, but I don't always have the luxury of knowing when any of this is going to happen. If it's just the witchfinders, then so be it. In an ideal world, I wouldn't do harm to a single soul- but I'd rather a hundred witchfinders die before any innocent person. Peteran or not, it's the best I can do."
"Please, just take the Rite of Dissolution!" I beg. "It's the only option left. You don't need lunar magic anyway. All it does is risk you endangering someone you love. Why don't you just get rid of it?"
"Because I can't give up healing and protective magic when people like me are being killed left, right and center! What if they come after you, Clem? They won't care that you don't have magic."
Lunar magic is the reason I almost died, and the reason I lived...
"I can defend myself."
"That doesn't mean that I'm just going to let harm come to you-"
He stops talking and puts a hand to his head. At first, it seems sorrowful, but it soon seems more like anger at himself. I don't really want to comfort him, but he tried to comfort me today, and when I reacted badly during our argument. Maybe it's only fair I try to do the same. Even if I tire of taking care of him sometimes, he's still my brother.
I gently put a hand on his arm, and to my surprise, he doesn't turn on me or try to hurt me. I can feel the tension in his arm muscles; he's doing everything he can to not let his anger get to him...and I'd accused him of the complete opposite not too long ago.
"I can't give up my magic, Clem. I hate giving into the wolf as much as..." - he pauses for a moment, remembering the uncomfortable history of the Lunvinchenaîné - "...but I can't give up the gift despite the curse. I never know when I might need it. I never know when the witchfinders might come after you, or Áine, or any other innocent person. I know you and Áine can defend yourselves, but that's not the point. The point is that it's my job to try to protect people- as a brother, as a partner, a prior, and eventually...as a father."
Now I think about it in more depth, it's a conundrum. He can't have one without the other. I think of my niece or nephew for a second, wondering if it'll be unlucky enough to be born with its father's blood, and all the dread and misery that comes with it.
"I know it hurts to lose Mother Joyce, Reynold, and I know she did a lot for you- but you have to remember what she taught you and keep it with you. Even without her around, you still have everything you learned from her. Right?"
He lifts his head from his hands, and his eyes are red and bloodshot from the tears. I figure it's best I leave him be for a while. Before I go to leave, I hear him weakly utter my name.
"Clem...Thank you."
* * *
[Letter from Reynold to Áine]
Dearest Áine,
I apologise for how long it has taken me to write to you, and I apologise again for starting on a dark note. I've had much to sort out. I am incredibly sad to say that Mother Joyce, my predecessor, has passed away, and it's left me with a hole in my heart and a lot of anxiety for the future. I understand that the Withernham townsfolk are lost and anxious without the sermons, but for now, it only seems right that we don't open the monastery again until she is prepared for her funeral. The disadvantaged folk in the refuge have been more than helpful, but some have since moved on. They, like you, want to start anew and live a full life, or at least a full a life as one when the odds seem stacked against them.
I will let you know the date of my eventual ordination. But enough discussion of death- it would be a pleasure to see you again. I've greatly missed your company, but I hope that everything is going well in your work and that you are safe, well and happy. I would be glad to know how our child is doing.
Much love,
- Reynold
[Letter from Áine]
Dearest Reynold,
I am sorry to hear about Mother Joyce. I knew she was close to you, but when the time comes, she will be in good hands with the Watcher, I'm sure. She will always have a place in your heart. Please do let me know; I'd like to be there to support you, and I'm sure the villagefolk will understand my being away for that. I'm happy to know the witches are carving their own paths. I wish them all the best. Tell those left that I wish them well.
I have good news- a week or so ago, it quickened! I can feel its little feet and hands tapping against me. It's very excitable, especially on clear nights for some reason. Maybe you're right and that it's lunar magic making it so restless. I'm much more tired these days though. It's lucky this position doesn't involve too much moving about. I think we're going to have our hands full! I have not thought of names yet, but I'd like something that goes back to my own roots personally. We can discuss some ideas when we see each other again.
I've heard talk of Lord Volpe having taken up the sword as a witchfinder, and also talk of the werewolf rearing its ugly head again. Interesting that it is allegedly only killing witchfinders. I had no knowledge that werewolves still existed, but at least this creature is helping to keep us safe in its own way.
The people are lovely, especially the children. I'm having a great time. And never apologise for the long break. I'm happy to hear from you whenever. I miss you also. I miss us, and the nights together under the moon and stars. Hopefully we can see each other again soon enough.
All my love,
- Áine
Áine
It was a pleasure to hear from Reynold, but sad to hear of Mother Joyce's passing. I'm both excited and nervous for his ordination, and I am sure he feels the same way. Life in this village has been fairly simple, teaching and reading to the children. I also help the adults as well, who are both making good progress. I suppose it's easier picking up language when you're young, though. Lately, however, the children seem less interested in stories, and more interested in gossip.
"Okay, so we finished reading that story, and you all did a great job with your reading. So what story should we read next? Or do you want to read something about the real world instead of something fictional?"
"We wanna hear about your baby!"
"Yeah, Mason's mum says you're pregnant."
"I have a question. You must have a boyfriend, right? My mum said before she died that boyfriends give their girlfriends babies. So did he just...pass it over to you or something? How does the baby get in? Do you have to eat it or something?"
Thank the goddesses for these children's innocences still being intact. I'm supposed to be teaching them about the world as well as reading, but it seems a little early to be teaching them about any of this...
"Well, you see, there's this mythical stork and-"
"Where does it come out, then? Is it the ear? I bet it's the ear-"
"No, silly, that's where the stork puts the baby in when it's all teeny-tiny! Did the stork put the baby in your ear?"
"You know, children, there are some questions best left unanswered. Life is more fun with a little mystery-"
A din of male yelling and female screams vibrates through the floor. The children freeze, and the horses stomp about. I usher the children into bed, reassuring them over and over that I will go and make sure everyone is alright. Then, I hear it in a horrific nasal voice... 'Witch'.
They've found Abigail. Mason seems to pick up on it, and I dry his tears and tell him to stay inside.
"But you're pregnant!"
"I'll be fine, Mason. Please, just stay up here where it's safe."
As fast as I'm able, I head out of the barn, and the cold night bites at my skin. A man in a green coat stands above Abigail, with his sword to her throat. I know I am pregnant, but I can easily knock him down from far away.
"Oh, my! Another witch. So many in one place. It's my lucky day, it seems."
"What kind of sick bastard threatens a pregnant woman?" I yell.
"Oh, no, sweetheart," he replies, laughing. "You can't 'plead the belly' here like you can in court. Two birds, one stone, as far as I'm concerned. Luckily for the three of you, I'll finish you off the quick way. No stakes, no fire."
"You won't lay a finger on her or me or my child. The moment the blade so much as brushes her skin, you're dead."
The witchfinder snickers to himself. The moonlight glistens off the sweat across Abigail's forehead. I can hear Mason's muffled screams for his mother inside. He must be watching...I feel the cold running through my veins, and little crackles of ice forming in my palms.
Abigail dives out of the way when she sees the blade move, and I blast him with the Kryonis spell.
It hits him square in the chest, sending him flying and crashing down on the autumn-hardened soil, a hail of small icicles raining down upon him. Some of them are sharp enough to draw blood.
He's frozen stiff from the biting cold of the ice energy. Parts of his arms and legs were encased in ice, sticking him to the floor momentarily. Prickles of icicles are still embedded in his skin.
It's not enough. I stomp on his chest, preparing another round of the Kryonis spell, though I cannot bring myself to do it. The intent isn't there, for the sole reason that there are children here. I do not want to upset the children.
"If I see you go after any more witches- by the goddesses, if I see you anywhere, I will come for you. I will make you regret crossing paths with me. Is that understood?"
He's about to cough up a cocky comment, until I dig my foot into his chest hard enough to interrupt it. I kick him to the side, and he runs. In all his fear, he leaves his sword behind.
Abigail struggles to lift herself from the grass, so I give her a hand, leaving it on her shoulder- the most reassurance I can give her right now. I feel my child wriggling about inside of me, likely reacting to the magic.
"I-I didn't think they would-"
"Abigail, it's okay for now. He's gone, you're still alive, and your son is safe-"
"My son," she sobs, "my poor Mason. If they find me again, they'll find him. It's all my fault. I should have taken the Rite-"
"No, Abigail," I reply, not meaning to be so blunt. I let go of her arms and give her a soft apology. "My anger is not at you, Abigail, but at the world around us. This isn't your fault. You didn't have to give up your magic to save your child. No witch-mother should have to give up who she is just so she and her family aren't slaughtered. It isn't us who need to change, Abigail- it's everyone else."
Thomas, the cocky young man who I met alongside Abigail, pokes his head out the door. We both tell him to go back inside for now.
Abigail gives me a gentle nod, still unable to really talk. I don't blame her. "You should go and rest, Abigail."
"Mum! Mum, are you okay?"
"Mason! Why aren't you inside?" Abigail cries.
"I got scared! I saw that man! He was going to hurt you! And then...and then..."
Mason hurtles over to me and hugs my leg, tears running down his cheeks.
"And then Áine saved you! Áine saved us from the horrible man with the sword! Was he going to hurt Mum because of her magic? Was he going to hurt me too?"
This must have been how Saoirse felt when I came to her with my worries. A leonine desire to protect the young witches by any means necessary...Motherhood made me feel overprotective enough, but on top of that, this only made it even worse. Either way, I saw myself as a child in him- gifted with a great power he had to keep quiet. Living half a life, because if he lived his full life it'd be stolen from him in its entirety.
"No- because whilst I'm around, no-one here will get hurt. No witchfinders will get you, me, or your mother."
Mason forces a smile. "Thank you, Miss Áine! You're our hero. The others are kind of scared. Maybe you can tell us a story to get us back to sleep! Tell them about how you saved us...but make it extra cool! Add dragons and stuff!"
I can't help but chuckle at the way children bounce back from some terrible situations. No child should be subject to any of this, but at least Mason and the others are strong. If a little fantasy would help calm them, then I'd happily retell the story...with more dragons this time.