CONTENT WARNING: mention of murder, family issues, pictured blood, harm, these chapters really aren't getting any happier are they? Oh wait, there's recreational alcohol usage. See, some characters are having a good time!
Áine
Neither of us have said anything to each other for almost an hour. I could feel his heart racing in his chest; we were both as anxious as each other. I don't either of us want to go first, but...what could Reynold possibly have to tell me? What could he have done? I didn't like to think about it, and I've had enough of the sickly feeling in my stomach about it.
The two of us sit on the edge of the bed, refusing to make eye contact with one another. I put my hand to my stomach, and the stirrings of my child soothe me a little. I can't keep holding back; the stress won't be any good for it.
"Reynold, what I'm about to say to you might entirely change how you feel about me- and I understand that."
The tears already start to flow. I hope he doesn't think I'm trying to manipulate him. I barely remember what happened, as if my brain is trying to erase it entirely from memory- but I can't shift the remorse. Why do I feel remorse for him? Brádach was a terrible man. He gave up his own blood and his own partner, all to protect himself. He was weak. He was a terrible father. Why do I feel so horrible for what I've done?
"Somehow, my father found me whilst I was away working. He told me that...that he tried to protect me by handing in my mother to a witchfinder."
The look on Reynold's face is one I've never seen before, a growing rage behind his eyes, as if he wants to posthumously strangle my father himself. For such a seemingly-peaceful man, he seems to have his moments.
"He said that, the longer my mother was around me, the more I'd be at risk of being caught. So he pretended he was going to help witches. My mother naturally went off after him, and then I never saw her again. Two years later, I fled to-"
No, I'm going off topic. Just say it. No more waffling.
"I killed him, Reynold. I don't know how, but I- One minute I was angry, then- saw him on the floor. Grey, dry, cold, shrivelled. I don't know what happened-"
Reynold
snapped out of it- found her like this-
It's unbearable - have to control it, but I don't- I don't know how -
It hits me, as clear in my mind as if it happened yesterday. The blood, the deep gashes across her skin before I'd stopped the majority of the bleeding with lunar magic.
"I feel like such a monster, Reynold. I lost control of my magic. I don't- I feel horrible. I killed him. My own father. He 's dead and it's my fault because I- I didn't know that I could even..."
"You must think I'm such a monster, to lose control of myself like that...my own father-"
"No."
My hands won't stop shaking. I hope she doesn't mistake my blunt response as judgment. I put one against her cheek, warm and soft against my palm. Even after her admission, she seems so sweet and gentle. Her hand quivers underneath mine. I dry her tears from her face, and she peers up at me with red eyes. I can't steady my voice at all when I speak to her. All I can do is hope she doesn't take it the wrong way.
"It wasn't your fault, Áine. You weren't in control of what happened. I understand I may be overstepping a boundary here, but what your father did you to and your mother...neither of you deserved that from him. Your intent got the better of you. That isn't your fault at all."
Not your fault.
Not your fault.
But it was my fault.
It's hardly been any time since she ended up here, and yet within three or four days she's already told me what she did. It's almost been three years since what I did to Clem, and I've said nothing. She doesn't even know about my blood.
I can't do it anymore. I can't keep it away from her. Oskar was right to be annoyed- she deserved to know long ago, when I first found out she was pregnant. Maybe even when we first fell in love.
"I'm so sorry, Reynold-"
"Áine, you aren't the one who should be apologising. Not after what your father did to you...and not after what I've kept from you. You were brave to tell me everything so soon."
Her eyes glisten with rightful concern.
"I've wondered what it was you wanted to tell me. If you've found someone else, someone who doesn't have to always be on the run-"
"Nothing like that, Áine. I haven't told you the truth about my heritage," I tell her, trying not to let the tears flow as I do so. "Oskar tells me you're familiar with the Lunvinchenaîné- or, at least, you are now."
I hear a little gasp escape her throat. "He did. He said they were- oh. Oh...you're a...And so...our child may be..."
"In truth, that's part of the reason why I took you to Lunvik. It was a beautiful place, but I also wanted to see how the child reacted to lunar magic. I couldn't bring myself to tell you the whole truth about myself and our child even back then, and I should have-"
"You should have!"
She lifts herself from the bed, shaking me off when I try to assist her. "Our child could have had your blood and you didn't think to tell me!" I've never heard her raise her voice like this. "What if you never told me this at all, and I didn't know how to- wait. No. Clem. What happened to Clem, Reynold? I knew that scar wasn't from any kind of sword practice."
The aggression in her voice is a little frightening. It feels as if my heart is being forcibly torn from my chest, but I probably deserve it. The one conclusion I hoped she wouldn't come to- but how could she not? I can't go back from this now.
"What happened?"
"My parents didn't tell me anything about the werewolf. They hoped if I didn't know about how to deal with it, then it was less dangerous. They thought I could just pretend it wasn't there. A few years ago, Clem and I got into a massive argument about my parents preferring me, both because I was a son and because I had magic in my blood and she didn't, in her words."
"It got heated, and I just about remember her telling me she wished I was dead...then it's a blur. Then it's turning up on the door of the Withernham monastery with my dying sister in my arms. I managed to heal her mostly with lunar magic, but...yes, all of Clem's scars were my fault. I turned for the first time, and when I came to-"
I've revisited this moment in my head so many times that the words don't come out with any emotion at all, despite feeling completely terrible every time it comes back to me. I do everything I can right now to dampen those horrific emotions, but even without Lunvin's influence on my feelings, it's still just as powerful.
"Clem said she hated having to 'compete' with me. I was annoyed, but not particularly angered by that. She said she wished that our parents had wished for a daughter, and solely a daughter. She told me that I was a monster, like Mother and Father, and that she wished that I would die. That someone would see me for my blood and kill me, or that some ailment would take me."
And now for the part that I didn’t tell Mother Joyce.
"Back then,
for a split second, I think that feeling was mutual- and that one split second was all it took to awaken the wolf."
Her eyes usually looked so beautiful, yet now they stared through me, like I was a ghost. She leans against the bedpost, staring into the ornate patterns on the rug.
"My mother used to say to me that the 'strongest spark to ignite the fire of magic' was intent," she says. "Whatever dark spell that came out of me, it came from me because my intent allowed it to. My intent at that moment was to kill my father." She lets out a deep breath. "So lunar magic must be the same. You heal someone's wounds because you will it, and you can end someone's life just as easily because you will it."
She immediately draws my ire, but I keep it concealed. "What are you implying?"
"You wouldn't have turned if you didn't want to kill Clem."
"Don't you dare."
I've been keeping that thought buried for so long. Unearthing it is the worst thing she could have done. Ever since that day, I've been wondering. The moon-shackled live complicated lives; the clue is in the name. You don't know how much of you, or what you do, is truly you. How much is you? Lunvin? The wolf? What if it had nothing to do with the Moon, or my blood? What if my thoughts in that moment weren't just a sudden heated reaction to what Clem said?
What if it was intent?
"You don't know, do you?"
"I didn't want to hurt her at all. Clem and I didn't get along well at all growing up, but I never would have wanted to hurt her."
Her reaction to all of this is as expected. I should try not to get annoyed about it; she has every right to feel betrayed. Yes, she murdered her own father in a more-or-less similar situation, but she told me within days, and I'd kept this from her for years.
I try to hold back the anger slithering in. I'm not angry at her, not anymore, but at myself...The difficult part is trying to not let it come out in our discussion.
"So how do I know the same won't happen between us, Reynold?"
"It won't happen!"
I notice her palms flicker with light.
"Áine, I have spent two years doing everything in my power to keep it at bay! I managed to hold off a transformation, as far as I'm aware, for seven months- some of them even during the full moon. I've done all I can to curb my anger, as difficult as it's starting to get!"
I still don't know how I did that. To almost any werewolf, a full moon transformation was inevitable, but I'd managed to hold back a couple of times. It wasn't enjoyable- screaming to myself in my basement, reading from the Book of Peter over and over, praying to the Watcher that the wolf wouldn't take over that night. Then there was the sheer agony that shot through my entire body as the light that would turn me tried to envelope me. The physical and mental strain was indescribable.
"When was the last time you turned?"
"Not long ago. I believed Oskar had kidnapped you. I remember the woods of Henford and then Oskar's basement. I apparently tried to attack him, and he locked me in some sort of cell."
"So that's how he got those teeth marks on his arm."
Áine relaxes herself, but I can see it in her expression that I've broken the trust we had. It's difficult to accept, but it is what it is, and what happens as a result of what I've done...happens.
"No-one taught you how to control it, Reynold. You weren't supposed to know, but you should have told me all of this earlier- especially now that we're having a child. If I have a chance of giving birth to a werewolf, I'll need to know what to expect and how I can help our child. Not to mention- what if you turned during the full moon, and tried to attack me? And I had no idea you could that, and had no idea to stay away?"
"Why do you think I didn't want to live with you, Áine? Because I didn't want you to get hurt. I've already done what I can to curb the transformations as much as I'm able. If I could just get rid of the wolf and keep the magic, that'd be grand, but I can't."
I didn't mean for that to sound as aggressive as it did. I didn't mean for any of what I said to her to sound that way.
"How many other people know about this?"
"The only people that knew were Mother Joyce and Clem, and now you and Oskar."
She turns away, and slowly turns the doorhandle.
"I see. I'm going to have a look around the house for a while."
Clementia
Shepherd Julian has picked the perfect timing to go spreading the Jacoban word...it's freezing outside. Still, it means the cathedral hall is packed, so it works out. He says that things are quiet towards Withernham at the moment, though I tell him doing all that in a predominantly-Peteran town isn't the greatest of ideas.
I don't know if anyone is listening to me. Jacobans are generally still stuck in the past, not to mention I'm not the Eye of Jacob- but I do what I can. Shepherd Julian's manner is a lot more fearful and, whether he wants to admit it or not, panicked. Every one of his reiterations of the Eve of Retribution is more horrifying than the last, to the point where his last one almost read like a horror story. My general style is moreso encouraging everyone to do good to avoid the wrath of the Watcher- taking Jacobism back to its roots.
After a longer sermon than usual, everyone reluctantly leaves, not wanting to head out into the heavy snow. One woman stays behind, a lady who's fairly new to the Jacoban church, and as far as I'm aware, a recent convert from Peterism. Alice, I think her name is.
"Shepherdess Clementia? Is Shepherd Julian around?"
"No. He's out at the moment-"
"Good. I don't know where else to turn and, well, you seem less terrifying than Shepherd Julian..." She takes a breath before pouring her heart out.
"Lord Volpe's witchfinders threatened me the other evening. They accused me of being a witch. They said that a witchfinder hadn't come back from a hunt, and that he was after a woman with black hair and green eyes. I begged and begged that I wasn't a witch, and luckily, he had mercy that time...but I'm not a witch. I don't have magic. I don't know anything about-"
Goodness. Volpe's witchfinders were like wolves; I dread to think how many people were killed...how many women especially. It was a secret to no-one that Eduardo Volpe only valued a woman for one thing, and it certainly wasn't her intellect or wit. For a witchfinder to come for a Jacoban was bad news. As far as most Jacobans were concerned, witches were evil- a punishment from the Watcher, to be destroyed. If word were to get out about Alice...
On top of that- black hair, green eyes...If that was all they needed to secure their target...
"Alice, please, calm yourself-"
Alice breaks down in tears. She drops to the floor, leaning against my leg.
"I don't know what to do. They can't come back for me. I have children. But I know what Jacobism is like about witchcraft. It won't matter that I'm not a-"
"Alice, pull yourself together!"
I drag her up from the floor and grab her by the shoulders.
"I'm going to tell you something none of the Jacoban men are going to tell you- Jacobism never used to be like this. Jacobism was knowing that the Watcher's wrath would rain down upon you if you weren't the best person you can be. Jacobism even used to have respect for us, but all it takes is the worst kind of man to turn years of progress around in seconds. Now it's all driven by fear- that's what keeps them in power."
"But that's it, isn't it? Fear of the Watcher driving us to be the best we can be has always been-"
For all I know, she could be a test thrown at me by Shepherd Julian or the Great Convincer, but at this point, I don't care. "You know what Jacobans are like about witchcraft-"
"But I'm not a-"
"Whether you are or whether you're not isn't the point. People don't need magic to be a witch in their eyes, Alice. All you need to do is be in the wrong place at the wrong time. The witch-hunts have never been a triumph over evil, Alice. They've been a way to silence a 'threat'. Don't let the people at the top tell you who is and isn't at fault."
In the revised Book of Jacob, there's a chapter about the legendary magpie that stole Jacob's just-as-legendary ornate mask. A young poor woman managed to take a single gemstone from the mask when the magpie had dropped it by mistake, in the hopes of selling it to feed her family. Stood atop its mountain of stolen jewels as tall as the sky, the magpie convinced Jacob that the young woman had stolen from him, and Jacob ran his sword through her
Alice gives me this bug-eyed look, like she thinks I'm going to hand her in to Shepherd Julian or something.
"I'm not going to tell anyone, Alice. I promise." - and I say that with my hand over the Eye of Jacob, and as such, the Eye of the Watcher. It was what you did as Shepherdess when you absolutely promised to never tell a soul.
"I know I haven't been here long, Shepherdess Clementia...but I look forward to you becoming the Eye of Jacob. I know not everyone thinks that way, but I do. I want you to know that. I think you mean a lot to the other women here too, but it might take some of the older ones some time to come around...They've spent their entire lives thinking less of themselves than their brothers and fathers."
"That means a lot to me, Alice. I hope you will stick around- and may the Watcher spare your kind heart on the Eve of Retribution. If you ever need to talk to me about anything away from Shepherd Julian, let me know. I can always pretend I'm absolving you."
Shepherd Julian was respectful of women- surprisingly so- but I don't know if that respect would change if he were to know that Alice had been suspected of witchcraft. Acceptance seems such a special thing until you realise how conditional it is.
Oskar
'Awkward' doesn't begin to describe this past week and a half. These two lovebirds haven't uttered a word to each other since the admission. Áine had explained to me what she'd done after holding her silence for so long. All she'd done is accidentally kill her sorry excuse for a father, who performed a Rite to rid himself of magic before handing in her mother to the witchfinders. I told her the remorse would wear off after a while- perhaps not the best advice, but the most honest. I still seethe just thinking about it. Just the other day, I was telling Violeta about how today's witches would never dream of handing in a fellow witch, and...
Reynold and I relax in front of the fireplace, a nice break from the worsening winter snow. His face is red, and I'm not sure if it's the tearful kind or the irate kind. I'd made him some tea to warm and settle him, whilst I mellow out with another glass of warmed bloodfruit wine. Not terribly long until Winterfest, now that I think about it...Should have spiced it.
"Oskar? Are you day-drinking?"
"Day-drinking, night-drinking...I haven't seen the Sun or the Moon in over one hundred years. Makes little difference to me," I reply, with a cackle. I don't realise how evil it sounds until I'm in someone else's company, and they look at me like I'm about to sink my teeth into their neck.
"So, I suppose you and Áine still aren't on speaking terms."
He makes a concerned noise in his throat, just like his father used to whenever he was put in an awkward position. Spend your entire life convinced your version of morality is ultimate, and you forget you are as capable of making mistakes as anyone else is- not to mention breaking all the rules you set out so firmly for others.
If there's one thing vampiric patience is rewarded by, it's aging your own wine. It's splendid. That sanguine metallic taste, with notes of...pomegranate, maybe?
"This might sound a little strange coming from someone who hasn't seen their own reflection in years, Reynold, but you ought to try looking in your own sometime."
"Excuse me?"
"Oh, you've taken it the wrong way, haven't you?" I reply. "No, I mean, on the inside."
I notice him staring up at the decorations above the mantelpiece, his eyes flicking between that and the fireplace. "No, I think you're right, Oskar. I always tell people to do something meaningful instead of wallowing in guilt and, well...I don't feel much else other than guilt right now. First Clem, and now Áine..."
"I wouldn't worry about it so much. It isn't like she'll never speak to you again. She just needs time to process things- as you do. As we all do." I suppose it was easy for me to say- I have plenty of time.
"You aren't a terrible person, Reynold. Being a witch, or a vampire, or a werewolf...it's all about hiding a part of yourself to protect yourself, as well as others sometimes. It becomes second nature to you, and then you do that with everyone, even people you trust. Spend your entire life putting up a shield, and you forget to take it down when all is safe. Deep down, I know she understands that. The thing is, this doesn't only change her relationship with you, but with her own child. Of course, she still loves you both- but she'll need to find ways of dealing with things when they get out of control, as will you- as I'm sure you have been for a long time."
"I have been."
"Of course you have, Reynold. Many of your kind gave in to their dark thoughts, and from what I hear, some were never seen as human again. You're a much better person than most, werewolf or not. Many wouldn't think to work on themselves at all. It just so happens that your blood makes it a little more difficult."
Violeta insists that swirling the glass makes no difference to the flavour, but I know better.
"I know you didn't ask for my advice, but I would say to take a little break from her to focus on yourself. Head back to Withernham, complete your ordination, do your duties- learn to be a father to your people, and then you'll be plenty prepared to become a father to your child. On top of that, you can reconnect with your faith. It might give you the clarity you need at this moment."
"I can't just leave her. She's only a few months away from-"
"Of course, I would let you know in good time when to come back, Reynold. I wouldn't want you to miss the birth of your own child. Believe me, when you truly love someone, the best thing you can do is keep your distance for some time. Violeta and I have been friends for over one hundred years, and yet our friendship is often tested considering how we're never really apart."
He puts a hand to his chin in thought. Nebelstadt wasn't a short way from Withernham, but with a horse and a good night's rest, it wasn't impossible. I hitched the white horse and the black-and-white horse to the trees out in the garden, to give them a little shelter from the elements. Perhaps I could try and build a little stable for them. I'm not sure if they liked the bloodfruit very much, but not much else grows here normally.
"Besides, I think it would do her good to have some time to herself to think about her child. Then, when the time comes, she'll have you by her side."
He seems a little anxious at the thought. I don't blame him- I'm not often on-edge, but I feel something similar. I've never dealt with a birth before; I took my daughter in from the cold.
As much as I try to settle him, he still seems unnerved by me. Am I too much? I don't know. Trying to successfully navigate the masquerade of emotions when you hardly felt a thing was something not even a vampiric lifespan could teach you. Show too little and you're not to be trusted. Show too much and you're not to be trusted.
"How do I know I can-"
"Trust me? First off, if I even tried to drink a witch's blood, she could overcharge her blood and kill me in a very messy fashion. Second, I only drink from the witchfinders and the other undesirable types. I've taken in plenty of travellers who have lost their way in my time. What you've been doing all your life, Reynold, I've been doing the same. I've curbed an insatiable bloodlust, for the most part. I've learned to make peace with myself, and...oh, I'm waffling."
All this talk of honesty? Now isn't the time to beat around the bush.
"I had a daughter many years ago, Reynold. Taking care of a young woman is second nature to me."
Reynold raises an eyebrow, deciding not to ask any questions, then takes a sip of the tea. "She does speak highly of you, Oskar. She said that staying with you has been the safest she's felt in a long time. She said you even fought off your friend to protect her."
Áine is such a kind soul.
"You know you are welcome back here whenever you are ready, and I know Áine may be upset to miss your ordination- but I do believe it's the best for you both. You can mess up being a father of the church and know better how to be a father to your own child...but you can't risk doing that the other way around. When Áine is nearing her time, I will send you a letter as quick as I am able, and I will do what I can to support her during her that time. Of course, I'd advise you write to her once this has blown over a little."
There was something endearing about the little smile on his face. I don't think I ever saw Alistair smile like that at all.
"Thank you, Oskar...I believe you're right. I should focus on myself for a while, and let Áine do the same. We could both do with a little clarity before our child is born, and a little distance. No good for our child if we aren't on good terms...I still can't believe it. It's not long now and then I..." He says it with such excitement on his face, like a child on Winterfest morning. "It will be difficult to be away from her, but I think she needs that from me right now."
It's the best for them both- a little time apart will give them time to become their best selves, and in turn, the best parents they could be to a child. It would be a challenge raising a werewolf, I have no doubt- but any good parent is up to whatever challenge their child sends their way.
It wasn't easy raising Ilse- an orphaned child came with all sorts of difficulties in the beginning, but none of those were her fault. It wasn't my job to fix her or train her into behaving, like a hunting hound. It was my job to show her that she was as deserving of a loving parent as any other child.
Parenting is not for the faint of heart, but it is something neither
Áine nor Reynold will come to regret. From the little I've seen, they
seem good for each other, and perfect for their child. It's not often I see a couple and then picture them fifty years later, silver and wrinkled and laughing on a park bench- but with these two, perhaps they might have that chance, should luck be on their side, and the witch-hunt far away from wherever they end up. Their revelations to each other have left a sour taste in the others' mouth, but it won't last forever.