CONTENT WARNING: Murder (yipee!), some blood pictured (nothing detailed), violence, a somewhat-gory description of injury
Oskar
This morning, I bravely tested Violeta's theory...and left the curtains open when I heard the drumming of rain on the window. I haven't had much chance yet to buy better curtains for the house, but thankfully, today is cloudy. It hits me harder than I thought it might, to properly see a sliver of daylight again after being shrouded in darkness for so long. I stare into the rainclouds until the outdoor light starts to hurt my eyes.
It's a little strange getting used to a much smaller home, and a much less fancy one- but I'll get used to it, I suppose.
There's a shy knock at the door. That can't be the Annorin boy, can it? I expected someone like him to bash the door down. I turn the handle and he's standing in the doorway, sopping wet, puppy-eyed, like an orphaned child looking for a place to spend the night.
"Good afternoon, sir," he says, in a sophisticated Henford accent. I almost pity him for having travelled so long in the pouring rain, and let him through the door. He scuffs his feet on the doormat and attempts to rearrange his hair. He gives me a bug-eyed look for a second before averting his gaze to the doormat.
"I hope I'm not late."
"Not at all," I reply, and he flinches as I speak. Is this really the son of Samuel Annorin? The man seemed stern and proud- nothing like this boy.
I can understand first-day nerves for something like this, but this is just ridiculous. He's looking at me like I'm holding a sword to his throat.
I gesture to the seats by the fireplace, and he awkwardly lowers himself onto the seat like he thinks it's going to bite him on the rear.
Eli slides the indenture across the table to me. His signature is awkward and jittery compared to his father's fancy handwriting, and compared to my vague scribble. If all goes to plan, Elijah will be my apprentice for the next six years- a fair chunk of his young life, and a blink of an eye for me.
"It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Elijah."
"A-ah. Yes, you too, Herr Nivelheim-"
"Oskar will do," I reply, and he gives me a frantic nod. "So, if all goes to plan, you'll be here for the next six years, helping me with my trade. It's been a very long time since I've done anything substantial, and I know your father has a few of my family's pieces in his home- you'll be helping revive a long-lost treasure. As well as a little weekly pay, I will also give you a fraction of anything I earn off the pieces we sell."
"Oh, really? That's good." He puts his hands in his lap. "Can I ask how long I'll be working for and on what days?"
"No more than ten hours a day, Monday to Friday. We'll probably do more later on in the day. You have the weekends off. Your father has already taught you literacy and basic arithmetic, which is helpful- I'm terrible with numbers and my handwriting is awful-"
"What? Ten hours?!"
Of course the son of such a rich man has zero work ethic.
"Think yourself lucky, Elijah. When I was your age as apprentice to my father, I was working twelve hours a day, seven days a week, without complaint. You likely won't be working that long every day. These old bones can only do so much, you know."
"You don't look that old."
"The compliment is appreciated," I reply. "Anyhow, I ought to lay down some ground rules- No smoking in the house, no drinking in the house, no public houses, no getting married, no pets, and if you do happen to meet a nice young lady, don't think about bringing her back here. No opening the curtains during the day unless it's completely cloudy- I... find bright sunlight terribly distracting when it's glaring through the windows. Oh- and the basement is off-limits- that is where I store all of my materials. Is that understood?"
"I think so, Herr Nivelheim-"
"And a new rule- no formalities. Don't think of me as your master, Elijah- think of me as your teacher. That said, it only seems right that we get to know each other a little. I'm originally from Windenburg, and lived somewhere remote before moving here very recently. I'm soon to be-"
I almost say one-hundred and sixty...I try not to think about it, how he'll react when he inevitably figures it out...
"-thirty-seven years old. Outside of woodworking, I enjoy reading and I somewhat know how to play a piano. Now it's your turn."
If this boy can spit out a whole sentence without crying, then I'll be pleasantly surprised.
"Well, I'm Eli, son of Samuel Annorin. Fifteen, born in Henford, been here all my life. I like to read in my spare time. I don't have a lot of friends. Most people don't talk to me because I'm Annorin's son. I can't even go out in the streets of Finchwick without someone making a comment or spitting at me or something. Some local shops don't even let me in."
Sounds rough, especially for someone as timid as he is. Maybe being an incredibly-rich man's son isn't such a walk in the park. "Well, it certainly isn't your fault that you're your father's son. What's he done that's so bad?"
"To tell you the truth, Herr- Mr- Oskar, he's probably the most hated man in Henford. He sells cures no-one can realistically afford, not even the more well-off people in Henford- and his excuse is that at least he's cheaper than the cures in San Myshuno. It's also because there's magic in- Oh, Watcher! No, no-one knows that, I wasn't supposed to say-"
"Don't worry yourself, Eli, I have nothing against magic. You're safe here."
"Oh, I don't have magic in my blood- honest," he says, his voice shaking. "But I think that's kind of why my father disdains me so much. He more or less pushed me into an apprenticeship...I guess I wanted to try woodwork because I'd like to make something of myself. Something that will last for years."
"And you've never had an interest in medicine or chemistry?"
"Not at all," Eli replies. "I've never wanted to be anything like my father."
Well, that explains everything, doesn't it? Of course he doesn't get along with his father! This again! I already know where this is going...
So Samuel Annorin is the most hated man in Henford, and his son is my apprentice. That'll be interesting. Annorin is paying me a rather generous amount just to take his child off his hands, like some kind of glorified daycare. He seemed uptight in his letter response to my post on the Finchwick noticeboard, but I assumed it was just his deadpan attitude to anything business-related.
"Well, work hard, listen, learn, and you can prove to your worth to your father when you're making more money off your woodwork than he is off of his extortionate cures."
"That's impossible."
"Not when you're an apprentice to a Nivelheim, it isn't. Once people see my mark carved onto it, that's it- you're looking at double, maybe triple the price. My family made quite the name for themselves back in the day, and I aim to bring that name back into the limelight- and you're going to help me. No pressure," I joke, but he just gulps in response.
"Do we need to double or triple the price of something?" Eli asks, his chin resting on his hand. "Why not make it affordable?"
"Art doesn't need to be affordable," I tell him. "You're paying for years of craftsmanship and skill passed down through the generations. Those who see its true value will happily pay anything for it. Not to mention you can live without art- you can't live without cures for ailments. How much does your father charge?"
"For his cheapest remedies? Five thousand Simoleons."
"Goodness!" I almost fall out of my chair. "The most expensive piece my father ever sold was far less than that!" I can't believe it- five thousand Simoleons for one remedy? Some people don't even earn that a year- some not even in their lifetimes! No wonder everyone hates this man. I'm glad I'm charging him as much as I am for this.
* * *
I show Eli to his room- it's rather quaint and comfortable. He seems shocked, in the sense that he expected less.
"Oh! This looks comfortable," he chirps, placing his satchel down on the dresser and plonking himself down on the bed, lightly bouncing on the mattress and smiling to himself.
"I'm happy you like it. I won't come in here at all without knocking, so don't worry."
"New rule, Eli- no apologising."
"Ah-oh. Sorry. Oh, no-"
"I'll let that one slide," I reply, laughing. "You ought to get some rest for the day. I'll be making dinner later- fish. I warn you, I'm not an excellent cook, but I'll do my best."
"I appreciate it, Oskar. Don't mind me being on-edge. I'm looking forward to working with you. I guess I expected you to be...I don't know. Scarier?"
Really? Someone doesn't find me intimidating? And of all people...
"Don't you worry. In the meantime, I've left plenty of reading material for you on your desk over there- we'll have to start with the theory before we get to the fun part. Learn the rules before we break half of them. Rest well, Eli- and be ready by six tomorrow morning."
"Six?!"
I laugh to myself and close the door. This'll certainly be an interesting few years for the both of us. I'm trying not to let my concerns into the forefront of my mind. It's only a matter of time before everyone in Henford knows the truth about me anyway...
[Elijah's diary entry]
Today is my first day of my apprenticeship with master woodworker Oskar Nivelheim, from Windenburg, whose family business is well-known amongst collectors and admirers of fine crafts. My father has a fair few dressers and wardrobes with their signature on. Oskar seems friendlier than I expected. I just hope that doesn't change. He looks quite sick, but I didn't want to say anything. I know some people whose apprenticeships ended because their master passed. I hope that doesn't happen.
He's left me with plenty to read- diagrams drawn up by master craftsmen, theory about beauty and art, even a whole book dedicated to different kinds of wood. No idea when I'll find the time to get through it all. Up to ten hours of work a day for five days straight? It sounds exhausting, but maybe it will be fun- especially if he'll be giving me a cut of his earnings. I'm trying to remain hopeful and positive, and trying to think ahead. Maybe I can earn good money on this, and prove to my father that I'm not useless because I don't have magic in my blood. I'll teach him a lesson in not spending fourteen years undermining his own flesh and blood.
Clementia
No matter how much you pray to the Watcher, there's always that feeling that you haven't prayed enough- that you haven't reflected enough, that you haven't done enough. That constant feeling of 'not enough' is what drives every Jacoban- as well as the Jacoban faith itself.
I hid the book from Shepherd Julian, but in secret, I'd been doing what Reynold does- writing with the Watcher. If Shepherd Julian knew I was taking a leaf out of the Peteran book, I dread to think what he'd say. I don't know what Reynold got out of it, and how it felt for him- but for me, it felt like being watched over by a cruel teacher who I could never please.
Shepherd Julian won't admit it, but he's not getting any younger. He intends to lead the cathedral right up until he draws his last breath, but it still feels like only half the people here would accept me as their new leader. I want to be strong about it. I want to just tell them to suck it up and get with the times, but something is always holding me back. The moment I tell myself I will demand what I deserve, I shrivel up, and I despise it.
The doors slam. It's Alice, holding her hands together in panic. She's usually always in some state of panic, but...never this badly.
"It's late, Alice," I say to her. "Are you okay?"
"Clem- I mean, Clementia- Shepherdess Clementia, I-I-..."
"Don't worry about the formalities. Just tell me what's worrying you."
She's hyperventilating, and I'm starting to get concerned about her.
"Shepherdess Clementia...I seek absolution."
"Absolution? What could you have possibly have done? You wouldn't hurt a fly."
Alice gulps and seems to adjust herself so she takes up less space. "I lied to you, Shepherdess, years ago. I should have told you the truth- they're after me-"
"Quieten down, Alice. Shepherd Julian is sleeping," I say. The real reason I tell her to quieten down is because I think I know exactly what lie she's referring to. He'd probably never hear her from his room through the thick cathedral walls, but I didn't want to take any chances.
"I'm... a witch, Shepherdess- a Practical one. I've been helping the poor these past few years with everything from hygeine to making food for them. With no cunningwoman, the rest of us had to risk ourselves to try and step up to help these people, and stop them from getting sick and dying...No-one can afford Annorin's cures."
She's breaking up into tears as she speaks, clutching onto her head and kneeling. I'd heard a lot about this Annorin the past few years. Reynold tells me he had a hand in chasing a cunningwoman from another land out of Henford, fearing for the 'competition' she'd provide.
"Those families need us, Shepherdess- those children need us. We provide them necessities they can't afford, but...I was caught. My two witch friends yelled at me to flee, and they defended the families that were hiding out in the cave. I...I abandoned them."
"You didn't," I reply. "They told you to leave because they could handle it. They didn't want harm coming to you-"
"I left them. I left my friends. I left the people I was supposed to protect. I'm a liar and a coward. I can feel the Watcher's thousand eyes burning into me-"
"Alice, you aren't either of those things. You and your friends risked your lives and safety to provide for the poor. Both the Watcher and I know how hard you try to better yourself- believe me. You're one of the strongest people in the cathedral," I say, with a hand over the Eye of the Watcher.
It's getting harder to muffle her tears.
"Alice, I don't need to absolve you- because you've done nothing wrong. You did as your friends instructed. You risked your life and used your powers for good. You're the complete opposite of what the witchfinders accuse you of...of what other Jacobans might accuse you of. Alice, your secret is safe with me."
She gazes up at me with glittering, puppy-like eyes.
"I will do everything I can to protect you- that's my job as Shepherdess. The Book of Jacob says nothing about making an exception for witches."
Moonlight creeps through the door. I shove Alice to the side, behind one of the pews towards the back. I stand my ground, backing towards the pulpit. The silhouette cast in light takes shape as the cathedral candlelight reveals his pale, snakelike features and familiar outfit.
He gives me a side grin and raises his hand, sword held to his side.
"Hand over the witch."
"There is no witch," I tell him, without a sliver of fear in my words. Little does he know how much I've prepared to deal with someone like him.
"Hand her over, and I'll spare you. Defend her, and I'll kill you both- just to be on the safe side. Think of it this way- I can do it here and now, quick and easy, or I can kill you, find her, and burn her at the stake."
"You won't be killing anyone, witchfinder," I tell him. "By the will of the Shepherdess and the Watcher- leave this place."
"Defending a witch will do no-one any favours, especially not yourself," he says. "Every Jacoban knows that witches are dangerous, in more ways than one. The woman you so fiercely defend is upsetting the delicate balance of the world- helping the poor and needy, instead of letting them die as nature intended. The weak have no place in this world."
"You know nothing of nature," I reply. "Men have done nothing but destroy nature in pursuit of Simoleons and power. Who are you to speak of nature? If the weak have no place in this world, then why are you here?"
He chokes a little, and I watch his pride shatter within him. He draws his sword forward in an attempt to threaten me. Always protesting about how words cannot hurt, and yet my words cut through him more than his own sword would cut through me or Alice.
I put my hand behind the pulpit and surprise him with Jacob's Sword. If he wanted pacifism and reasoning in the face of injustice, he should've gone to the Peteran monastery.
"As Shepherdess, it is my duty to protect my people."
"If you dare to threaten the safety of my people, then it is within Jacoban rule that I must deal with you in whichever way I deem appropriate."
"Yet you defend a witch- the biggest threat to your people."
"You have no proof that any Jacoban who frequents the cathedral is a witch."
He laughs in his throat- the confident snicker of a man who already believes he's won before properly assessing his probability of winning.
"If you are to defend a witch, then you give me no choice, Shepherdess."
We swap the exchange of words for the clash of swords.
When I trained with Jacob's Sword before, I bore in mind that, at any moment, I may have to defend someone with this sword- whether myself or anyone else. Not only that, but my mind was clouded by dark thoughts of retribution- sometimes towards Reynold, mainly towards my father. I fantasised about killing my father so much that the thought of ever having to take a life eventually made me feel nothing on the matter.
He's so intent on offense that his defenses are faltering. I highly doubt he expected a Shepherdess to take up arms against him. I may have the upper hand after all.
Between clashes of steel, the witchfinder harangues me with cocky comments on how I'll regret raising my sword at him, how I'll regret defending a witch. He'll regret stepping foot into the cathedral, offending the Watcher, and threatening the people I swore to Shepherd Julian that I would help him protect.
I keep taunting him with the sword, working him into enough of a rage that he'll put his whole heart, soul and member into finishing me off in a messy flurry of metal. Just as he raises his sword and stands back, rendered clumsy from his anger...I plunge my own blade into him, with a squelch of pierced flesh and blood. Alice's scream as she hears the witchfinder's pained groan tears through the cathedral- no doubt Shepherd Julian will hear it.
I freeze.
I hold the blade perfectly still within him. I don't do it for any cruel reason, but I can't bring myself to move. I watch the blood trickle its way down the blade and through the cloth of his shirt. A gargling sound emerges from his throat, and he stares straight ahead at me, wide-eyed.
My mind and body sever from each other. I still can't bring myself to move, but it's nothing to do with guilt, shock, shame, or anything of the sort. I've spent plenty of time coming to terms with the fact that, some day, I would have to use Jacob's Sword in this way. I feel very little. I don't even feel the burning, vicious joy of vengeance like I did when I used to picture myself taking the lives of witchfinders to steel myself for the eventual moment.
I pull the sword from his gut. He collapses to the floor, coughing up blood that trickles down his face and blends right into the red carpet as if it were a mere spill of water.
That's when Shepherd Julian finally hears what's been going on, likely alerted by Alice's scream.
"Clementia!"
Let this be a lesson not only to the witchfinders, but to Shepherd Julian, and to the rest of the Jacobans.
"I fulfilled my duty, Shepherd Julian."
"What duty do you call this?!" I've never heard him shriek so loud, but I'm not faltering this time. I'm not backing down. I'm not minimising myself in any way.
This is a taste of what's to come. I won't tolerate the hatred and murder of witches the way Shepherd Julian has. Whether he likes it or not, whether anyone likes it or not, those who try to do harm to the people of the Jacoban church will meet the fate they deserve.
"I protected my people, Shepherd Julian- as the book tells us to."