CONTENT WARNING: suicide mention (don't worry, not something that happens in the chapter), bad language
Áine
Things had been quiet as of late. Oskar was busy with his apprentice, Reynold was busy with the church, and I spent most of my time with little Róisín. It feels like she's growing so fast!...too fast. Maybe I'm being impatient, but one milestone I look forward to the most is her first spell! Every time the moon is out I wait to see a little spark or two coming from her palms...
I'm running out of stories to make up, so Reynold borrowed some children's books from the Peteran library. Most of them are about teaching good morals, which is good and all, but sometimes you just want something fun- like fire-breathing dragons.
There's a knock at the door. I don't quite recognise them through the window. Very long hair, and...wait...is that an owl? I fling the door open, and...It really is her! After all these years!
"Well? Did you miss me?"
It's been forever. I was so worried about her- I have been ever since she was chased out of Henford. Just to see that she's still alive means the world to me. I wonder how she found out where I lived? Either way, I'm so happy to have her back. Nia chirps at me, seemingly waving with a wing. As she enters, Róisín gasps at her.
"Róisín, Katlego. Katlego, Róisín."
"Katigo!" she squeals, waving her arms. "Birdy! A birdy!"
Kat whispers something to Nia, who flies over and sits atop Róisín's head for a moment, causing her to laugh the place down. "Mumma, who dis?"
"Katlego is an old friend of mine," I say to her. "She's very nice and very helpful."
"She looks full of mischief," Kat says. "You know, I'm not supposed to teach Mischief magic to anyone, but I might make an exception for her..."
"Please don't. She's bad enough without your bad influence," I reply, laughing. So many years to catch up on. I'm not entirely sure where to start.
"Well, Róisín will be four this year- time has flown by," I tell her. Nia seems entranced by Róisín's hair. "Reynold is an amazing father, but it's difficult for him to balance life between here and the monastery. We make it work. As for me, well...I'm starting to lose my head a little. Don't get me wrong, I love Róisín to pieces, I just feel a bit weird not doing anything."
"Not doing anything?" Kat replies, with surprise. "Áine, you're a mother. That's not not doing anything. But, I feel you on that. I passed out when I fled, ended up in somewhere called Glimmerbrook. A circle of witches took me in. I left due to a disagreement which I'd rather not discuss, but I'm glad to be back. I felt like I was stagnating there the past three years. I can't live tied to a post, Áine. I'm not a goat. Oh, and I got a girlfriend whilst I was there."
Today, I have a surprise visitor- someone I haven't seen in years, and she looks like she's doing well. I must say, her new, much longer hair is pretty impressive.
"So you got fed up of being a witch of the wilds, I see?" I say, laughing. "It's really good to see you, Kat, though I did miss your letters these past few months...I'm glad you at least found your way to Willow Creek."
The last I heard, she'd fallen in love with one of the witches in Glimmerbrook, and she'd argued a bit with the self-proclaimed head of the group. Judging by her explanation, that's why she's here- a difference in morals, it seems. I'm about to tell her my own opinion on the situation, but judging by her face, she doesn't want it- so I leave it where it is. The truth is, as much as I've tried to be a pacifist, true pacifism isn't righteous. If you won't fight to protect the people you love, then what's the point?
"In all seriousness, Gideon, I ought to ask what the situation has been like...I know you were one of the figureheads of the people challenging Annorin- which, by the way, I greatly appreciate."
I don't expect her to ask straight away...and things have not been entirely good.
"Not good at all, Kat. You remember Henry? The vendor who Annorin set up to frame you? Found dead a while back. 'Mysterious circumstances'. Suicide, illness, witchcraft...all depends on who you ask. Henry got much more into herbalism and alchemy after you'd gone, as well as still selling his herbs. Became pretty well known and respected, a little more expensive than you, mind.
If you ask me, I don't believe that Henry killed himself. He was guilty after what happened, but I genuinely believe that Annorin took the competition out himself. If he could do it with you, he could do it with anyone in Henford. Henry's family moved far away in an attempt to forget about it.
It's been rough, Kat. No healer around here. So many people have died. It shouldn't have taken all of those dead people, all of those dead children to make people realise how much someone like you was worth."
"These days, I expect no less from Henford," she replies, in a dry tone. "The thing is, I don't like being stuck in one tiny place for too long, and my talents are wasted sitting around doing rituals in the woods. I'm not here to pat the people of Henford on the back for letting their children die before realising their mistake- I'm here to attempt to start a new life with Ellie. For that, I need Simoleons. And don't think for a second that I've forgotten about Annorin, either. I'm hoping that, with so many people on my side, maybe we can finally do something about him."
"Who would you say is your closest link to him at the moment?"
"Interestingly, a man I met on the night I returned gave me some money to stay at the inn for the night. He said Annorin's son was currently his apprentice. He was fairly well-dressed, though, even for Finchwick- so I'm wondering if maybe he might be some sort of spy of Annorin's. A strange thought, I know, but I may possibly try and find him again sometime. See if he's legitimate."
Someone who's got a tie like that might be useful. It seems a little fishy, but maybe it was worth the risk. There's a noise at the door- something through the letterbox. The handwriting on the front makes me sick. I recognise it immediately.
[ Letter from Eduardo Volpe to Gideon]
Mr. Reyes,
I haven't forgotten what you did, and I haven't forgotten you walking away. The witch problem is only worsening, and I know you're probably even poorer now than you were when you came to me grovelling for work. Think of your children! That's what you told me, wasn't it, that you did it for your children? What is unemployment doing for your children?
The men of Henford are weak and many are getting killed, going missing, or refusing to do their part for their country. I cannot believe I'm asking, but I'm desperate at this point. You are disobedient and a nightmare, but I will admit that you are far from weak. If you genuinely care about your children, then look back into your heart and become a witchfinder again. If not, then I can always ask your young sons. Young men are much more malleable anyhow.
Choose wisely.
- Lord E. Volpe]
That bastard! I'll never rejoin his ranks. And if he tries to recruit my children, I'll slit his throat personally.
Julian
"Everyone...As your High Shepherd... I have a confession to make to all of you.
I have failed you."
"I have misled you. I have fallen into the pit of believing lies. I have forgotten the true meaning of Jacobism. I can only ask for your apology, as well as that of the Watcher, for my actions..."
"During my recovery from a serious injury, it gave me time to reflect on the Watcher, and on my nature as the eye of Jacob, the one who should be spreading his messsage instead of the perversion of the message that has warped Jacobism over the years.
I have taught you wrongly about the nature of fear. It should not lead us to hate- it should lead us to learn. It should lead us to do better. If we want to do better to avoid the Watcher's fury at the Eve of Retribution, then we must use fear to drive us to be better people, not to perpetrate fear and hatred. "
"What on Earth are you talking about?" one of them says. "What have you lied to us about?"
I take a deep breath.
"The witches."
Everyone's eyes widen. Here goes nothing.
"I've told you that everyone with magic is dangerous and deserves to die, that it is the Watcher's will...and I have turned on what I was taught. I was taught that to take a life as a Jacoban can only be done if it's justified- and magic, I believe, is not in itself any justification."
"What?! What on Earth are you saying?!"
"Because we have no proof that magic is only something that can be used for evil. We don't know that there aren't good spells. Spells that can give life instead of take it. Spells that can help instead of hinder people. It doesn't seem unreasonable that such a thing could exist, does it?"
Half of them are thinking. The other half are scowling at me.
"From now on, I am no longer going to speak of the evils of witchcraft until I see it for myself that it is entirely evil. I implore that you all do the same. I have no doubt that many innocent women have been killed due to the witch hunts, and I am no longer going to be a part of that with my sermons."
The din rises in the cathedral, and I order everyone to be silent in prayer.
The Watcher must have forgiven me. If They hadn't, then I surely would have died. To send Reynold Morgan, of all people, my way, to show me where I'd gone wrong...well, I couldn't tell my people that, but that is what I believe happened. I have fully recovered from that night, but I never forget what happened every time I look at the scars. They are the Watcher's reminder of the truth to me. To think I've been blind to it for so many years...
I haven't forgotten what I saw in him...the eyes of the Lunvinchenaîné. When we'd had the argument about witchcraft in my early days of meeting him, I could see it now, the remnants of the wolf within even when he was human. It terrified me. He could take a life as easy as he could grant it where the world would have taken it. The way he and his sister never used to get along at all...did that have something to do with it?
I haven't forgotten about the scar across her face. It no longer looks like a sword mark to me. It looks like a claw mark, but I can't prove it. I can't jump to a conclusion, not again. Look at all that my jumping to conclusions has done...People have died because of me.
Everyone leaves the cathedral, without an extra word. Some scowl at me. The odd few smile. The only one who stays is Clementia.
"Julian...Thank you. That took some bravery from a Jacoban High Shepherd."
"Not as much bravery as it takes to live with witchcraft knowing people will kill you for it, Clementia...I've made a grave mistake, and I've little way to rectify it."
"You've already started trying to rectify it," she says. "All we can do is keep going."
The question is burning in the back of my throat. No, I won't word it like a question. I'll word it like a statement, and I'll go from there. Otherwise she'll feel as if she's put on the spot.
"Clementia...When your brother saved my life, I know what kind of magic he was using."
She freezes.
"Back in Champs les Sims, there are old stories about the 'moon-shackled'- people with healing magic who could turn into wolves upon the full moon-"
Clementia almost lunges at me the moment I mention it.
"You'd better keep this entirely to yourself, Shepherd Julian! Reynold would never hurt anyone who didn't deserve it," she spits, wide-eyed. "He saved your life. You owe it to him to never speak a word of this to anyone."
Is she acting like this because she doesn't fully trust me, or because I've asked too much? I'm not entirely sure, but I feel it's appropriate to not bring it up again so soon.
"I have duties I must attend to. If you will, I'd like you to stay here in case any visitors need absolving. I did plenty of them yesterday."
Clementia
Chills shot down my spine when Shepherd Julian told me that.
He knows. He knows Reynold is a werewolf...It didn't occur to me that Shepherd Julian would know anything about the werewolves. Why didn't it? He hails from the origin of the 'myth', for crying out loud! And now he'll ask. He'll ask me about the scar, and I don't know what lies I can tell him now that he'll buy. And if he finds out what Reynold did-
The almighty creeking of the door cuts through my thought process. A woman in a black hat and khaki dress strolls in, but she doesn't speak to me at all. She just gazes up and around the hall.
"Hello there. Can I help you with anything?"
She says nothing, and peers past the rim of her hat at me for a moment. It's a little unnerving, but her expression soon softens.
"Oh, no, never you mind. I'm just gathering a little inspiration for some artwork. This building is very beautiful- and very old, it seems."
I don't recognise her accent, but there's something about those piercing eyes, and her age does nothing to sour the prettiness of her features. Maybe she's new to Henford.
"Oh, indeed. Very old. Hundreds of years old."
She approaches me, and I feel a little nervous. The closer she gets, the more intimidating I notice she looks. When she raises her head and stops peering past her hat at me, she's a little less so.
"I must say, my dear, you're playing a dangerous game. I don't know about now, but back in my day, Jacobism had no place for a woman."
Strange thing to bring up straight away. I wonder if I should just be honest with her. If she's interested somehow in Jacobism, maybe I can convince her that I intend to turn things around.
"No...you're not wrong. But I'm trying to turn that around, and I've had a little success..."
She smiles for a moment, and it soon dissolves into a miffed expression.
Violeta
I already felt her pain. When I was her age, I didn't know better. I thought I deserved the way I was treated by everyone around me. Even when my mother told me I deserved better, I thought I'd be happier if I submitted, if I did as the men in my life and outside of it expected of me.
Maybe, just maybe, if I tried to fit in, I would be accepted...I was very wrong. Yet here she is, seemingly thriving in an environment where everyone has a metaphorical knife to her throat. She looks like she must be a High Shepherdess, at least. The younger generations are slowly learning what they deserve. I won't lie, I feel a little angry and a little envious about it, but I shouldn't be. I don't want the young to suffer the way I did.
And here they are again...the positive emotions. The sickening warmth of feeling glad for someone- and for a stranger, nonetheless. Oskar would be proud of me.
"Keep going, dear. It's a rough fight, but you'll get there- I promise. I too had a rough time when I was your age, only I didn't know what I wanted back then. I like to think that things are different now to back then, but...when I think about it, it's the same struggles over and over..."
Her face turns to something more akin to a sad puppy than a Shepherdess. That scar on her face...who did that to her, I wonder?
"I'm just doing what I can, I guess."
"Good on you. Keep at it. Show them who's really in charge," she says, with a smile.
"Wait- before you go, who are you?"
"Violeta," she replies. "I've only been here for a few months now, so I'm trying to explore the place a little better. I'm glad we met. Good luck to you."
Conversations with strangers. Trying to uplift others instead of seeing them as walking afternoon snacks. I'm getting there.