CONTENT WARNING: mentions of trauma, violence
Clementia
"Shepherdess?"
Who's here this late at night?
"Don't be alarmed. It's Great Convincer Juniper."
Lovely. The last person I want interrupting quiet prayer.
"What do you want?"
"Such rudeness, Shepherdess- remember who you are speaking to! I have to ask you a few questions, Shepherdess. I decided to wait until your late-night prayer so that no-one would hear or see us having this conversation."
I gulp. I think I know what this is about. It's been a while since Shepherd Julian officially gave his anti-witchfinder speech, and the Jacoban cathedral has lost a lot of following since. Shepherd Julian has been increasingly paranoid ever since his stabbing, but I also feel like it's still to do with the shock of seeing magic, as well as said magic being that performed by the Peteran priest...and my brother. It might be my own paranoia, but I've also noticed that he seems to stare at my scar a lot more than he used to.
"Fine. Ask away."
Juniper clears her throat. "I'm sure you remember when Shepherd Julian shocked every Jacoban in Finchwick with his rather sudden 'pro-witch' stance. Some members of the Jacoban community higher up the hierarchy of course heard about it, and many Jacobans sent letters of complaint to them on the matter. Some of those letters- and some of those higher-up in the heirarchy- wonder if there was some kind of bewitchment involved."
Deep down, I've been waiting for this accusation, so much so that I'm not perturbed by it in the slightest. Angry, on the other hand...
"And what do you believe, Juniper?"
"Great Convincer Juniper."
"I'll ask again. What do you believe, Juniper?"
For a second, I could swear I saw her scowl soften into something a little more apologetic. "It doesn't matter what I think, Shepherdess. I'm here to ensure that numbers stay high, and solve any issues that affect those numbers."
"If I were a witch, Juniper, then don't you think I would be bewitching you right now into believing I'm innocent? That I would have bewitched the witchfinder into not almost fatally impaling my predecessor?"
She says nothing. Of course she doesn't.
"How do I know that you aren't bewitching the higher-ups into handing me in as the guilty one to cover your own tracks, Juniper?"
Her gasp echoes off the walls of the cathedral. She attempts to relax herself before blurting out a reply.
"Shepherdess, when I was your age, it was much, much worse. I didn't have a Shepherd Julian. I didn't have anyone. I found my own way through the ranks, amongst all of the men who said I couldn't, my father included. I didn't become the Great Convincer by letting others walk all over me. Man or woman, no-one is taking this from me- and I'm sure you feel the same way, don't you, Shepherdess?"
"Any other woman would kill for my position, Shepherdess- and I worked hard to get here. I'm not giving it up for them. Don't you feel the same-"
"Get on with your interrogation, Juniper."
She sniggers at me. "That'll be the end of it. However, Shepherdess, I do realise that this whole ordeal puts you in some level of danger. I may not be willing to take the fall for you, but I do have something to give you."
She hands me a steel dagger, with the Eye of Jacob in the center of the hilt. Why is she trying to protect me?
"If only you were the Great Convincer of trying to assure the High Priest of my innocence, Juniper."
She bows her head. "This is the best I can do, Shepherdess. Use that to defend yourself if you need to. And don't breathe a word of this. If anyone finds out-"
"I'm not willing to take the fall for you, Juniper. If they find out that you assisted me, then that's on you."
Part of me had a primal desire to thrust the dagger into her gut, see how she liked it, but I instead take my leave, the dagger firmly in hand.
* * *
There's an eerieness in the air...I wonder if it's the full moon. Even in people who don't have magic in their blood, many say that the full moon has an affect on people's moods and unlocks a ferocity in them. Maybe the moon-shackled aren't so strange after all.
Every full moon, I always wonder about my brother, about the werewolves- what it's actually like to be the same person in a different mind of a different creature. I'll always be glad I never got his blood, but that doesn't mean I'm not curious...
There's a crunching of grass behind me, and it's too loud to be the footsteps of any creature of the night.
Of course. I wonder who set this up? The High Priest? The Great Convincer? Maybe someone under the roof of the very cathedral, one of the regulars...Seems every man fancies himself a witchfinder these days. Desperation for money had led to almost anyone signing up, and many men in Henford considered themselves experts in whatever field they found themselves in regardless of experience.
He was out of luck; I didn't have any magic or any special powers, not that it made any difference in the eyes of the witchfinder.
I didn't respond to his taunts. Men hated it when you didn't falter at their words or their presence. It made their innate rage even worse. Make someone mad enough by doing nothing and you've already won the battle.
I can hear a low, rumbling sound nearby...like some kind of animal is lurking. If this witchfinder keeps kicking up a fuss, then I can't guarantee this animal won't consider him a threat and go for him...so I stand there, saying nothing, gently holding the blade of the dagger in my other hand.
That sound. The raucous snarl, mixed with an underlying sound akin to a human voice. All of a sudden, I'm back to two years ago. I can feel the claws tearing at my skin, ripping me to shreds...
The witchfinder's apprentice screams and runs. The sword falls from the witchfinder's hand as the wild black shadow grapples him by his wrists.
The horrific screams, an amalgamation of barking with a vaguely-human undertone. The piercing pupils, bright as the moon that cursed him. The saliva dripping from his jaws. I remember it all in absolute clarity.
The wolf's jaws clamp down in his arm with a sharp sound of impaled flesh, and the witchfinder's screams echo off the trees...
His screams are cut short by the wolf biting into this throat, tenaciously holding the man's neck between his teeth until he falls limp to the ground in a squelch of blood.
When he's done with the witchfinder, his eyes turn to me, and I can't look away. I can't run, and I can't scream; my body and mind won't let me. I try to steel myself in his presence, constantly telling myself that this was almost three years ago. Áine had told me that he'd been near her and hadn't hurt her, but that time, he was behind bars. Not this time.
I do the only thing I can do.
I'm going to see if she was right.
I manage to raise myself to my feet, kneeling. He slowly approaches me, curiously sniffing around like a common dog. His pupils widen. I feel myself shaking, and I grab my hand tight to try and prevent it.
For a moment, we stare at each other, and don't move. I twitch when I notice his fingers curl up on one hand...paw...and he makes a grunting noise in his throat.
With a quivering hand, I gradually lift my arm and close my eyes tight until I feel a fuzzy softness on my hand, and the chill of air from his nose on my palm.
He isn't angry. He isn't trying to hurt me. The brightness of his eyes dulls a little, and a soft growl rumbles in his throat.
I lift my hand and place it on his head. His fur is deceptively soft, almost like a puppy's. He lowers his head and makes a whimpering sound. Werewolves are almost never like this. Even when they're not trying to attack you, they're usually too grumpy to even have a trusted person touch them.
I feel something clammy on my arm...Reynold places his paw there, and another whimpering sound escapes his throat.
I've never not been glad that I'm not one of the moon-shackled. I hated that Reynold got away with so much when we were growing up, whether it was because he was my brother or because he was a werewolf...but I don't think I could cope with Lunvin's influence. I already have enough pent-up rage. With the moon's influence on that...I don't even want to imagine what I could be capable of.
"Brother...thank you."
Reynold suddenly shakes me off, turning his head to a noise in the distance and heading off past the pond.
The images of that night almost three years ago keep trying to replay in my head, as they always do- only this time, they cut between those images and the images of Reynold sitting there whimpering at me with his paw on my arm. Was he trying to show he wasn't a threat to me? Was he trying to 'talk' to me? Trying to apologise? Does Reynold's wolf form somehow feel remorse? There's no way to know. He'll forget all about this moment once he comes to upon the morning, but I never will- and with any luck, eventually, now it'll be this memory will be the one that comes to me when I see the full moon in the sky.