CONTENT WARNING: pictured blood, violence, fire, witch-hunts, children in danger, death. A pretty heavy chapter this time, so be warned. Also a few horror elements of various kinds.
- There's some use of chromatic aberration (the blurred red/green shifty kind of effect) during the scene with Reynold, quite heavily, that might mess with people with photosensitive issues or who get unwell looking at such things.
Áine
Róisín and I have been out most of the evening. I'm trying to get her more in touch with nature, and in turn, with her magic. I notice her gazing at the moon, lovingly, as if she were gazing at her mother.
"Today was fun!" she exclaims, skipping as she walks. "I hope we can do this again. Lunvin even came out and gave us a beautiful bright night to walk home to! That's because she's trying to protect us."
"The Moon is full of wonders and magic, " I tell her. "We wouldn't be safe without Her."
"Father is going to be so excited when I tell him I made another ball of magic!"
"Indeed! He's going to be very proud of you- just like I-"
Sounds echo through the trees, slowly growing louder. Unintelligble rage soon clarifies into fervent chanting...
"Mother! What's that noise?"
"Don't panic, sweetheart."
The voices are chanting against witchcraft- and not just against witchcraft, but about the 'dreaded wolf'... Reynold warned me that, someday, they would come for him. I just didn't expect it to be so soon. And, as usual, when they come for one of us, they come for all of us. I'm sure Volpe's lapdogs and Juniper's have combined forces.
I can't go to the monastery- I'll lead them straight to him. I have to go back home with Róisín.
"Róisín, we need to hurry back-"
"What's the hurry for?"
A man's voice booms out amongst the crunching of footsteps in the snow. When I turn my head, it's exactly what I expect.
The witchfinders approach, swords drawn, the moonlight glowing on their blades. Each one has a sick expression on his face. There's nothing to these men of their own- Volpe moulded them like clay to become his hunting dogs, who kill without question.
"Two young women out in the woods, this late at night? With no man to accompany them? So what are we summoning tonight, then? Ghosts? Demons?"
For a moment, I'm transported back to girlhood- hiding behind the tree watching my mother burn. That's when I feel Róisín's hands against my back, shuddering. She's trying to hold back tears. I am no longer the frightened little girl. My daughter isn't going to watch her mother burn the way I did.
"Get away from us."
"We aren't witches!" Róisín cries out. "We're just on a walk! Please don't hurt us!"
"Oh, don't cry, little one," the leader of the group coos. "There's no need for tears. If your mother hands herself in, we'll make sure that you're safe and sound! How does that sound, Miss? You plead guilty to witchcraft, and your daughter lives- witch or not."
I can't get the flames out of my mind. I visualise the dancing red, orange and yellow, and my mother's charred corpse flickering through the flames.
"Sweetheart- turn the other way, okay?"
This time, it won't be the witches who burn. The heat of the intense flame in my palm is invigorating. I think of the fire-breathing dragons of old, who passed down this gift to me. I envision their relentlessness, their unfathomable, unmatched power- the reasons they became the symbol of Wild magic.
Their swords fall into the snow, and their widened eyes glow bright in the firelight. I picture the Dragon eyeing a hopeless knight, her throat glowing orange and swelling with flames.
A powerful Ignis spell bursts from my hands, the night illuminated by the pyre that settles even in the bitter cold. The flames rise and wrap around the witchfinders, their screams rising over the roaring flames.
The stench of smoke fills my nostrils, along with the faint smell of burning flesh. They flail and roll in the snow, desperate for the winter cold to subdue the flames- but snow will do little to dragonfire. They become naught but orange silhouettes within the raging fire, their figures becoming more and more featureless as their clothes and their bodies are stolen by the flames, the way my mother's was. They've watched witches hang, burn, and drown, and now, it is their turn.
"Mother!"
"Róisín, don't look back. We need to run- now!"
"Your hands are on fire!"
"Run!"
"But what about Father? What about-"
"We can't go back for them!" I scream, grabbing her close. "We have to leave- now!"
I roughly remember the map in my mother's grimoire. To the northwest of Henford is the rural area of Glimmerbrook- the one that I remember Kat talking about, where witches lived in relative safety. That's where I'll take her- I'll follow the River Glimmer until I get there, no matter how long it may take. It pains me that I do not have time to say goodbye to my family- but I have no choice. There's every chance the witchfinders could have gone there as well, but I have little other option than to find a place of potential safety for the both of us.
I have always known that, someday, I would be on the run again.
Oskar
"-And you didn't think to tell me that my son is in danger sooner?!"
"No, because I doubt you wanted that information on top of knowing your closest friend was going to die. Not only that, but I didn't expect them to crawl out of the woodwork so soon."
Alistair looks down to the ground, with a long sigh. "Sorry, Oskar-"
"No time or need for apologies," I tell him. "Go to the monastery. That's an order," I add, with a chuckle. "I'll go towards the forests."
Alistair gives me a sure nod, the way he used to back when I was his superior. "Once I'm done, Oskar, I'll try and catch up to you-"
"No, Alistair. Don't."
Alistair gasps. "What? What do you mean? You never left anyone behind. I'm certainly not going to do the-"
"Alistair, it's either this, or eventually becoming too unwell to have anything close to a semblance of a life. I know what I'm doing. I don't want to live like that, nor do I want anyone else to watch me live like that. Go and help your family, help the witches. Don't worry about me."
"Oskar-"
"Don't tell me I haven't thought this through properly, Alistair," I tell him. "I've made my decision. I will fight off these witchfinders with everything I've got, like I've always done."
"And if Lady Luck is on our side, then we'll go to the inn after this is all over."
Alistair gives me a slow nod, about to turn towards the monastery. "May Lunvin guide you, Oskar."
"And if we don't cross paths again, Alistair- you've come a long way since we first met. You are a fine soldier and a good friend- or should I say a 'good boy'?" I add, in a cooing tone. He chuckles at that one.
"Thank you, Oskar- for everything you've done for me, our fellow men, and for my family."
I watch a man cross the bridge into the shadows of the trees and bushes. Under the muted moonlight, the silhouette of a furious wolf leaps across the horizon with a grotesque elegance towards the monastery. Juniper will be surprised to know there isn't only one wolf in Henford.
* * *
Screams echo through the nearby forests. Whether they had magic in their blood or not, people fled, many following the River Glimmer to relative safety.
Mothers and fathers fled, with their children not far behind, and their youngest held close to their chests. Children and babies cried and screamed, crying out for their mothers- some of whom were close by, others of whom didn't respond.
One man doesn't bother to fight off the witchfinder- he simply gets to his knees and prays to the Watcher to save the witchfinder and guide them into the light, and to have a place for him within Them when she inevitably killed him.
Thankfully, the man's wishes were heard, not by his deity, but by a certain furious passerby. He yells back in thanks to me, but I tell him to run and to follow the others, and not to worry about me. The cold is making my joints ache a little, but for now, Owen's remedy is mostly keeping it at bay. The pain in my leg still strikes like lightning with each step forward from the fight with Gideon.
With the people safely away from this corner of the forest, I feel an eerie sensation that I am not as alone as I might think. As the witchfinder writhes on the floor, the snow beneath her pink with her blood, it seems her friends have come to pay a visit.
As Volpe and Juniper's followers surround me like vultures around a carcass, I notice more and more village folk are fleeing, following the river out of Henford, creeping past the witchfinders as their eyes are all entirely upon myself.
At first, there seemed to be nine or ten of them. Obscured in the winter fog, I can see what might be about twenty of them.
Forty. Fifty. Maybe even sixty.
The shadows grow ever closer, and more and more witchfinders circle me. Their swords shake in their hands, and they seem to flinch when I look at them. I'm sure I've been high on Volpe's list of targets for much time now, haven't I?
I don't care how many of them there are. Sixty, seventy, eighty, one-hundred.
If I don't do something, then everyone I love will be at risk. They'll come for every single one of them- Áine, Róisín, Eli, Alistair, Violeta, Reynold...none of them are safe from these people. Magic or no magic, they'll strike down anyone who they deem an enemy to their cause.
Even in my weakened state, even though I am outnumbered- I have to do something about them. With them all so tightly focused on me, the witches can escape.
I turn on the spot, eyeing them surrounding me, closing in. They're in some sort of ring around me. A sense of dread fills my chest, and I can barely catch my breath. With the infancy of my illness slowly chipping away at me, body and mind alike...can I really take on tens- potentially hundreds- of witchfinders like this?
No, now is no time to falter.
I remember something important- a promise I made to someone dear that I have no intention of breaking. When Róisín wrote me the letter, when she asked me to be brave for her, I promised her that I would.
I straighten my back and hold out my sword at my side.
In Volpe's words: 'I won't stop until every single one of them are slaughtered.'
Owen
Eli and I were both sleeping when the roaring outside woke us. I headed out and around the estate to see if there were any witches looking for refuge- I instead had men and women handing me their injured- both witches and witchfinders alike. They begged for my help, offering me whatever coin or cash they had. To the witches, I told them it would be free of charge. To the witchfinders, I took whatever they had, and I'll be taking more from Volpe if I have to.
Eli is keeping an eye on the ones I haven't yet tended to. I showed him how to properly care for their wounds. They're still alive, but unconscious. For now, I'm working on a witchfinder who has a stab wound to her torso- not likely something she will recover from. I have to go into the kitchen to use the Katharis spell to completely clean my hands, just in case she sees me.
"Why are you trying to heal witchfinders, Owen?" he says to me, in a quiet voice.
I was waiting for him to ask.
"This is my job, Eli. I don't have a choice in who I provide medical care to."
"I suppose, but...It just makes me angry. You could save this woman's life, and-"
-And if she found out my secret, she wouldn't hesistate to take my own life. Back when Samuel cared about being a physician, I thought the same of him, and I think the same about myself almost every day. I realise I can't give Eli much of a response with these people around.
"It is what it is, Eli. Nothing else can be done."
Since returning to Henford, I've hated the impartiality expected of me. The witchfinder issue had become even worse, much worse than it even was when I left for San Myshuno- though San Myshuno was no different. Most witches were burned there, but also tortured in all sorts of ways for confessions. Both due to my job and my societal position, I have to remain some level of impartial, or I would end up with a target on my back- and one of the most accomplished physicians this side of the world isn't any good to anyone dead.
"Once all of this is over, I will try to find time to reply to your niece's kind letter, and find a frame for her drawing."
I have no way of saving this woman; she isn't far from death, and there's nothing left that I can do for her. I sit with Eli, checking on the other patients- still unconscious, but very much alive. The blonde witch is covered in bruises; it almost looks like she's escaped a tight grasp of some kind.
"What if they've had to flee? What if something has happened to them? They've been out all-"
"I understand you are anxious about your sister and niece, Eli, but I believe thinking of 'would have's and 'should have's will only make you feel worse. I don't want you going out there- who knows if they'll go after you as well as everyone else?"
I hear a clunking upstairs- I hope Samuel stays out of my way. I don't need him sticking his nose into why I'm healing the witches free of charge...
Reynold
I have half of Withernham and some folk from the outer woodlands gathered inside the monastery, along with the children. Many are praying together. The adults are helping to settle the children, and the regulars are surrounding me. Clem and Julian both made their way here for my sake, but I don't want either of them getting involved in all of this.
I hope Father isn't in any danger, but I can imagine he and Oskar are on the frontlines somewhere around Henford, though if Oskar is, he shouldn't be, not in his condition...
I know why the witchfinders are headed this way, and I know who they're after, but I'm not afraid. I'm a priest; I have no choice but to trust in my judgment, no matter how erroneous it will end up being.
Mother Joyce wrote in her writings with the Watcher that being a leader is making mistake after mistake after mistake, spending the remainder of your life trying to clear up after the mess you've made over the years. When I first read it, I deemed it a little bleak and excessive. I realise now that she was telling the harsh truth. Mother Joyce didn't leave her successor an idealistic fairytale of what to expect- she opted to leave them the blunt truth, and I'm glad she did. Whatever decision I make will cause another issue- one I'll have to try and sort out later.
"When they come to the door, I will go outside. I want all of you to stay in here- that includes those of you who are capable of fighting back."
Clem and Julian give me a narrow glare, until the two of them look out the stained glass window to the half moon above us. Then their faces turn pale. I mouth to Clementia that my plan isn't what she's thinking.
Elias pipes up. "Father, we're a peaceful people-"
"If I don't have to do harm to the witchfinders, then I won't, Elias," I reply. "That's the best I can give you. The Book of Peter tells us to defend what matters, and that's what I plan to do."
"Reynold-"
A deep voice calls my name from outside...and everyone's faces are drenched with fright and confusion when they hear what the voices faintly say to one another afterwards- that 'that dreaded wolf' is in there. I look towards the door, feeling everyone's burning stares upon my back.
"I want all of you to look after each other in here and stay calm. I'll go and see what it is the witchfinders want."
"Reynold! This isn't worth you risking yourself. I'm far older than you. Let me take up a sword and-"
"You're staying here, Julian," I reply. "I know what I'm doing- I promise you."
The walk through the foyer feels like a mile. I know the regular Peterans have been concerned about me for some time- Mother Joyce's parting speech about me coming out of the darkness only added to those concerns, as to the witchfinders' mutterings about a wolf. Elias wondered how I got to Nebelstadt so fast, and now he knows. They all know. It feels like a thousand swords through my chest, and I haven't even gotten outside to the witchfinders yet.
"Turn yourself in," the blonde woman shouts out. "Do what's best for everyone. We know what you are. Henford isn't safe with you in it."
She doesn't sound angry or overconfident, strangely enough. The sorrowful look in her eyes suggests she's only doing this because she has to, whereas the men and women surrounding her glare at me. When one of them asks her why she hasn't killed me yet, she shoves the man's arm to his sides and tells him 'not yet'.
I gaze up into the stars, and again into the moon- the Watcher's eye, half-open, and Lunvin's entire being. I can feel their presence in this moment- the Watcher awaiting my decision, and Lunvin encouraging me to give into Her light and tear them to shreds. Perhaps, if I'm clever about it, I can please them both.
"I know of your kind. You're even more out of control than the witches are. A blood curse like this is no way to live. Hiding under the robes will change nothing. Your faith will not redeem you."
Your faith will not redeem you. She's attempting somewhat to reason with me instead of immediately thrusting a sword through my gut, and yet her words are like a sword in themselves.
"I have but one condition," I tell her, in a voice entirely devoid of emotion. "I wish to pray to the Watcher first."
Her cohorts try to argue with me, but she tells them all to shut up. "Keep it short, then."
I do as she says- I utter a short prayer...
...but not in Henfordian Simlish, and not to the Watcher.
I recall what my father taught me on the lunar shield. Lunvin is calling out to me. She can sense my intense desire to protect my people. She delights in me keeping my promise to Her, in that I would protect my pack no matter what, and as such, She rewards me with Her immense power.
A bright blue and white burst of light envelopes the entire monastery. The panicked screams from inside are muffled by the wall of energy all around it. I don't let my focus slip away from them, the people who helped mould me into what I am today. I have everything to thank them for, and today, I finally give them my gratitude.
My veins burn with Lunvin's ire, and it takes all of my power to concentrate on defense instead of attack. The witchfinders charge towards the wall of energy, each of them immediately shattering into light and dissipating into clouds of dust that fall into the snow, invisible and meaningless. I underestimated the power of the lunar shield entirely; I did not intend for anyone to lose their lives, but if this is how it must be to keep the Peterans and the villagers safe, then so be it. The witchfinders knew the risks they were taking.
Watcher- forgive me.
Everyone in Withernham knows who I am- and, if they choose to believe what the witchfinders were calling me, then they know what I am. All I can do is pray to Lunvin and the Watcher that my friendship and leadership is enough to convince them that I am not a monster, regardless of what Juniper may think.
The world around me flashes in strange, ethereal colours, and blurs into something resembling what the Heavens must look like- incomprehensible, terrifyingly beautiful. It is as if I have left my physical body, looking down upon the monastery, formless and godly.
Clementia
Thousands of emotions are fighting for space in my mind. Everyone else is stunned into paralysed silence, shielding their eyes from the now-fading light. Alistair did it- he taught Reynold of the magic in his blood. He kept his promise.
Julian orders me back as I try to leave, but I ignore him. The biting cold blasts me in the face as I thrust open the doors to the monastery. Peering over the railing, I notice Reynold hunched over, breathing hoarsely...and, right next to the door, a familiar jet-black shadow. Far bigger than Reynold, with longer fur and sharper claws...Alistair. He's arrived a little too late, but he came to help his son. I don't know who told him about Juniper's hunch, or if he naturally assumed Reynold would be here and came here after hearing the witches. Either way, he turned up, I suppose.
Alistair is angry enough that his rage has transformed him, and yet all he does is whimper.
There's blood dripping into the snow. Did Reynold injure himself? Did one of the witchfinders manage to slash at him? I'm not sure- there's no trace of the witchfinders, and their snowed footprints stop in a semi-circle all the way around the monastery. What happened to them?
Reynold forces himself to his feet, with a cry of pain between strained breaths. He keeps uttering my name, in a disjunct fashion.
"Brother-"
His hands are trembling. I can't understand what he's saying to me. He can barely get the words out- and then I notice where the blood is dripping from. His eyes are completely white, his skin eerily pale...and the blood is trickling down his face, from his eyes, mouth, and nose. The spell he just performed was far too powerful for someone like him, someone who has not had the chance to hone his magic since childhood like his father did.
"Clem- the others- in the-"
He attempts to repeat himself a few times, each sentence becoming more slurred and less coherent than the last, before coughing up blood. He drops limp and seemingly lifeless into the thick blanket of snow.
Alistair rushes over, sniffing at him and nuzzling him in an attempt to wake him- the shock of the situation will hopefully turn him back human shortly- because if my brother is gone, then I don't want to have to deal with this by myself. I force myself to move closer to him, but my mind has me frozen in place.
I can't lose my brother. I can't. My father can't lose him. His partner and daughter can't lose him. The Peterans can't lose him...
Oskar
I've lost count of how many of them I've dealt with. More and more of them flooded in as fast as they were being taken down.
The leg Gideon impaled is numb one minute, then agonising the next. Every movement feels like fire burning through my veins, but I can't give up, no matter what. I may not be the same person I was back during the Bloodmoon, but I still stand by the speech I gave to all of the people under my wing- that I would do whatever it took to drive the witchfinders out, to guarantee them a safer future...to guarantee them a future at all.
Unlike during the war, I took no pleasure out of killing off the witchfinders one by one. I didn't care for their deaths or their suffering, but I don't delight in it. All I care about is the safety of the people I love, and the people who I've never met who deserved to live in peace.
Áine and Róisín have escaped by now, I hope- Áine is a powerful woman. She'd douse anyone who tried to hurt her child in flames. I remember what she told me about the Dragon symbol- unrelenting and fearless. I constantly remind myself as I’m trying to hold off all of these witchfinders.
I can picture it now- Alistair and Reynold, side by side, eyes sparkling with the light of the moon- a haze of fur, fangs and claws shredding Volpe's crew to literal pieces. Violeta is no doubt playing with her food- grabbing their throats with black claws, glaring at them with red, piercing pupils, cackling at their screams as her monstrous teeth drain every drop of blood from their bodies. However this ends, it delights me to at least know that Samuel hasn't won entirely. There's one vampire he won't be able to deal with.
Lastly, the leader of the crew approaches me, trying to hide his demoralisation from being entirely surrounded by his dead partners-in-crime. My entire body is on fire at this point. He looks at me as if he thinks I'm going to submit, but I'm not backing down from this. There's never been a single time in my entire life where I've given up, and I'm not going to start now.
I made a promise to my granddaughter that I would be brave, after all.
A grunt erupts from his throat as I thrust my sword through him. His eyes bulge, and blood trickles from his mouth. He manages to lift his head and stare straight through me, but I say nothing to him. There is no glory in this- only the knowledge that people have a higher chance of survival with a sizable chunk of Volpe and Juniper's workforces dealt with. The glory is in the people I save, not in the people I destroy to save them.
As he collapses to the floor, a sharp pain in my midsection forces a scream from my throat, and a warmness pools there as something painfully slides out of my chest. His sword falls to his side...coated in my blood. I didn't feel the blade go in until he pulled it out...
The snow is pink with blood, and the air is thick with the stench of the recently-dead. There must be almost one hundred of them...
The searing pain in my chest, on top of the aching in my bones...It's taking everything I have left just to stand up.
Witches come out from behind trees and rocks, and I weakly gesture to them to follow the river. Some try to help me, and I urge them to keep going, to run as fast as they're able away from Henford. I tell them I will be okay. In truth, I am not so sure.
I knew I wasn't going to be okay back when Owen confirmed just that- only then, I had no idea when I was going to die. It could have been days, months, years, and the anxiety wore me down as if a block of concrete was chained to me. Now...I know that I won't make it out of this forest. There's no waiting, no wondering- it's evident, and there's almost a kind of peace in that.
I had plenty of success in my woodwork, and I passed that success on to others as a teacher, and to Eli as his master and his father. I defended people with magic in their blood. I helped raise people when their parents passed, or when they failed them. I looked after lost travellers. I enjoyed time with loved ones before it was too late to do so. I've done plenty with the time I've had- the time that I wouldn't have had, had Violeta not have gifted it to me.
I collapse back onto my knees, my breathing growing heavy. A sweet and friendly fox trots along to keep me company, standing there staring in all her curiosity, until she reacts to a sound behind her.
Gideon
At last- I've found him.
He's completely surrounded by bodies. Did he manage to kill all of these witchfinders? There must be almost one hundred of them here...Just how formidable was he as a vampire, if this is how many people he killed as a human?
The closer I get, the worse I feel for him. He's completely covered in blood, barely able to stand, clutching a wound on his chest. There's a growing red patch overtaking the white of his clothes. He may have won the fight with the witchfinders, but he won't win the fight to survive.
"What do you want?"
I take a deep breath before I speak. The guilt hurts more than anyone's sword could.
"Volpe has ordered me to kill you, Oskar, in return for my son's freedom. I respect you, Oskar, even after what you've done. We are both fathers who will do anything for your children...I need you to understand that."
I expect him to have some kind of reaction, but I don't get one. His breaths are raucous and heavy, and he can barely get a word out, groaning to himself in what must be agony. I don't want to have to strike him down when he isn't able to fight back, but I'm left with little choice. My tears are freezing cold against my face.
"Kill me?..." He laughs until his laughs turn into harsh coughing.
The more I look at him, the more the guilt starts to ease. He's barely got anything left in him. All I'd be doing is putting him out of his misery. I at least help him to his feet when he tries to talk, but he's hardly able to stand up.
"This isn't anything personal, Oskar, I promise. I'm only doing this to save my son."
Even if he wanted to fight back, he can't. He can hardly look me in the eyes. All the stories I've heard of this man...It feels surreal to see him so vulnerable.
"Too late," he wheezes. "He's been there long enough...even if he doesn't want to now...he will."
I've been trying not to think about it, but what if there is some truth to Oskar's words? Volpe's influence alone is terrifying, and Daniel's at a malleable age. What if his ideologies are lurking in his subconscious somewhere?
"I'm sorry for what I'm about to do, Oskar...Truly-"
"Stop being pathetic," he croaks. "Already dying...Take your 'proof'...And go...Volpe won't know."
Oskar is correct. All his belongings are soaked in blood, and Oskar doesn't have a lot of time left. As much as I ought to mercy-kill him, I can't bring myself to do it. If I do, I give Volpe what he wants- but I can tell a little white lie, so that Volpe gives me what I want. I know Oskar despises Volpe as much as I do. Even if we were never to get along or come to an understanding, we at least had a common enemy.
He almost falls into the snow, but I catch him, slowly walking him towards a nearby rock and lying him against it. His breathing is even more hoarse, and he can only just walk- likely not helped by the injury I was responsible for.
"Oskar...Thank you."
I take his cloak, his necklace, and his sword. I kneel down and tell Oskar to try to rest, that he won't be in pain for much longer, but all he does is whisper to me angrily to leave him in peace.
An almighty monstrous screech spits the eerie silence in half. I can't waste any more time. I have to go back to Volpe.
Violeta
This evening has been a feast for the soul as well as the stomach. The witchfinders ran and screamed as I drank them dry. As far as everyone was concerned, the vampire issue had been dealt with- heightened fear is always exciting. Gets the blood running much faster.
I head towards the forests hoping to find Oskar; he usually headed there as his first hunting ground when he went out on the night to get rid of them. Everything is silent around here- I can hardly sense any life.
The stench of blood around here is almost overwhelming. There's a sea of bloodied bodies in the snow...and him, lying next to a puddle of blood, not moving.
A deep chill runs through me.
I can't.
I can't lose him.
I dive down and turn back into human form. He's completely covered in blood, and what is likely a stab wound in his chest has dyed a good portion of his shirt a deep red.
I saved you. I brought you back from the brink of death. I can't let you die. Not now.
The chill in my chest lifts, only slightly. He's still breathing, but it's shallow. There's blood running from his nose, and a dark bruise across his eye- the smell of it is eerily nostalgic. I can sense his pulse, though it's slowing. He opens his bloodshot eyes a little and turns towards me.
"Violeta?"
"Oskar, please..."
I hold his hand. It's so warm in my freezing palms. I don't want to let go."Love you...Mother," he utters, his grip momentarily tightening on my fingers. "Thank you...for every..."
"No...thank you, my son," I reply, my chest aching, as if something is trying to claw its way through my ribcage. I've known him for one hundred and thirty years. I raised him as if he were my own.
"You are an amazing son and an incredible friend. You've done so much with your life, and you've changed all of our lives for the better." I brush his fringe out of his face a little. "I've always been so proud of you. I always will be...my son."
His weak smile melts the coldness in my chest for a moment.
"Violeta...tell Róisín...I kept my promise."
Róisín had told him in a letter that she wanted him to be brave. He fought off over one hundred witchfinders, knowing it wasn't likely he'd survive the ordeal, so that his family and every good person in Henford could escape to safety, or have a better chance at it later if they couldn't escape. But how? How do I tell Róisín when her mother despises me for the altercation in Nebelstadt? It doesn't matter- I have to keep the promise to my son. That is more important than whatever quarrel Róisín's mother has with me.
"I will, Oskar. I promise. She'll be proud."
She'll be heartbroken. Everyone will.
He reaches his hand across his chest and onto his shoulder, pulling down his collar and exposing his neck- still scarred from where I'd turned him.
"Oskar, I can't- I can't turn you a second time," I tell him. "It won't save you. It won't work. You'll die in even more pain than you're in-"
"No...Not that." his voice fades into nothing but a rasping whisper. "Whatever's left...is yours."
I can't look at him. His heart is slowing, and his groaning is dissipating into quiet breaths. I don't want to do this to my child- but I feel as if it is what I must do. It was myself who saved him from death, and now I must do the opposite- I must end his pain.
If he dies because of the witchfinders, then they killed him out of spite. It means Annorin and Volpe won. If it is me that causes his death, then the witchfinders have not claimed a victory. If he dies because of me...I will have done it out of love. It is out of a wish for my son to longer be in pain and suffering.
I carefully close my fangs around his neck. He winces at first, grabbing on tight to my hand.
His grip on my hand is loosening, and his breathing is slowing again. The sounds in his throat become less tense and pained, and more peaceful, as if he were settling down for the night.
The taste takes me all the way back to when I turned him- the taste of sweetness with a metallic edge. His blood tastes like the house you grew up in, the taste of the treats your mother baked you as a little girl, the smell of the metalwork your father always said he'd finish that, years on, ended up left loved yet forgotten in his shed. It tastes of safety and good memories, of people you love.
He lets go of my hand, his arm now laid against his side. I watch as his last breath fades into the winter cold. I can't sense his pulse any longer.
The entire forest feels empty. The world does. In this moment, it feels as if I am locked in a room by myself. The one person I ever cared about in the long term is gone. Just the other night, I painted his portrait. He was full of life despite everything. We spoke and we laughed and I told him how much he meant to me- and in this short space of time, he lies lifeless in the snow.
I will take him back to my home so he can rest somewhere warm.
My next stop after that is the Annorin mansion. I sent Owen a letter to tell him I am working on some artwork for him. He told me that I did not owe an apology, yet he was more than thankful for what I was doing for him. I told him that, once I was finished with them, I owed him another gift. He told me I owed him nothing.
This will be my third gift to Owen Annorin...and my final gift to Oskar Nivelheim.
* * *
When I arrive, the timing is perfect. I hear arguing even from so high up. From what I can make out, Samuel is yelling at Owen for being cheap and for his 'philanthropism' because he's been tending to injured witches all night long, with no plans to charge their friends and families. The argument becomes heated much quicker than I had expected. I never thought I'd hear a man like Owen raise his voice- even I'm a little shook by it.
"You won't tell me what to do with my business any longer, Samuel! I don't care if the witches can't pay me! I'm not letting them die! I'm sick to death of you! You've been nothing but a thorn in my side!"
"Oh. What a thing to say to your invalid fath-"
"This is nothing to do with your injuries! I'm not going to explain anything to you. I'm tired of explaining myself. Get out. I don't want you in this house anymore."
"Out? Of my own home?!"
"I don't care where you go, I don't care what happens to you. You've done enough to me, to Eli and to the people of Henford. I'm going to have to spend my entire life cleaning up after your mess- I don't care where you end up!"
Hm...So it seems the Gryphon has talons after all. My ire is lurking at the back of my mind, and I'm trembling just thinking about what I'm going to do to Samuel Annorin. The vitriol spewing from Owen's mouth is beautiful- maybe even a little comical. Owen finishes by telling him that he has patients to attend to, locking the door behind him.
Owen, Owen, Owen...Are you really going to leave your poor, helpless father out in the cold like this?
Part of me wonders if there's a darker intention to what he's doing. I can tell that he is a smart man. Owen swore an oath to never take a life with intention, but he knows someone who didn't, who wants his father out of the picture as much as he does...who would eventually come for him. The chilling kind of methodical planning that could only be carried out by the very-rich.
I remember what he said to me when I sat with him in the kitchen- that I had to wait until his confidence had returned to him.
He mutters to himself about how Owen would never just kick him out of his own family home. He complained of Owen's weakness in his compassion - in the 'wealthy bloodline' sense of the word- and now his compassion for Samuel was non-existent, that too was a problem. Nothing is ever good enough for a man like him. Not his son, not his money, nothing.
I swoop down and grab him in my claws, like a calculating osprey grabbing a helpless fish out of the water. His screams echo through the estate until we're so high in the air that he can no longer scream- he can just about breathe. Not high enough for him to lose conscious- I want him to be aware of every moment. His body is turning cold. He can't look down- it's too terrifying. He has no choice but to look at me, arguably far more terrifying than a drop at this height.
"You've gone quiet all of a sudden."
Just looking at him brings the entirety of my rage out in almost a second. Over two-hundred years of rage, of being mistreated by untrustworthy men, of seeing their influence destroy towns and villages, of seeing men like Annorin get away with almost everything...of knowing he murdered my son.
"When you got rid of one vampire...you forgot to deal with the other. Rather a foolish decision, don't you think? You murdered a man whose mother could exact a much worse revenge upon you than you could upon him. You took his entire life and future away from him- you deserve that, and worse."
"Your son is correct- you will pay for what you did to the people of Henford- and you will pay twice as much for what you did to my son."
It will not be quick, and it will not be pretty- and I will delight in every second of his agony.
Henford will be a darker, duller place without my beautiful son...but it will be a much brighter, more hopeful place without Samuel Annorin. It will take some time for the grief to fully take place in my mind- and when it does, the witchfinders won't stand a chance.
