CONTENT WARNING: Mourning, death, some mild familial issue stuff
a week later...
Clementia
No matter what others may tell you, Henford and the surrounding country is a beautiful place, if you know where to look. Come winter, the entire countryside is like a Winterfest card outside of your window.
Unfortunately, the people of Henford are often as cold as the Henfordian winter, and the beauty of snow-blanketed countryside does not quite make up for the scarcity of necessities nor the unbearable cold. For some, this time of year is a matter of life and death. It is towards the end of the year that we begin to reflect upon our losses.
This year is my first Peteran Fortnight of Mourning. So far, it's been quiet. I haven't even seen any of the regular Peterans yet. When Reynold did this, many came to him. I wonder how many of those people died themselves, or became Jacoban?
I light a candle and offer a prayer - one for Mother Joyce, one for Julian, and the other for Juniper. I deeply regret never properly giving Mother Joyce my intense gratitude. She made such a difference to both myself and my brother's lives.
Peterans believe the dead lose all identity and become one with the Watcher, their gaze always upon you, even more so this time of year. I do not know if I could ever live up to Julian nor Mother Joyce. With all that is soon to be upon my shoulders...
The doors creak open, and a more-than-familiar woman in a white dress and black hat walks in, lighting one singular candle, gazing into the flame.
"Do not mind me, Mother Clementia," she says, her voice laced with a soft grief. "I am here for my dear son. There is not a day that goes by that I do not think about him."
Violeta can be a daunting figure, but I still feel horribly for her. All she's been through...No mortal person would be able to tolerate all that she's been through in her long life.
"That is not the only reason I am here, however. I heard about what happened at that trial. I wanted to check on you."
For someone who claims to have little-to-no empathy, she cares deeply for other people.
"I appreciate it, Violeta. I...I tried to do it without hurting anyone, and Juniper was killed as a result."
I try to withhold my tears. Violeta summons me to her.
"I tried to do what I thought was right, and it did nothing. I did nothing. That's why Juniper is dead."
"Nonsense," she spits. "You are not the one who slit her throat in front of the entire village of Finchwick, Clementia. You were the one brave enough to stand up to the likes of Thorne and Volpe alike. Do not blame yourself for this, Clementia - that is precisely what Volpe wants you to do."
"I don't know what I'm supposed to do, Violeta. Many of the Peterans don't want it to come to violence, but I don't think there's any other way we can deal with the likes of Volpe or Thorne alike. I know you said it won't be so easy to do anything about Thorne, but..."
A pensive look crosses her face.
"I understand your concern, Clementia." Her voice softens, and she attempts to put on a warmer tone. "I am feeling similar to you as of late. I have tried to tone down my violence and anger, putting that energy into my artwork and my painting classes...but I sense something terrible on the horizon. I, too, may have to return to my previous ways."
Violeta has worked on herself a lot, as have I - and the sense of having to revert that healing and hard work for the sake of what's to come is painful to confront. I dread to think what Elias and Susana and the like would think of me if I were to take any more lives. Then again, they still supported Reynold as their leader despite his killing seven or eight witchfinders in a blast of magic. Would they do the same to me, if I did what was necessary? Do I truly have my brother's influence?
"Whether Jacoban or Peteran, I must be honest, it's difficult to know how either religion works at this point. Whatever is written in the books is mere stories at this point. It makes you wonder sometimes...what the point of it all is."
"It is impossible to adhere to rules that are hundreds of years old, Clementia. Times as well as values change. I myself have never been one for religion, but when you cannot find hope and guidance anywhere else, people will find it in you, and in the Watcher. Even if the rules are bent, even if the religions crumble in their entirety, people will still cling to any semblance of hope and guidance like a kitten to its mother's teat." She chuckles a little. "Even to the most nihilistic individual, it is one of the only feelings in life that truly matters."
I have always wondered how many more years these religions will stand for. This monastery has stood since the days of old, but The stories of the Watcher can only do so much. Even in the years that I have been alive, religion has been losing its grasp slowly but surely. That said, Violeta is right, as she always is. I sometimes question the usefulness of hope when those who can do something do nothing, but then one of the only people who took a stand towards Volpe was the one person nobody would have expected to.
"Now, now - no more of this bout of negativity. Whatever happens, I know you will do what is right and what is necessary. Pacifism worked on Juniper, as I said it would. Of course, it won't work on someone like Volpe..."
I don't know what to say to that, but I appreciate her trying to make me feel better.
I feign a sense of confidence. In reality, I fear having to pick up the Angel's Talon and do to the witchfinders what I did with Jacob's Sword. I remember how I felt back when I killed that witchfinder - a sense of deep confidence and pride, and I do not want to associate the taking of someone else's life with such things ever again. If it comes to it, there will be no pride nor any glory in it. It will just be a case of doing what has to be done for the good of the people of Henford.
* * *
It's still silent.
The candles seem to burn brighter than they did before. A hopeful part of me is telling me it means something, but it's likely just my mind playing tricks on me. It's not until today that I realise how much I miss Julian and Mother Joyce. Sometimes, I wish I had never fled to Jacobism. I wish I had stayed with Mother Joyce and assisted her, but I couldn't have done it. At that point in my life, I couldn't have been in competition with my brother.
When I think of Reynold, I realise I'd do anything to have him come back to Henford. I've greatly missed him these past few years, even if he's seemingly happy living in Glimmerbrook.
Someone else enters...my own father. We haven't spoken at all since the argument we had here all those years ago.
"Sorry to intrude, Clementia," he says, in a gruff voice. "I wanted to light a candle for Oskar and for your mother."
The middle of my three candles flickers. I think back to Reynold and our strained relationship, and how it seems like ancient history at this point.
"That's okay."
"I heard what happened. You were incredibly brave for what you did, standing up to High Priest Thorne and Lord Volpe like that. To kill the Great Convincer on a false conviction...even after all I've seen from the days of the resistance, I can't imagine being so cold-hearted."
The confidence Violeta instilled in me melts like candle wax.
I don't say anything. I've been so used to his ignorance of me that his praise means little...but perhaps I owe him a chance. If everything is going to erupt into conflict soon enough, I would rather not die on bad terms with my family.
"I don't know what to do, Father."
His eyes glitter.
"I did everything without hurting anyone, and all it did was get someone killed. I - I may have to prepare to raise my sword against witchfinders again. I don't know if I can do it."
He gives me a rather intimidating look.
"Before Oskar died, I believe that he felt the same way- at least, he seemed to. All those years of gleeful slaughter, and there was a hint of regret once he was human again. I don't know what happened on the battlefield the night he was killed, but I imagine he took no pleasure in it," he says, his voice sounding as if he's about to grow tearful.
"That's what I worry about, Father. I don't want to kill so many people that I begin to find joy in it. Some of the regular Peterans are strictly against any violence. I have so many people to bear in mind, and there's no easy answer."
Alistair nods, and puts his hand to his chin. "Back during the Bloodmoon, I very much believed that the glory is in who is saved, not the people you kill to achieve it. I may be old, Clem, but I'm still happy to do the fighting if you aren't - in human form or otherwise."
"I - I don't need anyone to protect me."
"Clem, please." Alistair puts his hands firmly on my shoulders. "I'm not saying you need anyone to protect you. I'm your father. It's my job to protect you, no matter what age you are...I failed to protect you long ago. I am willing to make up for it, even if I give my life trying to do so."
I feel my childhood seeping back in from the past, desperate for my father's love and approval. Without thinking, I throw my arms around him, and he places his hands on my shoulders.
"Father...If we're all going to die soon, then I don't want to die knowing I didn't give you the same second chance I gave my brother." My voice dissolves into sobbing. "I'll take whatever help you can give."
If I'm going to survive this - if anyone is going to - then I can't refuse anyone's help.
"I would do anything for you, Clem. You know that."
I try to quell my sobbing. "I know that now, Father. Thank you."
* * *
I come to with saliva all over my sleeve and my hand. Did I fall asleep? I hope I didn't miss anyone. The winter sun beams through the windows. To my surprise, the candles are still burning bright... I breathe a deep sigh of relief. I could have burned this place down by mistake!
"Good morning, Mother Clementia," a voice utters, with a sinister laugh. Is that -
My eyesight is blurry for a moment. I rub them clear, and it's exactly who I expect...just not someone I'd expect to show up at a monastery.
As usual, I cannot read his emotions at all. He lights three candles.
"One for my dear mother Liza, one for the patients I could not save...and one for Samuel Annorin."
Samuel? After all he's done? Owen notices my surprised expression.
"Ah. Think of Samuel's candle as one of celebration and not of remembrance. Samuel's death has changed everything in a way I could have only dreamed of in my youth."
Owen seems to be mostly on the right side of history, but there's an underlying ruthlessness to him that makes me feel uneasy. Even Volpe has his tail between his legs around him. An injured witch standing right in front of him, and he did nothing. For countless years, the daunting symbol of the gryphon reminded everyone in Henford just what they were capable of.
I, too, wonder just what he's capable of.
"How are you faring, Dr. Annorin?"
"Pardon me, Mother Clementia - just Owen now, I'm afraid."
Afraid? What happened? There's no way Owen could have lost his job... is there?
"I also offer counsel during the Fortnight of Mourning. I'm here if you need a listening ear."
"I appreciate your offer, but my issues do not involve the dead."
"It doesn't matter - you can talk about anything you like."
He hesistates for a moment before gritting his teeth to himself and sitting down. He doesn't have his cane, but he's still a little slow on his feet.
"I'm ready when you are."
"Hm. Well, I suppose it's a matter of where to start, isn't it?"
"I may as well start where we left off. Yes, Mother Clementia. After many long years and a legacy of medical study, I am no longer licensed to practice medicine. I was summoned to a hearing by the medical council and found to have been, in their words, 'negligent.'"
Owen's treatments have saved plenty of lives. I can't imagine that someone like him would ever be negligent towards a patient.
"In other words, you lost your license because you have magic? Considering the history of medicine, that seems ridiculous."
Owen makes an awkward coughing sound in this throat. "Not quite, no. Clarity with the patient has had much importance placed upon it in recent years. By not disclosing the magical contents of my alchemical remedies, and by casting a cleaning spell upon wounds in emergency situations, I subject the patient to something which they could not consent to. I tried to defend my reasoning, and it did nothing.
Even though it was in the best interests of the patient, I still lost my position...meanwhile, there are physicians and surgeons out there that still don't know to wash their hands before examinations or surgeries and have survival rates lower than dirt!"
It takes me a while to muster a respose. I can't imagine how it must feel. Owen was incredible at his work and took great passion in it, and to have it taken from him like that even though others out there are far more neglient... I always thought the Annorins were above the rules, but it seems even he is subject to them. I wonder if that's a part of why he's so furious - a lifetime of almost always getting what he wants, and now this. Still, is there any possibility that other physicians have seen this as a chance to attempt to cut a tall poppy down?
"You still have all of the work you've already done, Owen. All of those books and journal articles, all of those lives saved, and your influence on the world of medicine - it will always be there, even if you are no longer a part of it."
For the first time, I see clear emotion on his face.
"Your kindness is greatly appreciated, Clementia. Since the reveal of my magic, I've been all over the newspapers and pamphlets - all sorts of baseless accusations, and people calling into question my scientific knowledge. In fact, part of the reason I came here was to avoid the ire of my wife. She's livid with me for what I did and for losing my position, but I suppose I can't blame her. She's worried Volpe and Thorne will come for the mansion."
"I can imagine. If Volpe didn't do anything to you back there, I would honestly say your family should be okay, Owen. If he was afraid of you then, then he wouldn't do anything to draw your fury like that."
Owen gives me a dark smile. "Which brings me to my next point - I have been requested by Lord Volpe to be put on trial for 'witchcraft. I will be burned before midnight. At least, that is what Eduardo Volpe believes."
No...Volpe seemed terrified back then - why would he do it? Does he know what'll happen if he kills a spellcaster with such a high profile? There are people he's saved who will no likely come to his defense, not to mention the people that hold him close. I can't imagine what kind of a mess that will be.
"There are plenty of people on your side, Owen. Someone like you could change the way people see magic. I have no doubt in my mind that many people here would stand up for you, even if not everyone will."
He stares down at the ground, twiddling his thumbs together. The feeling must be devastating, and his children must be beyond upset. Even then, this seems like something of an under-reaction.
"If I may ask, Owen - I can't help but feel like you're holding back. You don't need to hold back here. You can be open about your feelings with me."
His expression doesn't change, and he keeps staring at the floor.
"To be completely honest, Mother Clementia, it hasn't fazed me as much as I had expected. As you say, almost everything I know is written in a book or a journal somewhere. It gives me a chance to spend more time with my beloved children - and my wife once she'll let me within one foot of her presence. In fact, I have been writing a book on the harmony of science and magic for years. I could finally try and get it published." He lets out a deep, cathartic breath. "It's a peculiar feeling, isn't it? It's like a weight has been lifted off my chest. Living a lie since my childhood has done far more damage than I'd thought. To be able to speak freely about it all is quite a wonderful thing.
Like I said, Mother Clementia, I have a plan for every outcome, including this one. If anything is going to kill me eventually, it will be old age or illness. I won't let it be anything or anyone else - especially not Eduardo Volpe."
"Whatever happens, Owen, just know you have my support. We aren't going to let Volpe nor Thorne get away with anything they've done."
There's a shadowy sensation I get from him on occasion, as if he is keeping something from me still. For a man very much on death's door, he still seems convinced that Volpe won't go through with it. All I can hope is that he can sway Volpe tonight like he did back during Juniper's trial.
"Look after yourself, Owen. And if tonight does not go to plan, I will pray for you. I will remember what you did for everyone, and so will many others."
There's a sickening smirk across his face. He lets out a grating cackle. "Oh, don't you worry, Clementia," he says, in a singsong voice. "Tonight will go exactly as planned - for me, anyhow. There is another blessing from losing my position, you see."
His words leave a sickening feeling in my throat.
"Owen...you're not going to do anything awful to yourself, are you?"
"Heavens, no, Mother Clementia, don't you worry. You see, now I am no longer a physician..."
"... I am no longer under oath."
I don't know much about medicine, but I know many physicians extend their promise to never harm a patient to not physically harming anyone. What does he plan on doing? How is he going to do anything when he's tied to a post and set alight?
"No need for that face, Mother Clementia. As you said, I shan't hold back under this roof - and I won't hold back tonight, either."