CONTENT WARNING: grief, mention of suicidal ideation, religious corruption, criticism of the concept of religion (does not reflect my views), more murder
Eli
This morning, when Owen told me, I felt nothing for a good while. I refused to believe it. My mind refused to believe it. He kept repeating it, and I kept telling him that I understood him perfectly fine the second time, the third time, the fourth time...
Then reality dawned upon me, and that's when the emotions seeped in. I feel like a stone sinking to the bottom of the sea. Something is tearing my insides apart.
Sixteen years old. She was sixteen years old! I wanted to lash out. I screamed to Owen about how every single witchfinder should be burned at his own stake, that they deserve to pay for what they did to Róisín - for what they've done to everybody.
I see the little girl playing with the wooden toys I made her. I see the young teenager finding her feet and choosing kindness in a country marked by brutality towards people like her.
Even Róisín was deemed dangerous by the witchfinders. Even healing magic was too much for them. Nobody will ever learn! It was never about protection from danger, was it? When will people pick up on that?!
I can't stop crying. I haven't stopped for hours. Owen is doing his best to comfort me, but it's making no difference. First I lose my father to the witchfinders, and then I lose my niece to them. The only family I have left is Áine and Owen - and who knows how much longer I have left with him with his condition? I already came close to losing him...
"Owen - stay out of the fight, whatever you do."
He lets out a small gasp. "Whatever do you mean, Eli?"
"I've already lost Oskar and Róisín - I'm not losing you either! You won't survive, I know you won't! I know they're after you, and you don't have it in you to hold them off - especially not if they mob the mansion again!"
Owen stares forward, his eyebrows raised slightly. I expected him to be angry, but he isn't. He's always been different ever since he murdered Eduardo Volpe. Despite murdering the opposition being something of a long-term Annorin habit, he's always been out of sorts since that day - and of course he would be. He spent his entire life trying to prevent people from dying.
"I'll be fine with Valravn, Eli-"
"Valravn won't always be there, will she? That's why Róisín is dead! Valravn can't protect everyone!"
I immediately feel terrible for yelling at him, but his expression doesn't change at all. I can't stop thinking about all the time we spent together when she was younger - all of the gifts I made for her...
"I'm so sorry-"
"Don't be, Eli."
"Áine...She's not going to stop until they're all dead, is she? She's going to get herself killed, isn't she?"
"Eli, please..."
There's nothing I can do to stop Áine. It's not a question of justification - it's because I don't want to lose any more of my family than I already have.
Violeta says Oskar must have killed over one hundred witchfinders in one go - but they're still around. He did what he did to try and protect the witches, but despite him dying for the cause, they're still about. I don't know how we're going to deal with them at all - but they'll just keep coming back. For every witchfinder Áine kills, someone else will take his or her place.
The combined efforts of myself, Madilyn, Reynold and Alistair seems to have kept the Jacobans away for a short while. I didn't trust Madilyn at first, but she fought well against them. She's even more reckless than my father is. Whether she did what she did out of a legitimate change of heart or due to my father's threats, I suppose only she and the Watcher know.
It won't be long until High Priest Thorne recruited more people to his cause. I despised Eduardo Volpe as much as everyone else did, but the difference between Volpe and Thorne is the influence. Even Volpe's sick lies were nothing compared to Thorne's. Eduardo had the misfortune of having faded into relative obscurity as the years passed since his draconian reign over Tartosa. Eventually, people slowly began to see him as something of an aging fool.
Thorne is comparatively young, a complete copy of his vile father. Jacobism has been standing tall for centuries and centuries. Thorne's dark charisma dressed in white and gold silk robes will go further than Volpe ever could. If you kill Thorne, he'll only be replaced by somebody far worse as quickly as possible. It makes me furious. Whatever happens, there's nothing I can do about Thorne. We're up against the immovable power of the Jacoban High Priest.
The eerie peace is shattered by none other than my brother, looking dishevelled.
"Is everything alright, Reynold?"
He lets out a deep, airy sigh. His face and eyes are red. As he tries to speak, his voice wavers. He stutters and scrambles his words a few times before managing to compose himself enough to spit out a full sentence.
"Clementia, I... the witchfinders, they...they caught Róisín. She's - she's dead."
No. No, not Róisín. She was young - she was so young. She was harmless. I remember holding her when she was just a baby. She helped at the monastery not that long ago. There's no way she can be...
Reynold's eyes are entirely lifeless as he says it, and his expression dull and defeated.
"Brother, please - tell me it's not true..."
"It's true, dear sister," he replies, in a whispery monotone. "Not only that, but it was my fault. I got my own daughter killed."
How? How could it be Reynold's fault if a witchfinder killed her? No, I can't have him thinking like that. Who knows where it will lead him to think like that?
"I don't want to talk about it right now...but Áine was right. It's my fault. I tried to protect her, and in doing that, I got her-"
Áine said what?!"
"She's right-"
"No, she isn't!"
What kind of a thing is that to say to your grieving partner? After you both lost a child? I understand that people say the wrong things when they are freshly bereaved, but to say something so heartless to someone you are supposed to love?
"I have something else I need to admit to you, Clem. I went out to Lunvik to clear my head, and...I almost jumped from the top of a cliff. One of the wolves pulled my back."
My heart turns to ice. In the space of days, I've lost my niece, and came a hair's breadth from losing my brother. The ice turns to fire the more I think about it all. I've no doubt that Áine is already after the person responsible. However, if she considers that Reynold 'killed his daughter' despite not having done anything wrong, then I will consider her actions almost driving him to suicide to mean that she tried to kill my brother. After she finds the witchfinder responsible for Róisín's death, she will be held accountable for what she did. She may have been my first female friend, but I will not let anyone cross my family like that.
"It isn't your fault, no matter what she says. I'm glad you didn't succeed. I don't know what I'd do without you. A lot of people wouldn't. Even if Áine never forgives you for whatever reason, you have plenty of people who love you."
"I know," he replies, a little irritated. "Lunvin wouldn't want me to let such emotions get to me again. I failed her, my daughter, you, and everyone who's been a friend to me. I just feel so...ungrateful."
"You failed nobody, Reynold."
Whilst I am glad Reynold has found some solace in returning to Lunvinism, it is not a religion that puts humanity first. It pushes its worshippers to ignore all emotions except for anger, and holding back what was necessary has caused our family enough problems in the past.
Jacobism convinced Thorne, Julian, Juniper, me, and many others that the only way to purity and salvation was through eternal shame. Peterism is so flexible in its teachings that it may as well not exist at all. All of a sudden, the old stony scent of the monastery stops comforting me. There's a coldness in the air. My robes are scratchy against me.
How much longer, I wonder? How much longer before everyone sees through the multiple façades of faith? How much longer until everyone turns their back on it entirely?
* * *
* * *
Áine
Maddie and Violeta bound the two witchfinders, and we bring them to the stakes. Neither show any sign of remorse, and their only grimaces and whines are from the pain of the bite and claw wounds. The rush of my animal form is like nothing I've ever experienced, the agility, the power and unrelenting nature of the wolf. I almost don't want to turn back.
One of the witchfinders cocks her head up and raises an eyebrow. "Madilyn?"
Maddie leaves a slash across the face with her sword. This is the second time. First James, now...
Is Maddie well-known amongst these people as a hunter of witchfinders, or...
"Keep your mouth shut, or it'll be your throat next time."
"Please, witch, prove to us that you are not violent and that you're no harm to the population by murdering us both. I'm sure it won't prove our point further."
"Go on, then," Maddie urges, with a chuckle. "Give the foxes a lovely cooked supper."
