CONTENT WARNING: discussion of losing a baby, discussion of suicidal ideation
Áine
"Violeta, Maddie. I appreciate your help today. If you would give me a moment..."
The two nod and leave, and I turn to my brother, who wears a more stern expression than usual, his gaze as sharp as a falcon's.
He peers past me to the dessicated bodies, and lets out a shaky breath.
"Our brother is concerned that Róisín's death is going to set you on the warpath, and it seems his suspicions have been confirmed."
Eli? Why would he be concerned of such a thing? Our father spent years killing witchfinders, and he never once seemed bothered by it.
"What did you both expect? Should I take tea with the witchfinders and ask them not to do it again?"
"Of course not," he spits. "From our brother's perspective, he has already lost his father and now his niece, and...we don't know what my condition means for me in terms of longevity. He doesn't want to lose you either."
Everyone with even the smallest desire for change wants one of two revolutions: one of shaking hands and dancing in circles, or one of blood and fire. I realise that if I am going to do something meaningful about the witchfinders, I am going to have to contend with never managing to please anyone as to how I go about it.
"We are all going to die if I do nothing, Owen. Why can't you see that? You may be a man of magic, but you know nothing close to what it's like to be like the rest of us. You did nothing to stop the witchfinders for years and years because you saw your own life as more important than ours! Whilst we burned and drowned, you stayed safe in your mansion! We lost our children to their cruelty! You have no idea what that's like!"
His pupils glow a bright blue, and lightning crackles through his palms. He takes a deep breath in, and grips tightly onto his cane.
"I know exactly what it's like to lose a child, Áine. My first child, my little Lucia, she died in her cot suddenly. She was completely healthy when we went to sleep that night. Do you know what it's like to know you will never hear your child's first word, to know that they will never understand how much you loved them, to know that they never learned to talk, or to walk, that they never made friends or saw the world outside of their home - pray tell?"
"I wouldn't wish it on anyone. I even had the townspeople making comments that she deserved to die, that we would know how it felt when they couldn't afford cures for their own children.
I wondered for such a long time what I could have done differently, if it was something I had done - but nothing I could have done would have changed anything. No-one understands why this happens to babies, it just...does."
"I'm sorry that happened, truly. What happened to my daughter is different. My daughter died because of injustice against our kind. In time, perhaps they will find an explanation for what happened to your daughter- and in time, I hope to do something about what took my own child's life from me."
Owen lets out a deep sigh and grits his teeth.
"If I am to be honest with you, Áine...Volpe's death did not change as much as I thought it would have done. The sense of victory was short-lived. You can kill as many people as you like, but ideology is more immovable than life. Without Volpe, his bloodhounds started scrambling for his place - that is all that has changed."
That isn't true. Volpe's death showed them that they are not invincible - that witches and bloodline casters are not willing to let them continue the bloodshed. Perhaps Owen is more capable of feeling guilt than anyone expected. Why feel guilty for a monster?
* * *
Owen
It is taking everything in my power to not lose my patience with her. Who would have expected my own sister to be more difficult than Samuel and Volpe combined? Samuel and Volpe both had weaknesses that were easy to exploit, but Áine has a strength and tenacity I rarely see in other people. She is ambitious, sure of herself, and unwilling to back down. I fear we may have too much in common. The other issue is that I did not care for what happened to Samuel or Volpe. I had no reason to bear their feelings in mind. It is not the same with Áine.
What she said to me about not knowing what it was like to lose a child struck the same nerve Samuel did when he told me he'd destroyed the cure for Oskar's illness. All that held me back was the fact that it was Áine that had said it.
"So is this what it's about? Guilt? I don't feel any guilt. They're monsters."
"Guilt has nothing to do with it. All I can tell you is that I thought it would solve at least part of the problem, and it didn't. I thought I'd get the sense of closure I got from arranging the events that caused Samuel's death, and I didn't."
I try to think of a way to get through to her. Whatever hope we have of truly defending our people would suffer with Áine's death, and what I feel she's about to do will only accelerate that possibility. Eventually, science itself gives me a decent analogy.
"Think of the witchfinders like germs, Áine - tiny organisms that often cause illness. The way to defend oneself from germs is not to go out and kill every single germ in existence. That's impossible, and for every one you kill, plenty more will come from it. The best way to defend from them is preventative measures. You will save far more lives from educating the students and defending the people when needed than you will pursuing them across Henford."
"What are you talking about? What I'm doing is a preventative measure. Less people will die if there are less witchfinders. Why can't you get that into your head?"
I keep trying to tell myself that it is her grief speaking through her, but what Áine is about to do is going to do is not going to benefit anyone. I can't let her.
"Áine, you can't let your grief control you. What you're about to do is going to cause more harm than good! You've spent your entire life wanting to defend and educate witches - going on a rampage won't solve anything except for satisfying a want for revenge, and I can tell you from experience that satisfaction is short-lived."
Reynold
Between Áine stealing the witchfinders' life forces and the conversation I just witnessed... I don't know entirely how to feel. Owen and Áine are two people who I would never want to find at odds with one another.
Owen had a kind of patience with Áine I imagine he wouldn't show anybody else. I still haven't properly come down from her accusations. There's an underlying burning sensation of anger and hatred underneath anything, but I can't let it to get to me. Despite it, she seemed to just not want to listen to him at all. I know her grief is fresh. She isn't necessarily wrong to be acting this way but I can't let her go ahead with what she's doing.
The bodies are dried and wrinkled on the stakes. This spell is the one she admitted to using on her father, something she admitted to all the way back to when she was pregnant... and if she's still blaming me for the death of our daughter, there's always a chance I may end up the same way.
It doesn't matter. I need to try. I feel almost entirely cut off from any feeling at this moment; perhaps it's a good time to take advantage of that. I don't want emotions to get in the way of a possible solution.
I notice her heading towards the river. It takes all my energy to try and catch up to her. I clear my throat, and I speak her name with little to no feelings in my tone.
She stops and balls her fists, not able to look at me until I ask her again to talk. When she turns, her expression is furious. It leaves a chill within me. In all of my memories with her, she looks upon with so much fondness.
There is every chance grief may outweigh love, and I have to accept that potential outcome.
"What do you want?"
"I saw what you did, Áine. I heard everything you and Owen said to each other. He's right. This is the only the start, but you can't keep doing what I know you're going to do."
"So you've been spying on me?"
"I came to talk to you. I thought I'd let Owen speak first."
"What could you possibly have to say that Owen hasn't already?"
"Just listen to me, Áine. What you're doing won't help anyone."
"And you? Owen's inaction and his carelessness for everyday people led to hundreds dying of preventable illness! Owen killed Volpe in front of an enormous crowd! You've killed plenty of people! Your own uncontrollable rage nearly got your own sister killed! And don't tell me the wolf isn't you - don't think I forgot the conversation you had with Oskar. The wolf is you. It's not something separate that you can just discard when you don't feel like taking accountability!"
It takes all I have to force the burgeoning anger to the back of my mind.
"Then you'd better take accountability for all of the bloodshed you're going to cause through your grief, then."
Her eyes widen.
"You're going to say this is all because of Róisín. You're going to act like what happened to her justifies all of this. You're going to turn our beloved daughter into nothing but an excuse for your revenge fantasies! Can you blame me for being against what you're doing to my dead child?!"
"What are you saying?" she screams. "I'm trying to prevent anyone else from losing their child the way I did!"
"And how are you going to achieve that when you no longer care about educating the witches? Whatever happened to defending them? What's going to happen when you aren't around, and they have no idea how to protect themselves or their culture?"
"Why do you think I'm stealing their life forces? I'm not doing to die, Reynold. I'm going to live for as long as it takes to make sure people like us get a fighting chance!"
"You know, at one point, Greggorius Lunvik wrote about how the Lunvinchenaîné would outlast mundane humanity through ferocity alone. He didn't encourage anyone to use their defensive magic; he encouraged them to entirely give into Lunvin's ire. Between witchfinders, the Bloodmoon, and the witches giving us up for their safety - now the only ones of us left here, if at all, is myself and my father."
"That was the fault of the witchfinders and the witches that threw you under the carriage, not of the mooncasters themselves."
"If the so-called 'saviour of wolves' actually taught his people how to defend themselves as well as just savage others, we'd have stood more of a chance."
"I know how this is going to go, Áine. You'll say it's because you want to do it for our daughter, you'll say you're doing it to protect the witches, and then you'll lose sight of everything. I dread to think what you'll do once you've stolen enough life forces.You won't give anyone a chance to turn things around, you won't care if they were forced into it. Maybe you won't even care who's truly innocent or guilty.
Once killing becomes more important than preserving the lives of your own people, then whatever hopes you had of a revolution will have fallen flat. Things won't magically turn out better and more righteous when it's us wielding a warped sense of justice instead of them. History will repeat itself."
"We won't do what they do! We won't kill children, and we won't kill innocent people! You have absolutely no faith in me, Reynold!"
"You know as well as I do that innocence and guilt get blurred far too often in times like this. It's not a case of who you are now - it's who you'll become if someone doesn't try and stop you."
Áine doesn't say anything. She merely scowls at me. Perhaps this is a waste of time, but I need to try and get through to her somehow.
"I want to ask a question, Reynold."
"Of course."
"Róisín is dead, and yet you have absolutely no emotions in your voice. Your own daughter was murdered, and you feel nothing?!"
"Of course I do! On top of you blaming my daughter's death on me, I nearly considered throwing myself off the cliff next to Lake Lunvik before one of the wolves pulled me back!"
Áine's eyes sparkle in the muted starlight, and she brings her hands to her chest. She gazes down into the grass and turns to face the other way.
"Is that truly how I made you feel, Reynold?" she asks, sadness teetering on the edge of her monotone.
"Yes. It was. What kind of reaction did you expect me to have?"
"I...I don't know."
I sigh deeply. If we both survive this conflict, I sense whatever she and I had won't.
"You haven't lost me. I'm still here. But if you keep going the way you're going, then I won't be there by your side whilst you do it. I don't care what you think of me at this point - I'm doing this because I love you. I love you enough to not let you burn your dreams of helping and educating your kind to ruins. I love you enough to not let you do something I know you'll come to regret. I will stand against you if I have to, but only because I care about you."
There's a pause. For a moment, I hear her sniffling, but she tries to fight it off. She turns around a little, and her expression hardens. She brings her hands away from her chest and lowers them to her sides, tightening them into fists. In a flash of light, Áine turns into a wolf, lowering her head and snarling at me. She charges off into the horizon, kicking up snow that covers my coat, eventually becoming obscured by the burgeoning snowfall.
five days later
Maddie
News spread about a witch that seemed to be singlehandedly murdering witchfinders - and this time, they had no figurehead to rally them against her, and were too busy clambering over one another to rise to the top. On top of that, the new issue for the witchfinders was that the witches did have a figurehead - they had Áine.
From what I hear about Owen Annorin's grand displays, both at the Great Convincer's trial and at his own trial - he convinced everyone that witches were anywhere and that they could be anyone. He convinced them that the reason to keep witches around was because humanity as a whole would suffer without them. No-one quite believed witches as a whole would rise against them - after all, they'd put his assault on Volpe down to the bickering of rich men. Owen had a kind of social power that most of the other witches didn't have. Áine didn't. All her power was in her mind and her magic - and if she could take out a good chunk of the witchfinders, then other witches on her level would realise the same.
For the witchfinders, many didn't really have a lot of concrete proof of the dangerous of witchcraft, going solely off of Gianni's book, Volpe's lies and general stupidity, second-hand accounts of Volpe being burned alive by lightning, and the hear-say of those who warned of sightings. Now, every witchfinder in Finchwick had clear evidence of just what magic was capable of. All the more reason to go after them, of course, but also all the more reason to truly fear what magic could do.
If the two reported werewolves weren't enough, now there was a black wolf with blue eyes hunting down witchfinders - as dark as a shadow, and twice as hard to catch. They named her the Black Wolf of Henford. Many thought it was merely a folk tale to keep children inside at night.
Many that were formerly neutral, even some who were once fine with witches, this had changed their minds entirely about them. Those who hated the witches used Áine as their prop, their focal figure for why they have always been morally correct to be doing what they were doing to them. Others believed Áine was well within her right to be doing what she was doing. One man told her that he was glad she was doing something, and that he wished he could have done something about it before so many lives had been lost. She put a hand on his shoulder and said he could have done something about it, but he instead chose to do nothing.
Áine had told me that the strange spell she'd performed at the stake the other night was the theft of one's life force. She explained that this is what she killed her father with. I wonder if that is an element of why her magic seems so unusually powerful - having the entirety of another witch's 'soul' within her. She says that she wants to live for as long as she is able to, so she can ensure safety for the witches of the future. The thought of living any longer than what is normal sounds torturous to me.
Áine's fellow witches fought off witchfinders that would try to stop her from tying them to the stakes. The rest would watch, some in horror, some in celebratory joy, most in sick fascination to see just what she could do. Many screamed for mercy. Promises that they'd turn a new leaf, begging to go home to their wives and children- the women and their attempts to appeal to a similar plight, somehow - the men and their monotonous stories of mothers that didn't love them.
Áine had a disregard for begging and heightened emotion to rival any witchfinder, and put it to much better use. I didn't blame any witch for becoming like this. They were as cold and as tough as steel, forged in the fires of many a burnt stake. They had to be to survive.
She had raged to us about her family 'turning against her', with her brother Owen and her partner Reynold both telling her to back down. The murderous werewolf and the murderous billionaire had both decided that only they were allowed to kill without a second thought. I had expected Reynold, at least, to want to do something about the people who murdered his daughter. What a time to turn your back on your own partner and sister like that.
Violeta and I had voiced our unconditional support. We would be at her side no matter what. We didn't care what she needed to do to secure a future for her kind. She owed no-one anything.
Every time the witchfinders at the stakes recognised me by name, or gave me knowing looks, it made my heart gradually turn to crumbling stone. At first, I didn't want Áine to find out about me because she would lose a valuable asset in her fight for her life and that of the witches. Now, I have another reason - I don't want to be turned to a wrinkled, dried husk tied to a wooden pole in the middle of the park.