Wolves Among Us (16 page)

“Bastion will begin the burning soon. Will you come with me?” he asked.

“I am not sure,” she said. “I should stay here, keep watch over the house. And Margarite.”

Bjorn held out a hand to her. “Mother is asleep. She’s fine. Come with me. You need to know who the witch is. I don’t want to be the one to tell you.”

The fire popped and sent sparks in all directions, threatening to set them all ablaze. Mia realized Bastion had used fresh, uncured wood.

Alma slept against Bjorn’s chest. She looked like a yarn doll in his arms. She had fallen asleep in Mia’s arms, but she had grown so heavy. Mia could not hold her all night.

“If she wakes, I’ll take her back,” Mia promised.

A woman stood tied to a post near the fire, a leather face mask drawn tight around her and cinched at the neck. Mia could not recognize her by her clothes. Bastion’s caged witch sat a good twenty paces away. She would not be the center of attention tonight. Mia wondered if witches felt jealousy.

Mia pinched herself. Witches could not have human emotions. Thinking those thoughts, making them human, was a sin. Witches probably thought of nothing but curses and sacrilege.

The townspeople all pushed each other to get the best possible view, craning their necks, moving slightly this way or that, all wanting to be sure they did not miss anything Bastion might do tonight.

Bastion allowed the small children to sit up front, and he had a large semicircle of little faces watching him. He passed out sweets to them, little dried raisins that they gobbled up and begged for again, clapping.

Mia watched as Father Stefan stood to the right of Bastion, his hands behind his back, chewing his lower lip. Mia expected him, as their Father, to have something grave or comforting to add to Bastion’s words, but Father Stefan looked as if he wanted to run away. Behind them all, in the darkness near the edge of the forest, Mia saw a shimmer in the moonlight, like a horse’s mane. She bent her head forward and squinted.

Not a mane, she realized, but hair. The woman who watched them all, the healer herself, with her long, loose silver hair, was standing at the edge of the forest, watching them. A gray wolf circled round her legs, his head low as if spying his prey somewhere in the crowd. A shrill cry pierced the night and drew Mia’s attention away from the pair. The children screamed and clapped their hands over their ears, grimacing.

“A rabbit,” Father Stefan said, patting his hands against the air as if to calm them. “Probably just a rabbit. Something is hunting it.”

Dame Alice caught Mia’s eye and motioned for her to come near. Mia jerked her face away, pretending to study Alma’s bare calf dangling from Bjorn’s arms.

Bastion raised his hands for silence.

“Tonight I will show you the truth of all I say. A witch has been identified and caught and has confessed. I present her to you tonight so that her evil may be ended and you good people freed.”

There were murmurs of approval. Mia thought that, taken together, the crowd sounded like cows.

Bastion smiled, stroking his chin and nodding before continuing.

“In some villages people must seek out a savior who can free them of a witch’s power. Not so for you. It is not Father Stefan’s desire, nor mine, that you be exploited in such a way. It reminds me, in fact, of a town I was called to by the bishop. The noblemen had set up a tollbooth, and all who were bewitched in their own persons or in their possessions had to pay a penny before they could visit the Inquisitor and be cured. And the noblemen made a substantial profit. Have I asked you for anything?”

The people shook their heads.

“That is right. Like Paul, I do not wish to be a burden on you. I want you to understand that my motives are pure. Can you imagine a man who would profit by another’s misfortune? And yet one man’s trouble is often the means of another man’s wealth.

“My friends, especially in these days, when souls are beset with so many dangers, we must take measures to dispel all ignorance, and we must always have before our eyes that severe judgment that will be passed upon us if we do not use, everyone according to his proper ability, the one talent that has been given.

“And what is your talent, friends? Is it not sober judgment and clear thinking? Are you not called upon in this hour to sacrifice your comforts, your inclinations to mercy, and strike a blow against the Devil himself? Or would you leave that work to your children?”

Bastion motioned to the children seated round his feet. The crowd grew anxious; Mia could see it on their faces and in the way they shook their heads, in their clasped hands, the women rocking on their heels.

“I am not surprised that a witch lived among you. In these days witches are everywhere about. Here is what surprises me: that a witch could cast her spells for so long without detection. I fear you are good people but ignorant. Though it gives me no pleasure to describe the evil a woman may do under the power of the Devil, if I do not do it, what will become of you? Witches will return and bring many more spirits with them. That is biblical, is it not, Father Stefan?”

Father Stefan opened his eyes wide in surprise. “Uh, oh, yes, the parable of the man delivered of one demon, and did not take precautions, yes, many more came and possessed him.”

“Mothers, if you do not wish your children to hear of carnal matters, it is now time to remove them,” Bastion said. “Return home, and your husbands can instruct you on my message later tonight.”

Mia searched the crowd for little Marie but did not see her, to her relief. Marie loved Father Stefan with plain devotion. But she had a sick mother at home, and no child would travel alone near these woods at night. Strange blessings, Mia thought, but blessings for Marie tonight all the same. Mia saw that among the people present, not a soul moved. The children who were present hunched down, giggling, hoping for a scare.

“Very well,” Bastion said. “Strange events have plagued this town, but events that have not been spoken of. And yet the women know, don’t they? The women have gossiped about these events, having no sense to suspect a witch.

“Let us suppose a man be tempted, though he has a beautiful and honest wife. Suppose his good judgment is so chained up that by no blows or words or deeds, or even by shame, can he be made to desist from that lust.

“Suppose he cannot contain himself, but that he is at times unexpectedly, in spite of the roughness of the journey, forced to be carried through great distances by day and by night, risking body and soul to have the object of his lust.

“This man is not himself evil, but under the influence of evil, of the Devil himself. This man has been bewitched. And there is only one remedy. Only one cure for witches, just as there is but one penalty for sin. Witches must burn.”

Mia was entranced by Bastion’s wisdom. She looked at her husband, holding her beautiful daughter, and felt no fear, only a sense of justice.

“Who among you desires to be free? Who among you has struggled with lusts and temptations? Who among you would see this evil rooted out and Christ reign once again in your town and in your hearts?”

“Yes, yes!” the people replied.

“Away with her!” Mia shouted.

Some turned to stare at her in surprise. Mia raised her chin, not looking at them. She called out again. “Away with the witch. Let Bastion have his way!”

Bjorn put his arm around Mia. No one stared again.

Bastion extended a hand to Bjorn and another to Stefan, making himself look like Christ at the final moment.

“Come, Sheriff. Come, Father Stefan. I can bear my burden alone no more.”

Bjorn handed Alma back to Mia and went to stand with Bastion. Mia saw his hands shaking, his face a gray color. Stefan looked no better.

The woman under the mask moaned, shifting her weight from foot to foot.

Mia understood. The witch might still cast her spells, though her time was almost gone. Only when she had been punished would the spells end. Mia wanted her gone. She should be punished and sent away. The sooner she left, the better. Mia had a good life to make for herself now.

Bastion put his arms around Bjorn and Stefan, drawing them to a tight circle. Stefan threw his arms straight up, breaking Bastion’s hold, shaking his head in anger.

Bjorn grabbed Stefan by the arm, speaking in an urgent, pleading manner. Mia could not understand his words.

“My friends,” Bastion said, “you have a fine man for a priest. A fine man with a soft heart.”

Everyone around Mia nodded. A few clapped. Stefan held up his hands to silence them.

“We must punish this witch. God commands it,” Bastion said. “But Stefan has not the heart to scourge a woman. I cannot blame you, Stefan, for you are a simple parish priest. You have not seen the evils I have. And yet it must be done. Good men and women depend on us.”

Stefan opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. He looked at Mia as if expecting her to say something. She frowned.

“Father Stefan,” Bjorn said, “you have heard tell of many evils a witch is capable of. You have seen two of the worst, two of your own flock dead and tossed out with the chamber pots on the streets of this town. You must do this. For them. For Christ, Father Stefan. Do it for Christ.”

“I cannot scourge a woman.”

“I will do it. If you give me leave,” Bjorn said.

“Wait! How do you know scourging will have the desired affect?” Stefan asked. “Show me your proof.”

“Proof?” Bastion’s snicker was sardonic. “An odd word for a priest. But let me reassure you, reassure you all, that faith is always best served by reason. We must pair faith and reason. So let us reason this together: God uses discipline to change our desires, yes? Just as we discipline our children for their own good.”

People nodded. Stefan said nothing.

“Scourging is a severe discipline. Scourging will make sure she has no desire to bewitch anyone in this town, ever again. Scourging will turn her heart back to God,” Bastion promised. He looked at Mia, and she felt it in her knees, in a sharp stabbing pleasure through her abdomen. “Discipline of one serves the whole community. If there is sickness among you, if prayer is ineffective, if there is alienation where affection should live, these curses a scourging can break.”

Please.
Mia mouthed the word to Father Stefan.
Please God,
she prayed silently,
give Stefan the strength to do what is right.

Stefan nodded, his eyes focusing on little Alma, his face a mask of sorrow. “Bjorn may scourge her.”

Bastion jumped, clapping his hands. “Yes. Justice is upon us.” He ripped the leather mask off the witch and then turned her and ripped her shift down the back. He forced her to face the crowd.

The widow Rose blinked and shook her head, dust from the hood settling in her eyes as she faced them all.

“No,” Mia murmured. Rose squinted at her, confused, as if seeing her through stained glass.

Rose’s shift slipped off her shoulders, sliding down her chest, stopping just before it revealed her nakedness. She squirmed but could not adjust it with her hands tied. Mia followed the shape of the shift, the way it hung over Rose’s bulging belly. She was with child.

“What have you done? Rose!” Mia yelled her name, but got no response. No life remained in Rose’s eyes. Rose lifted her face in Mia’s direction, not seeing her, looking beyond her, beyond them all, at the horizon, as if waiting.

Bjorn took a whip offered to him by Bastion and swung his arm up behind his head. Mia cried out, hiding her face.

Bastion held one hand to delay him. “Bjorn will cleanse her of the malice she held toward you all.” Bastion looked right at her as he said it. “I promised you freedom and healing, did I not?”

His attention turned to the crowd. “I need men, strong men, to raise a wooden pole with plenty of kindling at the base.”

“Wait!” Father Stefan stood between Rose and Bastion. “You said you needed only to punish her; a cleansing. You said nothing of a burning.”

“My brother, we are only men. We can punish her for the spells she cast, for her heart inclined to evil, but we cannot save her soul. Even you cannot do that. Can you?”

“You did not say we would burn her,” Stefan answered.

“She is going to die. If not by my hand, then someday. Would you want her to go to Christ with these sins clinging to her? Would not God’s wrath be so much greater than mine?”