estdeus_innobis | No one mourns the wicked.

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No one mourns the wicked.

[Early evening, Wednesday, August 13th, day 444]
[The woods outside town]

Woke up'is mornin' when the sky wuz th'deep blue'a th'sea bottom, m'breath stranglin'n m'throat, and a pain'n m'head't threatened t'push m'eyes from'eir sockets. I sat up, chokin' 'n clawin't m'throat, wond'rin' dully if'n m'head wuz gonna burst 'fore I strangled, an'en't wuz done. Th'air'n m'lungs pushed out hard, there wuzza flash 'fore m'eyes, an'en th'pain wuz gone. But not b'fore I heard somethin', a weird screamin' noise somewhere deep'n th'mist. Closest thin' t'it've ever heard s'when I came 'pon a mama vixen'n th'woods, she stood up from'er cubs'n fuckin' screamed at me. This sound wuz like'at...but wit'n edge, like th'bone squeal'a teeth grindin'n pain. Dunno what't wuz, but't made me feel sick'n pale'n sweaty, an' I didn't sleep no more after'at.

Seems mosta th'others'n th'Carnival felt somethin' th'same. Lotta folk woke up'n th'night, 'r member a chokin' spell...nobody else mentioned the scream, though. I don't mention it neither, but think mebbe I oughta go talk t'Nanshe soon's I can. Whatever't wuz, don't think't meant anythin' good.

Fer t'day, though, there's work t'be done. Can't b'lieve th'summer's near t'ended. We's headed fer our second winter innis town, an'I think mosta us're resigned t'it. Somma th'folks'a been lettin'eir wagons go, lettin' th'wheels sink inta th'ground, 'r settin'em on blocks. Some folks've built shacks 're rented places in town. Some've taken jobs, too, part time 'r full. Can't blame'em, really, since'ere ain't allat much money comin' in fer the rides 'r games no more. There's a feelin' on th'Lot now't we might never leave, annit makes m'skin itch.

Me, I still keep m'wagon ready t'move, an'm makin' 'nough cash sellin' potions'n charms, so'm doin' okay. Smokey's gettin' fat, though, 'e's spendin' so much time'n pasture. I ain't never learned t'ride'r nothin', so'ere really ain't nothin' for'im t'do. Guess I could rent'im out t'folks in town, but I dunno. In some ways't makes me feel like'm puttin' down roots m'self, an'at jes' makes me twitch.

At least I still got work t'do. Shoulder m'satchel 'n head out inta th'woods. Rain's gone, but'ere's a cool breeze, so I throw on m'jacket, 'n pull boots on 'gainst th'mud 'n wet grass. Th'woods 'n th'river here've been good t'me, at least in terms've finding materials. Roots 'n herbs, moss 'n bone. Miss somma th'stuff I c'n get 'n th'south (Christ, I miss olive oil), but gotta say, gathered a lotta stuff last winter't I can't normally get, annit came in right handy over th'past few months.

...Lord, guess I better start thinkin' 'bout getting th'heaters set back up inna few weeks. Jesus wept.

[OPEN to Reed and Catherine primarily, but others too]

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I felt it this morning, oh, how I felt it. Like God had call for the air to condense and then beaten it like a drum. Except I do not think that it was God's hand behind it, not at all. When I stepped out of the abbey this morning, there were birds lying dead beneath the trees, and the brothers and sisters looked alarmed. The horses in the stables were frothing; a few had kicked their way free of their stalls and were running loose in the corral. Hirondelle was still there, standing stock still and trembling. I soothed her, and fed her, and dressed in my leather jerkin. When I passed by the weapons storage, I asked for my rifle. The Brother asked why I wanted it. I told him that I was going hunting. He said perhaps I would bring home supper, and I said that perhaps I would.

I only wish I could ask for my sword. My rifle and long knife will have to serve.

I left the abbey and found Reed. We both had felt it. We both knew that the time had come. And from what we had learned in town, we both knew where to go.

Reed knows these woods. We know the witch comes here frequently. Surely, with her master so active, she will be here tonight. I know it. God has shown me the way.

It ain't that I want to hurt anyone. Lady knows I don't. But sometimes you just got to, to keep other people safe. The town. Children, like that Parsons baby. Always swore I'd be a soldier no more, do the works of peace, but how c'n I sit back an let others do evil when I can stop it?

Still, it ain't an easy thing. I got my weapons, an Catherine got hers, an I got a sick feelin right down in my gut still. Least we're away from town, no one else to get in the way. Doin the right thing, I know it. Walking soft, like hunting. Hear a voice up ahead an go still.

I know that Reed is reluctant, but she is the first person that I have met in this town who seems to understand what is at stake here, and who is willing to act. And in this case we know, we know that this woman is a witch, that she is acting against God. From asking around town, I have learned she is even helping women end their pregnancies. She is killing babes in the womb and outside it, and clearly the town authorities are willing to let her do it. How can we let this stand?

Reed is in the lead, she is more accustomed to this sort of battle than I, and when she freezes I do similar. Voices, yes, voices. There is someone up ahead. Thank you, God, for guiding us.

Takes me back, this does. Up in the mountains with the irregulars, ambushed and broken ground: quick strike and away. My hands remember how to slit a throat.

"--'til I actually spoke to another. What was it?"

Voice's familiar. Can't place it. Shame someone else's there. Maybe we can wait for her to leave. If not - remember a phrase. Collateral damage. That soldier they hanged, the man-eater, he'd've understood. Makes me shake my head for a moment, sudden sense of wrongness. Push it away. Needs doing, this.

Wave Catherine up, round. Quiet, quiet. Forward.

Voices, yes, certainly voices. Two at least; one older, smoke-roughened, and one young. Reed gestures to me, indicates that I should move to the side and around. I draw my rifle, though I don't dare cock it, and inch my way through the bushes.

I know the second voice: was the apothecary's girl, time gone by. Pair of 'em talking about takin parts of the dead birds, an my spine goes cold. They both in on this? (Birds or babies.)

Movin quiet. Load an prime my pistol: can do that in my sleep, quite as anythin. Nod to Catherine an step out, drawin back the hammer to full cock. "Mornin, ladies." Voice's cold. Got to do what you got to do.

We come out on either side of them, guns at the ready. I can see the witch. Her appearance surprises me; a tall, lanky woman, hair going grey. She's neither a voluptuous, wanton temptress, nor a bent and withered hag. But evil takes many forms, after all, and I suppose the Devil wanted someone who could conceal themselves easily.

"Mornin', ladies." Reed says, as the two stare at us.

I glance at the younger woman. "Is she your apprentice?" I spit. "Have you been corrupting the good women of this town?"

'm about t'laugh 'n say't Glass's welcome t'th'claws too, Lord knows I got 'nough, when two women step outta th'bushes. Dressed like'ey's out for a day's huntin', 'scept one's gotta pistol 'stead of a shotgun, an' both ovvem got'eir guns trained on Glass'n me. "Mornin', ladies." Says one ovvem.

Th'other ain't so friendly. "Is she your apprentice?" she says, lookin't Glass. "Have you been corrupting the good women of this town?"

"She ain't no 'pprentice 'a mine," I says, lookin't th'guns. There's a sick feelin'n m'belly, but I hide't b'hind drawin' a cig outta m'case 'n lightin' t. "Mind tellin' me what's's about?" Even though I gotta pretty good idea.

"Mornin', ladies," and the clean shock of it leaves me staring at her, light in the moment, and she looks like hell. "Evening to you," as it is by my count, and then "You aright?" thin and distracted afore the weight of the weapon brings me back to earth, leaden sick feeling in my stomach.

"Is she your apprentice?" the other says to Syl, as if I weren't for speaking-- no, worse'n that. "Have you been corrupting the good women of this town?"

"Beg your pardon," steadier than I feel, and place her then; woman as kept a roof over her head at the Abbey, seeking to take up arms 'gainst the thing in the tower.

Bloody Wednesdays.

"I apprentice to none since my mam died," I say, "and that was winters gone. Can speak to answer questions, mind."

Just stare at the girl a minute when she asks after my health. Can't you see the gun plain in my hand, child?

(Evenin, mornin, I lose track these days. Don't make no difference anyhow.)

"Just you stand easy now," I tells them both. Eyes on the young one, cos that's a sharp tongue on her, and if she ain't a part of this it could make trouble for her. "Lady an me's got some questions." Ain't a word of a lie. Won't lie if I can help it. Not like the rest of this town, all gone wrong. See the muzzle of the pistol weavin a little, an that ain't right, that ain't like me. Always had a steady hand.

Edited 2012-10-08 13:53 (UTC)

The witch lights a cigarette and draws on it, as though she had no cares in the world. "She ain't no 'pprentice 'a mine. Mind tellin' me what's's about?" Cold anger grows in my belly. How dare she show have no fear when confronted with God's warriors? How dare she show such arrogance?

"I apprentice to none since my mam died, and that was winters gone. Can speak to answer questions, mind." That is the younger, but I am not so sure that I believe her. Wouldn't servants of the Devil lie? Isn't that what they are known for?

"Just you stand easy now. Lady an me's got some questions."

Yes, questions. That is how we should hat least begin. "You," I say, levelling my gun at the witch. "I want to hear it from your lips. That you are a witch, a whore of the Devil, that you have murdered children." It's nothing more than what we know, but it is always so much better if they confess. This much I know.

Don't like th'way th'dark one looks, not't all. 'er hands're shakin', there's sweat on'er face, an' er eyes're jitt'ry. She says'ey got some questions. Oh, yeah, cuz folks't jump out't ya'n th'woods wit' guns always wanna fuckin' interview.

Th'other one's steadier, but I seen'er like b'fore. Us'ally jes' b'fore'ey start throwin' rocks. I guess guns're a step up. "You. I want to hear it from your lips. That you are a witch, a whore of the Devil, that you have murdered children."

Can't help it, I bark laughter'n smoke inta th'air. "Ferra pair'a d'voted crusaders, you two sure ain't done yer research. Yeah, sure, 'm a witch. Whore'a th'Devil, though? Seriously? Been t'th'tea house lately, have ya? An' killin' children?" I laugh again, but I still got'at sick feelin', cuz I don't see 'is bein' won wit' logic. Cup m'hands 'round m'cig like'm tryin' t'protect th'flame.

But 'stead I scorch m'skin 'gainst th'ember, draw m'power in, an' blow out, hard. Ash 'n hot cinders blow out front m'hands, inta th'faces 'a th'two gun-totin' bitches. I grab Glass' arm, "Run."

Oh bloody hell.

"Run."

Tell me twice and you'll find me gone.

Pull away and snap the cloak out of its bundle and settle it 'round me; with the grit and burn in their eyes, can't swear they'll even see me doing that. Not bloody leaving Syl, not now and to this, but very much not caring to be favoured as a target. Wish I thought she could hold me to blame for all they're accusing her of, once I'm unseen, but doubt it'll be so clean.

Trees between me'n them, best I can, and trying to keep Syl in sight. Can manage that.

Eyes're burning, and could be a trick or could be real magic but I ain't waitin around to find out. Can't shoot cos I can't aim, and I'm swearin an hearing them takin to their heels.

"Don't make me shoot you!" I call, scrubbin at my eyes with the back of my arm, an I'm goin after them even though I can't see. When my eyes blink 'emselves clear I've lost the younger but I can see the other runnin, aim an fire just past her in warnin. Can still do that, at least.

Edited 2012-10-08 20:44 (UTC)

She laughs and she denies, of course, because that is what the Devil-cursed do, that is why he is called the Prince of Lies. And then she cups her hands around the burning ember of her cigarette, and even before I hear her exhale I curse myself for a fool. What should I have expected from a witch? At least I throw up my arm to guard my eyes from the worst of the smoke and ash, and I hear her call, "Run."

There are the sounds of footsteps crashing through the brush, and I hear Reed yelling, "Don't make me shoot you!" Before a gunshot sounds. There are no cries of pain, no sounds of stumbling, so I assume it was a warning.

I curse, blinking hard to clear my eyes. "Come on! We can't let her get back to the Carnival!" Before I take off in pursuit. So we are hunting after all.

Glass makes some motion, an' suddenly she's gone. Ain't goin' dim; she's jes' gone. But I c'n still hear'er crashin' 'round b'hind me, so I know she's'ere. Hear a pistol-shot, but think't wuz inta th'air. Ain't gonna stay 'round'n find out.

"Don't make me shoot you!"

Oh, yeah, sure, what wuz y'plannin' t'do b'fore? s'what I wanna yell, but ain't gonna waste m'breath onnit. Dammit, dammit, why'd I hafta walk so far? Tryin' t'think how long't'd take us t'run back t'th'Lot. Try t'think if'n we c'n make't wit'out gettin' shot. Try t'judge from th'sounds b'hind us jes' how fast'ey's comin'. Try t'keep runnin'n draw m'knife't th'same time, which's a damned sight harder'n't sounds.

Several things I could set the edge of my tongue to, over "Don't make me shoot you!" Little enough point to't as I am, mind.

"Come on! We can't let her get back to the Carnival!" And think they're 'tween us and town, too... Sure's hell no bloody time for trying to go back for help. Mind myself they cannot see me and take a glace and again to the ground I'm crossing, find a decent rock and its close cousin. Not as if you'd catch me trying to cut someone when I can keep my distance a little.

Ain't stoppin. Stupid girls, stupid. Why'd you run if you'd not guilty? Provin it all, ain't it.

'M in good shape and I know these woods, better than most. Even with my eyes still streamin I can follow her. Blind man could follow her, ain't goin quiet. Wish I knew where the other one is. Don't want her comin out of nowhere.

Goin to have to take this one down, one way or another. Damn it.

Run, then, yes, run. Your master will not save you now. He has no power over Reed and I. We are servants of God, and we will bring you down.

I don't know where the younger girl has gone; she seemed to vanish into the air. She must indeed be an apprentice, but I can't concern myself with her right now. My target is the witch herself, the head of the snake.

I can see her in the rapidly dimming light, and I know that if we do not stop her before full dark comes, we may lose her in the woods. I utter a quick prayer, set my rifle to my shoulder, and fire.

S'gettin' dark, but I c'n still hear'em gainin'. M'chest's startin' t'hurt...goddamned cigarettes, If'n I'd known I wuz gonna spend th'evenin' runnin' fer m'life, y'c'n bet I woulda cut down.

Still ain't sure where Glass is, but don't sound like they've caught'er, annat's what matters. If'n I c'n jes' keep movin' 'til full dark, mebbe I c'n lose 'em in the...

There's th'crack of a rifle, an'en somethin' slams inta m'shoulder. Don't hurt't first, jes' feels like bein' shoved hard. Stumble over a tree root, slam inta th'trunk, an; m'shirt's goin' heavy'n wet. M'whole arm's throbbin'n burnin' an' m'shoulder's goin' cold, oh CHRIST....

Hear Catherine stop, and a glance shows she's aimin. Make sure I'm well clear, an then there's the crack of the rifle, smell of powder an the witch goes down. Hopin' she ain't dead - we ain't murderers. Could come to anythin later, but shootin a woman in the back don't sit right with me.

Catch up to her an get my pistol trained on her again. "Don't you move," I tell her.

Our mission is truly blessed. God guides my hand and my aim, and the witch stumbles and falls. I would rather take her in honorable combat, but I cannot risk her escaping to do yet more harm. And I should know better than to expect honorable combat from a creature like her.

The shot caught her in the left shoulder, and she is thrashing on the grass, trying to get up. Reed reaches her first, "Don't you move."

My pace slows, and I cradle my rifle in the crook of my arm. I wish we knew where her apprentice had gone.

Jesus Christ. Don't think've ever been shot b'fore. Hurts like a bitch. Arm's hangin' near useless, an' m'shirt's drenched'n blood. Well, bleedin' t'death'd likely be more comfort'ble 'n whatever'ey got planned for me.

've jes' managed t'roll over onta m'back when th'dark one wit' th'wild eyes runs up t'me. "Don't you move," she says, pantin' like a dog. Swear I c'n see foam 'round'er mouth. Th'other one's slowed down, lookin' satisfied, strollin' nice'n easy. Still dunno where Glass is. Hope t'hell she got away.

They think'm down. Well, 'is ol' bitch still has some teeth in'er. An'in some ways'ey did me a favour. M'bloods poolin' on th'grass, soakin' inta th'earth, bein' taken up by root an' stem. Clench m'good hand 'n th'earth. My body nourishes you, drink of my blood, grow strong and lend me your aid.

Done'is charm b'fore, but'at boost Verdi'n tez gave me sure gives a boost. Th'dark woman yells azza tree root rips free'a th'ground'n winds 'round'er ankle. A branch whip's cross'er face, an'a bush stretches out t'embrace'er. Th'other freezes, a split-second'a surprise, but't's enough. Snatch onna th'pouches from m'belt 'n hurl-t inta'er face. It bursts inna cloud'a powder, an'n th'next second a swarm 'a flies 'n wasps pours outta th'trees t'surround'er.

I don't take time t'gloat 'r listen t'th'screams; scramble t'm'feet an' start runnin' again.

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No one mourns the wicked.

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