Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
S houts rose from outside. Deep voices carried over to the stable as Witch Hunters demand for the witch to show themselves. I couldn’t comprehend if the Witch Hunters knew that me and Arwyn were here, or if they spoke about the mysterious Eleanor. Suddenly, her name and the mention of the trials, conjured something like an itch in the back of my mind.
Like a story I already knew…
Even if we were not on the Witch Hunters’ radar, the moment they found us hiding out in a stable, dressed in clothes that didn’t belong to the era, we’d be accused of witchcraft.
History told that women with bright minds were accused of the craft. Even those with differences, and yet no ties to the magic, were strung to stakes and burned, or drowned in the river for punishment.
It didn’t take much.
Arwyn barricaded the door with a pitchfork slotted between the wooden handles, then spun on me with panicked eyes. Just from his reaction alone, I could tell he had had a run in with Witch Hunters before. Likely one that had scarred him, too. I fought the urge to calm him, to tell him that we’d be alright, because my track record with Witch Hunters was almost a one- hundred percent escape rate. But there was no time—and unlike the rest of my run-ins with Witch Hunters, I had no power.
‘Check every dwelling,’ a voice called. ‘Brothers, uncover the mark of the devil and we shall cleanse this village. Do so with haste.’
One look around the stable, and it was clear there was nowhere we could hide successfully. I hardly imagined two men crouched behind a haystack wouldn’t elicit questions, witchcraft or not. This was the fifteen hundreds, if there was anything else that was blamed on the devil, it was being gay.
‘Is there another way out of here?’ I asked, breathless from adrenaline coursing through me.
‘Not without going outside, into the view of those who’d very much like to burn us at the stake.’ Arwyn was rifling through the stable, searching for a nook or cranny to hide in.
‘Arwyn,’ I snapped, drawing his full attention back to me. ‘Whatever is going through your mind right now, control it and focus. I need you.’
Those three words seemed to have more power over Arwyn than my Gift would have. He snapped to attention, body rigid, and brow kneaded. ‘There is an exit at the back. It leads out towards the watermill.’
‘Great,’ I said, extending a hand. To my surprise, Arwyn reached over and took it. ‘As long as the history books haven’t lied, which we both know they do, then there is one place the Witch Hunters will definitely not look for witches.’
‘Lead the way,’ Arwyn said, his hand shaking in mine.
I did just that. We left the stable through the side door Arwyn mentioned. It led out to the back of the building, the ground muddied and thick with horse shit, rotting straw, and more shit. As he mentioned, the mill lingered beside the stable. Built next to a lazy river moving downstream, water was caught in a large, imposing wheel that I’d remembered seeing when I escaped the demon birds.
‘This way,’ I hissed. Arwyn didn’t question me as I pulled him in that direction. Perhaps he was too focused on the splintering of wood back in the stable—no doubt the Witch Hunters had just broken inside.
‘Gentleman first,’ I said, gesturing towards the bank of the river.
‘You can’t be serious?’ Arwyn moaned, taking too long to contemplate my suggestion. There was no time to explain my plan. So I did the only thing I could think of and pushed him in.
‘If you float, you’re a witch,’ I said, jumping in behind him. ‘If you drown, you’re free of the devil but still you’ll die.’
Arwyn was wading in the middle of the river, the water up to his broad chest. Droplets fell over furious eyes which studied me, his mouth agape, his clenched teeth holding back what I was sure was a string of curses.
‘What the fuck, Hector?’
I smiled, running fingers through my hair to get the wet strands out of my eyes. ‘Oh, look. You float. You must be the devil’s child.’
He clearly didn’t appreciate my attempt at humour. And I had to admit to myself, it was freezing. Our only clothes were completely sodden. If we survived the Witch Hunters, we would probably die from hypothermia.
‘Witch Hunters believed witches would float, so they’d never except them to incriminate themselves by hiding in the water, would they?’ I snapped, teeth already chattering, as the water wheel churned just a short swim to our side. Just ahead of us, surrounded by dancing mist, sat evenly spaced out stone markers. The boundary that had been mentioned, no doubt. And around the stones, growing proudly, was thistlebane. A field of it. Puddles of violent purple flowers which filtered with the faint breeze, bringing with it the sour perfume kiss of the weed.
‘Seems like those stones don’t keep out the real evil,’ I said, my attention separated.
Arwyn was silent. By the time I looked to him, the furious pinch of Arwyn’s face was smoothed out. Not completely, but enough that he saw the method to my madness. When his hand found mine underneath the water, I almost gasped. His touch was so warm compared to the frigid embrace of the river. In an ideal world, I would’ve pressed myself against him and absorbed everything he had to offer.
We swam to the water wheel, hiding ourselves beneath the gargantuan wooden frame. It was colder here in the shadows, where the light couldn’t warm the water even a little. I felt my body tense, my muscles hardening to stone as a barrage of shivers overcame me. Maybe Arwyn noticed because he heard my teeth chatter, or maybe it was because he hardly took his eyes off me. But it didn’t take long for arms to wrap around me, pulling my body towards him.
I was powerless to refuse, nor would I have. Because the moment his warmth seeped through my back and folded around my waist, the shivering eased.
‘This plan, although genius, is also absolutely ridiculous,’ Arwyn muttered, his lips close to my ear. With my back pressed to his chest, I couldn’t see his face, but my mind still conjured images I couldn’t hold back.
‘Tell me… that when we… don’t get caught’
Arwyn clapped his hand over my mouth, silencing me. Above the noise of the turning wheel, there were footsteps. The shadow of a figure cast over the water to our side, as Witch Hunters looked out across the river in search.
I should’ve been scared, but all I could focus on was Arwyn. How his hands were both smooth and rough, telling stories of his daily life before the Witch Trials. The power in his grasp, his natural ability to want to protect me even though we were rivals for all intents and purposes. Even the water drenching our bodies couldn’t conceal his scent. I tasted the salt on his palm, whilst enjoying the radiating heat of his flesh.
He held me like that, hand over mouth, body trapped to his, for a long while. I couldn’t place the time exactly, but it had to have been nearly an hour. All the while, Arwyn didn’t release me, not until the Witch Hunters had long left the village. Their search had not been bountiful, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t be back.
The sun set, the water so cold I could no longer feel my toes. My skin had likely shrivelled to the texture of dried raisins. Just when I contemplated getting out, more footsteps sounded nearby, which made Arwyn hold onto me tighter.
Had the Witch Hunters come back already? Maybe they weren’t as stupid as I gave them credit for.
‘It’s safe, boys,’ came the unfamiliar female voice from the river’s bank. ‘They’ve gone.’
I couldn’t place it, but clearly Arwyn recognised it enough to relax, because he finally released me. ‘Eleanor?’
I waited for the woman to confirm or deny, before slipping out into view. ‘It is I. And for a moment, I thought the Witch Hunters would find you in my husband’s stable. I was glad to find it empty, although the damage to the door will not please my husband upon his return.’
Arwyn waded towards Eleanor’s voice. It wasn’t until he reached the shallow water that he noticed I wasn’t following him to the bank. He turned back to face me, bright eyes glowing in the hue of dusk. His skin had gone blotchy from the water, his black t-shirt clinging to the incredible work of art that was his body. ‘It’s safe, Hector. I promise you.’
I couldn’t explain it, and maybe I didn’t need to, but hiding from the Witch Hunters had taken me back eighteen years. It was a surprise when I didn’t hear the thud , thud , thud , of an athame entering flesh.
It took great effort to remind myself that I wasn’t there. That I was actually far from that time, lost in another place, and I wasn’t alone. I had Arwyn.
I slipped from our hiding place before my body completely shut down. My limbs felt heavy, my skin frozen to ice, but as soon as I saw the heavy woollen blankets held by the woman on the riverbank, I felt my body relax.
Eleanor stood, waiting for us, a welcoming smile lifting the corners of her kind face. Blonde hair peaked from beneath the cap of her modest outfit. The bottom of her dress was entirely stained and torn from dragging across the ground. Even her apron looked worse for wear. I would’ve never looked at Eleanor and thought witch , which was likely how she had evaded the Witch Hunters in such a small town. But then again, we all had our secrets.
‘It’s good to see you up and about, Briar child,’ Eleanor said, offering me the grey blanket as I pulled myself out of the river. ‘And just in time for the arrival of some unwanted guests. Hekate smiles kindly down on you.’
I took the blanket and hung it around my shoulders. The wool smelled of lavender, so strong it distracted me from the cold. I wondered if that was the point. ‘Thank you for watching over us.’
‘Tis no bother,’ Eleanor replied, ‘a witch always looks after her kin.’
Arwyn put himself slightly between us. I got the impression his natural impulse to act as a shield was hard to let go of, even in front of a proven ally. ‘Will they return?’
‘My husband has offered his service, and escorted the Witch Hunters to the nearest town for rest and comfort… not that the bastards deserve it. These checks are becoming more persistent, and we are hearing word that poor people from nearby villages are being sold out by their friends and family on the accusation of devil work. It seems no amount of blood satisfies them, innocent or no.’
‘They won’t ever…’ I began.
Arwyn shot me a look, silencing me. ‘The Witch Hunters will return. Our village was subject to the same searches, which is why we fled and ended up here.’
Ah, so we’re lying.
Eleanor didn’t know that we were not only strangers to this village, but to this time as well. Or maybe she did, since she’d seen the clothes we wore. Her choice to be silent about the anomalies only made me trust her easier.
‘Then we better get you warmed by the hearth before my husband returns, then I’m afraid it’s back to the stable for you both.’ Eleanor turned on her heel, beckoning us to follow her. She didn’t have a burning torch, so they way ahead was dark. Likely, she didn’t want to alert her neighbours that she was sneaking two, drenched-to-the-bone, men into her home. Otherwise she might be the next person they sold out to the Witch Hunters upon their return. ‘I have warmed water for you to wash in, and stew on the stove to fill your bellies. Hector, I’d like to see to your wounds again, I have a new batch of salve to use up before the ingredients go sour. Quick, the hour is late. Only demons lurk in the shadows, do not stray in them for too long.’
Arwyn had not long left Eleanor’s living room—if I could call it that—to wash. Our empty wooden bowls were left to the side after three helpings of Eleanor’s stew. I didn’t think I could ever say I’d eaten rabbit before, but the meat was surprisingly rich and tasty. The crusty bread we had devoured sat in my stomach, heavy as a stone, and yet the unpleasant feeling was welcome.
‘How’s that?’ Eleanor asked from behind me. She was sat on a stool, deft fingers massaging a thick white salve onto my bare skin. I had been the first to wash in the bucket of hearth-warmed water and my skin smelled like honey from the homemade soap she’d give me to use.
‘Could I lie and tell you my wounds still ache, just so I get this massage again?’ I asked, to her enjoyment. Eleanor’s laugh was a sweet as caramel, something she likely didn’t even know existed. I had to be careful with my words, to make sure I didn’t give away where we came from. But then again, Eleanor was smart enough to evade Witch Hunters—she likely knew something was amiss, even if she was going along with Arwyn’s lies.
‘The infection has eased, and the wounds completely healed. Beside the scars, I don’t think you’ll need any more aid after this last batch.’ Eleanor finished applying the salve, drawing symbols and runes across my skin whilst murmuring spells beneath her breath. I couldn’t feel the magic like a physical presence, but I certainly sensed it in the way she carried herself.
I knew my question would give away my lack of knowledge of this time, but I couldn’t help but ask it. ‘What are those…creatures? The birds that did this to me?’
Eleanor’s tone darkened as she replied. ‘Demons. Creatures of the dark. Agents of misery and misrule.’
I could hear Arwyn upstairs, his footsteps creaking across the floorboards. It was safe for me to press on, knowing he couldn’t hear. ‘And these demons are kept out of the village by the stone circle?’
Eleanor hummed her confirmation. ‘Indeed the pesky mites are.’
‘I’m not familiar with this magic,’ I admitted, further giving away my differences.
‘I thought that was the case.’ Eleanor stood from her stool, confirmed she was done and allowed me to put her husband’s spare tunic on. It hung over my frame like a dress, whereas it likely would’ve fit Arwyn perfectly. Even now, I couldn’t rid the image of his body from my mind, nor his warmth from my skin.
‘It is criminal for a witch to not devote themselves to the craft. It is like a skill, you know. If you do not practice it, you’ll never experience the full joy of Hekate’s offerings.’
My skin shivered. How had we gone from grasping with old magic, to forgetting it? Or perhaps we just were not responsible enough to hold such power?
‘And do you belong to a coven?’ I asked, keeping the conversation alive. Perhaps there were clues in her knowledge that would help us work out the purpose of this trial. Hekate always had a purpose, a test of a witch’s qualities. Discovering what she was seeking would set us on the path back to our time.
‘Sadly, it has been many years since witches congregated in groups. Doing so only starts whispers and pointed fingers. Which is why you and Arwyn must be careful, going forwards.’
I longed to tell her not to worry about us. Our story was not set in stone, whereas Eleanor’s was. Her life had already come to an end in our time, her story either cut short or not. ‘Can I ask how the stone circle works? It would help us where we find ourselves next.’
What I didn’t say aloud was how similar the protection around this village seemed to the one around the castle. Except altered to keep magic in, not out.
‘I’m surprised your family have not taught you such spells,’ Eleanor said. I wondered if she was goading me into revealing more information.
‘My family didn’t have the chance before Witch Hunters murdered them.’
Eleanor took me in, her eyes softening, sorrow drawing deep lines across her forehead. ‘I’m sorry for what was unfairly taken from you, my child.’
She hugged me. I could’ve stopped her, but I didn’t. Eleanor was close in age to what my mother would’ve been if Father Tomin didn’t execute her. Selfishly, I allowed myself her offered comfort. Closing my eyes, I folded into her arms like a child. Her careful hand rubbed circles across my back. It was so comforting, I missed when Arwyn stopped walking upstairs.
‘I also am the last of my family name, Hector.’ There was pain in her voice, it mirrored the thorn forever buried in my chest. ‘The Letcombe name shall die with me. And this small village knows that. Those who’ve lived here, have lived in it for a long while. My family had roots so far in this soil, that if you dug down in the ground you would end up far in the past. And my neighbours are not fools, they know what I am. Some may not like it, but they sure do respect it.’
Letcombe. I stiffened, drawing back from Eleanor’s arms. ‘You’re Eleanor Letcombe?’
The witch my mother told me stories about. The last witch who was documented to have access to the old magics.
‘I would show pride that you know of me, but that also sparks concern as to who else is aware of my name,’ Eleanor replied, worry evident in every aged line beside her creased eyes.
‘No, it isn’t like that. I just… my mother must’ve known you once. She told me stories about you.’
‘All good, I hope.’ Eleanor said, clearly satisfied with my answer. Perhaps she just knew not to pry into a witch’s intuition and all.
‘How do you stay… hidden from the Witch Hunters?’ I said, knowing how Eleanor’s story ended. She would die, on a pyre, begging Hekate, trading old magic for new, so witches across the globe could protect themselves from the same fate. ‘I mean, if you have advice that we could take, I would hear it.’
‘Well Hector. I believe those within this village do not sell me out for coin, because without me, they are not protected. It is my stone circle that keeps the demons out. My blood feeds the protection my family laced around our land, and it will until the day I die. It is the key to keep them locked away. Sacrifice the key, and the demons would win.’
And yet you will die , I thought. The knowledge of her doom made me uncomfortable. I could hardly hold her gaze for long.
‘These demons, I don’t remember learning—hearing about them.’ I quickly corrected. ‘Again, more knowledge that died with my family I suppose.’
History told that Witch Hunters believed witchcraft was a blessing of the devil, but never did the books tell of actual demons roaming the land. This was knowledge I didn’t have. But then again there were the creatures I saw taking Jordan’s body into the ground. The feeling that came with them was wrong—demonic.
‘Witch Hunters preach that witches have scorned the world, longing to eradicate all those who do not wish to turn to our dark ways. They believe demons are our pets, our companions, working beside us to achieve a common goal of damnation. But of course, that is not the case. Our magic comes from the earth and elements, not the domain that lurks below. We are beings of nature, but in the eyes of the Witch Hunters, we are not different from the same devils they believe we worship for access to magic.’
I looked down at my open palm, flexing the fingers, almost willing them to do something. It was easier looking down than allowing Eleanor to read into the nuances of my facial expressions.
She reached for my hand and took it. She laid the back of my hand on her knee, then smoothed my palm out until it was completely flat. ‘It is important that a witch connects to their element. The divine connection is given at birth, determined by the alignment of the stars.’
This was an answer I could give. ‘I’m an air-witch.’
‘Ah,’ Eleanor said, smile brightening. ‘I have never met an air-witch I did not enjoy the company of.’
My smile was natural in return. There was an ease about Eleanor, a presence that made me want to lean into her and feel her warmth. Yes, I found her welcoming. But above all, she had a motherly aura. If I imagined hard enough, this would’ve been the closest I got to speaking with my own mother again…
‘This is the symbol for air.’ Eleanor began painting a triangle on my hand, the tapered tip pointing northwards. ‘If you focus your intent on the element, you will be able to call on it. Go on. Try.’
‘I don’t think this will work,’ I said, laughing it off, but something serious in Eleanor’s gaze stopped me.
‘You will never know what you are capable of until you try.’
Eleanor drew back and gestured for me to copy what she’d done. Before I could even come up with an excuse, she stopped me. ‘It is the least you can do, since I’ve looked after you so well over the past days.’
She was right. There was something in her belief in me that made me toy with the idea of old magic. I leaned forwards, tracing the triangular symbol for air across my palm. Of course, nothing happened for me. Old magic was clearly not even a muscle I could begin to exercise. I was about to stop when Eleanor offered me words of encouragement.
‘Picture, in your mind, what it is you will your element to do. Is it to blow out a candle, or feed a fire? Do you wish to conjure a storm or ride the winds as your steed?’
‘Impossible,’ I replied.
‘Is it?’ Eleanor shrugged, searching to the stool beside her and lifted the slim cream candle which danced with a bud of fire at its wick. ‘I suppose it is, for someone who contemplates the act but does not believe .’
I focused on the symbol again, not only tracing it on my palm but conjuring wild images of all the endless possibilities controlling the air could offer. I closed my eyes, blocking out the world around me, narrowing my focus. I longed to make this stranger proud of me.
Wind rattled glass. ‘That’s it, my boy.’ A breeze danced over my skin, clearing away the heavy, straw-damp air suffocating the rooms of Eleanor’s house. ‘Keep going. Feed the element with your intention…’
I felt the cool breeze toy with my hair, dance across my neck and the impossible—yet possible—grace of old magic in my…
Arwyn announced his presence by clearing his throat. As soon as I opened my eyes and looked at him, the air stilled. My connection was severed. The symbol went from glowing lines of silver in my mind, to an abyss of emptiness again. But what I noticed was that the candle Eleanor held out no longer burned with flame.
‘I think we should head back to the stable,’ Arwyn said, voice firm.
I tried to read his expression, but it was void of anything that gave his thoughts away. And as I’d previously imagined, the tunic fit him perfectly. It broadened his shoulders but was held cinched to his waist by the leather belt Eleanor had provided him.
‘You are right. My husband will return shortly. There are a few supplies I want to get you first, just bear with me a moment.’ Eleanor rushed out of the room, slipping past Arwyn who continued to stand by the door like he was guarding it.
‘You could’ve given us away,’ he hissed.
‘She’s a witch—her intuition alone will mean she knows we’re lying,’ I retorted.
‘If we are going to survive the trial, we need to first survive the time we’re stuck in. Giving away that we don’t belong here will only endanger us.’
I rolled my eyes, finding his presence irritating once again. ‘We’re not going to survive this trial if you continue speaking down to me. Trust me on that.’
He stepped into the room, bringing the tension with him like a cloak. ‘Are you threatening me?’
‘I don’t threaten, I promise.’
‘Here you go,’ Eleanor announced, sweeping back into the room before we both went at each other. Unlike Arwyn, I forced a smile and pretended everything was alright.
‘Thank you again for your hospitality, Eleanor,’ Arwyn announced in his monotone drawl. ‘We’ll be out of your hair for the rest of the evening and gone from the village by dawn. Hector,’ his voice darkened again. ‘I’ll meet you outside.’
I waited until Arwyn had walked into the corridor before I addressed Eleanor. ‘Sorry about him, he can be grumpy.’
‘A shadow always needs its sunlight,’ Eleanor said with a wink, handing over a straw basket. I didn’t have time to tell her that I certainly wasn’t his sunlight, before she listed off the items she had given us. Food supplies, blankets, another change of clothes and more importantly, two bottles of her husband’s home-brewed honey ale. Strong stuff, she said. I would’ve asked her the alcohol percentage, but that really would’ve proved we didn’t belong here.
Instead, I thanked her, offered her a final hug, and went to move.
‘One more thing, but this gift is just for you.’ Eleanor reached into the pocket of her apron and produced a small book. The last time I had seen one like this, it had been in Romy’s hands.
‘A grimoire,’ I said, hands refusing to move to claim it. ‘I can’t possibly take that. It’s yours.’
‘Correction, dear boy. It’s my ancestor’s grimoire, and the last I checked all witches are kin, are we not? So please, take it. I’ve learned everything I can and could recite the grimoire from cover to cover. I have no one to give it to, and you have no one to learn from. It only makes sense you take it, learn from it, practice the craft. It is your birthright, one taken away by those who broke your family. It would be my honour, truly, to accept you as a Letcombe if you please take it.’
Tears filled my eyes unexpectedly. Crying was not something I was comfortable doing, or was used to. But here the tears came, free flowing, tracing over my cheeks as I took the grimoire from Eleanor. ‘How could I possibly say no to you after your beautiful speech?’
‘You don’t,’ Eleanor said, taking me in, planting a gentle kiss to my crown. ‘Now go. Just remember the Letcombe name, carry it on for me. The blood between family binds us, but the craft is always a thicker thread.’
‘Thank you,’ I said as I hugged the grimoire tight. There was no point in drying my eyes. ‘I will.’
‘I get the impression, my boy, that I will one day soon be thanking you.’
You have no idea .
I hated knowing what was to become of her. Eleanor’s death, riding on the horizon, like the impending doom of the four horsemen. I only hoped she got to live, experience life, before Witch Hunters stole hers from her.
If anything, it gave me one more reason to hate them. As if I needed any more.