Witchbane

Prologue

‘Come away, Rue,’ Aunt Sorrel pleaded as she clutched my upper arm and tried to pull me back into the crowds and away from Market Square where my mother was tied to a stake.

Elias Le Cerf, the hated Witchfinder we all recognised only too well, since he had held the position for the past three decades, was known to have captured at least nine people, three being women from my mother’s coven, with my mother being the second to face the ultimate penalty for practising witchcraft.

His erratic arrests only added to the fear surrounding him as no one ever knew who he would accuse next.

I watched as he checked my mother’s bindings, tightening them unnecessarily and making her wince in pain.

I wished with all my heart that he had chosen to discharge her, or, if not that, to banish her from the island – as he had done with the only man to be arrested for sorcery.

As upsetting as that would have been, it would still be preferable to this hideous end.

‘Rue, you must go.’

I shrugged my aunt off me. ‘No,’ I cried between sobs, not wanting to look at the person whose face was identical to my mother’s.

‘I will look into the Witchfinder’s eyes and all those who have condemned my mother.

I want her to know I was there when they strangled her and set her body alight.

And I want her to know I will spend my life avenging the loss of hers and punishing those responsible for taking her away from me like this. ’

‘Rue, you are nine years old.’ My aunt bent so her head was level with mine. ‘Far too young to do anything.’

I sniffed, then stared her in the eye. ‘I won’t always be though, Aunt Sorrel. One day I will have the means to make them pay. All of them.’

‘You mustn’t say such things, Rue. Someone might hear you.’

‘I don’t care,’ I screamed, rage blazing in my chest like a barely controlled inferno. I saw the Witchfinder smirk and I pointed at him. ‘I hate him!’

The Witchfinder flinched, his mouth opening in shock. His hand flew to his chest and clutched at his jacket. Spectators stopped their baying for my mother’s death and murmured to each other.

‘Rue, stop that,’ my aunt whispered before covering her mouth and looking around her.

I knew better than to lose my temper and display my power, but I needed to cause the Witchfinder pain at that moment and couldn’t help myself.

‘You’re going home,’ she said.

Before my aunt had time to think, I snatched my arm from her grasp and pushed to the front of the crowd once more, covering my mouth when I saw my mother’s bruised body. Her eyes scanned the crowd before settling on me.

My dear mother gave me a watery, sympathetic smile. She knew what I had done. She also understood why I was there and what I planned to do.

‘I love you, Mama,’ I mouthed, blinking rapidly to stop my tears from flowing. I had to be brave, as she was being now.

She mouthed the words back to me and my loathing intensified for these vile men who had hunted her down and tortured her before bringing her here to this public place.

My heart stilled and my breath caught in my throat as they stepped forward to strangle her.

My body began to shake uncontrollably but I pressed my teeth together in an effort to remain quiet, not wanting anyone to notice me.

Just then, my aunt cried out. It was a heart-wrenching, agonised wail that startled me and made me wonder whether being identical twins meant the pair of them felt the same pain. I hoped not.

The thought of intense pain being inflicted on my gentle mother horrified me. ‘Mama,’ I whimpered, blackness threatening to overwhelm me.

Hands covered my eyes. I clawed at them. ‘Be still, little one.’ It was Pierre’s deep voice. He was our estate manager, whom I had known all my life. ‘This is not for you to see.’

I was fond of Pierre but wanted to show my mother that I could be brave. I struggled to free myself from his hold, kicking his shins and biting his hand, but he didn’t let go.

‘Thank you, Pierre,’ I heard my aunt say, her voice shaky. ‘The child should not have this memory in her mind’s eye.’

I heard cries from several women and bit his flesh harder.

He groaned and released his grip enough for me to scamper away from him, in time to see my mother’s head loll forward.

Pain wrenched through me as if my heart was being torn in two.

She had died without our eyes meeting again and for a moment I couldn’t catch my breath.

I stared at her lifeless body and went to run to her, but Pierre’s large hands grabbed me around the waist and lifted me up, holding me against his side.

‘No, Rue. There’s nothing you can do for your mama now.’

I began to sob. ‘She’s dead.’

‘I’m afraid she is.’ He held me a little tighter. ‘No one can hurt her now, though, Rue. She no longer feels pain. Let that comfort you.’

Even in my devastation his words helped, but only slightly.

‘Let us find your aunt and leave,’ he said quietly as he lifted me. ‘Your father doesn’t want you here.’

My aunt cried out again, as did several other women, as the Witchfinder oversaw a lit torch being lowered and the flames near my mother taking hold and beginning to lap at her bare, swollen feet.

‘That bugger will watch until there’s nothing left of Martha Underwood’s body but ashes,’ I heard a man say as the dense crowd blocked our departure.

‘I believe he won’t settle until he’s matched the number of witches put to death in the 1590s,’ another said.

I glared at the Witchfinder over Pierre’s shoulder, as a satisfied smirk spread across his pinched face. How could someone that evil be allowed to live after taking the life of my beautiful mother?

‘Nooo,’ I sobbed, reaching out towards her, swallowing as nausea rushed up my throat.

I dashed away tears from my cheeks, and movement to my right caught my eye. A boy about my age was staring at me. I glowered at him, hating him witness my distress. A deep sadness filled his eyes and soothed me slightly; I wasn’t the only one horrified by this macabre spectacle.

‘Theophilus.’

The boy’s piercing blue eyes widened briefly and he looked away.

I followed his gaze to the Witchfinder who waved the boy to him.

He went to stand next to the man responsible for my mother’s murder.

The Witchfinder then rested a hand on the boy’s shoulder.

I could not miss the shame in the boy’s expression as he caught my eye once again, aware I now knew his identity.

My breath hitched in my throat. He was the Witchfinder’s son.

As I stared at him it occurred to me exactly how I could avenge myself on that evil man.

I would study everything my grandmother and aunt did as they made up their spells.

Watch them closely each day and learn how to cast my own spells.

Work on my own powers, which I had only recently discovered but had yet to master fully.

I was still surprised to be able to cause another pain through my concentrated thoughts, but delighted that the gift of witchcraft I had been born to, like my mother, grandmother and all those who came before them, did run through me too.

Calmed by my plan, I resolved not to waste a day without practising my craft, and that when the time was right, I would find a way to take from the Witchfinder the person he held most dear. His golden-haired, blue-eyed son.

Only then would that man have a sense of how broken my heart was at that moment.