Chapter 12 #3
“Yes, yes, I know why you have come,” the mystic snapped impatiently. “I don’t know why you are so late, but we shall make do with the time we have.”
She stopped her packing and froze in place for a moment, her expression going distant and blank. Lina counted several heartbeats before Gisa seemed to return to herself with a jolt. “Only a few more minutes.”
“A few more minutes until what?” Anne asked. The witch looked a bit starry-eyed, her voice filled with delighted curiosity. Of course this kind of enigmatic behavior would have her hooked; meanwhile, Lina’s patience was wearing thin.
Gisa didn’t answer, instead handing a brimming bag first to Anne, then to Lina. Lina sagged under its weight for a moment, adjusting the strap to fit more securely on her shoulder. What in the world had the mystic shoved inside?
“There is a back door through there,” Gisa said, pointing down the hallway that led away from the main room and shooing Lina and Anne around a table laden with maps in that direction.
“Take a left when you exit, and your carriage driver should be on the corner where you left him. Please do not leave without me—it is a long walk to Saint-Mesmin de Micy.”
“How do you know where we are staying?” Lina demanded, already only half expecting an intelligible response.
Gisa slung her own bag across her chest, then drew her sword.
Lina and Anne staggered back—was this woman about to kill them in cold blood? Long-forgotten words and symbols were etched along the blade, which looked ancient but sharp enough to slice the wings off a fly.
“This was hers, you know. My great-great-aunt’s,” Gisa said. She didn’t seem to notice the terror that had overtaken her guests.
Without meaning to, Lina took a protective step in front of Anne, who shoved her out of the way with her bloodletting knife drawn. If the circumstances hadn’t been so dire, Lina might have laughed. Strange that they would share this moment of kinship just before their deaths.
She took Anne by the arm and pulled her backward toward the hallway, stumbling over an errant stack of books and making her ankle bark with pain. Maybe there really was an exit at the end of it, but either way, it was a safer bet than trying to go through Gisa’s sword.
The mystic stiffened once more, that same blankness sweeping through her body. “They’re here,” she murmured.
But there was no time to parse the meaning of her warning.
The front door crashed open, and half a dozen French soldiers burst inside, weapons drawn.
Their eyes landed on Lina, then Anne, but it was Gisa they were after, and it was Gisa they formed a half circle around.
No doubt the men expected little trouble from the mystic’s two older companions.
“Gisa d’Arc, you are under arrest for heresy, sorcery, and murder, on the order of the bishop of Orléans and His Serene Highness the Duke of Orléans,” one of the men announced.
[*3] He noted Gisa’s raised sword and gave a dismissive snort, as though a woman could have no chance of wielding a weapon such as that.
“If you do not come willingly, we shall add treason against agents of the duke to your crimes.”
Gisa glided forward, seeming weightless despite the heavy bag at her side and the sword in her hands. The nearest soldier rushed at her, and before Lina could blink, Gisa had batted his blade aside and run hers straight through his chest.
“Oh my,” Anne breathed beside her.
A second man shouted, enraged by the death of his comrade, and soon the remaining men had swarmed the mystic, who dipped and spun beneath their attacks, weaving arcs of blood through the air as she cut through soldier after soldier.
It was as if she could anticipate their every move, dodging and parrying with impossible precision.
Through the haze of the fight, the thought occurred to Lina that the mystic could indeed predict the future. The scent of iron filled the air, and Lina’s stomach threatened to revolt. She’d been to battlefields before, and she wanted none of this bloody business.
After dispatching the fourth man, Gisa paused for just long enough to glare at Lina and Anne. “Go,” she insisted, waving her sword toward the hall.
And so they did.
Skip Notes
*1 My country has always had an inconsistent approach to mystics. If someone has visions of the divine, they are praised as a conduit to God. But if your visions don’t align with those in power—and worse, you’re a woman—the gift of foresight is liable to get you killed.
*2 As usual, Lina had seen right through me.
I was concerned about Anne’s desire for retribution, and keeping her otherwise occupied in the name of the Sisterhood seemed like the wisest move.
I did not invent their mission purely for this purpose, but I did choose one for them that would have certain… enticements.
*3 The Duke of Orléans is my nephew, the third son of Francois. I doubt he actually knew of Gisa’s existence, but his soldiers certainly made themselves an inconvenience.