Chapter 19 Gaspard #2
“Yes. Handsome lad. Strong. Girls fawned over him.” I lowered my gaze to meet Alf’s, watching understanding dawn in his dull eyes. “He had his eye on Isabeau. Used to wait outside her father’s workshop just to catch a glimpse of her. Left flowers on their doorstep.”
Alf’s throat worked as he swallowed hard. “I remember.”
“No one questioned when his body washed up after the spring floods. Tragic accident, they said. Boy shouldn’t have been near the river during high water.” I smiled at the memory, at how easy it had been. “But you and I know better, don’t we, Alf?”
He paled visibly, taking a small step backward. “Master Gaspard, I never—”
“Never what? Never knew I held his head under the water until the bubbles stopped? Never suspected why I asked thee to meet me by the river that night with clean clothes and a horse?” I advanced on him slowly, enjoying the fear that bloomed across his round face.
“Of course thou knew. Thou hast always known what I’m capable of. ”
Alf’s back hit a tree trunk, leaving him nowhere to retreat. “I’ve been loyal,” he whispered, voice trembling. “Always loyal.”
“Yes, you have.” I reached out, brushing a leaf from his shoulder with false tenderness. “And that’s why I know you’ll help me with what comes next.”
Relief softened his features. “Anything, Master Gaspard. We’ll find her, I swear it.”
“Oh, we’ll do more than find her.” I gazed around at the unnatural decay surrounding us, at trees that seemed to weep black tears from their bark. “There are older ways to track prey than following footprints, Alf. Ways that require... sacrifice.”
His eyes widened as understanding dawned. “The woman who lives beyond the northern bogs? The one they say—”
“The one they say consorts with darkness,” I finished for him. “Yes.”
Whispers of the bog witch had circulated through our village for generations.
Most dismissed them as superstition, the kind of tale told to frighten children into obedience.
But my grandfather had known better. Had visited her in his youth seeking power, and returned changed.
He’d taught me things before he died—secrets about blood and bone and the darkness that hungered just beyond the veil of everyday life.
I’d never had reason to seek her out myself. I didn’t need to, not yet. My journeys had one thing I could use in my back pocket first.
“I have an enchanted object. It’ll help us now that we’ve learned thy’s tracking is not enough.”
“Master Gaspard,” Alf’s voice quavered, “those are dangerous magics. The church forbids—”
“The church?” I laughed, the sound harsh in the silent forest. “The same church that gave Father Simon gold to declare Isabeau a witch? The same church that blessed the water meant to drown her?” I shook my head in contempt.
“Don’t speak to me of the church’s prohibitions when they’re as easily bought as a tavern whore. ”
Alf flinched at my blasphemy but didn’t contradict me. He knew as well as I did how corrupt Father Simon was, how easily swayed by coin and the promise of power within the village hierarchy.
“Besides, we won’t visit her. No yet. Not until I know where it has hid,” I continued, turning back toward where we’d left our horses tethered at the forest’s edge.
“She,” Alf corrected softly, then immediately looked as if he wished to swallow his tongue. “Isabeau is a she, not an it.”
I stopped mid-step, turning slowly to face him. “Careful, Alf. One might almost think you harbored some affection for the girl.”
He shook his head vigorously, sweat beading on his brow despite the chill. “No, Master Gaspard! Thou never let me meet her in the home! I only meant—”
“I know what you meant.” I resumed walking, forcing him to hurry after me. “And you’re right. Isabeau is indeed a she. A beautiful, willful she who needs to be reminded of her place in this world. Under me.”
We walked in silence after that, retracing our steps through the decaying forest toward healthier woods.
With each step away from that place of rot and wrongness, I felt the whispers in my mind grow fainter.
They’d started the night I first held Isabeau’s cage beneath the water in the drowning cage, those seductive murmurs promising power in exchange for cruelty.
At first, I’d thought them fever dreams or the product of too much wine, but they’d grown stronger each time I surrendered to my darker impulses.
The bog witch would know how to interpret them. How to use them to find what I sought, if my enchanted object failed me.
By the time we reached our horses, the sun hung low in the sky, painting the forest in hues of blood and shadow. Alf’s mount snorted nervously as we approached, still uneasy from being tethered so close to the forbidden woods. My own stallion stood calm and imperious, much like his master.
“We’ll return to the village tonight,” I announced, swinging into my saddle with practiced grace. “Resupply. Then head north at first light.”
Alf struggled onto his horse, his round face pinched with concern. “The journey to the northern bogs takes three days, Master Gaspard. And winter approaches. The paths will soon be impassable.”
“Then we’d best make haste to test my object.” I urged my stallion forward, leading the way out of the forest’s embrace. “I will have her back before the first snow falls, Alf. By whatever means necessary.”
As we rode, I pressed my hand against the torn dress hidden inside my vest. The fabric seemed to pulse against my palm, a reminder of the connection that bound Isabeau to me. Mine, it whispered with each heartbeat. Mine, mine, mine.
I smiled into the gathering dusk. Let her run.
Let her hide. Let whatever foolish man had taken her believe she was beyond my reach.
The darkness had been whispering to me for years, offering power in exchange for the small cruelties I’d inflicted on those who crossed me.
Now I would embrace it fully, surrender to its seduction completely, if that’s what it took to reclaim what belonged to me.
“I’m coming for you, Isabeau,” I murmured, too softly for Alf to hear. “And when I find you, you’ll never escape again.”