Chapter 56 #2
She looked to John, who had slumped against the bars. Could no one hear it? Who was that? She did not know. Her mind was foggy and her vision shadowed. She could not be sure, but it sounded like the voice was both inside her mind and echoed from within the church.
“Help me.”
Help me.
“For their crimes against God, the church, and the King. I sentence them both to hang. They can admit and repent for their sins before they meet the gallows, so they may still find a place in heaven,” Father Peter announced.
The crowd gave a collective gasp.
Her voice, and another’s, entwined and screamed.
“Help me.”
Help me.
HELP US.
A metallic shriek drew the attention of her shadowing consciousness, and John was yanked from his cage.
He screeched and bucked against Robert. Her chin dipped to her chest, and she tried to press her elbow into her wound, in a vain attempt to slow the blood loss.
She caught the sound of panicked struggles, the pounding of fists on flesh, and then of boots on the wooden stand of the gallows above.
“Jonathan Fisher, you have been found guilty of speaking with the little devils in the woods, witchcraft, heresy, and fornicating with serpents. Will you admit your crimes and repent to save your soul so that God will look mercifully upon you when you stand at the gates of heaven?” Father Peter asked.
Avice forced her head up and squinted through the iron cage. The priest was on his horse, staring up at the gallows. George was beside him on Epona. A line of village men – the Moot’s guards – stood between them and the rest of the crowd, ready for any outburst the execution may cause.
John’s quivering voice reached her ears. “I have nothing to repent.”
She watched as the lines on Peter’s face deepened. “So be it. Mister Robert, if you would be so kind.”
More thumps from above and murmurs from the crowd.
The savage metallic screech of the hinges of the trapdoor made her grit her teeth.
The short drop.
The sudden stop.
Avice caught the sight of John’s twitching legs.
SAVE US.
Her sigil writhed and the new vines lashed up. They thickened into a platform for John to stand on. He balanced on his tiptoes, and Avice caught the sound of him gasping.
“Mister Robert!” Father Peter snarled. “Finish the execution!”
SAVE US.
Epona reared and screamed. The mare threw George from her back, and he landed on the cobbles with an ear-splitting crack. Avice caught the sight of Joan shoving through the row of men guarding the Moot Court. She caught the kicking mare by the bridle and soothed her by patting her neck.
Other villagers, mainly women, pushed forward and screamed protests.
SAVE US.
The voice from the church had joined her thoughts.
Her sigil flared and the magic brimming from her tattoo burst from her and into the earth beneath the cobblestones.
Like a hunting hound, it found the roots of the vines and threaded into them.
She felt it all: the pulse of the earth and little sparks of life from the unrealized potential of the plants.
Avice’s magic hauled the huge ivy up into the light, pulverising the granite cobbles into dust. Each vine was thicker than her wrist and writhed like the tentacles of octopus she had seen in the tidal pools at Lamorna Cove.
They whipped up, offering more support to John’s shaking legs.
They shoved the fisherman back up through the opening of the trapdoor.
He was out of Avice’s eyesight now, and she did not know whether he would live.
She knew, much like with blood loss, that sustained loss of breath could kill you or damage you irrevocably.
The ivy rippled, writhed, and turned its attention to her.
One tendril reached through the narrow gap in the bars, and wrapped tightly around her waist, trying to stifle her bleeding.
Another snaked its way up her body, shoved beneath the gag, and ripped it from her mouth.
She took a deep breath and filled her half-starved lungs.
She wiped away the saliva that had been pooling in the corners of her mouth with the rough edge of the bindings at her wrists.
Avice knew it was too late.
Short of a miracle, she would bleed out, shivering and alone in an iron cage. Even if Trewoofe with his healing saliva arrived now, he still could not return the blood to her body. She sobbed as she thought of Bramble, and she prayed to Nature that he would live.
I have only one regret.
The thick vines wrapped themselves around the bars and heaved. The cage creaked and shuddered from their efforts. More vines joined the cause. They wrenched at the cage, and the iron began to buckle.
I should have told Trewoofe I loved him when I had the chance.
The ivy ripped one bar free and tossed it aside, but the gap was not big enough for Avice to slip through.
Encouraged by its progress, the tentacle-like vines doubled its efforts and focused on the next bar.
It was determined to make a path so Avice could flee.
Even if it did, her limbs were as heavy as cauldrons, the black dots in her vision were more like dancing shadows, and she could barely keep her eyes open.
She would not be able to run.
“AVICE!”
Fragile hope bloomed in her chest.
Trewoofe.
He was coming.