Chapter 24
THEN
‘So, this is our enchantrix,’ sneered the man on horseback. He dismounted, dropping easily to the ground. The man next to him took the reins of the horse from him and led it away to the side whilst people continued to mutter and wail over the fractured stone.
Meggie squirmed, trying to loosen the men’s hold on her, but it was hopeless.
‘I do not understand,’ she said – although she feared that she understood perfectly.
The snow was falling faster now, the clouds ominous and low on the horizon, but her shivers had less to do with the wintry weather and more to do with the panic that was closing in around her.
‘What do you mean?’ The terror was rising within her – was this because she had used the dagger for ill?
Was this the curse she had been warned about? Had she caused all this?
Blessed Coventina, I beg your forgiveness…
The man ignored her. He was swathed in a black robe, which flapped around his body in the Northumbrian wind. Large flakes of snow dotted it, and stuck in his beard and hair. The staff he held in his hand was carved with all sorts of strange symbols, and the thing repulsed Meggie.
The staff had a feeling of evil about it. Meggie’s sixth sense told her it had tortured and killed; it was soaked in the blood of many people. She looked at it in horror. The man laughed softly and curled his fingers around it tighter.
‘She looks at my staff in distaste. My witch pricker. She knows what it can prove. Tell me, what is your name, girl?’
Meggie’s mouth worked but no words would come out.
‘Speak up, girl,’ barked the man. He cupped his hand around his ear and leant closer to her.
He smelled rancid and Meggie fought down bile.
‘I am listening. If you cannot tell me your identity, you will hinder your chances of freedom. I would hate to think I had the wrong person here. I have been charged with finding a witch. Do you understand?’
‘I am not the person you seek.’ Her voice was cracked and breathless.
‘Oh, you have a voice. That is good. And why do you dispute the claims?’
‘Because I am not a witch, sir.’ Meggie almost choked on the words. How had it come to this?
‘Not a witch? Then why are you here? This is a Pagan place of worship. This place stinks of the dark arts. You, my girl, stink of the dark arts. I think you are lying to me. I saw the black lightning strike the blade as you plunged it into this innocent man. I saw the shadow of Satan himself stand by you and urge you to do his bidding.’
‘No! There was lightning, but it was not black and it was from the sky, from the storm. It did not strike my blade—’ She brought herself up short, biting her tongue to stop the words coming.
Oh goddess! What had she just admitted to? She had confirmed she had a blade!
‘You attacked me.’ That was Charles Milburn. He had moved out of her way, and pointed to her, his face red and sore-looking where she had scrubbed ice into it, blood soaking through his shirt.
Oh the goddess – she had done that! No matter that he deserved it, it was still wrong.
But what option did she have?
‘You attacked me.’ Meggie struggled again but the men held her tighter.
‘She takes lives!’ called someone from the back of the group.
Meggie peered over the crowd, trying to see who it was.
She realised it was a young man called John: a farm labourer who had always harboured a secret love for Alice.
Meggie and Alice had giggled over it, talked about his small offerings of love – a posy of wildflowers left on Alice’s doorstep, a fresh apple, polished and plucked from a tree, drawn from his apron and given to Alice as he blustered and blushed an excuse…
‘John! You know that is not true,’ cried Meggie. ‘What happened to Alice was—’
‘It was murder!’ cried another man. ‘Mr Nicholson, she is guilty of murder.’
‘No!’ shouted Meggie. ‘Please, no. It wasn’t.
It was a mistake…’ She stopped short, feeling her cheeks flush scarlet.
That was almost an admission – mistakes did not happen by themselves.
A ‘mistake’ was something which had gone wrong – this man with the cloak…
she saw his lips curl into a self-satisfied smirk, and she choked back a sob.
‘John. You know that is not true, I beg you.’
The man smiled down at Meggie. ‘So. We have a young lady here who denies murder. Can she also deny attacking this young man? Drawing blood from an innocent?’ He reached out and pulled Charles’ hand away from his chest, then held it up in the air, dripping with blood.
The crowd gasped and Meggie saw some of them making the sign of the cross as they shook their heads. She closed her eyes, not wanting to see that.
‘It was not like that,’ she whispered.
‘She used the blood in a spell!’ yelled another man.
‘She is not known as the Snow Witch because of her innocence.’ Meggie recognised his voice as belonging to Robert, Mary’s husband.
The stupid, deluded idiot, she thought wildly.
Mary was the village whore, and he pretended he knew nothing about it.
‘No! He attacked me,’ she repeated. ‘I have never used human blood in a spell.’
There was a gasp as the crowd began to mutter about animal blood and Meggie could have bitten her tongue off properly. People were determined to twist everything she said, and slowly, the fear began to be replaced with anger.
‘My wife told me otherwise,’ Robert called, interrupting her thoughts and seeming to enjoy the moment, He was a small, thin man whose arms and legs seemed to belong to a different person.
‘And your wife should walk around the village with a straw mattress strapped to her back,’ cried Meggie, all reason deserting her, her temper rising as it had been wont to do when she was a child. ‘It would save her time.’
‘Silence!’ boomed Nicholson. ‘You are an evil woman. You denigrate the women of the village. You cast spells using the blood of innocents. You cause harm to men, women and livestock…’
‘No!’ shouted Meggie. ‘You’re lying. I have never harmed livestock—’
‘By that, you have admitted to harming men and women,’ roared Nicholson.
‘I have never intentionally harmed anyone.’
‘But you have harmed people,’ pressed Nicholson. ‘Admit it, Witch. You have harmed people.’
‘I…’
‘Admit it!’
She could not win this day, not at all. If only she had the powers they accused her of. If only she had enough of them to free her from the grasp of these men. She was willing to try; hadn’t she conjured that demon from the poppet…
But what was the point? She stared around at the villagers: the people she had helped and healed and prayed for. The people she had grown up with, shared her world with.
She felt something inside her snap: the feral part of her that only Emory knew, the real Meg beneath the calm surface of the village healer was bubbling to the surface.
If the villagers thought she was strange and different, measured only by the work she did, they would be appalled at the Meg who bathed naked in the Burn in the moonlight, and climbed trees to be closer to the stars.
The Meg that was reflected in Emory, and the Meg he swore passionate, undying love for, was the real her, the soul and spirit of her.
She could not breathe without Emory, without the landscape they lived in.
What was the point of it all if this was going to happen anyway?
‘You know as well as I do that there is no point in me admitting anything or denying anything.’ Meggie’s voice was low and dangerous as she looked at Nicholson.
She might as well play the part they accused her off.
There was no hope and she could not fight it.
‘If I speak another word, you will make of it what you want. If you try me and find me guilty, I will curse the ground you walk on, the air you breathe and you will never rest easily again. I shall haunt you throughout eternity. I will make you pay for my life and more.’ There was a thick layer of snow on the grass now, miles of white wherever she looked.
‘But yes.’ She glared at Charles, at his twisted, smug face, even as the men holding her tightened the grasp.
‘I have harmed people who deserved it. I will harm them again from beyond the grave. But I will not be alone.’ She might as well terrify the lot of them; she knew it was over for her.
‘I have legions who will help me,’ she hissed.
‘I will not rest until you are all gone. And I will exact revenge on every single one of you thousandfold.’
The crowd screamed in terror and yes, she was glad.
Yet her heart still cried out, hoping for one last miracle: Coventina, blessed Coventina.
Goddess of snow, goddess of this place, please help me.
Please help me… An image flitted through her mind of the people who had lived here before, who had worshipped at this Well, who had trod the very grass she was standing on.
Had Coventina helped them? Would she help Meggie?
Or would Meggie have to face this alone, as she had faced everything else?
Or would Emory come, if she cast the net of her thoughts wide enough? She had to try…
Oh God, how would he live without her and without their child?
A strangled sob caught in her throat. Was this, then, the Universe’s revenge for what she had done? For taking the life of those unborn souls? She was not the only one who might die today. Coventina was the goddess of childbirth. Had she turned against her after all?
Or was it for using the dagger for evil?
‘Oh goddess, please, forgive me. I could not help it—’
‘She is quite mad,’ yelled Charles. ‘Look at her face. Hear her words. If you are a true witch finder, you need to deal with her. She is mad and dangerous. She has just called on an unchristian idol, and is refusing to take responsibility for her actions. And then tell me the Devil himself did not speak to her!’
Nicholson nodded, his gaze fixed on Meggie’s.
‘I shall deal with her, sir,’ said Nicholson.
‘Fear not. The truth shall be revealed on this hillside. There will be no gaol for this witch, no time to reflect, no opportunity given for discussions with Godly men. This will end today. One way or another. Gentlemen…’ Nicholson nodded and more men walked towards Meggie as Nicholson took a few steps backwards, resting his hands on that brutal staff.
‘Thank God for that,’ said Charles. And Meggie saw him smile triumphantly as he glared at her, then turned and pushed his way back through the crowd. ‘You have my testimony!’ Charles shouted. ‘You all witnessed what she has done to me. Do with her what you will.’
With one last glare at her, he stalked off towards the horse, flinching as he settled himself in the saddle, then he kicked the horse and pounded off towards the village. Meggie’s gaze did not waver from him. He, too, would pay for today.
Somehow.
When she was dead.