The forest was eerily quiet, devoid of the sounds of its inhabitants. It was as though even the trees were watching the proceedings with bated breath as Fultern padded through burnt out underbrush.
Marsel raised the butt of her musket to her shoulder and hissed at Duglin. “Ready your weapon!”
The boy whipped his pistol out and began to wave it around. His heart pounded as he pictured the witch lurking in every shadow, waiting for an opportunity to pounce and burn them to ashes.
“Stop that, you fool!” Marsel cried as she grabbed Duglin’s pistol.
She winced as the boy accidentally pulled the trigger, bringing the hammer down on the finger she had positioned to avoid a misfire. “You’re going to get one of us killed.”
“Sorry,” he murmured.
“Give me that,” she snapped as she snatched the weapon out of his hands and unpinched her finger before handing the pistol back to Duglin.
“Hold it with both hands and keep it pointed at the ground,” she said. “Keep your finger off the trigger until you have a target, do you understand?”
Duglin bobbed his head and looked down at Marsel’s finger. “I’m sorry about that…”
“Apologies can wait, keep your eyes open.”
“Have you sorted him out?” Firch asked.
“Aye, Captain.”
The Captain then turned to Andar. “I don’t suppose you have any powers that can detect our quarry?”
The witch hunter shrugged. “We’ll all sense it when an unbound witch is near.”
He paused and cocked his head at his prisoner. “However, I should warn you that my powers are limited while I’m focused on suppressing her.”
Firch’s eyebrows shot up. “You could have mentioned that sooner!”
“And would you have had me leave her behind on your ship?” Andar ventured. “Or perhaps come on this jaunt without me?”
Firch frowned as he looked around the jungle before turning back to the witch hunter. “It’s a little late, but I need you to explain how your powers work.”
Andar broke into a coy smile. “Better late than never, I suppose.”
He took a deep breath before continuing. “We call the source of the witch’s power the aether a magical energy that cannot ordinarily manifest in this world.”
Firch nodded. “I’m with you so far…”
“Witches act as a conduit, channelling the aether’s energy into our world,” Andar paused to gesture at the burnt undergrowth. “How they channel it can achieve differing results.”
“And where do you come in?” Firch asked.
“We witch hunters are born with the innate ability to block the aether from our surroundings completely,” he replied. “If we focus, we can increase the range of this blocking effect.”
“Is that why we feel so strange around you?” Duglin blurted.
The witch hunter nodded. “Clever boy. All humans save for those with our ability have some sensitivity to the aether, and I’m told that it feels disorienting when you feel too much or too little of a connection to it, which is why both we and witches make normal people feel uncomfortable.”
“And just how much experience do you have hunting witches while impaired in this manner?’ Firch ventured.
Andar rubbed the back of his bald head and smiled ruefully. “Truth be told, none. I’m but a novice who is only trusted with escorting prisoners.”
The Captain stepped forward and grabbed the witch hunter roughly by the collar, causing him to drop the witch’s chain. “And you didn’t think to mention that when I came asking for your help?”
“What would you have done differently Captain?” the witch hunter asked, standing firm in the face of Firch’s fury.
“Not agreed to help,” he hissed.
“Then I was right to keep my mouth shut,” Andar said defiantly. “It is my duty to protect the people from witches and…”
“Gentlemen!” Marsel hissed. “This isn’t the time or the place!”
“She’s right, Captain,” Fultern offered.
Firch fumed at the witch hunter for a moment before releasing him from his grip. He then turned to his crew. “That’s it, we’re heading back.”
He then turned back to the witch hunter. “When we get back to the ship, you and I are going to have a lengthy talk about lying through omission.”
“I look forward to it, Captain,” Andar said, his voice equally low and dangerous. “Then perhaps you will tell me the real reason for our detour from Darvigan.”
“Captain!” Duglin cried, holding up his arm in alarm. The hairs on it were standing on their ends.Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.
Andar’s eyes widened. “She’s here!”
Moments later, Duglin tasted metal as a wall of fire expanded quickly from the undergrowth to their left. Before anyone could react, their prisoner charged into Duglin, knocking the boy and Marsel, who had been standing close behind off their feet and out of the wall of fire’s path. Together, the trio tumbled down a steep slope for what felt like an eternity until a tree brought Duglin to an abrupt halt, knocking the wind out of his lungs. Moments later, his agony was compounded when the other two came crashing into him.
“What happened?” Marsel groaned.
“She knocked us over the edge,” Duglin croaked. He attempted to move but saw stars from the pain in his leg and chest. “I think I’m in trouble over here.”
Marsel gingerly got to her feet and her eyes went wide when she looked down at him. Duglin followed her gaze and could scarcely believe that a broken piece of branch protruded through his side. Initially, the boy thought he was dreaming, but the pain soon informed him otherwise.
Marsel went pale as she looked around frantically. “You can’t be moved. I’ll have to go back to the ship and get the doctor...”
The witch, who had picked herself up, attempted to speak, but her voice was muffled by the gag locked around her mouth. She began stamping her feet while frantically looking at Duglin’s wounds.
“Yes, it’s bad,” Marsel snapped. “Thanks to you knocking us down that hill.”
The witch continued to make muffled sounds and mimed pulling the gag off with her chained hands.
“I think she wants… wants you to take that off,” Duglin wheezed. The pain was growing stronger as the shock wore off and he found it increasingly more difficult to breathe.
The witch attempted to touch Marsel, but the young woman backed away and raised her rifle at her. “Stay away from me!”
The witch rolled her eyes before reaching down and touching Duglin’s face. The boy then heard a woman’s voice in his head. “Take this off me so that I can heal you. Hurry, you haven’t much time!”
“Stop that!” Marsel shrieked.
“She says that she can help if you take the thing out of her mouth,” Duglin said weakly.
“She’s lying!” Marsel cried. “She’ll kill us both!”
“Hurry,” Duglin managed, his voice scarcely a whisper. “Not much time…”
Marsel looked between the pair for a moment before cursing roundly. She lowered her gun and fished a pair of steel hairpins from her pocket. “If you cross us, I swear to all the Gods that I’ll put a bullet between your eyes.”
Her fingers worked deftly, and soon the lock around the witch’s gag popped open. Marsel backed away swiftly and trained her gun on the witch as she removed the gag. The witch then crouched over Duglin and attempted to speak but instead began coughing violently.
“Water,” Duglin said weakly as he lowered his gaze to the flask at his hip. “Drink…”
Once the witch had drunk her fill, she began chanting a spell. Duglin felt his hair stand on end and tasted metal. He groaned in pain when the branches that had pierced him burned into ash.
“Stop that!” Marsel cried.
With the branches no longer pinning him in place, Duglin slumped to the ground. The witch began chanting a different spell and touched her hands to his wounds. They were searing hot, and Duglin would have cried out in pain if he had the strength. As she continued chanting, the pain subsided, until it was replaced with a dull ache.
“I’ve done what I can,” the witch panted. Her brow was now bathed with sweat. “He needs rest, but he should live.”
“How do you feel?” Marsel asked without lowering her musket.
“Better,” was all Duglin could say.
“If the two of you have brains at all, you’ll keep what I did from the witch hunter,” the witch warned.
The witch paused to take another long drink of water before adding. “In fact, you’re better off just keeping it to yourselves.”
“Thank you,” Duglin croaked.
“So what now?” Marsel asked as she eyed the witch warily. “Are you going to ride off into the sunset?”
The witch held her shackled hands up theatrically before arching an eyebrow. “I don’t suppose I could convince you to take these off?”
Marsel frowned. “And let’s say I don’t?”
The witch shrugged. “Perhaps I burn you alive.”
“Wait,” Duglin managed. “She could have killed us both and made a run for it but didn’t.”
“She wants the manacles off,” Marsel pointed out.
“We don’t have time for this,” the witch said as she looked around.
Duglin followed her gaze and saw they were deep in the jungle. The light was dim, and the undergrowth dense. As the feeling returned to his extremities, he felt a thousand tiny feet crawling over them. He looked down and saw ants, millipedes, beetles, and all other manner of insects scurrying over his body in an effort to escape something.
“She is coming,” the witch whispered.
“Who is?” Marsel asked.
The witch looked at her and made an exasperated face. “Who do you think?”
“What do you suppose happened to the Captain and the others?” Marsel ventured.
“We don’t have time to worry about that,” the witch said and looked down at Duglin. “Can you move?”
“I think so,” the boy replied through gritted teeth. He attempted to stand but found that the strength hadn’t yet returned. He attempted to grab onto a nearby tree for support, but Marsel rushed over to help him up. “I’m Duglin, by the way, and this is Marsel.”
“Are you introducing yourself to a witch?” Marsel asked incredulously.
“Why not?” Duglin said as Marsel carefully released her grip on his arm. “She saved my life.”
“My name is Kerma,” the witch said. “Kerma Halovin. If you want to live, I suggest we take a cue from our creepy crawly friends and make a run for it.”
“Can’t you fight this witch?” Marsel asked.
“I’ve been chained up for weeks,” the witch replied coldly. “Little exercise and little food. It took most of my strength to heal him. I won’t stand a chance against her.”
“Why is she coming this way?” Marsel wondered.
“Instead of asking stupid questions, why don’t you carve us a path through that?” Kerma asked, pointing at the dense undergrowth.
“What about him?” Marsel asked, cocking her head at Duglin.
“Here, use this,” the boy said feebly as he drew his dagger.
“I’ll support him,” Kerma offered and held up her bound hands again. “That is unless you want to release me.”
Marsel snatched the dagger out of Duglin’s arms and began hacking at dangling vines and branches, slowly creating a narrow path for them.
“Why is she chasing us?” she asked again.
“You can go and ask her if you like,” the witch snapped as she draped Duglin’s arm around her shoulder.
Duglin was surprised at how thin and frail she was as she wobbled under his weight. After a few steps, her strength gave out, and the pair collapsed in a heap.
“What are you two idiots doing?” Marsel asked exasperatedly without turning around.
Duglin found that his strength was returning quickly and helped Kerma to his feet. She wobbled before falling down again.
“This won’t work,” the boy announced.
“I can’t carry both of you and cut my way through this shit at the same time!” Marsel yelled over her shoulder. “I’m not Bardrick!”
The hairs on Duglin’s neck stood on end. Then came an explosion from further up the slope they had fallen down.
“She’s coming!” Marsel cried as she raised her musket. “This is it, fight or die!”
“No!” Duglin cried, amazed at how much stronger he felt with each passing second. Acting on a hunch, he hoisted Kerma onto his back as easily. “Let’s run!”
“The power of a virgin,” the boy heard her breathe into his ear.
“Oi,” he snapped. “I’m trying to help you.”
“She’s not teasing you, you dolt!” Marsel cried. “Put her down, we need to fight. We’re making no progress at all through there!”
“There’s a river twenty yards in that direction,” Kerma said, her voice scarcely a whisper. “Run, run for our lives!”