Wolves Among Us (12 page)

She flexed her toes with each step, trying to get blood back in them, to keep the remaining toes from turning gray and hard. She said nothing, though. He did not need to hear of her troubles or discover a new flaw.

He kept his hand at her back much of the way, except when he had to help her climb over a fallen tree, or step over a narrow turn in the creek. She wanted to thank him, or praise him for his kindness, but she did not know if other wives did that. It might call too much attention to her, make her seem insincere. She tried to copy the speech of other wives in town, but it always sounded false.

The dark path provided welcome distractions. She loved the changing scent as they walked, weaving through the trees back to their home. Sparse areas had clean, quiet air, but deeper in, the moss scrambled and the trees rioted together, creating a denser air. Smells of decay and dirt and hidden dens mixed with the smell of crushed ferns and warm sap. Already there were flowers coming up. Mia wondered what else had grown underneath her, and all around her, during the long winter. She watched where she stepped.

Mia paused for a moment to inhale a long draught of air, trying to fill her belly and keep herself moving. Her home sat away from the town square, away from other farms and families. Bjorn didn’t like noise or other people. He said he got enough of both in his work.

Mia wanted to fill the house with more children, but Bjorn had resisted. Whether he did not want more children or just didn’t want Mia anymore, she never dared ask. She couldn’t even ask herself in the quiet at night, those long nights when he was working or having beer with townsmen. She worked to please him. She had pledged herself to him, bursting with so much gratitude she would have done anything for him, had he asked it.

Still, sometimes being his wife wasn’t enough to sustain her. She had wanted marriage so badly once, dreamed of nothing better than a home and husband and a child to love. She had those things, but the awful ache, the dark loneliness, still hid inside.

Mia tripped on a stone. Bjorn paused, waiting for her to regain her composure. Mia spoke to turn his attention off her clumsy fall.

“You were moved by Bastion’s words tonight.”

She tested the air with a long exhalation. She could barely see her breath. Spring worked to reclaim the world. Winter staggered back, almost finished.

Bjorn broke his silence. “He said so many new things that my head is aching.”

“I think perhaps he can help us.”

“Us?”

“With Alma.”

Bjorn paused, as if trying to clear his mind. “Yes.”

“Do you know what’s odd?” Mia hated the way her voice sounded when she prattled on like this. “Dame Alice calls to me when I go to market. She says she wants to feed me. Isn’t that odd?”

“Are you testing me?”

“What?”

He studied her face but seemed to find nothing. He released her and they continued home.

“I do not want you to speak to Dame Alice. Keep to yourself.”

They reached the final clearing. She decided not to speak any more tonight. Nothing she said came out right. She could sit by the fire alone, warming her feet while everyone slept.

She looked up at the night sky, seeing the bright star that followed the moon this time of year. She wondered why the stars changed, why they did not stay fixed in the heavens. She would like a world where the stars were constant and nothing could be moved, a world she could orient herself in.

Bjorn gestured to her with an open palm. “Suppose the Devil overpowers a woman. She gives in, becomes a witch. But the Devil does not want her. What use is that woman? No, the Devil wants the man. Just like the serpent wanted the fall of Adam, a man made in God’s image.”

“Yes?”

“Suppose the witch overpowers the man’s good nature by the Devil’s power. Who should be punished? The man or the woman?”

None of this had to do with Alma. Mia had no idea what she should say. Bjorn often brooded, but he did not like her to comment.

“I asked a question,” Bjorn said.

“I have no training in the church.”

“Did God make me a woman?” he asked, surprising her with a smile. “Bastion spoke of women, how they cause all suffering, but I have not heard that before. You being a woman, you must know.”

Her feet hurt, her stomach burned, and she didn’t like Bjorn asking these questions, wanting to hear her thoughts. That’s not why they married.

“Say something so I know your mouth at least works.”

“I only know that most of my sorrows have lately come from women. They are cold to me and whisper about me. If they have remedies for Alma, I have to plead for them to share what they know.”

“But if Bastion speaks the truth, they have no reason to help Alma.”

“Because they cause her suffering? No, that is too awful a thing to believe.”

“But my question. Who should be punished?”

“Let me think. Only God can punish the Devil, so then we cannot. The man fell under a spell, against his will, so his sin does not come from his heart. It is the witch who must be punished. She offered herself to Satan. The evil began with her. Although Satan is the cause of all their suffering, she has brought it all to pass.”

“Stefan never told us these things. Why? Why would he keep these truths from us? Did he not know?”

She could see home.

The door, a series of boards banded together, well oiled by Mia, slammed open, and Margarite fell out onto the ground. Bjorn took off at a run, Mia running behind. Margarite moaned, her hands stretched out to Bjorn, her mouth open wide in a horrible grimace as she tried to make words. One arm rested at a sickening angle.
She must have used it to catch herself in the fall and it snapped,
Mia thought.

“What is it?” he yelled, reaching her and lifting her. Mia, only a few steps behind, pushed past them both. A woman, even an old woman with so little mind left like Margarite, would only do something so dangerous for one reason.

Alma.

“Alma!” Mia screamed, rushing to Alma’s mat, scooping her hot, red body into her arms. Alma’s head rolled off Mia’s forearm, flopping toward the ground. Mia yanked at Alma’s nightshirt and saw her skin retracting between each rib, her little gaunt stomach sucking in hard with each breath.

“Oh God. Oh God,” Mia prayed. Bjorn stood in the doorway, his arm around his mother’s side, helping her back in. He froze when he saw Alma’s body.

“Go!” Mia pleaded. “Get Father Stefan. Bring whatever medicine he has.”

Bjorn’s movements in the house were a blur. Mia cradled Alma and kissed her, over and over on her forehead, praying God would not be angry with her for begging Him to save Alma one more time.

As Bjorn sat Margarite in the chair, Mia heard what he said under his breath.

“What have I brought upon us?”

Chapter Thirteen

“Was it jealousy?” Bastion asked, dipping the rag into a bowl of water.

Stefan wasn’t sure he had any of his ear left. The witch had bitten hard, jerking her head back when she clamped down. He assumed his ear had come clean off.

“You thought if you could deliver her, people would be enthralled with you instead of me. Don’t be embarrassed. Admit it.”

Stefan’s face grew hot. “When someone calls for God, I answer.”

“Everyone was talking last night, excited, frightened. Not for me, but because of her. She enthralls them, Father Stefan, not I. No need for jealousy.”

Stefan rubbed his temples, wincing as the skin near the bite moved. Bastion pushed his hand away, trying to study the wound, see what else needed to be done for it.

“That’s why I bring her,” Bastion continued, dipping the cloth again into the water, now red. “People listen. She stirs their blood. But she is a witch, and a witch wants one thing: destruction of moral order. She has been to enough towns with me to know that the priest is always the best, first target.”

“I’m a fool.”

“Not at all. You are a good man but an uneducated priest. Submit to my instruction. That’s all I ask. No more mistakes.”

“I’ll try.”

“She wants to kill you. Are you going to give her the chance?”

“Bastion,” Stefan said, turning to look at him for the first time in the conversation, “I called for you because a good woman, or a woman we called good, was murdered, as was her husband. I thought we needed help rooting out one person. Bjorn didn’t think it important; the incident was over. A lover’s quarrel of sorts, he said. I thought if you came, rumors would stop. One person committed the crime, one person punished, only a few days lost. Now you arrive, and the whole village is infested with witches?”

“You don’t believe me because there is evidence of only one crime.”

“It is a lot to believe.”

“It stretches your faith.”

“Not just my faith. When you speak, my whole head hurts. I have never heard all this, what you swear is God’s truth.”

Bastion set the cloth down, moving his chair to sit in front of Stefan. “I’ve served the Lord a long time. Have you?”

“Yes.”

“Then you understand. I have known the trials of Saint Paul. Abused, shipwrecked, beaten … compelled to travel on, shouting the truth to a deaf and dying world. Not everyone accepted his testimony, Stefan. Not everyone accepts ours.”

“Why do you do it?”

“The same reason you are a priest. God’s truth compels us. It’s lonely work, isn’t it?”

“I did not mean to say I doubted your word.”

Bastion patted his leg. “You have not been taught. That’s not a crime I hold you responsible for. I will teach you. When I leave, you will teach others.”

“You seem so confident.”

“You have many questions. Ask one.”

Stefan wiped his neck. A little trickle of blood had run down into the crevices of his skin, making him wince. “The witch you travel with, your words … it frightens people. I never thought God’s work could be so dark. How can you be sure it pleases God?”

“Excellent question. You will make a fine student.”

“What proofs do you have from Him?”

“Has He given us, above all other creatures, the gift of reasoning?”

“Yes.”

“Does God want us to apply our minds, this gift, to the understanding of His will and His ways?”

“Of course.”

“So, let us begin. Can we see God?”

“No.”

“Can we see Him walking around this village?”

“No.”

“Then there can be no better way to know God than to study His opposite, which we do see. We do see His opposite in the world, in flesh and blood, do we not?”

“Yes.”

“And so we study this witch as a particular example. Everything this witch is, God is not. That woman out there can show God to this town.”

“All she is showing them is filth.”

“Precisely. You follow me well in this. Now I will ask you a question: What was Satan guilty of? Why was the serpent cast down from heaven?”

Stefan chewed his lip. It would match his ragged ear if he didn’t stop. “Pride,” he ventured.

“Excellent. And what is pride? What did Satan want?”

“To be like God.”

“What is God like? What does He do?”

“Gives laws,” Stefan offered.

“And demands obedience to them. Asks us to worship Him. Provides prophecy. Demands sacrifices. Raises up a church, spread throughout the world, that seeks to please Him and carry out His will on earth.”

Stefan suspected Bastion had had this conversation with other priests. He sounded rehearsed.

“So our enemy, Satan, is all these things in opposite,” Bastion continued. “He gives law, demands obedience, asks for sacrifices, raises up faithful believers. But where God creates life, Satan destroys it.”

“You travel with this witch so people will see and understand evil? And by seeing evil, they will see God?”

Bastion nodded and opened his mouth to say something else. Stefan cut him off. “But if we are commanded by God to destroy witches, you cannot permit her to live. You should kill her.”

The door slammed back on its hinges so hard it fell off at an angle. Bjorn burst into the room, and Bastion stood, grabbing a satchel. Stefan could not comprehend the sudden explosion of noise and words. Bjorn shook him by the shoulders.

“Alma is dying.”