Burn the Witch

She was waiting for her turn. Hooded and bound, for the past three hours, she sat there listening to screams. Women wailing, pleading, and cursing–and then cheering. Agonized howls piercing her ears, and the acrid scent of singing flesh flaring her nostrils, all crowned by the jeering shouts of the village people who’d hammered those stakes into the ground that very morning. The men who gathered the kindling, the children who piled it at the feet of other children, and then the judge who lit the stack. A young woman had just left half an hour before her. Then a few minutes, and Alyssa was knotted to a pole, blackened flakes of skin mingling with the embers getting caught in the wind. If she wasn’t careful, she’d taste poor Alyssa. 

A hand big enough to cover her entire shoulder wrenched the girl to her feet, his other palm snaking to the low of her back. Forward they went, and her heart drummed a little faster with each step. There was a creak, and a whoosh of cool air reprieving her sweat-soaked chest. Her escort ripped the hood from her head, taking a few hairs with it. She only managed a glimpse of the lowering sun at her back, and three deformed silhouettes posted against the sky, before two heavy set men shut the doors of the grand courthouse. It fell silent. 

She faced forward, eyes trained on the empty podium that stood at the end of the room. Meanwhile, jurors and village people returned from the scene outside, filing into their respective seats. Though the word ‘trial’ meant absolutely nothing in this room. She thought it was another part of their fun; watching the convicted beg, draining the hope from their eyes. They were like cats, playing with their food, but she’d rather snakes. Then they could just swallow her whole and be done with it. 

Once all was settled, the doors behind her were opened again, and robes audibly swept across the floor. The sound shushed the whisperings dotted about the room, and again, it was quiet. Soon enough, the judge came into view. Everything about him was small and weak; he was slender, and elderly, eyes like two almonds stuck to his face and wrinkled folds of skin sucked into his gaunt expression. Yet, there was something predatory about the way he stalked along the edge of the room, and a domineering conviction glaring in those beady eyes as they rested on her face.

Another word still wasn’t spoken as the man at her side propelled her forward, marching the girl down the aisle. If only she’d walked these steps sooner, she may have been able to grow old and die.

They stopped, and she was released, standing alone as her escort found a seat. The judge was tall enough, and the podium was a couple of steps up from the rest of the floor. It was a pathetic display, forcing people to look up to a man as small-minded and feeble-bodied as he. She was mostly afraid, but another part of her, underneath the scrutinization, could only seethe. 

“Cecily Carlton, the first daughter of Priscilla and John Carlton, you have been named a child of the occult. How does the accused plead?” His voice carried through the courthouse with ease, and it grated on her ears like thorns needling her skin. 

“I plead the same truth as those who came in before me.” Slitted eyes of amber flickered between the judge and jury, supposed men of ministry and justice. “The same as those who you’ve skewered and baked like rats and scum.” She laced her voice with as much vile as she could manage, praying it defiled the ears of everyone who listened. 

The elder replied. “You claim your innocence, child?” A bitter spat punctuated his ask. Cecily’s chapped lips pursed, and she stared unblinking in response enough. 

He continued. “You were six years of age when you were orphaned, yes?” When she was silent again, his thin mouth screwed into a hard frown, brows furrowed, and even more lines soured his face. “Do you not wish to defend your so-called innocence, girl? If we may save the evening, maintain your silence.” 

Quickly, she squeezed out between grating teeth. “Yes.” 

Loathing stayed plastered on his face. “And the cause of death; suicide. Both of them, on the same night.” It wasn’t a question, and he lifted his gaze to survey the room. The morbid passing of her parents wasn’t a secret, and yet, she could feel eyes boring into her skull from behind. 

“I wasn’t tried then, but it’s relevant now?” 

“Of course it is.” 

“Why?” She’d hardly finished speaking before a stool scraped loudly against the floor, and heads turned towards the disturbance. A boy — almost a young man — broad and brunette. His eyes were a gorgeous shade of blue. For a split second, her breath hitched in her throat, and in the middle of all of this, the girl’s cheeks still flushed and her emotion abated. He would speak for her. The only one in the brood of beasts sitting behind her who might. Their gazes met, and the adoration in his eyes couldn’t be pretend. It couldn’t be her imagination. And neither could the fear. 

His eyes lifted then, and she turned to look at the judge, who beckoned him forward with a nearly paternal smile. The hairs on the back of her neck stiffened with each wordless stride the olive-skinned boy took towards the stand. The judge’s features softened, all but for the blaze of arrogance shaping his gaze.

“This young man has made his confessions.” He announced to the room. “And he has been forgiven.” 

“What have you done?” 

“He has agreed to testify as a witness to Mrs. Carlton’s activities.” The old man gestured towards the stool at the other end of his podium, and so the boy obeyed, rounding the stand without another glance in her direction. He sat, and Cecily was certain she could make out the rapid thump of his heart against his chest. His lips parted, and then closed again, hands balled together in his lap. 

“Thomas.” A pause, as the elder leered over the side of the stand. “You may speak now.” 

He nodded, straightening up in his seat. “I… Uh, my name is Thomas Smith. I apprenticed under Mr. Carmin, and… Cecily–” Finally, he looked at her, and she begged him.

His eyes flitted away, and his throat cleared. “Mrs. Carlton visited us. Frequently. I thought she was beautiful, and she spoke of… magical things. I mean- at first, I just thought she had a different perspective. It was… I liked to hear her talk.” Cecily listened very intently, waiting for the first lie.

“And what else, Thomas?” The elder probed, poorly masked impatience edging into his voice. 

“And I…”

“What else, Tom?” she bit out in a low voice, her throat tight.

“Quiet!” the judge barked.

Thomas’s boyish features quivered as the rest poured out of him. “I thought we would marry. We talked, and she led me to the cliffs. There was a shape of stones, and she took a gem out of her locket.” 

The longer he went, the faster he talked. “She asked me to lay with her, so I did. It was quiet, and we were alone, so I asked again if she would marry me. We made a promise. But… but then she started muttering, and her eyes got dark, and I didn’t… I can’t recall anything else. It just was morning and I was bleeding. She bewitched me or did something to me. I just… I know it. I haven’t felt the same. It’s like I’m never alone.” 

She thought she couldn’t hear a single person breathing, as if the air might catch fire. That is until a gravelly voice interjected. 

“Bleeding, you say.” 

Thomas was looking at the floor now, and Cecily wondered if he was guilt-ridden, or relieved. Has he thought her a monster since that night? Did he at least think it a sacrifice? To give up their life together so that he might be a hero, or a survivor, to these horrid people. 

He gripped the hem of his plain shirt and drew it upwards until the still healing flesh peeked into view. A symbol of unknown origins marked his chest, engraved by the tip of a blade just over his beating heart. The room erupted. Hackles rose, and the crowd shouted, pointed, worsening accusations slung at her. It surprised her the judge hadn’t leapt over the podium himself, teeth bared. Instead, he reached to Thomas and laid a hand tenderly over the wound adorning his flesh. A muscle in the boy’s jaw flexed. Cecily could only just refuse the burning tears that brimmed in her eyes. When the elder leaned back, he calmly raised his gavel and clacked it against the wood until, eventually, the people in the room could bring themselves to simmer in silence. 

“... Your incessant howling is pitiful.” Cecily spat, turning in a half circle to at least glare into the unforgiving eyes of the jury. 

“You admit to it. Cecily Carlton, you’ve conversed with evil forces and practiced them.” 

She turned back. “Your hypocrisy is astounding, Minister.” 

His brows and the corner of his mouth twitched into a grin before straightening again. “I grant you a final say before sentencing and punishment. Speak it now.” 

Blood rushed violently through her, her heart pumping with vigor such as if she were on the brink of death. “My ways are since birth. I converse with none.” Her mouth dried, and the palms of her hands wet, but her voice rose above the sudden rise and then a fast fall of disbelief rippling through the room.

“It is He who you worship that must have gifted me with my powers. Thus, it is pure blasphemy to condemn them. And what do you say?” He watched her, increasingly still, and the boy next to him, perfectly captured in her voice. 

She drawled. “Burn the witch.” 

The bindings that dug into her skin were no more, a hangman’s rope reduced to measly thread. The uproar fell deaf to her ears as she ripped her wrists apart and clutched at her chest. Skin caked under her nails as they burrowed into her flesh, a dribble of blood showing through her clothes. 

“Were you so gratified to reveal me?” She mused, transfixed on the young man across from her. Black swirled in her orbs like ink in water. 

“What have you ever suffered at my hand?” 

His skin was sickly white as he scrambled out of the stool.

“Anything that I haven’t?” 

“Cecily-” 

“You’re supposed to be mine — you asked to be mine!” A bloodied hand hung at her side. She reached with every ounce of energy she had, until she could hear the flow of his blood rushing in her ears, and trace the etch of the insignia in his chest with the pads of her fingers. She projected as much of herself onto him as her body could handle, until Tom’s breaths were quick and shallow, his palms pressing his ears into his head.

 “What did you do to me?” With his eyes bloodshot and widening, a sheen of sweat glistening against his skin, Cecily closed one finger. His right leg spasmed, the very fibers of each and every muscle tensing beneath her magic. She folded another, and his left leg followed suit. The grip spread to another limb with each finger until all that remained was his head. 

People sprinted out of the courtroom behind them, others cowered in corners, all screaming and cursing and praying. It was all too familiar, and it felt so sweet that she sickened herself. 

“Don’t do this.” He strained against her power and his body. She could feel it. A pulsing in her head, as if he were there, beating against the walls of her skull. Before she could consider it, her blood ran cold, and a heavy footfall pounded in her ears. Someone was coming. It was too late. 

She stared into his eyes, memorizing every detail of those deep blue irises and the emotions residing within them. The stale affections, horror, and even traces of guilt that she knew she didn’t deserve. She made a bloodied fist at her side, and slowly, his pupils were constricted by the bloodshot veins creeping into the center of his eyes. It suffocated him, and Thomas was gone. 

Cecily whirled around, hand opened and fingers dancing at her side. His body corresponded, a puppet tie to an invisible string, sprinting past her— 

“Finally.”

But he didn’t make it far. Both he and her oncoming attacker collided with air. They fell backwards, noses disfigured and gushing blood. The same force blanketed Cecily’s body, constricting her limbs, though gently. She writhed with what strength she possessed, but it amounted to no more than the slightest shifts of her hands and feet.

A low voice purred in her ear while a wrinkled hand passed over her shoulder. Cecily fought harder, desperately summoning her own forces, but they were stifled the moment they bubbled to the surface. The judge circled around to stand in front of her, although it no longer looked like him. His features were even, and he carried himself with his arms folded over his chest, finger rhythmically tapping his arm.

The most jarring thing was his eyes; the longer she looked, the more they changed. They grew larger, and the hue slowly shifted from that of a steel gray to a luminescent green in one and milky white in another. The lashes lengthened and grew fuller, darkening to a raven black, as did the rest of the hair on his head. She could feel their gaze delving into her, similar to how she did Thomas. It searched, peeling back memory after memory until her mind was raw and exposed. Their lips had grown plump and pink, curling into a Cheshire smile. 

“Don’t run.” A woman’s silky voice whispered. Feeling rushed back into Cecily’s body, and she almost collapsed at the sudden weight of it. Then the rest of the transformation began, the wrinkly white suit peeling in layers as if the man in front of her was wilting.

Underneath it lay smooth, porcelain skin, and out of the scrawny frame swelled a full, curvaceous figure. Cecily couldn’t look away as an elegant and seasoned woman, only a head taller than her shed the skin of a man. At last, raven waves grew from her scalp and settled over her shoulders, and a look of ease fell over the woman’s face.

“You didn’t run.”

“Where… is he…?” She muttered. 

“You don’t care.” The woman hummed, bending at the waist to observe Cecily’s face at equal height. “I was about to give up on this place.” She twirled strands of the girl’s mousy brown locks between slender fingers.

“What are you talking about?” Her eyes couldn’t help but fixate on the metals that pierced multiple areas of her face. Adornments, of sorts, lining the arch of her brow and the rim of her ears, stuck through the skin of either nostril.

“I have been looking for more of you. Numbers are needed.”  

A glint of color flickered across her eyes. “Witches?”

The woman chuckled. “No. I have no use for the imposters riddled through this century. I need something real. What you and I are is known as an anomaly.” 

“I’ve never heard of that. I- I need more. Who are you? Why were you looking for me?” 

She raised a brow, and the grin stretching her face sharpened. “Anomalies, Cecily. Not you, specifically. So, you do what I say on a need to know basis.” The girl remembered the alien will that’d clutched her body, and even now, her forces shied away from that of this woman’s.

“You can call me Era, and first, I need you to hold your breath.”