Wolves Among Us (14 page)

“Alma,” she cried, sitting up as the night’s full memory came back to her.

Bjorn laughed again, trying to catch her with one arm. In his other arm he cradled Alma to his chest. Alma popped her fingers into her mouth, staring at Mia.

“Alma?” Mia whispered, reaching out to stroke her hair. Alma smiled and reached for Mia. Tears came to Mia. “Her cheeks are pink. I’ve never seen them pink. Alma, can you breathe? Show Mama. Take a deep breath.”

Alma giggled and hid her face in Mia’s shift. She had been healed. She looked fresh and rested, whole. Mia looked at her own hands, trying to remember the dream.

“I did not do this,” she said to Bjorn. “I tried to, but I did not have enough strength.”

She realized how it all looked. “I am sorry, husband. I did not mean to sleep.” How had Alma been healed? Mia had slept; she’d had no part in it.

“Everything will be better now, Mia,” Bjorn said.

“How long have you been here?” Mia asked. “Did you see what happened? Do you think God did this? Is this a miracle?”

“While you were here with Alma, we found the witch that cursed us. Bastion knew her to be a witch at once. She refused the first hour to confess, but Bastion knew well a book, one called the
Malleus Maleficarum,
a book that describes how witches may be brought to the truth and to repentance. He is a marvelous man, Mia. He has set us free.”

“Did he come back here while I slept?” Mia shuddered, remembering her dream. “Did he touch Alma? Is that how she was healed?”

“You don’t need to fear him. A woman like you has nothing to fear.”

“No, I am not afraid. Look at Alma. She is healed. How did it happen?”

Bjorn shrugged. “I came home, found her playing with the kitten. I suppose the witch’s confession set her free.”

“How can that be? Why would any woman curse her? She’s done no one any harm.”

Bjorn looked out the window; its open shutters let in the strong morning sun. “I think I’ll shut those,” he said.

“No. I like the light. Bjorn? Are you hiding something from me?”

He stopped, his back to her. She could see Alma peeking over his shoulder at her.

“Bjorn, if there is a witch, if she cursed us, am I to blame? Did I do something?”

He sat Alma down. “Go outside, Alma. I saw your yarn doll under the beech tree over there. Run and play with her.”

Alma walked outside and squinted up at the sky, cocking her head as if listening. Mia’s heart skipped a beat, and she wanted to hold her. But she had to know.

“If I am to blame, if I have done something, I have to know. Alma is healed, but what if I fail again? How can I keep Alma safe? I need an answer.”

Bjorn came and knelt before Mia.

“Just remember who you are.”

“Who am I?”

“My wife. I bear the responsibility for this house, not you. Keep to yourself for now while Bastion and I work. Don’t ask for help from the women in the village.”

“But if this is my fault, I have a right to know.…”

“You have no rights! You have duties. And your duty is to keep your mouth shut and trust me. If you can’t do that, then trust Bastion. Pester him with your little fears if you must.”

She didn’t know Bastion. How could she open her wounded heart, where her fears lived, where they pierced her, to him? Mia’s mind flashed to the woman she had seen around the village. She was not of the village, however. She was said to be a healer, to have powers, to know what hid in the hearts and minds of people.
Perhaps she would have answers,
Mia thought,
and I would not bother Bjorn again, or fail Alma.
But healers like that woman were dangerous, Father Stefan had said, enemies of the church, heretics who offered salvation from herbs and spells, not God. Even thinking of her might be a sin. Mia pinched herself to stay true.

He looked up at her, taking hold of her hands. “Don’t do that. I am not angry with you.”

“I will try harder to please you.”

“It was never you, Mia. But I will say no more. Everything has changed,” he whispered in her ear as he pulled away from her and stood. “Bastion has brought salvation to this town.”

Her empty stomach growled, and she pressed a hand over it to silence her hunger.

Outside, Alma stared at them both. Mia saw a dark shadow pass over the child’s face, a strange, fierce anger. Mia turned her head, giving Alma a quizzical look, and Alma went back to staring up at the sky.

Chapter Fifteen

Stefan’s neck hurt from wrenching it at odd angles to get a good look at his ear. He only had a small, chipped mirror to use.

“I have to stop this,” he said, setting the mirror down. “Worry won’t move God to heal it any faster.” His fingers went back to his ear, feeling the wound’s edges as he looked around at the empty dormitory.

Bastion had not come in yet, though he had been out all night. How could a man work so hard and not need rest? Stefan had sneaked in here to sleep for just an hour, to clear his mind, perhaps strengthen himself again. All of it for naught, though. Sleep had eluded him.

He groaned, pulling his shoes back on. Bastion’s bag that Erick had brought in, the bag that made such thunder in the church when it had first dropped, sat in the corner. Stefan glanced around, his heart kicking up. Edging toward the bag and listening for steps outside the chamber, Stefan took hold of it and gave it a tug. It barely moved. Whatever hid in there, it was not an extra cloak for Bastion. Something heavy and unyielding waited in the dark folds of this bag.

“Stefan! Wake up.”

Erick burst through the door. Stefan sat upright, spinning around to conceal the bag.

“That’s
Father
Stefan,” he corrected Erick, who pulled his chin down, frowning.

“Were you looking in the bag,
Father?”

“Of course not.”

“What’s in it?”

“I didn’t look.”

“Well, time for you to be up. And you’d best attend to the women before prayers.”

“What’s that?”

“Bastion’s got everyone stirred up, especially the women. Dame Alice nearly pulled my arm off, trying to drag me into her house. The women are all gathered around in there, gossiping. Asking me all kinds of questions. Thought you would want to come talk to them.”

“Where is Bastion?”

Bad enough to be sent for water in front of Mia last night. Bastion might be off doing something important right now, some ritual or ceremony,
Stefan thought.

“I don’t know. I didn’t go looking for him.”

“Is that supposed to mean something?”

“Just go. Please.”

Erick shook his head, holding the door open as Stefan exited.

Erick didn’t follow him. “I have to get the church ready,” he said.

Stefan paused, then decided against waiting for him. “Don’t touch the bag.”

The church stood along their right, past the opening to the gardens and the kitchen. Stefan did not see anyone on the church steps. The town square only now began to come alive for the day, with mules dragging loads of goods toward the market. Shutters were still drawn, trying to keep out the cold night air. Inside, most people were just waking, careful to avoid tumbling out of their high beds. Unlike Stefan, they had beds raised high, as high as a bed could be without collapsing. It made the bed warmer in the winter months. Warmth drove every design, all construction.

Stefan rubbed his arms and exhaled to watch the frost. Hard to believe women were already gathered at Dame Alice’s, nervous as hens.

“Is she beautiful?” a voice hissed.

Stefan jumped. He had kept his eyes on the market as he walked, inspecting the day’s beginning. He had not meant to come near the cage, though the dirty thick blanket still covered it.

“Is she?” she asked.

“Is who beautiful?” Stefan replied.

“The witch Bastion caught last night. Tell me of her.”

Stefan grabbed one end of the blanket and tugged. He held his breath as dirt and lice flew through the air.

“Bastion caught a witch? Is she from this town?” he asked her, careful to stay at a safe distance.

The witch stared at him, her head swaying from side to side. She did not reply.

“Where is Bastion now?” he asked.

She began sweeping her hands through the straw, looking for something. Her hands closed around something, and she pulled it to her chest.

“Do you want to see?” she asked. “I was beautiful.”

“No. Where is Bastion? What do you know of this witch?”

“I was beautiful, Father. But I do not cry about that anymore. I’m going to die.”

She thrust her hand through the bars. Stefan jumped back, startled, then saw she held out a tiny portrait to him, painted on a metal pendant. Someone would have worn this. A man—a husband, perhaps.

He did not reach for it, so she threw it at his feet. “Look at it.”

“I just want to know where Bastion is.”

“Look at it and I’ll tell you.”

He picked it up, keeping his eyes focused on her, his body tensing to spring back if she moved. She didn’t. He picked it up, turning it over to look at the portrait. It showed a woman with long gloss-black hair left free and flowing down across her shoulders. She had the skin of a newborn, smooth and perfect in tone, just a little pink in her cheeks and lips, an exquisite face—a woman of such beauty that he had no words to say, no comments he could make that would be proper. He did not know how a woman so beautiful could be brought so low. Only perversion would cage such a beauty. She had first become a monster, surely. How gravely she must have offended the Lord. Stefan tossed the pendant back between the bars and stepped back. He wanted nothing to do with this.

“I looked at it. Where is Bastion?”

“Did you look closely?”

“Where is Bastion?”

“I think that is your sin. You do not look closely at anyone.”

Stefan turned to walk off.

“He went off with the young daughter of the miller. Look closely at her, Father. She is beautiful too.”

“What would he want with Iris?” Stefan asked. Iris had reached all of fifteen years, but she never missed a Mass.

The witch grinned, and Stefan saw she had a perfectly straight set of teeth, which shocked him. They were yellow, but they were all there.

“Do you look closely at anyone? Do you know the mind of men?”

“What does he want with Iris? What has she done?” he asked.

“Nothing yet. But she will. Bastion will convince her to. She will sin because that is who she is, but Bastion will save her.”

“That’s blasphemy.”

“No, Father, Bastion can do it. He is going to save me.”

“You are condemned as a witch living in a filthy cage. You have not been saved.”

“But I will be,” she answered.

“So he taught you of Christ? He promises to lead you to Him?”

“Nay, he taught me of Satan. I will burn one day, and Satan will be expelled from my body. My sins will be atoned for, and I will be free.”

“Burning will not make you free.”

“A curse on you! Bastion warned me of your kind. Examine your soul, Father, before Satan devours you.”

Bastion appeared with Iris on his arm, her father and mother trotting after him, joyful expressions on their faces. Bastion released Iris back to her parents and bowed low to them before turning for the church.

When he saw Stefan talking with the witch, his hand went to his side. Stefan’s stomach lurched as Bastion pulled out a long, thin whip from his belt. The witch cried out, rushing to one corner of her cage, scooping up the straw, attempting to cover herself in it, hiding herself from view.

“Talking with the witch, Stefan?” Bastion called. “You should know better than to put your soul in danger. You already lost an ear to her.”

“She tells interesting tales,” Stefan replied, willing his legs to stay planted and firm.

“Aye, as do all women,” Bastion laughed. “You must excuse me now, Father. There is a punishment for talking to others, and she knows it well.”

Stefan didn’t move.

“I cannot allow it,” he said. “Not on church grounds.” That last part sounded like a concession.

“I am too lazy to move her,” Bastion said, replacing the whip after a moment’s thought. “I will show you mercy,” he said to her, “though you deserve none. Pray to God that He will make you worthy of it.”

Bastion put his arm around Stefan and began walking toward the dormitory. “Come, brother,” Bastion said. “We both had long nights. We must sleep while we can, for tonight God will do an amazing work among these people.”

“You speak as if you know God’s mind.”

Bastion laughed. “My friend, when you have served God as long as I have, you can anticipate His movements.”

Stefan chewed the inside of his lip, ignoring the growing sore. He didn’t follow. Bastion was not like the Inquisitor he had envisioned. Bastion kept walking. Stefan watched him disappear inside, then looked back. No one paid attention. Stefan jogged to catch up to him.