The Witch & The Witch Hunter

4

At that time a calmness pervaded between the two. Perhaps the catharsis of their rantings had caused them to developed a modicum of respect for one another. Though that calm, as it so often does, merely heralded the storm.

Upon a rainy afternoon the witch sat at the fire, staring into the flickering light. She contemplated all that had led her up to this point. She thought of the pact that she had made in anger. She thought of why she had gone through with it and she thought of what would happen now the covenant was broken. The fear was not immediate at first, it was a lingering echo at the back of her mind. Yet even a single droplet disturbs the surface of the water. As she peered into the hearth she noticed the flames were becoming visibly weaker. She stoked them and fed them, yet still they were diminishing. Confused, she then felt the room become noticeably colder and seemingly darker. Not in part due to the fireplace which was now nothing but embers and smoke. It was as though the shadows were intensifying and all colour was draining away, much like before one feints. By the time the young witch had realised the fate that had befallen her, it was too late to scream. Her blood ran cold, her body seized up and a single tear fell from her eye. The spectres had come.

On the hunters return to Seraford, he was greeted by yet another gathering outside his lodgings though oddly a lot further away from the building than last time. Rolling his eyes he set to thinking what could possibly be the matter now? As he approached, drenched and dragging his firewood behind him the village leader strutted up to him with a bearing much more authoritative than previous interactions. "This is the final straw, witch hunter! I never should have allowed you to stay!" He ranted. "Speak plainly, man" replied the hunter. "That witch you have brought into our village has cast a most terrible dark incantation. We could hear the wench yammering away to herself and now - can ye not feel it? Can ye not see your breath?" The hunter looked down and lo, the man was right. His icy breath steamed from his mouth like smoke from a pipe and the air was indeed cold, too cold for this time of year, more cold than the rain itself. Though there was something else, something more insidious. The hunter stepped towards the cabin and the atmosphere was almost vibrating, pulsating with unnatural power. What had she done? He slung his cut logs to the side, casting off his drenched hat and cloak and barged through the door with weapons in hand.

Much to his surprise all looked to be normal, the witch sat looking into the hearth as she often did and nothing seemed out of place. She turned to look at him, smiling, which was rather odd. "You are soaked" she said. "Tis raining" he replied, raising an eyebrow. Nothing was visibly wrong with the scene he had walked in on, yet he felt in his heart there was great evil at work and that smile she wore? Most peculiar. "Thou art joyous? Why so?" He questioned. She starred at him for a moment with an unpleasant steadiness "fetch the logs in would you?" She said "the fire fades". Any doubts he held were now gone, paying no heed to her request he advanced slowly towards her. For he had not told her he was fetching firewood, neither did he regularly do so. She had knowledge of the unknowable, along with the unnatural cold these were the first signs of demonic possession.

"Hold still" he said, stepping towards her "thou hast something on thine - " with lightning speed the hunter slapped his crucifix upon the witches forehead. A harrowing shriek emanated from within the woman as her eyes turned up and her body writhed, yet it was not her voice. "Unworthy lowlife!" Growled a low and raspy voice. "Thou art not welcome within this body, hell spawn!" Roared the witch hunter, as his religious zeal awoke once again. "Release this stolen body created in the image of god! Thou art dammed!" The witch's head rolled to face him and the hideous smile stretched into shape once again. "Stolen?" Asked the voice, laughing away "this body is payment promised". The witch swiped at the hunter with demonic strength, knocking him clean off his feet. "Ywg-Thog nachwyl" said the demon, walking over to the stunned hunter "dost thou still awaken at night crying over a family lost?". The hunter payed no heed to his words and kicked back onto his feet. He began reeling off the latin rites and prayers whilst he reached for his back pocket, the witch ran to the back of the room and scratched away at the wall leaving terrible claw marks. She slobbered and groaned and contorted her limbs in ways most foul. The hunter pinned her to the wall and held a metal vial above her head and shouted "Gloria Patri, et Filio, et Spiritui Sancto, Sicut erat in principio, et nunc, et semper, et in saecula saeculorum. Amen." Before emptying the holy water within the vial on the witches head. Where the water fell steam burned off from her skin as though she was fire itself, in her own voice she screamed in agony. The demon was weakening. "I command thee, demon!" Said the hunter "hail mary full of gra - " the witches fingertips were thrust into his stomach piercing his shirt and skin and five pools of red began to grow at the points of perforation. The hunter gritted his teeth and continued "hail mary full of grace!" He repeated himself five times all the while the demon wriggled in his grip. "Give me your name!" He said. The demon contorted the witches throat in hopes of not releasing his identity and foam and froth bubbled from her mouth. But it was a wasted effort, after groaning and growling and forcing her mouth shut the word rang throughout the cabin "A - Astoroth!" It cried. "Go back to the burning pits, Astoroth! I cast you out". With that, the struggle ceased and the air began to purify.

The witch fell to her knees and breathed heavily as the constriction of her throat was released. Though the hunter, gladdened by his victory fell backwards onto the floor as blood loss and exhaustion began to steal him away. As her senses took hold once again, the witch turned to her second-time-saviour and gasped at his fallen body "hunter?" She cried, noticing the sizeable patch of blood which stained his linen shirt. She immediately pulled it up and began to compress the wound. "Thou hast saved me a second time, my good hunter" she said as tears welled within her eyes "and this is all thine reward? I am sorry, I am so sorry" she wept. In that moment, urgency awoke within her. She would not let him die. She leapt up and burst through the door, the crowd was still there at a distance. They jeers and threw insults at her as she emerged "silence!" She screamed, they indeed fell silent. "Herbs! I require herbs! The hunter is dying, please help him!" Dumfounded the crowd looked at one another with a mix of concern and confusion until the the village leader spake "friends, we will not let a man die under our watch. Fetch the witch what she requires".

Some time passed and the hunter had danced the boundaries of life and death, though he did not hear the call of the lord in the dark places he walked hence he knew it was not his time. He lay in the cold nothingness until a warmth on his forehead spread throughout his body. He felt life once again flow into every aspect of his being. His eyes slowly yawned open. Looking down upon him was the witch, smiling, but not in the same manner as before. It was a delicate and beautiful sight to which he woke. She cradled his head upon her lap as he lay where he fell, his stomach patched with cloth and herbs. "God's glory is profound, is it not?" He said once again. "It is" she smiled "thou hast saved me, my hunter. Thou hast freed me". The hunter had finally realised why his hand was stayed that night in the church, he now knew his place in the lord's plan. It was not to slay this woman, but to set her free.