WITCHCRAFT

PROLOGUE

"You must leave, sisters. They shall not stop hunting us until they have us. I will take the brunt of their forces and lead them astray. Once they've burned me at the stake, they shan't come looking for you."

The blonde woman in rags looked displaced, as if she hadn't slept all night and run all day. Her hair had fallen out of its lazy updo and her dress was dirtied. One could see by the mess that she was that she had been leaning over books and herbs all night.

"Lucille, you mustn't. Run with us", the brunette replied, fear in her eyes. She was the youngest and it was evident in her behaviour.

"One of us must stay, Genevieve, our sister is right in that manner", the oldest, black-haired nodded solemnly, "However, that should be me, wouldn't you agree?"

"I wouldn't, Maribelle", Lucille glared at her, "Genevieve needs you. She has yet to finish her training, she wouldn't survive out there without you."

"Or you", Maribelle pushed Lucille slightly as she got closer, "She won't need me if she has you."

"And what about me, then, huh?", Lucille yelled.

"Stop", Genevieve called out and took a breath, "We're sisters, we cannot fight over who gets to die at the stake. So, it should be me. You both have finished your training. You are both much more valuable to the world. So I will face them."

"No", the other two replied in unison.

"Here", Lucille gave Genevieve a simple handmade bag, filled to the brim with books and scrolls and jars of ointments, "Take this and be careful. No matter what happens here. I will return to you."

She gave them a watery smile and pushed them away towards the backdoor. As the guards burst through the door, Lucille was sitting by the fire, calmly putting books and papers inside. She smiled up at the man in a reverend's cloak, buckle-hat on his head and his face dirty. The group of men around him were dressed similarly, all of them dirtied by sand and ash.

"Witch", he sneered.

"Reverend Cullen, what brings you to my home?", she smiled up at him like there wasn't a group of ready-to-attack men with torches surrounding her.

"You shall pay for thy crimes, witch."

"You may address me by my name, little man", she got up, with a calm-before-the-storm-look on her face, "Do you care to tell me about my crimes, then?"

"You have been accused of witchcraft by the townspeople, hence you shall burn at the stake to banish the devil from our midst."

Lucille glared, the fire next to her flickering, "Townspeople? Was it little Timmy Arbinger whom I cured of the measles? Mrs Martha Smith whose child I delivered, ensuring both of their health? Or was it you, perhaps, Reverend? Who just last week was lying in his bed, suffering from a common cold, nigh death?"

His jaw tensed and he glared back, "Devil's work."

"And if it was, shan't you thank the devil for your life? If it was, shan't you curse your God to put you in such misery that only the devil may help?"

He hit her across the face, catching her off guard, as she stumbled back and held her cheek, "If God wants me to die, then so be it. The devil shall not interfere with God's work."

Lucille snorted a mocking breath. She looked at the reverend's son, Carlisle, his eyes immediately cast down when they caught hers. She frowned and looked back at the reverend, "Then I suppose I must die."

Someone grabbed her arms harshly, roughly pushing her out of her home as the reverend turned to his son, "Ensure this place burns down, I will not have an inkling of her work among our people."

With those words the reverend left young Carlisle Cullen who looked after the group in despair. Lucille had once treated his own fever, having him back on his feet within the week. He believed his father, once upon a time. But as he had accused Lucille Carlisle's faith dwindled.

Lucille couldn't be doing the devil's work.

And if what Lucille did wasn't the devil's work, where did truth and fear meet? Where did blind faith begin when it had once been God's will? What was God's will? It can't have been God's will to see Lucille burn for all those she had helped to see.

Her house was the first to burn.

The next morning a young woman was dragged across the town square, her face hidden under a disused potato bag. She was pushed onto the stake, the bag was pulled from her head and her hands were bound around the post.

She stood there for hours as people gathered, some spat at her, some brought straw, wood or paper to lay beneath the platform. Fire starter.

Her face was beaten and bruised, her dress had blood stains from the bruises beneath.

When night fell Reverend Cullen opened a scroll, reading all of Lucille's 'crimes'. She hadn't given them the gratification of a noise from her mouth yet, but her lips trembled and her eyes filled with tears at the list. The list of all the ailments she and her sisters had cured.

Some townspeople began to pity her while others only became more determined to see her burn. How dare she cry now? She had been working for the devil. When time came to pay up for her sins she had no right to cry.

Reverend Cullen read from the bible. Some psalm that one might have even interpreted kindly. She had always believed that the people in her town had only misinterpreted their readings.

She had never believed in God, but she read the bible every night, finding consolation within its stories. She had liked religion though she'd seen enough to read them as fairytales. Then somebody had told her that she mustn't read the bible.

She mustn't read at all, in fact. God didn't want her to. And her comfort had dwindled.

"You may speak your last words, witch", the reverend finished his speech.

Lucille took a shaky breath, "I loved God. I did. The verses were kind to me, beautiful stories."

She was met only with disdain.

"It was you who wasn't kind, you weren't beautiful. You forbade me from reading the bible at all. You pushed me out of my faith, my comfort, my home."

"Devil's bitch", somebody yelled, interrupting her, as a spitball landed on her face.

Her mouth crinkled in disgust but she continued, "I never turned to the devil. I turned away from God, yes. Yet I only turned to medicine. Science. And I've only used it for good."

Scoffs from the audience.

"I've used it to help each one of you as you needed me to", she lowered her head, "I don't want to die. I could do so much more good in this world."

She let out a loud sob as her tears now rolled freely.

"So much", as she yelled she pulled against her restraints in frustration, "I could help so many, yet you care about an imaginary man in the sky more than your friend whom you've known all these years. You all-"

"Blasphemy!"

"Burn her!"

"Witch!"

As the fire underneath her started she continued, "I will not abandon you! I will be back and I will do what you couldn't! Be kinder!"

The flames reached her dress, setting it aflame and she felt the heat. Her breathing became erratic with fear and she looked up, tears still flowing from her eyes, "I love you, mother."