Waking tied to a wooden pole Elviane screamed, she searched for someone to help her, someone to save her. The town square was filled with people, people who she talked to and people she laughed with, people she knew and knew her. Now they looked at her as if she were a stranger, like she was disgusting. Even the other children glared and cried, all her friends stared at her with such hatred it filled her eyes with tears. Her dark blue eyes searched the crowd looking for a friendly face, pleading with the people to see the girl who was one of them. All she got back were guarded, angry looks. One person stood out from the crowd, she was beautiful, she stood with a straight back, confident. She was tall with long limbs, her dark brown hair reaching the middle of her back, curling at the ends and shinning in the sun light. Like my hair Elviane thought to herself My mother, Elizabeth. She will help me.
One of the town’s people, Elviane’s executioner, started to speak, but Elviane kept looking at her mother. “Pierce her eyes so she is not tempted to foresee, pierce her mouth so she is unable to speak blasphemy, pierce her heart so she is unable to love, pierce her hands so she…” Then Elviane’s mother finally turned around and her pale blue eyes met Elviane’s dark blue ones, and then she did something Elviane would never forget, she smiled. It was a scary smile one that a predator would use while stalking her prey and it hit Elviane, hard. She was the prey, her mother had told the authorities Elviane was practising witchcraft, conveniently leaving out the part where Elizabeth was the one teaching her.
The man continued to talk but Elviane couldn’t focus. She was trapped in her mother’s gaze, she felt like she was hearing the words from underwater, they were all muddled up and didn’t make sense. The woman who had raised her, fed her, clothed her and looked out for her had sentenced her to death. Then Elizabeth turned away, tears welled up in Elviane’s eyes but she did not let them fall not yet. Time seemed to speed up, voices became clearer, but it was too late to change anything “…and commend her to hell.” Were the last words Elviane heard before she was set alight.
Flames licked the sticks spreading quickly, the kindling almost completely engulfed by angry red flames. Black smoke clouded the air, fogging Elviane’s vision. She let out a chocked sob, hot air scorching her skin and smoke filling her lungs. A wall of fire, smoke and ash hiding her from the town’s prying eyes.
Elviane struggled against the leather ties that held her up. She screamed, fire traveling across the wood and closer to her. The stench of burning flesh reached her nose, her pain filled gaze searching for the source, everything hurt and everything burned. Hours seemed to pass in mere seconds, wood splintered and cracked in the intense heat. Elviane struggled against the ties again feeling them come lose and then finally break. An old, rusty nail came out of the slightly scorched wood along with the ties.
Untying the binds Elviane used the nail to carve a straight, vertical line, in the wooden pole. Isa Elviane thought to herself The rune of ice and standstill. Using the sharp end of the nail she cut a line down her thumb and squeezed the sides until blood started to come out, pressing her bleeding finger hard against the wood and chanted the spell her mother had taught her.
The rune she had drawn lit up, flashing a pale blue colour, and then going out. Moving quickly, unsure of how long she had, she jumped through the still flames, which were now cool against her blistered skin. Elviane held the scraps of her burnt clothes around her as she ran through the still crowd. The air seemed to get thicker as Elviane was close to the last rows of people. The air was getting harder to walk through until with a snap, things started moving again. Elviane was flung forward when the air was easier to move again, she hit the people in front of her and quickly pushed past before they got a good look at her. She made her break for freedom, leaving the people behind her and running across the dirty, cobblestone road. Looking back quickly she saw the fire continued to rage on. People still gaping at it, feeling uneasy, Elviane moved on but couldn’t help but look over her shoulder again, feeling as if something wasn’t right or someone was watching her.
Breaking into her old friend, Amelia’s, house she looked over her shoulder afraid someone had followed her. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in a bucket full of water and recoiled in horror. Her dark wavy hair was singed and breaking off when touched. Her neck and back were hideously burnt, the long burn continuing up the side of her face along her jaw and touched the corner of her left eye and cheek, the skin was an angry red, seeming alive with fire themselves, the porcelain skin covering her arms and legs was mostly burnt and blistering. She kicked the bucket of water, spilling the contents across the floor. I’m hideous Elviane thought crying to herself, tears running down her cheeks. She could still smell the scent of burnt hair and picked up the kitchen shears in spite, and started hacking at her hair until it was short, barely touching her shoulders. She changed into one of Amelia’s old faded dresses, pulling the dress over her head it felt like the skin on the left side of her face was being torn off. Blood appeared on the neckline of the dress and Elviane looked into the puddle of water on the floor. The burnt patch of skin on the side of her face was torn and bleeding, touching it she cried out in pain.
Still feeling uneasy Elviane packed a bag full of supplies; food, water and a spare change of clothes. Almost out the door she doubled back through the house to pick up the sharp knife, which lay on the kitchen bench. She left the house at a slow jog, weary of the pain, trying not to move too much, her burns protesting at the slightest movement. It took a long time but Elviane finally reached her destination; a farm at the edge of town.
She left her bag on the side of the wooden fence. Carrying only the knife, she unlatched the gate of the horse yard. Elviane grabbed the mane of the first horse she saw, leading it to the open gate. Only the old farmer was standing between her and freedom.
“Were ye be going with my horse?” He sneered clipping the ends of his words and running them together in a jumble. Elviane moved the knife from her side to in front of her in a defensive position.
“Just let me through, old man.” Elviane croaked out her voice uneven from fear and her throat suddenly parched. The man started to laugh but was cut short by slicing through the soft flesh in his neck until the blade met bone. His eyes were wide in horror and his mouth open in a silent scream. Elviane stared down at the blade in amazement. Blood spilling out of the stranger’s neck, down the hilt of the knife and onto Elviane’s hand. Her hands were completely coated in the warm, sticky liquid within seconds. The man fell backward, the knife ripped out of his neck, the light in his eyes dimming.
Elviane moved quickly holding onto the horse’s mane and collecting her bag. Climbing onto the mare was difficult and painful, by the time she was sitting atop the horse she was sweating and panting, large tears rolling down her face, making the collar of the dress damp. She cried for herself; for the pain she was in and for what she had just done. She pulled herself together slinging the pack over her shoulder.
The back of her neck prickled and out of the corner of her eye she saw a dark figure watching her, steadily approaching her and getting closer with every second. Elviane dug her feet sharply into the shoulder blades of the large animal; quickly she leaned forward and wrapped her arms around the horse’s neck. The beast took off quickly, kicking up dirt and small, loose stones, its hooves thumping against the ground with each step.
Elviane rode swiftly, grimacing in pain of being tossed up and down atop the mare. Soon the figure was just a speck in the distance. Elviane could have kept riding until she had left the town and the dark figure in the dust; it was tempting, leaving the witch hunts, the murder and her mother behind. But the curiosity got the better of her, she had to know who was following her, she had to. So she stopped next to a large pile of rocks, hiding her horse and pack behind it. The sun was starting to set and the wind was picking up. Her hair was lifted by the wind, short strands being whipped around her face.
The sound of pounding hooves reached Elviane who crawled out of her hiding place as the horse slowed in front of her. The figure pulled the hood covering his face down and Elviane gasped.
“Come on Elviane, don’t look at me like that, we have to get moving. You did well, I am very proud of you.” The figure said grinning ear to ear. Elviane could tell the smile was fake. She looked down at her hands the metallic gleam of the knife catching her eye, and then she looked up at her mother, whose back was now turned, and smiled her own predatory grin, her smile so wide it hurt her face.
Two can keep a secret, if one of them is dead.
