The Fallen Angel

Chapter one: The Genesis

Volta, Italy 584 AD.

Ysabel stood before the court; her hands were restrained with chains in an attempt to stop her from clawing out the eyes of the guards responsible for her as she had done earlier, the guard assigned to her was sent home and was recovering from her attack. She was punished by receiving hundred strokes on her bare back while she had her hands tied together and knotted on the branch of an apple tree in the confines of the prison yard.

The court was humming with whispered and not so discreet conversations. The entire court’s attendances were all witnesses to her case. Ysabel stood on a little box that served as a makeshift stage; it elevated her and made it that her apathetic face could be seen by the whole court.

Ysabel was accused of witchcraft and heresy by the people of Volta, a small town that stood a stone throw away from Volterra. She was the healer in little town and used her gift for healing sicknesses and curing diseases.

‘Kill the witch,’ a voice managed to scream louder than the rest.

Ysabel stood indifferent and unbothered by the obscene words they spat at her. Her raven black hair that cascaded down to the middle of her buttocks had been styled to have a centre parting and held by a makeshift band that was tied round her oval shaped head. Her icy blue eyes held no more love and compassion, instead, hate and anger.

‘Crush her wicked bones!’ another screamed. Ysabel nearly laughed, Wicked? She had been anything but wicked but soon, very soon, they would see the true meaning of wicked.

‘Feed her corpse to the dogs,’ came another brilliant suggestion. The same dogs that were supposed to be her familiars? Such brilliance!

Ysabel simply jutted out her chin in defiance, she deafened her ears to the obscenities her accusers screamed, and unfazed did she remain.

‘How do you plead?’ The fat judge asked.

Ysabel casted her intense gaze at the man. He was in his early fifties and she had once cured him of an extreme case of dysentery, his protruding belly was so fat that she wondered how he managed to squeeze into the little box that held his chair and table. His beady eyes stared at her entire frame, stopping briefly at her breasts. Ysabel shuddered in disgust as he licked his lips.

‘Such a shame’ she heard him mutter.

She nearly threw up in her mouth; she would rather die than have his fat fingered hands touch her.

‘Well?’ he said impatiently, annoyance clearly written on his face.

Ysabel ignored him and stood defiantly silent, refusing to even acknowledge his presence. She heard the crowd begin to mutter, some louder than others.

‘How stubborn she is, she certainly is a witch,’ an elderly woman with a cleft lip said. Ysabel had saved her from partial stroke.

The judge seemed to have heard and agreed with the old hag because he immediately raised his gavel and struck it hard, pronouncing her sentence.

‘Guilty of all charges,’ he accused. The crowd went into a frenzied state, excitedly whooping and cheering.

‘You will be burnt at stake by sunset’ he said to her, his beady eyes running down her once more.

Ysabel turned to the small window on the wall to her right. The sky was already orange and the sun was minutes away from setting. She exhaled, accepting her fate.

‘Lead her to the market square,’ instructed the judge, ‘see to it that she touches nothing in this town and have the men prepare her execution, its nearly time’