A Waltz in the Dark (Norway + OC Hetalia fanfiction)

Chapter 29

     Norway kept his head down as he roamed the streets of Bergen, trying to convince himself that it was common for countries to visit their towns and check up on their people. But then again, how would Norway know, really? He was isolated from the rest of the world for the most part.
    He knew the real reason he was wandering alone.
   The Norwegians sat outside in the sunshine of the cold summer morning, doing their everyday chores and attending to their shops and stands. The town was alive and busy, but it was trading season, so Norway wasn’t surprised. He zig-zagged his way through the thinning crowds as he went further away the docks, where merchants came in and trading was done.
    “Please, please, help me! Please, my family, they’re sick…”
   Norway glanced at the girl who begged on the side of the road. Everyone passed by on the opposite side of the street without stopping.
    Her family had the plague. They didn’t want to risk getting it. Her being there at all was probably bad enough.
    Norway didn’t care. He couldn’t catch the plague, and he wouldn’t care if he did. So he walked in the middle of the road like a normal person. The girl looked up at him as he passed. He glanced at her and had to blink twice. She was much younger than he had first thought. She couldn’t have been older than thirteen. Her light brown hair was a knotted mess and she wore a dark brown cloak that shielded her body from view.
    “Please, sir, there must be a way for me to help my family,” she said, her whole body trembling. Norway couldn’t look at her pale, desperate face for very long. “I’ll do anything!”
    Norway quickened his pace.
    “Please, help me!”
    “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, focusing on the ground, “I can’t.”
    But then there was a loud, high-pitched screech. Norway jerked his head up to look, and saw a crowd gathering not too far away. The mumbles got louder as Norway approached, looking over the heads of the people who all stared in the same direction.
    The local cathedral was not too far away from the crowd, and not too far away from the cathedral was a wooden pole surrounded by brush. Two officials were tying a woman to the pole and she screeched and spat at them, cursing them in a language that the people wouldn’t know anymore, not since Christianity had come to Norway.
    But Norway himself knew it well.
    He winced at her curses.
   A priest came out of the church, approaching the woman as the men finished tying her up. She was a middle-aged woman with gray hair and blackened teeth. She continued to scream violently, until the priest came and stood in front of her. And then she silenced, though her glare was enough to frighten even the bravest of men.
    “Witch,” the priest began accusingly, “You have been given every opportunity to turn from your ways, but you have refused to comply and accept the salvation of our Lord Jesus Christ. Therefore, for practicing black magic, you are condemned to death.”
    The Witch spat at him, but stayed silent.
    She was obviously just an ordinary mortal with no natural magical gifts. Norway crossed his arms. She was the kind of magician that deserved death— a sorcereress that only used magic for selfish gain; a witch that summoned demons into her soul, damning her for all eternity for a smidgen of power.
    That wasn’t what magic was about— not really.
    Norway quickly shook his head, banning any thoughts about magic from his head.
    “You are bringing death upon this country!” the witch suddenly screamed, struggling against her bonds, “The Black Death is a result of your abuse of magic! The gods are angry! They’re angry!” She screeched.
    The people watching the spectacle began to murmur again.
    “Soon you will all be dead! You and everyone you care about!” she went on, looking out at the people. “Magic is the only cure! It is the only thing that can save you!”
    “If you think we’re going to release you—“ the priest began, but the witch cut him off.
    “No, not me!” she said, her eyes going wide as she stared out on the crowd, turning her head slowly to take in everyone with her big, brown eyes. “But there is a magician… the most powerful magician that will ever walk the earth… he can heal you. He can heal you! And he is here. He is among us today, I can sense him…”
    Norway's heart began to pound. The people began shouting, demanding to know who he was and where. Norway slowly began to back out of the crowd.
    “He can cure you!” the witch yelled over the noise. “He can heal the land! He can bring an end to the Black Death with his magic!”
    “Who is he?” a man near to the witch demanded, and the people hushed to hear.
    “Lukas!” she shouted, and Norway froze. “Lukas, son of Bondevik!”
    He looked up. She stared right at him, smiling eerily.
    Some of the people around him turned toward him.
    “Is it true?” asked a man standing in front of him, glaring at him with his beady, green eyes.
    “Are you a magician?” asked another, taller man standing next to him.
    “Can you heal us?” begged a woman just behind him.
    Soon dozens of people began shouting at him from all directions. Norway tried to back away, but he was surrounded on all sides.
    “Nei!” he shouted, silencing the people surrounding him momentarily. And then he shoved his way through, running as fast as he could.
    And he called on magic one last time.
    He turned invisible.
    The people behind him were in an uproar, and then Norway smelled smoke.
    He didn’t look back, not even when he heard the witch’s screams.
    When he rounded the corner, he turned visible again, breathing deeply. His feet felt heavy as he dragged himself forward. The street was empty. Everyone was watching the condemnation of the witch.
    He took another breath and looked behind his shoulder.
    “So it’s true.”
    Norway caught his breath, looking forward again. There, sitting on the ground not a few paces ahead of him, was the girl he had passed earlier. She stared at him with wide, light blue eyes.
    Norway just stared at her, not sure what to say or do. She had seen him.
    “You have magic,” she whispered.
    “I… I don’t know vhat you’re talking about,” he said, beginning to walk by her. But she grabbed his cloak.
    “Sir, please,” she said, her voice quaking, “You can heal us. You can heal my family.”
    Norway tugged his cloak from her grip, but then she rose to her feet on wobbly legs.
    “You can heal them!” she begged, “You can heal me!”
    And then she held out her hands and Norway’s face twisted in horror. Her fingers were black and rotted.
    She had the Black Death.
    “You should not be here!” he exclaimed, “You vill contaminate the entire city!”
    “But… you can heal us,” she said, holding her hands out toward him, “You can save me and my family. You can save us all.”
    Norway stared at her hands. His fingers began to prickle and he could feel the magic in the air. There wasn’t much, but there was enough.
    He stopped himself, his eyes growing wide.
    Magic was still instinctive.
    He shook his head and backed away from the girl.
    “No, I can’t!” he said. Her eyes slowly grew wider as he stepped farther away.
    “Can’t or won’t?” she screeched at him, “Please, you can’t just let us die!”
    “I’m sorry,” he whispered, shaking his head as he turned his back on her.
    “You could save us!” she screamed, “You could save us all!”
    But he kept walking.
    “Magic is not the solution,” he whispered as he turned the corner, the girl’s voice lost in the chatter of the busy town, “Magic vas never the solution. Magic is the problem. Magic isn’t the cure for the Black Death, it’s the cause.”
    But he couldn’t get the girl’s screams from his mind.