The Song of the Malificae

12 Years (2)

Being such a small village, and so far from others, the magistrate acts as judge as well. Ulrich sits on his high podium at the front of the town hall. The priest, a hunched man, hair sprouting in wispy patches like cotton from his scalp, sits a level lower in a wooden chair beside Ulrich. Two men sit off to the side, quills already dripping ink onto fresh sheets of parchment. 

The benches, arranged in rows down the hall, are filled. Villagers most outspoken against witchcraft; villagers trying to disguise their fear behind anger and disgust; villagers afraid of not attending should they be accused of being witches themselves. 

Victims of the witch's curses sit at the front, more than half a dozen. The witch's daughters sit near the back with Hildegund and Gebhard, peering over heads, sitting on the edge of their seats, craning their necks. Liridona sits with hands clasped tightly in her lap, eyes staring unblinkingly at the magistrate's smug face.

The witch is absent.

As soon as Ulrich opens his mouth, the roar of the crowd, crying out violent punishments, obscene accusations, quiets. "The charges held against Aldessa Ingold include cursing villagers with a variety of misfortune and maladies as we will hear by witnesses here," he says, gesturing towards the eight, "causing unfortunate weather, bringing unwelcome deities to our community such as her familiar, and..." The magistrate pauses and silence holds its breath, anticipating his next words. "And causing the murder of poor Willelmus Bohren."

Someone in the audience sobs loud.

"Bring the first witness to speak."

Up from her seat, a heavy-set woman stands. She steps forward, standing beside the magistrate's podium, looking out at the sea of faces with swollen eyes. In her hands she twists a handkerchief, damp with tears. The priest approaches her with a Bible, she swears to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth with her right-hand wavering in the air, ends of her hanky fluttering.

As the old man seats himself again, hands folded neatly over his Bible, Ulrich begins the questioning. He begins with simple questions, whether she knows the accused, and how, and for how long, and whether or not she is a good woman.

Liridona recognizes this witness, a woman who her mother often spoke to after Church. Her sisters had played with the woman's son, too. And so she feels a rumbling deep in her belly when the woman says, "Aldessa was a friendly woman, but in regards to her faith, she never seemed particularly devoted to the teachings of God. I don't know where she came from, don't know who her family was. For all I know, her parents could have made pacts with the Devil too!" The woman's words begin to run together, frantic.

Ulrich lets her catch her breath, waiting in stolid patience, the only sound the scratching of the scribes as they record everything that spins from her mouth. The woman calmer now, the magistrate asks for her evidence of the accused's witchcraft. And she breaks down again.

"My- my son," she chokes out, "fell ill, he's been sick for nearly a week now and no-nothing I do helps!" She swipes at her eyes. "Just before he fell ill though"—she looks up at the magistrate, face suddenly hardening—"I saw the witch, speaking to him as she passed our home." She looks back out at the crowd. "She gave him something, I wasn't able to see what it was, but it was surely a cursed charm, something that is poisoning him, causing this evil illness in my boy!"

She takes a breath, her audience listening attentively. "The woman is a witch and she needs to burn! To prevent her from endangering any more of our children! To prevent her from committing more of the Devil's work!" She grows hysterical, screaming now, but no one steps in; instead they nod, leaning forward. Yes, yes! their bodies say, Burn, burn! their hearts demand.