No one would dare stand in the path of an inquisitor. Not even of one taking away someone they knew.
Whispers coursed through the crowd. The word ‘witch,’ spoken in hushed tones, jumped from person to person, but Semras held her head high. She wasnota prisoner, despite how the inquisitor’s escort made it look like.
The villagers had known her as an herbalist, not as a witch. Many had come to her for various remedies or small medical emergencies in the past year, and she had never turned away a single soul. In spite of it, one of them had denounced theirsuspicion of her true nature to the Inquisition. It changed everything.
Even if no one had suspected her and she had been found out by another means, this humiliating parade would have now convinced them beyond the shadow of a doubt that she was a witch. Why else would an inquisitor come to this small backwater village, leagues away from Castereina and the seacoast?
She had known it would happen the second Inquisitor Velten refused her request to ride around the village, calling it a ‘waste of precious time.’ His hurry had robbed her of the quiet life she had made for herself here. Now, Semras would return only to pack her things and flee back into anonymity.
At least this time, she’d be the one doing the leaving, rather than being the one left behind.
As if sensing the animosity coming from her, the inquisitor raised his eyebrow at her. His sharp, pale gaze studied her, then shifted toward the crowd. He smirked.
“Sem—? Miss Semras!” a voice called out, catching her attention. “What’s happening? Are you in trouble?”
A young man with curly black hair and strong shoulders waded out of the crowd to join her side, keeping up with the horses’ pace with hurried strides. Hands and hissed warnings tried to stop him, but he shrugged them off without glancing back. A worried frown marred his soot-stained face.
“Keran,” she said, smiling softly.
The blacksmith’s apprentice had always been so kind and polite, carrying heavy loads back to her home or offering to make her anything she needed. Once, he even brought her medicinal flowers, conveniently tied together by a small rope of hemp. Semras remembered excitedly thanking him with a kiss on the cheek, then running back home to hang them up to dry.
It soothed her wounded soul to see him step up when everyone else kept silent.
“I’m leaving for a short trip,” she continued. “I’ll be back before winter. Don’t worry, Keran, I’m just a guest of the inquisitor, nothing more.”
Inquisitor Velten laughed. “Lying again, hmm?”
Semras glowered at the obnoxious man. “How, exactly,am I lying now?”
“You are not coming back before winter, and you are much more than a ‘guest.’ I would go so far as to affirm he—whoever that peasant might be—should indeed worry.” The inquisitor looked down at Keran. “Is he your lover? I see you like them slovenly.”
The younger man vacillated between paling and blushing. “M’ster—um, I mean, my lord! I only have honourable intentions for our herbalist. She’s a good woman, that one. I’d never presume—” Keran walked faster, doggedly following the horses’ progression through the cobblestone streets. “Please, with all—with all due respect, Inquisitor, I don’t know why you’re taking Miss Semras away, but I swear upon my honour that she did no wrong!”
From the crowd, whispers grew into bolder voices, begging him not to anger the inquisitor. Hands shot out to grab the blacksmith’s apprentice, and he dodged them after tripping on his feet and regaining his balance.
Inquisitor Velten laughed mockingly, and the young man paled even further. “Is this what you told them?” he asked Semras. “That you were an ‘herbalist’?”
His mockery only stirred more mutterings from the crowd.
Witches were seldom welcomed amidst Deprived communities. Many still believed them to be dangerous pagans at best and vile servants of the Night at worst—especially the older folks, who still remembered a time when her people hadn’tyet dwindled into tales and legends. Most of these stories had cast her people as deceivers, tricking honest folks into witch Bargains by hiding their identity under false facades.
Semras looked around at the nervous faces of the crowd. She had lied to the villagers about her nature, yes, but not about her knowledge. Yet the inquisitor’s words had now cast doubt on her abilities.
It irritated her; she hadn’t studied medicinal plants for years only to now be called a quack. “Iamone,” she said, seething. “Isn’t that the reason you chose to consult me?”
“Among other reasons, yes.” Inquisitor Velten turned his attention to Keran. “I shall take your testimony into account, boy. Now leave us be, and do not interfere anymore with the Inquisition, or I shall take your life too. That also applies to the rest of you all.”
His chilling threat permeated the villagers. Forceful hands seized Keran and brought him back into the crowd, back into the sea of mistrust and rejection.
Semras didn’t look for him as they left the hamlet. Sentimentality was a futile instinct witches couldn’t afford for those who weren’t part of their world. She had almost forgotten it over the past year spent among the Deprived, only to be reminded most cruelly now of how she had never truly belonged among them.
Minutes of silent riding went by. The cobblestone road turned to dirt, and buildings grew sparser with each step that brought them further from the hamlet. A wilderness, gilded by the last of the autumn days, took over the space between them. Away from the crowd of the hamlet and their heavy stares, her mind lightened up—only to be immediately darkened by the inquisitor’s haunting words.
‘Among other reasons,’ he had said. It confused her.
When the column of men and horses joined a vast, trampled road, Semras broke the silence. “What other reasons are there?”
Ignoring her, Inquisitor Velten raised his arm in a signal to the company.
