Chapter 1

 

The sun began to rise slowly, strengthening its grasp on the blue sky.

  The carriage trundled along through the English countryside, the driver taking in the beauty of the sunrise as his bones gradually began to warm.

   Inside the carriage sat a man, sound asleep, covered in a blanket of soft fur drawn up under his chin. The movement of the carriage over the uneven road barely caused him to stir. On the wooden seat beside him lay a letter, written in an elegant, sweeping hand.

  The carriage slowly rounded a corner and before it lay a small village that was slowly coming to life with the dawn. The driver urged the horses on and began the descent into the village.

                                                                    

After a few minutes the carriage came to a gradual stop in what appeared to be a village square of sorts. The driver jumped down and walked to the door of the carriage. Opening up, he gently shook the sleeping man.

“Mr. Lyttle sir,” the gentleman’s eyes opened slowly and he raised his head. “We’re here sir.”

“Very good Edwin, thank you,” he said, sitting up and rubbing his stiff neck.

“Shall I go and inquire after the priest sir?” Mr. Lyttle looked up and out through the open carriage door.

“Yes, you do that.”

“Very good sir,” Edwin repeated. With that he left, heading for a group of people gathered in the square, staring with obvious curiosity at the carriage.

  Lyttle removed the blanket from his lap and cast it into the corner. Then, picking up the letter and his wide-brimmed hat, he climbed out of the carriage and, smoothing down his clothes as he did so, looked around him.

   People were passing back and forth between buildings in an unusually large number for this early in the morning, though he knew the reason why.

 

Andrew Lyttle was a man from a fairly rich family, the second son of a nobleman in fact. At the age of fourteen he had been sent to live in a nearby monastery where the monks had taught him to read and write with the hope that one day he would take orders. When he was nineteen years of age, the great time of the witch hunts began to sweep across Europe, completely transforming the sixteenth century and forever altering the course of Andrew’s future, though he didn’t know it then. Andrew seized the opportunity to put his learning into practice and, despite the protests of the Abbot, left the confines of the monastery and travelled the continent, documenting the most auspicious witch trials.

  After seventeen years of near constant travelling, Andrew had received a letter from an old friend he had met whilst in the monastery who had now become a priest, detailing the events of a trial taking place in a small village near the East Coast of Northern England. The details of the trial described in the letter had both intrigued and puzzled Andrew as, having seen many trials in his time; he was beginning to doubt the existence of witches somewhat. So he had hastened to the village in order to see this unfortunate young woman for himself.

 

He read the letter again before folding it and placing it inside his breast pocket. He looked up as Edwin came walking back across the square towards him, accompanied by a man slightly older than Andrew wearing a long, grey, woollen cloak.

“Andrew!” He shouted as they embraced. “It’s been too long. I’m so glad you’ve come.”

“It’s good to see you too old friend,” Andrew replied. “You have no idea how your letter intrigued me.”

 “Ah, I thought it might. We actually have conclusive proof of witchcraft this time. Several locals saw her appear out of some sort of disturbance in the air, and she has changed herself into a bird. She doesn’t deny it either. It’s almost as if she thinks its normal behaviour.”

  “Well now, that is interesting,” Andrew mused.

“I’d be happy to take you to see her if you want to speak with her. She’s in the gaol at the moment.” Andrew laughed gently.

“Excellent idea, though I’d much rather you took me to a wash basin and a bowl of good hot porridge first, the same for my driver if you don’t mind, and perhaps somewhere for my horses to rest as well. It’s been a long journey.”

“Of course my friend,” the priest boomed. “Follow me good sirs.” He led them into a small tavern that opened out onto the square. There they found that separate quarters had already been arranged for them.

 They followed the innkeeper up the narrow wooden stairs and into their rooms. Andrew walked into his room to see that a steaming hot bath sat waiting for him in the centre. Without a moment’s hesitation he stripped off and lowered himself into the steamy water, letting the delicious heat wash over him as he laid his head back.

 

 

Once he’d cleaned himself up he went downstairs into the main inn where the priest was waiting for him with a bowl of hot porridge and a small flagon of beer. He sat down before the bowl and slid the beer across to Edwin, who was already tucking into his second bowl.

 “Still not a drinker?” The priest asked with a smile.

“Oh I drink, just not in the morning. Besides, a clear head is needed to hear what you have to say methinks.” He sat and ate his breakfast quickly then pushed the empty bowl away from himself.

  Andrew then removed a small piece of parchment from his pocket along with a quill and a small pot of ink.

“You don’t mind if I take notes whilst you speak do you?” he asked. The priest shook his head. “Very well, let’s start from the beginning. You said she appeared out of nowhere. When was this?”

  “About four weeks ago. It was the baker’s daughter that saw her. She’s always been a bit wild so nobody believed her at first. But then more and more people began to notice things.” Andrew wrote furiously to keep up with the priest’s dictation.

“What sort of things?” he asked absently as he finished a sentence.

“Well, she had an incredible knowledge of herbs and she used it to heal some of the village people that were falling ill. Also she was talking to animals, as if they could talk back.” Andrew looked at the priest, eyebrows raised in mild surprise.

“This is your evidence? There are countless cases like this. I thought you at least had something more substantial than using herbs. Any woman can use herbs to heal.”

“Just wait, Andrew.” The priest kept his voice level and patient. Andrew sighed and sat back, folding his arms across his chest. The priest ignored the gesture and continued.

“About a week ago, I was walking through the forest just outside the village, where she reportedly appeared. I was working on my sermon for the morning mass when I heard a fluttering of wings. I didn’t think anything of it and carried on. I walked through to a clearing and I heard the wings again, then I turned round and she was there. She was standing there, brushing feathers off her clothes and muttering to herself. I hid behind a tree so that she wouldn’t see me. I then saw her raise her hand and mutter something to herself and some sort of blue light came forth from her palm and it felt like a great gust of wind had just blown past. Then she walked off back to the village.

“I was so taken aback by what I’d just seen that I must have stood there a full ten minutes before I even thought of moving. When I got back to the village I called together the people that had come to see me about her and I told them what I had seen. Apparently several other people have seen similar things. One woman even saw her physically changing her form into that of a great bird, the likes of which fly through the mountains north of here.

“Trust me Andrew, I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes. I’m not even sure I believe it now. We trialled her of course and she’s been found guilty. She’s to burn this morning. I thought I would call you here to write about it though. People have the right to know what a threat the Devil and his witches are posing to us all.” Andrew sat as still as he had for the past few minutes before he leaned forward and scribbled furiously on the parchment before him.

After a few minutes he looked up at the priest.

“You said she is to be burnt this morning?” the priest nodded slowly. “Where is she now?”

“She’s in the gaol.” He replied simply.

“I must go and see her. I must talk to her, see for myself.” The priest nodded again.

“Follow me,” he said, getting to his feet and heading out of the door. Andrew gathered up his things and hurried after him.

  The priest led him out of the inn and across the square to a large stone building. He took Andrew inside, and down some stairs into a long corridor lined with small cells, each with great doors of iron bars.

 They walked to the cell right at the very end which was being guarded by two young men armed with pikes and with swords attached to their belts.

  Andrew looked into the cell and what he saw filled his heart with pity.

 

There, sitting in the centre of the floor, hugging her knees, her face stained with tears and dirt, sat the prettiest young girl Andrew had ever seen. She couldn’t have been more than fifteen though her figure was full and womanly, even when sitting. Her dress was torn and tattered and her bare feet were blistered. Her long, golden hair hung, knotted and flecked with bits of straw, around her shoulders.

 The priest noticed the look of shock on Andrew’s face.

“She doesn’t look like much, but she’s a witch through and through,” said one of the guards. “And she’ll burn for it.”

The young girl broke out into a fresh round of sobbing that nearly broke Andrew’s heart.

“That’s quite enough,” said the priest sharply to the young man. He turned to Andrew.

“I’d like to speak with her alone,” Andrew said quietly, his eyes never leaving the girl’s.

 “Andrew, I can’t allow that,” the priest said, his brow furrowed with concern. “You don’t know what she’s capable of.” Andrew smiled at his friend.

“I promise I won’t let her enchant me. Besides, if your men take the keys with them, there’s no way I can free her, is there?” The priest seemed to consider this carefully then, nodding reluctantly, turned and left, motioning for the guards to follow.

 

Once they were gone and Andrew was certain they were alone, he pulled up one of the guard’s wooden stools and sat facing the girl. The girl shrank back further into her cell at this, her face a mask of fear.

 “Don’t be afraid child; I have no wish to hurt you. I just want to talk to you that is all.” The girl seemed to relax a little at his assurances, though she was still visibly wary of him.

 “Can you understand me?” he spoke softly so as not to seem threatening. The girl nodded and she shivered slightly as a breeze blew down on her from the window in her cell.

“My name is Andrew. I’m a writer. I travel around writing about trials like yours.” He paused to check for a reaction, there was none. The girl sat, almost unnaturally still, staring at him with wide, innocent eyes.

“I’ve seen a lot of cases like this where people say that someone is a witch. A lot of the time it’s not true. Usually the people make the victim confess to things that aren’t true. Is this what has happened here child? Have they forced you to confess?” The girl shook her head quickly at this question. Andrew sighed softly.

“Can you speak at all child?” The girl looked at the floor for a moment and Andrew sighed again. Then, suddenly, she spoke. Her voice floated over to him, soft and light as air and with a resonance and authority dictating an age that was at odds with how she looked.

    “I can speak in many tongues sir.” Andrew sat up straight in shock. “They did not force to me to confess, for I have not done so. I have not needed to.”

  Andrew thought over this for a moment and then jumped to the most logical conclusion.

  “You must then have gotten through the trials I’m sure they put you through.” The girl shook her head again, though more slowly this time.

 “I have not been put through any trials sir. To confess is to admit to a wrong-doing or sin. I am guilty of neither thus I have not needed to confess anything.”

Andrew was now more than a little confused, so he decided to move on with the conversation now that he was getting a response.

  “What have you to say to the instances of witchcraft they have charged you with?”

“I do not deny it,” she said simply. Andrew was slightly taken aback by this answer. This was not at all how he had anticipated this conversation to go. The girl noticed the puzzled look on his face and laughed quietly, startling him out of his momentary reverie.

“I do not deny it for I have used magic all my life. I use magic, I was created by magic. I am magic.” She stretched her arm out, with her hand palm down, in front of her. Beneath her hand the straw and dirt on the floor began to move around in circles until some began to lift off the floor and form part of a tiny cyclone before her. Andrew’s eyes opened wide and he held his breath as she closed her palm and the dust settled around her again.

“You may breathe again now Mr. Lyttle,” she said softly. Andrew looked at her in a mixture of both wonder and horror.

He quickly blessed himself automatically, his eyes, wide with shock, never once leaving her face.

  “So you see sir, I do not deny it. And now it is your turn to answer my questions Mr. Lyttle,” she said, slowly, her voice quiet but clearly audible. “Why am I being kept here against my will and tortured for this?”

“Magic is the work of the devil, and witches are his consorts.” The lesson which had been drilled into him for so many years came straight to his tongue without hesitation.

 “I am nobody’s consort, nor do I know this Devil you speak of, though I have heard of him in your churches and from your preacher.”

“Who…what are you?” Andrew asked his voice barely above a whisper.

“I am a who, not a what, so you were correct initially. I am a being from another plane of existence from which my sister and I are fleeing for our lives. I became separated from her and managed somehow to find myself here. Though I can promise you, after this reception I shall not be passing this way again.” Andrew found himself snorting with laughter at her last words and she smiled in return.

  For some reason he found himself liking this young woman (as he now thought of her, as she was clearly not a girl except for in outward appearances) and that confused him a little.

 “I don’t pretend to understand what you’ve just told me, and, though I have seen for myself that you are a witch, and what you can do-“

“That is barely a fraction of my abilities I assure you Mr Lyttle,” she interrupted.

“I believe you. But for some reason I cannot bring myself to believe you malevolent or think that you would use your powers to wilfully harm anyone. That is what scares me.” She cocked her head to one side and looked at him with curiosity.

“Why does this scare you Mr. Lyttle?”

“Because it’s making me doubt that persecuting witches is right, thus making me second guess my own beliefs. Also,” he added, as an afterthought, “you keep addressing me as Mr Lyttle, yet I never told you my full name.”

“Your name was easy to collect from you. It is at the fore of your mind always as it is part of your identity.”

“You can see inside my mind?” His jaw dropped as he contemplated what that meant.

“I can, though I do not like to, I feel it is an invasion of one’s privacy. Now, if you would be so kind as to tell me what your friend the priest intends to do with me, I would be grateful.” An image immediately came to Andrews’s mind of a woman whose trial he had been present at only two months ago, burning at the stake, screaming. The girl furrowed her eyebrows and a glimmer of fear passed momentarily over her face.

“Ah,” she said. “That is the punishment for being a witch.” It wasn’t a question, though Andrew answered anyway.

“I’m afraid so.” She nodded. “Look, if there was anything I could do, believe me-” She raised her hand to silence him.

“I understand.  You would suffer the same fate if you tried anything?” Andrew nodded. “Then I would not wish you to.” She sighed and Andrew looked at the floor.

“The priest is getting ready to return,” she said after a moment. “He feels you have had long enough and wants to make sure you are safe.”

“I am so sorry,” Andrew whispered. She smiled. He stood up to leave then a thought occurred to him.

“Wait, I don’t know your name. I can’t believe I didn’t ask.” Just as he said this, the priest came through the doorway slowly, as if dreading what he might discover had happened to his friend. He beamed widely at Andrew and beckoned for him to come as the two guards came in behind him and resumed their position either side of the cell.

  As Andrew began to walk out, he was certain he heard her voice whisper in his head.

“I am Elgai, and your kindness will be remembered, Andrew Lyttle.” He turned to look at her and she was staring directly at him, smiling as the priest steered him out of the gaol by his shoulders.

 

 

Andrew walked in a daze as the priest kept pace beside him, chattering. Before he realised what was happening he found himself standing before a large mound consisting of bundles of wood with a large pole rising up from the centre towards the sky. Cold dread filled him as he recognised the place of execution and he thought of Elgai in her cell. His mind still whirled with what she had told him and his own thoughts, feelings and doubts so that he barely noticed the crowd assembling all around him and he didn’t react as the priest ascended a small stone platform behind the stake.

  He turned and pushed back through the crowd, attempting to put enough distance between him and the stake. He knew deep down that he couldn’t let her die, it wasn’t right. But at the same time, he knew that if he tried to help he would be killed as well.

He was so deep in thought as he walked away from the crowd that he wasn’t looking where he was walking and as a result he collided with someone walking in the opposite direction.

“Sorry,” he mumbled as he regained his balance. He felt a hand reach out for his shoulder and help him straighten up.

“That’s perfectly alright sir.” It was a woman’s voice, soft but with an undertone of power. It sounded strikingly similar to Elgai’s voice. He looked up in shock only to see a figure in a long, blue, hooded cloak walking away from him towards the crowd.

  His wonderment was interrupted by a chorus of jeers and catcalls from the crowd as the gaol opened and the two guards emerged, practically dragging Elgai behind them.

  Seeing the distress on her face as she looked up at the stake, Andrew made up his mind.

 He turned and ran back to his carriage, still parked in the square, and, reaching inside, pulled out his sword and a bow and arrow. Even though he had always been a peaceful man, Andrew had learnt how to fight and hunt when he was a boy, and he was good at it. He hadn’t got a plan, but it didn’t matter. There was no way he was going to stand by and watch as they killed this woman.

 

He ran back towards the crowd as they stood her next to the stake and tied her hands above her head to a metal ring attached to the pole. The priest began to shout out her charges as the tears ran freely down her already dirty face. A guard came up around the left side of the crowd holding a burning torch and stood next to the pyre, waiting for the priest’s command.

 

As the priest raised his hand to motion for the guard to light the fire, Andrew nocked his bow.

He shouted out and aimed the bow at the rope just below the metal ring. The crowd in front of him scattered, screaming. The priest looked down at him in shock, his hand poised in mid air as Andrew loosed the arrow and it struck home, cutting the rope and freeing Elgai’s hands.

 She went to run forward but the guard holding the torch hit her with the butt end, knocking her back against the pole. She hit her head hard and her body slumped onto the pyre.

Andrew cried out, his voice joined by another’s in the crowd. Before he had time to look around for the source, the guard holding the torch threw it onto the pyre which caught on quickly, shooting flames up into the sky and begun creeping ever closer to Elgai’s unconscious form.

The guard drew his sword and rushed towards Andrew, who drew his own sword and raised it so it connected with the guards with a loud clang.

 He threw his attacker off and hit him over the head with the butt of his sword, knocking him clean out.

 He heard a shout behind him and, turning saw another guard stood stock still, his face a mask of agony. He fell to the floor and, standing behind him, holding a bloody dagger, stood the hooded figure.

  Another yell made him turn back around to face the pyre, where Elgai had regained consciousness and was screaming as the flames began to lick at the edge of her gown.

The cloaked figure put an arm on Andrew’s shoulder.

“Go and get her, I’ll hold these off.” He looked around him and saw several guards running towards them.

“But…” he stammered, at a loss for words.

“GO!” the figure shoved him forwards. He kept his balance and ran forward as fast as he could.

He cleared the steps up onto the platform and, knocking the stunned priest out of the way, he leapt clear over the flames and into the centre of the pyre.

  “Mr Lyttle,” Elgai’s voice was barely a whisper, hoarse with fear.

 Andrew removed his cloak and wrapped it around her. Picking her up and holding her in his arms, he jumped through the flames. She fell out of his arms with a scream and they both fell to the floor and rolled. Andrew stood up first and began to stamp out the edge of her dress which had caught fire.

   He looked up as the cloaked figure swept down beside Elgai and, taking her in its arms, stood up again. Elgai wrapped her arms around the figure’s neck with a sigh of relief. The figure turned to Andrew, the hood still shrouding the face in shadows, although he was certain it was a woman.

“Get behind me!” it commanded him. Andrew didn’t move, confusion and fear covering his face, “Now! And prepare to move when I tell you to!”

 Andrew shook himself and, rushing forward, stood behind her, his heartbeat thudding in his head. The figure muttered something under its breath and suddenly Andrew saw what appeared to be a jet of air shoot forward from her, knocking the guards and several bystanders to the ground.

 “Now! Run!” They turned and bolted back towards Andrew’s carriage.

 “Get on a horse,” the figure commanded. Andrew jumped up onto the closest one to him. As soon as he was secure, he reached down to take Elgai, placing her on the saddle in front of him. The figure then redrew her sword and, with one swing, cut the horses loose from the carriage.

“Go!” she commanded. Andrew dug his knees in and the horse bolted forward.

  He looked back as he heard the clash of metal on metal. Two guards had arisen and lunged at his companion. She threw them both off and leapt up on the horse, spurring it on after Andrew.

  Together they galloped as fast as they could towards a nearby forest, only looking back to check they weren’t being followed as the darted into the cover of the trees.

 

Once they had safely dismounted, he checked to see if Elgai was alright as the other woman drove the horses away.

As he turned around however, he felt cold steel against his neck. Swallowing hard he looked up at the cloaked figure along the shaft of a sword with its point pressed to his throat.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you now.” The voice issuing from the hood was now harsh and slightly gravely. A cold dread passed over Andrew.

“No! Eleyn, no!” Elgai ran forward and knocked the sword out of the way. Andrew took the opportunity to get swiftly to his feet. Elgai placed herself between Andrew and the figure.

“Out of my way Elgai,” the figure hissed, its voice even.

“No, I won’t let you, He saved my life. I’d be dead now if it wasn’t for him.”

“You and I both know that’s not true,” the figure said sharply, but it lowered the sword all the same. Elgai relaxed and turned to smile at Andrew.

“You have to forgive my sister, she’s not very trusting.” Andrew looked from her, to the figure, which, with an almost lazy gesture, reached up and flicked back the hood to reveal the face of woman, similar in looks to Elgai, though clearly a little older, crowned with long blonde hair streak with red-gold highlights that caught the sun. Andrew was shocked by the appearance of this woman. There was something about her that caught and held his attention, though what, he couldn’t place. She seemed to exude an air of authority and power. Her eyes showed the same allusion to great age that Elgai’s did, though hers were tinged with a melancholy that it wrenched at his heart to see.

“It seems I owe you my sister’s life,” her voice was a lot softer this time. “I am Eleyn.” She stepped forward and offered a pale hand ornamented with a ring holding a blue stone. He noted that she also wore a matching necklace, containing what appeared to be a different part of the exact same stone.

He took her hand and, bending down, softly kissed it.

 “Andrew Lyttle, at your service my lady.” He looked up, smiling as he heard Elgai trying to stifle a giggle. Eleyn looked vaguely surprised at his gesture as she withdrew her hand. She took a playful swing at Elgai, who was trying her best not to laugh at her sister’s reaction.

  “Well,” Eleyn sighed, “it seems the three of us are fugitives now.” She looked from Elgai to Andrew. “That is, if you wouldn’t mind travelling with us? At least until we find some place of relative safety, that isn’t a forest?” She raised her eyebrow at him.

“I would be honoured.” She smiled graciously as she turned and led the way through the forest they had materialised in, beckoning for the other two to follow.

Elgai looked at Andrew and smiled. Then she took his hand and pulled him after her, smiling.

 

Andrew thought as he walked about what had happened. He knew now that he was on the run from his friends and indeed the whole Catholic Church. They probably now believed him to be in league with the Devil and the witches. Yet, looking at Elgai walking beside him, chattering gaily, and at Eleyn ahead, who turned every so often to glance at them both, he felt as though that didn’t matter. For some reason he felt safe with them. He knew now that, whatever the future would bring, his path lay with them, whatever that would mean.

The thought comforted him greatly, and he uttered a silent prayer of thanks to God.

 

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