Wolves Among Us(24)

Mia glanced back up. Bastion studied her as he spoke one last time.

“I will save the innocent and set the sinners free. Your time for deliverance has come. Do not be afraid.”

The woman in the cage stood up as far as she could, with straight legs and a bent back, and snapped her teeth at anyone who stared too long. She urinated as she did this, letting the urine flow down her leg, creating a path through the dirt that clung to her legs. She caught Mia’s eye and gnashed her yellow teeth at her. Mia screamed, burying her head in Bjorn’s vest again.

“Do not be afraid, my child.”

Mia looked up. Bastion stood in front of Bjorn, Bastion’s hand resting on her shoulder like that of a god. His power buzzed through the fabric of her sleeve, the warmth of his palm spreading across her body. His cold eyes met hers, and goose bumps rose on her flesh.

Bastion spoke to Bjorn, leaning his head at an angle as if to keep his words private.

“From your question, my friend, I am guessing that you are perhaps afflicted?”

Bjorn could not answer. Mia felt his body freeze.

“Our daughter is often sick,” Mia said. “But I attend Mass every day and love God. I try to please Him.”

Bastion nodded, not looking at her. He removed his hand from her shoulder and laid it instead on Bjorn’s. Mia’s shoulder turned cold, colder than before, all warmth lost.

Bjorn took a deep breath. “Is it true? A witch can do these things? I’ve never heard this before.”

Bastion grinned. “Hearing does not make a thing true. Even our belief does not make a thing true. Truth is actually quite indifferent to us. She cares little for what we think, and even less for what we think we know.”

Mia wanted to speak but pressed her lips together. Bjorn knew how sick Alma was. He could get this man to help her if he wanted to. She had to make him want to. She had to be a good wife right now.

“A witch can make a good man fall?” Bjorn asked. “She can make him suffer and sin, do things against his pure Christian will?”

“That is precisely their method, my friend.”

“Alma,” Mia whispered to Bjorn. “Ask him.”

“Alma? This is your daughter, yes?” Bastion seemed concerned.

Mia opened her mouth to explain, but Bjorn shushed her. “You say the Devil is responsible for Catarina’s murder, and her husband’s?”

Bastion watched Mia, frowning. “We should not discuss this in front of your sweet wife. Let us meet tonight at the church, with Father Stefan. We will take refreshment, and I will teach you what I know. My friend, if you have been troubled, you will be troubled no more.”

Mia’s stomach growled, catching Bastion’s attention. He betrayed nothing in his expression; she was not shamed. Mia smiled at him, and a slow smile spread across his face in response.





Chapter Eleven


The caged witch stared at Stefan, her lips wet from her tongue licking them repeatedly. His stomach turned as she stared at him. He couldn’t smell her from the porch of the church, but she made him sick just as if she were pressed up against his nose.

Bastion had left him and sent Bjorn home hours ago, just before 3:00 a.m. He said he was eager to brush out his cloak and wash his face. He was asleep in the dormitory that stood across the church garden. Stefan stayed behind to attend to make preparations for noon Mass, though the bell had not tolled 6:00 a.m. yet. Stefan’s head swam with Bastion’s words. Bjorn had stayed and sat with Stefan and Bastion, with a rare smile to let Stefan know he had been forgiven. Stefan wondered at the change coming over Bjorn, his sudden hope in the ways of God, as if hearing the truth for the first time. That wasn’t right—hadn’t Stefan’s Masses been enough for Bjorn to learn the truths of God?

Bastion had spoken of many things as both men listened. Women often became witches, he said, and witches did the work of the Devil.

“Satan spirits them away to celebrate the Sabbath,” Bastion had said, “by fornicating, and spitting on the bread of the Eucharist, and drinking the blood of children.”

“You’re saying witches can fly?” Stefan had asked, his eyebrows arched. He would not be made a fool, especially by a guest he had invited.

“I’m saying their master can carry them off wherever he wishes. As a priest, I am surprised you do not know this. Remember that the Devil spirited Jesus away to the top of a hill in the great temptation?”

True, Stefan nodded. He had been told that could be found in the Bible.

“Men, Scripture is clear: Witches exist. Like their master, the Devil, they can go anywhere at any time. And God demands we rid the earth of them. To deny any of these essentials is to deny Scripture, to deny God. Only a heretic denies God.”

Stefan replayed the words, finding no fault in them, only zeal. He stretched, picking up a rotted peel from the church steps. The church would be full in the afternoon, filled with everyone from the village who had heard Bastion last night and those who only heard his words repeated. They would be flowing out of the nave, pressing him further back into the choir, anxious for the wafers of the Host to be elevated and the bells to ring out announcing the presence of Christ through Communion as the morning sun pierced through the single rose window.

Stefan kept his mouth shut and took shallow breaths through his nose, desperate to keep the witch’s smell from sickening him. He should walk back in. But he had never seen such complete pollution, a woman living in death. She embodied every sin, every condemnation brought to life. He touched the cross at his neck, and fury flashed through her eyes. She howled, throwing back her head so the sound rose above them both into the black hours. Goose bumps raised on Stefan’s arms. A movement at the edge of the square caught his attention. He stared into the darkness but saw nothing. Someone had stood there watching him; he was sure of it.