Wolves Among Us(45)

Erick ran down the aisle to him. “Father? What’s happened?”

“Don’t go outside.”

“Why? What’s happening?”

“Bastion has authorized Bjorn to arrest more women. He’s bringing them into the jail for interrogation.”

“Women from our village?”

“Yes. I think so.”

“Are you going to stop him?”

“I don’t know how. Everything he says sounds right to my ears. But not to my spirit.”

Erick lowered himself to sit next to Stefan on the floor. “You think he’s wrong?”

“Yes.”

“Praise God. I thought I was the only one.” Erick rubbed his palm across his forehead, then through his hair. “What are you going to do?”

Stefan’s chest hurt as if crushed from all sides by a heavy weight, a malicious embrace he could not escape. He was confused beyond all hope of reason. For every action he thought seemed right, his mind shouted five reasons it was wrong.

The door behind their backs thundered and shook as Dame Alice first tried to swing the doors open, then began beating against them with her fists.

“Father Stefan! I know you’re in there! Come out and help those women!”

“I don’t know what to do!” he shouted through the door, then looked at Erick and spoke quietly. “I was never taught about witches, or women, or how to tell lies from truths. I don’t know any prayers for this. What should I pray? Deliver these people from my stupidity?”

“It’s a start.” Erick’s face offered no compassion.

“Erick!”

A shadow at the window caught Stefan’s eye. Dame Alice was trying to peer in through the cheap, muddy glass, looking for him.

Erick grabbed him by the shoulder to get his attention. “I know two things about God, two things you have taught me. He is a Father. And He is a Savior. I have never had a real father, but I imagine that a real father, a real savior, doesn’t wait for his children to say the right words when they are hurting. He would throw his arms around them, wanting to save them. Why is it not enough for you just to cry out to Him? Why do you depend so much on what you say, place all your trust in words instead of His heart?”

“Words are all I have as a priest. Those words are who I am.”

Dame Alice knocked on the glass. “You can’t hide! You must act!”

Stefan stood. “Please get rid of her. I need time to think.”



With Bjorn asleep for hours, his heavy breathing unbroken, Mia set out. Margarite and Alma had dozed off in the early afternoon, just after the noon meal, and Mia could wait no longer.

Though the sun burned bright, she took care on the winding uneven path through the forest. Low-lying birds’ nest pines were always a cause for stumbling, and the moss could hold the night rain and be slippery at any hour. Still, she moved with good speed, feeling her spirits lift again when she walked through a portion of the path lit by the sun. Mia had had enough of darkness. She did not relish those portions of the path that made the journey difficult.

At last the town square and church were within view. Mercifully, Dame Alice was not on her steps. Mia surveyed the house freely now. Mia had tried to walk where the old crow couldn’t see her. She did not want to be invited inside to eat. When Mia came to this village she wanted to forget who she had been, why she was broken. Dame Alice pried too hard too often. Mia did not trust herself to stay strong if Dame Alice fed her and spoke kindly to her. An unearned kindness might destroy the hard shell she had built around her heart. Mia knew that such kindnesses, and Alma, were her only weaknesses.

Mia saw the caged witch sleeping on her straw. A group of people stood across the street from the church, each peering at something in the jail through its windows. Mia paid them no mind. She had no time for curiosity. She wished they had slipped the cover back over the witch.

Heaving open the wooden church doors, she removed her head scarf and inhaled the perfumed air, the scent of burning wicks and incense, of the oiled wood altar and fresh straw on the floor. Stefan was removing his outer robes. He must have finished Mass. Mia had missed it, one more sin she would have to atone for.

He froze when he saw her. He did not look pleased.

“Father Stefan?” she asked. “May I speak to you?”

“I am busy,” he said, folding his robe and smoothing out the wrinkles. “You can stay and pray, but I must attend to my work.”

“I will not take but a moment. Please?”

“Is it confession?”

“No. It is not confession. I need help.”

“What help can I give you, Mia?” Stefan raised his voice. “Why can you not solve your own problems? I can offer confession, I can offer Mass, I can offer sacraments. But these are never enough for you, are they? What could I possibly help you with?”

Mia burst into tears. She didn’t mean to, and she wanted nothing more than to stop, but she felt like a small, stung child with no mother to run to. No one wanted to help her except the one man whose help she should refuse.

“Sit,” he said, groaning, flinging his hand at a bench. Mia sat.

He sat down an arm’s length away.

“What is it, my child?” he asked in a brittle voice.

“I think I am bewitched.”