The Passing (Chapters 7 & 8)

Chapter 7: Gran’s Journal

The small teak chest was on the nightstand, patiently waiting for whatever happened to it.

The lock refracted the candlelight, a mocking eye that followed our search. I was peeved by Atheron’s reluctance to break it open, but he was determined to exhaust every possibility first. That he was reluctant to use his strength also struck me as curious, and the brief flitting thoughts I had to question him about his past grew more insistent, but I pushed them aside for now.

Initially refusing his offer to help me, I changed my mind; he could reach places I couldn’t, as the rooms were designed for someone his height. Through all the clutter we created, I couldn’t imagine Gran really hiding anything from me.
The moon rose and filled the room with the familiar shadows, but we were determined to find something that led to what happened, and it was in the small hours of the morning that we finally did.
Hidden in Gran’s sewing basket was a journal, bound in worn, dark brown leather.           She never mentioned it.
I felt a small pang of disappointment. You trusted me with dark spirits that could snatch my soul, but not a journal, Gran?
Atheron picked up on my mood. “Maybe she would have told you if she had more time…”
I decided it wasn’t true, but I also decided not to argue the matter with him; the important thing now was to read through and see if there was anything that could actually be of use to me, or if this was just the meanderings of an old woman aware that her time was drawing to a close.
To the dread surprise of both of us, it was the story of the Purge.
We both read the first few lines that spoke of the king’s fear of magic.
“Do you want to read this now, Tina?”
I kept silent, took stock of myself, my emotions, my state of mind, and answered.
“I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep tonight. You’ve traveled today, so why don’t you go to bed. I’ll fill you in when we have breakfast.”
He nodded. “Very well.”
This was, and would be after all, my burden to bear.
We bade each other a good night, and he left.
I put the journal down, washed, and finally climbed into bed, adrenaline racing, seizing the journal, but taking a moment to look out at the stars before I opened it.
“I don’t know why you didn’t trust me with this, Gran. I’m hurt by that, but I have to believe it was because you wanted to spare me this burden.
“You gave me the greater portion of it, however, and in order to do what I need to do, I’ll need it all. I can’t go into this further without more knowledge. You understand.”
The room stayed silent, the air, still.
Sighing in exasperation and a flash of temper at her stubborn silence, I opened the journal to the tale she should have told me, and started reading.

Chapter 8: The Great Purge

      We named him King Jake the Craven, but while it was true he feared magic, he was not foolish in his attack on it.
     The Purge was not a massive battle of two sides facing each other with honor, but done as random attacks that targeted the vulnerable outskirts first, since there were no reliable means to warn those closer inside.
      His patrols ranged the forest day and night to ensure that.
     No one place was ever attacked repeatedly. The soldiers made sure the destruction was total, and the number and manner of deaths conveyed the king’s message.
     There were efforts to band together to counter them with magic, but he’d promised to spare the houses and families that aided his soldiers by working wards and counter-spells to keep both the soldiers and mercenaries safe.
      He paid them well too, and kept their identities secret.
     Not thinking of betrayal, we took no notice of the spies among us; everything seemed as it was. When we finally realized spies lived among us, it was too late.
     The Traitors Guild, as we called them, told him our plans.
     His campaign against us as successful, he turned on those very witches he used and killed them too, staking them along the forest roads, though it was rumored a few managed to escape.
     Tears flowed, and families were scattered. Those who’d lost all hope took their own lives rather than be hunted by royal death squads.
     Attempts at treaties were summarily dismissed, and the soil was soaked with blood while the air reeked with the screams and curses of the dying, and the scents of burning flesh and houses.
     Dodging the patrols, we appealed to the king’s Game Wardens, thinking to persuade them to our side to warn us. They didn’t turn us in, but fearing their own deaths, they wouldn’t be bribed.
     Our tracker and tracer spells were found and broken, and even the dark spirits failed us.  They’d put away the summoning spells somewhere sacred, warded, and sanctified by the most powerful clergy.
     We continue to search for the remnant of covens that may have escaped, that we might avenge our losses with their blood.

     Their fate and location, as of this writing, is unknown.

 

 

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