Eaters of Witches

IX.Eaters of Witches

Laionne had a habit of answering her own questions, even before asking them. After she had recovered in her grandiose but sombre bed at Cerulea Castle, her lips imparted one such pre-answered query, rather than words of thanks or a greeting.

“When your flesh had burst into flames, you weren’t casting a new spell. No, it isn’t to say that I haven’t been suspecting it, and yet… When near me, you clad your skin in imperceptible armour, don’t you? To burn away my curse.”

Sucking air through my teeth as I sat by her side on a bed-adjacent chair, I struggled for a moment to decide whether I should confirm or brush off her accusation, though attempting so would do no good. I hadn’t been ashamed of the act on its own; but; neither had I been wholly bereft of guilt, for the whole explanation embarrassed me a ton. Nobody would find it easy to say, “Yes, I came up with a specialised barrier—all so I could nab a lucrative commission upon hearing of your plight.”

The best retort I could muster materialised as an uncertain, “Um—“

“—Don’t worry, Niccolina. You didn’t offend me.” Sensing my unease at admitting to my self-perceived sin, she cut me off and reassured me. “In fact, I find it surprising you would go so far for my sake, whatever the intention.” She adjusted her posture, tossing over to face me with her chin still covered by the blanket. “In pursuit of the Great Work, an alchemist must purge harmful impurities in a step called leucosis. I’d say you’ve done great work in that regard, I commend you.”

“Nh. Hold on, was that a joke?” I tapped my forehead with a finger, leaning my head back as I submersed myself in thought. Laionne would take me at my word no matter what I said, not to mention she would gladly accept even the worst of truths without allowing her opinion of me to drop. She’d declare that I had changed since then, or that I didn’t want to admit my own selflessness at the time, but… was that alright? Had it really been fine—for Laionne to continually hurt herself for the sake of a selfish girl who had sought to exploit her—when I lacked the bravery to own up to it? Unable to convince myself of either possible answer, I latched onto the first interesting thing I had caught instead. “So, what would the Great Work be in this scenario? If there’s steps, they’ve gotta lead somewhere.”

“Love, perhaps?” She pondered aloud, in a tone unbothered by the powerful word she had just uttered. At any other time, with any other person, I would have felt the urge to berate the messenger of such an unabashed notion; my eyes might’ve shot wide open; I probably would’ve bitten my tongue in a struggle to issue any kind of protest; and yet; I sat without moving or producing a sound, with only a bead of sweat slowly dripping down the side of my face. I had never considered it before. Laionne may have simply been learning how to joke, but undeniably, I had been spending all of my time by her side. Just like in that moment. I always observed the tiny changes in her expression, unknown to any other; I brushed and trimmed her hair; we learned together; I made my reports; we spent day and often night in the company of the other; and; I comforted her when she suffered, stroking her locks to wipe away the pain. Until then, I had never thought of it as intimate, but could it be denied that we had been exchanging warmth? All around us, the world flirted with cruelty more often than not. We had only each other, and since I’d never betray Laionne, and she would never fully disavow her fear, we would have nothing more. My eyelids drooped; I bit into the edge of my mouth as a guilty blush washed over my cheeks.

“Lai-o… Do you really think that?”

“. . .”

She didn’t respond. Her breaths came in slow order, and an occasional shiver stemming from her lungs rocked her upper body, causing tufts of hair to cascade down her features, getting stuck on her nose. For the first time in ages, I couldn’t read her at all. The absent look in her eyes struck me as terribly alien, leaving me with confused thoughts and no recourse, like a child unsure of whether it had pleased or offended its parents. The tension existing solely in my head threatened to cause it to explode, so I sought a way out in awkward laughter.

“Haha… ah. My report, right?” I scrambled. “You slept for a while, and there’s something, um…”

Gripping it pressed against my knees, my fingers were wrapped around a wrinkled bunch of parchment. It was the worst kind of commission, a clear message from the Church of Excision about the height of regard they held us in. Once a witch became useless or uncooperative, she would be deemed a threat, regardless of any sin she might’ve actually committed. The mere concept of an uncontrolled witch went against the whims of humanity, and so… ‘good’ witches like us had to prove their worth by hunting them down. Sometimes Inquisitors would manage it first, but they were ultimately assassins. One could consider them like lions. If their initial ambush failed, they would usually return empty-handed, or not return at all—and due to the failure of those bastards, I had to force this repulsive “duty” unto a kind girl who hated conflict.

“We are to eliminate the Dragon Witch,” I delivered the news unhappily. “She’s been rampaging through Galeas ever since an ambush by the Church, with a small retinue of soldiers. They’re a mix of loyalists and mercenaries; the emissary said she’s a descendant of Qiyu royalty or something. She’s headed to Culanngor. We’re supposed to intercept her before she gets there.”

Laionne stirred, sitting up on the edge of the bed, letting the blanket drop onto the floor with her movement. The inscrutable blankness of her expression faded, replaced by a subtle but clearly bothered tilt to her eyebrows. She prodded for further information.

“Culanngor, I’m not familiar.”

“It’s a dried-up mining town of some sort, not very important.” I recalled the briefing offered to me, though the details were blurry. I had found it difficult to listen very carefully, given the grimness of the task.

“Then why is she marching on it? The Qiyu hardly ever seek to paint targets on their backs, or so I’ve heard.” Her words were mumbled into fingers pressed against her mouth.

“All I know is she’s seriously obsessed, and the royal army can’t be bothered to do anything about it. Roue Galeas is their stupid country, shouldn’t they defend it?”

“No,” Laionne rebutted, “It’s favourable that the task be left to us. Like with Ayenna, I should be able to—“

“—Laionne, this is different.” I interrupted her. Instinctually, I understood what she had wanted to accomplish. We couldn’t just let the Dragon Witch walk free though, no matter what understanding we might’ve come to. If we failed to carry out the commission, we would be stripped of rights or declared heretics, and Laionne would be hurt. It was the perfect, horrible trap. We would either prove our loyalty by murdering our own kind, or be hunted down alongside them. “There’s nothing we can do. I’ll deliver the final blow, so… don’t stop being kind, just bear with it until the Heavens change.”

My dear friend—whose heart I desperately wished to protect—shook her head in strong disapproval. “It is unbecoming of a witch to point her staff at another. You’ve taught this to me, and I shall teach it to the Dragon Witch. We cannot hope for the Heavens to change if we refuse to move the Earth. I’d like to believe that the world can be kind. In order to atone for the harm of my existence, I shall strive to make it so.”

“Laionne… c’mon, that’s just—!” I truly, utterly wanted to protest, but I was stunned by the determination gleaming in her eyes. Her will and good heart were unbending, and the path she walked she did without doubt. In that instant, her spirit had rubbed off on me. Rather than trying to talk her out of it, I wanted to trust her and walk alongside her, to thaw the coldness of the world with kindness like at Ridge Point. Even if it were to be unfair, surely, piece by piece, the Earth would be reassembled, and the Heavens would follow. It was a precious sentiment, more precious than a brilliant gemstone. It was also similarly brittle, and anyone who owned it would be met with the scorn of those who didn’t. Such was the world in truth.

Yet in the moment I ignored that, smiling weakly.

“There’s a carriage waiting for us beyond the bridge, they want us to be on time.” I chuckled and followed with a resigned exhale, standing up from the chair. Offering Laionne my hand, I pulled her to her feet on the cold floor, helping her prepare for the new journey ahead. After she was dressed and tidy, we left behind the castle, the courtyard and the basalt land-bridge, and gracefully descended to the mainland, where a dark, imposing horse-drawn carriage stood idly by on an otherwise picturesque shore. There were gulls circling and squawking overhead, casting their incessant shadows over a stony beach, sometimes diving for a clam or resting in the patches of grass and flowers strewn haphazardly around. As I climbed up first into the open compartment of the tall carriage, I saw one of the birds breaking through the shell of a clam with a strike of its beak, a sight which for some reason disturbed me. Snapping away from it, I helped Laionne board as well (though as serious as always, it was funny watching her trip over herself in repeated steps, trying and failing to ascend.) We had greeted the grimly armoured coachman beforehand, but were offered naught but his echoey breathing in turn. Not wanting to spoil our moods so soon, we hadn’t insisted on proper courtesy, instead enjoying the rare luxury of not travelling on foot.

As the two black horses—decorated with red-and-gold caparisons bearing Church insignia, and painted chaffrons ending with bird-bills—strode by the shoreline and into the countryside, we sat engrossed in the passing scenery. Travelling by carriage provided the benefit of pure leisure, allowing us to merely observe the sights outside the barred quarter light, rather than tire our legs and drain our stomachs. We passed through wealds and the outskirts of towns, following the direction of the early afternoon Sun. Sometimes one of us would speak up, pointing out a curiosity like a family of animals or an old, mossy statue, or recall a location we had previously visited, such as a rural town renowned for its bread. Our minds were still at ease, assured of a victorious resolution to come. Recounting how I had gotten back at some arrogant richling, by toppling him from his horse on a road similar to the one we were taking, I laughed, and even Laionne found it humorous in retrospect. We rode like this for a long time, until the carriage halted unexpectedly.

“What in damnation?” We vaguely heard the voice of the coachman. Laionne shot into alertness, and I immediately pressed my face against the thick bars of the quarter light, attempting to see as much as I could. Our mysterious driver had hopped from his seat to the clink of armour, drawing a long dagger kept at his side. Pried away from his role, he could barely be distinguished from an Excision Inquisitor, save for the shorter beak on his lead-painted helmet. Starting to sweat as I watched him creep towards an unseen target, I noticed a misshapen lump in a bush to our right. The lump had three limbs all entangled in the branches of the shrub, and a fourth lying separately a few steps away. I gulped. Like a painter imitating autumn, the crimson ink seeping from that lump had tainted both the bush and the grass, and had permeated leaf with copper in both image and smell. Disgusting. Even if it wore the armour of the Church, I couldn’t bear to see it.

“Lai-o. Don’t—Don’t look.” I warned, holding back an incoming heave. Just then, a deafening thud rang out from somewhere in front of the carriage—my blind spot—a layered sound of metal crushing metal, before tearing through flesh.

“Stop getting killed, damn you! You there, help us!” An unknown person commanded. I heard him barking indistinct orders, invigorating several rapid footfalls into motion. Then came more steel clashing, horrible shrieks and blood splattering. My breathing intensified.

“Fuck this!” Refusing to remain a sitting duck, I kicked open the door at my side, nearly tumbling out of the carriage. Landing on my feet, I summoned my staff and dashed to the front of the vehicle. I pointed my weapon carelessly ahead, surveying my surroundings with frantic glances every which way, unable to solve the puzzle of the troubles we faced—for as far as I could distinguish, only allied pieces stood with their swords raised on high, raining down blows upon one another. In the middle of this self-flagellating congregation, a lone junior inquisitor wielded a massive great-sword. He wielded it against a flock of his own, about a dozen of his seniors, who, unlike him, had earned the right to don their beaked helmets, whilst his face hid only behind a veil of fabric. Each strike of that terrifying weapon sent a mewling crow of the Church broken to the ground, slowly reducing their murder to an unseemly corpse-pile. They were entirely helpless. At once, three ravens rushed with curved blades asoar, poised to rend through their prey in an overwhelming attack… but their barrage failed to connect. Right before impact, a violet flash had reverted all of the momentum from their swings, sending their arms twisted shooting behind their backs, whipping so violently their tendons must’ve snapped. That’s when I noticed a second presence hiding behind the junior inquisitor—a young witch shorter than Laionne.

Without hesitation, the witch-aided traitor lowered his stance, and warping his body into a powerful upward lunge, he swung his great-sword like a blunt chunk of metal. Still reeling from the pain of having their arms dislodged, the assaulting inquisitors were beheaded, bisected and lost their legs at the knees in the order they stood from left to right. Each body sunk into the grass in its respective, severed halves. Blood and gore flowed freely.

“Haha… I’m gonna be sick.” I laughed as I felt bile flooding my throat. However, the worst shock chilled my spine only when I heard footsteps softly crunching at my side. Laionne had followed me to investigate. She had never seen death with her compassionate eyes up-close, and the calibre of carnage…

“You! You brought more blasted witches?!” The leading inquisitor shouted, presumably at our driver who had moved to join their flock. “You’re a traitor just like him! Heretics! Witches! I’ll drag you to Hell myself—!”

Before he could finish ranting, his head flew loose of his neck, battered away by the flat of a rampaging great-blade. The rogue inquisitor had taken notice of us. He turned to face us, allowing the attacks of his enemies to be diverted by the violet witchcraft of his companion. It was a ridiculous display lacking in reality. While the two of them idled unmoving, the raven-knights of Excision pummelled at the air over and over, attempting to carve their way through whatever barrier prevented them from slaughtering their enemy. Their arms would flail wildly once repulsed; some would even drop to the dirt, clutching their shoulders or elbows; and eventually only three would remain, the wisest who surrendered their misguided plan of action. I wondered why the man had stopped cutting them down and refused to move a hair—until I noticed that Laionne had drawn her staff, and was actively pointing it between him and the witch.

“Enough. I knew your soul would be clouded. These men are powerless against you. There’s no need for your brutality, Dark Saint. Let’s lay down our arms and talk.” Laionne spoke sternly, but strength always proved meaningless against an impenetrable wall. Though I loathe to admit it, she was in no position to make demands.

"If you lack the conviction to slay these men, then stay your hand—and make peace with the loss of your petals. This world shall reap you with its scythe." In the midst of delivering his sermon, the Dark Saint grabbed the head of an exhausted inquisitor. He was tall and strong enough to lift the poor sod into the air, pressing the tip of the great-sword against his abdomen with his other hand.

“Enough I said.” Genuine anger distorted Laionne’s voice. “Put him down, or I shall engage you.” Her hands were trembling, and she very hesitantly shifted her staff to meet the direction of the Saint. In spite of her declaration, no mana flowed from her fingers. From behind his fathomless veil, the former inquisitor stared at Laionne, and with a steady hand pierced his weapon through his hostage’s stomach. Armour creaked and fibres of flesh split apart, but Laionne had failed to react. He was mocking her. Defiling her will. I couldn’t stand it. I seriously, utterly could not stand it.

“The hell do you think you’re doing?! She just asked you to calm down!” I barged forward, taking heavy, enraged steps towards the man, anger frothing at the twisted contours of my mouth. “Do you think she wanted—needed to see that?! Why do you animals always resort to murder?!”

“Stay back,” a gentle, androgynous voice called out to me. In that same instant, I was blinded by a flash of violet, and when my eyes opened again I found myself turned on my heel, facing Laionne instead of the Saint. I spun around, angrier than before.

“You are incensed by my violence, yet I ask of you…” The Saint twisted his blade before pulling it out of the inquisitor, discarding him like trash. “What would you do if these men assaulted you in our stead? Would you beg them for mercy they cannot grant? Would you spare their lives and allow them to regroup, suffering further ambush fuelled by their wounded pride? Would you continue running, hounded again and again—until weariness brings you to your knees? Can you answer me, or can you not?”

“That’s—I mean—!” I tried and failed to come up with a rebuke. In truth, I understood he was right: that undesirables like us had to defend ourselves from unfair attacks, but for Laionne’s sake, I had wanted to reject it.

“All I must demonstrate is the futility of attempting to defeat me—with my power it is possible. In the following stalemate, we can work to bridge our differences. Violence is not necessary.” Laionne racked her brain for a satisfactory answer, but even to me it rang somewhat hollow.

“Then what of us who are less fortunate?” The Saint lodged a simple objection, all the while cutting down the two remnants of the inquisition with ease.

“We cannot sit by, offering our lives for their contentment; hoping our executioners attain enlightenment before we die.” The unknown witch butted in. One could barely discern it through the feminine appearance and choice of apparel, but he was a rare oddity—a male witch. Clothed in an ill-fitting coat draped over a simple dress, an unusually long staff hung from a pair of straps attached to its oversized sleeves. The staff’s mere presence blocked his arms from any sort of movement, forcing them to hang limply beyond his backside, the instrument itself flat against the backs of his knees. He was the Princely Witch.

My poor Laionne must’ve been awfully conflicted. Her heart always desired to be kind, and she wished to reject to notion of giving in to violence. Yet here she was, confronted with a treacherous and heart-crushing question. To what extent was she being noble, and to what extent naïve? Had we truly been ambushed in place of those two, how could we have dealt with it? She was calculating, but drawing only blanks. The world would insist on its ways, and the Heavens wouldn’t budge.

“At least… spare our coachman. He had nothing to do with the ambush.” Her tone was as flat as always, but she was begging from the bottom of her heart—that at least a piece of her heart may remain intact. Our carriage driver had been knocked to the ground by the violet witchcraft, and now crawled pitifully away in a bid to save his life. The Dark Saint slithered up to him and stomped his shoe against his back. He kept him pinned in place.

“Alas, you must confront even this.” It became instantly apparent he would reject her plea. “If I grant this man mercy, further misfortune shall befall you. He will conspire against you, painting us birds of a feather. Soon bands like this will haunt your every step. The off-chance he won’t talk is not a risk worth taking.”

“. . .” Laionne’s hands shook violently, to the sound of shallow breaths.

“Hold on just a minu—!” My last-ditch attempt at an interjection failed. The Saint raised his sword and plunged it into the coachman’s skull as coldly as ever. At the very least, I found the spirit to complain. “We were sent on a damn commission, you know? It’s nice of you to wax poetic about violence, but if we fail to do it on time, we’ll have the Church on us anyway! So thanks for the brilliant solution! Could’ve just ripped out his tongue or killed him later, but I guess you made your point! The world’s terrible and we’re stupid for trying to fix it.”

“I pity you for being born pure of heart, yet I reject your final claim.” He had the audacity to condescend! Had I not dismissed my staff to wrap my arms around Laionne by then, I would’ve seriously fried him. “We spare no mercy for this world, precisely because it crushes hearts like yours. Man’s ugliness must be mended. I pray that you’re able to devise a better way once the pain of this encounter settles.”

“I’m gonna kill you I think.” I spat at him.

“Niccolina, enough.” Much to my dismay, Laionne suddenly pried herself away from me. The look in her face had turned detached and placid; she had disconnected herself from either her heart or the present situation, and sought to resolve it as devoid of emotion as possible. “All we require are directions to Culanngor. If you can provide them, we’ll be on our way.”

“Culanngor?” The Dark Saint hummed. “That’s where we’ve tracked the witch eater. I would advise you to turn away from it.”

“Witch eater? No, I haven’t heard of such a thing. It’s where the Dragon Witch is marching.” Laionne protested.

“Poetic.” The Princely Witch mused aloud. “The witch eaters are said to have hunted dragons to extinction, and now they converge anew.”

“This beast is the reason I’ve become a rogue knight to my prince,” admitted the Saint. “It sought prey in the manor, thus revealing his existence to me and the populace. Though he was a secret pearl loved by his guardians, seeing him the townsfolk declared him a disgrace. I couldn’t abide by their spittle, nor by that monster who sought him as a morsel. We can guide you and join forces, if you wish.”

“…No. I forbid you. You shall provide the directions and disappear.” Laionne’s coldness nearly took me off-guard.

“Very well. We shan’t impose, and wish you a kinder journey.”

So, after collecting our bearings, we set out with wounded hearts and terribly uncertain. Culanngor was very near.

Somehow, in spite of that… the road felt very, very long.