The Deathpact

Clara smiled apologetically, placing two more loaves on her right forearm, and headed out to meet the newest customer.

“Oh, hello there,” she said, her voice rising in surprise before dropping into a cautious tone.

“Where is the witch?” a male voice demanded.

Anna held her breath.

“I know exactly where she is,” Clara replied. “But you are all going to put your weapons away first.”

“You have no authority to tell us what to do,” a different male voice said.

“I can tell you she has death magic and can hear us right now. No matter how fast you think you can move, she can write faster and snuff out your life in an instant.” Clara paused to let the warning sink in. “Is that something you want?”

No one replied.

“Very good. Weapons away first.”

Swords murmured against their sheaths. “I cannot believe you would side with a witch,” said the first male voice.

“You can tell she was a witch herself at one time,” came the second, apparently referring to her missing hand. “Looking out for your kind,” he spat.

“Guilty of suspicion is what I was punished for,” Clara corrected firmly. “Only because I fell for the wrong man. And your monstrous witch is just as human as the rest of us. All she wants is safe harbor and to be treated fairly.”

“She is guilty of sedition against the crown.”

“Has she had a trial?”

“No,” said the first.

“Then all she is guilty of is premature judgement by authorities who should think first and properly uphold the law rather than be driven by fear and emotion.”

The men started murmuring amongst themselves, their words indistinct.

“This can be resolved peacefully. Or not. The choice is entirely up to you.”

The men exchanged a few more words. “What are her terms?” asked the first man.

“She is allowed to travel to the capital unharmed and unbound for a proper trial. In return, she will not use death magic on anyone.”

“Unbound? No. Absolutely not. She could write a death sentence at any moment!” said the second.

“She will give her word.”

“No. Not good enough,” the second said.

Anna pushed through the door into the front room, holding the stylus aloft for all to see.

Four witch hunters stood at the entrance, soaked from traveling through the night. One instinctively stepped back, shifting half behind another.

One reached for his sword. Clara immediately stepped into the path between him and Anna.

“I will script a Deathpact,” Anna said, putting on her best authoritative voice. “If I hurt anyone, it will kill me. If you hurt me, it will kill you.”

“Just like a witch,” said the man with his hand on his sword. Anna recognized him as the first speaker. “Stooping to magic every time.”

“You can trust me,” Anna shot back. “It’s you I do not trust.”

The man frowned deeply, apparently offended by the slight against his honor. He lowered his hand from his sword. “Deathpact then.”

Anna gave a terse nod before turning to the room’s front counter. Since the words would disappear shortly, she figured that Clara wouldn’t mind her writing on the wooden surface.

She leaned forward to start writing. At the first stylus stroke, Anna rolled her eyes. ‘Crayon? Really?!’

‘Yes, really. You're as naive as a child. Agreeing to a trial. Don’t you realize it will be stacked against you?’

‘What else can I do? Otherwise they will keep chasing me until I’m handless or dead.’

“Is there a problem?” the first man said flatly. “You stopped writing.”

‘You already know my answer. No point in repeating myself.’

“No, no problem,” Anna replied. “I want to think about the words carefully.”

She resumed writing in crayon. I am writing this deathpact between myself and all the witch hunters who seek me. They are to not deliberately harm me. If they do, they will die. In turn, if I deliberately harm them, I will die. This pact will be null and void once my trial begins.

Hopefully that was specific enough to avoid causing some kind of unintended loophole or unexpected consequence. Anna wondered why magic in this world couldn’t just infer more.

After a moment without further writing, the pigmented wax letters started to peel away from the wooden surface. Glowing a deep purple hue, they rose slowly into the air as a long unbroken chain. The first few words reached out to Anna, wrapping around her left wrist. They cinched down snug before the other words flowed as a snaking thread across the room, cinching down around the first man’s left wrist, before continuing onto the rest, the chain unbroken. Once all four had a loop of words around their wrists, the head of the thread continued on, passing through the front door.

“Everyone is affected,” Anna warned.

“I would expect no less,” he replied.

Everyone remained still, chained together by the unbroken thread, as the magic continued to finalize the pact across the realm.

When the spell finished, the thread faded away. As if to remind them all, Anna found that the words around her wrist remained as a dark purple tattoo.

The others rubbed at their own words, finding them impossible to smear.

“Deathpact or not,” Clara said, “I will be accompanying Anna as her witness. That way you will not be tempted to try to find an alternative means of harming her.”

“And I will be accompanying my mother,” Clayton declared as he barged in. “So you will not be tempted to harm her.”

Clara turned to Clayton, meeting his eyes and shaking her head discreetly.

“Is there anyone else coming along, to look after him?” the second hunter said with a sneer.

Clara gave the man an icy look, like a mother bear warning someone away from her cub.

“Come if you want. It is of no importance to me. But you three will be walking and responsible for your own food,” the first man said.

Clara turned to him, softening her expression. “The journey is long. May I have a few hours to prepare and find transportation?”

He held up one gloved finger. “One. You have one hour.”

“Good luck finding something at this hour,” the second hunter sniped.

“I will find a way,” Clara shot back, refusing him the last word.