Killing a witch

I live in a rotten town.

That was the first thought that ran through my head, standing in the village square with the summer heat bearing down on me. I was just one person in a sea of people: all the villager had come out in the scorching sun to witness the spectacle of the decade. Everyone was looking in the same direction, myself included. I raised my hand to shield myself from the all-encompassing light of the sun and clearly saw the object of everyone’s attention. On a raised platform stood a lone girl with shackled hands and feet.

The last time my village had an execution was back when my great-grandmother was my age. No youngsters had seen blood spilled in their lives, and while the older folks clamored for it, my generation seemed unable to make up their minds. I was vehemently opposed to the death sentence, but what could I do? Even though I was the great-grandson of the village chief, I hadn’t earned enough respect to make a change. I clenched my fist in frustration until it hurt. Was I really about to let this act of injustice go through?

A single glance at my fellow spectators filled me with enough disgust to turn away again. All the villagers - friends, family, and pleasant strangers alike - were dripping with sweat, shouting in excitement and red-faced rage for the girl to be killed. The shouts and screams drummed throughout my body to form a sickening rhythm that made my heart quake. They were spitting, drooling, salivating for her blood. Like beasts.

“She’s a witch!”

“Kill her before she curses us all!”

“Protect our peace, off with her head!”

The chanting faded as my great-grandmother, or rather the village chief, came out of the town hall. She resolutely made her way up the stairs of the gallows to confront the girl awaiting her death. I wanted to do nothing less than go home and hide in my room, but I felt like I had the responsibility to come face-to-face with the depths of the cruelty my village had managed to hide for all my life. Just last week we were all together, throwing a midsummer festival celebrating life. This week the very same folk were indulging in a masquerade of death.

My great-grandmother, Alicia, was much like the proud oaks that submerged our village in green. She would soon celebrate her hundredth birthday, and yet her gnarled joints still held her proudly upright without a cane. Her face was tanned, wrinkled and cracked, and her eyes had sunk into their sockets to the point of being cast in permanent shadows.

She’d been the village chief for as long as anyone could remember, protecting our boring everyday lives with words as good as laws, and laws forged before living memory. That is, anyone's but hers. Everyone admired her, myself included. Especially since she'd chosen to exchange her exotic adventurer's blade for the chief’s scepter of this boring village. She was entrusted with arbitrating everything from egg-for-beetroot barters to fiery divorces. Her wisdom was a kind that abided by all and guided all.

It also meant that nobody questioned her decision to have a young woman killed in the name of “peace”.

Even if the evidence was little more than a mark on the girl’s shoulder, the village’s faith in Alicia did not waver. If anything, it excited the people greatly to have some action in their dull lives filled with farming and guard duty. Why would they care about a stranger’s life? 

Alicia’s voice echoed to every corner of the square, with a voice that was raspy as the hum of hornets, yet final as the drop of a blade.

“Hear me, witch. For the crime of practicing the Devil’s arts you will be put to death by beheading. We cannot allow the disaster of 80 years ago to repeat. Yes, we will make sure of that. Do you have any final words?”

The girl was confused and angry, and against my great-grandmother's echoing drawl, her whimpers rang like a crystal bell.

“Like I’ve been saying all this time, I’m not a witch! I’m just an ordinary girl! None of this is making sense, it’s like a nightmare!”

The villagers got rowdy, and someone brought in rotten eggs to throw at the stage. Everyone around me started shouting in unison.

“Kill the witch! Kill the witch! Kill the witch!”

This whole thing made me feel sick to my stomach. I kept myself from covering up my ears in disgust and shame. A single, tired look from my great-grandmother was all it took to quell the crowd.

“Very well, keep denying your guilt until the very end”, she said, “the Gods shall judge you harshly.”

She motioned for the executioner, brandishing the town’s woodcutting axe, to come onto the stage as she descended the wooden stairs. The people were now going wild, shouting all sorts of profanities at the supposed witch.

The villagers were too busy making an uproar to notice, but as someone who’s known her for all of my nineteen years, I saw Alicia in a state I’d never seen her in before. She was a stoic woman who never laughed, cried, or got angry. But in that moment she was trembling, like she’d just seen the Devil in person. She disappeared back into the town hall before I could make out the reason behind this anomaly.

The girl on the other hand stood there, seemingly powerless, as her final moments drew closer. I needed to step in, put an end to this whole charade. But what could I do? Witches are something to be feared, the village chief’s decision was correct, right? I was nailed to the ground in indecisiveness. The girl muttered soft, inaudible whispers. Soon though, her voice grew in strength until she turned to the executioner, shivering with rageful determination.

“I’m not going to just lie down and take this, go to hell!”

In the next moment a blue flash blinded everyone.

When my vision came back to me, I was thrown to the ground beneath the force of a powerful shockwave that ripped its way through the crowd, the girl was alone on the platform. Her shackles had come undone, and the executioner was lying flat on his back in the crowd. The girl didn’t run away however, she appeared to be frozen in shock.

This is my chance!

I pushed a few villagers who'd fallen onto me off of me and weaved through the groaning crowd, rushing to the stage. My hands trembled as I pushed past them and hopped over people on the ground. All eyes were now on me and the girl as I blazed through the masses.

I would do it, for once I would take my life into my own hands. Truth be told, I had always yearned to leave this suffocating, mundane village. It was as if my very blood was aching to set out and carve my own path. I decided to grab this opportunity with both hands. But that’s not all there was to it.

When I saw her locked up in a cage two days prior, I’d been immediately starstruck. Her voice, her bottomless ink-black eyes, her attitude. It was a new feeling that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. All I knew is that I wanted nothing less than to learn more about this girl. I would be the one to set her free.

I reached the stage and climbed up the scaffolding until I reached the top. I uprighted myself to look at the mysterious girl, who was quivering in place with a look of pure confusion on her face. She really was beautiful, my eyes hadn’t deceived me. I reached out to her, the girl who would change my life forever.

“We’re going to make a run for it!” I said, my eyes locking with hers. Once again my heart skipped a beat. This was it. This was the beginning of something new, something beyond the confines of this place.

She snapped out of it and took my hand, a strange electrical buzz surged through my body as she did. But there was no time to linger on it. I pulled her with me, away from the chopping block.

I looked to the square as we were running down the stairs and saw the first of the villagers shooting into action.

“It’s the chief’s kid, don’t let him get away!” one yelled while the villagers started their pursuit one by one. We made it off the square and dove onto a side street.

The trickle of people following us steadily grew until practically the whole village was on our heels. They had seen a witch in action, and they weren’t about to let her get away.

We passed by the swordsmith’s atelier, where I grabbed a decorative sword from the façade of the building. It was dull and rusty, but it would at least keep the villagers at bay if push came to shove. This little maneuver had closed the gap between us and our pursuers by a little bit, so we kept on running without any destination in mind. I prayed that the witch could get me out of this situation.

Soon we’d made it to the edge of the village, where a large palisade separated us from the outside world. Beyond it was a wide, grassy hillscape, where I had first seen the girl just two days before through the gaps in the stakes.

With the palisade blocking us, there was no other option for me than to fight my way out. So I turned away from the fence, raised my sword, and prepared to face the wrath of the people now surrounding us on three sides.