"I, Bradley Patel, being duly sworn before Almighty God to speak only truth, do hereby confess and acknowledge that I did receive from the aforementioned witch, Lora Mercier, diverse herbs and powders of a magical nature intended for mixture with the feed of our village's cattle.

  [The accused visibly trembles here] However, in accordance with my loyalty to our Lord God, I did refuse this unholy offering and did destroy these abominable substances. This act did provoke the fierce wrath of the witch, who serves the Devil, and at the next gathering I was reproached with cries of 'Why did you not use them?' and 'Do you doubt the sanctity of our master?' and was struck five times with a wooden staff. I do acknowledge this was contrary to God's will.

  We did perform dances at these witch gatherings as worship to the Devil. Musical instruments were played, specifically a flute performed by a boy who is the grandson of Lora, and these melodies did greatly please the Devil. [The accused is prompted for further detail] The aforementioned Lora Mercier did engage in carnal relations with the Devil during this occasion, and the Devil did place a kiss upon her posterior. I do hereby attest that this mark must surely be inscribed upon her body as the witch's mark.

  I do acknowledge that the location of said gathering was a storage room in a large house situated to the southeast of our village. Upon an oak table capable of seating more than ten persons were laid smoked pork and galettes, these being completely devoid of taste. Within the room were placed [The inquisitor confirms the number] twenty candles, and three demons clothed in black robes did appear at this location. I testify that we bound a cow belonging to the Domigan household with thread and, through incantations, performed unnatural sorcery to increase its milk production.

  Those who participated in this gathering included the wife of Antoine Domigan [The accused is prompted for details], his sons and their wives, two granddaughters [Again prompted for details], and my wife, Francesca Patel.

  My wife and I attended this gathering together, and my wife did consume the potion received by Lora from the Devil. This constitutes the entirety of my statement. [The accused's voice trembles as he begins to weep] I beg for mercy. My wife has a child—we have a child— [The accused's statement is interrupted by the inquisitor]"

  ***

  A gallows had been erected in the centre of the village square. Bound with rope, I moved sluggishly, following the executioner's pull. With each step, intense pain shot through both feet and shoulders. My left foot appeared to be about half its normal size.

  The executioner didn't rush me. So I took my time walking. Outside for the first time in ages, the sun was blinding. I wanted to breathe deeply, but each breath sent pain like needles stabbing through my lungs, so I stopped.

  It might have been just a few minutes, or perhaps hours of walking. Before I knew it, I was on the platform of the execution ground. A great crowd surrounded me. Looking down at them, I recognised the faces of Jacques, whom I had once spoken with at the well, and men who had participated in the rituals with me. They raised their hands, threw rotten vegetables, and shouted something loudly.

  "By the grace of God and in the name of His Majesty the King, by the authority vested in me by the Lord of this domain, on this sixth day of October, this tribunal hereby pronounces the following judgement resulting from rigorous inquisition."

  The judge began reading the verdict. The men standing right beside the platform lowered their hands and fell silent. Those behind them also quieted down. And those behind them, and those further back. Like the ripples of a water droplet falling into a bucket, silence spread, and the village square grew completely still.

  Only now did I realise that I wasn't the only one who had been led out by rope. Lora and her son, his wife and children, and me and... We were lined up like livestock being auctioned at the market.

  I observed the scene from a distance. No, in fact, I was right there beside it.

  "The sentence upon the malefactor Lora Mercier: The aforementioned person having entered into an unholy pact with the Devil, and having used sorcery granted to her as payment for said pact, did steal and murder livestock constituting the common property of our village. Therefore, this tribunal declares her to be a guilty witch, an enemy of God, and a servant of the Devil. In accordance with the name of God and the law, she is sentenced to be burned until dead."

  Cheers rose from the villagers.

  "Next, the sentence upon her son, étienne Mercier, and his wife Claudette Mercier whom he has taken:"

  I had shared wine with étienne after dinner one evening. Claudette had consulted with me and my wife about our treatment. But now, both were so thin their ribs showed, and they looked like different people.

  "The aforementioned persons did conduct abominable rituals for the summoning of demons, and through secret gatherings did seek to control the minds of the pious. By these acts, this tribunal pronounces them to be rebels against God, and likewise sentences them to be burned until dead."

  A commotion of anger and discontent spread.

  "Next, the sentence upon Michel, son of the aforementioned étienne Mercier: "

  Michel had just turned 11. He was always afraid of the mice that came to the farm.

  "Though stained with the same sin despite his youth, in consideration of the mercy of our Lord God and ecclesiastical law, and recognising the possibility of correction, he is sentenced to public flogging. Continuing, the sentence upon Fran?ois, another son of Lora Mercier, and his wife Adeline..."

  The judge read out what seemed like an endless list of verdicts. How many names were called? Ten? Or perhaps a hundred? My head was foggy with drowsiness, on the verge of falling asleep.

  "The accused Bradley Patel."

  The moment my name was called, my body tingled as if struck by lightning. I raised my face.

  "The aforementioned person did will-fully participate in the abominable gathering known as the Sabbath, and did knowingly trade in otherworldly substances with servants of the Devil, seeking to disturb the order established by God. For this crime,"

  My eyes widened. The fear that had sunk to the bottom of my heart suddenly resurged. My drowsiness vanished in an instant, and the coldness of the execution platform suddenly assaulted my body. Bradley? Who? Me? What are they going to do to me? Burn me at the stake? No. God. God. Mercy.

  "He is sentenced to banishment from the village. He must depart from our village by sunset."

  Banishment. I repeated the word to myself several times. Banishment. Not a death sentence. I wouldn't be burned alive. I was saved. Thank goodness. Then Francesca too. Only then did I finally notice that Francesca was also lined up with me. Why hadn't I noticed? Her hair had been shaved like mine. Poor Francesca. It's all right, your beautiful hair will soon grow back. Then I'll comb it for you every morning, just like before. So let's leave this village right away and return to Nancy.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  "However, concerning his wife Francesca Patel, she has committed a more grievous sin, having carnally consorted with the Devil and conceived his sinful seed in her womb. This constitutes a grave blasphemy against God and an act of abandonment of her human status. Therefore, this tribunal, in the name of our Lord God, sentences her to be burned until dead."

  ***

  I prayed all night long. Mercy. Mercy. Please show mercy. This must be some mistake. Why must she be executed? She had never participated in witch gatherings, let alone the village rituals.

  Dawn arrived. A man came and dragged me from the dark room. I felt relieved. He had come to inform me of a retrial procedure.

  With my hands tied behind my back, I walked, led by the men. We went outside. To the central hall of the village. There, a stake had been erected. Why? This was supposed to be a trial. Men from throughout the village had gathered. Women peered from the shadows. A suspicious light of curiosity reflected in their eyes. Everyone looked forward to what was about to happen.

  Eventually, people with their hands bound by rope were brought up to the stake one after another. Voices rose. Voices of anger, joy, madness.

  Francesca was among them. Her body was emaciated, and she dragged one leg. But there was no mistaking her. Suddenly, all our days together came flooding back. When we met, when we talked about our future together, when we spent the night together, when we felt the beating of our child.

  Before I knew it, flames were rising. The peculiar smell of burning fat hung in the air, and screams erupted from the execution ground. They were being burned alive. With the villagers' shouts and screams, it soon became impossible to tell who was making what sounds.

  The heat of the flames stroked my body along with the air currents. Heat that scorched my face.

  A stake where étienne and his wife Claudette were burning. Around it, I could see a small figure. It was their son Michel. The boy, whose voice hadn't even broken yet, was being whipped. In this way, he was being made to walk, whipped, right beside where his parents were being burned alive. The flames of the stake grew more intense with each moment, consuming their feet, then their bodies. A dry sound like splitting wood rang out. The sound of their bones cracking from the heat.

  Hell. Was this hell? The air, distorted by the heat of the flames, wavered. It appeared as if they were repeating the same movements over and over. As I watched, their suffering and anger lost all meaning, and I felt as if I were somewhere far, far away.

  Yes. Surely God was testing me. In this hell, to see if I truly had faith.

  But how long would this hell continue? Surely once this was over, Francesca's retrial would begin. Then we could safely return home. I couldn't let her strain herself too much. After all, we were going to have a child. Yes, we needed to think of a name for the child. So much to do.

  I stared silently at the scene before me, as if in a fever.

  ***

  My vision flipped. Darkness before my eyes. Where was I? It was painful. Why? At that moment, I instinctively exhaled forcefully. Immediately, my body recoiled like a released bowstring. I desperately tried to inhale. I couldn't breathe properly. Inhaling, exhaling. Such a simple act, and yet.

  I coughed repeatedly, and as I continued to struggle, my consciousness gradually cleared. As soon as I could move my body, I leapt from the bed and ran into the garden in my bare feet. There, I collapsed in a corner of the garden and returned the contents of my stomach to the earth.

  When there was nothing left to expel, my fingers began to tremble. Fingers. Yes. My body. Amidst the unrelenting nausea, I methodically checked my body with my hands. My shoulders weren't dislocated. Both arms were the same length. Fingers, all moved. Legs were their usual shape. Length was fine too. Hair. The same unruly curls as always. How many times had I repeated this? Only after running my fingers from head to foot numerous times did I finally accept that I was indeed "Sith Cumaill." Each time I touched my body, flashes of Bradley's interrogation appeared in my mind, and I was overcome with nausea once more.

  Why, such, terrible things. Why? How?

  Tears flowed forth. I bit my arm to somehow suppress the sobs that threatened to emerge. I didn't know what time it was, but it was completely dark. If Mother discovered I was crying in the middle of the night, she would be angry again.

  What was that dream? My mind was in chaos. Had it really happened? When had it occurred? I couldn't gather my thoughts coherently. But. I traced my leg with my finger. The coldness of the boards touching my legs. The screeching sound of screws turning through wood grain. The sensation of bones being slowly crushed with creaking pressure. All eventually painted over by the sensation of pain... A dream? I couldn't possibly believe that.

  If the witch hunter found us. Would we, like Bradley, be next? My entire body began to shake, my back teeth chattering audibly. I tried forcibly to stop it by hugging my shoulders. It wouldn't stop. Neither the tears nor the trembling. I'm scared. I was wrong after all. Just as Mother said, we should have lived in hiding. We should have fled, kept fleeing, endlessly. Help me. Someone... Someone... The faces of various people—Mother, Father, Hannah—appeared and disappeared in my mind. Valentine, Edwin, Flannery.

  Alicia.

  Precious people.

  No. Not someone else. I decided I would do it. I said I would protect everyone. I wiped away my tears. I needed to tell Baron what I had seen. There was no time for leisurely training anymore. I needed to find the hunter right away and... I must have the power for that. A real witch should be able to do at least that much, right?

  As I stood up, I felt dizzy. The space behind my ears spun, and my vision whirled. Looking up, the stars in the ceiling were connected like lines. The moon was dazzlingly bright. Despite the circumstances, the night sky was so beautiful I felt I might collapse.

  I faced forward and held my breath. The scene before me was not the garden of my home as I knew it. Faint blue lights were taking flight from the ground one after another. Small lights. Big lights. So many "pneuma" rising to the sky that I didn't even feel like counting them. Like living butterflies, sometimes drawing arcs, sometimes as if sucking nectar from flowers.

  I felt I might lose track of where I was. Stumbling forward, one step at a time. I felt the cold earth beneath my feet. This was the only thing keeping me tethered to reality now. I moved forward, reaching out my hands. I touched a familiar wooden texture. The storage shed door. I opened the door and collapsed inside. Something struck my body and clattered to the floor. The sound of metal colliding, books falling. Something fell across my face. A scent that pierced my nose. Probably herbs that had been hanging on the wall. Breathing in that air, I felt a little calmer. Herbs ward off evil, Mother had said.

  "What a state you're in." A voice from the supposedly empty storage shed. It must be Baron.

  "Baron! Please help me," I called out into the darkness, collapsed on the floor. "Please, please. At this rate, everyone will..." I repeated, struggling to hold back sobs.

  "Well, calm down. Tell me what happened." In response to the voice coming from the fallen pile of books, I told the story of the dream I had seen. About Bradley and the others, about the village where they lived, about the horrific interrogation that took place there. Each time I recalled it, chills ran through my body.

  "A witch hunt. A typical one," came the casual reply.

  "Typical?" I protested, rubbing my legs with my hands. "What's typical about it? This is madness! There's a witch hunter in Ravensbrook too! Are you saying the same thing will happen? Here in this town, from now on?"

  "If so, what will you do?"

  "I absolutely won't let that happen. Lend me your power! Isn't there a way to drive away the witch hunter? Isn't there such magic?" I spoke, driven by emotion. There was a brief pause.

  "There is, indeed. So what will you do?"

  "I'll do anything! To save everyone!" There was a rustling sound, like pages fluttering in the wind. As if it were laughing. Only now did I realise. Something was off. This felt different from the usual Baron.

  "So you want to use my power? Well then, my girl. For that, you must also pay a price."

  At that moment, a small vibration like mice scurrying resonated throughout the storage shed. The sound gradually increased. The herbs rustled as if blown by wind. The sound of a broom falling. Everything in the room began to make noise. In the darkness, I saw the light of "pneuma." Among the collapsed books, one was glowing. When I picked up that book, my unease turned to certainty. The touch of the thick leather cover transmitted through my fingers. The scent of wax applied to the paper. No, this wasn't the book I usually opened.

  "You're not Baron."

  "Don't lump me together with such a fragile being, my girl."

  I realised the vibrations in the room had stopped. This book emitting light in my hands. Could it have done this? Just to summon me? Belatedly, I stared intently at the book's "pneuma." Why hadn't I done this sooner? Unlike Baron's calm, quiet flow, this was like a raging torrent. If Baron was a clear stream, this book was reminiscent of lightning on a stormy day.

  "My name is Nexilion. I have been watching you all along, daughter of Fabulatrix. I will give you power."