«Only a witch could have done such a thing,» Ornella nodded eloquently at the disemboweled corpses in the carriage. «We are fortunate that we caught her at the scene of the crime. The entire Marquis de Palette’ family will be avenged, including their unfortunate young apprentice. Look what she’s done to Claretta! She doesn’t even have eyes left.
Ornella unceremoniously tugged at the cassock of one of the inquisitors, obviously the head inquisitor.
«But she has no claws on her hands,» remarked the youngest of the inquisitors judiciously. «Let me examine her. She does not look like a witch. Not unless she’s a heretic.»
«Or a harlot,» added the black-clad companion in disgust. «Look how red her hair is. It is a sign of vice! It is the mark of the devil.»
«Lady Claretta had red hair too,» the young inquisitor intervened again. «That is not yet proof.»
He clearly wanted to help the unfortunate woman who was caught like a rabbit in a trap. Maybe someone close to him had also been the victim of an unjust massacre, which made him sympathetic to others now. But finding sand and earth residue under Fiona’s fingernails, even he suspected something was amiss. And then there was the sickle pendant that sparkled around her neck, catching their attention at just the wrong time.
It is the sign of Satan,» the Inquisitors murmured like a flock of black crows.
«Perhaps she herself has been bewitched,» the young inquisitor tried once more to shield her. Apparently he had a crush on Fiona, though he was ashamed of it. «Look how badly she herself has been cut.»
«Witches often wound themselves to perform a ritual,» Ornella protested bluntly.
«I’ve never heard of such a thing. I have questioned many witches.»
«My servant girl saw her doing witchcraft in the mountains,» Ornella insisted, that is, she lied shamelessly.
«Is it the slave girl?» Someone of the inquisitors raised a doubtful eyebrow.
«Charisi knows all about witch cults.»
«And how did she conjure?» The young inquisitor asked.
«She is dancing in a circle of fire.»
«It is very doubtful.»
«I am in charge here, not you!» Ornella was tired of playing, and she said her final word. After that, she was defied in a moment. The inquisitors were whispering excitedly. Obviously, they were discussing what to do next. Remembering Ornella’s status, they did not want to argue with her. And what was her status? She was definitely royalty, judging by the ermine robe and the jagged crown with rubies, almost lost in the intricate hair of lush auburn curls. Moreover, Ornella reeked of arrogance. Only people from the very top of society behaved like that. The rest of us have to fawn and grovel before them.
She wondered where her brothers were, and would they stand up for Fiona if they knew she was in trouble? Or would they and Ornella have conspired? Then it’s strange why they didn’t come with their sister. Maybe they would have felt sorry for their new girlfriend. But there was no time to ponder. The clear-cut verdict that she was a witch was more jarring to her ears than the claws of a gryphon.
Witch for griffins
«You’ve made a mistake!» Fiona tried to break free, and the gold in her pockets spilled out onto the road.
«How could a simple peasant girl have so much gold?» Ornella triumphed. «She conjured it up. Everyone knows that witches can turn the blood of their victims, tortured under the moon, into gold or silver.»
«She could have just stolen it,» remarked someone sensible. He was so close!
«I found it. It is treasure,» protested Fiona, and Ornella suddenly looked at her with great interest.
«She is a treasure-hunter!» She murmured in amazement. She would have pouted a little more, but the verdict could not be reversed. Fiona was dragged away.
She could have sworn that Ornella smelled something in her to her advantage. Probably thought she would find her another treasure, since she had already found one. There were probably a lot of them in the ruins. But Fiona’s secret would die with her. She will not lead her executioners to enrich themselves. Though thanks to her awkwardness they have already had handfuls of gold and stones picked up right off the dusty road.
Ornella was the only one who didn’t pick them up. She must be from a rich family, after all. She’s got treasure enough. She’s got a crown to match! If robbers from the highways seize such a captive, she alone would be equal to the treasure found. That is probably why there are so many guards with her. And yet in the mountains Fiona had seen her with no escort at all. While her brothers were in the cave, Ornella was absent. And only then did she come. Alone! She hardly climbed the mountains like a simple villager. Maybe she flew in on a griffin. The birds certainly obeyed her. Take, for example, the game of snooker. Fiona was hurt by the birds, but Ornella was not, though they were both in a cave full of birds. Now the guards turned out to be more molesting than the birds. Fiona did not like their insistence on dragging her somewhere.
«Ornella! Stop them!» She didn’t want to ask, but what else to do. Given her acquaintance in the mountains, Ornella was almost like a friend to her. Well, with a stretch of the imagination, of course. But you could say that. She was in touch, so she was a friend. Only Ornella did not respond to her cries, and those around her considered her crazy, or confirmed their speculation that she is a witch who is now trying to bewitch a noble lady.
It’s a moment like this that makes you want to curse all the people in the world. But Fiona was no witch. Her curse was unlikely to work. Besides, she was never allowed to speak again. The guards shoved her roughly into a cramped, barred van. Why not string her up or burn her on the spot in front of the cheering villagers? We had to jolt along the bumpy road for hours. Was she really going to be taken to a dungeon and tortured? Fiona became frightened. If an evil spirit had spoken to her and offered to trade her soul for her escape, she would have said yes without hesitation.
People had got it into their heads that the redhead was a witch. No one in the town where they’d brought her was shrieking with delight and pointing their fingers at her, screaming «witch». The crowd was far more aristocratic. She was either turned away or looked at with devastatingly arrogant stares. She must have been brought to the capital. There is fabulous luxury everywhere, but Fiona was led not to the palace, but to a dungeon.
The witch who had been captured was confined to a small cell. There was no room to expand. There was not enough space. The dirt floor, lined with a thin layer of straw, was the only place to take a nap.
Fiona dreamt of the red-haired noblewoman in the carriage. She was alive in the dream, though the gray stains of decay and wounds remained on her body. Her eyes were still missing, but in their place there were gems of emerald and ruby that had been inserted into her eye sockets. They were the same stones Fiona had dropped on the road when she had been captured.
The dead woman, whose name seemed to be Claretta, was reaching for her hands. Not hands, but rotting meat in lace cuffs. She couldn’t see very well. Besides, the two multi-colored eyes were frightening. They say only witches’ eyes are different colors. And it didn’t matter that they were stones. In her sleep, Fiona couldn’t move or run away from Claretta. The dead girl’s hands fumbled for her.
«They are looking for one special girl. Not me! It is the other redhead. Run away from them!»
Good advice! Run! But where could she run? There are bars and locks everywhere. The smell of deadness was lingering in the cell after her sleep, as if Claretta had really been here.
Could the conversation with the crucified dead man on the pole have been just a dream, too? After all, corpses, as everyone knows, don’t come back to life. Or did they? What if the inquisitors’ omen is true, and dead bodies briefly come back to life if their murderer happens to be around to point a finger at the criminal.
If that were indeed the case, then criminals would be very easy to catch. With one «but» – the murderer must be near the corpse to be convicted in this way. Such a trial is easy to conduct only if all the suspects can be brought to the corpse at once. But what to do if the criminal has already fled and it is not known who he is? Then the method is ineffective.
Fiona could not have killed all these people, or even one of them. Or could she, since the corpses came back to life in her presence? They say the dead know everything, unlike the living. Those who have stepped over the brink of death discover the secrets of the netherworld. But this time, the dead have messed up, or someone has deliberately confused them. She wasn’t a killer, that’s for sure. It is not as if she were a bird of prey, capable of tearing a man’s flesh apart with her claws.
She was slandered. Ornella had arranged the whole thing cleverly. Such timing! Except how did Ornella know that Fiona would stumble upon a carriage load of corpses on the way back? Hadn’t she organized the murder herself, and then led the whole regiment to catch the witch. It was all subtly calculated. The only way to believe a frail girl could tear apart several tall men with her bare hands was if she was a witch.
Unfortunately, Fiona couldn’t do witchcraft, or she would have evaporated with the black wind or the smoke. Or what else could witches turn into?
Slander was a terrible thing. It could make an ordinary weak girl the stuff of fear for the big city. Fiona determined that she’d been dragged to the capital. A mob will soon be raging outside the prison windows, demanding an emergency execution for the witch. What a mess! If she had known it would end like this, she would never have gone to the mountains for a dozen golden eagles.
What was she going to do now? First, Fiona decided to look around. Was there any way to escape from here? The place was as bright as a campfire.
A spider web of fire stretched along the walls. A fire fairy the size of a cat crawled across it. Fiona carelessly touched it with her finger. The fire stung a larger bumblebee. The fairy grinned with her hot mouth and braided a flaming web around the already barred window. Yes, there’s no escaping from here! It is the local rulers who are witches, not she. Who but witches have flaming orange fairies as watchmen?
«Scram!» Fiona scolded the insolent firewoman. She may have been very pretty, but she was terrifying to be around. Touch such a beauty and there’d be no cure for the burns.
Apparently, when she realized she was being insulted, the fairy hissed in displeasure, spitting out sparks, and crawled up the wall in an offended manner.
It was calmer without her. Fiona listened to the silence. Not even the footsteps of the sentries could be heard. No prisoner would escape from a fairy. She could burn him alive if he escaped.
The sea was splashing beneath the dungeon window. She wished the fire fairy would fall there!
«You are unhappy, but there is nothing you can do,» came a mesmerizing voice from the sea.
«I am the king of Sultanit. I can do anything,» a hoarse, unpleasant bass protested.
«And I am the king of the sea. Which of us has a better chance of controlling the other?»
Is she dreaming of those voices? The meaning of the conversation was somehow fantastic, unless the talkers were joking. Fiona stood up and tried to look out the window. It was high enough above the floor, but she could see the edge of the surf. Fiona could see the helmets of the warriors, with their puffy cockades. An entire regiment had been brought ashore. Were they all really going to catch the Sea King? Or was it the nickname of some pirate?
