The Witch Hunters, Book 1: The Prophet of Ash

“What did you mean before, when said that my friends died to amuse your gods?”

Janus looked up from the fire, his eyes narrow and suspicious. He did not answer Kurt, but turned his attention back to cooking the rabbits had shot for their supper.

“Are we really just going to sit here in silence, all night?” Kurt growled.

Janus sighed, rubbed his eyes with his free hand, while the other stopped turning the small spit he kept as part of his travelling gear. “I’m tired, Bauer. I’m sick of people like you mocking my clan and our beliefs.”

“I won’t mock you, Janus. I promise. If I do, then I’ll pay you and extra five silver pieces.”

The runner chuckled bitterly. “Alright, human. It’s your money. My clan and many others of the land I come from believe that we were created because the gods were bored. They lived in a void of nothing, and grew bored fucking, and fucking with each other, so Bael, the Lord of Fire, moulded figures out of clay for his brethren to play with and break. But they did it too quickly, and beseeched Bael to make more and more, yet even he, the Creator, could not match the appetite for destruction of his kin. He made animals then, and for a while torturing them was enough for his brothers and sisters. But soon enough they wanted more, something they could put through agonies even they could not dream of yet. So Bael made my people out of clay. He gave us the gifts of life and thought, so we could understand, and suffer more for it. We could breed with each other, make new generations, so that Bael could take his rest and amuse himself with us as well. When we were not enough, he made your people, and the Scaled, the dwarves, the minotaurs, and finally Elves, the instruments of his will, until he grew bored of them, and smote them from the earth.”

“That’s…” Kurt stopped. He had no idea what to say. He struggled with the notion of an evil god, a creator who made people just to make them suffer for their amusement. The god of Kurt’s people, of Sturmwatch itself, was one of love, and forgiveness. “How can you live, believing what you do?”

“How can you live, now that everything that made you what you are is dead?” Janus asked with a shrug. “You just do. Klara dislikes my faith, and has berated me for it many times. She tried to make Eisengrim take her side, once. That did not go well for her. I know about your god, Bauer, and the lies he tells you to let your guard down, so when he takes everything away from you, you’ll still come crawling back to grovel before him, and tell yourself it’s your fault. Look around you, Bauer. Your friends and people are all dead, and what you were is gone. This world is not the work of a loving god.”

“How did they die?” Kurt asked then, his voice low as a whisper. He cupped his hands together, not daring to close his eyes even to blink. In the flashing darkness he saw Andrej, and Eckhart. Bader. Friedrich. Everyone, but Martin. “Why did they have to die, Janus?”

Janus was quiet, pensive for a moment. His hunter’s eyes started looking about their small camp, and the trees that surrounded and shielded most of the light of their small fire. They had been on the trail for most of the day, moving quietly as they followed the trail of the party led by Prince Siegfried. The runner had assured Kurt that this was the best strategy for the moment, tailing the larger party until they looked to be getting close to whoever had taken Bauer’s son, and wiped out everything and everyone in their wake. When Janus decided the time was right, they would overtake the hunters and chase down their prey.

“Alright,” the runner said then. He picked up a stick, pointed it at the fire. “I was never very good at listening to Klara when she went into smaller details, but that was because I thought she was making them up, or the people who wrote the books she read were making them up. I don’t know. But I can give you the basics.”

Janus raised the stick then, and tapped the metal spit that he had impaled their supper with. “That is steel, yes?”

Kurt nodded.

“Does steel come naturally into the world?”

“No,” Kurt said with a confused shake of the head.

“That is right. It is iron, but then it is changed, yes? Blacksmiths use their craft to change it. This is also how magic works, Bauer. Magic changes things, but it needs fuel to do it. The coal, the wood that smiths use to change iron to steel are burned, and through that we get a stronger metal. Witches are people that can do that to the world around them. They can change things, but their spells need fuel to do this.”

“So, what fuels magic?” Kurt asked.

“Life,” replied Janus. His demeanour changed as he said this. He looked at Kurt with what seemed to be real pity in his eyes. “The spark of life, Bauer. The gift of Bael. It is the fire needed to change iron to steel, and make things different, as the witch desires. It is very hard, at first. Klara’s books say it needs concentration, or maybe very bad emotions. I think that part is true, at least. It is about lashing out. The bigger the change you want to make, the more fuel is needed. Only witches can do this, and their spells do not discriminate. If the spell is demanding enough, and you are close enough, it will snuff out your life to make the witch’s desires real.”

Kurt sat back against the tree he had chosen as his seat. He could feel Janus watch him. The fire crackled between them, and the man heard the hissing of the rabbits’ flesh as they were cooked. This was a great deal to take in. He suddenly recalled being back at the lectures of Legate Pastor Hahn, sitting there bored as he the richly dressed man who was the head of their religion warned them of the evils of the world in a language only a tiny fragment of them could understand. He wished desperately that Martin was here with him, so he could explain this all. His son was so much smarter than him. He would understand. Still, there was something nagging at the back of Kurt’s head, which refused to go away.

“You said magic doesn’t discriminate,” he said, looking over the fire and burning flesh to meet the eyes of the witch hunter. “That it kills anyone nearby so these…spells can work.”

“Yes.”

“But you all think my son might still be alive.”

Janus nodded. He looked very uncomfortable.

“How can that be, if magic sucks the life out of everyone nearby?”

The pity in the runner’s face returned then. “Kurt, how did your wife die?”

Kurt stared at Janus, and then past him. He was not at the camp anymore. He was sitting outside of the room where the doctor and midwife had locked themselves away with Sabine.

“She died in labour, while having Martin. There were complications. She was a fragile woman. It was too much for her. The doctor said it happens.”

“It does,” Janus said, nodding. “It’s common among my people too. Things go wrong, and our elders don’t really know what they’re doing. But it can also be a sign.”

“Of what?”

Janus put the stick down. “Every case the Order has investigated, Kurt, we found that a witch had come from a mother who had died in labour while having them. Klara’s books say that it might be because being born is so frightening to the babe that it panics, and lashes out at the very person who has been keeping it safe.”

Kurt was silent. He stared, unblinking at the runner across the fire from him. A light breeze stroked the leaves in the branches above. The flames flickered, and lapped at the dead rabbits.

“There are only two ways to survive being near a witch as they are using magic,” Janus said nervously. He looked away, his voice becoming low as he went on. “The first is to wear a star stone, like I and my fellow hunters have. Theo told me you found one in the market, yes?”

Kurt nodded.

“That’s good,” the runner said, nodding and forcing a smile. When Kurt did not react, he went on. “I’ll make a cord for it, and bind it to the stone. You should wear it at all times. It negates the effects of spells, to a degree, and preserves the life of anyone wearing one while magic is being cast. Good news for once, eh?”

Kurt nodded. His eyes were narrowing.

“The other,” Janus continued, looking trapped. “Is to be a witch, yourself. Life can’t be drained from them, as it can be from people like you and I.”

“You think my son is a witch?” Kurt asked, at last.

“I don’t know,” Janus said quickly.

“Do your friends think my boy is a witch?”

“They discussed it.”

“What are they going to do to him, Janus? Are they going to rescue him, or kill him?”

“If he is a witch, Kurt, and he offers no resistance, then he won’t be hurt. Eisengrim would never allow it.”

“I thought that Prince was in charge?”

“He is, but no one listens to him. Eisengrim is the power in the Order. He’s trained nearly all of the current hunters. His word is law to them.”

“If they aren’t going to hurt my boy, then what are they going to do if they catch him?”

“There’s a place in the mountains. It’s called the Sanctum. It’s a fortress, and its run by a big clan of minotaurs called the Cloud Walkers. It’s where witches that surrender go to live, far away from anyone they might hurt.”

“How long do they stay there?” Kurt asked. He was standing now, he realised, and was shaking from head to toe.

“For as long as they live,” said Janus.

“No,” Kurt said. He kicked at the fire, knocked over the spit, sending the rabbits dropping into the flames. “No!”

Janus was up in an instant, backing away slowly. Kurt screamed, kicked the fire, and sent burning sticks and animals everything.

“Kurt –”

“No!” A foot lashed out at the small coffee pot the runner had setup near the fire. It bounced along the dirt and fallen leaves, leaving a steaming trail of black liquid in its wake.

Kurt was over the fire by the time it stopped. He grabbed at the runner’s shoulders. Janus tried to wrestle him off.

“You bastards!” Kurt screamed, spittle flecking over the wolf man’s face. “He’s my son! He’s just a child, and you all want to lock him away forever!”

“Get your hands off me, human! It’s not my fucking fault!”

“What are you gonna do if we find him first, Janus?”

“Nothing, I swear!”

Kurt roared, beside himself. He started shaking the runner, whose face began to look panicked as his attempts to pull the heavy human off of him were having no affect.

“Get off me!”

“You’re only going to help me find him, you understand? He’s all I’ve left, Janus. No one’s taking him away from me!”

“I won’t hurt him Kurt,” the runner said quickly. “I promise you I won’t hurt him.”

“Will you try and take him to this prison?”

“No!”

Kurt let the runner go then. Janus coughed, staggered back, and fell down onto the grass and leaves. Kurt stared down at him, then at his own hands. There had been a moment when he would have tried to kill Janus, if the former hunter had given him the wrong answer. The feeling frightened Kurt, for the notion did not vanish now that his companion was no longer in his hands. Part of him was utterly appalled at what he had just done, the depth of violence he had sunk to. The other part knew this might just be the beginning, if what Janus said was true.

“I’m sorry,” Kurt said then. He stepped forward, offer the runner his hand.

Janus took it, and let himself be helped up.

“I’m sorry,” Kurt said again. Janus waved him off.

“I’ve been beaten worse. Klara didn’t like it when I failed. At least with you, Bauer, I can understand. I don’t have pups yet, but I want them. I would never let anyone threaten my children, either.”

Kurt nodded. Janus said no more that night. They set about putting out the fire the human had nearly spread to the rest of the forest, before sitting down to a supper of burnt rabbits and watery coffee.