The Witch Hunters, Book 1: The Prophet of Ash

“I saw him, Kurt.”

Kurt’s legs trembled at that news.

The farmer had been sitting at the edge of the clearing they’d built their camp fire in, waiting for the past several hours for the other hunters to show up. He had wanted news, and had been filled with a resolve to corner Theo, and make the bull tell him everything they had learned. Reality had other plans. The sight of Theo in the firelight, looking like death had stayed Kurt’s hand. The young minotaur had been shivering and clutching his chest, his crossed arms covering bandages and torn clothes, looking too weary to stand. The helpless rage that had consumed Kurt since leaving the farm winked out at the sight. He had not expected this. Somehow, the thought that these strange people with terrible power granted to them from the King could still be mortal had not occurred to him. He had taken Theo’s arm to lead him to the fire. The Oak had not spoken, had not resisted. He’d not refused Kurt’s help to sit, either. The human had only stood there, waiting for Theo to speak - to ask for a drink, or a blanket, or something. Kurt had been aware of other conversations and commotion beginning around them, but they had ceased to matter now. He stared at Theo, waiting, resisting the need to sit. His friend looked like he would need no prompting.

“It was this morning. We found the monster responsible for slaying all the people at your farm. He had a big camp and we hit it. We sent them running over the river. They had your boy, Kurt. I tried to get to him. I was about to grab him, when this other bull interfered. I’m sorry, Kurt.”

That decided it. The farmer slumped onto the log next to Theo, hugging his knees to his chest, biting his lip as his mind reviewed the pitifully few details of what had happened only hours ago over, and over again. The river. His boy was over the river. They were so close… “How did he look?” he asked then, trying to focus on his friend, and not the awful frustration he felt. Why did he have to be so helpless?

“He seemed fine,” Theo replied, unable to look at him. “He didn’t look abused in any way. They had his legs bound so he couldn’t run away. The leader of this band was a black minotaur.”

“His name’s Volkard,” Kurt said. He gave a quick relay of his own adventures since the hunters had ordered him and Janus back to the Capital with the prince’s letter. Theo stifled a laugh, clutching his chest and coughing a little.

“Janus has been a very bad dog,” he chuckled weakly. He raised his eyes up from the ground, clearly trying to spy at Klara and the runner without being too obvious about it. “Bet his mistress is pissed.”

“I don’t think he’s a bad fellow,” Kurt said, stirring. He made himself a little more comfortable on the ground. “He’s been really helpful to me.”

“I don’t know him at all, Kurt. I’ve barely had a chance to speak with Klara before this whole thing started. He disobeyed orders…but I’m not really too concerned about that. I’d be a damned hypocrite if I was. He’d probably be a terrible witch hunter, though. I should know about that.”

“I don’t think that’s a bad thing,” Bauer said then, feeling his jaw set and his hands form tight fists. “I don’t much care for the work your kind do, Theo. You take children away from their homes.”

“That’s usually because everyone at home is dead, Kurt,” Theo responded wearily. “I didn’t really understand just what this job entailed before all this started. I’ve been a hunter seven years, and I’ve done fuck all and got paid for it. Now…you’ve seen dead trees and a few dead animals. I watched them die, Kurt. The trees just crumble to bits. The animals fall over, and scream if they’ve a chance before they just…stop. I’ve had to kill people, Kurt. I thought I was ready for that. I’m not. I’m not...” The minotaur’s voice trailed off as he stared into the fire that kept them warm despite the rain.

“What the fuck does all that mean?” Kurt growled. Part of him wanted to sympathise. Part of him that was still a man heard and understood the words Theo whispered in his confession. And yet, Kurt Bauer was a father whose son had been stolen from him, and the boy was still in mortal peril. Theo’s sorrow and uncertainty sparked anger in him that Kurt was only just able to quell before he spoke again. “What does this mean, Theo? Are you running away?”

Theo glanced at him at last. He looked hurt, and there was enough of the human in Kurt to feel ashamed of having said what he just did.

“No, Kurt. I promised I’d get your son back. After that, I am done. But not before. I keep my word.”

Kurt felt a tension he had not been aware of ease in him. He reached out then, and pressed his hand gratefully against Theo’s shoulder. Theo sighed. He looked terribly worn.

“Want some coffee?” asked Kurt.

“I’d like that. Thank you.”

*

The fire crackled and grew as Dietrich piled on extra twigs and fallen branches that had been laid beside it. The flames lapped at the bottoms of two pots suspended from the cooking spit. The larger of the two was Siegfried’s, and contained a concoction vaguely reminiscent of rabbit stew. The smaller one belonged to Janus and served to brew their coffee. Its flicker reflected in Klara’s narrow, angry eyes.

Janus stared back, unflinching. The woman did not hide the quiet fuming she had been reduced to, not that concealment of any sort had ever worked with him. Janus wondered if her inability to hide anything completely from him had been a source of her resentment over the time they had been together, when she had been meant to be his teacher, but instead…

“You disobeyed me,” Klara said, her voice a whisper that human ears might barely hear over the snapping of the fire and the bubbling of the pots.

“You abandoned me,” Janus replied. He had known that going along with Kurt meant there was a very good chance he would encounter her again. He had thought himself prepared for the reunion. He had been wrong, but the means had surprised him. He had waited and watched the woods for hours for her, trying to catch a glimpse of her usually pristine armour that would reflect the sunlight as if she had coated herself in mirrors to hide herself from others’ view. But she had appeared at night, and her armour was not pristine. Her broken helm was hanging still from his saddle. He had tried to mend it, though he could not understand why. After the initial flare of anger, which had only rose after he had sensed it in her, Janus had found himself caught up in a profound sense of weariness. He had hated her for so long, and now here was the chance to rub his freedom and even his pent up frustration for all the wasted time and wounds he licked in her face before her peers. What was stopping him?

Dietrich went off to get more wood. Kurt rose from where he was sitting beside Theo to fetch the bull a metal cup full of coffee. He smiled at Janus, but pointedly ignored Klara. The woman did not seem to notice, her attention taken up fully by her wayward dog.

“I gave you a star stone,” Klara said after a while.

“You did,” Janus agreed with a nod. He felt like he should be screaming, hurling abuse and burning twigs at her. He sighed instead, and hugged his knees to his chest. Why couldn’t he enjoy this?

“You swore an oath,” said Klara.

“You swore to train me.”

Klara’s eyes found the ground. The fire burned on between them, indifferent and destructive.

“I was too ambitious,” he heard her say, sounding older than she was. Weaker.

There were so many things he wanted to say to her, but they weren’t alone. Janus stared at the fire. He wanted to scream.

“I thought I knew what I was doing,” he had her say, and it was enough.

Janus stood up. He stared at her, eyes blazing in the fire, her face scarred and her hair as red as the morning star could be when death was coming. It had been a star like that on the day she had come into their woods. The memory of everything he lost when he left with her came upon him like a wave striking a rock. It left him numb and unsteady on his feet.

“I quit,” he said to her, finally. “I’m not a hunter any more.”

“Alright,” Klara replied.

And that was it. No protest. No anger. She went back to looking at the fire.

Janus stared down at her. He had not known what would happen next. Could this really be it? Did he really mean so little to her?

“I’m keeping the stone,” he said far louder than he needed to. He wanted someone to say something. He wanted a fight. They had taken him away from everything and he wanted to make one of them pay for it. But there was nothing. No one said anything. Kurt looked up at him, but that was it. Nothing. Nothing…

“Is that it?” he asked, looking from one of them to the next. These people with their uncomfortable clothes, stupid ways and stinking bodies! “None of you care? I left my people to be one of you. I’ve lost a year and a half of my fucking life to become one of you! None of you care? Are none of you even going to try and take this stone from me?”

“I’m quitting too,” sighed Theo.

“What?” cried Dietrich from across the fire.

The old man’s incredulous exclamation became a chorus as it was taken up in turn by Gerda, by the prince no one liked. By Klara. They all assailed the bull with questions, entreaties that grew to a pitch that stung the air. The bull’s pallor had changed. He began to wave the hand that held his steaming coffee about. Embarrassment mixed in the air with dead, broiling flesh.

Janus stared at the commotion until he could not take it any more. Only Kurt called after him as he walked out into the darkness. He walked until he could not see any further. Blindly, he advanced until he found a tree. He drew his axe and began to savage the trunk. He was not sure later, after he lay on the splinter covered ground, his chest heaving and his throat dry, if he had screamed at all. He wanted it to matter, but it didn’t.