Rembrien Chapter 5.

Chapter 5.

 

A Face from the Past.

 

Once again, Sophrayni let Shade choose their path. The road wandered between low hills, fields stitched together with stone walls. At first, everything felt right. Insects hummed. Birds sang. The wind rustled the roadside trees. A milestone at the verge read: Nordon – 1 mile.

But as they passed it, something shifted. Not in the land, the fields stayed golden and green, the sky clear, but Sophrayni felt it in her bones. The air pressed against her skin. Her witch-sense stirred like a cat waking from sleep.

The birdsong faltered. Not silence, just hesitation. The wind grew too still between gusts, as if holding its breath. Shade’s ears twitched. He snorted, uneasy. Sophrayni reached out with her senses. Something here was twisted. She frowned. It wasn’t a curse. Not wild magic. It was something else.

“Nordon,” she murmured. “Let’s see what you’ve become.”

The town lay nestled between two ridges, its rooftops slate-dark. She had marked it on the map, one of the places Calizone had never visited. She arrived mid-morning. The streets were swept, but no one greeted her. Shade’s hooves echoed too loudly. A dog barked once, then was silent.

The smoke reached her first, sharp, bitter, wrong. Shade stamped as they entered the town.

Sophrayni narrowed her eyes. In the town square, a crowd had gathered. Torches flickered. A pyre had been built from old furniture and green wood. At its centre stood a woman bound to a post. Her hair was grey; her face streaked with ash and tears. Around her, men shouted “witch” and “curse,” but their voices trembled.

Sophrayni dismounted in silence. She walked into the square without haste, without ceremony. The crowd parted, unsure whether to flee or kneel. She raised one hand, and the torches died. Not slowly. Not politely. The flames vanished, smoke, flame, heat, all gone in a breath.

The silence that followed was as thick as honey. Sophrayni turned to the bound woman. “You’re the charmer here?”

The woman nodded, too stunned to speak.

Sophrayni turned to the crowd. “You were about to kill your healer. Your midwife. Your protector.”

A whisper rose from the crowd: “That’s the Witch of the Dark Forest.” The knowledge rippled through them like wind through wheat.

“Who ordered this?” Sophrayni asked.

No one spoke. She tapped her foot and drew a deep breath. Before she could cast the spell that would force an answer, an old, well-dressed man was led forward. His hair was white and neatly combed, his face lined with pride and age. But his strength had faded. He leaned on the arm of a younger man, broad-shouldered, grim-faced, who held him upright with quiet effort.

Sophrayni glared. The old man tried to stand straighter. Finally, he spoke. His voice was cracked, but still carried authority. “I am Lord Fenwick, Kingsman here. And you are?”

“If you don’t know who I am,” Sophrayni snarled, her temper sharp, “then you’ll find out soon enough.”

“Witchcraft is evil,” he said. “It corrupts the land. Twists the minds of the young. We burn it because evil must be destroyed.”

Sophrayni didn’t blink. She let the silence stretch. Then she stepped forward, slow and deliberate. “Tell me,” she said softly, “what evil did your charmer commit? Did she poison your wells? Steal your children? Or did she mend bones, ease births, charm the frost from your crops?”

The old man’s mouth moved, but no answer came.

She turned to the crowd. “You’ve drunk her brews. Slept well because of her charms. Trusted her with your sick and your dying, and this is how you repay her?”

She looked closely at the man supporting Lord Fenwick. His face was familiar. He wore the robes of a steward now, his hair greying. But she knew him. “You were there,” she said. “You came to take me. To hurt my family.”

He flinched, just slightly.

“I dealt with your leader then. And the man who gave you orders.” She stepped closer. “You, I let go. And you’ve been running ever since. Into Fenwick’s trust. You fed him stories,” Sophrayni said. “About witches. About danger. About me.”

The man said nothing.

“You couldn’t beat me then,” she said. “You won’t now.” She turned to Fenwick. “You’ve been listening to a man who once tried to kidnap a child. Is that who you are now?”

The steward snarled. “You ruined everything the day you meddled in things you didn’t understand. My master lost his name, his power, and his home. I lost my best friend. You think you’re better than us. You leave fear behind you like footprints. You don’t heal, you haunt. You and all your kind deserve to be burnt.”

Sophrayni looked at him with sorrow. “I spared you once. Not because you deserved it, but because I believed even the cruel could change.” She turned away. “You’re not worth my anger.”

The steward lunged. It wasn’t graceful, more a stumble than a strike, but Shade reared. Hooves flashed. The steward was flung backwards, crumpling against the edge of the pyre.

The crowd was silent. Then someone knelt. Then another, and another, until only Sophrayni, the still-bound charmer, and Lord Fenwick remained standing. Sophrayni pointed at the charmer, and the ropes fell around her feet. She began to kneel. Sophrayni shook her head.

“We are sisters,” she said gently. “Witches do not kneel to anyone.”

Lord Fenwick stared at the steward, then at his own hands. “I was about to burn her,” he said quietly. “A woman who delivered my grandchild. I let fear speak for me. I let him speak for me.” He looked at Sophrayni and bowed his head. “I was wrong. I should have known better.”

          “You should have,” she agreed. “But knowing better now is the beginning.”

          She reached out, not to strike, but to steady. Her fingers brushed his sleeve, and the tension in his shoulders eased.

          “Go home. I will deal with him.”

          Sophrayni knelt beside the steward, her voice low.

          “You’ve spoken enough poison for one lifetime.”

          The man whimpered.

          “You will speak no lie, no slander, no evil for as long as you live, or, like your old friend, the fire you meant for this woman will burn on you.”

          The man gasped.

          Lord Fenwick looked at him. “Sophrayni may have been lenient with you, but I won’t be. You have until midnight to leave the district. If you ever return, I’ll make sure you hang.”

          The man staggered to his feet and fled.

          The charmer stood beside Sophrayni, watching the last of the crowd disperse. Lord Fenwick remained bowed, the steward forgotten.

          Sophrayni placed a hand on Shade’s flank, ready to ride.

          Then the wind shifted.

          It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t cold. But it carried something. Shade’s ears flicked. Sophrayni’s witch-sense stirred again, sharper this time, like a thread pulled tight.

          She turned her gaze eastward. No movement. No sound. But something in the land had changed.

          The charmer stepped forward, her hand resting lightly on Shade’s flank.

          “There’s something you should know,” she said. “Before they came for me, I had a visitor. Will Greeny. He said you wanted to know if there are places nearby where the land doesn’t behave as it should, strange weather, restless animals, herbs that won’t grow. Places that feel… off.”

          Sophrayni nodded. “You know of such a place?”

          The charmer spoke quietly. “There is a place. East of here, past the old stone bridge and the hollow hill. The land doesn’t behave as it should.”

          Sophrayni paused, listening.

          “The weather turns without warning,” the charmer continued. “Rain falls from clear skies. Frost clings to summer leaves. The animals won’t settle, dogs howl at nothing, cattle refuse to graze. And the herbs…” She hesitated. “They won’t grow. Not even nettle or thistle. It’s as if the soil forgets what it’s meant to do.”

          Sophrayni’s gaze sharpened.

          “Do you know the name of the place?”

          The charmer shook her head. “Sorry. I’ve never been there. I only know of it from Blossom Smike, she’s the charmer in the next town to the east. Weedon.”

          She looked up at Sophrayni, eyes wide with worry. “She said you’d want to know.”

          Sophrayni did.

          She nodded once, solemn.

          “Thank you,” she said. “You’ve done more than you know.”

          Then she swung into the saddle, and Shade turned toward the east.