“Sounds to me like Witch Riot doesn’t believe the murders were committed by a member of the magical community.”
“I don’t know. I think they only want to make us see that whenever something happens everyone screams “witch” even if our kind has nothing to do with it. And now that one of us is going around killing, those voices will only find their suspicions and prejudices confirmed,” Finja said, eyes trained on the screen. The video showed Witch Riot on a stage in a dark, small bar. Around fifty people had gathered in front of the stage and were cheering madly.
“I wish I could go to one of their concerts. They’re absolutely fantastic.”
“Unless you know someone who’s involved in the underground scene that won’t ever happen.”
“I know. I hate that Witch Riot has to perform in secret. They should be allowed to sing their songs wherever they want. What about freedom of speech?”
Nela raised one eyebrow. “The Brotherhood doesn’t think freedom of speech extends to witches.”
“Wait a second,” Finja said with a cheeky smile. “What about that guy you met. He sounds like someone who can find out about secret Witch Riot concerts. Maybe he can get us in.”
Nela snorted. “Yeah right. As if that’s going to happen. I thought you wanted me to stay away from him.”
“So you won’t talk to him again?”
“Of course not. I don’t even know where to find him. I only know his name and I can’t really start asking around for him. That will definitely draw attention to me and him.”
Finja scanned Nela’s face as if she didn’t believe her. “Hm. But if you ever see him again, ask him for tickets.” Then she burst into laughter.
Nela joined in, but it felt fake. Finja had been joking when she’d asked Nela about meeting Darko again, but deep down something in Nela wanted to see him again. He was her only chance to do what she wanted most in this world: magic.
Chapter 8
Nela came down the staircase the next morning and walked into the kitchen, expecting to find her father reading the newspaper and her mother preparing pancakes but instead they were both sitting at the table, staring down at a blue letter. “What’s that?” Nela asked, sinking down on the chair across from her parents.
Her father folded the letter slowly, methodically, not looking up. When her mother finally raised her face, her eyes were brimming with worry. “It’s a letter from the Brotherhood, requiring us to attend the punishment of a witch.”
Nela hesitated. “You mean you’ll have to watch her burn at the stake, right?” Her voice sounded strangely hollow.
Her mother smoothed invisible crinkles in the tablecloth. “Yes.” Her voice trailed off.
“It’s not only your mother and I who are asked to attend. The letter includes you as well.”
Nela’s stomach tightened. She’d never watched a burning. Her mother had always forbidden her to watch them when they came on TV, and neither of her parents had ever attended one of the burnings that had taken place in Cologne. They’d never been required to. “Asked to? Does that mean I can say ‘no’?”
Her father narrowed his eyes slightly as if he thought she might be trying to provoke him again, but then his shoulders slumped. “Unfortunately, the only way to excuse yourself from the burning is if you’re prevented due to medical reasons.”
“Then I’m sick,” Nela said quickly.
Her mother gave her an empty smile. “That won’t work, sweetheart.”
“You’d have to go to one of the physicians of the Brotherhood and they’d have to excuse you. We’ll all have to bear this together.” This was the first time Nela thought she might have heard a hint of criticism toward the Brotherhood in her father’s words.
“When is the burning scheduled?” Nela asked. Her mother got up and assembled the ingredients for pancakes on the kitchen counter.
“This afternoon,” her father said. “We’re supposed to be there at 4pm.”
“Why are they suddenly forcing us to attend? I don’t get it.”
“Isn’t it obvious?” her father said, and then it clicked in Nela’s mind. Of course, it was. “It’s because of the murders, right?”
Her father gave a brisk nod. “We’re all going to pay for the foolishness of a few fanatics. The killer probably deludes himself into thinking that he’s actually doing something good, some kind of sign of protest, by killing off humans. All those revolutionists are only going to make it worse.”
“So forcing us to see a witch burn is some kind of message?”
“A warning,” her mother said softly.
“How will the Brotherhood even know if we’re there? It’ll be crowded; they can’t possibly see all of us.”
“The Brotherhood has its ways. We aren’t going to risk anything. We’ll follow the rules of the Brotherhood,” her father said.
“But— ”
“No, Nela. This discussion is over.”
After that, her father disappeared behind his newspaper and her mother focused on making pancakes.
Nela wasn’t really hungry, but she didn’t want to worry her mother, so she forced down two pancakes. She’d probably need the strength for later. She couldn’t imagine watching someone die, much less watch them burn slowly. Whenever Nela thought she couldn’t possibly hate the Brotherhood any more, they did something even worse.
***
The square in front of the Cologne Cathedral was already crowded when Nela and her parents arrived. An old fashioned wooden platform had been set up in front of the doors of the church. But the façade had been covered with a light colored fabric that would repel the flames and thus protect the church. The platform in front of the church had been roped in, so the spectators wouldn’t get too close to the stake. But the square was filled with people. Soon it would be too crowded to move. The row right in front of the rope with the best view of the stake was separated by another rope and within its confines people with familiar faces had gathered: Finja and her family, and other witches Nela knew. Her parents steered her toward them. Two guards of the Brotherhood let them in. Lined up like that in the first row, the Brotherhood officials wouldn’t have any difficulties spotting who wasn’t following their invitation. Finja gave Nela a small smile, but her face was so pale she looked like a ghost. Several other witch families were between their two families. “Can’t we go closer to the Krenzes?”
Her father exchanged a quick nod with Finja’s parents. “We should stay where we are. This is going to start any moment.”
Nela followed his gaze and could see that he was right. Two men were piling up wood on the wooden platform and another man was covering the ground below and around it with white foam. Their gray frocks swayed in the wind that was slowly picking up. The sky was already darkening on the horizon.
There was a heavy weight on Nela’s chest as she watched a police car pull up in the alley beside the cathedral. Two members of the Brotherhood in black frocks walked up to it – the standard color of the guards –and opened the car door. A few moments later a woman stepped out, her hands cuffed behind her back, her legs linked by chains which clanked on the pavement when she moved. Whispering picked up among the humans in the rows behind Nela and her family. Slowly the woman was lead past the crowd and toward the wooden platform. When she was pushed up the narrow wooden ladder, her back came into view. She was wearing a plain gray smock, which was open in the back, revealing her skin down to her lower back. Her tattoo was on display for everyone to see – a tattoo that covered every inch of the exposed skin.
“See, she’s guilty,” a vicious voice hissed somewhere behind Nela. “They all are. If it was up to me, I’d force them all to expose their backs at all times. That way they couldn’t hide their devious activities. I bet the majority of the devil’s brood in the front row would end up at the stake if we could see their tattoos. The Brotherhood is far too lenient.”
Nela clenched her hands. She really hoped this wasn’t something the Brotherhood actually considered.
If she’d have to expose her skin, she might very well be among those who’d end up in the Witch Tower or worse.
A hush fell over the crowd and thankfully also over the idiot behind Nela when the two guards of the Brotherhood, forced the witch to turn around and press her back against the wooden stake. One of them shackled her arms to the stake while the other did the same with her legs. The woman raised her head for the first time, staring defiantly back at them. Nela admired her for the strength to hold her head up high. The woman was young, maybe in her mid-twenties. For her back to look the way it did, she probably had been practicing magic frequently for several years. The wind ripped at her long blond hair and the gray smock, revealing her pale ankles.
Grand Master Claudius stepped up onto the platform, but he didn’t spare the witch a single look. His snow-white frock with the red cross on the front stood out like a signal flame. He raised his arms and the crowd got even quieter. Many witches and wizards lowered their heads, probably to hide their expressions. It took Nela more than a little self-control to hide her disgust from the world.
The Grand Master seemed to relish in the reverent silence for a few moments and a crazy part of Nela wanted to shout something offensive to see his holier-than-thou mask slip. But her mother cast a quick warning glance at her as if she could read Nela’s thoughts.
Grand Master Claudius spoke up and his voice carried through the loudspeakers positioned around the cathedral square. He gave his usual purge the world from evil speech before he finally named the crimes of the witch. As usual she had been convicted for Maleficium, but he didn’t give any details. He paused after he’d announced her death sentence by burning at the stake - as if there was any doubt about that. Why else were they all here and the poor woman bound to the stake? He spread his arms like so many saint statues did. “But God is merciful, even to those that don’t deserve his mercy, and so is the Brotherhood. That’s why we offer the kindness of oblivion.”
A man walked up the stairs of the platform and toward the witch. “That’s one of the physicians of the Brotherhood,” her mother whispered.
Nela had guessed as much. She gave a nod. The doctor lifted the witch’s sleeve, exposing her thin arm. The woman flinched but she didn’t look at the doctor or at the Grand Master. She was staring straight ahead at the crowd. Her eyes seemed to bore into Nela’s. Why would the woman look at Nela of all people? The doctor took out a syringe from his bag and injected its contents into the crook of the woman’s arm. It was the anesthetic that was required by law to make the staking humane – which in Nela’s opinion was a contradiction. How could it ever be humane to make a spectacle out of burning someone alive? The only thing missing to make it even worse was if the Brotherhood would start selling tickets for the show.
The man who’d spewed his nastiness earlier spoke up again. “The bitch doesn’t deserve our mercy. The Brotherhood should finally stop drugging those monsters. Let them suffer through the burning. That’s what they deserve.”
His words seemed to spear Nela from behind. Her skin felt itchy and dirty from being close to someone like him, someone who didn’t realize how horrible his words were.
“Yes,” a second man agreed. “Why treat those abominations humanely when they aren’t even human? They are wrong, the devil’s work.”
“Bullshit. I don’t believe in all the devil’s brood talk,” a third man said. “But I don’t want witches around my children, no matter who created them. They’re dangerous and we should treat them as such. Lock them all away or take them to a lonely island where they can live among themselves without ruining our lives.”
Nela had to force herself to stand still and not turn around and give those idiots a piece of her mind. The two guards of the Brotherhood appeared again, each holding a burning torch in their hands. Smoke rose up into the darkening sky. They walked up the stairs toward the stake and stood beside the Grand Master. The doctor was still tending to the witch. She’d thrown her head back and was staring up into the sky. Slowly her muscles went slack and her head fell forward. The doctor stepped closer to her, probably to see if she was unconscious. Then he straightened and gave a nod toward the Grand Master before he walked down the ladder and disappeared from view. Apparently, he wasn’t required to watch the burning.
The Grand Master said something to the guards beside him and they moved toward the unconscious witch slumped forward at the stake. They touched their torches to the branches piled up around and under the woman. The dry wood caught fire in a flash. Crackling filled the quiet as the flames licked at the hem of the woman’s gray smock. Nela gripped her mother’s hand. She didn’t want to watch the flames consume the woman. She wanted to turn around, close her eyes, but members of the Brotherhood had gathered all around the square. Someone would notice if she stopped watching. The flames danced wildly in the wind and then the woman’s hair and clothes caught fire and she was engulfed in an ocean of gray smoke and red flames. Shadows flickered on the Grand Master’s face as he watched the witch burn without an expression. Inside he was probably rejoicing. Every dead witch was a success for him.
The wind picked up even more, whirling cinder up over their heads. The glowing ash fluttered down. Nela shuddered as one of the particles landed on her shoulder. She quickly brushed it off. This was a part of a human being. The smell of burnt wood and flesh wafted over to her, clogged her nose. It smelled like the one time her dad had tried to make a pulled pork sandwich and burnt the meat. The thought made her stomach turn. She was going to throw up if she kept watching how a person went up in flames until all that was left of her being was a blackened carcass.
The witches and wizards around her watched with empty faces, unblinking. Why weren’t they doing something? Why were they letting this happen to someone of their own?
Why wasn’t she doing something? But what could she possibly do? She was nobody. Heat rose up behind her eyes but she blinked it back. Tears wouldn’t change anything. They’d only make things worse for her and her family. Mark her as someone who was weak and who showed pity toward a convicted criminal. She could see that her mother’s eyes were glistening, but she too wasn’t letting the tears fall. Only her father was like a rock, not an emotion on his face, his eyes distant, as if he wasn’t even seeing what was happening. Nela searched the faces of the other witches, but most of them had mastered the stony mask her father could slip on so easily. Not Finja and her mother, though, they both were crying openly, not trying to hide their horror and sadness.
Nela had always thought she was brave, had been secretly proud about how she’d endured her Binding with her head held high while Finja had broken down. But had it really been bravery? Or wasn’t true bravery to show your grief for someone who deserved it? Wasn’t that small act of defiance worth much more because it was for someone else? The wooden platform collapsed and a new wave of cinders rose up into the sky. A few people in the crowd actually cheered.
Nela turned away then; she couldn’t stand it any longer, couldn’t stand being there with her parents and other witches, doing nothing, pretending this was right. Beyond the heads of the gathered crowd, she spotted a familiar face, leaning against a wall, arms crossed. Nobody paid him any attention. Why would they? Witches looked human and if he wasn’t registered, the Brotherhood didn’t know he was a wizard. She released her mother’s hand and forced her way toward the end of the line where the two Brotherhood guards stood. Her father hissed her name but she didn’t stop. The show was over, wasn’t it? She’d seen what she was supposed to see.
One of the guards barred her way. “I’m feeling sick,” she said in a choked voice. “I think I’m going to throw up.” It was so close to the truth that it didn’t take much effort to make it sound real.
“You will stay until we give you permission to leave, understood?” His hands rested on the club in a holster at his hip. Nela was surprised that they didn’t still carry around swords.
“Please,” she said, half choking on the word. “I’m not feel
ing well.”
“Are you deaf? Go –”
“Let her out. I really don’t want to have to clean up vomit. The punishment is over anyway. Nothing to see anymore,” said the older guard. His expression was less hostile than that of his younger colleague, though not exactly kind. The younger guard finally stepped aside and Nela hurried past him before they could change their minds. She kept close to the crowd so the guards would lose sight of her. If they saw her meeting with Darko, they might get suspicious. She couldn’t risk it.
***
Darko watched Nela making her way toward him. Behind her, black smoke was still floating up, mingling with the dark clouds hovering above the Cologne cathedral. A pile of ashes was all that was left of the witch. She’d been killed for doing what she was born to do. Hatred bubbled up in him as he watched the Grand Master of the Brotherhood disappear into the church. There was no greater evil in the world than a self-righteous man who was convinced he knew exactly what God wanted.
Slowly the witches were released from their prime spots for the burning. Sometimes Darko wasn’t sure whom he despised more: those pathetic witches and wizards, or the Brotherhood. The Brotherhood at least was fighting for their ideals. The magical community on the other hand was a bunch of cowards.