Brightfallen

Edinburgh, Scotland, 1641

Another witch was convicted today. Shame too; was a girl I was supposed to court back when I was a teenager. Didn’t work out though. Lass was a bore, dreadfully so. It’s fascinating to watch though. Idiots in robes point an oversized black book at a commoner yelling out “WITCH” only because she happened to break a hay bale apart when she walked by. It couldn’t possibly be due to the fact the string had been decaying for over 3 days. Only because it tripped a magistrate. She must be a witch!

She isn’t. Like I said, DREADFULLY boring. She was too faithful to her church and king to stray off the path of the light. But hey, let the scapegoat come to slaughter so the true coven stays around. Besides, a true child of Morrigan wouldn’t cry at defending themselves on the stand. That pitiful soul never strayed far from her roots. Still the same bore of a lynx she was when I declined to “call” upon her.

Unlike myself. As a wee cub, I experienced things that common folk could scarce comprehend. I would dream of a crow watching me from a distance. Over the years, that crow would come closer. I’d walk to the schoolhouse alone, but feel as if someone was watching me. One time there was a murder of crows fluttering around, harassing the townsfolk. Mum saw me approach them and the birds suddenly calmed. They looked in my direction and began squawking as if they were talking with me.

That’s what happens when you’re raised by two odd souls with a disdain for the Good Word. Shame they aren’t around to see the farce that is playing out. I don’t think they’d do well on a trial. They weren’t, how should I say it… subtle. Not saying it would be an open/shut case, but it wouldn’t be hard to convict. They embraced the weird, refusing to conform to the town’s expectations. Miss those fuckers.

“Brichtfell.” Oh, I guess we interrupt this internal monologue as my cohort has entered.

“Caulfield,” I respond. “You really should wear louder clogs, it’s ill-advised to creep upon a man when he’s reminiscing.”

“Baillie Willingham has summoned you to the chapel.” He said gruffly. His canine muzzle showed a soft curve. That wolf rarely shows emotion.

“Oh? Do they want an audience with a scholar such as myself?”

“You know why…”

Ah, here it comes. My calling card! It gets a little boring at this part, dear reader, so why don’t I just push you to the moment of my greatest triumph?

***

CLACK CLACK! Those gavels are such a bother to a daydream. “Arwen Brichtfell” the portly judge presiding over my so-called “fate” calls my name.

“Aye…sir?”

“Are you a warlock?” Right to the point I see.

“A warlock? No. Why do you ask?”

The baillie clears his throat. “You are being charged with the drowning of Charlie Fairbairn’s livestock in the river.”

“Hypothetically, how does that act constitute me as a witch?”

“Warlock…”

I roll my eyes. “Fine, warlock. That still doesn’t answer my question.”

“You used the young calf as part of a sacrifice for your satanic rituals. Then shortly after, famine and illness fell upon the family.”

“So a random calf walks into the river- one that, mind you, probably can’t swim- and you immediately think ‘must be a witch or warlock’! Brilliant! Send him to the gallows.”

“You mock the court?” he spars.

“When the evidence you present is a mockery, yes I do.”

The hammer clacks again-“Silence!”

Oh this is quite fun. I give a soft giggle as I hold my tongue, for now.

“You will respect this process, Brichtfell. Otherwise it’s the stocks for you.” Really? Actually, I could use a wee bit of time in that position. Gives me time to think, or maybe for one of those blacksmiths to take advantage of my situation eh? But I relent for now, I feel like it’s about to be more fun.

“A witness puts you at the river at the same time of the calf’s death. They recount you taking a sack over the beast’s head to confuse it while underwater.” Baillie looks a little too proud. My fur puffs up a bit, it’s time for a lesson.

“You say a witness perceived me doing the crime. And may I ask who my accuser is?” I scan the court while I speak. “Or are you subject to believing every utterance that comes your way?”

I see the bailiff beside the counselor. She catches my gaze towards me. I’ve seen many eyes, and I know how to read people enough to know that this fucker is nervous. My smile grins wide as my tail curls up alongside my leg.

“Oh, are they not here?” My arms raise up, mocking shock. “Goodness, if your claims have any merit, I would expect my accuser to be here. Wouldn’t they love to see my downfall?”

Baillie leans forward. “Your accusations do not require them-”

“-Heresay.” I interrupt. “You can tell me the REAL reason they aren’t here.”

The judge bangs his gavel. “Silence Brichtfell.You will not intimidate this court.”

“Intimidate? You mean what you are doing? If I didn’t know any better Willingham, I would say you’re a witch.” He was really getting on my nerves.

“There will be order in the-”

“Shut yer pus!” I shift my posture and cross my arms. “You talk about order, and yet your perception of the law is warped to fit your agenda. Do you have nothing better to do than try to pin a simple slaughter of a calf on a sophisticated man of the town? Do I look like the kind of person who would go out in the middle of the night to make some sort of sacrifice when if I really wanted to have my fill of steak, I would go down to the pub? What say you to THAT, Willingham?”

The counselor paused for a moment. What, is he gonna stammer a bit? Then he smiled.

“I never said the calf was killed in the middle of the night.”

Bollocks.

And sure enough, there I was; being led up to the gallows with two other poor unfortunate souls. One of them was crying and pleading for mercy; exclaiming her innocence and resisting as much as she could. The other kept muttering to himself. Not exactly sure if he realized where he was going sadly. Neither were witches.

See, the common misconception of my kind is that these ignorant men of god think that witchcraft is work of the devil. You can thank King James for his obsession with satanic rubbish. The devil has possessed us, causing us to do evil things, sacrifices for him, and all other nonsense. Also, who said the Devil was a man? Who said God was a man? If they met MY goddess, they would turn redder than Satan’s asscheek.

The truth is, the church hates nonbelievers. My two fellow prisoners are a prime example of this. Just because they questioned the rule of holy law. But such is the folly of small minded individuals. So as I stood there, watching Ballie Willingham ask if each of us had any last words, I just smiled. I don’t object to the coarse sinew being tightened around my neck. My calm expression was not repeated by my two noose enjoyers. The girl repeatedly begged, her cries increasingly desperate as the executioner grasped the lever.

THUNK. There goes the crying lass. Cries became gasps, gurgling as her body struggled until her time expired. WHOOSH! Poor fella probably didn’t even realize the noose went round his neck as his body jerked and then went limp. And now, we turn to me. Ballie decided he wanted to take his time before letting the trapdoor fall. Such a smug look on his chubby face.

“Arwen Brichtfell. Do you have anything more you would like to say before we send you to hell?” As his fellow clergy chuckled along. I smiled.

“Of course.” I spread my feet out as I look directly into his eyes. “For the crime of murder on a calf; I am innocent.” The crowd laughed a bit, taunting out insults. I feel my body increase in temperature as my eyes glow blue. “That doesn’t mean I’m not a murderer though. Aye, blood was spilled by my own hands. Not for this Devil you are obsessed with, but because you failed.”

Flames of azure start to burn from my boots, causing a panic among the front row of this performance. Ballie stood straighter as I feel the tendrils of flame slither up my body. “YOU failed the calf, for being butchered by a drunkard who preyed on the animal for pleasure, not for sustenance. YOU failed your town for reprimanding the drunkard for being a belligerent nuisance harassing the women, children, and livestock that passed him. That man wanted to hear someone scream.”

The flames started to grow as Ballie glanced over to the executioner. “Drop him!” The lever was pulled, the trapdoor released. But I do not fall, I float. The bindings on my hands burn away and rest to my side as I float down to the grassy stage below. “And YOU failed to apprehend the true evil that corrupts your town. A patriarchal society that puts rank over value. Turning the other cheek is just an excuse to keep your eyes shut. You continue to ask forgiveness from your god because you find it easier than taking responsibility for your actions.”

I reach into my pocket as I look directly into the eyes of Ballie Willingham. I keep his gaze locked onto my own as inch closer. “That man who preyed on your livestock still stumbled on your streets. You ask if I am guilty of murder? Tell me, is it considered murder if the victim is accused of doing something even more heinous? You focus on the calf, but did you know about the horse from Calloway’s stable? What about the sheep from the McGuire flock? You hypocrites will do whatever to turn a blind eye, to only see what you want to see. So, you let the drunk go on. His crime went unpunished, again.”

My hand comes out with viscera and blood dripping from the fist. “So I stopped him.” I toss its contents to the feet of Willingham: green eyeballs, cut ears, decayed teeth, and a perfectly cut tongue.

The gallows and buildings around them are engulfed in the blue flames, terror erupted as destruction drove itself through the town, but not the people. I didn’t kill in retaliation, murder isn’t the answer here. “Let this be a lesson to you all. You squander the fruit the land gives you, then the land WILL respond.”

From behind, I feel a burned, scarred hand grip my shoulder, another latching onto my wrist. The flames that sparked from their hands ignite my cloak. I watch with laughter as clergymen cast their eyes away from the show my brethren and I are putting on. As my body became gripped by the hands from the flames, one caressed my neck as I feel my body start to scorch, and melt away.

“And if you say your god should be feared…” The flames wrap around me as I spread my grin wide. “Then you will scream in terror at mine.”

And in a flash, the flames disappear, as do I.

BRIGHTFALLEN