Page 11 of Witchbane

But what could I do about my parentage? It was a question I would like to put to the mysterious girl. Surely she knew as well as I that no one had any choice about their heritage, especially if the insinuations the woman had made about the girl’s mother were true. What right would she have to look upon me with such disdain?

My thoughts were distracted by a maid who hurried from the room where my father was meeting two associates. Aware my father would be furious if I did not arrive on time but not wishing to interrupt a private conversation, I knocked lightly on the door.

‘Enter.’

I opened the door.

‘Do come in, Theo,’ he snapped waving impatiently for me to join him. He pointed across his treasured walnut desk, indicating that I should sit. ‘I’ve decided it’s about time I sent you on your own mission.’

Having been away from the island and having not seen my father for nine years, I felt almost like a stranger to him. I didn’t understand why he was so harsh on people, seeming to believe them guilty before proof was confirmed. I also resented him for the way he bullied my mother, but I loved my mother and wanted to do my best to make her happy, and since that meant building a relationship with him, that’s what I intended to do. I might not be comfortable with the harsh justice my father meted out to the villagers, nor fully believe the horrific tales he had told me about the depravity of witches and the depths they stooped to hurt others, but until I saw for myself that he was wrong I had little choice but to trust he was being honest with me and do as he instructed.

Now, though, I was to finally be entrusted to carry out a job for him. I imagined my mother’s pride when I shared the news with her later. But my elation vanished almost as instantly as it had appeared. Although I was used to the glares of those who hated him, and being seen by some as not much better than him, I reflected bitterly, thinking of the girl’s reaction to me.

We lived a meagre existence but in a pleasant house with a yard, an outbuilding and a small patch of land for growing produce. I had been lucky never to know hunger or hardship like many others in the area. Yet although I respected my father, I struggled to come to terms with the outcome of his work.

My father was a determined man, and I suspected part of the reason for his harshness towards suspected witches and his determination to weed out all those who practised witchcraft was that my grandfather, the first Witchfinder in our family, had been hugely successful in the number of witches he had prosecuted and executed. I didn’t remember my grandfather but recalled my mother telling me some years before, how much less fierce he was than my father, despite being more successful.

Whereas my father and grandfather believed that it was the number of witches brought to justice that was paramount, my intention was to persecute only those who had done terrible deeds. Witches using dark powers and intending to cause harm to others needed to be stopped to protect the lives of innocent people who wished only to live in an honest and godly way.

I couldn’t forget my father’s eagerness for me to read all the works on witchcraft that he presented to me: ‘You cannot be expected to identify a witch or their familiar, or recognise a witch’s mark, if you do not study these matters thoroughly first,’ I recalled him saying on my return to the island.

However, apart from reading relevant papers, I had yet to do more than witness him at work. Not that I minded being a bystander as my father examined a suspect’s body with a medical professional, pricking moles or blemishes believed to be the Devil’s mark to check if they bled. I wondered when I would be able to watch this pricking without tensing and hoping the affected area would bleed, proving the accused was not a witch.

There were other techniques of my father’s that I struggled to tolerate, such as keeping suspects awake for several days until they gave in to his questioning and confessed to whatever abomination he was accusing them of doing. The only part of my training I enjoyed was my legal studies. They gave me confidence in my ability to put together evidence for cases against the accused. It was this part of my job that I secretly hoped I could utilise in the future in some way, possibly to defend people unfairly accused of a crime.

It was something that had always troubled me, even as a younger man, that when I had attempted to appeal to my father’s gentler side, I soon realised what meagre kindness he did possess was kept solely for his family, and even that was rarely seen.

He was still talking, and I forced myself to concentrate.

‘You do understand, I hope, Theo, that I am putting my trust in you. This matter is a difficult one for various reasons I’m not about to share. Although people know you to be my son, they won’t suspect you to be as clever as me, and I’m hoping they will therefore be less guarded when around you.’ His cunning, self-satisfied smile made me shiver. ‘She is young, and even though people are suspicious of her, there are those who are still extremely loyal to the family.’

‘The family?’ I asked, intrigued.

‘You will recall being at a particularly dramatic execution of a witch a short while before you went to live with your mother’s family in Norway.’

I did. It had been my first execution. The nightmares I had suffered for several years after witnessing the terror in the eyes of the condemned woman’s daughter stayed with me. The hatred in the little girl’s glare as she watched my father put her mother to death was something I had never forgotten. It was partly why, for as long I was able, I had resisted returning to the island and agreeing to work for my father.

He was glaring at me, no doubt expecting an answer. ‘I remember it, Father.’

‘I assumed you did,’ he said with a self-satisfied smile. ‘Good. I’ve waited this long to give you responsibility because I am aware you are not as convinced as I believe you should be about how low these dangerous women will stoop.’

‘Only women?’ I asked.

‘For the most part, yes. I have been suspicious of one or two men, but never found any conclusive evidence to take things further.’ He glowered at me. ‘It is imperative that, whoever they are, they be dealt with. You are my son, though, Theo,’ he said. ‘Never forget that. It is also your duty as the son and grandson of respected Witchfinders to continue our family line. Do I make myself clear?’

Having heard this lecture my entire life, and more so as I dared to resist taking the role he intended for me, I simply nodded. ‘You do, Father.’

‘I am giving you this case because she is the daughter of that witch and she is now nineteen and would, I believe, have been inducted into her mother’s coven by now. I am confident, having seen her mother’s shame and understanding how witches pass their practice down from mother to daughter, that this girl is from an exceedingly dangerous line of witches.’

‘You know that for certain?’

He glowered at me. ‘I know it as well as I must.’

Aware I had little recourse than to do his bidding, I nodded. ‘I will do as you ask, Father.’

He rested his elbows on the desk’s tooled red leather top and steepled his fingers, then stared at me thoughtfully for several seconds, before giving a curt nod.

‘I am glad to hear you say it.’