Coven: a dark medieval paranormal romance (Witches of the Woods Book 2) (17 page)

M
y eyes fluttered open
, and immediately I wished for them to close again. When my eyes were closed, I’d felt no pain. But now it flared through my limbs like fire, burning me from the inside.

“Get up,” a familiar voice commanded. In the dim light I could just make out a silhouette standing over me, something long and pointed clutched in its hands.

I didn’t obey. What reason did I have to obey, when my body already burned with agony?

Something bit into my shoulder, causing a fresh wave of pain to tear through my ruined body. I cried out as whatever-it-was twisted inside of me, my eyes squeezed shut against the horror I knew awaited them. The pain relented ever so slightly, and I used my hands to steady myself as I rolled over, pulling my knees beneath me. My sides exploded with pain. I reached down to grab them, and grazed bandages wrapped tight around my torso.

“I have had my löwe dress your wounds,” my father said. “I cannot allow you to die until the demon has been purged from your body. It is unthinkable that my own son should betray the church in this way. You have done me a service by coming here in secret as you did, for you have saved me from public humiliation. I can only conclude that beneath the demon within you hides something of the son I raised.”

Still squatting on my knees before him, I spat on his boots.

“It is a stubborn demon,” my father said. “But I have many ways to expel it.”

Rough hands grabbed me, pulling me to my feet, dragging me backward. My father’s words sank through the pain in my head. They were taking me to the torture chamber. I roared with defiance, lashing out at the men that held me, thrashing wildly as I tried to throw them of balance.

“It’s a feisty one!”

From somewhere inside my pain-addled mine, a message of clarity got through.
With every struggle you make, you are only fuelling your father’s belief that you are possessed by a demon. You must be calm.

I slackened, becoming dead weight that the men had to drag through the narrow dungeon. I was not going to give them the satisfaction of righteousness. It was a small victory, minuscule in fact, when you considered the fact that I was now my father’s prisoner, and that the pain I was now experiencing was nothing compared to what he would soon inflict upon me, but I would take any victory I could get.

I opened my eyes again, watching cold stone walls and crowded cells fly past my face as I was dragged through the dungeon. I wondered if Muriel’s father had seen me being dragged toward the torture chamber like this. I hoped he did, and that he gleamed some satisfaction from it. It was the least I could give him for his suffering.

Once inside, my father slammed the door shut behind him, and slid the bolts to. He had the men drag my body up and strap me into the St. Andrew’s Cross. It took all of my self-control to keep my limbs slack as they forced my hands into the shackles and locked me in place. My whole body screamed for freedom.

“I think a stout whipping will do, at first,” he said. My father took a knife, and cut my tunic away from my body, and my trousers as well. My face flushed with shame as I stood naked before him, unable to fight back. He flicked his eyes over my body. “It is good to see that you have not let your physical fitness go,” he said with a note of admiration. “So many of my scharfrichters have let women and drink and other luxuries degrade their cause. Hopefully, when I am finished with you, you will still be a fine warrior of the Lord.”

I growled, and shook the frame of the cross. The wood creaked in protest, but held strong.
I hate this. I can’t do it. I can’t lie here meek and obeying while he does this to me …

“Ah, yes. This one will do perfectly.” Damon selected a whip from the rack. It was the cat-o-nine-tails, a vicious implement with nine leather tongues, each one sewn with small metal balls that tore at the skin, leaving gaping, bleeding holes.

I can’t do it I can’t do it I can’t do it—

CRACK!

The whip fell across my shoulders, a terrible blow that brought all the force of my father’s arm behind it. My lungs expelled my breath, the air fleeing my body in an attempt to escape the stinging pain that flared across my torso.

I cried and struggled harder, slamming the shackles against the wood. I heard a crack as a splinter of wood flew from the cross and clattered across the floor.

“That’s it, demon!” My father cried. “Come to the surface, so that we may expel you from this mortal body.”

CRACK!

“NO!” I bellowed, as the pain arced. My blood pounded in my ears. My father held nothing back. These were not the careful, precise welts I had administered to my female victims in the privacy of my own dungeon, the kind that brought pleasure as well as pain. These were blows designed to break me, to lay me raw.

You cannot fight back. You will only make things worse for yourself. You will give him the satisfaction. You must stay calm. You must resist.

CRACK!

A cry for mercy was on the tip of my tongue. I was ready to beg him to stop, anything to ease the agony. But then something flashed across my vision, a whisper of golden hair, a smile that was like sunshine, a light in the darkness.

Ada.

As soon as I registered the vision, it was gone, but the memory stayed with me. If I could cling to Ada, to the thought of returning to her, it would keep me alive. She could make me strong enough to resist.

I steeled my mind and drew it back to the last time I had been alone in my dungeon with her, when I had strapped her into my own St. Andrew’s Cross and laid the whip across her delicious curves, the red lines decorating her porcelain skin, marking her as mine, as she so willingly opened herself up to me. I remembered pressing my fingers up inside of her, feeling her juices run down my arm as I teased her to the point of oblivion, only to pull away again. My mouth watered with the taste of her, heat rushing through my body as though I were pressed up against her.

CRACK!

This time I did not cry out. Although my body screamed with pain, and my eyes swam with red welts that grew larger, in my mind I was somewhere else entirely. I was in a different dungeon, with a girl who lit my body on fire.

Pleasure and pain- that had always been my motto. And now, with Ada’s help, I would draw upon the pleasure in order to survive the pain.

“
I
’m concerned
that he is not responding,” Damon said to his löwe. “I think we need to try something. Perhaps heat will bring the demon to the surface.”

“As you wish.” The löwe, whose name I learned was Barba, bowed. “I will light the fire.”

For three days I endured my father’s torture chamber, although the hours soon blurred into each other. I remembered little, except the pain. There were beatings, and then a session on the rack. He pulled out five of my fingernails with hot pincers, and then had me sit inside a stockade until my limbs screamed in agony. But I knew that all of these tortures were designed to make me uncomfortable, but not to permanently harm me. It was strange, but I wondered if my father was sparing me his more gruesome and permanent tortures. Perhaps he was hoping that I would survive after he had expelled the demon from me, and that I would still be some use in his campaign against the witches. Could it true that Damon of Donau-Ries was guilty of sentimentality?

All through these tortures, I pictured Ada’s face, remembering the time we had spent together in the dungeon, and the way she had looked at me so confidently and defiantly the last night we’d spent together. I pictured her head tossed back as she touched herself, bringing her own body to orgasm as she thought of me.

Ada kept me alive.

After each session they returned me to my cell and shoved a bowl of gruel and a pitcher of wine through the bars. I longed to refuse the food, so as not to give my father the satisfaction of knowing he supplied something I needed, but I required my strength more. I ate these poor offerings hungrily, knowing that food and drink fortified my spirit against his next tortures.

Now I was back in the torture chamber, and Damon had had enough of playing nice. The thought of what was coming made my whole body rigid with fear. But there was nothing I could do to halt what was coming, so I would not give him the satisfaction of letting him see my fear. Damon regarded fear as a sign of guilt.

I couldn’t see the fire, but I heard the flames roar to life. The room changed as the flickering light danced across the machines. My father sorted through the different brands and pokers on display on the rack in front of me. Smiling, he selected one in particular, and brought it over to show me.

“What do you think of this one?” he asked, holding it up for me to see. It was newly forged, the metal not yet tarnished with blood. On the end was a detailed brand, a masterpiece of the blacksmith’s art. Damon turned it so I could see the brand. “I had it made recently.”

“An interesting brand,” I said, as I recognized the two crossed swords and the coiled snake. It was the same symbol that appeared on the amulets Tjard and I had found. “Have you had our family crest redesigned? I like it, very subtle.”

“No, not ours.” He said, and walked toward the fire, his voice becoming muffled as he moved across the room. “Lord Benedict is to take a new wife, and this is her family crest. She’s an extremely intelligent and beautiful woman, and well-connected in society. She’s proven to be an invaluable asset to my plans, giving her own men over to me to become new scharfrichters. It is thanks to her that my witch hunt will go ahead on an even larger scale than even I had imagined. But this is a conversation for another time, when you are yourself again, my son. For now …”

The iron touched the skin on my back, just below the bottom of my ribcage. The pain robbed me of breath. My whole body shook, juddering the cross on its supports.

But the sting of the hot metal against my skin was only the beginning. As my father held the rod in place, the heat seemed to burrow deeper inside of me, boiling my blood, tearing my organs to shreds. I gasped for breath, so that I might scream, but I couldn’t expand my chest any more. My body was frozen, the pain had taken it completely.

My vision swam, the room bubbling and swirling as the pain robbed me of sight. The light dancing on the walls shifted, becoming something different, something that moved closer to me. The colours and shapes congealed, becoming a beautiful woman, surrounded by a pale light, her golden hair shimmering like water. She floated toward me, her face leaning closer, her clear eyes boring into mine.

Ada.

The vision was so real, I could feel her breath on my face, her lips resting just inches from mine. The pain become but a dull ache in the background, a thrumming that only intensified my joy at seeing her, and having her only an inch from me. If only I could reach out and touch her. I strained myself to lean forward as far as I could, but the restraints held me tight in place.

“Ulrich,” she whispered, her voice the sweetest song I’d ever heard. “Be strong.”

“Ada!” I cried out.

Ada leaned closer, her lips just brushing mine, the sensation like a spark of light in a dark place. But then…

“Maerwynn?” she cried out.

Behind Ada, I saw the figure of Maerwynn, a stoic expression on her face. She shook her head at me, and stepped closer, her eyes fixed on Ada. She raised her hand, the light glinted off a silver blade—”

“Maerwynn, no!”

“The demon speaks!” Damon said, his voice pulling me back. To my horror, Ada’s vision faded, replaced by the terrifying visage of my father, his expression pleased, as he held the smoking brand in his hands, the tip now clotted with my blood and charred skin.

The pain rushed back, the full force of it hitting my body like an earthquake rolling over me. I thrashed against the restraints, howling as I tried to flee the fire that flared within me. But it was part of me, it was here, it was real.

“Ada,” Barba repeated. “He spoke the word ‘Ada’.”

Damon handed off the brand to the löwe. “That is the name of the witch that enchanted him, I know that much from interrogating the village Elder. It seems that my son is still under her spell. As long as this Ada lives, she exercises control over my son. If I have any hope to get him back, then I must find his woman, and kill her. But thankfully, Ulrich himself has given me the tool to do it. This other name he spoke, Maerwynn. She is the key, I am sure of it. If I find this Maerwynn, then I find Ada, and in her death, the key to my son’s salvation.”

“No!” I cried, despite myself. “Don’t touch her!”

And with those four words, I had doomed Ada to death. Damon looked at me, and nodded, my protests sealing his belief. He would not stop until he had hunted her down. He spoke to the löwe. “Arrange a meeting with the future Lady Benedict,” he said. “She will know something of this Maerwynn.”

I
swam
in a void of agony – a desolate place that was without feeling, without light, without love. My eyes searched through the mists, and I knew without knowing that hidden somewhere in this nothingness was Ulrich. He was alive, but trapped in this place between worlds.

I turned around and around, calling out to him, driven onward by some kind of instinct, some animal scent that told me I was on the right trail. The mists swirled all around me, and then, suddenly =… I saw his face. The mists parted, creating a dark hole through which I could peer, and on the other side was Ulrich.
My Ulrich.
His eyes were dark with pain, his mouth open in a silent scream. I swam towards him, calling his name, pushing through the thick, dark void to reach out to him.

I came right up in front of him, my face only inches from his. Oh, he looked frightful, his naked body crisscrossed with welts and open cuts, his dark hair matted against his scalp, his face drawn and gaunt with horror. As he recognized me, I watched his features change, his locked jaw soften, and his eyes lose some of their darkness. He looked… hopeful.

I tried to touch him, but it was as if some thin, invisible wall separated us. I pressed my lips against the wall, imagining they touched his. Ulrich pursed his cracked lips in return, his eyes swimming with pain as he strained to reach me. But still, we could not touch.

“Ulrich, be strong.” I whispered, tears welling in my eyes. His gaze bore into mine, his eyes flicking with agony. He was so close to the edge, so close to giving up.

I felt a presence over my shoulder. My blood ran cold. I don’t know how I knew it, but whoever was behind me did not wish me good. I tore my eyes from Ulrich, and turned, my stomach churning with fear.

I saw the blade first, the glint of silver held aloft, the sharp point directed at my heart. And then I saw who held the blade, her face cold, determined.

Maerwynn.

“No!” I held up my hands to shield myself. Behind me, Ulrich cried out. Maerwynn’s face never changed, her eyes never leaving mine, as she brought the blade down—

Light blinded me. I grew dimly aware of hands on my shoulders, shaking me. Someone poured water over my face, but I turned away. I did not wish to drink. I wanted only to fade away, to be with Ulrich once more.
Where was Maerwynn? Where was the blade? Was it inside me? Was I dead?

“Ada, sweetheart.” It was Aunt Aubrey. “You were having a bad dream. Ada, please open your eyes.”

A dream. I kept my eyes closed, as it all flooded back to me. I was alive, but Ulrich was dead. I wouldn’t find him in the void, or in any other place.
He’s gone forever.
I sank back into the furs, rolling away from my aunts and pulling the deerskin over my head as fresh tears wet my face.

“You say she hasn’t moved from this bed in four days?” It was Maerwynn. Her voice sounded flat, emotionless.

“She won’t eat, either.” Aubrey’s voice, faint and wavering. ”I am so worried. None of my potions have worked.”

“I’ve seen the way you look at her, Maerwynn.” Bernadine said. “There is something you have not told us. You will tell us now. Just because you are leader of this coven does not mean I won’t strangle you with my—”

“You don’t need to threaten me. Ada is heartbroken, because Ulrich is dead,” said Maerwynn. Those words reverberated through the void.
Dead, dead, dead
. Maybe the dream was a prophecy. Maybe I would soon be dead also, and we would be together again...

“What?” Bernadine growled.

“Ada and I scryed for him four nights ago—”

“You taught Ada to scry?” Bernadine raged.

“Someone has to help that child unlock her powers,” Maerwynn replied. “The two of you have been more than useless. I cannot believe Ysmay trusted her into your care, for you have failed in your duties as guardians of your coven. You will be lucky if the last of your magic doesn’t die with her.”

“I cannot believe you would go behind our back like this. Ada has no control over her magic. When scrying she could damage—”

“She damaged nothing. The important thing is that we saw Ulrich in a dungeon. He approached a man with his sword drawn – I imagine it was his father, for they had a similar appearance – and they had a fight. But several other men came up behind him, and cut the witch hunter down. Ulrich will not be returning.”

“Is this true, Ada?” Aunt Aubrey asked, her voice tight.

I could not bring myself to utter the words. A strangled sob escaped my throat. Aunt Aubrey placed her hand on my shoulder and squeezed it tight.

“Then Ada must go to the village,” said Bernadine. “There is no longer any reason for her to shirk her duty to her family.”

Go to the village?
At first I did not understand the reason for this sudden order. But then it dawned on me. Of course. The curse.

My beloved had died, and Aunt Bernadine expects me to lie with another man?

“No!” I yelled, my stomach churning. The thought of touching anyone else after Ulrich made bile rise in my throat.

“Ada, you listen to me—” Bernadine growled.

“No, you listen to me!” I screamed, throwing off the covers and glaring at the all. Aunt Aubrey shrunk away, her expression aching with pain when she saw my face. “I don’t
care
about the stupid curse. I hope we all lose our powers, because so far they’ve bought me nothing but misery. Now get out! I’m sick of the sight of you.”

“Impossible child!” Bernadine lunged at me, her mouth twisted into a horrid scowl, her hands raised like talons, as if she intended to claw me. Aubrey grabbed her arm and hauled her to her feet. Without a word, Aubrey dragged a struggling Bernadine through the door.

Maerwynn paused at the door, her grey eyes burning into mine. “I am sorry,” she said, the words loaded with meanings I could not possibly comprehend. Then she too, left me alone with my grief.