Page 36 of A Weave of Lies
The wooden pole pierced right through the skeleton’s rib cage, staking where the heart would have been. Mere scraps remained of the clothes that once enshrouded it, and the only thing that had resisted time and decay was the medallion around its neck.
A shudder ran through Semras at the sigil carved onto it: branches shaped into hands, surrounding a moon. Whoever was buried here had been an elderwitch of the Yore Coven.
A crowd gathered around the hole, only parting to let Estevan through. “What do we have here?” he asked.
Semras opened her mouth. “My—”
“Just some old bones, from what I can see, my lord,” Themas said, sweeping the sweat off his brow.
“She’s not ‘just some old bones,’” she snapped. “She’s an Elder from my Coven. And she should have been buried under the Mother-Tree. Not here in this … this mockery of a grave.”
“With bones so old,” Estevan said right above her head, “she was probably a victim of the last witch purge.”
Semras startled at the inquisitor’s voice. She hadn’t noticed him slither behind her to peek into the hole.
“The Coven must have had no time to take care of her back then, or maybe she died alone,” he continued, pensive. “Some kind soul buried her here in haste, in an unmarked grave. I suppose she must be the source of the disturbance. Do you have a suggestion on how to deal with her, witch?”
“We need to bury her with proper respect,” she replied. “The forest is mourning her and the fate of her bones. It cannot stand to see her remains desecrated like that.”
And neither could she. Here, her Elder’s bones were exposed, left unprotected from the reach of the Peering Night.
“So that is why the woods became disturbed only recently. It must have started when the new trail was made here,” Estevan said. “And through some unfortunate chance or malice, the locals planted the directional pole right through her. Just our luck.”
With a grim expression, Themas climbed out of the grave, spade still in hand. “Do we fill up the hole and plant the pole further away, my lord?”
“Yes, do it.”
“No!” Semras threw a dark glare at the inquisitor. “I said she must be buried with due respect! That is one of my coven sisters. I won’t abandon her in a disgraceful grave.”
“We have wasted enough time as it is,” he replied. “Removing the pole should be enough to appease the forest, and that is the extent of what we will do. End of discussion.”
“She needs her resting rites, and I will do them whether it pleases you or not.”
Velten glared back, eyes narrowing in a silent warning. “I have been lenient with you so far, witch, but I will not allow you to conduct a heathen rite in front of my men.”
The pain of the forest echoed through her. Its mournful cry had halted since the removal of the pole from the corpse’s chest, but it wasn’t gone entirely.
It hung in the air, waiting.
“Then let me go somewhere else,” Semras said. “I must put her to rest. She deserves it.”
“We have wasted too much time—”
“She’s not a waste of time! Leave with your retinue if you cannot find within yourself even a modicum of respect for the dead! I’ll join you once I’m done.”
Digging her nails into clenched palms, Semras looked away from Velten and breathed deeply. Anger had driven her to scream at the inquisitor, and only now did she realize how her outburst unnerved the surrounding sword-bearers. More and more of them had encircled her as their argument escalated. Hands found their way to sword pommels; eyes gazed at her with wariness.
Semras schooled her expression into a calmer one. “She was one of my sisters, and I’m going to see her buried as she deserves. You cannot deny her proper rites. She’s not under your jurisdiction, Inquisitor. She was a witch, a free daughter of the Night.”
Inquisitor Velten glanced aside at the sword-bearers, then focused back on her. “Fine. However, I will go with you. I will not risk making this trip moot by losing you to the woods. It will be—”
“Losing me? I am a woodwitch! I can track my way—”
“—just you and me. Do not interrupt me again. Ever.” Inquisitor Velten stepped closer, looming. “Or do, and it will be the last time you ever will.”
His ire was palpable. Eyes gleaming with defiance, Semras gritted her teeth to keep her mouth shut.
“It will be just you and me, as I said. You have unnerved the sword-bearers enough for a single day,” the inquisitor continued, voice low and grating. Then, he turned to the Venator guards. “You will all stay behind and keep your temper in check. I want no more incidents today, or headswillfly. Disband, now. Sir Ulrech, Maldoza; to me.”
