The Vampire & Her Witch

The pre-dawn darkness cloaked the camp in shades of deep indigo and black, broken only by the faint glow of dying embers from fires that had burned through the night. Most of the camp still slept, wrapped in their bedrolls and blankets against the winter chill, their breath creating small clouds of mist in the cold air.

But Lady Cerys had not slept at all during the long, cold night.

She sat on the edge of her bedroll, her hands clasped tightly in her lap as she stared at the dark canvas of the tent above her. Beside her, Sir Cynwrig slept peacefully, his breathing deep and steady, blissfully unaware of the turmoil that had kept his wife awake through the long, terrible hours of the night.

When Baron Loghlan had announced his decision to stand with Lady Ashlynn, Cerys had felt something break inside her chest. It wasn’t a physical pain, not exactly, but her chest had grown tight, and the sound of her heartbeat grew so loud in her ears that it drowned out every other sound in the tent.

She had watched the faces around the table as they nodded in acceptance, as they prepared to commit themselves and all their people to a path that could only lead to damnation, and she had known in that moment that her words had done nothing to safeguard the souls of the Barony, her village, or her family.

But just because her words had failed to stop the formation of this heretical alliance, that didn’t mean that she had to resign herself to being part of it.

She could not be a part of it.

”The Church will not tolerate heresy, sister,” Her brother’s words echoed in her mind. ”Not from lords, not from knights, and certainly not from the common folk. When the Inquisition learns of heretics spreading blasphemy, and it always finds out eventually, then it will root out every person who has been touched by it, and no title will keep you safe.”

The Inquisition, to most people, was a frightening thing. After all, there were always rumors that this person or that person who had been burned as a heretic hadn’t been guilty at all, but their jealous neighbor or spurned lover had concocted a rumor about them, and it had been enough to draw the Inquisition’s eye.

But Cerys’ brother, Cian, who had always been the clever one between them, insisted that such incidents were very rare, and the truth was that heresy was far more common than most lords wanted to admit. That was why it was so important that she work hard not just to live a good and godly life, but to demonstrate her devotion to others, so that there was proof of her pious faith if accusations of heresy ever fell upon her.

And now, Baron Loghlan was leading them into exactly the sort of heresy that would consume the lives of her entire family. He had chosen to ally with witches and vampires, to integrate with demons, to turn away from the Kingdom of Gaal and the Church that had guided their people for generations.

He had chosen damnation for all of them, and Cerys knew that when the Inquisition came, they would not distinguish between those who had chosen this path willingly and those who had been forced to follow, especially when her husband was one of the ones talking about the ’opportunities’ that came hand in hand with this blasphemy.

Her children would be branded as heretics. Her daughter Gwyneth, barely three years old and innocent of any wrongdoing, would be marked as one who had grown up among demons and witches. Her son Dalwyn, who slept peacefully in his small bedroll on the other side of the tent, would be taught to worship witches and vampires and light only knew what else, but he would never reach the Heavenly Shores if he was allowed to grow up here.

And then, at the end of her days, when she reached the Heavenly Shores, she would be alone, because her husband and her children would never be able to join her there if they lived a life tainted by wickedness and blasphemy.

The thought of being alone for an eternity terrified her, and she could not allow it. She would not allow it.

Cerys rose slowly, careful not to wake her husband, and moved to where Dalwyn slept. The boy was only eight years old, small for his age, but he was bright and curious about everything. He had his father’s light brown hair and his mother’s green eyes, and Cerys’ heart ached at the thought of him falling into the Inquisition’s hands.

Her brother had been very clear that not even children were spared when their parents led them into darkness, and the thought of her little man suffering at the hands of an Inquisitor like the ones her brother had told her about provided the last little push of determination she needed in order to take action.

Moving slowly in the darkness of the tent, so as not to disturb her sleeping husband, Cerys pulled out a small writing desk with parchment and ink so that she could write a letter. There was so much she wanted to say, so many words that wanted to spill from her heart onto the page since they were the last words from her that her husband was likely to see... but there was no time.

The sky in the east would be lightening soon, and Cerys had no time to waste. So, after writing a few brief lines, she carefully blotted the page dry before melting a bit of dark purple sealing wax and dripping it carefully on the rolled-up sheet of parchment. It wasn’t much, but she hoped that he would understand, and maybe one day, if she was lucky, he would follow after her, and they could be reunited as a family again, in this life or on the Heavenly Shores beyond it.