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[Rough Draft] Chapter 54: The Colors of Winter
Joel Turner lay in his bed dreaming of the Summer Harvest. Within his fevered vision, his iron sickle slid through the golden steams of wheat soundlessly until it caught upon a rotting old stump that boomed ominously as the field around him shriveled into a world of gray ash and smoke.
“Joel!”
Mary’s worried voice sent him bolting upright. Joel ran a hand down his face as he tried to blink away the fog of sleep. He could see his wife, Mary, hurry over towards him from the door. At his right, their eight-year-old son, little Joel jr., slept soundly on the mattress beside him.
“What is it? Is the boy alright?”
“Our son is fine. His fever broke early this morning,” Mary whispered soothingly as Joel brushed a hand across the boy’s forehead to find her words true. “Joel. There are men outside. The Mayor, some doctors in masks, and a few too many armed goons for my taste.”
“Sounds like trouble,” Joel growled as he stood up.
The room spun as Mary hastily pulled his arm around her shoulders.
“What did I tell you about moving slowly,” his wife admonished him as she guided him to a chair. “You and the boy were sick with fever for three whole days. You both need rest.”
“Just bring me my boots, shirt, and rifle, Mary.”
Short redhead that she was, Mary planted her hands on her hips and stared down at him sternly enough as she contemplated his words. “Are you sure about this?”
“I don’t trust Simmons. I won’t use it if I don’t have to.”
“I’ll bring your hunting jacket then. There were a few packed gunpowder packets in it,” Mary murmured as she turned and hastily gathered up the requested garments along with Joel’s hunting rifle and jacket.
The banging continued on the front door, and this time, Mayor Simmons’s voice boomed through the cracks authoritatively. “Joel and Mary Turner, open the door!”
Joel loaded a musket ball into his rifle. Then he pulled a piece of wrapped paper from his jacket, ripped off a corner with his teeth, and added the power to his rifle. “You’re a long way from town, Mayor Simmons. What brings you all the way out here?”
“I’m here to check out a report that you and your family are carrying the plague.”
Joel stood up slowly, steadied the rifle against his forearm, and approached the front door. “There’s no plague in this house, Mayor. Just the harvest fever that comes to these parts once a year. Thanks to my wife’s tireless care, the boy and I have already passed through the worst of it. But all the same, just to be safe, it’s best you stay on that side of the door.”
“That is something we will need to verify for ourselves, Joel Turner.”
Joel snorted. “And how will your quack doctors be verifying that, Mayor? I hear they haven’t done much to treat other plague victims in town.” He raised the rifle as a figure passed by the curtained window near the door.
“A physical examination is all that is required. They just need to check for rashes, boils, and—”
“No rashes. As I said, we’re recovering just fine on our own,” Joel interrupted impatiently. “You can send in one of your quack doctors to examine the boy and me, but no one else will be allowed inside.”
“That’s—”
“Should I take that to mean your wife is not ill?” Another voice interjected sharply.
“That’s correct,” Joel replied with a frown, not recognizing the speaker. “Mary has a stronger constitution than either of us.”
“Nevertheless, it would be best that if we were allowed to examine all family members,” the stranger continued.
Joel quietly slid closer to the door and then peered out the small glass window at the top. “If you think I’m going to quietly let some stranger strip my wife just to verify what I’ve already told you, you can turn around right now and leave.”
“Now, Joel,” Mayor Simmons replied grimly. “We can’t do that before verifying—”
“Like I said, there’s no plague here. And there’s no risk of us spreading anything to the town either since we have more than enough to see us through to the end of winter.”
Joel glanced over his shoulder as Mary moved from the bedroom towards the back of the house. She leaned quietly against the wall by the stove and pulled back the curtain before turning towards him with an expression of fear.
Joel sighed and silently mouthed, “How many?”
Mary held up all ten fingers and added another seven.
“They’re not just here to check if we have the plague, are they?”
Mary nodded once.
Joel closed his eyes and clutched his father’s rifle as he prayed to the Saints his family would pass safely through this day. Mayor Simmons had been after the Turner lands since before Joel inherited them from his father, Joel Turner Sr.
‘Now comes a plague. The perfect excuse to make the Turner family disappear so the mayor can get what he wants.’
“It would be in your best interest to comply with us, Joel Turner,” Simmons prompted with a note of impatience. “We’ll force our way in if we have to.”
“You’ve no right to be on my property, threatening my family or insulting my wife, Mayor Simmons,” Joel growled as he pulled back the firing hammer. “Whether we’re sick or not, you’ll be the one breaking the law if your force your way into our home.”
Joel backed away from the door and turned to find Mary behind him, her pretty blue eyes filled with fear. “Mary, take the boy through the trap door and get yourselves out to the backfield. Head through the forest to Danbury’s place. Warn him if you can. If Simmons is coming after us, he’ll be after the Danbury’s lands next.”
“I’ll not leave you, Joel Turner,” Mary whispered quietly as she placed a hand on his cheek and kissed him. “I swore I would live and die with you.”
“I love you too, woman, but you must live for our son if I don’t make it.”
“What is one man and a single gun going to accomplish?” Mary retorted sharply.
“Enough time for you and Joel Jr. to make an escape. Simmons won’t get this land as long as you and the boy are alive.”
“You think Joel and I care about that?”
“Joel Turner, I’ll ask you one last time,” Simmons’s angry voice pulled the couple apart as Joel pushed Mary firmly towards the bed where his son was already sitting up rubbing his eyes. “Open the door right now, or we’ll break it down.”
“Seems the Mayor has no interest in upholding the kingdom’s law regarding personal property,” Joel replied grimly as he moved to take a kneeling position beside his mother’s piano.
“I’m afraid that law does not apply to those who harbor a witch, Joel Turner.”
Joel’s elbow clang against the piano’s keys as his knee smacked the floor. He turned to Mary. His beautiful wife pursed her lips and whispered a silent prayer as she pulled Joel Jr’s boots onto his feet. With a swiftness that had always astonished him, Mary wrapped their son in his summer coat and pushed the boy gently down the cellar door.
Joel prayed she would follow the boy, but Mary had never been one to run from a fight. She kissed the boy once and whispered a command that Joel Jr obediently followed as he shut the door and disappeared. Mary stood and gathered her scarlet hair into a black bow as she faced the door of their modest but comfortable stone house.
“I worked as a maid in your house for seven years, Mayor Simmons,” Mary announced clearly as she pushed aside the window curtain. “You never once accused me of being a witch then. You certainly never showed any disgust or resentment when you tried to get me under my skirt more than once.”
“Tis you’re own doing, Witch,” Simmons snapped. “I can only thank the Saints my will was stronger than Joel’s, or I might be bewitched to you still.”
Mary laughed as the curls of her scarlet hair floated upon an invisible breeze. “It’s been three years since I became Mrs. Turner. On what occasion do you suddenly find me guilty of being a witch?”
“Multiple witnesses have come forward, Mary. The presence of the plague has made us all warier of those we once considered friends and neighbors.”
“You’ll have to provide a better answer than that, Mayor!” Joel snapped as he steadied his rifle and aimed at the man on horseback dressed in blue silk, visible over Mary’s shoulder.
“I’ll be more than happy to provide you with whatever evidence you need after your wife’s been taken into custody, Joel Turner.”
“Liar!” Mary hissed as the oak in the front yard swayed ominously.
“No, Mary,” Joel whispered pleadingly. “If you attack them—”
“They will kill us either way, Joel Turner.” Mary’s voice trembled with tears even with her back towards him. “This witch plague has given them all the perfect excuse to persecute us again.”
The timbers throughout the house creaked, accompanied by a distant rumbling sound that grew closer as storm clouds gathered upon the horizon. Joel could hear the confusion among the mayor’s men, and horses as the sound of thunder drew closer.
A sudden vision of Mary burning in flames sent a chill through him. Joel quietly lowered his rifle to the floor then sprinted forward. He pulled the curtain shut as he grabbed Mary and held her against him in a tight, protective hug.
“We run, Mary. We join Joel Jr in the cellar. You blast away every single piece of this house with your magic once we’re below. Then we run and never look back!”
Mary turned towards him. The heartbroken pain in her eyes tore open the nightmare in his chest as Joel wiped the tears from her cheek.
“If we run—they will send witch hunters after us, Joel.”
Joel felt his gut tighten, even as he pulled her stubbornly towards the cellar door. “It doesn’t matter. We’ll deal with that—”
“What is this!” Simmons’s angry voice rang out beyond the curtain. Mary turned back towards the front of the house with a look of confusion. “What business do you men have here!”
“Mayor Simmons,” a female voice answered sharply, “By order of Duchess Kirsi Valda Winter, you are ordered to stand down.”
“Mary—what’s happening?” Joel murmured in confusion. He watched as his wife’s expression shifted from fear to joy before she rushed back to the window.
“The Duchess—on what grounds?!” Simmons sputtered furiously. “These lands belong to Duke Stryker Hargreve!”
“I only obey orders from Duchess Winter,” the woman’s voice replied coldly. “Now stand down and order your men to withdraw your men at once, or Duke Stryker will have to find himself another Mayor.”
Joel joined Mary as his wife pulled back the curtain to reveal Mayor Simmons, his doctors, and the thirty-odd mercenaries he had brought along, surrounded on all sides by knights in shining uniforms of silver and white.
The woman addressing the mayor appeared to be a foreigner judging by the exotic blue paint around her eyes, the rather eye-catching gray-blue, body-tight armor, and braided hair. The silver broach of a sword framed by a snowflake reflected the harvest sun like a shining star on the woman’s leather bodice.
‘That must be the sigil of Bastiallano.’
Simmons appeared to realize that his only means of survival lay in complying with the woman’s orders. The Mayor turned his horse sharply and withdrew, the doctors in their wolf masks following after him hurriedly as the mercenaries, not all of whom had horses, jogged to catch up.
Mary pushed away from the window, unlocked the front door, and rushed outside before John could utter a protest. He raced behind her, hesitating as he took in the army of at least 60 fully armed knights that surrounded the front of his house.
“Mary Turner,” the foreign woman addressed his wife with a relaxed smile. “I trust you and your family are well.”
“We are, thank you, Lady Larissa.”
‘They know each other?’ Joel realized as he stumbled to a halt behind Mary.
“What of the other families?” Mary pressed anxiously as she raised a hand to stare after the retreating Mayor.
“We are offering sanctuary and an escort to all names you provided us with, Mrs. Turner,” Larissa replied reassuringly. “All those willing to travel back with us will be provided with an escort to Bastiallano.”
“Ah—excuse me—” Joel interjected uneasily as he glanced between Mary and the foreigner. “But could someone tell me what in Hell’s Teeth is going on?”
Larissa gave him a quick appraising glance, then shrugged as she leaned back in her saddle. “The Duchess of Bastiallano has ordered her knights to offer sanctuary to every witch in Lafeara. Your wife reached out to us a few days ago when she realized the Mayor planned to use the plague to take over key landowner rights from you and some of your neighbors.”
“I—see. Wait!” Joel turned to Marry around to face him as he processed Larissa’s statement. “You knew this would happen—how? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I overheard some of the Mayor’s men in town,” Mary replied with an evasive shrug. “You and the boy were already sick, so I couldn’t move you. I reached out to some of the witches in the Bastiallano’s territory, informing them of our plight in hopes that the Duchess would help—and she has!”
“Mary, you should have told me.”
“This land is everything to you,” Mary replied solemnly. “It has been in your family for seven generations. I knew you wouldn’t leave willingly.”
Joel shook his head, even as her words rang true. It was only the thought of Mary suffering and dying that had convinced him to lay down his rifle a moment ago.
“I am more than happy to assist the Duchess in any way I can,” Mary said as she turned to face Larissa. “But my husband and son are both mortals.”
“I am aware. The Duchess has set aside an inn on her estates for mortals who have not contracted the plague. Rest assured they will be well provided for and protected.”
“Wait—what is she talking about, Mary?”
Larissa turned her attention back to Joel. “Your wife has volunteered to help aid those suffering from the plague in exchange for your protection, Mr. Turner.”
“But—can’t the Duchess protect us here?”
“I’m afraid that after today it will be harder for the Knights of Bastiallano to intervene without risk of starting a war between the Ducal houses.”
“We can’t stay, Joel,” Mary murmured as she cupped his hand and lowered his gaze to her summer blue eyes. “But we will come back—someday when it’s safe.”
“Little Joel!” Joel whipped around and raced back inside the house. His eyes burned as he ran past memories of his childhood, of seven generations of Turner families. Then his wobbly kneels buckled against the floor as Joel bent down open the cellar door and found his son, wrapped up in his summer coat, sleeping against the stairs.
Mary placed a hand on his shoulder as Joel covered his blurring vision with trembling hands. “All will be well,” she whispered as she folded her arms around him. “We will return for our home and lands once the plague has gone and the with hunts are over.”
“No,” Joel shook his head. “No land is worth putting us through this again.” He pulled free from her arms and lumbered down the steps to collect his sleeping son in his arms. “The Duchess of Winter came to our aid. I will sell the estate back to Duke Stryker and buy new lands in Bastiallano. The Turner family will serve the Duchess of Winter from this day forward.”
Mary’s blue eyes smiled down at him as she nodded in silent agreement and held out her hand.
***
A crow watched from an elm tree branch as the Turner family left behind their home, taking only what livestock the knights could readily move, two chests of family valuables and heirlooms, and a hunting rifle. The knights of Bastiallano escorted them down the dirt road that connected to the Town of Soulsburry.
As the knights passed through the small town square, an Earth Witch wearing the colors of Bastiallano planted a flag in the ground, while another knight blew on his trumpet loudly. Lady Larissa addressed the crowd that gathered before a half-built witch pyre.
“I address you all on behalf of her Grace, Lady Kirsi Valda Winter, Duchess of Bastiallano. From this day forward, all those sick with fever, plague, or illness are welcome to the lands of Bastiallano. The Duchess will provide you with lodging, food, and medical treatment. Her Grace cannot yet provide a cure, but know that she is working tirelessly to defeat this epidemic.
“Her Grace would also have it known that all witches who fear for their safety shall be granted sanctuary in Bastiallano. Even those wrongfully accused of being a witch may seek temporary lodgings inside her borders until the plague has been defeated and order restored.”
A priest pushed his way through the murmuring crowd and pointed his painted silver staff at Larissa. “What foolishness is this? A Witch fighting against the plague? Would it not be more likely that she is the cause of it!”
“Just as it has become public knowledge that her Grace is a Witch, I’m sure, Father, that you have also heard how the Duchess has sought out the best doctors and medicines to fight this plague—rather than simply condemn its victims to a slow, agonizing death.”
“This foreigner speaks heresy!” the priest roared as he turned to face the townspeople. “This plague is the divine judgment of the Saints. All those afflicted are being punished for consorting with witches. Just as Joel Turner and his son are now stricken with plague because of the witch he married!”
“I do not have the plague!” Joel barked as he flung open the carriage door, stepped down, and ripped off his jacket and shirt. “Look! Do you see a single boil or mark on me? I had the harvest fever for a few days, as is common this time of year. The Mayor tried to take advantage of my sickness to take over my lands. When has he, the doctors he employed, or even this priest ever done anything to help the sick whether they have the plague or not?”
“Behold the charm which allows a witch to control the mind of a good man!” The priest sneered scornfully as John’s wife stepped down from the carriage. Mary ignored the priest as she quietly draped a cloak around her husband’s shoulders and pushed him back inside the carriage. “Go on then, flee with the witch. We’ll see if you ever return alive or not!”
“I’m curious, priest,” Larissa interjected with a cynical smile. “You call it a witch plague but claim that the Saints are punishing those afflicted. Which is it exactly?”
“Pardon?” The priest whirled towards her with a glowering stare.
“Well, if the Saints are using the plague to punish evil people—it would stand to reason that the Saints sent the plague and not witches.”
The priest hiccupped and recoiled, then waved his holy staff towards her. “Hear how the serpent corrupts the truth with her words. It would seem the Duchess is building up an army of witches! The Crown Prince should be wary of the temptress he keeps so close to his side.”
Larissa threw back her head with a laugh as a strong breeze stirred the flag with its silver and white emblem of a wolf’s head framed by a snowflake. Larissa focused her seal-blue eyes on the priest and motioned for the knights to proceed forward with one last snicker. “Convey my words to your followers, Father. Anyone who causes harm to either the sick or a witch trying to leave these lands shall have their home or church burned to the ground.”
“The Duke and Duchess of Hargreve shall hear of this!”
The crow squawked out a laugh as the priest waved his staff furiously after the departing knights. The frail old man raised his hands to the heavens as he loudly intoned, “Oh glorious Saints, see our turmoil. Strike down the evil that resides in our lands. Rid us of this temptress, this deceiver who would turn your faithful away from you. Return to us and let our lands be cleansed of famine, plague, war, and disease by the blood of these foul witches who would—”
The priest backed away suddenly as he doubled over in a coughing fit, having inhaled a bit too much of the dust that trailed behind the lines of glittering mounted knights.