At last the town square and church were within view. Mercifully, Dame Alice was not on her steps. Mia surveyed the house freely now. Mia had tried to walk where the old crow couldn’t see her. She did not want to be invited inside to eat. When Mia came to this village she wanted to forget who she had been, why she was broken. Dame Alice pried too hard too often. Mia did not trust herself to stay strong if Dame Alice fed her and spoke kindly to her. An unearned kindness might destroy the hard shell she had built around her heart. Mia knew that such kindnesses, and Alma, were her only weaknesses.

  Mia saw the caged witch sleeping on her straw. A group of people stood across the street from the church, each peering at something in the jail through its windows. Mia paid them no mind. She had no time for curiosity. She wished they had slipped the cover back over the witch.

  Heaving open the wooden church doors, she removed her head scarf and inhaled the perfumed air, the scent of burning wicks and incense, of the oiled wood altar and fresh straw on the floor. Stefan was removing his outer robes. He must have finished Mass. Mia had missed it, one more sin she would have to atone for.

  He froze when he saw her. He did not look pleased.

  “Father Stefan?” she asked. “May I speak to you?”

  “I am busy,” he said, folding his robe and smoothing out the wrinkles. “You can stay and pray, but I must attend to my work.”

  “I will not take but a moment. Please?”

  “Is it confession?”

  “No. It is not confession. I need help.”

  “What help can I give you, Mia?” Stefan raised his voice. “Why can you not solve your own problems? I can offer confession, I can offer Mass, I can offer sacraments. But these are never enough for you, are they? What could I possibly help you with?”

  Mia burst into tears. She didn’t mean to, and she wanted nothing more than to stop, but she felt like a small, stung child with no mother to run to. No one wanted to help her except the one man whose help she should refuse.

  “Sit,” he said, groaning, flinging his hand at a bench. Mia sat.

  He sat down an arm’s length away.

  “What is it, my child?” he asked in a brittle voice.

  “I think I am bewitched.”

  Stefan stood. “Get out.”

  “No, Father Stefan. Hear me.”

  “I want no talk of witches, not in my church, Mia. If you fall prey to this madness, then you will suffer it alone.”

  Mia’s shoulders fell. She cleared her throat, trying to soothe the burning lump starting inside. “I have nowhere else to go, Father. Something is terribly wrong.”

  “You can go home, Mia. You can tend to your child and to Bjorn. Go earn your good name.”

  “What good name do I have?” Mia said. “My husband cares nothing for me. I have no more friends. The one friend I trusted abandoned me, and now you, my own priest—you want nothing to do with me either.”

  Stefan sighed, putting his head in his hands for a moment.

  “I just want to ask one question and then I’ll leave. How can I go back, Father? How can I undo my mistakes?”

  “What do you know of mistakes? Forgetting to make bread? Using too much salt? I know about real mistakes.”

  “Bjorn is bewitched because I failed him as a wife. I left him vulnerable. He has lain with other women. And Bastion has said these same women bewitched Alma. It was why she was so often sick, despite my prayers.”

  “No woman in this village would curse a child.”

  “They have to. Bastion says they do. They have to murder children, ’tis how they get blood to make their magic potions.”

  “This madness offends God.”

  “Then why did God heal Alma?” Mia asked. Her heart quickened. She hadn’t said that out loud before.

  “Alma has been healed?”

  “Yes. Alma was healed that night after Bastion’s first service. Doesn’t this mean God is blessing Bastion’s work?”

  “We should not mistake success with men as a sign of God’s blessing.”

  “I do not want to believe this is God’s way either, but God is a mystery to me. Why would He heal Alma when I have made so many mistakes?”

  “Because you asked Him to. He is a Father and a Savior.”

  “I’ve asked Him for lots of things.”

  “So have I.”

  They sat in silence. Mia knotted the fabric in her lap, then released it.

  “Bastion troubles me a great deal, Father. I don’t know who else to turn to.”

  Stefan stood and approached the altar, staring up at the crucifix, his hands behind his back. “God did not answer me or grant my prayers for Alma either. Why do you come to me, then?” Stefan asked, then turned to face her. “Why come to me at all, Mia?”

  Mia wrapped her arms around her stomach and looked away. “I thought you would have answers.”

  “You have to choose. Bastion’s words or mine. Choose whom to believe, or neither of us can help you.”

  “I want to believe you. But Bastion has done great things, things worth believing in.”

  “So why come to me now? My words seem to produce no effect. You said it yourself.”

  “Because you are my priest, and I have sinned. I am confused. I do not know how to repent, whether it is my nature to sin or some devil at work.” She paused, taking a deep breath before releasing what burned in her heart. “I tempted a man, Stefan. I did not mean to. I am afraid God will take away Alma’s healing, afraid I’ll do something worse.”

  She lied just a little. True that she had not wished for this or invited Bastion’s kiss, but now she knew desire. Her pains melted away when she thought of the kiss. She would not confess that.

  “Bastion would say there is nothing you can do,” Father Stefan said. “Women stir up lust in a man.”

  “I didn’t mean to.”

  “It is in your nature. It is the way God made you. That is what Bastion teaches, is it not?”

  “Name any penance. I do not want to be this way.”

  “Go home, Mia, and stay there. If you live by Bastion’s teaching, then you will suffer by it too.”

  “But …”

  “Go away!”

  Mia stumbled out of the doors, shielding her eyes from the bright sunlight as tears streamed down her face, shaming her.

  Strong arms caught her before she tumbled down the steps.

  “Mia? What is wrong?”

  Bastion had hold of her. Mia was so grateful for his touch, his arms taking hold of her, but she thought of running. Running would be right.

  “Tell me what has happened,” he said.

  “Is something wrong with me?”

  He led her a few steps away where she could lower her voice—a kind thing for him to do. Her comfort mattered to him.

  “Bastion, why do people treat me this way? Even Father Stefan is sick of me.”

  Bastion made a little scolding sound, shaking his head.

  “Don’t mock me,” Mia said, unable to raise her eyes to look at him. “Why is Bjorn so cold to me? Even you—you would not flatter me if I was not desperate, would you? That’s what makes me attractive to you. I was desperate when Bjorn married me. I don’t provoke desire in any man. I provoke pity. Pity and scorn.”

  “Are you done?” Bastion asked.

  She made everything worse every time she tried to speak. He probably thought her a fool.

  “I owe you my deepest apologies, Mia. This is my fault.”

  Mia got up the courage to look him in the eye. He did not mock her.

  “I forget that all this is so new to you. You misunderstand the signs around you. Shall I help you understand? You might feel better.”

  She nodded, taking a shuddering little breath.

  “I have not yet rescued Bjorn, and for good reason. But you must first understand how their magic works. A witch casts a spell on a man, and the spell cannot be removed by anyone other than a witch. A witch’s death does not break the spell. Only another witch can do it. Do you understand? There will be time to rescue Bjorn. But you must be patient while I work, and if you know of any witches, you must turn them in. I want to see you happy.”

  Bastion ran his fingers through her hair, pushing it away from her face. In her rush, she had forgotten to put her scarf on. Her hair fell loose around her shoulders. No man should have seen this; it was as if she was naked before him, before them all standing on those church steps.

  “You don’t know any witches, do you, Mia? Anyone you would wish to turn in? You don’t have to have proof. I know you to be a good woman. I will accept your word.”

  She ran her hand through her hair, pushing his out.

  “Of course not,” she lied. If she said anything about the old healer in the forest, Bastion would have the woman burned. Mia could not live with that guilt too.

  “There is no one you suspect?”

  Mia saw the village spread out behind him, the women busy at market, returning to their homes. She had chosen work, and silence, over friendship, even more in the years since Rose turned away from her. The women had taken Rose’s side, eyeing Mia with distrust. Or disdain, as if there was a difference. Mia understood what Bastion offered her. He offered her the chance to judge them all. With one pointed finger, she could have revenge.

  “No. No one.”

  “I know you want to be loved,” he said, leaning in. “But I do have a problem.”

  He inhaled, trying to smell her hair. Mia stood very still as he spoke.

  “If the spell on Bjorn is broken, how will we know? Has he ever truly loved you?”

  Mia’s cheeks burned, and she did not answer.

  “If you will never be loved by Bjorn, come with me. When my work is finished here, come with me.”

  Mia shook her head.

  “I want to save you, Mia. You are a woman worth saving.”

  Mia’s nose stung, the first sign of returning tears. She swallowed hard.

  Bastion stroked her cheek, his smooth hand finding the contours of her cheek, then stepped back.

  “Consider my offer. But if you want to stay, if you are so determined to save this husband that may never love you, think of this: I can command a witch to remove the spell over Bjorn. But why should I, Mia? Should I set Bjorn free only for you to discover that he never loved you? Should I see your heart broken and know I broke it?”

  He grabbed her by the waist and pulled her to his chest, leaning down and kissing her before he released her. She recognized alcohol on his breath.

  “If you want him back, I will make sure you know what it means to be loved first.”

  He turned and strode down the steps, leaving Mia there with her heart thundering in her ears, her legs unsteady. She saw villagers staring at her, the women with their mouths open. A stray cat dashed out of the church, past Mia’s feet, startling her. When she looked back at the people, no one raised their faces again to look at her.

  Mia understood.

  Who would dare speak against me now? she thought. If I hold Bastion’s heart, then I hold their lives.

  Mia put her hand over her mouth.

  “Who am I becoming?”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Stefan sat on the pew, his face in his hands. Erick hadn’t returned from dealing with Dame Alice. Mia had fled after his outburst. The church was dead in its silence. He stood and faced the wooden cross hanging above him.

  “I’m no use to anyone if I stay in here.” He tapped his toes inside his shoes, then turned and rushed for the doors, trying to move fast before his fears caught him. He stumbled down the steps, shoving people to his right and left, causing them to cry out. Stefan pushed them away until he stood facing Bastion.

  Bastion sat in a chair, one leg crossed over the other, gesturing with ease as men from the village crowded around him, listening to his counsel. At his feet seven women from the village crouched on their knees, heads bent to the dust, weeping. Dame Alice faced Bastion, shaking her finger at him.

  “These girls are like daughters to me, all of them! You can’t just tie them up and take them away! If you have questions about their character, you come to me!”

  Bastion indulged Dame Alice with a smile. “Mother,” he said, “have no fear. Any woman I find to be virtuous will be released.”

  As Stefan approached, he saw what had kept Dame Alice safe so far: She was not young or beautiful. Bastion had only the dullest interest in her.

  Erick pulled on her arm, trying to move her to safety—somewhere her tongue would not lead to her arrest. When he saw Stefan, he rolled his eyes and let go of Alice. “She’s going to get herself arrested. And me, too. I can’t even repeat what she called me when I tried to stop her.”

  Stefan took Alice by the arm, and she glared at him.

  “Dame Alice, please. I will resolve this. But you need to be quiet. No sense in getting yourself arrested.”

  Bastion said something to the men behind him that made them smirk, and he stood. “Stefan, it is good of you to come. This is your work too, after all.” Bastion gestured over the women kneeling at his feet.

  “Humiliation is not my work.”

  Bastion opened his arms, welcoming all to listen. “Father Stefan expresses what many of you think, yes? Let us remember why I have been called here, with some urgency, by your Father. Did you not have two murders here?”

  Stefan saw them nod.

  “Did they show signs of witchcraft?”

  Bastion waited less time for the nods.

  “Did not King Saul consult a witch in his hour of great distress?” Bastion asked, another Scripture story he seemed to know well. “And King Saul brought wrath upon himself for his wicked ways, upon his whole family, upon his whole kingdom. His sons died. His warriors died. What does the Bible command good men of God to do with a witch?”

  The answer burned in Stefan’s mind. He had heard this one verse quoted for years. He never imagined it would matter to him.

  “‘Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live,’” Bastion called. “God commands it. God does not say it is pleasant work. Who among you is a Christian? Jesus says only true disciples obey His commands. This is a test from God, I tell you. The true disciples of Jesus are being revealed. Woe unto him who fails the test. Woe unto him who betrays His Lord. May Judas be cut off from his people forever.”

  “No.” Stefan stepped forward. “It is I who will put you to the test. You must prove your claims or release these women at once. Prove to us that you do God’s will.”

  The women had turned their faces up to Stefan to see their savior. He scowled. They must have done something to be arrested. Women’s foolishness had made his own mistakes that much worse.

  “I have always allowed these tests, my friends,” Bastion said. “There are lawfully prescribed tests to know if a woman is a witch. Woe unto me if I am not careful in my work, for the very souls of these women are in my hands.”

  “Prove to us they are witches, or leave this village today,” Stefan said.

  “If you had labored with me, Father, you would have seen proof already, but you have chosen to spend your time cowering in your church, too afraid to confront the Devil. Did I not see even Dame Alice here trying to drag you out? But to appease you, let us test the women.”

  Bastion grabbed Nelsa by the elbow, pulling her to her feet. Nelsa stood much shorter than Bastion, her head coming to his shoulder. Her face grieved him. He had never seen it so red from tears.

  “Tie her with her wrists around her back,” he ordered. A man stepped forward, taking a rope from Bastion’s chair.

  “What is the test?” Stefan asked.

  Bastion waited for the knot to be tied, then took hold of her arm and walked through the crowd, dragging Nelsa behind him. She began to cry again. Dame Alice lunged after her, trying to grab her away, but Erick restrained her, pressing her face into his cloak, whispering in her ear, trying to calm her. He looked at Stefan with an awful expression. Stefan shook his head. He had no answers. He had done everything he knew to do.

  “Mercy,” Nelsa cried out, searching for a face that had kindness upon it. “Mercy. I am no witch.”

  “Then why did my son die in your arms?” a blacksmith called from the crowd.

  “Sir, I do not know! That is the work of God, not me!”

  “God would never allow that! You should burn for your crimes!”

  “What is this test?” Stefan yelled, trying to catch up and cut through the crowd following Bastion. Bastion led them to the river, which stood at the south from the village. Stefan heard it before he saw it, the sound of the moving water and the life in the trees that went right to the edge. Bastion led them through the trees, into the water, walking out several paces with Nelsa, turning her to face the crowd.

  “It is a well-known fact that a witch cannot drown. A witch has given the Devil everything that has made her human. In the water, without heart or spirit in her body, she is weightless.” Bastion walked Nelsa further out into the fast-moving water. Stefan saw the whitecaps moving in the same direction as the dark clouds touching the horizon. A storm descended. Bastion walked her out until the water came to his chest and nearly to her chin. He shoved her deeper in and let go.

  Nelsa screamed, just once. Stefan saw her head bob up, her mouth gasping for air. But the whitecaps slammed water in her face, and she took in more water than air.

  “Save her, Father,” a woman beside him on the banks whispered to him.

  Stefan turned, sick from the vision of Nelsa. “What can I do?”

  Nelsa did not surface again. Bastion walked back to the shore, shivering. The villagers stood, dazed, watching the water for signs of life. The whitecaps rolled on.