Bjorn broke his silence. “He said so many new things that my head is aching.”

  “I think perhaps he can help us.”

  “Us?”

  “With Alma.”

  Bjorn paused, as if trying to clear his mind. “Yes.”

  “Do you know what’s odd?” Mia hated the way her voice sounded when she prattled on like this. “Dame Alice calls to me when I go to market. She says she wants to feed me. Isn’t that odd?”

  “Are you testing me?”

  “What?”

  He studied her face but seemed to find nothing. He released her and they continued home.

  “I do not want you to speak to Dame Alice. Keep to yourself.”

  They reached the final clearing. She decided not to speak any more tonight. Nothing she said came out right. She could sit by the fire alone, warming her feet while everyone slept.

  She looked up at the night sky, seeing the bright star that followed the moon this time of year. She wondered why the stars changed, why they did not stay fixed in the heavens. She would like a world where the stars were constant and nothing could be moved, a world she could orient herself in.

  Bjorn gestured to her with an open palm. “Suppose the Devil overpowers a woman. She gives in, becomes a witch. But the Devil does not want her. What use is that woman? No, the Devil wants the man. Just like the serpent wanted the fall of Adam, a man made in God’s image.”

  “Yes?”

  “Suppose the witch overpowers the man’s good nature by the Devil’s power. Who should be punished? The man or the woman?”

  None of this had to do with Alma. Mia had no idea what she should say. Bjorn often brooded, but he did not like her to comment.

  “I asked a question,” Bjorn said.

  “I have no training in the church.”

  “Did God make me a woman?” he asked, surprising her with a smile. “Bastion spoke of women, how they cause all suffering, but I have not heard that before. You being a woman, you must know.”

  Her feet hurt, her stomach burned, and she didn’t like Bjorn asking these questions, wanting to hear her thoughts. That’s not why they married.

  “Say something so I know your mouth at least works.”

  “I only know that most of my sorrows have lately come from women. They are cold to me and whisper about me. If they have remedies for Alma, I have to plead for them to share what they know.”

  “But if Bastion speaks the truth, they have no reason to help Alma.”

  “Because they cause her suffering? No, that is too awful a thing to believe.”

  “But my question. Who should be punished?”

  “Let me think. Only God can punish the Devil, so then we cannot. The man fell under a spell, against his will, so his sin does not come from his heart. It is the witch who must be punished. She offered herself to Satan. The evil began with her. Although Satan is the cause of all their suffering, she has brought it all to pass.”

  “Stefan never told us these things. Why? Why would he keep these truths from us? Did he not know?”

  She could see home.

  The door, a series of boards banded together, well oiled by Mia, slammed open, and Margarite fell out onto the ground. Bjorn took off at a run, Mia running behind. Margarite moaned, her hands stretched out to Bjorn, her mouth open wide in a horrible grimace as she tried to make words. One arm rested at a sickening angle. She must have used it to catch herself in the fall and it snapped, Mia thought.

  “What is it?” he yelled, reaching her and lifting her. Mia, only a few steps behind, pushed past them both. A woman, even an old woman with so little mind left like Margarite, would only do something so dangerous for one reason.

  Alma.

  “Alma!” Mia screamed, rushing to Alma’s mat, scooping her hot, red body into her arms. Alma’s head rolled off Mia’s forearm, flopping toward the ground. Mia yanked at Alma’s nightshirt and saw her skin retracting between each rib, her little gaunt stomach sucking in hard with each breath.

  “Oh God. Oh God,” Mia prayed. Bjorn stood in the doorway, his arm around his mother’s side, helping her back in. He froze when he saw Alma’s body.

  “Go!” Mia pleaded. “Get Father Stefan. Bring whatever medicine he has.”

  Bjorn’s movements in the house were a blur. Mia cradled Alma and kissed her, over and over on her forehead, praying God would not be angry with her for begging Him to save Alma one more time.

  As Bjorn sat Margarite in the chair, Mia heard what he said under his breath.

  “What have I brought upon us?”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Was it jealousy?” Bastion asked, dipping the rag into a bowl of water.

  Stefan wasn’t sure he had any of his ear left. The witch had bitten hard, jerking her head back when she clamped down. He assumed his ear had come clean off.

  “You thought if you could deliver her, people would be enthralled with you instead of me. Don’t be embarrassed. Admit it.”

  Stefan’s face grew hot. “When someone calls for God, I answer.”

  “Everyone was talking last night, excited, frightened. Not for me, but because of her. She enthralls them, Father Stefan, not I. No need for jealousy.”

  Stefan rubbed his temples, wincing as the skin near the bite moved. Bastion pushed his hand away, trying to study the wound, see what else needed to be done for it.

  “That’s why I bring her,” Bastion continued, dipping the cloth again into the water, now red. “People listen. She stirs their blood. But she is a witch, and a witch wants one thing: destruction of moral order. She has been to enough towns with me to know that the priest is always the best, first target.”

  “I’m a fool.”

  “Not at all. You are a good man but an uneducated priest. Submit to my instruction. That’s all I ask. No more mistakes.”

  “I’ll try.”

  “She wants to kill you. Are you going to give her the chance?”

  “Bastion,” Stefan said, turning to look at him for the first time in the conversation, “I called for you because a good woman, or a woman we called good, was murdered, as was her husband. I thought we needed help rooting out one person. Bjorn didn’t think it important; the incident was over. A lover’s quarrel of sorts, he said. I thought if you came, rumors would stop. One person committed the crime, one person punished, only a few days lost. Now you arrive, and the whole village is infested with witches?”

  “You don’t believe me because there is evidence of only one crime.”

  “It is a lot to believe.”

  “It stretches your faith.”

  “Not just my faith. When you speak, my whole head hurts. I have never heard all this, what you swear is God’s truth.”

  Bastion set the cloth down, moving his chair to sit in front of Stefan. “I’ve served the Lord a long time. Have you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you understand. I have known the trials of Saint Paul. Abused, shipwrecked, beaten … compelled to travel on, shouting the truth to a deaf and dying world. Not everyone accepted his testimony, Stefan. Not everyone accepts ours.”

  “Why do you do it?”

  “The same reason you are a priest. God’s truth compels us. It’s lonely work, isn’t it?”

  “I did not mean to say I doubted your word.”

  Bastion patted his leg. “You have not been taught. That’s not a crime I hold you responsible for. I will teach you. When I leave, you will teach others.”

  “You seem so confident.”

  “You have many questions. Ask one.”

  Stefan wiped his neck. A little trickle of blood had run down into the crevices of his skin, making him wince. “The witch you travel with, your words … it frightens people. I never thought God’s work could be so dark. How can you be sure it pleases God?”

  “Excellent question. You will make a fine student.”

  “What proofs do you have from Him?”

  “Has He given us, above all other creatures, the gift of reasoning?”

  “Yes.”

  “Does God want us to apply our minds, this gift, to the understanding of His will and His ways?”

  “Of course.”

  “So, let us begin. Can we see God?”

  “No.”

  “Can we see Him walking around this village?”

  “No.”

  “Then there can be no better way to know God than to study His opposite, which we do see. We do see His opposite in the world, in flesh and blood, do we not?”

  “Yes.”

  “And so we study this witch as a particular example. Everything this witch is, God is not. That woman out there can show God to this town.”

  “All she is showing them is filth.”

  “Precisely. You follow me well in this. Now I will ask you a question: What was Satan guilty of? Why was the serpent cast down from heaven?”

  Stefan chewed his lip. It would match his ragged ear if he didn’t stop. “Pride,” he ventured.

  “Excellent. And what is pride? What did Satan want?”

  “To be like God.”

  “What is God like? What does He do?”

  “Gives laws,” Stefan offered.

  “And demands obedience to them. Asks us to worship Him. Provides prophecy. Demands sacrifices. Raises up a church, spread throughout the world, that seeks to please Him and carry out His will on earth.”

  Stefan suspected Bastion had had this conversation with other priests. He sounded rehearsed.

  “So our enemy, Satan, is all these things in opposite,” Bastion continued. “He gives law, demands obedience, asks for sacrifices, raises up faithful believers. But where God creates life, Satan destroys it.”

  “You travel with this witch so people will see and understand evil? And by seeing evil, they will see God?”

  Bastion nodded and opened his mouth to say something else. Stefan cut him off. “But if we are commanded by God to destroy witches, you cannot permit her to live. You should kill her.”

  The door slammed back on its hinges so hard it fell off at an angle. Bjorn burst into the room, and Bastion stood, grabbing a satchel. Stefan could not comprehend the sudden explosion of noise and words. Bjorn shook him by the shoulders.

  “Alma is dying.”

  Mia rocked Alma’s limp body, keening her prayers. Her breathless words drained away into the night, blending into the darkness outside their door.

  “Take Alma outside,” Bastion ordered her. “Stefan, bring a bucket of water.”

  Mia hesitated as Stefan rushed to obey.

  “It’s cold tonight,” she said, looking to Bjorn. Night air couldn’t be good for Alma, especially now.

  “Do it,” Bjorn told her.

  Mia stood, still cradling Alma, and went outside, not bothering with a cloak for herself. Her mind knew it was cold. Her body felt nothing but fear. Holding Alma like a fragile infant, Mia swayed side to side in the starlight, trying to keep her frightened voice strong enough to coax Alma back. Alma’s eyes remained closed, her lips blue and swollen.

  “Do you hear the birds, Alma?” Mia coaxed. “How noisy is spring, even at this hour! How we’ve missed our friends, the birds! Come back, Alma. Come back, and we’ll feed them at our window.”

  Mia could hear the men inside and stepped closer to the window to listen. How could they cure Alma if Alma stayed out here? The child’s rabbit-fast breathing had slowed, but Mia could still see every rib between each breath. Alma’s heart slowed, growing tired from the effort. It would not be long now.

  Mia rubbed Alma’s chest with one hand, leaving it red. “Do not give up. They’ll know what to do.”

  “These signs trouble me,” Bastion said. His voice sounded strong, cutting through the shrill songs around her. She knew his voice apart from Bjorn’s. Bjorn’s voice was deep and rough at the edges. Bastion had the smooth, certain tones of a man who had spent years at a university. “Who among the women would curse you?” Bastion asked.

  She heard no reply.

  “Bjorn, you must not let a kind heart blind you to the truth. A woman is out there who has caused this. Either name her, right now, or your child will die.”

  Mia closed her eyes.

  She heard Bjorn mutter.

  “I do not care. Name the woman who hates you.”

  She heard the tone of Bjorn’s voice but not the words.

  Mia waited there, cradling Alma until her arms ached. At last, the door opened, and Bastion motioned for her to come in. He had a hard, accusing look on his face. Fear boiled again in Mia’s stomach.

  Bastion rested a hand on Mia’s arm as he spoke. “I took water and put it in your kettle over the fire with some rosemary leaves you had about. Keep Alma near the steam.”

  Bastion lifted his hand, and Mia’s arm went cold again. Something left her each time he touched her. She looked away.

  He laid his hands on Alma to pray. “Most Holy Father, hear the prayer of your servant. Break every curse upon this child, and release her from Satan’s power. Grant me the power of Elijah, that I may return this child, so near death, to its mother. Amen.”

  Alma stirred a little, just a fluttering of her eyelids and movement of her head. Mia hugged her tighter and wept.

  “Please, God,” she added. “Hear his prayer. Whatever I have done, forgive me. Please forgive me.”

  Bastion stared at her, flames from the fire reflected in his eyes. He looked like a prophet of old, she thought, one capable of great deliverances.

  Bjorn did not look at her. “Let’s go.”

  Bastion looked about and grabbed a chair from the table, dragging it over to the fire. “Sit down. Your arms must be so weak by now. Would you like a blanket?”

  “No, thank you. The fire is warm.”

  “Your husband and I have work to do, Mia. When Stefan returns, use the water he brings you to keep that steam constant. And say your rosary. Do not stop saying your rosary until you see Alma open her eyes and return to you. Do you understand?”

  Mia nodded.

  Bjorn left without looking at her.

  Bastion paused at her side as he left.

  “Mia, God has heard your prayers. I will save her.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  All of Stefan’s head throbbed, his ragged ear a relentless pain that tore through his body. He could not even bear to raise his arm as if to touch it. He had tried only once, and nearly fainted from the agony. His fingers had come away with something foul. He suspected the site might be putrefying from the witch’s bite. A witch’s bite could be more dangerous than any animal’s.

  He had delivered the water to Mia last night only to find the men had already left on their mission. Mia said Bastion had pressed Bjorn to name a woman. She had not heard the name, but Bjorn would not look at her afterward. She said she felt glad Stefan had returned, hopeful he would have more answers. Alma had slept in Mia’s arms, a little color back in her cheeks. Not much.

  He had been sent on a woman’s errand, and now the men, the real men of the town, had gone to do the men’s work. Stefan used all of his self-control to keep from kicking the bucket of water.

  Mia had not wanted to speak about anything else. She rocked Alma and went back to her rosary. Stefan left, promising to send Erick back to check on her, and wandered through the town, hoping to catch sight of Bastion and Bjorn. He had no luck. The sun rose as he gave up and returned to the church, walking past the sheep in the back already bleating for breakfast. Erick filled a bucket with grain for them, pushing them back as they nudged his legs. Erick had the patience to feed them despite their constant bleating demands.

  Stefan walked past him, saying nothing, attempting to put a hand over his wounded ear.

  Stefan spied Bastion and ducked behind the corner to the dormitory entrance to avoid being seen. Bastion stood near the caged witch, pressing his body through the bars as she kissed him on the cheeks. The pink sunrise illuminated her thin frame and the wide bars of the cage. Bastion looked like a pilgrim worshipping at a shrine, kneeling before a saint.

  She fell to her knees and took his hands in hers. She kissed them, then pressed them against her cheek. She had a look of ecstasy that made Stefan blush. No woman in his congregation had ever looked at him like that. He would not want them to. Why would Bastion allow it?

  Bastion pulled free, bending down and lifting a plate of food to her. She jerked the food off the plate and ate with ferocious speed. Bastion just watched her, his face a mix of pleasure and regret. She finished, letting the bones from the meat she had eaten fall onto the straw around her, the same straw she would relieve herself on, the same straw she would sleep on tonight.

  “When will you do it?” she asked. Stefan strained forward to be sure he heard the words right.

  “Soon.”

  “Please,” she pleaded, thrusting her arm through the bars, trying to catch hold of Bastion. He stepped out of her reach.

  “Please,” she called. “Haven’t I done everything you asked?”

  Stefan ducked back and walked into the dormitory. Gray clouds hung low in the sky above him.

  He needed to tend to his wound. He needed time to think.

  Mia’s voice grew hoarse from praying out loud for hours through her tears. Her head kept dropping down, startling her back awake, shamed she could sleep when her daughter’s life depended on her prayers. If Alma died, it would be her fault.

  I am a wretch, she thought. What Bastion preaches about women’s weakness is so true. Why did they leave me here alone with Alma dying? Didn’t they see I would fail?