Ashes to Ashes

ASHES TO ASHES

“You cannot do this, I beg you no,” Connie screamed.
A blood encrusted fist connected sharply with her ribs, silencing her screams, momentarily.
“Silence witch,” the masked man hissed.

Night had rapidly descended and the dense canopy shaded out most of the sun in the ancient forest. The only light cast was from the burning torches, held by the procession of priests in red robes. A path led from the village to the what the priests called ’the cleansing ground.’ Many people, mostly women had been transported here and burned for witchcraft. Daughters, sisters, mothers, aunts and grandmothers had all burned here. The scorched trees and dying leaves burned in the heat from the endless fires, hinted at the circles savage past. It had taken the villagers weeks to clear the old trees so that the forest would not be burnt along with the witches. The land had been seized by the power, greed and madness of the church and its mindless disciples. Priests and torturers had grown rich on land and property they stole from the burning dead.
Folk lived in fear of the cross and those who carried it.
Thirteen ancient scholars from the Monastery of Saint Luke commanded fear and power over thousands.
“We are not witches. We have done nothing wrong. All we did was help people, with herbs from the forest and our own skill. It was not witchcraft,” Connie said as she stared at the robed men.
The masked man raised his fist to punch her again, only pausing when a priest raised his hand. The masked man reluctantly lowered his fist.
“The Lord shall not suffer a witch to live. Only God can heal. You and your kin have been found guilty of witchcraft. We are servants of the Lord. He has told us to cure you, to cleanse your soul. You and your friends will burn in hell, if you do not admit your guilt. Confess your guilt or face eternal damnation, I beg you.”
His patronising voice and empty words fell on Connie like scalding water. Even as the pyres loomed in front of her, she could not believe she and her four friends would burn.

“You do not speak for God, you old fool. You know nothing of God. You are ignorant and blind. My three friends cannot speak for themselves because your torturers cut out their tongues, on your orders. You serve evil, you help no one.”

Anger flashed across the priest’s fat face as he strode towards Connie.
“Lift her up, let the witch look into my eyes, brother Jason.”
“Jason Doyle, you sick bastard, so you’re his torturer. I know your wife, brother Jason. Known her since she was a little girl.”

Jason pulled Connie up straight, pulling her hair back so her bruised and broken face looked up into the eyes of the fat priest. He stared down at her and smiled.
“You have the devil in you, of that I have no doubt. You will watch your friends burn and then you shall burn, slowly. I shall take great pleasure in listening to your screams, witch.” Then he whispered into Connie’s ear, so no one else would hear. “Everything you held precious will die, I will personally see to that. Everyone you have ever known will suffer, witch.”

The priest screamed as Connie spat in his face. “Curse you priest, and your kin and kind. If there is any justice in this land, you will pay for the lives you have stolen. You’re empty and Godless. Your so called God has failed and turned his back on his creation, if he speaks through you, curse you. I, the witch curses you,” Connie screeched as she struggled to get away from Jason’s vice like grip.

“Tie her to that tree, from there she will see her friends burn. If she closes her eyes, remove her eyelids. God is with you and your wife brother Jason, you have nothing to fear. You are pure in heart and soul,” the fat priest said, as he crossed himself.

Connie collapsed as Jason’s big fist hit her in the stomach, falling on the hard ground as the air was knocked out of her body. She was dragged across by her hair, screaming as lumps were wrenched out of her bleeding skull. The fat priest lifted her to her feet and Jason tied the ropes, so tightly her ribs cracked. When Connie opened her eyes she was facing the pyres of wood and dry straw. Local carpenters had erected crude crosses, her three friends were being nailed to them.

“Remember, keep your eyes open or I’ll slice off your eyelids,” Jason whispered in her ear.
Connie watched as the burning torches cast an eerie glow over the inhumane scene, unfolding in front of her blurry eyes. Tears streamed down her face, making clean lines amongst the blood and the dirt.

Three innocent women she had known all her life were about to be burnt alive, their houses and what little they owned would be stolen by the church and all records of their existence would be destroyed.

It was too dark for Connie to see the expressions on the faces of her friends, but their silent screams echoed through her head, making her retch as the sounds of hammering ceased and three men walked purposely forward, holding flaming torches aloft.
The fat priest held up a book and began to speak. “In the year of our Lord, sixteen sixty six, I hereby give these witches to God. They hide the mark of the devil, the three sixes, but their blasphemy and evil are there for all to see. I send these three witches, to you now. They have confessed and I ask for the mercy of our dear Lord. The devil took hold of these poor children. They will be cleansed and their souls delivered to you, dear Lord.”

The priest took three steps back. Jason was handed a torch and walked along the line, igniting each pyre. When all three fires were burning the priests and Jason stood back and watched.

Connie pressed herself back against the tree, desperately trying to distance herself. Her friends had been mere shadows as the ropes cut into her flesh, but now the rising flames were lighting up their burning bodies. Three different, agonised expressions were now branded into her soul as the flames reached higher, burning feet, legs and torsos. Her nostrils filled with the stench of burning flesh and melting hair, forcing her to retch for a second time. Connie watched as their faces melted, taking with it the throes of their last agonised seconds on earth. Burning heads fell lifelessly forward as the ropes binding Connie were cut. Her trembling legs would not support her, the bloody mask of Jason zoomed into view as Connie’s petite frame slammed into his fat stomach.

Lightning lit up the dark, moonless sky as Connie struck Jason. A second later thunder roared across the bleak landscape, followed by another deafening crack of thunder and with it, torrential rain.

“The witch is using her powers against us,” Jason screamed, throwing Connie to the ground.
Jason’s words echoed through Connie’s mind and she seized her chance.
She pointed at the cowering group of superstitious priests and screamed. “I curse you all. Lightning will strike down all that you hold dear. When it is all gone the rivers will rise up and wash this land clean of your sins. When everything is gone the thunder will blow your minds and I will come for you all.”

The priests staggered away from Connie, huddling close together as the rain soaked their heavy cloaks. Only Jason had the nerve to approach. His clumsy hands reached out to grab her. Connie swept his arms aside and raised her knee as fast as she could. Her aim was perfect, it caught Jason hard and fast in the groin, causing him to collapse. As he fell to his knees, groaning, Connie turned and fled, away from the clearing and into the dense undergrowth and crowded trees, fighting her way through the dense canopy. She glanced over her shoulder, relieved to see no one was following. She took one last look at her dead friends. The rain had extinguished the flames, another crack of lightning lit up their charred remains for a second and then they were gone, forever.

“Love you all,” she mumbled as she charged deeper into the undergrowth.
She fought her way through the forest, deeper into the undergrowth and what she hoped was safety. All she could hear was the sound of her own beating heart and sobbing. The sounds of footsteps behind and cries of ‘burn the witch’ never came. Drops of water splashed onto her head, but the ground was dry and covered in pine needles. She gazed towards the heavens and all she could see was a dull flash every time lightning lit up the sky.

Finally, Connie collapsed as fear, grief and exhaustion took hold of her, dragging her shivering body to the ground. She fell into a restless sleep, dreaming of fire, priests and curses. She awoke as sunlight filtering through the trees shone onto her closed eyes, warming her face. As her eyes opened she sat bolt upright and stifled a scream. She could smell burning, she sighed when the familiar smell of mushroom soup filled her nostrils. The four of them had been starved for a week in the dungeons of the monastery. She forced herself up and followed the smell. The witch finders would not be cooking in the forest, they would have fled and sent soldiers to find the witch.

When Connie could see the rising smoke through the trees she stopped, carefully pulled back a thick bramble stem and tried to see whose food she could smell.
A small figure in a dark brown cloak was sitting, stooped over a bowl.

“You might as well come out; I’ve been expecting you since I lit up the sky.”
His voice made her feel safe and drew her forward, his words sounded like running water.
“Thank you,” was all Connie could manage.
“Sit down and eat, Connie. You must be famished. Its food of the forest. There’s water in the bowl,” he said, pointing to a large silver bowl.

A large bowl full of soup rested on a tree stump. Connie slurped up the bowl in seconds and drank a tankard of water from the silver bowl.

“Questions now, I expect,” the hooded man said, still not looking up.
“What?” Connie replied, puzzled.
“Questions. How do I know your name, what am I doing in the middle of the forest? Have you seen any priests pass by? Questions.”
“Yes, thank you for the soup.”
“I must say, I’m rather disappointed. I spent centuries on my own and when I eventually meet one of my kind, she forgets how to speak.” His hood fell back by itself and Connie gasped at his face. “She thinks I’m ugly to. See how pretty you look after three hundred and eighty years in this place.”

“Who are you? Answer the questions you just said,” Connie replied.
“I have no name, I was not born as you were, but you can call me Dance. I am a Necromancer, as are you.”
“A what?”
“Necromancer. I think its time we go and revive your friends,” Dance said as he stood up.

“I’m grateful for the soup, but you are a twisted little man. My friends, as you seem to know are dead, and you are not three hundred years old”
“Nearer four hundred. The church has got out of hand and now is the time to raise an army against it. And I have chosen you to do it.”

“What sort of mushrooms did you put in that soup?”

Dance stood up, his cloak floating away from his body, hanging itself on a nearby branch. Connie gasped as he floated through the air towards her. With his cloak now gone she saw the full extent of his deformities. One red eye seemed to look through her, the other eye socket was empty, he had no nose, only a hole in his face, white lips were pulled back to reveal sharp white teeth and a black tongue. His skin was gaunt and haggard, stretched back over his protruding bones. His lips did not move as he spoke. His black clothes hung loosely over his puny frame. All of this vanished from Connie’s mind when she saw the tail flapping behind him.

He spoke to her again, his lips unmoving. “As I said, we need to go and revive your friends. I take it you wish to see them again?”
When he stopped speaking he glided to the ground in front of Connie and looked up at her, smiling.
“Yes, Dance. Whatever you say.”
“Do not worry. I will not hurt you. I would do it myself, but I am forever cursed to remain in this place. Alone and rejected. I cannot leave the forest. You, however, are free to roam. Come, we will go to the circle now.”

Dance walked briskly through the trees, seeming to weave his way round thick brambles and low hanging tree branches, without touching anything. His feet made no sound and he left the ground undisturbed. Within minutes they had arrived at the circle, where hundreds of witches had been destroyed, their ashes trampled in the ground beneath the pyres. The three charred bodies of her friends still remained. The skin had melted from their bodies, leaving blackened bone and empty eyes, staring at Connie as she stared at them.

“Why have you bought me back here? How can anyone, even someone like you who floats and swishes his tail possible revive three burnt skeletons?” Connie said, wiping the tears away.
“This is when you discover who you really are. You were born with the gift, I stole it from another which is why I am this way,” Dance replied.

“How the hell do you know what I was born with? How do you even know who I am? I know we’ve never met before,” Connie snapped, exasperated by Dance’s riddles.

Dance spun round and glared at her, he to was exasperated, but for different reasons.
“You must have felt the power within you. How many people did you help before you were accused of witchcraft? Go over to your friends and walk among the ashes. Bring them back. Release what you feel, let your emotions flood out. Tell them how you feel and they will rise from the ashes and be with you once more,” Dance said with all the passion he could muster.
Connie sighed, for an instant she felt like smiling, then her gaze returned to her charred friends.
Before she realised she was standing beneath the body of her childhood friend, Isabel Clark. Thoughts of childhood games and confiding each others fears and exchanging secrets poured into Connie’s mind in a torrent of sadness and loss. Whispers echoed through the forest, of friends departed and people she had yet to meet. The cross in front of her was now empty, Isabel had gone and so had the remains of Emma and Jane.

Connie staggered back as the ground beneath her feet began to vibrate. She flung her hands over her ears as the vibrations grew louder and the whispering voices began to scream and shout. Screams of anguish and pain scorched her ears, ignored pleas for mercy seemed to be hurled in every direction. Each protest being answered with laughter she recognised. The arrogant cackle of Jason the torturer and the babble of holier than thou priests.
“Do you believe me now?” Dance said.

Connie glanced round and saw the ugly little man lying stretched out on a blanket with his hands behind his head.
“Trickery, whatever this is, its your trickery,” Connie replied.
“You may want to lay down, its all going to get a bit frantic in a few seconds.”

The screaming and shouting grew louder and louder until it felt as if it were coming from inside her head. In an instant shapes came hurtling towards her, screaming, burning faces that stung her eyes and knocked her to the ground. She lay next to a fully relaxed, smiling Dance.

“What is all this?” Connie gasped as her blood hurtled through her veins and her heart pounded in her throat.
“They are all coming back.”
“Who?” Connie hissed.
“Why the dead of course. Everyone that ever died here is being bought back by you. The unjustly killed, the innocent and the lost are between worlds. If you were murdered how can you possibly rest in peace?” Dance replied.

Connie could not reply. When she came back here with Dance she wished her friends were still alive. If she had the powers of a necromancer, why had she never realised?
The head splitting noise gradually grew quieter. The shapes were slowing down and transforming from ghostly apparitions into solid figures floating around in the gloom of the forest.
The apparitions slowly transformed into people and fell to the ground. Connie and Dance were surrounded by over a hundred petrified women who’s last memory was being burnt for witchcraft. Her three friends stood directly in front of her, all three looked down and smiled at Connie. Emma held out her hand, Connie took it and was pulled up to the smiling face she had grown up with.

“You rescued us all from the dark place we arrived at, for that we all thank you,” Emma said.
Her skin was pale, it glowed and her hand felt warm and soft. Connie felt peace and calm flowing into her, from Emma‘s touch.

“I can’t believe this. I could have saved you all before you were burned,” Connie whispered, wiping tears from her face.
“Don’t be daft, woman. You can’t save anyone, that’s not your thing. A witch may have been able to prevent the deaths, but not you. Necromancers bring people back from the dead, that’s what we do. The thunder and lightning was something I conjured up, but when all said and done I’m not your average necromancer,” Dance said.

Emma smiled. “I can see that. Are you Connie’s guide?”
“In a way, yes. You, all of you that is, must destroy the witch hunters. They are killing the wrong people, people who will change history and upset the balance between good and evil.”

She found Dance, believable, yet unbelievable at the same time.
“When you say destroy, you mean kill, don’t you?” Emma said.
“That is exactly what I mean,” Dance replied.
“Would that not make us evil and send us straight to hell?” Connie said.
“Don’t be too literal,, my dear. I’m afraid you will have to find things out for yourself. My work is done,” Dance replied.

“So this is goodbye then?” Connie said.
“Indeed, I’m going to stay here for awhile and enjoy the forest. I can get some sun in this spot,” Dance said, as he gazed, unblinking into the sun.
In an instant Connie saw herself standing in front of the monastery with her disciples behind her. The vision went as quickly as it had come. Dance smiled to himself when he realised his thoughts had entered Connie’s head.

“Follow me,” Connie said.
All of the women she had reanimated followed her, without question. For the first time in her life Connie felt completely calm and at ease with herself. Her disciples smelt of goodness and purity. She had no fear of them being evil witches or killers. They would obey her command. It was Dance she did not trust. Lies and deceit oozed out of him like sweat. Connie had no wish to speak to the little freak, so she led her followers out of the forest, towards the monastery and its murderous occupants.

When the forest was silent again, Dance leapt up and raised his hands in prayer.
“Do you forgive me, justly God?” No answer, even the birds in the forest were silent. “I’ll take that as a no then. Judge and you shall be judged, oh Lord. They betrayed me and the children followed me. They broke their promise, and you punish me with eternal life and this deformity. Keeping me a prisoner in this dark place. What sort of being are you? I help people now, with no reward,” he screamed at the sky.

In the distance Connie heard his screams and knew who he was from tales she had heard. The pied piper who had led children to their doom. He truly was hundreds of years old and not to be trusted. Was she doing the right thing, leading reanimated women, branded witches to destroy a monastery? The men within were truly evil, so Connie believed she was right. Maybe Dance was looking for redemption. Maybe he would never find it. Forgiveness was something the little wretch did not deserve.
Connie glanced over her shoulder and saw the line of women stretching into the distance. They would be seen for miles and would attract the attention of the entire county.
She turned, raised her hand, signalling them to stop. “You do not have to follow me. You are free to go wherever you choose.”

“None of us can go back to our old lives. Everyone thinks we were burnt at the stake. If we go back they will truly believe we are witches,” Isabel said.
Murmurs of agreement broke out in the crowd. A young woman stepped forward and stood in front of Connie. Her name was Teresa.
“They came for me at night, flogged me, tried to drown me and after that I confessed. I was dragged to the forest and burnt in front of the village elders. I can’t go back.”
The girl was distressed and lost, Connie felt sorrow and pity for her. Guilt was beginning to weigh heavily on her conscience. She had realised what she was doing when she brought the women back. Now that they were here, what would she do with them and what could they do?

Isabel put her arm round Connie’s shoulders and sighed. “Its so obvious. We stay at the monastery. All we have to do is call it a nunnery. There are a few of us that need to be closer to God, especially after we were burnt to death and condemned to the between world. Which is like a constant migraine. You rescued us, so let us decide where we want to go. We’re certainly not living in the forest with that ugly little man. You never know what he’d get up to with a load of women hanging about.”

They all laughed at this, the happy sounds drowning out the sounds of birds singing and trees rustling in the cold wind.

“That sounds sensible, one thing I’d like to know. How do you all feel?” Connie said.
“I feel exactly the same as I always did, but a lot calmer, sort of at peace with everything,” Jane said.
Suddenly, all of the women being talking at once. Connie’s ears were filled with an incoherent, happy babble.

“Glad to know nothings really changed,” Connie said.
Isabel giggled and they all carried on walking, towards the monastery. The locals knew the monastery was full of witch finder generals and misguided priests so they avoided what was once a sanctuary. The surrounding lands owned by the church were also out of bounds.

The land around the monastery was farmland, owned by the priests. Fields of tall, golden corn stretched for miles, on either side of the track they walked along. In front of them lay lush green fields, heavily stocked with cows and sheep.
When the monastery was in sight darkness began to fall and the women were tired and thirsty. They knew the cellars of the building they were about to lay siege to were well stocked with food and wine. The enormous, sandy coloured monastery lay before them. What was once a home to the good had become a refuge to the bad.

“The gates are open, look,” Jane said, pointing at the building.
“The sick bastards probably think God will protect them,” one of the women shouted.
Connie held her hand up and silence spread over the crowd. “There are thirteen priests in there, three torturers and five or six guards. We need to sweep through there and sweep the men away as if they were a plague. We are not butchers on a revenge mission. If we start to take pleasure at what we are doing, we will be as bad as the scum who made us what we are.”
The door to the heavily fortified sanctuary were open, as if they had been left open. Waiting for the vengeful to enter.

“She’s right. We cannot become avenging angels,” Isabel said.
“If we stand here much longer, we’ll be seen,” a voice from within the crowd said.
“Five of us will go in, the rest of you need to surround the building and watch for anyone escaping. I’m sure there are underground passages and tunnels throughout. Isabel, Jane, Emma and you,” Connie said, pointing to the girl who had spoken earlier. “Are to come with me. The rest of you, go now and surround the building.”

The five women marched through the front gate, quietly and calmly. The remaining women surrounded the monastery in the way a fox would surround a chicken house.
As the five women entered the monastery four guards marched towards them and were instantly turned to fire. They fell to the ground screaming, desperately trying to douse the flames, seconds later they were dead and within minutes they were ash, floating on the purifying winds that had started to blow through the large, open courtyard. As they approached a fountain four priests came rushing out of the stables directly behind, startled by the noise. When they saw the women they crossed themselves, turned and fled. They recognised three as having been burnt the day before. Connie screamed and the men fell to the ground, clutching their ears as blood began to trickle through their fingers. All choked to death as blood filled their lungs and throat.

Two guards fired arrows at the women, from a guard tower above. Connie caught both of them as the tower collapsed. Both men were crushed under the stones that pulped their bodies. The sounds of falling masonry bought out another six priests out of the chapel, armed with swords. Connie pointed at them and they slaughtered each other in an insane bloodlust. Swords severing limbs and spilling guts on the holy ground. As they lay on the ground dying they tried to eat one another. Only death saving them from cannibalism.

“The three remaining priests liked to watch the torturers at work,” Connie said.
“I remember the way to the dungeons. What they did to me I seem to have forgotten,” Isabel said.

“I never thought it would end this quickly. I expected some kind of long battle and a few injuries. This is sort of rushed. All we’ve done is walk in,” Jane said.
“We have magical powers, we are not barbarians,” Connie replied as she flung the door to the dungeon open, ripping the lock from the wood.

The five women descended the steep, dank steps that led to a place of suffering and agony. They headed towards the screams and laughter. Jason’s voice could be heard uttering curses at another innocent victim. As they rounded the corner they saw the three priests. A woman, chained to the wall was being branded by Jason.
“What have we got here? Whores from the village I assume. When I’m finished here I’ll see to you,” Jason said, laughing.

The priests turned round, smiling. The smiles vanished when they recognised the women walking towards them.
“We burned you, I watched you burn. You truly are witches. Only a witch could come back from the dead,” the fat priest said.

The priests staggered back, cowering behind the three torturers.
“Get them, you two and throw them in a cell. We’ll deal with them later,” Jason said.
The two torturers were suddenly engulfed in flames and fell to the floor screaming, as the guards had done, only minutes earlier. The monks backed away until they were against a wall, stained with the blood of many victims.

Jason rammed the branding iron into his throat, screaming as his arm lifted the weapon. The red hot, razor sharp blade pierced his windpipe, his screams sent a shiver up Connie’s spine. The weapon severed his vocal cords before he died, making his screams sound inhuman as he died in agony.
“For holy men you three show no compassion for you fellow human beings,” Isabel said.
“You scum enjoyed watching your dogs torture me and then you killed me,” Teresa said.

She was calm, but fire raged in her green eyes and her young skin glowed with energy. Connie could almost smell her lust for revenge.
“We will not touch these three. They will have time to reflect their sins in the comfort of their own dungeons. You can have my old room, brothers,” Connie said.
“The devil take you, woman. The lord shall not suffer a witch to live,” the fat priest said.

“I’ve heard it all before. Get your fat carcass in there or you’ll burn,” Connie hissed.
Three petrified faces headed to the dungeons, followed by five angry women.
Jane locked the door and stared at the men inside.
“I’ll guard them,” Jane said.
“No need, they’ll never get out,” Connie said
“What do we do now?” Teresa asked.
“The five of us most stop this madness before thousands more die. Everyone else can stay here and become a nun. I think a quiet life would suit most of our friends,”
Connie replied.

The five women left the dungeon and joined their friends, outside the monastery.
“Gather round,” Connie yelled.
“All of you need to stay here until you have decided what you want to do. I cannot command you. You are all free to do whatever you wish. The five of us are going to stop the witch hunters. If we all go we will be seen for miles. The five of us can travel without being seen.
“We are all grateful for what you have done, Connie,” a tall woman said as she walked past.

Every woman thanked Connie for what she had done before they walked into the monastery. The tall woman came back out, carrying food and wine, wrapped in a blanket bound with rope.
************************
The five women walked away from the monastery as the sun was setting. As they walked over the first hill Teresa asked Connie a question.
“Why did you leave the three monks alive?”
“To see what the women would do to them. I don’t want to raise savages hell bent on revenge.”
“Why did you chose me to walk with you and your friends?” Teresa asked.
“Because I like you, that’s all and, I had four children before I was taken. Having you with me helps me remember them. I hope to see them again one day.”
Teresa asked no more questions, the women walked on in silence. Towards the smell of burning and the screams of agony.