Chapter 16
The triplets had known trouble since birth.
Near the north wall of a vast cavern southeast of Marseilles stood a wide stone table. Behind the table sat the Council of Elders for the Circle of Sisters—Magda, head of the council, Bayonne and Palmae.
Magda, shaking with fury, glared at the three young women standing before them. Esmee, the eldest of the triplets and most outspoken, and her sisters, Lisette and Julianne François. The girls’ shadows danced across the stone walls from the multitude of candles that illuminated the dank cave.
They were forced to wear sackcloth and walk the many miles to the meeting area. They stood dirty, sweating and trembling with fear at what they were about to face. They were identical in appearance save for their eyes. Each held a unique color. Esmee’s were brilliant blue, Lisette’s a shiny copper and Julianne’s blacker than any shade of night.
All three pairs of eyes were now downcast, the girls’ heads bowed in sorrow and submission. Coal-black hair fell across alabaster skin. The cave smelled of their sweat, burning candles and the earthy scent of the dirt beneath their feet.
Magda, as head of the council, held the staff of judgment so tightly in her right hand her knuckles had turned white. Her fury was undeniable. The staff of judgment was eight inches long, made of thick, polished Elder-wood and topped with a bloodstone the size of a small woman’s fist. The staff was the ballast used only in severe cases, of which this was definitely one.
Being responsible for an entire clan of witches spread throughout France, especially in the fifteenth century, was no small feat. She held fast to being firm and fair, and unwavering from protocol. Despite her anger, looking at the triplets made her heart ache and cluttered her thoughts.
This wasn’t the first time the sisters had stood before the council. Mostly for misdemeanors on other occasions. Their youth accounted for the majority of the dismissals of those cases.
Magda knew the council granted special favors to the triplets out of pity. Years ago, their parents had left a theater late one evening when a band of thieves shot out from a dark alley and murdered both of them. The triplets had only been two years old at the time, and by vote, the Council of Elders decided that Bayonne would take responsibility for them. They’d had no other choice. It was part of their culture. Neither adoption nor abandonment existed in their code of ethics. The Circle of Sisters took care of their own.
Magda always suspected Bayonne had been too lenient on the girls throughout the years, and today’s fiasco seemed to attest to that. At sixteen years old, with a full fourteen years under Bayonne’s tutelage, the young women should have known better.
“But, Elders, we beg of you,” Esmee said. “Please consider reason. Would you not have done the same? Would you have allowed such boldfaced betrayal to go unpunished? Would you not have sought revenge? How can you judge us when we were the ones wronged?”
“You demonstrated complete misuse of your powers,” Magda said gruffly. “Granted, your years may still be tender, and in many ways the three of you still inexperienced with many spells, but you are not naive to our laws. What you did changes the face of the human race. The monstrosities you created will not only kill and destroy other humans, they will breed and mutate, producing subspecies, and their numbers will become endless. Their nightmare will never end. You have executed your revenge, but these creatures will never know peace. They will never have the opportunity to make amends. You chose to be judge, jury and executioner, all of which you had no right. Punishment is due for this atrocity. And the punishment must match the crime.”
Magda glanced at Bayonne, whose eyes brimmed with tears, then at Palmae, who sat ramrod straight, eyes wide with shock. “Are we in agreement here, sisters?” she asked them.
Both gave almost imperceptible nods.
“Very well,” Magda said. “So shall it be.” She held the staff of judgment outright, its tip poised over the stone table.
Suddenly a sensation caught her attention, and Magda cocked her head slightly to one side to listen intently. She heard water dribbling from somewhere within the cave, the ragged, anxious breathing from the triplets and the other two Elders, but little more. Despite that, she felt certain...no...knew that someone was listening to their conversation from the mouth of the cave.
Trusting her instincts, Magda felt that someone was Tenebrus Cray, one of the most self-serving, power-hungry sorcerers she had ever known. Magda thought about storming out to confront him, then considered a better idea.
* * *
They might have gotten away with it, but there’d been too much blood. The entire city raged over the incident. It hadn’t taken long for the Elders to find out. Stupid girls.
Gnawing on that thought, and the piece of clove he had stuck in his mouth earlier, Tenebrus Cray squatted near the entrance of the cave. He leaned in as close as he dared to the opening so as not to miss one word spoken by the women.
The witches had gathered secretly in the stone belly of a hillside, far from prying eyes in Marseilles. He knew their location because he had spotted Magda, Bayonne and Palmae clomping out of town on horseback, each wrapped in their signature, floor-length capes—black, purple and red, respectively.
The three were master witches and all but recluses. They lived in a hovel away from the bustle of the city. Tenebrus had only seen them come out to work in their herb garden. To watch them head out of town was a novelty. To have them retreat so hastily, and on horseback, was unheard of.
Tenebrus knew that Magda had the power of teleportation. Why have an animal bear one’s weight when all one had to do was wave a hand, cast a spell and the three would have immediately teleported to their destination?
Wherever they were
