She shook her head.
He changed his tone. “What is your name?”
“Ava.”
“Ava? It’s a good name.”
“It’s not my name.”
He was so tired.
“Are you so easily discouraged? I am asking you a riddle. Now, think: How do you know Ava is my name?”
“Because you told me. I believed you.”
She turned her head and grinned. “Yes! That is the answer. You believed me.”
Stefan understood. “Bastion tells you these things, and you believe him. Does he have proof?” His heart beat faster.
She wagged a finger at him. “I am not the only believer. And believers do not need proof.”
“But he killed a woman. She might have been innocent. He might kill more. We cannot do that on his word alone.”
She shrugged and went back to picking at lice in her bedding.
Stefan was alone in his doubts. Earlier everyone had filed out of Mass, eager to rush the day along, rush along with the business of living so they could return and see another witch burned. None of them would have let him confess his doubt to them. He had no refuge, save for his faith, and his words—words that had proved worthless to Catarina and Cronwall, words that had condemned Rose. Words in Latin, a language he did not even understand.
“Wait,” he said. “Did Bastion give any proof that you are a witch?”
She scooted around to look at him. “Yes. I had lost a babe not long after it was born. He died in his sleep. I told everyone that I didn’t know how it happened, but I knew it was my fault. A good mother would have known something was wrong. She would have saved him.”
“And then Bastion accused you of being a witch?”
“No. He showed me the evidence. One day I worked in the fields, and I said, ‘I believe it is going to rain today,’ and it did. We were in a drought, Father Stefan.”
“’Tis not witchcraft to feel a rain coming.”
“Only witches know the future, Bastion said. He showed me who I truly am. I must be punished. If I am punished, my son will see the face of God. If I am punished, enough of my sin will be burned away that one day I can see my son again. I want to burn, Father Stefan. It is all I want. Bastion will deliver me from this body of death, but I must serve him well first.”
“No, no. ’Tis not right. ’Tis not right at all.”
“I don’t want you to speak to me anymore. I want to burn. Why can you not understand? I want to see my son.”
“What if Bastion’s words are wrong? What if you’re not a witch? What would your son think of your punishment then?”
“He’d know I deserved it. Please, let me die. You have words. Bastion has words. I have already chosen whom I believe.”
“Stop! Stop right there!” Dame Alice’s scream interrupted Stefan’s reply. Turning, he saw a line of women tied together by a rough rope, being led to the church by Bastion. Dame Alice screamed at Bastion, trying to grab the rope away from him. He pushed her back and kept walking. Dame Alice saw Stefan and screamed at him next.
“This is not right!” she shouted.
Stefan backed away from Ava’s cage, saying nothing, then turned and ran back into the church, locking himself in, tears stinging in his throat.
Erick ran down the aisle to him. “Father? What’s happened?”
“Don’t go outside.”
“Why? What’s happening?”
“Bastion has authorized Bjorn to arrest more women. He’s bringing them into the jail for interrogation.”
“Women from our village?”
“Yes. I think so.”
“Are you going to stop him?”
“I don’t know how. Everything he says sounds right to my ears. But not to my spirit.”
Erick lowered himself to sit next to Stefan on the floor. “You think he’s wrong?”
“Yes.”
“Praise God. I thought I was the only one.” Erick rubbed his palm across his forehead, then through his hair. “What are you going to do?”
Stefan’s chest hurt as if crushed from all sides by a heavy weight, a malicious embrace he could not escape. He was confused beyond all hope of reason. For every action he thought seemed right, his mind shouted five reasons it was wrong.
The door behind their backs thundered and shook as Dame Alice first tried to swing the doors open, then began beating against them with her fists.
“Father Stefan! I know you’re in there! Come out and help those women!”
“I don’t know what to do!” he shouted through the door, then looked at Erick and spoke quietly. “I was never taught about witches, or women, or how to tell lies from truths. I don’t know any prayers for this. What should I pray? Deliver these people from my stupidity?”
“It’s a start.” Erick’s face offered no compassion.
“Erick!”