Veil of the Otherworld: The Witches of Elder Wood, #1

By NK Fuller

Full of attitude and with a wicked wit to match, Marcisse is hardly what you'd call ordinary. Raised by her loving grandfather after the death of her parents, she's primed for the humdrum of village life. There's only one problem; Marcisse longs to break free to find an adventure.

When the priesthood starts killing witches in her sleepy village of Dunklebry, she and best friend Fiora scope out an abandoned house in the wood. What happens next will change her life forever.

The house once belonged to the persecuted witches, so Marcisse is well aware of the consequences. Desperate to find any excuse to leave the village, she gets more than she bargains for when their exploration sets off a chain of events that cannot be stopped.

With secrets unravelling, Marcisse must answer the call of an anonymous mysterious writer. How do they know her? Will they reveal more about the disease that plagues her realm? And most importantly, do they hold the key to help the witches' plight?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nathan Fuller
• Release date: Jun 30, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201717742

Book preview

Veil of the Otherworld

Witches of Elder Wood Book 1

By NK Fuller

Copyright 2021 © NK Fuller

Please note that the author is English so spelling is in British English.

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CONTENTS

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Dragon Trials - Book 2

Copyright

Chapter One

Don't touch that mushroom! I shouted, slapping away my friend’s hand.

Is it a parasol ‘shroom? Fiora answered quizzically, looking between me and the innocent looking fungus that poked up from the scrunched pile of leaves on the forest floor.

Look closer. I stretched my arm to point out the extended dome. That's a destroying angel. Consume that, and you'd cramp before your liver and kidneys would give out!

Swinging her foraging basket onto her other arm, Fiora wiped a stray coil of black hair that blew about her dark brows with the sleeve of her dress. Phew, that was close! I'm glad I've got the expert here to guide me. She giggled with a wink.

Fiora and I had been coming to forage in Elder Wood since we were young girls. Good friends since we were children, the excuse to escape the stifling small village of Dunklebry was always a welcome relief.

Marcisse, have you decided to make a move on the tanner's son, yet? Fiora hoisted her wicker basket to her chest as she expelled a little squeal of excitement.

I assume you mean Mr Anfroy's son, Barnas? I raised a sardonic brow in response, knowing full well who Fiora meant.

Who else? A sharp pain jarred my ribs as she jabbed me in her excitement.

For all intent, Barnas was a nice young man. He had an innocence about him, and I couldn't deny the looks he'd given me whenever I'd pass him by the small stream that ran just past the village.

He'd often look up at me from skinning whatever poor animal that was to end up on display at his open air workshop at the market. It was almost ironic seeing the wholesome blonde, blue eyed Barnas standing in the square, meat cleaver in hand and wearing a blood spattered apron. Like an angel that had been on a massacre.

So, are you going to actually talk to him? Fiora's high pitched voice took me out of my mental vision of Barnas.

He seems nice, not that I've talked to him much. We've only exchanged small pleasantries, really. I shook my head as if suddenly remembering something, a lock of dark hair falling into my eyes. Besides, I shouldn't think we'd be all that compatible. I'm far too... How shall I put it? ... strong headed for such a delicate man.

Fiora let out a small chuckle as she looped my arm.

We kicked through the piles of brown leaves as we passed through the less dense part of the woodland, meandering around birches and aspens whose leaves were a stunning shade of orange. Through the gaps of the white trunks, smoke puffed from a few of the houses.

The darkness has come in even earlier today, I said, looking up at the violet sky above that would soon disappear into a blanket of navy.

Pulling her brown cloak tighter around her, Fiora shuddered as she rubbed her arms to warm herself. Armed with a plentiful supply of forest fruits and mushrooms, we both conceded to call it a day.

You didn't answer my question! Fiora raised one side of her thin lip as she gave me a humorous look.

I should have been used to the constant probing, I'd had it from her since we had become friends at eleven.

Oh, Fiora, he's just not my type. Also, Grandfather would be weary of the sickness that claimed his mother.

A scream from the distance pierced the chilly autumn air.

Soldiers rushed through the trees, making us jump as they headed towards Dunklebry, the metal of their helmets and armour giving off faint glimmers in the last rays of the setting sun.

What do you think is going on? Fiora clutched at the olive green sleeve of my dress, her nails digging in with her anxiousness.

I don't know, but whatever it is, I sense it's not good.

Leaves crackled underfoot as several soldiers marched away in their heavy boots. Almost telepathically, Fiora and I nodded, picked up the heaviness of our skirts and ran in the same direction, back to the village.

The streets of Dunklebry were fraught with palpable tension. In the distance, people ran about the small traditional beamed cottages, mostly in the direction of the square. Some came out of their houses carrying pitchforks and torches as they made their way along the cobbled streets. 

Follow them, I urged Fiora, taking the lead as we sped out of the wood's edge and down a winding road.

At first, all I could see were rows of tall heads, making me grunt in frustration due to my small stature. I'd always disliked being so short, now more than ever as my neck craned to see above the crowd.

Out of breath and arms aching from clinging so tightly to our laden baskets, we pushed through the masses in the main square. 

Finally, we managed to find a spot big enough by the edge of the bakery to see what all of the fuss was about. 

Dragging a woman by her hair, the soldiers read aloud from what appeared to be a scroll of accusations. At least that's what I fathomed from the way they manhandled her.

No, please, you don't understand! The woman's raven black hair was a nest from where she'd been dragged. A few small leaves stuck to her ruffled mane even as her head shook in violent protest.

Another execution? Fiora whispered into my ear.

She was right. This looked like it was going to be the third execution in a month. We'd never had this many before. Something was seriously amiss.

The baying crowd thrust their rattling fists into the air, shouting over one another so vociferously, I couldn't make out what they were saying. Then I heard the word witch and an accusation of sorcery. My gaze fixed on the woman, my stomach felt like it'd been flushed with boiling water. She was about to face a horrifying death at the hands of the soldiers, who hastily batted away the bloodthirsty people to erect a wooden pole.

Thrust up just beside Dunklebry's levelled grey concrete standing stone, the poor woman was about to meet her end next to the village's proud monument. The dedicated statue of inscribed names of past kings and queens of Veria, one of the nine kingdoms that made up the continent of Nutropia.

Please, you don't know what we're doing! the woman squealed, desperately writhing within the constricting ropes.

Get back! One of the soldiers pushed away a villager as he tried launching a punch towards the crying woman.

Soon, she was fastened to the stake, body wriggling as she bellowed intermittent screams that chilled my bones. Her face was streaked with black as the kohl around her eyes formed diluted triangles underneath.

A robed priest from the Noble Order emerged amongst the people, as if from nowhere. The skirts of his robe swished around his ankles and prayer beads swung around back and forth like a pendulum as he strode towards the pyre.

Making way for him, the soldiers parted, removing their helmets with bows of respect as he stood before them. The villagers gestured a salute to the tyrannical religious order, before he kissed his index and middle finger on his right hand then holding it high into the air.

Usually I obliged and did my duty, but today I refused to show my respect. Due to the number of people, both Fiora and I struggled to see past all the bobbing linen caps, bonnets and berets.

By the order of King Persus, you, Miss Orivanda Turly, stand accused of witchcraft, sorcery, and consulting the dark arts...

The woman let out another blood curdling howl, interrupting the stone faced speaker. Goose flesh climbing up my arms, I shuddered at the thought of the anguish and pain the poor woman was about to face. Today, another female from Elder Wood would meet the same fate as those before her.

A brush against my arm made me turn as my gaze was broken by the soft feel of Fiora's arm interlinking with mine. Heaven help her, Fiona whispered, her voice wobbling.

Even Heaven, or the supposed passed spirits we'd been taught that inhabited it, couldn't help her now. The powers that be had already decided her fate, and today was the execution of it.

Please, please...give me a fair trail! The woman's pleas were drowned by the furious shouts of the crowd.

Several men gathered around her, torches leant forward ready to deliver justice. If you could call it that.

I seethed as I found my free hand squeezing the cold pleats of my dress.

Your deeds have corrupted the faithful, and Nutrophia must be rid of such evil before your cursed disease infects any more innocents. Rolling the scroll back up, the bearded priest coughed as he rapped it against his open palm. Finish it.

Two simple words, two utterances from his wretched, wrinkled mouth saw the flames quickly take hold of the twigs that had been hastily arranged at the terrified woman's feet. Within minutes the fire was given life as it billowed up in its nest like surroundings, licking at the woman's feet and shins as she begged for mercy.

Jeers from the satisfied crowd caused my stomach to lurch. How could I have lived amongst such people? No, they were not people, but evil personified. If what the woman did was so nefarious, was burning her alive really true justice? I had chosen not to watch the recent burnings, but stumbling upon this one made my stomach heave and my fists tighten.

The fire soon engulfed her whole body, and it took a few agonising minutes for the victim to perish as her head slumped forward, black hair sizzling with flickers of orange embers as her body roasted.

We've got to stop this! I found it difficult to bite my tongue, but I was careful not to be heard by the mob as I stormed away with Fiora.

Nodding with wide watery eyes, she agreed with me. We both pounded across the stones as we left the masses. In my pure rage, I thought my heart would explode out of my chest and spew out onto the cold cobbled ground before me.

Marcisse? Are you...

An explosion of green light blew past our skirts and threw us both down onto the cobbles. Her head shaking, Fiora's mouth hung open in shock.

Are you alright?

She gave a delayed nod.

Come on. I helped haul her up. Let's get out of here!

Both looking back, we witnessed the woman's body burning a bright shade of green, resembling the colour of limes that were sold at the market.

Naturally, the dim witted people who scrambled to their feet shouted that the blast was proof of the accusations of witchcraft. I couldn't place it, but a pull of my gut told me otherwise. Not to mention my resilience to their beliefs after what I'd just been unfortunate to witness, a part of me couldn't help wondering if the woman was blameless. A cold sweat ran down my spine as I tried to comprehend everything. What if the practices Miss Orivanda Turly performed were actually for the greater good?

On the walk back to our houses, neither of us spoke much. Fiora tried making light conversation, almost trying to act as though the burning at the stake didn't happen. I was not so ready to forget.

Farewell, Fiora, I will see you tomorrow at market. I held my friend tightly, even more than usual as I hugged her goodbye.

Despite falling hard, she didn't have much evidence on her to prove what'd happened. Probably a good thing, since her mother was such a worry wort.

The leather of our gloves squeaking in our embrace, we finally let go of one another as she walked through the rickety old gate and small askew stone path that led to her family home. I waved her off as she stepped inside, but my happy exterior hid my troubled heart. My anger had roused itself again as I stalked the streets to my grandfather's home, my brows ached from furrowing them in disgust.

Pulling a rusty, black key from a lined pocket in my skirts, I let myself into the  arched door with a turn of the huge round metal knocker. Entering the narrow hallway, I knocked into the umbrella stand as I took off my boots. Grandfather how many times have I told you to move the stand, it's far too big and I always knock it when I enter!

I could feel the misplaced anger lacing my words as I barked through to the living room on the left. Thankfully, my ever mellow Grandfather Gerty seemed impervious to it as his chuckles filtered through the small oak doorway.

Standing beside the chunky mantel, he sheared off a lengthy block of wood. In between blowing off the shavings, he smiled up at me. Though I'd probably not care to admit it, I'd never been so glad to be home.

Ahh, Marcisse, dear. Would you fetch me my chisel set from the table?

Acknowledging his cheeky grin with a smile of my own, I went over to the small round table beside his favourite tatty red and brown armchair and handed him the array of chisels that were safely stowed in his weathered leather bag, all held together by a thick band.

Thank you, my dear. How was your day? He set down the chisel set and block of wood with a clunk and clang as he stood to lean on the mantel.

You wouldn't believe... As I started to answer, his smile waned, his tall frame turning around to face the roaring fire.

I know. He sighed.

Know what? That you can read my mind?! There it was again, the anger that sat in my throat begging to be released.

About the witch trial. I heard people rushing by the window earlier. Grandfather ran his long wrinkled digits over his big ears, his thin face creasing as if recalling the noise. Then came the screams. How I loathe the screams. Putting one arm back to rest on the mantel, the other hovered on his hip.

I walked over slowly to stand beside him, we both turned to the flames as we became lost in the dancing flares. It was ironic, really. Seeking comfort and warmth from the very source that had just been the cause of Miss Turly’s demise.

Have you heard anything from the stall? My lips pursed as I swayed before the fire, drawing as much heat from it as I could.

King Persus and his nobles believe the spreading sickness to be the curse of witches. He sighed again, this time glancing sideways through his heavy eyelids to look at me.

But I thought they were working hard to find a cure for the skin blight?

They were, but months have gone by, and with more people succumbing to it, but yet nothing to show for it, they're panicking. The disease is more rampant than ever, and hope is nearly all lost. The king thought it might be something beyond human source and comprehension, so in sheer desperation to appease the increasingly alarmed people, he, at the behest of the religious order, sought to blame the easiest targets he could find – the women in the woods.

How can that possibly be the truth of it?! My fists tightened into solid knots. Everyone knows that the women choose to live in solitude to work on their herbs, that's all. Even if they were witches, have they caused anyone harm?

We know that, my dear, Marcisse. But others, they seek to destroy what they do not understand.

Is there anything we can do? After watching poor Miss Turly's execution, I don't think I can sit around doing nothing! My words were husky as I put my hand to my