The Doctor and the Witch [closed for haremfaery]

The wind blew across the dunes, swirling small tornadoes of sand like little devils amidst the rickety thatched buildings. The town looked like a dead spot on the desert, the mines behind it stretching like a burn on the skin of this heated land and burrowing deep underground like an open sore in the Earth. The miners worked tirelessly hauling bundles of precious rock and ore from the earth, while the women stayed behind to tend to the needs of the town. The wind that whistled past the shops and houses offered little comfort in the blistering heat, stinging as it swirled and kicked up granules of sand into sweat crusted brows and shifting eyes.

The potter sat in the cave of his shop, eyes peeking out of a dirt smudged face like beady stars in a tan clouded night sky. Licking his bad teeth, he squinted as the mayor's wife walked past, her long skirts brushing lightly across the ground and nothing but the points of her shoes showing under the hem. He eyeballed the hazel brooch that crested her breast, stuck into the fabric on her chest with a climbing neckline that feathered under her chin. Carrying a basket looped over her arm, she glanced sideways back at him, her chin setting with a proud strength and hurrying on her way. The potter, continued to mold his clay as his eyes followed her, not seeing her as a person, someone he'd known for years and a family friend. Not even seeing a woman, but an enemy. Someone who was possibly up to no good behind closed doors. After all, the potter had heard things and he knew if Father Desmond heard of it, he would be displeased. And when Father Desmond was displeased, God was displeased.

Further in town in the middle of the square was the church, it's high steeple reaching into heaven above all other buildings for miles around. Inside, Father Desmond met with a man who had stolen money from his customers: the town barkeep. He'd been short on money these past several months and hadn't been able to buy a full supply of wines and ales from the caravans that traveled through occasionally. So, instead he'd had to water the wines down little by little and had chosen not to tell anyone, while at the same time increasing the prices of all drinks by 10%. Father Desmond listened to the man's confession with a sense of smug satisfaction. It wasn't the fact of the sin that made him smile in his side of the confessional booth as he listened to the guilty man blather on, but rather the power he felt in having control of this man's spiritual destiny.

"That's all very well," the priest said in his deep, rumbling baritone, like a tiger purring as it held a lamb encircled in it's claws. "You wish to be absolved of these sins and God is ready and willing to give you forgiveness, my son. But first, he needs you to do his work. Tell me, have you noticed anything strange going on with your neighbors lately...?"


Landon Cane sat hunched over his desk by the large plate windows, the afternoon sunlight practically shoving it's way into the room through them. Scribbling down notes in his log, he ran a hand through his short sweaty hair as he concentrated on the internal dialogue that set the flow of his words. Wearing a crisp and well-made long sleeved shirt underneath vest and bow-tie, he made the perfect picture of a proper gentleman. Clean despite the environment he was surrounded by, he also made an excellent doctor for this town. Pausing to nervously stroke his mustache, he murmured aloud to himself before once again scribbling away with his quill. Outside the sun beat down on the hospital and all the buildings of the town, and being indoors did very little to alleviate it.

((I guess we need a name for this town.))

Kathryn Clearwater stumbled into the town. She was dehydrated and bleeding. It was as if once she reached the town her body simply gave up. Her knees buckled and she fell to the hard packed dirt road unconscious.

Her clothing was light and gauzy, perfect for travelling in the desert. There was a cloak in her pack for nighttime when the temperature dropped. Also in her pack were herbs, a journal filled with arcane symbols, recipes for healing poultices and simple spells, another book, much smaller than the journal was filled with tables of numbers for charting the night skies. The pack also held a few of her more valued tools, and a well worn deck of strange playing cards--tarot.

She wore her long dark hair in a long braid down her back, it fell past her waist. Around her neck was a small drawstring back. It contained a piece of turquoise, a near perfect quartz crystal, a very small dried up 'thing' ((a piece of her umbilical cord)), a lock of hair, and other small items.

-----

Kathryn had fled her home with her sometime lover, David Openhand, and her mentor, Nadine Shining Woman. A priest of sorts had come to their town and over time the people came to pay him more and more heed. He told them that magic was a sin, that witches must be put to death. That those who consorted with them would burn in hellfire. The townsfolk stopped visiting for syrups to soothe a child's cough or poultices to take away aches. They stopped asking if it was a good time to take a journey, or enter into an agreement. Then things turned ugly, practically overnight.

The three fled, travelling by night. Things had looked promising. The were heading for a town further south where, at least from what they could tell, this new religion hadn't reached. But they had been set upon by a band of robbers. Nadine had cast a powerful spell that destroyed the men, but not in time to save herself. David died a day later from a gunshot wound. Kathryn set out on her own. What else could she do?

And so Fate or Chance brought her to this town.

((If there's something I should chance or add, let me know. My image finding mojo isn't working. I haven't found a picture I like for Kathryn yet.))

The clang of the blacksmith's hammer rang out in a rhythmic tone as sparks flew from the metal he was pounding. Being one of the few men who did mine for a living, he was one of the first men to see the strange woman enter town and he was also the first to become suspicious of her presence. Despite her obviously exhausted state and the wound she carried, Master Knepper noticed the strange clothing first. Wiping sweat off his brow, he held his hammer in one hand defensively as he approached. Other people out and about at this time of day also took notice, several even coming out of their homes to get a closer look, while others took the children indoors and closed their windows. As she collapsed on the road leading straight through town, the few who were gathered proceeded forward, no less cautiously, like a lion had just dropped unconscious in their midst.

Master Knepper was the first to reach her body, kneeling down beside her cautiously, hitching up his leather apron and still holding his hammer out as if he expected her to jump up and grab him. Reaching out with his free hand, he started to go through her things. The first he found was the pouch with the small items in it and he murmured a prayer to himself.


"...These people were ready to tear each other's throats out when I first arrived those two years ago. Good people, twisted by hate and paranoia, ready to sacrifice brother and sister, lover and neighbor for the sake of their own "salvation". And all because of the ideas that holy man put in their heads. But over the past several months, I've been able to affect these people and turn things around. With the helping hand of logic and reason, these people have found relief from the threat of damnation. So far, in my stay, I have turned back 50 bloodthirsty mobs with the simple explanations of the truth of the world, bringing sanity to the destructive fear they all feel ripping at their hearts and souls. And it's been weeks since the last one. I think things are finally starting to turn around for Altara. ~"

Landon set aside his quill with a heavy exhalation of breath, looking over the still wet scrawl of ink upon the page. As he set it aside to let it dry, the self-important chiming of the church bells rang out and reverberated over the town, filling him with a sense of foreboding. Stepping up from his seat he hurried to the window that faced the street. All he could see were a few people hurrying past in one direction: towards the church building. Since Mass was already over, he could only guess that this was not a regular church gathering. Grabbing up his coat, he slipped it on as he rushed out the door. As he reached the step, a young boy, Joey, met him and took a moment or two to catch his breath.

Not saving a moment to eye the lad, his gaze sweeping over those still running down the street towards something he could not see yet, he asked, "Joseph, what is going on?"

When the boy had his voice back, he swallowed hard and spoke. "A woman...in the square...she collapsed. They say she's witch."

Landon's eyes widened at that and he looked in the direction of the church with a dismayed expression. "Ah, fuck," he murmured under his breath as he stepped away from the step and ran after the crowd that was gathering, Joey following after, right on his heels.

Running ahead of the crowd, Lan found those who were leading it; blacksmith Master Knepper and Sheriff Canin who stood on either side, holding up a young woman between them and dragging her along. Stepping ahead of them, Landon held his arms out and halted their progress, the people of Altara who were gathered, bristling and buzzing with murderous discontent. "Out of the way, Doctor," Master Knepper said, his voice rumbling threateningly from his burly frame. "This doesn't concern you."

Ignoring the less important man, Lan addressed the other. "Sheriff, what is going on here?" he asked in accusatory tones. "Where are you taking this woman? She's obviously in need of medical attention."

"We're taking her to Father Desmond," Canin said in a voice that did not even rival that of the robust man beside him, even though he was just as tall and his shoulders were just as broad.

"She's a witch!" Master Knepper put in, pointing at the young woman in his grasp with the hammer he still held, and getting a loud murmur of assent from the crowd at his declaration.

"Nonsense!" Lan said angrily, his voice a smooth tenor compared to the other men and yet instantly slicing through the crowd's bloodthirsty praise.

"Be careful Doctor Cane," Knepper said in warning tones. "You're calling into question things I've seen with my own eyes. She's dressed in strange clothing and carries with her a book of spells with arcane symbols in it and lettering I cannot read."

"This is ridiculous," Landon said, once more hushing the voice of the crowd that had risen again to praise the blacksmith's words. "She's a stranger in these lands. It is highly acceptable that she'd be wearing clothing different from our own and be able to read and write in a different language. It does not mean the book is full of spells and it does not mean she is a witch."

Master Knepper seemed to think it over for a moment, cowed by the alternative explanations, but then started in again. "Oh? Well then what about those magic items she has with her? A lock of hair and stones and other things in a little pouch around her neck. Who carries that kind of thing around? Voodoo magic, looks like to me." And again, the crowd gathered around murmured approval, although less adamant this time, as if waiting and expecting to be proven wrong once again.

Hands on his hips, Landon stared down the man who stood at least 2 feet taller than he did, his body twice as wide around, and yet there was no hesitation and no fear in his eyes or his voice. "Where I grew up, a man left for a journey and his wife would cut off some of her hair and braid it. Something for him to keep with him and allow him to feel close to her while he was away. No doubt, this woman has come from a land with similar customs." His gaze swept along the crowd, his mouth a grim disapproving line as he surveyed the people of Altara. "This has gone on long enough. Now I need to get this woman to the hospital and inspect her injuries. The desert is not kind to those who are not used to it's heat." And having placated the mob once more, with the help of a few men who'd come home from mining to see the fuss, they took the young woman to the hospital and laid her upon a bed to rest.

((sorry, if this is too long. The writing got away from me and I couldn't think how to shorten it))

((Too long--never.))

Kathryn felt rough hands lift her up. Thank the All Mother, she thought. Her eyes couldn't focus. She needed water and to get out of the heat. What was taking her savior so long? Then the angry and frightened voices registered. Her throat was too dry, she couldn't speak. She could barely stand. The hands were strong. She fainted again.

More strong hands. She was being carried. She could feel the change, the shade as she was taken indoors. No angry voices. Just quiet questions. She realized she was in a bed. Someone was loosening her clothing. A wet cloth was held to her lips, water trickled into her mouth, She sucked on the cloth like a child at her mother's breast. Someone was cleaning her face and hands. Blessed relief.

Time passed. It could have been three minutes, three hours, three days--maybe more. Kathryn opened her eyes. She tried to speak, but her throat still felt like she had eaten ashes. She moved her head a little to take in her surroundings. Everything seemed white. Cool and white. She couldn't be in the Land of the Blessed, her body wouldn't still feel so abused. She closed her eyes again and relaxed into the bed.