"Hey, runt! You're up for a witch hunt today!"
Startled by the sudden shout, Geoffrey dropped the rifles he had been tasked to bring to the training hall. His body tensed as the inevitable occurred, an expression of disbelief slipping onto his face. A loud, clunky noise echoed as the weapons hit the ground, and sweat beaded on his forehead. That didn't sound too good.
If any of the rifles broke, he was in for the scolding of his life. The barracks didn't have the money to spare to repair them or buy new ones, and he wouldn't be surprised if his superiors docked the expense out of his pay, something they often did.
Whether or not they used the retained money to buy weapons or expensive wines was another story, though.
"What a dunce." The man who had called him snorted, drawing his attention back to him. "Clean that up and join your unit at the gate. Marveck should be just about to arrive, so you've got no time to waste, runt."
Geoffrey nodded and offered an awkward smile. Only then did the man turn on his heel, mumbling something about how unreliable youngsters were nowadays.
Am I really this unreliable?
The fleeting thought crossed his mind as Geoffrey crouched to pick up the rifles, inspecting them in passing. Thank God, nothing seemed broken. Still, there were scratches, and some parts of the wooden stocks were chipped, but considering how old their equipment was…
It probably wasn't my fault. But even if it wasn't his fault, if his superiors decided it was, then it was.
A sigh escaped him, and Geoffrey carefully gathered the rifles before storing them in their designated racks, one by one. Once everything was in order, he ran a hand through his damp hair, shook his head, and forced a smile.
It was alright. Even if his already pitifully low salary got reduced to nothing, he could survive on the food provided by the barracks for a bit. It might not be the tastiest thing, but it filled his stomach just fine. Or at least, enough so that he wouldn't starve until his next payday.
"…"
Thinking back on the hard-enough-to-break-teeth bread he had this morning, Geoffrey's smile cracked ever-so-slightly. Maybe he shouldn't count on the food allocated by the army to pull him through the next few weeks. Hard bread and pea soup three times a day took its toll on anyone's mental health, including his.
If possible, he'd rather eat meat, but he was hopeless when it came to hunting and fishing, enough to make others cry. The last time the higher-ups docked his pay, Geoffrey had tried to shoot birds down and failed miserably, to the point where Marveck took pity on him and shared some of his games. Thanks to the man's generosity, Geoffrey even had the chance to feast on a pheasant and a wild boar, a rare occurrence for him.
The thing was: just because Marveck had taken pity on him once didn't mean he'd help him again, and Geoffrey was too embarrassed to ask. Even if he had recently reached adulthood, he was an adult and should be able to take care of himself. Relying on others to feed him felt a bit...
In the worst-case scenario, snacking on berries would have to do. He loved berries, anyway.
"Oh, for God's sake, wipe that silly grin off your face, will you?!" A grumpy voice traveled to his ears, and Geoffrey scratched his cheek. Still, the smile remained on his lips. "Y'know, it's 'cause you're always smiling that the others look down on you. You've got a boyish face to begin with, and that darn smile of yours, it's so—"
"Richardson, enough."
The warning tone cut the middle-aged man off, and he scrunched his nose in annoyance, a snort soon leaving him. Regardless, Richardson shifted his attention back to his flask of alcohol in his hands, taking a sip and letting the smiling Geoffrey be. Marveck might be laid-back as a unit leader, but he had a sharp tongue, and no one wanted to be at the receiving end of it.
Not taking Richardson's nonsense to heart, Geoffrey turned around to face Marveck. It seemed like everyone in the unit had arrived, all wearing the same white and blue uniform.
"So, what's the plan?"
"We ride the horses to the valley and hope for a miracle."
A wry laugh escaped Geoffrey, his smile growing stiff.
The valley wasn't exactly next door, and he wasn't all that proficient with riding horses. To begin with, their superiors rarely allowed them to travel on horses, as they didn't have many, and certainly not enough for every soldier. Only the higher-ups had the right to use them at will. The others had to use their good old two legs to follow along, regardless of the distance they had to travel.
Even the stable boy seemed surprised they received permission to take the horses, although he didn't comment and handed them the reins. It wasn't his place to question his superiors' orders.
From the corner of his eye, Geoffrey watched Marveck nimbly mount his horse in one swift movement. He made it look so easy…!
Ignoring the knots in his stomach, Geoffrey took a deep breath and hauled himself on top of his horse. Everyone had already climbed onto their mares, so he couldn't tally any longer.
Somehow, he managed to get himself on the saddle and secure his feet in the footholds, but he had almost slipped in doing so, only managing not to fall by grabbing the poor beast's mane, earning him a loud neigh of protest. The horse stomped its hooves in displeasure, violently shaking its head, and the stable boy had to rush over to calm it down, lest it throw Geoffrey off its back.
Well, that's embarrassing…
Amid Richardson's mocking, raucous laughter, Geoffrey heard Marveck's stern voice, "Ride next to me."
His cheeks flared with a bright red, and Geoffrey nodded, offering an apologetic smile to his unit leader. It was obvious he wanted him to stay close in case of a mishap.
Thankfully, the horse didn't make it difficult for him after being calmed down and followed his commands well enough as they left the fort.
The group navigated through the pebbled roads, making way to exit the town. As they did, they passed by the plaza, and Geoffrey noticed that Marveck's pace started to slow down, his mind elsewhere.
What is he looking at? The question popped into his mind as he followed his gaze, and Geoffrey's eyes landed on the platform with the stakes. It stood tall in the middle of the plaza, but none threw it a second glance as they went about their daily life. It was part of the background, something the populace had grown so used to seeing that they barely noticed it anymore.
A pang of guilt tightened his chest, and Geoffrey averted his gaze.
If their witch hunt was successful, fire would be lit once again, and people would burn to death under the angry screams of the crowd. He could already imagine it, as he had seen it happen often enough for the scene to be carved into his memory. He only had to close his eyes for an instant, and he could hear the anguished wails, feel the heat, and smell the burning flesh. It was something he could never forget.
Maybe that was better that way, for he didn't believe they should be allowed to forget. Whether they were witches or not didn't matter; they were still living beings, just like him, and soldiers had ended their lives with their own hands, a fact that could never be erased.
Some might say Geoffrey hadn't done anything wrong, and indeed, he might not have been the one to light the fire under their feet, but he might as well have been. He could not deny that reality.
"I hope we will fail."
Marveck's voice was barely audible, yet Geoffrey, who rode beside him, heard it crystal clear.
Richardson didn't, however.
"Did you say something?"
"No, nothing. Let's go."
Despite the order, Geoffrey didn't command his horse to follow right away, unsure what to say. The unit leader's hope of failing could be seen as treason to the Crown, yet, deep down, he also shared it. He dearly hoped the witches would stay hidden in the woods, out of their sight. Then, maybe they would return empty-handed this time too.
Admittedly, even if Marveck did notice a witch hiding in the bushes, Geoffrey knew he would pretend not to have, just like most people in this unit, including Richardson.
There was a reason why their unit's witch hunts rarely bore satisfactory results, and why they were always chewed out by the higher-ups.
Every time, they were harshly reprimanded for not catching them, for letting these child-eating monsters roam free, and for allowing their reign of terror to continue. Witches were the devil's lackeys and brought disaster to their land. They had to put a stop to their rampage before it was too late, and that was their duty, as soldiers, to carry this divine mission to fruition.
Do you want the famine to continue? Do you want the people to keep dying from the plague? Do you want girls to be whisked away night after night? If not, do your duty and bring these witches to the stake!
The furious voices of his superiors echoed inside his mind, and Geoffrey's smile faded, albeit only for an instant. Were the witches really this evil? All he had seen so far were only other human beings, but what did he know? He was just a youngster, and his elders knew better than him, or so they said.
"What are you doing, slowpoke? Get going!" Richardson's angry voice snapped Geoffrey out of his daze, and he lightly kicked the horse's flank. Now wasn't the time to get lost in thought.
In the end, who was right and who was wrong, he could hardly tell.
***
As they rode through the forest toward the valley, Geoffrey caught sight of a deer. It stood tall on a boulder near the creek, its dark, bleary eyes staring at them with uncanny vigilance. It did not appear afraid of them, nor did it seem startled by their presence.
How strange. Deer usually run away from humans.
"What're you looking at, Carrot?"
Richardon's mocking voice snatched Geoffrey from his contemplation, and he turned his head toward the middle-aged man, quirking an eyebrow. It had been a while since he had last called him by that silly nickname. In his opinion, it lacked a bit of imagination, although it did make it clear he was talking to him, considering he was the only one with ginger colored hair in their unit.
Not like it mattered all that much to Geoffrey, so he smiled at the grumpy man. "Well, at the deer?"
"What deer? Are you daydreaming?"
"What do you mean? It was just there—"
His voice trailed off as Geoffrey realized there was no deer. Did it leave while he had his head turned away? Maybe. Still, he could have sworn it was just there. How come Richardson hadn't seen it?
"Less talking and more focusing."
Well, whatever. Geoffrey pushed the deer to the back of his mind, shifting his attention back onto the trail, clumsily directing his horse around. His skills were lacking, he knew, but this mare was also not all that cooperative, making it all the more difficult to navigate through the dense forest. Fortunately, they were about to leave it.
If his memory served him well, they were just about to reach the mountain range that loomed over the valley, and they needed to pass through it to reach the village where witches had been reported to loiter around. It was the only straightforward path available to them, as circling the mountains would add a week to their journey, a week they didn't have to spare.
The moment they exited the forest, rain started to pour down.
Droplets fell onto his forehead as Geoffrey lifted his eyes, just in time to see the sun vanish behind heavy, ashen clouds. Soon, no ray of light graced them, and everything seemed to turn into a pale shade of gray.
"Shitty weather," Richardson grunted, voicing everyone's silent discontent. "Of course, the weather's turning shitty. Where's the sun when you need it, huh?"
As if to mock Richardson, the rain grew heavier, so heavy, in fact, that the water started to pool on the dirt road. A deafening 'fuck' echoed amid the loud noise of the rain, and even Marveck's voice got half-drowned by the downpour and the howling of the wind.
"Be careful, it's getting slippery!"
Geoffrey only heard his unit leader because he was riding right next to him, but maybe it would have been better if he hadn't. A surge of anxiety shot through his body at the reminder, and he could not help but eye the edge of the road they were traveling on, gulping as he did.
They had reached the narrow and steep path lining the facade of the mountain. What he saw was thus the void of the cliff, the bottom so far below he couldn't see it from this angle. Instinctively, he squinted and tried to gauge just how deep it was, forgetting he wasn't all that good with height.
For an instant, he felt nauseous and dizzy.
For an instant, he released his grip on the reins.
He blinked, and thunder roared across the bleak sky. His horse neighed in fright and stood on its hind legs, jolting to the side to throw Geoffrey off its back. His feet slipped out of their footholds, and his legs flailed in the air. He frantically tried to grab the reins, but it was already too late. His fingers closed on nothing.
"Geoffrey!" Marveck's scream covered the downpour and the thunder, almost drilling his eardrums.
The flow of time seemed to slow down, enough for Geoffrey to perceive everything that happened next with such vivid clarity that it felt like the heavens were mocking him. His unit leader stretched his upper body and grabbed his wrist, only to lose his balance and follow him into his fall. He was hauled down the cliff alongside him. The surprised look on his face could have been comical, had it not been for the situation at hand.
A second later, a deafening rumble resounded, and a terrifying sight unfolded behind Marveck. Despair welled in Geoffrey's chest as he saw the rest of the unit being swallowed by a landslide.
One loud thought echoed into his mind.
At least, no witches are going to die because of us tonight—for sure.
Time ultimately regained its course, and Geoffrey could not afford to think anymore. The fall that seemed to have halted mid-air resumed.
The gravity pulled him down toward a certain death, alongside his unit leader. At this point, there was nothing he could do, so he offered one last smile to Marveck.
Then, everything faded to black.