In deep water
Heather watched horrified as the crazed mob dragged the old lady roughly down to the lakeside. There was a jetty that was used to moor the village's boats and the ringleaders hauled the woman along the jetty and then thrust her to her knees. Ropes were wound tightly around her wrists and ankles, a gag placed in her mouth, and then without further ado, two of the men hauled their victim up off the ground. With one on each side, they ran her to the end of the jetty and then heaved her into the night air, like a sack full of protesting unwanted puppies. A scream caught in Heather's throat as she watched. There was a loud splash as gravity took hold and the old woman hit the murky water surface.
Fanatical exclamations of "Kill the witch!" and "Die hag!" filled the air, only to be silenced at a gesture by a distinguished tall gentleman who wore dark robes denoting the priesthood. "Silence, my children" the priest called. "We come to try a witch but let us not descend into the very ways of the Devil that we seek to drive out!" This prompted muffled apologies but they ceased when the priest raised his hand again. He indicated towards the lake and every set of eyes, including Heather's, turned to the scene that was unfolding in front of them. The old woman was struggling gamely, despite her bindings, but it seemed she was fighting a losing battle, slowly sinking further down towards a watery grave.
The priest walked out onto the jetty and his baritone voice carried effortlessly to the assembled crowd. "We call upon the right of trial to ascertain this woman's guilt. May God judge her".
"A witch will float, she don't need a boat!" intoned a young girl in a pretty floral dress, reciting what was seemingly a well known rhyme as several of her peers chimed in with it as well.
"Look, see how she floats!" marvelled a large lady of middling years whom Heather recognised as the fishmonger's wife. This caused a minor commotion as both men and women crossed themselves and hauled their children to the sanctuary of their side.
"She's not floating! She's sinking! Can't you see?!" cried Heather despairingly. This, though, only provoked a wicked back-handed smack to the side of her head by the young man who was acting as her jailor.
"Hush, witch's consort!" chided the fishmonger's wife. "You're up next!"
The woman cackled at this, prompting "Who's the witch here?" to pop into Heather's head.
Another blow silenced her and tears slid uncontrollably down her face. The supposed witch was now sinking, less and less of her visible until she suddenly disappeared completely, leaving just ripples upon the otherwise smooth expanse of water.
"Oops, do that mean she weren't no witch then?" commented a buck-toothed youth, leaning forward at the lake's edge and peering towards where the old lady had disappeared.
"Nah. Damn sneaky witch's trick!" replied a emaciated stoop-backed old man, crossing himself hurriedly.
"Yes, don't be fooled, boy" shouted the fishmonger's wife. "Witches will sink to try to fool us cos they don't like the flames!". Her eyes then narrowed in upon Heather. "We should try the witch's bitch" she shouted, pointing towards Heather.
"Language, Velora" rebuked the priest stepping forward.
"Father!" implored Heather. "You must see the folly of this? Please! I'm not a witch, I'm just a musician. I didn't even know the old lady before today!"
The priest looked troubled and idly touched the cross that hung from around his neck. After a moment's pause that seemed to last an eternity, he responded. "I'm sorry, child. We simply cannot tolerate the risk of the Devil's agents being amongst us. You must understand that? I am truly sorry."
Heather didn't doubt the sincerity of his words but it was of no consolation. Strong hands grasped her and started to haul her down towards the water. She kicked, screamed and even bit her assailants but all this achieved was to bring a torrent of punches raining in, which duly succeeded in subduing her. Broken and beaten she could do nothing to halt the impending horror that she could feel being played out, an action replay of the scene she'd been forced to endure moments previously. That was when the surface of the water broke in with a thunderous expulsion of water, a geyser erupting from nowhere!
Heather felt her jailors' grip loosen as they, like everyone else stood transfixed. She stumbled forward but her legs gave out on her and she slumped to her knees in the ankle-deep stinky mud. From this prone position, she watched the spray of water arch upwards and then collapse in on itself. Behind the veil created by the geyser, suddenly appeared a sight that caused Heather's heart to leap almost to her mouth. The old lady, now covered in lake-weed and every inch of her soaked, had reappeared from the depths. Her bindings and gag were no longer to be seen and she rode a wave in towards the shore as if on an invisible surfboard. At her reappearance, wild and instantaneous panic ensued. Men, women and children screamed, dogs barked and donkeys brayed and everywhere villagers ran in uncoordinated fashion, sometimes bumping into each other in their desire to flee.
The old lady arrived at the shoreline and casually stepped back onto terra firma.
"Well, young lady" she commented, extending a wrinkly arm towards Heather. "Are you ready to make a getaway?"
"You're a ...?" stuttered Heather, still fixed to her spot in the mud.
"You're a ...?" she tried again.
"Yes, I'm a witch" replied the old lady. "Get over it already dearie, unless you'd like to take a swim yourself or be burnt at the stake or whatever else these nice people might dream up?!"
That got through to Heather, finding a way to penetrate the numbness that had overcome her. Wearily, she allowed herself to be pulled to her feet, noting how deceptively strong the old lady was. No matter what she'd seen and the old lady's own admission, Heather couldn't bring herself to call the woman a witch. Somehow that seemed rude, especially for someone who was attempting to rescue you! As if reading her mind (and maybe she was), the old woman added, "You can call me Deborah".
"Deborah?" thought Heather. Somehow it sounded incongruous but she didn't say anything, partly for fear of riling the first bona fide witch that she'd ever met.
"My name's Heather, miss" replied Heather, half curtsying. "Do you curtsy to witches or was that only royalty?" she wondered, blushing slightly at the thought that she'd maybe made an etiquette faux pas.
"Very pretty name" commented Deborah the witch, as she took Heather's hand and prompted a faster pace as they skirted the edge of the lake and headed out of the village and towards the mountains. As they jogged further away from the village, Deborah patted herself down and removed some of the green straggly weed that had entangled itself in her loose grey hair.
"I do so hate it when they drown me" she muttered, drawing a quizzical look from her travel companion.
"Do you know how difficult it is to remove lake mud stains. Impossible, that's how difficult it is. Another perfectly good outfit ruined!"