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The Graham Woods were not as terrible as Rhea imagined they would be but there seemed to be less magic in the air. Whether or not this was actually the case, green witches suffered the same limitation as druids when it came to places of power. From gentle breeze to gusty tornado, nature was a potent source of energy. Getting into touch with that energy was an intimate process that gave a practitioner the insight of centuries once they took root.

Traveling away from that source of power took the feeling of being away from home and amplified it by a thousand times. When Rhea reached out to the power of nature that flowed around the Graham Woods, she got mixed results. These trees were happy to see a green witch but they were not the trees she had known all her life. Rhea could skim the ambient life energy which every living creature gave off but she could not reach too deeply. It would take months or years to develop an intimate enough relationship to gain their confidence and truly know them.

Piss on that idea. I don't plan to be here that long.

Father Lorell tapped his walking stick with the precision of one who did it daily. Walking with him was like walking with Baba Ginger. Rhea could see the focus in his features, the kindness in his eyes, and the power in his step. This was a man who believed in doing the right thing and doing it well. This intrigued the young witch, who had always seen priests as power hungry and vicious. There was none of that here, but as they walked together, something dark crept along behind them.

Rhea had almost missed it. Father Lorell's relaxing presence had caused her to go into the wild with the trust and blind thoughtlessness of a sheep. A cold chill slipped into her veins and she focused on that feeling. Opening up her witch's senses, Rhea felt the world around her. The trees were holding their breaths and the animals were tense and ready to bolt. The cold darkness was walking ... steps touching the ground like a wolf when approaching a deer.

"Father," Rhea said in a quiet voice, "we're being followed."

"Yes, child," the old man confirmed with a shallow nod. "That would be Matthew. He worries about my safety and so he follows me when I leave town."

"He's your bodyguard?" Rhea asked in muted astonishment.

"In a sense," the father conceded as he bobbed his head a little. "He is actually a witch hunter ... and a fairly skilled one, at that."

Witch Hunter! The word poured gravel into her limbs and caused the hairs along her neck and arms to stand. A witch hunter is behind me! A real witch hunter!

"Be not afraid, child," the father told her gently. They had both stopped walking and a kind hand was placed upon her shoulder. "He will not harm you."

"Sorry, Father, I'm afraid," she confessed, and then she redirected her words. "I've heard stories of the witch hunters. They accuse perfectly normal people all the time. They kill without hesitation and ... well ... sometimes they kill more normal people than witches."

"Stories of powerful people are rarely accurate," the old priest told her with compassion. "Priests are regularly accused of abusing their flocks ... draining them of money or corrupting innocent hearts with the sins of their own flesh. If one in a hundred does such a thing then it is assumed that all do such a thing. It is a terrible thing when a man of power abuses his charges with that strength, but be at peace. Matthew is a vicious dog ... but he is my vicious dog, and he will not harm you as long as you are in my care."

It was true. Vicious dogs were needed to keep wolves at bay. Rough men guarded against other rough men. It was all a matter of earning their trust and respect. "Thank you, Father," Rhea spoke honestly, and though her senses did not cease their warning, the hunter's presence became a tolerable bit of the background.

Sometime later, a wall of stones rose from the forest floor. The blocks were not large, but they were held together by a mysterious form of alchemy which Rhea did not understand. Stones never responded when she talked to them and any pile she put together inevitably became a pyramid or a jumble. Baba Ginger had told her that it was easier to work with sugar than stone but each witch had an element that spoke to her ... and she would be foolish to act contrary to her talents.

A large iron gate gave entrance to the walls and Rhea was impressed by its power. A stone arch had been built over the gate and arcane symbols were etched into its surface. It was an odd thing to see dwarf runes, troll etchings, and witch wards next to the holy symbols of_The One_ but they formed an efficient barrier of containment around the place. The walls defined the boundaries and the arch acted as the keystone of the spell. The gate itself was a portal that would allow flesh to enter but keep spirits and magic separated.

It would be incredibly difficult to use magic inside, Rhea realized, and she hesitated as she looked up at it. In fact ... there might not be much friendly magic at all on the other side. Well then ... I'll just have to bring my own. She was vaguely aware that the old priest had turned to look at her, but there was nothing flashy in what she was doing. This was similar to her ritual of opening the path. A strong exhale forced all of the air from her lungs and when she began to such the air back in she brought as much magic in as she could. Pressure and heat began to build inside of her but it only lasted a moment.

When she stepped through the gate, Rhea discovered she had been correct. It's wrong here, she knew at once. Spiritual tension pressed against her and she felt the flow of energies ebb as she traveled beyond the runes. The life-force of nature could not enter this place and Rhea could see the death of everything stretched out before her. Everything was gray and brown. Stone statues and mausoleums created a small city within the walls and the living were not welcome unless they were here to stay.

What Rhea felt, however, was not death. Death was just the end of one thing and the beginning of something else. Bodies died all the time. Something would eat the flesh and grow from that nourishment. Souls would find new bodies and return to the world. Nature had not just died inside of these walls but their very essence had been torn away. Grass crumbled to dust when her foot came down upon it and the trees were petrified into empty stone. The cycles have stopped. The old are not eaten and made new ... everything here has just ... ended.

"Do not be afraid, child," Father Lorell told her. "The dead cannot harm you here."

Rhea nodded absently, but she was not worried about the dead, it was dying. If her body died in a place like this, her soul would be trapped, unable to move on or become restless and assert its rage. Something was consuming the energy of this place and if her body was to fail her here then she would fall into the hungry maw of this place and never be reborn. The fear that crept into her now was not the light or aching kind from before. This was real fear that brought words like eternal and oblivion into focus.

"This place was built to keep the dead from rising," he told her gently. "We must all return to The One, when we die, for it is from the one we were born. In the beginning, all things were of The One, but a terrible Devil Lord struck at that holy purity and tore it to pieces in a jealous rage. Our world was made from those pieces, as were all of us. Now, we wallow in the muck of the fiend which formed us ... separate from each other and longing for home."

Instinct drew Rhea's focus inward and she realized the power she had drawn in was ebbing away. No new power was coming into her so she forged walls of will to keep what power she had from leaking.

"It is the reason we fight," he continued to say, though his eyes had become serious. "Everything this world has to offer contaminates our souls. We can minimize that contamination but it takes a place like this to set us free. When we birth our children, we are calling lost pieces of The One back into focus. Prayer and penance prevent the worst of worldly corruption. Our passions hold us here and so we cut them away. Eventually the hold of the body runs its course and we are able to return home, but we must completely destroy the bodies which imprison us, less we be drawn back to live again and renew the cycle of corruption."

Cold was slithering through Rhea's veins and numbing her from the inside. The pockets of magical life-force she had gathered were holding but she could feel the barriers of her will trickling away like handfuls of sand. The void was rushing past her like a river and it was slowly washing her away.

"What has happened to Lyle?" Rhea's mouth asked numbly as the rest of her was focused on her internal battle.

"Here," the old man said with a gesture of eternal sadness, and he gestured towards a stone that was also covered in symbols. It was the circumference of a town well and it stood a head taller than Lyle had been.

Had been, she thought and she realized it was true. Beyond the stone was a man-made chasm. A pit with cut sides from which the stink of burnt ashes hovered weakly. "He's dead," she thought out loud.

"Burned to ash upon the Purity Pyre and then laid to rest here," Father Lorell told her. "It was the only way to save him."

"Why?" Rhea asked as her emotions tried to pour into her center, but the power of this place was already inside and her agony was being devoured.

"He was a werewolf." The father's voice turned rough when he spoke this. "It is how he was traveling through the wild so quickly. No mortal could make a five day journey in three. If he had taken a mate he would have spread his curse. He had to be stopped before he could infect a woman and sire cubs."

Cubs ... not children, but cubs. Lyle had not told her ... but it made sense. There had always been something about him that was more than human. The scent of him made her wild and the power of his beast always raged just below the surface. When passions flared, he had always used his mouth, tasting and nipping at her skin without drawing blood. He was always so careful with her ... and now she knew why. The potions my baba made for me prevented his essence from taking root. It was designed to shed his seed so my womb would not quicken ... but it also protected me from infection. His curse could not take me and so I am still human.

"We ... we could have helped him," Rhea told the priest.

"His body was beyond us," he told her firmly. "He was starting to stay away longer. If he had found a mate-"

"He did find a mate!" She spat at him and the old man stopped talking. "He came to me as often as he could and we made love under the stars. He never came when the moon was full ... but had I known I could have done something! I could have helped him! I could have-"

Something small caught her eye and Rhea lunged toward it. Among the ash at the base of the boulder was something small and blue-white with a tiny hole in the middle. Trembling fingers gathered up the moonstone and something inside of her broke. Rhea felt her emotions boil forth. Hot tears gushed into her eyes and steamed down her face. A shudder of agony doubled her forward and she covered her face with her hands.

The wail of dying innocence poured out into the silence and was greedily consumed by the land and stone. Focus shattered as she wept with all of her might. Each breath she took added to her hysteria as she screamed again and again. Then ... she was suddenly empty. No feeling ... no magic ... nothing.

"Father," growled the voice of another man, "she's a witch."

"I know, Matthew," Father Lorell said with a sad determination. "Her sorrow has emptied her strength. She has no more power. Perform your duty to The One."

Steel slid from its sheath and a killer's eyes stared down with intent. Instincts clamored for attention but there was no will to prevent the inevitable. Lyle was gone ... not just dead ... gone. The essence of his soul was trapped and she would be too. The blade would soon cut her flesh and then they would burn her body. Lyle ... why didn't you tell me?

"Because he loved you, silly," spoke the voice of Baba Ginger. "He was so afraid that he would lose you so he let you make the choice."

I didn't know his love would turn me into a werewolf ... but I knew it might make me his wife. I was fine with that ... and these men took that from me. These men took that choice. They'll kill me and then do it again ... and again. They'll never be satisfied. They'll never stop.

Rhea and her baba had worked magic to keep Lyle's seed from sprouting but their love making was a blending of souls. Once this place had stripped away all of the superficial bits, only their love remained. Her fists clenched around the moonstone she had given to him and that single emotion came into focus. In this empty wasteland, that bit of focused might burned like a star.

"No!" Rhea shouted and she rolled to one side. Matthew's sword cut through the air she had been breathing and he advanced on her. There was no magic ... there was no power. There was no chance that a fight with this man could create a victory. That knowledge met the will to live and she dodged once more. I can't do this alone! I need strength! I need help! I need- Need crystallized into a possibility and her instincts told her how to proceed. Then she looked up at the men before her and made the decision that would change her forever.

I will live. I will live! I - WILL - LIVE!

Again Rhea dodged, but this time she let her momentum carry her towards the only other source of power around her. Her hand moved into her belongings and drew forth her Athame. The dagger was a working tool and it had been used in enough spells and rituals to make what she was about to attempt possible. Taking the life of another was something she should not have been able to do before, but this place had stripped away so much of who she had been. Only the most primal parts of her remained and those parts demanded survival.

Rhea rushed toward the Father Lorell like a feral animal. The old man did not stand a chance against her youth and the knife's blade slid up into the underside of his throat as if the space were made for it. Hot blood gushed from his wound and covered her hands. The Athame created a link between them ... a channel which allowed Rhea to drink his life ... his strength ... his power. It surged up the blade, through the handle, and into Rhea.

An instant of ecstatic bliss caused her body to shiver. She wanted to devour all of him but the world was moving and there was no time. Drawing herself in and away freed the dagger and let her dodge once more. The world slowed, as she turned to face the witch hunter, and the actions she took happened as if she were dreaming. The sword slashed once, twice, and then moved as if to thrust.

Rhea moved just enough for it to pass her without cutting skin. Her dagger moved and cut along a length of chainmail which turned the blade aside. The sword moved to end her but she gathered her power to her and pressed her fist against the chain shirt. Energy passed from Rhea into the metal surface, generating heat. Steel links exploded and the shrapnel was all directed back into the body of the man who wore it.

There was a groan as the witch hunter stumbled back from her. Confusion filled his face and she looked deep into his eyes as he realized what was happening. The killer raised his sword to slay her, took a step forward and then collapsed to the ground.

Rhea turned away and tried to block out the sound, the stink, and the blood. The world seemed to bend into a long tunnel and at the end she could barely see a gate. Trembling limbs moved her forward until she stumbled. The ground caught her once ... twice ... and then there was the wall. It supported her weight and her fingers left crimson streaks which soon dried into muddy clumps.

The presence of this place had risen to devour her and it was feasting on the power she had stolen. Invisible talons savaged her spirit and drank the rent pieces of her soul. Psychic blood poured from her wounds ... but she did not stop. She did not fall. She forced herself onward. One step and then another.

When she passed through the portal the world flooded back into her. Life was loud and hot. Vitality filled her once more but she was too savaged and it gushed back out through the holes in spirit. There was no balance. Nature had been raped ... its cycle was broken. It had to stop.

Raising the bloody dagger into the air, Rhea called upon the wind. Trees bent in the gale and clouds darkened the sky. Rain began to fall, first as a drizzle and then as a sheet. Filth washed away from so many placed but the witch was not done. Energy built and lightning struck the tip of her blade. Its energy filled her to bursting and she reached out to the storm.

Heat and cold swirled together until a funnel stretched toward the ground. Faster and faster, Rhea forced the air to turn until it touched the land and tore it asunder. With a shove she pushed it into the wall that surrounded the graveyard. Energy immediately began to ground out of the spell, but nature's fury was not made of magic, and it could do as it pleased. Rune covered stones tore free of mortar and filled the air with deadly shrapnel. A hole in the wall disrupted the void of the unnatural graves and reality itself buckled under the strain.

Once it had been started, Rhea ceased her flow of power and gingerly stepped away. The cycle of life and death reasserted itself viciously, tearing apart land and stone and throwing them off into the horizon. The gate bent with a groan before it was pulled out of the ground and thrown through the air. The physical seals were broken ... but it was the spiritual seals that Rhea had been working to free.

Tombstones burst and angry dead clawed free of their prisons. The occupants of a necropolis lumbered into site and smashed everything they could see. Ghosts formed out of the ash of their bodies and howled as they rampaged. Mayhem reined until there was nothing left to destroy.

A pillar of light formed at the center of the graveyard and all of the spirits rushed toward it. Bodies crumbled as the energy that moved them slipped away. Angry faces grew peaceful. Angry tears drew back in child-like delight. All looked towards Rhea and then fled into the light.

The young witch forced herself to stare at what she had done. Ghost after ghost disappeared into the light until the one she sought was left. Lyle stood as a shimmed of blue light. The smile on his face looked a little embarrassed but all he could do was shrug. Then he blew her a kiss and faded back into the light. In a flash the world returned to normal and everything was quiet.

Rhea stood among the trees. The world of spirit was still unbalanced around her but she did not care about that. They had taken him from her. They had taken the love of her life and burned him. They would have destroyed his soul if she had not been here to stop them ... but they would do it again. No ... they will not do it again. NEVER AGAIN! NOT EVER!

The witch turned toward the town that had done this. There was the problem. They were the ones who had done this to her ... to them ... to Lyle. It was too easy. Time and space were still distorted and it was brittle to her touch. Though it was a mile away, Rhea took three steps and reality bent.

Shouts of surprise announced her arrival as she appeared at the town's center. Men gathered with weapons and torches. Women shouted curses and drew children out of sight. There were so many of them, but Rhea was beyond fear. Raising her Athame like a wand, the flames of simple torches flared with new life. Wild and out of control, they leapt from wood onto the people which held them. Then they found the wood and straw of houses. This was a much better source of fuel and the flames were happy to turn the village into a merry blaze.

Above the screams was a mad witch's cackling and it took Rhea a long time before she realized it was her. Raw destruction roared all around and she reveled in its glory. She might have stayed right where she was and burned with all of the others ... but something sharp pierced her shoulder and she tumbled to the ground.

Pain seared through her nerves as the body regained some notice. A length of metal was sticking out of her skin and it took a moment for her to realize it was the source of her physical pain. Without thinking, she wrapped her fingers around the annoyance and yanked it out. She did not scream, but instead she took a moment to study it. Tiny runes were etched into its shaft and that could only mean one thing. Witch hunters.

Mad eyes went wide as she noticed the newcomers. These men were like Matthew. Armor covered their bodies and serious weapons were gripped like they were good at using them. There were too many of them to detonate all of their armor ... but they could not follow her to the other side.

With a surge of will, Rhea slashed her scorched dagger at the air. It parted but the portal beyond was nothing like the others she had opened. None of this seemed to matter as she threw herself into it. Then she was falling ... falling ... and then ...