Essence

Beneath the willow tree, she crouched, disguised in the shadows. Using her hand to part the branches, she peered between the leaves, her green, cat-like eyes dancing menacingly. She watched as the Bailiff and several men meandered onto the road. They were all brutes of men, but it was only one she had interest in. Her rosebud lips blossomed into a smile once she identified him.

It was the summer of 1670 in Mora, Dalarna, a rural parish in the Midwest of Sweden. A mass hysteria surrounding witchcraft had erupted in 1668, and both men and women suspected of sorcery were being hunted and executed. Just that year, 15 executions by burning had already taken place after a massive trial. It was horrifying, watching those innocent people engulfed by flames, skin bubbling and blistering, hearing the unrelenting screams of terror. Their charred corpses remained etched in Malins’ mind.

Malin was just 14 years old. Her mother had died of the plague when Malin was an infant, and Malin never knew her father. She had been raised by her uncle Magnus, who worked in Mora as a well-respected healer. Magnus was Malins’ entire world; now his practices had

come dangerously under speculation. He had attracted the interest of one man in particular, the witch hunter Erik Carlsson.

Erik was notorious in Dalarna, hired by the church to seek out those who were conspiring with the Devil himself. It did not take much to get branded and accused as a witch. A birthmark, an unusual habit or even if the neighbour simply did not like you. All were sufficient reasons for an investigation by the witch hunter. Magnus was next on his list.

Malin studied Erik from her hideout as he, the bailiff and the other two men idled along the dirt road towards the old inn. He was a beast of a man, his big, round belly fit to burst from his shirt, and he waddled from side to side as he walked, his skinny legs looking like they

might buckle at any moment beneath his monstrous frame. Even from 20 yards away, Malin was able to see the shine of sweat that lit his giant forehead. She grimaced in disgust. What was the Church thinking? Having this great lout representing their cause? She had seen him

once before, at the trial and subsequent murder of those innocent souls. It had been dark, and even from the glow of the flames, she had not discerned quite how hideous he was.

The bailiff led the men into the inn, and as the door closed behind them, Malin sprang into action. There was no time to waste. Lifting her skirts, she scurried around the bough of the tree and exited through the branches. The sun blared high in the sky, and Malin knew that the

men would have stopped for their midday meal, then they would soon be on their way. She and Magnus lived in a small cottage a mile further along the road. Malin was sure it was exactly where they were headed next.

She swiftly ran down the embankment towards the rose bushes she had scoped out earlier that morning. Malin cautiously reached for a stem of a deliciously vibrant red rose that was in full bloom. ‘Perfect,’ she whispered, her mouth curving slightly in secret satisfaction. She soughtout the largest thorn on the stem, carefully broke it off and placed it in the pocket of her apron. Turning towards the Inn, Malin took a deep breath before taking off hurriedly.

Malin slowed her pace as she drew nearer to the Inn and attempted to tame her unruly hair. Her long, glossy black curls fell just below her waist and were almost impossible to keep neat, but she always wore them down regardless. She glanced briefly through the little

window to the side of the Inn as she passed by, noting Erik and his accomplices standing at the bar. Resolutely, she pushed on the heavy wooden door and stepped inside, her eyes taking a moment to adjust to the sudden darkness. Interrupted by the groan of the door, the men had halted their conversation and were now looking Malin up and down. Malin could feel their leering eyes creeping over her as she sauntered to the far end of the bar positioning herself next to Erik. She wrinkled her nose as the stench of him assaulted her senses.

“Pretty little thing, ain’t ya?” Erik grinned at her, his brown and yellow teeth on full display. Malin swallowed back the urge to gag and smiled back at him, fluttering her eyelashes shyly, feigning innocence with practised expertise. God, he was hideous. Mottled skin, a hairy,

imposing nose and swollen, bald eyelids that surrounded his bulbous eyeballs. His breath reeked of rotten fish; Malin had to quell the shudder that crawled beneath her skin. She ordered a mug of water from the Innkeeper, observing Erik’s cup of wine placed between them.

Sliding her hand into the front of her apron, Malin placed the rose thorn between finger and thumb. As Erik turned back towards the men to reconcile their talk, she pushed the thorn hard into her finger, piercing the skin. Malin brought her hand back up and, in one swift

movement, squeezed a drop of blood into Erik’s cup. Malin watched in anticipation as Erik gulped the last of his wine, belching loudly as he slammed the cup back down.

The Bailiff, Erik and the two others said their farewells and trundled back out onto the road. Malin sipped her water thoughtfully, listening to the voices of the men grow distant as they moved further away. It wasn’t long before chaos erupted outside, and the sounds of yelling

drifted down the road to her ears. Malin calmly placed down her mug and wandered out of the Inn. Shielding her eyes from the glare of the sun with her hand, she gazed towards where the commotion was coming from. The Innkeeper appeared at her side. “What is going on?”

She exclaimed, her chin wobbling. Malin shrugged. “I’ve no idea, perhaps someone is hurt?” They both began running towards the men, who were a good 50 yards away. As they approached, Malin slowed to a jog. The Innkeeper screamed. Malin inched closer.

There in a great heap on the ground, lay Erik Carlsson. Covered in his own filth, blood seeped from his eyes, his nose, and his mouth. A worthy death for such a delightful man, Malin caught herself before she expressed her gratification. Leaving the disarray to continue without her, Malin slipped away among the trees.