Seeing the Obvious
On the surface, the idea of a person, or even a creature, that can make a lie out of the entirety of your experience seems ludicrous. The product of metaphorical fiction rather than historical fact. And so, it seemed, was the woman in the legends and fables. I believed—still believe, despite evidence to the contrary—that she was not a literal woman, but a metaphor for the endless possibilities in our lives for good or ill; an opportunity, despite our sins, to follow the path of the Prophets. But the question remained: why a woman clad in black?
If you happen to be of Lombardi, then the answer must seem obvious to you, so obvious that the question need not have been asked in the first place. But I? I am Castilliano, and for us, sorcery is not a part of our daily lives, does not exist as part and parcel of our normal experience. Do you wonder that I speak of sorcery but do not condemn it? And I, a true servant of the Theus and the Prophets?
Some might call sorcery the great temptation of the Adversary, and sorcerers its spawn, but they are wrong to do so. The source of sorcery might be dark bargains with the Adversary, but the sorcerers of today had no part in that. The power in their blood makes them no more evil than any man. That they might use their power is a temptation unique to them, but all men face temptation. That a sorcerer is tempted to wield the powers of the Adversary does not make them evil any more than a swordsman who is tempted to murder is evil. It is only in the act that we might fall from temptation into sin.
But I digress.
The idea that the women in the stories could be sorcerers did not occur to me until my travels took me to Lombardi. And it was in Lombardi that I first saw the Strega, what others call Fate Witches, a line of them, headed to mass. It was like a scene from one of the tales that I had collected and I knew then that I needed to know more.
{the book goes on to detail his studies into the lives and powers of the strega, only what is commonly known in Lombardi, but common knowledge in one place is often esoterica in another}
I had an answer, of sorts. The metaphorical woman of the myths, could have been a reference to strega. Not a single entity, of course, but the sorceresses as a whole. It was a curious thing though, all of the tales that I had collected, all of the legends that I had heard, were from other places. If they had been from Lombardi, the presence of a strega would be understandable—they are part and parcel of the fabric of Lombardi life. But they were not, not a single one. Oh, there were tales of strega in Lombardi, but all of them seemed to be traceable to specific, historical figures, or their power was specifically reference (and matched the reality that could be seen on a daily basis). But the stories were not from Lombardi, and the women seemed to be something wholly different. At least, that is what I thought.
Chapter 4
The Road to Hell
Does it seem strange to you that a man such as myself, with such convictions regarding the innocence of sorcerers, should join the Inquisition? As well it should! I wish I could say that my motives were pure and that I sought to reform the Inquisition from within. That would have been a noble and worthy goal. But the truth was that I had no illusions that I could influence an organization so steeped in blood and fire to change its ways. No, in all honesty it was my study of the Strega that prompted me to enlist in the Inquisition. It was not that I wished any harm to the sorceresses of Lombardi--rather the opposite--but I needed to know more about their talent than what was commonly known, and for a man of the cloth, only the Inquisition could offer that knowledge. Because the existence of Strega implied some glimmering of truth to the legends that I had been collecting as a mere academic exercise. The idea that one's history could be changed, that time itself could be rewritten was too tempting to disregard.
They say that the road to Hell is paved with good intentions, and my motives were the best. Pure and unselfish, or so I thought. But that is a later part of this tale.
I cannot write of the greater part of the Mysteries of the Inquisition, for those are secrets and rituals regarding which I have sworn secrecy. Sufficed to say that there are secrets that the Inquisition holds that are the stuff of nightmares, if nightmares could exist in reality. However, some portion of their knowledge is not secret, merely esoteric, such as what I found in the Libraries.
(He goes on to discuss some of the various lost sorceries)
But there was only so much I could learn from dry, dusty tomes. To find what I truly searched for, I would need to go to Vodacce.]
Chapter 5
In Plain Sight
One might wonder where the monster in the tale has gone and why I have yet to speak of it, considering that this is her story and not my own. And to that I would say that she is here, hidden among the pages, if one knows how to see. I found her lurking, hidden among the pages of the Inquisition’s secret texts, the ones that speak of the dark power of sorcery. I have argued that sorcerers are not to be condemned for the power that is lurking within their blood, but sorcery itself is a pernicious evil. The more so because it lurks, hidden, within the innocent.
It is the Inquisition’s shame that they have not fully revealed the true cost of sorcery, and I shall not be forsworn to do so either. But the cost of revealing it would be the death of countless innocents—sorcerers and non-sorcerers alike, because people destroy what they fear, and the revelation would plunge all of the continent into a new dark age of fear and destruction.
But none of that was what concerned me at the time, for I had discovered something wondrous. Or so I believed.
When one thinks of the Inquisition, they think of the Swords of Solomon or those priests who bring the fire. I will not argue that these elements are true representations of the Church’s mighty hammer, but they are only the smallest, most visible portion. Most of what the Inquisition does is invisible: research, interviews, preparations. It is good that it is so, because I am entirely unsuited to delivering fire and death.
I was, as you can imagine, relegated to the study and catalogue of sacred and iniquitous tomes that the Inquisition had collected. (He goes on to discuss some of the texts that were in the Inquisition libraries, including: Queen Marietta Lorenzo - the Last True Lombardi Royal and Murder by Magic - a collection of cautionary tales regarding Strega)
Among those dusty volumes, however, I found mention of a creature, a being known as the Unraveled. At first, I believed that this was merely a reference to the Unbound—those males in Lombardi for whom the strands of fate could not be altered by sorcery—but the more that I investigated, the more that I realized that the Unraveled were something different: Strega who had suffered the ultimate price for the power that lurked in their blood. The texts spoke of them as if they were creatures to be pitied and destroyed, malevolent beings doomed by their own power, full of hatred for the living. But these were tomes written by the Church, authors with a distinct and definitive bias. What if, instead, they were Strega who had found a way to escape the consequences of their sorcery? The Church would not like such tales bandied about, it would mean that everything they had ever said about sorcerers was false, and it would spark a search for these creatures, perhaps even inspire their worship. No, the Church would brook no rivals. But I, foolishly enough, saw hope. Strega who could bend fate to their will without fear of its consequences? It was a dream, a fantasy, to be free from this purgatory of guilt that I suffered from. With renewed vigor, I applied myself to my studies, planning all the while for a visit to Lombardi.
Chapter 5
In Plain Sight
One might wonder where the monster in the tale has gone and why I have yet to speak of it, considering that this is her story and not my own. And to that I would say that she is here, hidden among the pages, if one knows how to see. I found her lurking, hidden among the pages of the Inquisition’s secret texts, the ones that speak of the dark power of sorcery. I have argued that sorcerers are not to be condemned for the power that is lurking within their blood, but sorcery itself is a pernicious evil. The more so because it lurks, hidden, within the innocent.
It is the Inquisition’s shame that they have not fully revealed the true cost of sorcery, and I shall not be forsworn to do so either. But the cost of revealing it would be the death of countless innocents—sorcerers and non-sorcerers alike, because people destroy what they fear, and the revelation would plunge all of the continent into a new dark age of fear and destruction.
But none of that was what concerned me at the time, for I had discovered something wondrous. Or so I believed.
When one thinks of the Inquisition, they think of the Swords of Solomon or those priests who bring the fire. I will not argue that these elements are true representations of the Church’s mighty hammer, but they are only the smallest, most visible portion. Most of what the Inquisition does is invisible: research, interviews, preparations. It is good that it is so, because I am entirely unsuited to delivering fire and death.
I was, as you can imagine, relegated to the study and catalogue of sacred and iniquitous tomes that the Inquisition had collected. (He goes on to discuss some of the texts that were in the Inquisition libraries, including: Queen Marietta Lorenzo - the Last True Lombardi Royal and Murder by Magic - a collection of cautionary tales regarding Strega)
Among those dusty volumes, however, I found mention of a creature, a being known as the Unraveled. At first, I believed that this was merely a reference to the Unbound—those males in Lombardi for whom the strands of fate could not be altered by sorcery—but the more that I investigated, the more that I realized that the Unraveled were something different: Strega who had suffered the ultimate price for the power that lurked in their blood. The texts spoke of them as if they were creatures to be pitied and destroyed, malevolent beings doomed by their own power, full of hatred for the living. But these were tomes written by the Church, authors with a distinct and definitive bias. What if, instead, they were Strega who had found a way to escape the consequences of their sorcery? The Church would not like such tales bandied about, it would mean that everything they had ever said about sorcerers was false, and it would spark a search for these creatures, perhaps even inspire their worship. No, the Church would brook no rivals. But I, foolishly enough, saw hope. Strega who could bend fate to their will without fear of its consequences? It was a dream, a fantasy, to be free from this purgatory of guilt that I suffered from. With renewed vigor, I applied myself to my studies, planning all the while for a visit to Lombardi.
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