The Vampire & Her Witch

Chapter 1029: Isabell’s Trial (Part Two)

Isabell stood at the edge of the devastation as the sun rose the next morning, and she couldn’t move. Couldn’t look away. Couldn’t make herself accept what she was seeing, even though she’d seen worse during the war. During the war, she’d become all too familiar with the sight of burned and blackened bodies that were left behind when the flames died down. Now, the trial of the Hemlock tree presented her with the horror of bodies crushed and broken, swollen and bloated by the waters of the flood.

A woman’s body, face down in the mud, one arm still reaching toward where her house had been. An old man lay crushed beneath timbers that Isabell herself had shaped and reinforced to support the weight of a footbridge across the river, only now the wood refused to break or snap even as it trapped him beneath the surge of water and mud, ensuring that no one could free him before the giant log claimed his life.

And then there were the children. There were always children, only now it was worse because she saw the faces of Issandra and Lassian in every girl and boy, their glassy eyes looking at her as if to ask how the mother of the town they lived in could ever betray them so badly.

The town had grown to thousands under Isabell’s careful engineering and her regular use of witchcraft to help the people thrive. Now, at least a quarter of them lie dead, and some of the bodies might never be found to be placed upon the pyres that would surely blacken the skies with smoke for days. Three-quarters of the homes were gone, along with nearly every mill and workshop that brought the town its wealth.

And it was all because Isabell had done such good work. Because people had trusted her enough to build their lives on the foundation of her promises.

She forced herself to walk through it. The image of Ashlynn in the vision didn’t even need to tell her to, because Isabell knew all too well that she had to confront the consequences of her actions by herself. So, just as she’d done in the Emerald Kingdom’s Civil War, she made herself enter the flooded ruins of the town she’d nurtured up from a small farming community.

She made her see the merchant who’d moved his family from a neighboring territory because everyone knew the river valley was safe now, the Hemlock Witch had tamed it. She made herself count the bodies of apprentices who’d come to learn trades in the prosperous town. Made herself watch survivors dig through the mud for their loved ones with their bare hands, because there weren’t enough shovels left intact to go around.

The mud sucked at her boots with every step, and Isabell found herself thinking of other mud, in other places. The mud that had formed when rain fell on towns that were still burning, mixing ash and blood and the rendered fat of the dead into a slurry that stuck to everything it touched. She’d walked through that mud too, years ago, surveying the results of her bombardments in the Emerald Kingdom.

She’d told herself then that it was war, that these things happened in war, that she was just doing her job as one of many soldiers in the prince’s army. She’d told herself the screaming would stop eventually, that the nightmares would fade, that the wine would help her forget. She’d found solace in the company of knights and soldiers who drank to drown out the ghosts that haunted them and forced themselves to laugh at crude jokes because the alternative was to cry over the friends who hadn’t survived to raise a cup when the fighting finally stopped.

But this, this was supposed to be different. This was supposed to be her redemption. She’d left the war behind, left the Emerald Kingdom, left the title of Engineer of Destruction in the ashes where it belonged. She was going to build things now. Help people. Make the world better instead of tearing it down.

And here she was, standing in the ruins again. Walking through devastation that she’d caused. The only difference was that this time, she’d caused it by trying to help.

A child’s doll, half-buried in the silt. Isabell bent to pull it free, and her hands were shaking so badly she almost dropped it. The doll had a painted face and yarn hair, lovingly crafted by someone who’d wanted their daughter to have something beautiful. Someone who’d lived in this town because the Hemlock Witch had made it safe. Someone who was probably dead now, along with the child who’d played with this doll.

"I did this," Isabell whispered, and her voice sounded hollow even to her own ears. "I did this trying to help them."

The Engineer of Destruction strikes again, a voice in the back of her mind whispered. It doesn’t matter what you try to do. You build or you burn, but the result is always the same. Devastation. Death. Disaster. You’re cursed, Isabell. You destroy everything you touch. This is why you never did anything truly great in Blackwell City... because you know that if you ever really tried, everything would end in flames and ashes.

She wanted to scream at the vision, to demand that it release her, to wake up beside the bonfire in the Vale of Mists where none of this was real.

"You didn’t do this," the vision of Ashlynn in the trial told her. "You helped the people to thrive, and for many years they did. You didn’t destroy the dams to kill these people; the storm did that. Isn’t it enough that they were able to thrive for so long and enjoy so much prosperity because of what you did?"

"Of course it’s not enough," Isabell swore bitterly. "How could anything that ends like this ever be ’enough’? And don’t you dare suggest that this isn’t my fault," she added hotly. "An engineer accepts responsibility for the things they build, and when they fail and kill someone, it’s no different than a knight swinging a sword. If an engineer can’t accept responsibility for what happens after people come to depend on her work, then she has no right to call herself an engineer!"

"I did this to them," Isabell repeated as she wiped tears from her eyes. "It’s my fault for being sloppy and conceited in my work. I let myself think that everything would endure because I’d gained the power of witchcraft to make things even greater and stronger than they could ordinarily be. I was arrogant, and these people paid the price. I got caught up in what I could do and forgot to ask if that was the best solution."

"I can do better," Isabell said with determination in her voice. "I needed to be humbled," she acknowledged. "And I’m grateful for the lesson. But I cannot accept that this is enough. If this is the best I can do with the power of the Hemlock seed, then I shouldn’t have it at all... I have to do better than this."

"Very well," the vision of Ashlynn said. "Then let’s see what lessons you can take from this tragedy in order to prevent another one," she said as the river valley rippled and shifted, returning to the way it had been when Isabell first tried to ’help.’

"This time, it will be better," Isabell promised the sleepy farming village. "This time, I’ll be careful with things and I’ll remember to plan for failures... I won’t build you a calamity disguised as a boon this time..."