It began like most things did, by random chance. She was grubbing up rush tubers, bent over and hidden from view by the swaying reeds as she dug through the sulfurously stinking muck they grew in when she saw the Young God walking by. It wasn’t that she meant to hide from the well known benefactor of the tribe but more that she was very wary of her master's heavy hand if she didn't bring back enough tubers for the next tenday’s worth of rush cakes and fear of punishment kept her bent to her task, incidentally hidden by the tall reeds.

She heard a cry and looked up as the Young God stumbled when walking too close to a patch of the bloodthirsty sawgrass that infested the bogs around the camp.

Stumbled and clapped a hand to her calf exactly as any tribesman would if they incautiously stepped just that bit too close the razor-edged leaves. A flash of blue light which had reminded Raelea of the cool soothing depths of the lake on a shimmering hot summer's day briefly lit the area around the Young God and she walked on.

Raelea wouldn't have paid any more attention except she could see an odd dark stain on the saw-grass leaves, so when the Young God was out of view she crept closer and saw the bright red blood staining the green leaves.

Gods did not bleed, this was known.

Raelea watched the Young God closely after that, noting the blush of suntouch on her pale cheeks, hair trimmings in the trash swept from her tent, sweat upon that perfect brow.

Gods were unchanging and unchangeable. This was known.

Most damming she saw the lice infesting that perfectly white hair, no God would allow lesser creatures to live upon them like that. Other than Brother Earth of course but he was the god of all the lands and everything that lived upon them, to him being a home for bugs was an honour.

To her the evidence was as clear as the thick winter ice that covered the tribe's lake when the temperatures became bitter, this creature was no God. How no one had seen it before she couldn’t understand but she felt she must tell the elders, her master especially.

She walked into the Elder's Tent proudly, having discovered such a terrible deception but it was only a short while later that she limped from that same tent much wiser and much more bruised. The Young God was called for and every piece of evidence was shot down by the smirking creature the explanations accepted quickly no matter how thin or unlikely they were. When the questioning was done her Master immediately gave her a beating, 'for wasting the Elder's time'.

As she limped from the tent the false god glared after her with death in her gaze.

On the long slow painful walk to the Witch’s tent the whispered gossip among the tribesmen about the fate of other people who had ended up on the wrong side of the false god weighed on her thoughts. So when she got there she quickly packed her few things and fled.

Now, huddled on the floor of a cage smelling musty earth and poorly tanned furs, Raelea whimpered as every small motion ground her broken ribs together. The Lead Hunter had been merely beat her as someone would a misbehaving animal for running from them but the Chief's Man had taken perverse and unholy joy in the pain he inflicted, she'd seen it in his eyes and heard it in his panting gasps.

Worse than the throbbing ache of her bruised flesh and the sharp stabs of broken ribs was the knowledge it had all been done at the false god's instructions, her own people had betrayed her at the say so of a vindictive creature not of the tribe.

Her misery lifted as she heard a voice she knew better than her own, gruffly ordering the guards away from the cage in smoke harshened tones. They left without argument, every tribesman knew that Witch’s business was not for them and arguing with the Elder Witch was a sure way to make their own lives very unpleasant.

Turning over and gasping at the pain of her broken ribs, she looked at her Master with hope rising in her breast. This had to be a mistake, her Master was a wise woman and she must have accepted the truth, surely.

That hope was stillborn, her Master's wide bronze skinned face under it's cap of snow dusted inky black hair looked as though she smelled something foul.

“Girl-child, you brought false witness against the Young God. Don't look so shocked, oh yes the Young God has told us of your actions. Your betrayal. We had thought you to possibly be a Witch of legend, your tale told and retold around the fires of the tribe for generations. I am sore shamed that we have held such a venomous thing to our breast and thought to teach it our ways and our knowledge. No matter the outcome of your trial tomorrow neither a witch nor a member of this tribe will you ever be again, I take that from you.”

Her Master's cracked and harsh voice rose in a chant, gathering power and strength until the words themselves tore the air. A ball of chill despair settled in Raelea's gut and she heard someone screaming, surprised she found it was herself.

As the reverberating echoes of the last words faded she felt weak, dizzy and freezing cold, shivering even though the late afternoon summer sun beat on her with it's full scorching heat in the exposed cage.

Her Master spared her not another glance as she turned and walked away.

Completely alone as she had never been before she slumped to the floor, so numbed by her loss she barely even registered the stabbing pain of her ribs shifting.

*******

The next day the sun was high in the sky and her eyes were gritty from crying and lack of sleep when the Chief’s Man came for her. Ignoring her screams and her weak struggles he roughly dragged her out of the cage and through the camp, cuffing the side of her head and snarling at her to shut up her whining at irregular intervals.

Dragged into the Tent of the Chieftain she was flung to the bare, cracked and dusty earth where a rug had been removed in front of the Elder's Table. A scream came out as merely a strangled grunt, stifled harshly by the bright silver pain that tore at her body. Her muscles locked and she froze, quivering with tension. Terrified to move, terrified to breath, terrified of even thinking too hard in case she felt that agony again.

The Elder Shaman stood and with the measured certain stride of a man who knew his own power and position walked around the table to where Raelea lay on the rug. He nudged her with the toe of his soft rawhide shoe, a frown wrinkled his brow when she whimpered and shrank away.

In an annoyed voice he said, “Why is this child injured?”

The Chief’s Man said, “She ran from the justice of the tribe, she must have tripped and fallen when Baran and I chased her.”

The Lead Hunter snapped, “I'll have no part of your falsehoods. She ran, we beat her when we caught her, it's far too hot to run by the Gods and she annoyed me. Almost as much as he does and he took it too far in his excitement when he was beating her. Don't look at me like that, we've all heard the pained cries of your partners and seen the marks, we all know why the children avoid you. That's not right and the Chief would never have countenanced your sort of slime in this tribe. It's so convenient he fell ill just before you arrived to stick your nose up the Young God's arse, isn’t it Chief's Man. Don’t bother glaring, just you try to remove me. You'll find your support lasts about as long as the food does because I know my hunters stand fully behind me, leave us out of your politics and we'll all be happier.”

As the lounging Chief's Man gaped at the Lead Hunter, the Mantle of the Spirits fell upon the Elder Shaman's shoulders. With the rapt attention of every eye in the tent suddenly fixed upon him he spoke in a voice like thunder, “Are we no better than animals, that we leave a young one to suffer? We will investigate the Lead Hunter's words more fully because that may be how things were done in your previous tribe Chief’s Man but it is not our way. Marag, heal the child.”

A young witch hurried over and applied dabs of a salve that sparkled with deep green light to Raelea's arms, face, and legs. The Witch spoke the charm of activation forcefully and the salve glowed brightly before sinking into her skin, Raelea relaxed with a sigh as her pain disappeared.

Very soon she sat up and looked around the tent with the eyes of a rabbit surrounded by hungry wolves.

To her dismay the people in the tent were a sea of strangers but strangers she'd spent her entire life with, she was just as alone in this tent as she'd been in the cage. Perhaps even more. Even the smell of the tribe, once so homely and comforting to her was an alien stink in her nose, cloying and foul. She knew without a doubt there was not a person in this tent that she could trust, not the tribesmen, not the warriors, not the hunters, not the Shaman, not even the Witches. She was all alone, facing strangers and worse strangers who used to be her family.

She couldn't help herself and burst into tears.

The false god regarded her with veiled eyes and a smug quirking of her lips from the place of honour to the right of the long unused Chieftain's dais.

With the Mantle dropped and his voice gentle the Elder Shaman said, “Child we are here to discover the truth of the accusations against you. Do you understand what you are accused of?”

Voice small and scared, choked with tears Raelea mumbled, “No.”

Shaggy dark hair dusted with the white of many winters swung as the Elder Shaman looked sharply at the Elder Witch and asked, “Did you not tell her of the accusations when you broke her bonds to the tribe and her apprenticeship?”

Puffing at her pipe the Elder Witch said through tendrils of drifting smoke, “Of course I did, the viper lies in an attempt to wriggle free of the tribes justice.”

“In that case she has clearly been informed of the accusations.” Looking around the assembled tribes people in the tent he asked, “Do any here wish to speak for the child?”

Feet shuffled and every eye in the tent very carefully and deliberately looked anywhere but in his direction.

“Very well.” Looking at Raelea he said, “No other will stand for you so in the interest of justice I must defend you. Who stands in accusation of her?”

The Chiefs Man stood and carefully settled the sleeves of his richly embroidered and beaded fur coat, showing the many marks of his accomplishments as a warrior.

Ignoring Raelea where she cowered on the floor he addressed the tribe saying, “I stand in accusation of her. She is guilty of delving into foul magics far beyond her competency and the teachings of the good witches of the tribe. Magics which have warped her mind, only her youth has protected her body from the corrupting effects of magic's touch but her mind? It is corrupt beyond reason and as all who suffer the madness of corruption do she struck at those nearest and dearest to her. We, the people of her tribe. She stands accused of using her magics to sicken the grasses, blight the fruits and berries we rely on to survive, drive the herds far from their normal ranges inviting famine and worst of all poison our lake so it turns green, the fish die, and the water itself causes illness when drunk. She stands accused of performing these vile, evil acts out of a twisted desire to see us, the good people of the tribe who have done nothing but care for her from her birth to this day, destroyed! Out of no motive but malice. She must be punished for these crimes.”

Clasping his hands behind his back the Elder Shaman said, “She has not bound a familiar and an unbonded witch has barely enough magic to light prepared tinder. So from where did this power to destroy us come?”

The Elder Witch said, “By those willing to pay the price magic can be had. All witches know of these bargains, because they must learn the bargains that will destroy if made. The path a witch must take is a narrow and dangerous one, to pervert training given for safety is the least of that one's crimes.”

Flinging his arm out the Chiefs Man crowed, “See! Her own Master tells us she was capable of these terrible things if she was 'willing to pay the price' and why wouldn't she be? Her mind must have already been damaged to seek harm for those who cared for her, else why would you? I know none of the good people of the tribe can understand how this viper's mind works and I would not ask you to. But to me and I am sure to many of you it is clear. Her own Master says she had the knowledge, we have the how and while we may never know the reasoning her damaged mind came up with to justify the why, we know she did it. All that is left is to determine her punishment for this terrible crime.”

Terrified, bereft and utterly alone in a way she'd never been in her life she barely heard the words flying past her as she crouched on the dusty earth feeling it’s grittiness between her fingers and under her knees. The words were mere noise, meaning nothing. Nothing when compared to the cold and aching roots of her tribal ties, her coven sister's ties and the ties that had bound her to her Master. But when she heard the word punishment, her attention was suddenly caught. Punishment

For what? She'd done nothing.