Far Horizons: Tales of Sci-Fi, Fantasy and Horror. Issue #13 April 2015 | Page 147

nostrils, and Elvienne sitting cross-legged on the floor
regarding her with a birdlike gaze, Onelle felt better
able to speak.

trembling in her gut, and do the same.

“The candlefire,” she said. “It’s traditional in Whitewood; it has been as long as memory. Adultery, you
see,” she swallowed, feeling the liquid coat her throat,
“the people of this village prize a woman’s fidelity
above everything. If a man is worried about being
cuckolded, it makes him less able to do his work, and
the whole community suffers. I know Hawn doesn’t
want to pass his business down to an illegitimate son;
no man would. But it’s a poor excuse for what they
do.” She stared into the depths of her mug, and Elvienne had to prompt her to continue.

“I have a harp, but I haven’t played for a good few
summers. Why?”

“What do they do? The accused woman is taken to
the White Tree, and bound to a stake. The maidens
of the village,” she drew in a deep shuddering breath
and closed her eyes, the memory of the horror still
fresh, the heat, the scent of charred flesh driving out
the smell of the herbs, “they burn her with candles, set
her a