by Brom
He walked into the row, touched one of the cobs, closed his eyes, trying to relive the moment, the connection to his past. I was so close. If I could but see a bit more. He concentrated, seeking. Nothing.
He heard clatter up by the cabin. What more can you show me, Abitha?
Father approached the porch, spied Abitha looking up at the clouds.
“There will be no rain today,” he said, startling her. “But it will be here soon. I feel it.”
“Truly?” she asked, then looked past him, her eyes narrowing. Forest, Sky, and Creek were behind him. He realized that they’d revealed themselves to her.
“Who are they?” Abitha asked.
“It is hard to say,” Father replied. “It can be thorny getting the truth from them.”
“We are wildfolk and this is our land,” Forest said to Abitha, his small dark eyes glowering at her.
“Can they hurt me? Will they?”
“They keep asking me to kill you. But I do not think they can do much on their own. If they could, I believe you would already be dead.”
“Dead a hundred times,” Forest spat. “You and all your kind.” Sky and Creek nodded in agreement.
“My mother taught me a thing or two about the wee folk,” Abitha said, and went back into the house, returning a moment later with three saucers and a pail.
Booka followed her out, sat down, and watched as she poured milk from the pail into each of the saucers. Abitha nodded to the wildfolk. “Goat’s milk. It’s for you.”
The wildfolk exchanged uncertain looks.
“We’re not pets,” Forest said with a sneer.
“It’s so very sweet.” Abitha pushed the saucers forward. “Still warm, it is so fresh. Just milked the ladies this morning.”
Creek licked his lips and started forward.
“Do not!” Forest commanded.
Creek halted, looking wistfully at the milk.
Abitha nudged one of the saucers toward Forest, gave him a smile.
Forest bristled. “Your smile will die when Father comes for your blood.”
“If he wanted my blood do you not think he would’ve had it by now?”
“Soon, we will awaken his spirit, his true spirit. And when we do, he will gorge himself on your innards.”
Abitha stiffened. “I do not believe that.”
The opossum snorted. “You have no idea what you are playing with.”
“Then do tell.”
“Yes,” Father put in. “Tell us. Enough with the games and riddles.”
“Games? Riddles!” Forest barked. “How dare you. You would still be rotting away in that smelly pit had we not brought you blood!”
“Blood?” Abitha asked. “Whose blood?”
Forest turned away, didn’t answer.
“Whose blood?” Abitha demanded. “Whose blood did you bring?”
Still Forest wouldn’t answer.
“Tell her,” Father said. “Stop hiding the truth.”
Forest spun about. “The goat!” he spat. “I fed him your goat.”
Abitha narrowed her eyes. “And … and Edward? What about Edward?”
Forest crossed his arms over his chest.
Abitha’s hands began to shake. “Did you kill Edward? Was it you? Tell me the truth.”
“Yes!” Forest snapped. “I did. I lured him into the cave going baaa, baaa, baaa, and down he fell. It was so easy to trick that stupid man. There … there’s a truth. Would you like another?”
Abitha’s hand went to her mouth, her face suddenly pale. Father felt her hurt like a blow.
“Here’s another,” Forest growled. “Your sweet devil here, this corn-loving clod … well, you should know that he gorged himself on your husband’s guts. Now, you think of that the next time you want to give him some of your little treats and—”
Abitha snatched up a saucer and slung it at Forest.
The opossum ducked, the bowl going over its head.
Abitha screamed, grabbed another, threw it as hard as she could.
Again, Forest dodged out of the way, letting loose a nasty laugh.
Abitha snatched up the pail, rushed the opossum, swinging it, trying to smash the creature.
Forest danced around her, hooting at her.
Abitha’s foot snagged on the step and she went sprawling, but Father leapt over, catching her before she hit the ground.
“We are wildfolk!” Forest cried. “We are here to eat your guts, you and all your kind. And Father here, he will see it done! That is the truth. The only one that matters!”
“Be gone, you miserable beast!” Father growled. “Lest it is your guts I eat.”
The wicked grin fell from Forest’s face. He gave Father a vicious sneer, turned, and stormed away.
Abitha sat down on the stoop, covered her face, and began to sob silently.
“I am sorry, Abitha,” Father said, taking a seat next to her. “There’s so much here I do not understand. But I do understand your pain. I also understand now that I wish you no harm. That was a mistake … I was confused. But because of you, I believe I am finding my way. I am hopeful that if we work together, we can both find what we need.”
They sat that way for a long time, the occasional bleat from one of the goats and the cat lapping up the milk the only sound, until finally Abitha let out a great sigh. She wiped her eyes and brought a napkin out from her apron. She sat it on the porch between them, unfolding it to reveal three squares of brittle. “These are for you.”
Father reached for them, then stopped. There is more to all this, he thought. “Abitha, what do you think I truly am?”
She considered for a while before answering. “I know not, but I know what I hope you are. My mother told me of all kinds of nature spirits, of fairies, imps, and forest gods, large and small, weak and powerful. These guardians of nature who awakened in the spring and breathed life into flowers and trees, looked over and protected the land and the people in return for tribute. Of the pagans that celebrated solstice and rebirth with them in grand ceremonies, feasts and rituals in their honor. How they joined together in the circle of death and rebirth. I am hoping that you are one of these, that when you fully awaken, you will bless this land and watch over it. That mayhap you will bless me and watch over me.”
Creek and Sky exchanged troubled looks, but Father nodded along, liking everything he was hearing.
Honor and tribute, Father thought, her words bringing back visions from the day before, of the people giving him ringlets of flowers and beads, the reverence they showed him. He thought of Forest talking about tributes to Mother Earth in return for her blessings. His pulse quickened. It is part of it … part of the magic!
Father picked up one of the candies. “There should be more.”
“You want more candy?” Abitha asked.
“No, not the candy. More from you.” He felt her distrust return, knew Forest’s threats were still fresh, wondered how they would ever get past it. “Why do you make me these offerings?” he asked.
“It seems to help you … to appease your tormented soul, but if I am being honest … I guess I am hopeful that you will weave your magic and breathe life into my crops.”
Yes, you give me something I need and I give you something you need! He set his piercing eyes on her, peered into her. “Abitha, what is it you want out of this life?”
“It’s very simple for me. Fresh game, eggs, a garden full of vegetables, a field of healthy corn.”
“That is not what you want, that is what you need. You are not made out of needs, you are made out of your dreams and desires. What is it you wish and dream of?”
She started to reply, hesitated. “I know not. After Mother died, all I have thought about is surviving. I have not dreamed since I were a child.”
“Then what did you dream of as a child?”
It took her a moment; he could sense her searching down memories long buried.
“You will think me foolish. But I wanted to be a fairy queen, to r
un barefoot through the woods, to sing like a bird and fly through the trees.” She smiled. “To be able to talk to the animals.” She laughed. “How my brothers and I used to dart about the yard flapping our arms and squawking like magpies.” And he saw the joy on her face as she lost herself in the memory.
“Honor me,” he said.
“What?”
“Let me help you with your needs … your dreams.” He set his palm against his chest. “I feel there is great magic somewhere within me, and with your help, who knows what we are capable of. But I see now to unlock this magic, first you must properly honor me. Offer them to me … the candies.”
She gave him a confused look. “I just did.”
“You must do better.”
“I do not understand.”
“Your tribute, it must be a true offering … from your heart. Do you not see? These forest gods that your mother spoke of … were they not worshipped? As part of this pact between peoples and nature? Yes, it is obvious.”
“Worship? I am not sure that—”
“You still fear me?”
She was silent for a long moment, then nodded. “I am scared, and I am confused, and I am conflicted. I hear my father warning me away, telling me that you will take my soul, then my mother telling me to listen to my heart.”
“What does your heart say?”
She met his silver eyes. “My heart wants to believe in you. So very badly.”
He reached out and gently touched the top of her hand. He felt her pulse quicken. “Remember how the magic brought our heartbeats together so we could raise the corn. Remember the bliss, the rapture, the joy. How is that anything but good? Perhaps if you believe I am a forest god, then I will be a forest god. Believe in me, Abitha.”
“But who are you? How can I not be wary, not be fearful that you are devil or demon? That if I give too much of myself to you, that you will own my soul? Is that not fair to say given that you, yourself, know not who you are?”
“If this works, then it will prove that I am more than a slayer, more than some devil. Help me find my true self and I will help you in every way I can. I will give you a field of corn, and who knows, perhaps we will fly together through the forest one day.”
She looked out at the corn. “I have heard it told that the Devil cannot deny his name. Is your name Satan, or Lucifer? Swear to me that neither of those are your name. That you are not the Great Tempter.”
“Those are not my names. I swear.”
She studied his face for a long time. “Do you still not remember your true name?”
He shook his head. “I do not.”
“Well, you need a name. I will not call you Father.” She looked him over, at his horns, then touched his shaggy fur. “Samson.”
“What?”
“It is fitting. I shall call you Samson. After my goat. He was a good goat.”
Father wasn’t sure how he felt about that.
“It is a strong name. Noble and powerful.”
“Sam … son,” he said, as though tasting the word. “Samson.” He looked at her. “Is this who you need me to be?”
“Aye.”
“Then, for you, I am Samson, the forest god.” And upon that declaration, something stirred deep within his breast. He nodded. “This is right … that you should name me.” And again, he felt the veil between himself and his past grow thin.
She picked up the three candies, held them out before her on the napkin, then looked deep into his eyes. “In the name of God above,” she said, slowly and clearly and with heart, “I make this offering to you, Lord Samson. Please watch over me and my farm, please breathe life into my crops.” She raised the candies to him.
Samson took the candies and the feeling in his chest swelled, vitality surging through him. He ate them, one at a time, and with each, the vigor and potency grew within him.
“Yes, this is the right path.” He felt the air stir, looked out at the rows of withered corn, and it was as though he could hear them calling for him. “It is time to be magnificent.”
CHAPTER 6
Abitha came out onto her porch with a glass of milk and Edward’s bible. She poured the milk into the three saucers and took a seat. She surveyed the corn, still having trouble making herself believe what she was seeing. Most of the top acres were flush with tall, healthy stalks.
For the last two weeks, she’d made small offerings and gifts to Samson, and together the beast and she had brought the corn back to life. There’d even been rain, not much, but enough that she could finally attend to all the chores she’d been neglecting: the two goats, chickens, her small vegetable garden, and Edward’s bees, especially Edward’s bees, as Samson seemed most fond of the honeycomb brittle.
She searched for sign of Edward amongst the trees, found none. She’d not seen him since she’d made her pact with Samson. “Did it work, Edward?” she whispered. “Are you free? Are you at peace?”
Booka wandered over, began lapping at the milk, and Abitha opened the bible and began to read.
Sky flew in and landed on the porch, looking longingly at the saucer of milk. A moment later Creek joined him, Booka barely sparing them a glance. Every day Abitha set milk out for them. She could see they wanted it, yet still they refused to drink.
Abitha hadn’t seen the opossum since his tantrum, and this was fine with her; she hoped never to see that foul creature again.
She spotted Samson coming out of the woods. He strolled up and took a seat on the porch next to Abitha. That was when she saw the wolves, three of them hanging back at the tree line where Samson had just come out. Abitha started to get up, to get her musket.
Samson put a hand on her shoulder. “They will bring you no harm.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I forbid it.”
Abitha kept an eye on the wolves and few moments later they melted back into the trees. Abitha let out a breath. “You can talk to them?”
Samson shrugged. “In a way.” He peered over her shoulder at the bible. “Those are the words of your god?”
Abitha nodded. “Aye, the reverend has given me leave from church and in return I made promise to read several passages a week. And, if I know him, he will have questions for me.”
“What does your god say?”
“He says many good things. But it can all become a bit confusing. Such as how is it that God allows the Devil to harry people so.”
“You speak often of gods and devils. What is the difference?”
“That’s easy,” Abitha said. “Gods are benevolent, looking over their flock in return for their devotion. Devils vex and torment.”
“And what if it is not that simple?” Samson asked. “Can a god be both slayer and shepherd? Reward and vex? Does your god only do good?”
Abitha started to say yes, then considered the book in her hand. “No, I guess not. The Lord, God, He has drowned the world, brought plagues, sends those who offend Him to everlasting torment. Mayhap it depends on how one defines good.”
“Your god, he is a slayer.” Samson appeared pleased to hear this.
“Aye, at times. It is said that the Lord works in mysterious ways.” Abitha closed the bible. “As I said … it can all be a bit confusing.”
“Perhaps not, perhaps a god just has many sides.” Samson sounded hopeful. “Hmm … you make me offerings, I grow the corn, looking after you in return for your devotion. Perhaps I am a god after all? Your god.”
Abitha laughed. “If it were but that simple. God has never been an easy thing for me. Between my mother’s pagan teachings and my father’s conflicted views on Christianity, I often find myself unsure who God even is.”
“Why do you limit yourself to only one?” Samson asked.
Abitha paused, realizing she didn’t have an answer. It wasn’t something she’d ever really considered. But now, thinking about it, her mother had often spoken of Jesus and the spirit world as one connected thing. “How many gods do you think there are?” Abitha aske
d.
“Not as many as there used to be,” a voice said.
They turned to find Forest leaning against the farthest porch post with his arms folded tightly across his chest, a scowl on his face.
Forest plucked a tick from under his arm and ate it. “And if Father does not change his ways, and soon,” he said bitterly, “there will be one less.”
* * *
Abitha entered the village commons, walking quickly past the whipping post. Esther Hollister was bent over in the standing stocks, her legs trembling as though she might collapse at any moment. Abitha wondered how long the poor woman had been standing there, but didn’t dare stop, as she was almost late for church.
“Abitha!” It was Helen; she caught up with Abitha and they walked together.
“Abitha, I must warn—” Helen halted, staring at Abitha.
“What is it? My hair?” Abitha quickly checked to make sure none of her curls had escaped her bonnet.
“You look … why … downright radiant?” Helen appeared shocked but pleased.
Radiant? Abitha thought, feeling herself blush. Well, now, that’s a first. She’d certainly made an effort, scrubbing up both herself and her clothes, at last finding time to mend her skirts and other garments. But she knew it was more than that. She was finally getting a full night’s sleep and eating as she should. Samson hadn’t stopped with the corn, and now there was plenty. Samson had plied his blessing all around the farm, gracing them with a bounty of honey, wild berries, vegetables, and plenty of eggs and goat’s milk. But she suspected it might even be a bit more, that perhaps some of Samson’s magic was rubbing off on her.
They continued along.
“I was going to say … going to warn you that there are many who are unhappy that the reverend has granted you leave these last months. He has not backed down, but it has caused much friction.”
“Months? No … why, it has only been—” She stopped. “It is but August, is it not?”
“August? Nay, Abi, it is now September.”
“September?” Abitha sputtered, trying to understand how time had slipped by so quickly. “Well, I am here now and will be from now on, so they can find someone else to harry. But do tell, who is it that is so upset? Is it Wallace by chance?”