The Uprising (Moonlight Wolves Book 3)

by Jasmine B. Waters

  “Mistress,” he called. “You are much missed within the circle. Rejoin your family, Ligeia.”

  Ligeia stared. She had not disclosed what had happened, but she felt the weight of Constance’s death more with each passing day.

  “I cannot,” Ligeia said simply. She attempted to walk past Henrik, but he grabbed her arm, pulling her close.

  “Mistress Ligeia,” Henrik said sarcastically. “You forget to whom you owe respect. Have you forgotten ‘twas I that saved you from a life of misery?”

  The dam that had been building inside Ligeia for almost a year broke loose. Tears streamed down her face, and she looked away, letting her long, dark hair fall in her face.

  “Mistress Ligeia!” Henrik softened, tilting her face toward his. “What has happened?”

  Ligeia shrank from his touch. “My own sister found me the last time I returned to the village,” she said.

  Henrik’s eyes went wide. “And she knows about us? Did you disclose knowledge of the coven?”

  “No!” Ligeia said. “She came to me because her mother – our mother – was giving birth. But the babe arrived, and Mother perished before I could intervene.” Ligeia began to sob, burying her face in her pale hands. “I am useless,” she said softly.

  “Even the best of magic cannot save lives,” Henrik said. He shook his head. “Ligeia, what were you expecting to happen? That your family would be pleased to know about what happened in Salem? When I took you in, I made you a promise that no harm would come to you. Ligeia, I intend to keep that promise. But you cannot continue to compromise the safety of the coven!”

  “I know!” Ligeia screamed. Her sadness melted into rage, and she snarled in Henrik’s face. “You’ve ruined everything! Without you, I would still have my family!”

  Henrik threw his head back and laughed. “The family who sold you into misery? That family? The family who called you ungodly and selfish?”

  “I am ungodly and selfish!” Ligeia roared. “And ‘tis all the fault of you!”

  Henrik laughed. “You’re a fool to blame that upon me,” he said. “Have you never considered the life of unhappiness you would have endured at the hands of Thomas Whittier? You realize he would have kept you as a meek servant, do you not?”

  Ligeia shivered. “At least my family would not have turned their backs on me,” she said softly. “At least I would have that.”

  Henrik shook his head. He glared at Ligeia in disgust. “You are a fool,” he repeated. “My Sight never lies, Ligeia. I saw you miserable, and you were indeed miserable. I took pity on you because I could sense the power and magic deep within your soul.”

  Ligeia shook her head. She wanted to argue, to tell Henrik that he was wrong, that she would have lived a satisfactory and happy existence as Mrs. Thomas Whittier.

  But deep down, she knew that he was absolutely correct. She knew that Thomas would have abused her, made her miserable and unhappy for the rest of her days. She shuddered. I could even be dead, she thought. ‘I could have died in childbirth, just like Mother. And Abigail and Drusilla – what of them?’

  “Think on it, Mistress,” Henrik said angrily. “But you must know that I’m correct.”

  He stalked past Ligeia, angrily shoving her with his shoulder. She stayed rooted firmly to the spot, silently fuming with anger and guilt.

  ---

  The week passed uneventfully, and Ligeia kept even more to herself than before. She began taking meals alone in her hut, staying up until the sky was streaked with light and studying the art of healing until her eyes ached from reading.

  One such night, Ligeia was startled to hear the door of her cabin burst open. One of the younger witches, a girl named Faith, ran into the room, panting.

  “What is it?” Ligeia asked. Her heart slammed against her ribs. “Is it Henrik? Is he injured?”

  “No, Mistress,” Faith said. “There is news from Salem!”

  Ligeia’s heart sank. “My sisters,” she said softly. “Abigail and Drusilla!”

  “No, miss,” Faith said quickly. Her cheeks were pale and bloodless. “Prudence – Prudence Arrowsmith!”

  Ligeia stood up and grabbed Faith by the shoulders, shaking her quickly.

  “You must tell me! You must!”

  “Prudence Arrowsmith is on the hunt for witchcraft,” Faith said quickly. “She has spoken to the town magistrate and arranged for the burning of five young girls.”

  Ligeia felt faint. She gripped the back of her chair until her knuckles went white. “That cannot be,” she said softly. “That cannot be possible!”

  “Aye,” Faith said. “But ‘tis, Ligeia.”

  Ligeia grabbed her cloak and ran to Henrik’s cabin. Unsurprisingly, he was awake, sitting in front of the hearth, warming his hands.

  “Henrik!” Ligeia cried. “Henrik!”

  Henrik frowned, but when he saw the genuine concern on Ligeia’s face, he stood up and ran to her, pulling her into his strong arms. For a moment, Ligeia sobbed against the chest of her oldest friend. Then the panic came back, and she pulled away, pacing back and forth in front of the flames.

  “I did not tell you before,” Ligeia said quickly, “although you may have surmised. My sisters, Abigail and Drusilla, were both sent to Salem to be married. And now my younger sister Prudence is there, as well!”

  “And I assume you want to intervene, to pull her close,” Henrik said.

  “No! She has told the village magistrate that witchcraft is taking place, and five young girls have been sentenced to burn! To die, at the stake!”

  Henrik sighed softly. “Ligeia–”

  “It’s my fault,” Ligeia said quickly. “It’s my fault that I didn’t speak up, that I did not disclose my true identity to Prudence before.”

  Henrik scoffed. “And you think that would have made a difference in the child? She is a fanatic, Ligeia! There is no helping someone like that – no turning them away from the Lord and back to rational thought!”

  “Henrik, she’s going to have five innocent girls murdered!” The hair on the back of Ligeia’s neck stood up. True witches could survive such a sentence; the fire would not burn them. But innocent women had no such power, and Ligeia felt sick to her stomach as she imagined the scent of roasting human flesh singing her nostrils.

  “And you wish to travel to Salem, to prevent this?”

  “Aye,” Ligeia said. “I do.”

  To her shock, Henrik nodded. “Aye,” he said. “This might be a chance to redeem yourself, Ligeia. Redeem yourself in own your eyes.”

  Ligeia felt shaky and nervous with fear as she fled the coven. She packed a small bag and raced through the forest, disguising herself and traveling through the air as fast as a demon. It took hours to reach Salem when it would have taken a normal human days, and Ligeia reached the small village just as the sun was shining high in the sky.

  As quickly as she could, she ran to the magistrate’s house. The door was bolted and locked, and Ligeia pounded her fists, screaming for help.

  No one answered the door. Panic consumed her, and she raced through the town, not even thinking about what would happen if she saw a member of the Whittier family. There was a crowd gathered at the marketplace, and Ligeia’s heart sank when she saw the five stakes piled high with straw.

  Young Prudence, looking absurdly mature for her three and ten years, was standing at the front of the crowd.

  Ligeia stared at her sister. ‘Come to me,’ she thought, summoning her strength. ‘Leave the crowd and follow me.’ For a moment, she was horrified by the thought that her magic might not work on such a godly young woman. But Prudence’s face grew dazed, and she wandered away from the crowd.

  Ligeia grabbed Prudence by the elbow and yanked her behind a building. Prudence gasped.

  “‘Tis you!”

  “Yes,” Ligeia said angrily, “‘tis I. Your sister, Ligeia!”

  Prudence gasped in horror and started to scream, but Ligeia muttered a quick incantation and soon, Prudence’s voi
ce was reduced to a whisper.

  “Yes,” Ligeia repeated. “I am your sister, and I have done awful, unspeakable acts, Prudence. But these five young women – they are innocent. You must release them! Do not kill innocent women just because you’re seeking the true evildoers of the world!”

  Prudence’s blue eyes heated with anger. “I should have known ‘twas you,” she said angrily. “You are the spawn of the devil, the most evil!” She narrowed her eyes and spat. “And I shall not bend to your will and do your bidding!”

  “Release the young women,” Ligeia ordered. Her eyes flashed with light and magic. “Do not make me force you, Prudence! Do the right thing – the godly thing!”

  “These women are not godly, and neither are you!” Prudence said hotly. “I hate you, sister. I wish that I had never met you. You killed our mother.”

  “I did not,” Ligeia said. She felt shock and horror as she stared at her sister in disbelief. “She was dead when I arrived,” she said. “You are aware of that, sister. You know that, do you not?”

  “I think you killed her with witchcraft!” Prudence said. “You murdered her just to increase my suffering!”

  Ligeia stared at her sister in shock. “Come, sister,” she begged. “Do not make such accusations! Are we not of the same blood?”

  Prudence slapped Ligeia across the face. It didn’t hurt exactly, but Ligeia felt cold with shock and panic. As Ligeia stared at her villainous younger sister, she realized that she was never meant to be an Arrowsmith all along; she had always been wicked, she had always been different.

  Ligeia waved her hand over her sister’s face, muttering in Latin: “Ne obliviscaris, et ne obliviscaris, delere!”

  Prudence’s blue eyes glazed, and her pupils shrank and grew smaller.

  “Forget….” Prudence mumbled under her breath. She stumbled away from Ligeia, looking dazed. Ligeia watched her sister for another moment, making sure that the spell had worked correctly. Prudence stumbled slowly down the alley, holding her arms in front of her like the walking dead.

  Ligeia smelled smoke. Her heart began to race. I’m too late, she realized in a blind panic. She began to run toward the center of town, her feet racing beneath her. To her horror, five young girls had been tied to the stakes. They were all crying, tears streaming down their faces as they screamed for help. The townspeople gathered around them booed and hissed. Ligeia gasped when she recognized Joy Whittier sneering and throwing tomatoes toward the accused girls.

  Ligeia hid herself behind a stall, keeping her eyes locked on the girls at the stakes. She pulled a handful of herbs from her pocket and crumbled them in her fingers, smelling the fresh scent and calling to mind the power of the coven. As she watched the magistrate step forward with a flaming torch in his hand, the screams of the young girls almost broke her concentration. But Ligeia summoned every ounce of strength in her body. She stared, narrowing her gaze and chanting under her breath until her mind was flooded with the images of the girls twisting at the stake.

  As Ligeia stared and chanted, her mind opened. ‘These girls are yet innocent,’ she realized. ‘But they have the power to become witches, to open their minds and escape from the confines of the godly life.’

  “Vivo risus non uror,” Ligeia whispered again and again. “Vivo risus non uror! Vivo risus non uror!”

  The girls’ shrieking stopped as the flames licked higher and higher. Ligeia stared grimly ahead, desperately repeating the incantation under her breath. ‘This will allow them to survive the flames,’ she thought. ‘They will realize their true power, and hopefully embrace it. The flame should only tickle and not burn.’

  Smoke filled the Salem marketplace, and the jeering and screaming of the crowd began to die down. As the girls sagged against their bonds, people slowly began to filter away from the marketplace. Soon, everyone but the magistrate was gone, but the flames were still burning high, sending columns of black smoke into the sky.

  Ligeia gathered her petticoats in her hands and ran toward the girls. With a wave of her hand, the fire was extinguished.

  They stared at her in shock.

  “I am Ligeia Arrowsmith,” Ligeia said, almost proudly. “And you will all be coming with me.”

  Chapter Eight

  When I returned to the coven with five girls in tow, I knew that I’d made amends. Henrik was proud. Although he didn’t say so, I didn’t need to hear the words to know. He told me that my strength as a witch exceeded his wildest expectations, and that I had made a successful contribution to the coven.

  I never saw my sister Prudence – or any of my other family members – ever again. I heard many a report from those in the coven who traveled to villages that Prudence had gone dumb. She spent the rest of her life in a daze, wandering from place to place, a glassy look in her eyes, and her lips slow to move. I did not regret cursing her. The hatred in her eyes had been unmistakable, and I knew that she was finally getting what she had long deserved.

  In a way, I still felt guilty. Prudence had very likely been indoctrinated by my father; I wondered just how devout he had become before death. But that did not excuse her wild demands and cries for the murder of innocent girls. After I rescued the girls from Salem, no one else was burned at the stake. Life returned to a state of almost normal, and for many years, the coven was happy.

  Times changed. The centuries shifted, and the former colonies became their own country. Henrik and I aged slowly – our power kept us relatively young at mind and in the heart. Religious fervor gripped the country, but our coven was always safe. Henrik and I shared a bond more powerful than any on Earth.

  Eventually, I forgot about my old life completely.

  But just because the times had changed did not mean that my coven and witches were free of danger…

  ---

  The woods outside of Jaffrey, New Hampshire – Present Day

  It was a crisp fall day. Henrik and Ligeia walked through the woods, arm in arm, collecting mushrooms and various herbs.

  “I had a vision last night,” Henrik said stiffly.

  Ligeia snickered. “And you’re quite sure it wasn’t the wine?”

  “No,” Henrik said shortly. “‘Twas not the wine.” He sighed, groaning as he leaned against the trunk of a tree.

  “Well, what then?”

  “A young girl – nearby, in town – has a familiar spirit,” Henrik said slowly. “A spirit very familiar to that of your sister, Prudence Arrowsmith.”

  The name sent a chill through Ligeia, and she shuddered. “It has been years since I even thought of my family,” she said softly. “What did you see, friend?”

  Henrik sighed. “Nothing good,” he said. “This girl… she is young, but powerful, is fervent, and determined to rid the world of demonic activity and witches.”

  Ligeia frowned. “And she is aware of us?”

  “No,” Henrik said. “Aware of a young witch – a young witch who is much like those girls from Salem many years ago.”

  Ligeia frowned. “And you want to intervene?” She raised an eyebrow. “That is most unusual, Henrik – most unusual for you.”

  “I did not want to alarm you,” Henrik said unsteadily. “But when I say a familiar spirit, I believe she is a reincarnation of your sister. I believe she is dangerous.”

  Ligeia took a deep breath. “I am sure it is not as bad as all that,” she said softly. “After all, we live in a rational world. People are all too proud of their science, their designs. No one fears us now,” she said. “Which is a good thing, I know.”

  “This girl is different,” Henrik insisted.

  Ligeia fell silent. For a moment, there was no sound other than their feet crunching dead leaves. Henrik escorted her back to her small hut, and Ligeia locked the door before building a raging fire in the hearth. When the flames were as high as her shoulders, she tossed a handful of rosemary and lavender into the fire. The fragrant smoke soothed her, pulling into a headspace of magic and tranquility.

  Ligeia took her l
ooking glass from the mantle and held it close to her face. ‘Show me the girl,’ she thought as she stared into the glass. ‘Show her to me; make me see what Henrik sees.’

  The glass fogged and swirled, as if covered with mist. But after a few seconds, the mist cleared and a girl – perhaps four and ten at the oldest – appeared to Ligeia. In no physical way did she resemble Prudence Arrowsmith. Her hair was light brown, and her face was round, almost chubby. But her eyes belied the same evil fire, the same ‘godly’ drive that Ligeia had seen so obviously in her younger sister.

  The sight was shocking. Ligeia felt the strength drain from her body as she focused harder and harder, watching as the girl’s thoughts opened to her. She learned that the girl was attempting to expose one of her friends as a witch – one of her friends who surely had powers but was likely still unaware.

  Ligeia set the glass down and closed her eyes. She breathed in the fragrant smoke, summoning Henrik to her cabin. After only a few seconds, his face appeared in the fire.

  “She is dangerous,” Ligeia said. The flames flickered in her blue eyes as she spoke. “You must stop her. We must bring the girl she seeks to accuse here and give her warning.”

  Henrik chuckled. “I am pleased to see you’re taking this seriously,” he said, “because we could all be in grave danger. Grave danger, indeed.”

  “You must spirit her friend, Monica, away,” Ligeia said. Knowledge was blossoming in her mind with each passing second, and she felt her body weakening with the force of the ritual.

  Henrik chuckled again. “Aye. She will be frightened,” he said. “Just as you were, Ligeia.”

  “She will survive,” Ligeia said dryly. “But we must hurry.”

  Henrik dipped his head in a signal of respect. “Aye,” he said. “Worry not. She will be safe, and so will we all.”

  “May it pass,” Ligeia whispered into the dying fire, “may this danger pass swiftly.”

  ---

  A day later, Henrik brought the girl to Ligeia. She looked even younger than Ligeia had suspected, with fine, blonde hair layered around her face and big, brown eyes. Ligeia chuckled. This girl had evident strength about her that seemed to radiate off her body in waves.