by Suzanne Weyn
“You swam?”
“Yes.”
“Who taught you to swim?”
“My governess, a good woman named Bronwyn.”
“This same Bronwyn who you claim has been taken over by the Devil?”
“Yes, taken over through no fault of her own.”
“And this Bronwyn guided you … coming to you as a witch flying through the night … to the Isle of Devils where you were instructed in spells and potions by an African Witch?”
“No!” I objected. “They are good women. Healers!”
“Everyone knows that the ability to swim is a sign of a witch!” John Hathorne shouted at me. “Everyone here knows it. You were taught to swim by a witch and are, yourself, also a witch!”
“No!”
“You are the granddaughter and great-granddaughter of witches who have been put to death for their compliance with the Devil in practicing witchcraft. You are from a familial line of the Devil’s handmaidens!”
His accusation left me speechless. What could I say to it?
John Hathorne grinned at me in smug triumph. “I have researched your family tree, Elsabeth James. The secret of your devilish family has been revealed. What say you to it?”
“They were not witches and neither am I,” I replied quietly.
“You claim you have seen this Bronwyn the witch and her three witch helpers. You have seen the snarling Hound of Hell. I say you are the Devil’s Consort.”
“She is friend to Tituba who set upon us in the woods!” Ann Putnam, Jr., shouted.
“And when I told the witch Sarah Good to leave the property, Elsabeth James scolded me,” Abigail put in with a vengeful and satisfied glance at me.
The judge banged his desk impatiently. “I have heard enough. Elsabeth James, I find you guilty of witchcraft. You will await your sentencing in jail!”
IN THE NEXT MONTHS, THE DEMONIC PRESENCE RAN RAMPANT through Salem, causing chaos and misery at every turn. The village was engulfed in a frenzy of accusation and counteraccusation. In April, Rebecca Nurse was convicted of witchcraft. When her sisters testified for her, they too were convicted. All were condemned to hang.
A woman named Elizabeth Proctor was accused by her servant Mary Warren. When her husband, John, protested, he too was convicted of witchcraft. Mary Warren said she had lied, then took it back, saying she had not lied. It was madness.
In the first week, Mary Carmen came with food for me. Up until then, Tituba had been sharing the food John Indian brought for her. For comfort, I also dipped into Aunty Honey’s jar of honey. It was still edible, since honey never spoils, and I discovered that nothing made me feel stronger or calmer.
“Aakif will come soon,” Mary Carmen told me. “Mr. Osborne will send food with him for his wife. He has written to Van Leeuwenhoek at Harvard.”
“Do you think he will be of any help?”
“I hope so. Perhaps Van Leeuwenhoek can convince the governor to stop this madness. He is a renowned figure and has influence.”
My only relief was that Aakif did, indeed, begin to come to the cell every other day to bring food to Sarah Osborne. Afterward, he sat with me and we talked. I told him of the effects of the honey and he wasn’t surprised. “Keep eating it. It has great power,” he said. We thought it might be unsafe to show our love too openly, but the brush of his hand over mine or a secret caress of my back gave me more comfort than I can say.
In May, Sarah Osborne grew ill, but despite her fever, they would not take off her shackles. Aakif came to bring her a basket of food and discovered her condition. “Bring my husband,” she requested.
Aakif seemed reluctant to leave her, but I said I would look after her. I made a drink from the special honey that Aunty Honey had given me. Tituba gave me some of the cider John Indian had brought her that was mixed with chamomile and ground birch bark.
“Bless you both,” Sarah Osborne said as I put the tonic to her lips. “You know I am no witch.”
“Forgive me for naming you,” Tituba implored. “I saw you in the woods that day, as you saw me. I know you were not acting on your own accord. I am so sorry. I believed they would understand me if I told the truth of what happened. I see now I was naïve.”
“Evil is afoot here,” Sarah Osborne said. “Demonic evil and human evil. It is true that my body was spirited away by some devilish force. And it is also true that John Putnam hates me because I have tried to claim what was rightfully mine. My dead husband and I bought and worked that farm together. It should have been left to me. Putnam hates that a woman should challenge the law. I never had a chance of being understood. What has happened to me is not your fault, Tituba. There is nothing to forgive.”
I knew that the birch bark would soothe her pain and the chamomile would let her rest. Both were mild medicines, but they seemed to help.
Later, Aakif returned with Andrew Osborne. Sarah Osborne was able to speak to her husband for a long time before the guards made him leave. Andrew Osborne had summoned Dr. Griggs but he had refused to come.
In the morning, Sarah Osborne — still shackled — was dead.
In June, a person named Bridget Bishop was the first woman hanged as a witch. I knew her from jail and believe they hanged her more for her irreverent comments and colorful dress than anything else. When I asked her if she’d had any experience with the demons I’d met, she didn’t know what I was talking about.
In July, five women, including Sarah Good and Rebecca Nurse, were hanged on Gallows Hill. In August, four men and one woman were hanged. Elizabeth Proctor was convicted but not hanged because she was pregnant. But her husband, John, was one of the five killed. On the day her husband died, Elizabeth wept loudly the entire time. Although it was awful to listen to, no one asked her to stop.
Also, in September, a man named Giles Corey, who had been accused back in April, was crushed to death under the weight of huge stones. As I sat in my prison cell, I felt a terrible pressure on my chest and grew breathless just thinking about it.
“I will lose my mind in here,” I confided to Aakif.
“I bring you books, but the guards won’t let them in,” he replied.
I squeezed his arm tenderly. “I understand. If it wasn’t for you and Mary Carmen, I would already be raving mad.”
“Be strong, Betty-Fatu. We will find a way out of this. There are people in town who have written a petition to stop these trials. Mary Carmen has set up a prayer meeting of people who want this to end.”
“How many people have joined her?” I asked.
“Many, and more are coming every hour. They sit in a field and chant short prayers over and over, asking for help against this evil that has beset Salem. In one hand, she holds a blue marble, and in the other, a vial of water. They have been doing it all day and it’s still going on.”
That night I could not sleep. My sentencing would be in the morning. As I twisted on my patch of straw, I heard a voice. Lifting my head to see if one of the other prisoners was talking, I heard only light snores.
But the voice came again. “It’s me, pet.” Sitting immediately, I saw Bronwyn beside me.
Thinking it was a visitation from Evil Bronwyn, I jumped up, but one look at her familiar soft eyes told me it was Good Bronwyn. In the next second I clapped my hand to my mouth in stunned surprise, the emotions of joy and relief whirling together.
“That awful thing kept me stuck on the astral plane with its spells. But today something has changed. The entity is being weakened by something.”
Was Mary Carmen’s prayer group having some effect on the evil creatures? It had to be.
“What should I do, Bronwyn?” I asked.
“You must join me on the astral plane. We have to move now while the creature remains weak.”
“I don’t have the strength to rise from my body. I’m sorry, but I don’t feel I can.” The months in prison had been so difficult. Not only my body but my spirit had been weakened.
Bronwyn surveyed me critically. “You a
re dispirited. I can see that.”
“Let me eat some of this,” I suggested, opening my jar containing the last of the honey. When I felt restored by its power, I told Bronwyn I was ready. “But I’m not sure I remember how.”
“Remember what I’ve taught you. Sit cross-legged and focus your breath. Let the spirit rise along the length of your spine. As it rises, stabilize the vibration. Concentrate on not dropping back down.”
I did as she said, and with a flash of white light, we were both hovering above the prison. Good Bronwyn beckoned and I followed her until we were over the shipyard. She gestured below and I saw Evil Bronwyn writhing in pain on the deck of a large ship.
“Why is it on a ship?” I asked.
“It is trying to get as far as possible from the source of its irritation.”
Good Bronwyn and I came up with a plan. In our astral forms, we traveled to Aakif. He was asleep in the hayloft where the Osbornes had created a room for him. I set down beside him and whispered in his ear until he began to awake. Suddenly he sat upward. “Betty-Fatu! Are you a ghost?” He jumped to standing. “Have they killed you?” He clutched his stomach. “Tell me it isn’t so!”
“No! No! Don’t be afraid, sweet. I’m traveling in spirit. Now you must listen to me, please.” I told him to go to Mary Carmen. “Tell her group to keep praying no matter what.” Then I asked him to go to the prison and bring my bag to the shipyard.
“Won’t they realize you’re gone if I do that?” he asked.
“No. My body is still there. They will think I am asleep.” I gazed at his dear, handsome face. “I will do everything to get back to you,” I said. “And if I don’t, know that I will love you for all time, even if I die.”
“Don’t say that! You won’t die. You can’t die.”
“The good Bronwyn is here with me. I’m not alone.”
I kissed him, and though he couldn’t see me, he stood still and his eyes took on a happy gleam. “You are alive,” he said quietly.
BRONWYN AND I LOWERED OURSELVES CLOSER TO THE SHIP. We stayed above deck, though, and once more hovered over the writhing figure of Evil Bronwyn. A familiar low growl immediately filled the air. The black hound’s yellow eyes blazed. Its fangs were bared. Good Bronwyn and I grabbed for each other’s hand.
Cautiously, with our eyes on the snarling dog, Good Bronwyn and I approached the thing that had taken over her form.
“I do look the worse for wear,” Bronwyn commented wryly.
“You’ve looked better,” I agreed. “How can we fight this thing, Bronwyn? Is it possible?”
“If you give in to fear, we can’t win,” she said, giving my hand a reassuring squeeze. “I met one of your friends while I was on the astral plane. I have contacted her.”
“Who?” I asked, but before I could answer, sparks like a meteor shower crossed the sky. Aunty Honey — dressed regally as Mother Kadiatu — was suddenly hovering beside me. The sight of my old teacher nearly brought tears of happiness to my eyes. I knew how powerful her magic would be.
“I have the potent magic from my home in Sierra Leone, the secret words to banish the bad juju,” Mother Kadiatu said.
“And I have the women’s words from my village, the ones that will banish a devil,” Bronwyn assured me.
“Hold tight to the talisman Aakif gave to you, Betty-Fatu. Whatever happens, don’t let the demon take it from you,” Mother Kadiatu insisted. “You are a strong girl who floated the wide ocean in a barrel. Remember who you are.”
The black dog growled at us, and made Evil Bronwyn aware of our presence. Evil Bronwyn sat up, glaring intensely at us with a look of pure hatred. Though we were on the astral plane, it could tell we were there.
I clutched the bead at my neck as Mother Kadiatu began chanting words of goodness and words of power in her native tongue. Good Bronwyn spoke words of magic in her ancient Scottish.
Evil Bronwyn gripped its ears, cringing. Doubling over in pain, purple-black clouds rose around it. Evil Bronwyn’s skull cracked open from the forehead to the base of its skull. Bronwyn’s body fell like a robe as a hideous fiend of immense height, with veined skin of deep purple, emerged, reminding me of a skinned animal. It spread immense wings of the same purple, beating the air in a triumphant gesture.
Now it was able to see us hovering above. Staring up, it let out a scream so high-pitched it seared through me like a flame. I saw that the black dog had fallen to the ground, unconscious. “Serve me!” the evil creature bellowed. “Serve me!”
With a wide sweep of its arm, the demon pulled me down into its crushing grip. Good Bronwyn and Mother Kadiatu threw themselves onto its arm, but they were helpless against it.
“Serve me!” it screamed into my face.
Aakif ran up the gangplank, my bag in hand. “Betty-Fatu?” he called, looking around frantically for me. He could not see any of us.
He took Tituba’s book of spells from the bag. “I have your book,” he shouted, sensing the tumult in the air.
I wanted to call to him but the demon was holding me in its crushing grip. Mother Kadiatu and Good Bronwyn came down beside Aakif. Mother Kadiatu took the book from his hands. “What page?” she shouted.
“Dirt” was all I could manage to reply, but she understood and found it quickly. Mother Kadiatu handed it to Aakif, though to him it seemed to float into his hands.
He understood and began to read the words.
The demon shook me and jostled the blue bead from beneath my collar. At the sight of it, the demon recoiled, but didn’t drop me.
Mother Kadiatu and Good Bronwyn resumed their chant. Aakif read from Tituba’s book of spells in a loud, impassioned voice.
The demon threw me to the ship’s floor and strode toward Aakif, its eyes glowering. Rising to my feet, I ran to Aakif’s side. This creature could not get hold of him.
Suddenly, the demon fell to its knees, clutching at its head. Down on the road, lights were glowing as wagons filled with praying people pulled up beside the shipyard. The lights were from lanterns and candles, and I could hear the people chanting over and over in a group voice that reverberated through the air: “Lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil; lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil.”
Mary Carmen ran up the gangplank just as the demon knocked Aakif down with one powerful swat of its hand. She seemed to know what was happening and — while still saying the end of the Lord’s Prayer — she poured a circle of the holy water around Aakif.
The demon could not cross the circle and, shrieking in rage, turned on Mary Carmen.
“Run, Mary Carmen!” I shouted, momentarily forgetting that she couldn’t hear me on the astral plane.
Then I saw that Mary Carmen was not alone. Hovering above her on the astral plane was a beautiful woman dressed in a nun’s habit. It had to be Teresa of Avila.
Saint Teresa locked eyes with the demon and then threw her hands to the heavens, shouting words I didn’t understand.
VEHUIAH
JELIEL
SITAEL
ELEMIAH
MAHASIAH
LELAHEL
The astral plane flashed with light as one by one, tall, winged, glowing angels appeared. Their light was so blinding that the demon covered its eyes.
My ears filled with a vibrating hum that seemed to come from the angels and mixed with the prayers. “Lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil….”
Saint Teresa continued:
HAHAIAH
MEBAHEL
NELCHAEL
YERATEL
MANAKEL
HAZIEL
Her voice rose even louder, awe-filled and magnificent. “I call down the seventy-two angels by their names as written in the mystic book of Kabbalah.”
A heavenly host of the most beautiful creatures I have ever witnessed appeared. When the last, the one she named Haziel, came, he stepped forward holding a shining sword. Before the demon could react, the angel Haziel swept the demon above h
is head and flung him into the sky. Images of the three attendant witches flew up in its wake, as though they were a part of the demon’s body.
The majestic angels blinked away in the same order they had appeared.
Mary Carmen ran back to the gangplank and waved her arms to the praying people. “The evil has been defeated!” she shouted to them.
My heart burst with ecstatic happiness — but it was brief.
Bronwyn’s body lay sprawled on the deck of the ship, lifeless. A deep gash bled where the demon had split her skull.
Good Bronwyn looked down on her ruined body. “I don’t want to live up here on the astral plane,” she murmured. “I’ve been here too long already.”
Mary Carmen rushed to the supine body and placed her hands on Bronwyn’s skull. With a soft blue light radiating from her palms, she held tight to Bronwyn. The bleeding stopped, but the body didn’t stir.
Without speaking, Mother Kadiatu, Good Bronwyn, and Saint Teresa held hands. I joined them too. I saw an energy flowing across the four of us. It was a deep blue.
Below us, Mary Carmen raised her left arm and, like lightning is attracted to a tree, our energy jumped to her hand in an azure stream. The blue suffused Mary Carmen and passed out of her right hand into Bronwyn’s body.
Bronwyn’s eyes opened wide and then shut again.
Exhausted, Mary Carmen wilted to the ship’s deck.
Off in the distance, I heard the steady beat of a drum.
DAWN LIGHT FILLED MY PRISON CELL AS I AWOKE, back in my body. “Don’t let it have been a dream,” I whispered. It had been so real, and yet I couldn’t be absolutely certain. Glancing to the corner where I kept my jar of honey and other supplies, my heart sank when I saw that it was still there. How did it get from the ship back into my cell?
“Thank the heavens.” Turning toward the voice, I saw Tituba sitting beside me. “You have been unconscious for two days,” she told me.
“Two days?”
“Yes, my friend, two days. You have had visitors too.”
I sat up. “Who?”