Spellbound: The Awakening of Aislin Collins

by Margeaux Laurent

  ********************

  My mother, Sneachta and I walked in haste through the forest. She was searching for something, and moved with a great swiftness as the light grew dimmer through the barren tree branches.

  The snow dampened our footsteps as we clambered through the woods, and the soft flakes that fell around us gave the forest a ghostly silence. If my mind were not consumed with thoughts of Lamont and his Puca, I would have found this experience to be lovely. However, at every turn I found myself glancing over my shoulder.

  Finally, my mother stopped. She bent down and picked up a small log from the forest floor.

  “This will do nicely.” She held the piece of wood up and examined it.

  We walked back to the house, but stopped behind the shed. There we decorated the log with holly and ivy, blessed it and then brought it into the house.

  My mother distracted my father while I took the log into the back parlor and placed it carefully into the hearth. Then, I tossed more holly berries and ivy on top of it.

  “We have done well,” she said, from over my shoulder.

  “Have we?” I could not see how rummaging around the forest floor for over an hour was more productive then spending that time finding a way to help Martha.

  “We have honored the Goddess and her son by observing our traditions. We did not let Lamont wreck this sacred day. Yes, Aislin, we have done well.”

  My mother moved her chair towards the fire and stared into the glow. It appeared that she was in a trance, but I knew she was divining by reading the flames.

  She did not move an inch for the remainder of the evening and long after I went to bed, she stayed up searching for a way to save Martha.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  December 24th 1734

  Martha had been taken away. Not even the family she tended to, the Smiths, knew of her whereabouts.

  Becky sat with me in my room, “They went through my mother’s cabin and they found the altar,” she said through her tears, “Now they have all the proof they need that she is a witch.”

  “We have to do something,” I said, as I paced the floor. “We cannot just sit back and wait for Lamont to kill her.”

  Becky and I stayed in silence for a long while as we thought of our options.

  “If we knew where she was being held, then we could help her escape,” Becky suggested in frustration.

  “Maybe Greer has already saved her,” I thought aloud.

  Her expression shifted from intense thought to pity, “Aislin, Greer was not well when he left here . . . we cannot count on him having the strength to help anyone right now,” she said, leaning her head against the bedpost.

  “We have a few more days,” I said, as I flipped through the book looking for guidance. “They will not proceed until after Christmas. In fact, we might be able to use that toward our advantage.”

  Becky picked up Sneachta and stroked her fur as she spoke, “There is something you must know Aislin. Ever since I was a little girl, my mother has prepared me for something like this and she made me promise that if she was ever taken…that I would not endanger myself to save her.”

  My eyes widened, “Did she foresee this?”

  “No. I don't think so. Not this exactly. But, we live by a different set of rules then you do. Everyday we face the reality that we are at the mercy of those who own us. If they wish to beat us, they do. If they want to rape us, they will . . . and if they choose to kill us . . .”

  I slumped down on the floor below Becky and Sneachta.

  “Have you asked your ancestors for guidance?” I clutched my side and tried to make the biting pain settle, my ribs were bothering me and I still found it hard to catch my breath.

  “Yes… but I have to be careful now. I think they suspect me as well. Pete told me that the witch hunter had talked to him and even our son, Isaac, about his grandmother and me. Pete took all my spiritual possessions and hid them so they would not be linked to us.”

  “Is your husband in danger as well?” I asked, alarmed that another person may become entangled in our problems.

  “I do not know. The best I can say is that none of us are safe.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  December 25th 1734

  We had been required, as were all, to attend church in the morning. We clamored around the house and scurried to make it to the service on time. My mother had stayed up all night and showed obvious signs of exhaustion as she swayed and yawned while we walked. The other families accompanied us through town.

  All were talking of the same events—the Marthaler's, Rebecca and her sisters, the Native girl, Clement, Jeremiah, Zachariah and, of course, Greer. Many looked in my direction and whispered, but I stared straight ahead and tried to block out their comments.

  We were one block away from the church when all around us grew silent. I did not know why, as I was in the midst of the crowd and could not see over or passed the bodies that stood in my way, but hissing noises and jeering started emanating all around me.

  My mother pushed her way through the crowd to discover the source of the commotion. She only stared for a moment, and then she staggered backwards and almost toppled over a few of the Leeds children.

  Some of the men in the crowd started making leering comments as we kept walking, and it was not until I let myself fall behind the crowd that I knew why.

  There, to the right of where I stood, was Martha. She was bound in the pillory, her head and hands locked between two planks, knelt over for all to see. Her face was crusted with blood, her gaze cast downward. I gasped and froze in place, anguish too great to control was overtaking me.

  The strong priestess that I loved, the woman who had rescued my mother and guided me in the Craft, looked frail and ancient. For the first time in my life, Martha looked fragile . . . mortal. I ran to her and wiped her face with my cloak.

  “No child,” she said in a raspy voice. “Do not be seen near me, you must go.”

  I tried my hardest to be strong in front of her and to hold in my tears, “But Martha . . .”

  I felt a hand on my elbow, it was my mother's hand, “We cannot be seen here,” she said, as she pulled me to my feet.

  “Promise me the same as Becky has,” Martha said as I kissed her cheek. “I know Becky has talked to you . . . promise me Aislin,” she insisted.

  I did not want to make that promise. I wanted to save her. I wanted to pry the planks apart with my bare hands and take Martha far away from this wretched place.

  Yet, I would do no more to upset her. I nodded in reply as I pet her dangling hand, “Yes Grandmother…I promise.”

  My mother then dragged me away from our beloved friend before we were caught as well.

  ********************

  Guests were coming to visit and had brought instruments to play and celebrate the holiday. My parents had been planning to entertain for a long while, but no one in our home was in the spirit for merriment.

  My mother and I had both protested the idea of the Christmas gathering, but my father insisted upon it. He thought it would lift our spirits to have music playing. I could not imagine dancing or enjoying music while Martha was in torment, alone, in the frozen winter night. I had been sick to my stomach all day and was now using it as an excuse to avoid participating.

  I heard guests arriving but refused to come downstairs. I stayed in my room with Sneachta. My book was hidden and I had to be sure that all my spiritual tools were as well. This would be a perfect opportunity for someone to start snooping around our home in search of evidence.

  For all I knew, Lamont himself would show up tonight. My dimwitted father had probably handed him a personal invitation. Perhaps he will name Gillis Sutphin our guest of honor and he can spend the evening further tarnishing Greer's reputation. My thoughts fueled my anger.

  I paced the length of my chamber as I heard the band start to play. The same people that had cast insults at Martha now sat in our home, ate our food, and relished in our hospitality.
The thought of it made me furious. I started fantasizing about walking down the stairs and forcing all the furnishings to fly about the room with magic. I knew that Martha would not approve of my thinking and I quickly stopped.

  I went to the window and stared out into the darkening night. The scenery had not changed. Nothing had changed at all. There were no signs of Greer.

  No letter rested on my windowsill and no trinkets were tucked out of sight for me to find. He had vanished. It had been five days since he left, and although I knew I would not hear from him, my heart could not accept this truth. Every time I passed the window, I checked it for some sign of contact. Every time I looked outside, I peered into the tree line with the false expectation of glimpsing him amongst the shadows. He was never there.

  ********************

  After a few hours had passed, my mother came into my room. Her auburn hair was loose and her eyes were rimmed with red. She had been crying.

  In her hands was a tray and on it a cup of hot liquid and some cake. She carefully closed the door behind her so no one could hear our conversation and she placed the tray on my bed.

  “The Governor's aide just told me that they plan on hanging Martha tomorrow morning.”

  I sat perfectly still as she spoke. I felt as though a heavy weight had settled right on top of me, crushing my ability to breathe or move.

  We heard the uneven steps of someone intoxicated making their way up the stairs and my mother left me to help her guests.

  “Drink that,” she said, as she reached for the doorknob, “It will help you sleep. We will need to be up early . . . Martha should not face this alone.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  December 26th 1734

  The tea was filled with a strong sleeping tonic and it had worked well. I drifted off into a deep slumber within half an hour's time of finishing the beverage.

  My dreams were strange and unfathomable. I shifted from place to place, but could not make sense of anything. A large oak tree crashed to the ground as I stood in the forest, a winged beast flew over my head as I watched a great horse gallop passed me, Becky held rope in her hand and the room we were in seemed to tilt. Visions were skipping about so quickly that I could not comprehend the meaning behind any of them.

  Then, my dreams shifted again. I was standing in a beautiful meadow where wild flowers were strewn across the landscape. The sky was filled with a light that I had never witnessed before, bright and yet soft. Above me, a crescent moon hung low in the sky. The air was warm and a light breeze was blowing through my hair.

  “Aislin,” a sweet voice called to me.

  I looked around for the source of the voice, but no one was there. A beautiful butterfly fluttered in front of me. Its coloration seemed to change as it moved about, and its wings shimmered and sparkled in the soft light that surrounded it. The creature landed on a white rose and started slowly transforming its shape. Before my eyes, the butterfly changed its shape until Martha stood before me.

  Her image took my breath away. She was in glistening white robes. Her hair was darker than a raven’s, and her complexion soft and vibrant She looked young, yet I knew it was my Martha, my grandmother.

  “Walk with me,” She reached out for my hand.

  I obediently followed, and we walked through the meadow together. It seemed that no matter how far we walked, the scenery stayed the same.

  “I need you to listen to me Aislin,” her voice was so calm that I felt completely at peace as we strolled together.

  “You must be strong for Becky and Deirdre. I will not be around much longer. Lamont has seen to that. They plan to take me in a few hours time. He knows that I am the oldest and most experienced in the Craft, and so he wants me out of the way in order to get to you.”

  The calm that surrounded us did not falter as she continued to instruct me and, to my surprise, I listened to her words with such clarity that they seemed to resonate in my head.

  “He plans to absorb my power from my death. He needs this because you weakened his defenses when you broke his amulet. The demon is still out there, but it is not as strong without the pendant . . . you need keep your guard up because that thing is still prowling the forests.”

  “I understand,” I replied, as we strolled through the wildflowers.

  “I do not want you to blame Greer,” she said tentatively.

  “What?” I was confused by the turn of our conversation.

  “Greer has been greatly weakened by the injury that Zachariah inflicted. He has been visiting me whenever he can. He brought me food and has kept me warm, but he does not yet have the strength he would need to fight Lamont and the many townsmen who will be standing guard during my execution.”

  I looked at her beautiful face and saw no sign of fear in her expression.

  “I have asked too much of him, but I see no other way. You must understand that I have asked him for this, and he protested greatly to my reasoning . . . but it is what I want.”

  ********************

  I awoke from my dream with a jolt. I threw back the covers and raced from the house. I sprinted down the street to where Martha was held in the pillory. I skidded a few times as my slippers shot off my feet, but I did not stop running.

  There, in the pillory, was Martha.

  I saw two guards sitting on the short wall near her, and I hid behind a giant oak tree as I waited for them to move. After a few moments, I realized that both men were asleep, and I held my breath as I tiptoed passed them, making my way toward Martha.

  Her head was slumped forward and her skin was blue from the cold.

  “Martha?” I whispered, as I approached her.

  She did not respond, so I moved in closer and gently touched her forehead. She did not move. With great hesitation, I touched her bound hand and felt for signs of life. She was not breathing.

  I felt shaky, and the cold air whipped around me, as my tears started to freeze to my face. I went behind where her head and hands were bound, and looked at the base of her neck, there I found two puncture wounds that were incrusted with dried blood—Greer had taken her.

  I turned unsteadily and in a blurred state made my way back to my home. I was freezing and folded my arms as I walked back, fighting against the wind the whole time. My grief had weakened me and my mind started recounting my visit from Martha. Something was tugging at my memory and a feeling of a looming threat seemed to be closing in on me.

  I heard the snow behind me crunch under the weight of soft footsteps. I was too afraid to turn around. I had not brought any protection with me. I was completely exposed.

  I walked faster. Struggling against the wind that blew right through my nightgown, chilling me to the bone. The footsteps behind me sped up. A constant fog loomed in front of me as my breath caught in the frigid air.

  I quickened my pace to put distance between my pursuer and myself. There was only one street to go before I would be home. I plunged my body forward and began to sprint. My heart was pounding so hard that I could no longer hear the footsteps behind me, so I glanced back briefly.

  I could not see far behind me as the snow swirled, veiling my view, so I picked up my pace. I rounded the corner to my street, my ribs throbbing from my forced breath. I went to clutch my side and tripped, my slipper flew off my foot and I skidded along a patch of ice. My injured hand instinctually reached for the ground to brace the fall, and I tore the skin open again. I scrambled to get to my feet and find my slipper. I wanted desperately to reach my house, but I was stopped.

  “Aislin!” I heard a male voice yell as his footsteps grew nearer to me.

  I could not make out the voice as the wind thundered in my ears. Terror consumed me as I waited for Lamont to attack. I crawled on the ice, trying desperately to get to my feet. He was running toward me and closing in fast. I knew that if I screamed, I would only endanger whoever tried to come to my rescue, so I held my breath and shut my eyes, pleading a small prayer for help as I awaited my fate.

  I
heard his footsteps as he finally reached me, and I tentatively looked up. To my relief, I saw Jack leaning over me, holding his hands out to pull me to my feet.

  “What are you doing out so late?” he asked in astonishment.

  “I, I, I . . . ” My mind struggled to come up with a plausible excuse to why I would be visiting Martha, or why I would be so stupid as to walk out in my nightgown in the middle a snowstorm.

  “Were you sleepwalking?” he asked, as he took off his jacket and placed it on my shoulders.

  “Yes . . . I must have been.”

  “Why did you run from me?” he held onto my arm and guided me back to my home.

  “I was frightened Jack. I thought you were the Puca.”

  “The what?” he raised an eyebrow at my strange language.

  “Oh . . . the beast. I thought it was the beast that was behind me.”

  “Be sure that you do not wander at night anymore. There have been more animals found dead in the woods. It is not safe. I have been on guard for the past hour and more men are in the woods, but that does not mean that they would not shoot you accidently. Everyone is on edge since the witch was found out. We are sure she is going to call on her demons for revenge.”

  We reached the gate and I passed him as I moved to the front door.

  “Thank you for escorting me home,” I said.

  I handed him back his coat and shut the door behind me.

  ********************

  My feet and legs felt numb from the cold, and I struggled to climb the stairs and make my way back into my room without waking the household.

  I knew that I would have to stay up and wait for my mother to wake. I could not let her find out about Martha from anyone else. I just hoped that Martha made her way to Becky in spirit as well.