Spellbound: The Awakening of Aislin Collins

by Margeaux Laurent

  I felt her take my hand in hers as she threw a handful of herbs and salt at the ring where Lamont was still captive, “We will finish this in a way that honors our path,” she said solemnly.

  “I want him dead,” I said through gritted teeth, but Becky would not hear it.

  “We will leave him in a far worse state than death,” she said quietly.

  Lamont screeched and writhed on the horse as the skin on his face began to bubble and melt, the smell of burning flesh was pungent. He was caught in the midst of his transformation.

  Wings sprouted from his back, enormous claws sprung from his nail beds and his body began to fuse with his horse. His horrific image glowed in the fire and his high-pitched cries drowned out Mrs. Leeds. Finally, the horse disappeared all together and the beast that was once Lamont took to the air with bat like wings.

  Becky grabbed me and pulled me to the ground as it swooped over our heads and landed on the Leeds' rooftop. We could hear its hooves clanking on the wooden boards as is climbed the side of the Leeds' front wall.

  I took the pistol that Lamont had dropped earlier and raised it with one hand, firing at the deformed creature that clung to the side of the house. My hands were shaking so badly that I missed my target, but the sound alone made the beast fly off into the forest.

  “Where is Isaac?” I asked in panic.

  “He is with your mother. She had followed us out here . . . she brought us the salts and herbs and took Isaac to safety,” Becky said as she held me, “You are covered in blood!”

  “We do not have time” I said, as I scurried around, “Help me find the necklace.”

  “Necklace?” she asked in confusion.

  “Aye, the one that Greer gave to me,” I was on my hands and knees sifting through the snow. “We need to hide it and bury it somewhere in these woods. Lamont is bound to it by his own hex. I believe that if we bury it here, then Lamont will never be able to stray far from it . . . I only fear that he will still be able to regain his original shape.”

  “No, he won't be able to do that,” Becky said with confidence, “I stripped his powers from him . . . he is stuck in that form for the rest of his life . . . however long that may be.”

  “Then we must be certain that he cannot leave this area. We must find that necklace,” I insisted.

  Becky joined me and we scurried around on the frozen earth until she finally held it up for me to see. Looking at it reminded me that Greer had not rejoined us.

  “Have you seen Greer?” I asked hastily.

  Becky's eyes glowed in the remaining embers of the fire, “No. I have not seen him at all.” She looked back at the woods where Greer had been battling with the soldiers.

  I now noticed that there was stillness about us.

  “I will bury it,” she said as she placed it in her pocket, “You go find Greer.”

  ********************

  I bolted towards the woods leaving Becky behind me. Mrs. Leeds had finally stopped screaming, and I wondered if the Leeds family had noticed us. They must have seen the enormous ring of fire or heard Lamont, but I did not have time to concern myself with that right now.

  The forest was still—too still. The only thing I could hear was my own feet as they stomped through the snow. I struggled to breathe as my tattered ribs shortened each inhalation.

  I reached the clearing where I had last seen Greer as the final shrouds of light sifted through the surrounding forest. There were bodies everywhere. The ground was dark red, almost black, beneath the soldiers' remains.

  “Greer!” I yelled into the night.

  Over and over, I cried out for him, as I tripped over lifeless bodies and broken limbs. I heard no reply.

  I watched as the soldiers horses clustered together on the far side of the clearing. They were frightened, their eyes wild. I ran passed them and into the woods behind them.

  Greer!” I shrieked.

  I looked up into the trees with the hope that he had climbed into one for refuge. I crawled through the brush without finding him. Finally, in outright panic I ran back to the fallen soldiers and turned their bodies over one by one. Sobs were escaping me as I now searched in the darkness.

  “Aislin,” Becky's voice beckoned from behind me, “More soldiers will be here soon. We cannot stay any longer.”

  “I cannot go,” I wept, as I moved from man to man turning each ones face to the moonlight.

  “Greer would not want you to stay here. He would not want you to be caught.” She reached for my hand and pulled me away from the corpses. “I will take care of your tracks in the snow,” she said.

  Within moments of her words, a strong breeze blew passed us, and more snow began to fall.

  “Is Isaac all right?” I asked.

  “Yes. I got to him in time. He was frightened, but unharmed.”

  We walked on through the night and reached my home an hour later, the snow covered our tracks efficiently, but it also slowed down our journey.

  We were so exhausted by the time we reached my house that Becky stayed the night with Isaac in the guest chamber. My mother tended to all our wounds and fed those of us who would eat.

  I was not among that group. I had no appetite. The only thing I desired was to know that Greer was safe.

  CHAPTER THRITY-SEVEN

  February 15th 1735

  I remembered hearing a tale as a child of a young woman who was in love with a sailor. Before he left for his duty at sea, he kissed his beloved and vowed that he would return and marry her. She waited. Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, and months into years. Each night she would walk down to the shore and stare out into the darkness, hoping that she would see some sign of him. He never came back. Until the day she died, she stood down at the water, waiting for her lover to return. Finally, after she accepted the fact that he was not coming back, she ran into the sea to her death.

  That story haunted me now. It had been over a month and I had received no sign from Greer. I spent most of the day in bed and most of the night by my window. My injuries from my final encounter with Lamont were not as severe as I would have believed from the hexes he had used against me.

  My dress had been soaked in blood, but the only lacerations I had received were from the braches whipping against my face and an occasional scrape along my knees and legs. My ribcage was now wrapped in cloth for support, and the cut on my right hand from Zachariah's cutlass was nothing more than a fading scar. I did not care. I used my injuries as an excuse to be alone.

  I lay in bed, knees into my chest and arms wrapped around them, tears streaming down my face.

  My mother and father came into my room with breakfast, and placed it on my bedside table.

  “Has anyone found Sneachta?” I asked without looking up.

  “No darling. No one has seen her,” my mother replied.

  My father placed a newspaper next to me, “I think that the beast might have gotten to Sneachta,” he said gently. “There is a whole article dedicated to it in this week's paper. Maybe you could read it when you feel up to it?”

  I ignored his request and waited for them to leave the room. I loved my parents, but the idea of communicating with another person seemed to cause me great internal pain. There was a cloud of heaviness that had settled upon my heart. No one had the means to remove it.

  Instinctually I reached over to pet Sneachta, as I had done since I was a small child, but she was not there. I reached up to touch the necklace that Greer had given me, but it was not there. I was left with nothing but a few letters to remember Greer by.

  I read them so often that I could now recite them from memory. I could hear his voice in my mind as I held his letters in my hands, but when I placed them back in their envelopes I found myself utterly and bitterly alone.

  Lamont had won. I was left alive, but lifeless. His story of my past hung in my mind and repeated over and over. In my heart, I knew he was right. I had been a dark sorceress.

  This truth frightened me. I kept r
ecalling the expression on Becky's face when she saw me torturing Lamont and her stopping me from performing dark magic. She never mentioned that moment, but I wondered if it worried her. I know it troubled me.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  February 17th 1735

  My father entered my room before he left for work in the early morning, “I thought you would like to see this,” he said, placing an envelope in my hand.

  My mother pulled back the curtains in my room and let light pour through the windows and onto my face. I squinted and winced as my eyes adjusted.

  “You cannot live by candlelight. You must get out of this prison you have made for yourself at some point,” my mother quipped.

  My father seemed anxious and fiddled with his pockets as he spoke at the foot of my bed, “Your Greer . . . it turns out that he was not such a bad person after all. I, ahh . . . well let's just say he was not a fraud,” he walked from the room, shutting the door behind him.

  I examined the letter that was in my hands. The envelope was opened, but the deep red wax seal still clung to the paper. There was a crest upon the seal. It was smeared so I could not read the font that adorned it, but I could make out a rams head in the center of the pressed circle. I traced my fingers across it and then pulled the letter from the envelope.

  The handwriting was beautiful and official. It was an itemized list of Greer's holdings, both his estates in Scotland and Aragon, Spain. His family's artwork, gold, gems, and currency were all listed for my father to see.

  I held the letter in between my shaking fingers. I knew that this paper had never touched Greer's hands, but I still felt as though it was a little connection to him. I treasured it. I read it numerous times until I memorized every curve of the script and every smudge from the quill.

  Finally, I placed it with Greer's other letters in the back of my book. These items were all I had left of him.

  ********************

  Daylight was sneaking through my closed curtains. I rolled over to turn away from the light, but I heard the door to my room open and the sound of little footsteps bounding from one side of my bed to the other.

  A little body jumped on the bed and lifted my arm up, then snuggled underneath and rested its head on my pillow. Becky had been spending a lot of her spare time with me now. Often she would just sit next to me and brush my hair, telling me about the events that were going on in town. We both felt as though we were sisters. We had many good reasons to feel that way.

  “Hello Auntie Aislin,” Isaac said, as he pushed my hair out of his way.

  “Hello Isaac,” I replied weakly.

  “Isaac, do not crowd her,” Becky scolded him.

  “It is okay. I like having Isaac around,” I took a deep breath and tried to steady the pain that seemed to seep from my voice. “How are you Becky?”

  Becky seated herself in the chair by my bed, “I am very well,” she smiled, “I have news to share with you.”

  Isaac pulled my book out from underneath my pillow and started flipping through the pages. Beautiful pictures were magically drawn before him, and as he turned from page to page, a story unfolded.

  “Well?” I asked, examining her expression. I had not seen her filled with such joy in a very long time.

  She looked at me and smiled brightly, “It is such wonderful news, that I cannot fully believe it myself. Mr. Sutphin sold me to your father this morning, before he and Abigail left for Virginia, and your father granted me my freedom. I am no longer in servitude Aislin!” she jumped up from the chair and bounced on the bed on top of Isaac and me, hugging us both.

  “Becky that's wonderful!” I smiled back. This was the first smile that my face had felt in so long that I could not remember.

  “It was Greer. I am sure of it,” she said brightly.

  “Oh . . .” I whimpered. Hearing his name shot daggers into my very soul.

  Becky hugged me, “Don't cry dear friend,” she said soothingly.

  “Can we play now?” Isaac asked, as he closed the book and slipped it back under my pillow.

  “I don't think your Aunt is up for playing today,” Becky interjected.

  “I'm all right. Really,” I insisted.

  In actuality, playing with Isaac was the only enjoyable activity I had anymore. He never asked me questions about past events. He never told me that I should let the soldiers court me like my father had started doing. Furthermore, Isaac never mentioned Greer.

  Isaac scooted to the base of my bed and pulled a little ball of yarn from his pocket. I sat against my pillows and waited. He then willed the ball into the air and we tossed it back and forth to each other without ever using our hands.

  ********************

  Isaac and Becky left as the sunlight was fading. My mother came in and lit my candles with one of her own so I was not sitting in the dark.

  “You needn't bother,” I said, as I flicked my fingers at the unlit candles and watched the wicks burst into flame.

  My mother shook her head in frustration, “You cannot just brandish your magic like that Aislin.”

  I scowled at her, “Or what will happen? Will my grandmother be tried as a witch? Will my nephew be kidnapped or my faerie be killed? Will my beloved . . .” I broke off into silence as I choked back my tears.

  My mother rolled her eyes and folded her arms, “You need to move on. This lamenting of yours has gone on long enough.” She sat herself on my bed and reached for my hand. “Somewhere in this world is another eligible man just for you…”

  I cut her off, as my anger made my voice tremble, “No. There is only one. There has always only been one.”

  My mother left the room without another word. Things had not been right between us in a long time, and I was beginning to wonder if we would ever be happy around each other again.

  I did not want to think about my dwindling relationship with my mother right now. I needed something to get my mind off all those who surrounded me. I picked up the paper that my father had placed on my bed days before and started reading it.

  JAMISON LAMONT: THE WITCH HUNTER OF BURLINGTON

  By Gerlad Collins

  After much deliberation, the Governor's office has concluded that the strange events that have plagued Burlington are the work of the very person who was chosen to rid the town of such evil.

  After the recent massacre in the forest by the Leeds' property, the mysterious Jamison Lamont disappeared. Interestingly, these events occurred directly adjacent to where he was lodging.

  Mr. Leeds was unable to comment about the strange happenings that have surrounded his home, except to say that the night of the massacre, his children and the mid-wives all claimed to have heard musket shots and a great commotion outside the home. He would not comment on the pentagram that was burned into the earth of his front yard. He explained that after the terrible murders that have happened around town, he instructed the occupants of his home to stay indoors and ignore the ruckus. Mr. Leeds insists that he and his family did not witness any of the crimes committed on his land.

  The Governor has constructed a search party to bring in Mr. Lamont.

  I flipped through the pages as I wondered if my father still found Greer to be guilty for all the crimes in Burlington. Then another article caught my attention.

  THE DEVIL OF NEW JERSEY

  By Gerald Collins

  Numerous residents of Burlington have reported recent sightings of a strange beast. The first reports came from a midwife who was leaving the Leeds' residence after helping to deliver the Leeds' thirteenth child on January 10th. Soldiers who were patrolling the Pine Barrens gave other accounts. All reports described the same defining features of a beast that stands six feet tall, has cloven hooves, clawed front paws, the wings of a bat, and the face of a horse.

  I put the paper down and thought of the necklace. Becky never told me where she buried it, for fear that I would miss Greer so terribly that I would go in search of it. In truth, she was wise to do so. I missed him so des
perately that I was not sure I could trust myself anymore.

  CHAPTER THRITY-NINE

  February 20th 1735

  Becky came in the morning and sat with me. She brushed my hair in hopes to lift my spirits, or perhaps because it was tattered due to my lack of general concern regarding my appearance. Her expression was solemn and uncharacteristic.

  “What is wrong Becky?” I asked, after a prolonged time of silence.

  She looked at me as though I had broken her from a trance, “Aislin, your parents are sending you away. They do not think you can heal from your heartbreak here,” she said.

  She pulled the top of my hair high onto the crown of my head and fastened it.

  My heart thudded hard. I could not leave. I had to wait for Greer.

  “I cannot go,” I stammered, “What if he comes back. What if he cannot find me?”

  “He is not coming back,” my mother said coldly, as she walked into the room.

  I felt my eyes burn for tears but none came—I had none left. “Please, please do not do this to me,” I begged.

  “It is done Aislin,” she said sternly, as she placed a dress on the bed, “You are a month away from your twentieth birthday. It is time to stop protesting like a child,” she slammed the door behind her.

  I had not noticed it before, but now that I looked around, I saw that my room was void of the majority of my possessions.

  “Things happen for a reason. You must believe that,” Becky whispered, as she continued to style my hair. She handed me a powder to apply to my face.

  “No! I will not. I am not leaving,” I yelled at her, pulling my hair from her hands.