The witch had found his most wretched memories—the time he found his mother hanging from a tree—then distorted it, driving him mad. Father Donovan was calling to him, asking what happened. The man sounded hysterical.
Looking down, Eshram saw both pieces of the witch’s bone. His right eye pained him and he knew what he had done. He saw the slivers of bone. He’d managed to carve off five pieces before the witch seized him. Good, he thought. Five would have to be enough.
With the speed of a jackrabbit, he tossed the two halves of femur back into the bag, then pulled the drawstring closed as blood continued to leak from his destroyed eye. Using his arms, he bulldozed the dirt back into the hole, filling it completely. He had thought about salting the bones, but feared doing so might further enrage her, possibly free her from her prison. He couldn’t take that chance, instead choosing to bind her where she lay. Something as powerful and as evil as her needed to be contained, rather than take the chance of freeing her. If her condemners had done one thing properly, it was bringing her to the island. The water would act as a natural barrier, the witch’s spirit unable to cross unless she was at full power and possessing a human body.
Eshram scooped up the slivers of bone and tossed them into the small tin box he had laid out, then returned the container to his satchel.
He turned, surprised to see the priest still standing there, though no longer reading from the Bible, but reciting a prayer from memory as his eyes were closed. He approached the man, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Father.”
The priest jumped, nearly falling over. He let out a gasp. “Your eye…”
“It is time to leave this place.” The priest nodded and followed Eshram through the forest.
Eshram tore the sleeve from his inner shirt and wrapped it around his head, covering the eye socket. He was beyond tired, drained of all but the desire to finish the quest. He had done a good thing by constructing the devil’s blockade and trapping the witch. For now, the situation was settled. Hopefully over time, it would end.
When they reached the boat, Father Donovan helped Eshram push the craft into the water, then both men crawled in. Too exhausted to move, Eshram lay on his back while the priest rowed.
“What happened back there?” Father Donovan asked.
“Pure evil. The witch’s spirit is the most powerful, corrupted thing I have gone up against.”
“So she was a witch,” Father Donovan said, more to himself than to Eshram. “Father O’Brady had been a good man, but under the witch’s spell.”
Eshram didn’t necessarily agree with the holy man’s assessment. The pain and anguish he felt when the witch had entered him wasn’t derived from evil, for he knew evil, but from something even more powerful—love. The pain was fresh, overwhelming. That kind of heartache fractured souls, broke spirits. He supposed Donovan could be correct and Father O’Brady had been spelled, but more likely Margaret had been a good woman, and Father O’Brady saw this, but the misunderstandings of ignorant people caused innocent people to die. The truth may never be revealed in full, but it was Eshram’s opinion that Margaret Rivers had been a good, kind-hearted individual with a love so strong that it tore her soul into pieces.
When the boat reached land, Eshram told the priest to take him to Horg Grodan, the town’s blacksmith.
“But your eye, your wounds—”
“They’ll be time to tend to them later.” At least the physical ones, he thought.
The witch had taken something from him, damaged him, and he had no idea to what extent. His body felt as if it had been trampled by horses, but it was his mind that felt like it might never fully recover.
When they reached the blacksmith’s shop, Eshram handed an unnerved Horg the designs to a ring, one he’d had made before for similar circumstances.
“I need five,” Eshram said.
The large man went to work.
Eshram sat in a rickety wooden chair within the heat-filled shop.
“You need a doctor,” Father Donovan said.
“I shall see one when the task at hand is completed,” he lied. He would tend to his eye later, on his own, but it was his soul that he wanted healed more than anything. Enough time had passed. He should have recovered spiritually by now, but his mind was still reeling with the horrible images the witch had shown him. Every blink of his eye brought with it a flash of blood, of suffering.
The only other time in his life when he felt such hollowness and despair was when he found his dead mother’s corpse hanging from the tree. That pain had lasted a long time, and had never fully left him. But he’d known why. A child losing a parent was as painful a thing as one could suffer. Depression and hopelessness was natural. What he was feeling now wasn’t natural. The witch had clearly done something, left a piece of herself inside him, a mark on his soul. He might never recover, and he could never go back to that island, just like he could never go back to the place where his mother was hanged.
Truth be told, he didn’t care about the townspeople anymore. In fact, he didn’t find himself caring about much of anything. And then, he knew. The witch had ripped the love of living from him, that part of his soul gone forever. A veil of gloom filled that void, and if it hadn’t been for his training, the ingraining of what he must do, he’d surely be dead, or at least have moved on, leaving the villagers on their own. He couldn’t help but feel they all deserved to suffer. They’d falsely killed a woman and her husband. Where was the justice? Why was he choosing to save the town?
Eshram closed his eyes and listened to the crackling of flame and the hammering of iron. He concentrated on his training, on his purpose, on his oath and his ancestors. It was his sworn duty to protect people against all forms of evil, and regardless of the type of good person Margaret Rivers had been, she was not that anymore.
As the rings neared completion, Eshram opened the tin box containing the slivers of bone and ground them into dust using a six-inch steel rod. He mixed in brick dust and minced herbs. When the rings were complete, the tops hollowed squares about a quarter of an inch thick, he poured some of the concoction into each ring, then had the blacksmith seal a lid over each one and carve a line down the middle with a U shape about midway through it. The design resembled a pitchfork, and was the symbol of his clan. Eshram then placed a powerful ward of protection over the rings, making the wearer unable to be harmed by the witch.
Eshram was finished. His body was numb, his eye socket barely hurting him. This would be his last job. He was young, far from finished on the outside, but his will was dying.
“Give these to the five individuals who were present during the witch’s burning,” Eshram said to Father Donovan and handed the man the rings.
“What are they for?”
“Protection.”
“But I thought you vanquished the witch’s spirit?”
Eshram shook his head. “No. I could not. She was too powerful. But I have done the next best thing and trapped her there. Hopefully, over time, being alone, and one with the elements, she will move on from this world.” Eshram put a hand on the priest and looked him square in the eyes.
“But for this to happen,” he continued, “the island must remain untouched by human hands. The witch needs to see that she will not have her revenge, and that remaining here will only keep her from moving on. Her anger must be allowed to subside.”
Eshram removed his hand from the priest. He saw that the blacksmith was watching, listening. “It is good for you to hear this, my friend. The island is a cursed place. Right now, the witch is powerful, and she wants you all dead, but even more than that, she wants those directly responsible for her death. I’ve created these rings for those five to wear whenever they go to the lake. I do not know how much influence she has over the island, but it is strong. She cannot leave there, not on her own, so it is imperative that no one go there. Keep the rings in the families of those original five, for the witch will gladly take vengeance on the ancestors of her killers.
�
�What about the other people of the town?” the blacksmith asked, clearly frightened.
“The good Father Donovan will pray for them. As long as they stay away from the island, they will be fine. Best bet is for them to leave the area. Now, I must go.”
Eshram turned and walked out of the shop.
“Where are you going?” the priest asked.
“Home.”
By the time Eshram returned to Scotland, his bones ached tremendously. Walking was a chore, his body hunched like an old man’s. His once rich, dark flowing hair was brittle and white. Fellow villagers and family members barely recognized him, save for the necklaces, rings and items he wore and carried.
Eshram was stripped of his wares, his flesh said to have been tainted by evil. Though his people loved him, appreciated what he had done, he could not remain amongst them, and was given the choice to burn or leave forever.
Eshram left.
A short distance from the village, he was met by a fellow spiritualist. The man held a dagger.
“I’m sorry,” the man said, “but you know this is our way.”
Eshram nodded. “Thank you.” He knew leaving was not an option, but neither was accepting death so easily, not if he wanted his soul to be reborn and returned to his tribe so that he might again walk the earth and battle evil.
The man laid a hand on Eshram’s right shoulder. “I do this,” he said, “with a heavy heart.”
Eshram closed his eyes and felt the sting of the blade as it pierced his sternum and punctured his heart.
Chapter Eleven
Jim stopped off at the cemetery on his way to the lake. He should’ve paid his brother’s grave a visit right after school, but he wanted to get home. He drove slowly along the gravel road, the crunch and pop of the small stones seeming thunderous in the still, early evening. He crested a small hill and saw Marty, one of the groundskeepers, pulling weeds from along the fence. The man looked up, waved, then went back to his business.
Jim didn’t see any other cars or people. The graveyard was such a peaceful place, and he wondered why more individuals didn’t visit just to have a place to be alone and relax, listen to the nothingness of it all. Sure, there were hundreds of corpses under the ground, but if one ignored that fact, which was a big one, the topside was beautiful. Maybe it was because his brother was buried here, but he liked to bring a bottle of soda or water and sit under one of the huge trees and read in the shade. There was very little in the way of distraction, especially at the back of the property, unless lawn work was being done. He supposed his thinking might seem odd to others, but so what?
He drove as close as he could get to his brother’s marker, then killed the engine and got out. Sadness always hit him when he walked up the lawn.
When he reached his brother’s resting place, he stood, taking a moment.
“Greg, it’s me,” he said, feeling a little silly. Of course his brother knew it was him. He sighed and felt his heart grow heavy.
“I’m going to the lake tonight. I’m sure you know that already too, but it feels good to talk about it.” He looked at the ring on his finger. “I’ve got this. It’s supposed to protect me and stuff, but I don’t know… Truth is, I’m scared.” He laughed.
“I wish you had been wearing it on that night. Maybe none of this would have happened.” He was rambling now. “I miss you, man. And I’m going to that island to prove a point. You know how much I looked up to you, but I can’t keep blaming the island for what happened to you. You were drunk and made a mistake.”
Jim paused, feeling his throat tighten. He cleared it and took a breath.
“If you don’t think it’s a good idea, please, send me a sign or something.” He couldn’t believe he had said that. He must be really afraid to visit the island. He’d asked for signs over the years, for various things, and had never received one, or if he had, he’d never realized it.
If the dead could hear the living, it seemed to be a one-way thing. There were times though when he thought his brother was with him, especially when he visited his grave. The area around it seemed abuzz with energy. Then other times, like today, he felt nothing, like he was just talking to the stone in front of him. He supposed, like the living, the dead weren’t always home or listening. Maybe Greg was out swimming in a lake in heaven with his friends. Jim liked to think that was the case.
He sat and talked some more, remembering the good times he and Greg had, the family outings, going to the movies, the amusement parks and other fun stuff. By the time he was ready to leave, the sun getting lower, he had tears down his face.
Standing, he wiped at his face. He kissed his fingers, then touched the grave marker. “Take care, man. I’ll be back again soon. Love you.” He walked back to the car and sat for a few minutes, then turned on the radio and found a song to get him in a better mood. He didn’t want to show up looking all sad, and he knew Greg would want him to have a good time.
Jim parked his car alongside Lake Road and waited. The others showed up almost within seconds of each other, except for Steve. They parked their cars behind Jim’s, making sure to pull off the road as far as possible. Lake Road was a narrow, winding patch of pavement that ran along one side of Beaverdam Lake.
Everyone grabbed their supplies and headed down the small trail that led to where residents kept their rowboats and canoes, the various crafts simply turned upside down and chained to a tree. The locks were opened, and the canoes were flipped over.
Jim’s parents had owned two canoes, but after Greg’s accident, the canoes were put up for sale. Neither his mother nor father wanted anything to do with the lake. When Jim found out, he had Shay make them an offer—he and his friends wanting to keep the canoes for themselves. Jim gave Shay the money for one. Shay kept the other for herself.
This is it, Jim thought, staring at the canoes. He was about to face one of his biggest fears. He touched the ring on his finger, feeling no comfort from it. Usually, when he went out on the lake, he stayed away from the island, his ring giving him a sense of security, but not today.
Jim reminded himself that he needed to do this, show himself that his brother’s drowning was a foolish endeavor, an accident, and not the supernatural doings of a spirit bent on vengeance.
Still, with all the logic going on in his head, he was afraid. It wasn’t only going to the island, but spending time there, a full night, in fact. He would have his love, Gwen, there with him, along with his best friends. Hopefully, after being on the island for a while, watching his friends laugh and joke and get wasted, he’d realize he could relax and have a good time.
“You okay, sweetie?” Gwen asked, rubbing his arm.
Jim nodded. “Yeah, fine.” He smiled. “Why?”
“You were staring into space.”
“Oh, just thinking, you know. I’ll be fine.” He kissed her on the forehead.
Paul and Darren went back up for the beer-filled cooler, now that the boats were ready to go, and loaded it into one of the canoes.
“Where’s Steve?” Julie asked.
“I don’t know,” Jim said, “but I spoke to him. He’s coming.”
“Damn right I’m coming,” Steve’s voice said from the trail. A moment later, he stepped onto the beach area. “Wouldn’t miss this for the world.”
Jim smiled, glad and relieved his friend had showed up.
Steve took everyone in, seeing that all his friends were there, then focused last on Julie, who was looking at him and grinning.
Damn, she looks beautiful, he thought.
His heart fluttered. His mind dove into the past to when they had first met. As much as he loved Kelly, or thought he did, he felt an immediate attraction toward Julie. Her beautiful green eyes, silky red hair and freckles around her noise, not to mention her smoking body in a bikini. Maybe his meeting her at Shay’s party last year was fate giving him a preview, or a way to wake him up and let him know Kelly wasn’t right for him. He didn’t listen at the time. He was faithful, somewhat under
Kelly’s abusive spell. But that was the past, now he was ready for a real relationship with a real woman. There were other fish in the sea—that was how the saying went, and for good reason. He didn’t like to think of it like that, but on some level, the saying was true—unless there was an undying love involved. That was something you could not replace or simply find more of, unless a person found another member of the soul pool they were part of.
There were billions of people on the planet. Steve believed that particular individuals were meant to be with each other, whether it be true love or as friends. It explained the “we just gelled” scenario, or that feeling of knowing someone after just meeting them. With true love, Steve believed that there was no one soul mate, but a pool of people whose souls could mate. The bottom line—Steve didn’t want a fish, he wanted a soul mate.
Normally shy, Steve decided to be bold. This afternoon’s experience, along with his recent breakup from Kelly, then add in the way his mother was, and he was finished with being the quiet, reserved guy. Nothing in life was guaranteed, and he didn’t need to keep himself reined in. There were far more things to be nervous about than talking to a girl he was attracted to.
“I didn’t know you’d be here,” he said.
“Well, I am,” Julie said, fidgeting. She looked at her feet, then glanced up at him. “And…I knew you’d be here.”
“Aw,” Paul said. “Young love.”
Steve felt his face redden, which normally would have bothered and embarrassed him, but this time he didn’t allow it to.
“Shut the fuck up, Paul,” Gwen said harshly. She thought she could handle hanging around with him, but now that he was in her presence, she wanted to punch him in the face.
“Damn,” Paul said, shrugging. “I was just playing.”
Gwen realized she’d overreacted and didn’t know what to say. She turned to Jim and quickly changed the subject. “We’re all here. What do you say we get going and start this shindig?”
Witch Island Page 9