Legends of Havenwood Falls Volume One

by Tish Thawer

  “Your power was dormant. All I did was awaken the power within you.”

  “No. I don’t believe you. I felt something come alive from your power. Why would I never know about such a huge anomaly in my family? Why would no one ever tell me? My parents never said anything!” Cessily paced, her hands worrying themselves into a frenzy.

  “Your grandparents asked my mother, the coven leader at the time, to inactivate their powers when they first arrived here from Europe and to never speak of it again. It took very strong magic. It is all written in this journal I brought for you. My mother had it hidden, but I recently found it amongst her things.” From beneath her cloak, Sarah brought out a worn leather book, tied and bound with a long strip of red suede. She held it out for Cessily to take.

  Cessily froze, all but her eyes as they took in the little book.

  “Could it really belong to my family? Could it hold all the secrets you speak of?” she whispered, but doubt laced her tone. Moving slowly closer, she squinted and peered at the ancient tome. Cessily gasped. Her eyes widened in surprise. “I recognize this symbol on the spine.”

  Sarah turned it to see the spine, then handed it to Cessily, who examined it more thoroughly. “This cluster of stars on the spine is also on my shoulder and on each of the children except Rodney.”

  “Then it truly belongs to you,” Sarah acknowledged.

  “You knew all along then? Back when you offered me a gift of protection?” Cessily frowned, attempting to absorb all the information just thrown at her.

  Sarah slowly nodded. “I did. What my nephew . . . what that man did to you, using black magic, was unforgivable. The anger you could have allowed into your soul would have awoken your hunter in an unpleasant way. You would have been overrun with the hunger and desire to hunt and kill all witches. I chose to awaken you in a way to be distinguished as a gift, instead of a reaction to hatred. It allowed you to control and learn your hunting powers more easily. That was my restitution to you, not the actual power.”

  Cessily gave a small smile. “I still am grateful for the sacrifice and offering you made to me and my family. I might not be here otherwise.” She sighed and noted the bright morning sun streaking down through the tree branches, a glimmer of hope in a confusing time. “Do you know much else about my ancestors?”

  “It is all in the book. Read it. I will be here if you still want to talk when you are finished.”

  Cessily nodded. She slanted her head slightly down and to the right, listening, pausing. Her eyebrows pinched, and she bit her lip in concern. “Thank you. I should go. I sense little ones of mine who should not be here.”

  “Blessed be, Cessily Blackstone.”

  “Blessed be, Sarah Stronghold.” Cessily tucked the book protectively to her chest and headed back toward home.

  As she passed the patch of full green shrubbery, she didn’t stop and she didn’t acknowledge the children except to say, “Best hurry along so your daddy doesn’t catch you away from your chores for too long.”

  Cessily kept walking, enjoying everything around her. The flowers woke to greet the day, the sun warmed the path beneath her toes, and the birds and chipmunks greeted each other with friendly chatter. The bush behind her jostled, and the sounds of running feet thudded away from her. She knew her youngest children, Dante and Marie, would have plenty of questions for her when they next saw her. In fact, Cessily had questions of her own. Skirting by the small trickling creek near their home, she found a nice flat boulder in the sun to sit. So she did, and she opened her family’s recorded history—the only one she was aware of—and read.

  Within the week, Cessily weakened in both body and mind. Her illness consumed her from the inside out. She had little time left. Her husband Henry Jackson Blackstone—known to his friends as Hank—was one of the most understanding and patient humans she had ever known. He came along her side and lovingly wrapped an arm around her waist, assisting her with his strength. His bright green eyes gazed down upon her face with love and sadness. Her face showed she was slipping away.

  “Cess, you need to tell everything to the little ones—share the new information you have learned with them all. Soon,” her husband encouraged. He walked with her through the fields behind their cottage with rows and rows of vegetables. Barefoot once more, and as she usually was, Cessily nodded her head in quiet response.

  Her family had been excellent farmers before she had grown and married, but Hank had added his expertise of growing grapes to turn into wine. When Cessily married Hank, he understood all she was, including her “extra” abilities. When Sarah, the coven leader, had blessed her with her gifts—or awakened her hunting side, as she now understood—she had made Cessily promise to always keep the Blackstone name prominent in her family. Until now, Cessily hadn’t understood those instructions were straight out of her ancestors’ book; though she still wasn’t sure why, she had kept up the tradition. Hank was so head over heels in love with his new bride, he didn’t care what his name was.

  “I will tell them tonight. I fear I will not be here much longer, Hank. I’m afraid to leave you and the children behind.” Resting her head in the crook of his shoulder, she allowed the tears she had held at bay most of the week to flow.

  Everything was happening too fast. She had just found out all about her heritage, and it gave such new meaning to who she was. Was it better to allow her children to believe their abilities were the result of a gift or something that has always been and always would be a part of their lives? It now made sense why her “gift” also functioned at times as a curse, an obstacle she needed to overcome or learn to control. The power, the abilities, the drive—they were all simply a part of her, her nature. If she was honest with herself, she wasn’t sure if she would take that nature away from her children, even if she could. Would life be that much easier and better for them if they didn’t have to handle being witch hunters? Probably, but it was their family’s responsibility, their destiny. Would she change it? No. Would she make it easier if she could? Yes. It was the most challenging part of her nature. But she needed to prepare her children for what was to come.

  Chapter 2

  “Mama, you don’t look so well,” a young Marie Blackstone, at the ripe age of ten, commented as she stormed into her mother’s room of their comfortable home, a moderate-sized log cabin in Virginia passed down from Cessily’s parents. She had no other siblings to share it with —though she did have cousins nearby—so she and her family were blessed to live in it after her parents passed from this life.

  “I have some things I need to share with you all. Go and get your brothers and sister, Marie. Hurry along, now.” Cessily coughed as she pulled herself to a partial sitting position in order to see her children’s faces. Marie paused at the door, watching her mother, concern written all over her. Little Marie’s face paled next to her thin blond hair running down her back and tied with a ribbon. Marie ran.

  Mere moments later, Marie came running back in after rounding up her siblings.

  “Mama, here they come!” she shouted and bounced over to sit on the side of the bed where her daddy usually slept.

  “Good girl, Marie.”

  “Should I get Daddy, too?” the little girl added.

  “Not just yet. This is business I have special with just you kids.” Cessily stroked her hand weakly down Marie’s face, and her daughter nuzzled in closer at the contact.

  “Come in, Dante.” Cessily beckoned him from the doorway, where he stood stiffly. His face paled, and his eyes were glued to his mother as they filled with naked fear. She patted the bed once more, but he only came to the foot of the bed and perched on the edge of it.

  “LeAnna, Rodney, and Isaiah, fill in here as best you can and find somewhere to be comfortable for a few minutes. I have something to share with you all.”

  “What is it, Mama? Are you going to tell Dante and Marie about our gift?” LeAnna, the eldest child, asked with the air of one who felt she already knew what she needed to.


  Dante’s head swiveled toward his sister with a frown on his face. “What are you talking about, LeAnna?”

  “We have a gift?” Marie perked up, her eyes wide with excited innocence. She then turned her inquisitive expression on her mother.

  Cessily smiled fondly at her youngest. “Yes, Marie, we do. And I’m going to tell you all about it.”

  LeAnna moved toward the door, ushering the older brothers with her.

  “No, stay, you three,” Cessily said. “This will be new information to you as well. It seems I have been misled about the source of our power.”

  “Power?” Dante’s eyebrow rose, his interest piqued. LeAnna, Rodney, and Isaiah paused inside the doorway to the bedroom, then trickled back in to find a place to sit or to lean against the back wall of logs.

  “Yes, Dante, power. Our family has a special gift I want to tell you about. You are now old enough to know the truth, though I suspect you’ve been noticing strange occurrences already.”

  Dante nodded slowly, looking to each of his siblings. “I feel tingles sometimes at the base of my neck when most of you walk in from somewhere else. Though I don’t feel it as much with Isaiah and not at all from Rodney. Why is that?”

  Cessily nodded and took note of Rodney’s face as his expression fell downcast. “None of that now, Rodney. You are not less than your brothers or sisters. You are a beautiful part of this family, just as your father is.” A small smile lit Rodney’s face as he accepted his mother’s approval.

  “I’ll tell you a story. While you don’t need all the details, it is the heart of the story I ask you to hear.”

  Marie folded her hands across her lap, her gaze filled with anticipation and intent upon her mother. The others leaned in, also expectant of what their mother was about to tell them.

  “It began long ago in a country different from this one, taking place across the vast ocean in Europe. There was a family who had immense power—a strong and dangerous power. With power like that comes great responsibility to learn from it, to respect it, and to control it to use for good and protection. Unfortunately, as it has been chronicled throughout history, some of those with such power abused it, causing tremendous tragedy and pain. This story is not much different. But keep in mind that it can be.” Cessily tapped Marie on the nose, then adjusted her position on the bed.

  “What happened?” Dante asked, interest in his tone.

  “Well, this particular family were called witch hunters,” Cessily continued.

  “Oh, this is rubbish, isn’t it? It’s just a tale for children,” Dante huffed, disappointed with where the story was headed and crossing his arms in disapproval.

  “No, dear one, this is not any tale I would tell my children unless absolutely necessary.” Her eyes bored into her youngest son’s, willing him to give her a chance.

  “Let her finish, Dante,” Marie scolded. “I want to hear the rest of the story!”

  “Sorry, Mama, continue,” Dante conceded.

  “Thank you, son. Now where was I . . .”

  “Witch hunters,” Isaiah spoke up.

  “Right. I don’t believe they used this term back then, but perhaps they did. However, it was what they did—hunted witches, that is. It was a time in Europe when cries of witchcraft were becoming more prevalent, but not in any good ways, I’m afraid. The family took it upon themselves to seek out and sift through accusations of witches, deciding which were legitimate. You see, they could tell because of a particular sensation they could feel—a tingling that would travel up and down their arms.”

  Marie and Dante both held out their arms and looked down at their forearms simultaneously, stirring a chuckle and a snort from Rodney and Isaiah. Marie didn’t care, but Dante shot them both a glare.

  “Many of the witch hunters kept to themselves, not wanting to draw more attention to their oddities, but a select group of them took up the burden, feeling it was their duty and responsibility to shed light on any witches in the area. They figured they were given this ability, so they should use it for something.”

  “Makes sense,” Dante said under his breath.

  His mother gave him a reproachful look. “Except that they did not take into account the people they were accusing. People with families and children, people who didn’t do anything harmful or against any laws of nature or men with their own gifts. Understand, there were witches who did terrible things with their magic and did go against nature—this was black magic, as we call it today.”

  “How could they tell the difference?” Marie asked wisely.

  Cessily nodded, proud of her daughter. “When you feel black magic, you know it deep inside.” Cessily placed a hand at her stomach and one at her chest. “It’s an overwhelming sensation. You feel ill and want to vomit. It can be so strong, you lose awareness of your surroundings and can even black out. The trick is to learn to remain alert and remove yourself from the situation.”

  “Mama, what happened back in Europe?” LeAnna steered the conversation back to the story. Cessily smiled, grateful for the redirect.

  “Most of the family went into hiding. However, those who didn’t agree went into a madness of sorts as they continued to hunt down all witches—not only black magic users, but even those who used their magic for good. This incited some of the European witch hunts that led to hangings and burnings of many innocent people—both human and witches alike. You see, the hunters were so charismatic in their dealings, even humans joined in the hunts, and they had no discernment as to who were true witches and who were not. It was a terrible time in our history.” Cessily paused for a moment, lost in thought.

  “How does this relate to us, Mama?” Rodney asked, though his expression revealed he might already know the answer.

  “Well, I’m glad you asked. Many of those original witch hunters—the ones who wanted nothing to do with the hunts, but to live in peace and leave all that behind them—migrated here to this new country when ships began transporting people to and from the New World. I’m still absorbing all this information, as it is new to me as well.” Cessily smiled, her eyes softening as she took in each of her beautiful children. She pulled her long hair around her shoulders to the front. “I have come to understand, through this journal recently given to me, some of those who migrated here from the old lands are ancestors of ours—a direct line to me, actually. You each have the hunting gene, some more than others. I have discovered it has not affected you all the same.”

  LeAnna frowned, genuinely engaged in the story for the first time. “Mama, you said our powers came as a gift from a nearby witch coven. I don’t understand. Are you saying it wasn’t a gift?”

  “Yes. I mean it is a gift, but one we were born with and not given.”

  “I don’t understand. What happened? How did you not know?” Isaiah, mature for his age at fifteen, asked.

  “Sarah, the coven leader, told me the story, and it is reiterated here in this journal. Apparently, some of those early settlers went to the coven and asked for a spell to suppress their powers, so they might live in peace with their neighbors. You see, during those first years, quite a few covens emerged in close proximity as they fled farther away from Salem, and it would have driven our ancestors crazy with the constant overwhelming sensations.”

  “No one ever told you about it?” LeAnna asked.

  “They put their heritage behind them in favor of living as the humans did and made a pact to not speak of it . . . except for the one member who kept this journal—I’m guessing behind the others’ backs. It is not understood how the journal came to be in the possession of the witches, except for the way the author speaks of them; it sounds as if they were trusted friends.”

  “With the witches?” Dante grumbled.

  “I, too, have trusted friends amongst the neighboring covens, especially Sarah’s coven. My son, do not take the witches for granted and do not project the assumptions of our ancestors upon them. Every being, every creature, everyone has a place in this great wide wo
rld, and it’s only getting wider as people continue moving out west. Soon the covens will be thinner and more spread apart, just as the hunters will be. There is balance to life. Don’t ever forget that.” Cessily addressed Dante specifically, but all her children as well.

  Suddenly, Cessily clutched her chest as her breathing hitched, and she coughed into her other arm. The sound was alarming, as if her lungs were about to rise up out of her chest. The children took turns glancing around at the others, concern etched on their faces. LeAnna moved to kneel right at the side of Cessily’s bed.

  “Are you all right? What do you need?” She reached for the wet rag placed inside the blue and white porcelain bowl on the nightstand. Dipping it in the cool water, she then wrung it out and dabbed at her mother’s forehead, now beaded with sweat.

  “Children,” Cessily rasped, her voice scratchy from the cough. “I am ill. I have been for quite some time, but it is now coming to the end. My time on this earth is almost over.”

  “No!” they shouted simultaneously. Marie scooted up closer to her mother’s side and tucked herself into her as close as she dared, tears streaming down her face.

  “It is my time. This is no way for me to live. But I want you to know all about your heritage—know, understand, and learn to control your power. You are not bound by the assumptions of what and who a witch hunter is. Redefine the term and explore new purposes for your gifts. You may come across others who won’t understand you. Always be kind and generous. Go to the witches if you need help learning, as I did. Sarah will instruct you as she did me. After all, it was her mother and grandmother who helped our ancestors in the past.”

  “Can’t they help you? Heal you?” Isaiah pleaded, tears in his eyes. Marie sniffled on the bed next to her mother.

  “No, I’m afraid not. They do not interfere with the laws of nature when it is someone’s time to go,” Cessily said sadly.