Legends of Havenwood Falls Volume One

by Tish Thawer

  “What? Didn’t they wake up the hunter in you?” LeAnna asked, a frown creasing her brow.

  “They have the power to heal you but refuse to? Maybe they did this to you? Did you think of that?” Dante asked, his arms crossed as he stood adamantly.

  “No, they did no such thing. It is a long story, and I do not wish to spend my last moments with you sharing the how and why of my hunter side’s awakening. When you are older, LeAnna can share it with you, but I have also added it to the end of this journal, so we will not forget who we are ever again. Learn who you are, but discover who you can be. Be reminded of the past, but write your own futures, each one of you.” Cessily’s voice grew weak, and her eyelids fluttered.

  “Mama, don’t go . . .” LeAnna’s voice broke, and she laid her head on the quilts covering her mother’s lap. Cessily loosely placed her hand on LeAnna’s head and kissed the top of Marie’s against her shoulder. Looking at each of her boys one by one in the eyes, she willed them to feel her heart.

  “Be good. Help your father. He will need you. Grow strong and take care of each other. I love you always.”

  Cessily’s eyes closed, and she did not reawaken.

  Chapter 3

  10 years later

  Central Virginia ~ 1850

  Twenty-year-old Marie sat cross-legged on a large boulder, enjoying the warm spring sun and noting the green sprouts of the newly planted crops emerging from their long winter’s nap in the soil. Her grandparents, who had passed on when she was young, had built their beautiful log home set on acres and acres of land, on which they had made their money raising tobacco. Her father, Hank, had learned the trade of grape-growing from his side of the family, and he also grew a healthy stock of grapes for pressing into wine. Though Marie was of age, she and her siblings Rodney and Dante still lived at home with their father, while LeAnna and Isaiah had married and moved into smaller cabins on their property, to remain close.

  Having taken her mother’s role as ambassador to the neighboring witch coven, still led by her mother’s old friend Sarah Stronghold, Marie would often take their excess vegetables to them as gifts of peace. None of it was required, but Marie felt compelled to do it. Additionally, Sarah’s daughter, and successor as future coven leader, was Marie’s best friend Rachael.

  Rachael had trained with her mother for years, but still struggled to control her magic. Rachael’s magic worked differently than her mom’s—and most of the coven’s, for that matter. She had a hard time doing things the way they had always been done in the name of tradition. Rachael had plenty of magic—Marie could feel her strength simply from the level of vibrations that would reverberate up her arms when Rachael would cast—it just wouldn’t do what she wanted it to when she wanted it, such as at the command of her mother or during her training sessions, which were often.

  Rachael and Marie had instantly hit it off when Marie brought a peace offering in the form of a large basket filled with vegetables and breads shortly after her mother, Cessily, had died. Young Marie felt it necessary to inform Sarah, since they had been friends, according to her mother. Marie had only seen the woman a couple times, though she didn’t know she was a witch back then, not until her mama informed them all they were witch hunters. Marie and Rachael had been secretly inseparable ever since. Once LeAnna had let it slip in front of the boys who Marie’s new friend was, they had given her a hard time, but none as hard as Dante. He couldn’t believe her treachery of being friends with “those people who let Mama die,” and he didn’t let her forget it.

  The winter—and ultimately year—after her mama’s death had been the roughest that Marie and the rest of her family had ever faced. Especially her daddy. She had never seen him cry before that time. Her daddy was a big, strong man with broad shoulders, but he had a tender heart, and her mother’s death had left a gaping hole—in not only his heart, but all of theirs.

  Years later, Marie found herself reading once again the journal that enlightened and changed her and her siblings for the rest of their lives. The journal was ancient, but somehow still intact, even after all the years of reading material it had provided, for her especially. The others had moved on, but she read it over and over, sure there was more to their story, a deeper meaning and understanding of who they were as witch hunters. Her mother had talked about redefining and discovering who they could be anew, a dawning of a new era, and she was set on learning what that meant.

  “I don’t know if I’m expecting you to give me some kind of revelation or that the words of the pages and the heart behind whoever wrote in you will wear off on me, but I’m looking for some insight on how to keep control of my hunting drives without losing them completely,” Marie said aloud to the book as she turned yet another page, then squinted up into the afternoon sun, allowing the warm rays to seep into her pores.

  She just knew there had to be a way. So far, she had done pretty well, especially considering her best friend was a witch—nothing ruined a friendship like trying to kill your best friend. She had learned to limit her time with the entire coven; being around too many was near impossible at times. Marie found that knowing them as individuals and feeling the peaceful magic they performed helped. Sarah, the coven leader, would offer a temporary bandage of sorts when Marie planned to spend any length of time with the coven, to cushion the effects she experienced simply by being in their presence. As she grew older, however, the drive had gained in strength, and it was a constant battle to stay in control. Marie didn’t even know what she would do if she did lose control, but that was a risk she definitely wasn’t willing to allow. Too much was at stake.

  A small white butterfly flitted across her peripheral vision, landing on an early flowering shrub and making Marie smile. The shape of the insect brought the cover of the book to mind. Marie closed the worn thick brown leather tome and ran her hand down the front. Inlaid within the leather was an intricately created design that reminded her of a butterfly or a cluster of small diamond-shaped stars, made out of latticed metalwork. It was the same symbol as the one etched on the spine, the same symbol marking every hunter’s skin at birth—the hunter’s mark. She ran her hand gingerly over the cool metal and what appeared to be some kind of locking mechanism.

  “Why do you have a lock that doesn’t appear to actually lock anything?” Marie wondered aloud, not for the first time. Opening it, she gently turned the first blank page to the next, and she began to read. The next hundred pages or so read like anyone’s journal, recounting experiences and trials of the writer’s time. In several places, the writing changed as the author changed—most likely, a descendant of the first. Each story, each obstacle they faced, described the pain they endured to control their hunting drives, mirroring her own struggle. Each author, at one point before their stories ended, spoke of finding the key or how the “key” showed itself to them in different ways than the last.

  “But nobody explains what this key is or where to find it? That’s not very instructional. How is this supposed to help me?”

  “Talking to yourself again?” a male voice interrupted her. A tall and handsome man with broad, strong shoulders moved toward her with a lazy smile and a twinkle in his eye. The slight breeze picked up his blond hair and ruffled it the way Marie longed to do, sliding her fingertips through each wavy lock.

  “I didn’t think I was going to get to see you today, Judson!” Marie bounded off the rock, ran to him, and threw her arms around his neck just as he opened his arms wide enough to catch her with a twirl. She giggled as she always did upon seeing Judson after they had been apart. “I missed you.”

  “Ah, Marie, I missed you, too! I couldn’t stand to not see you today. Are your brothers around?” Judson’s gaze cautiously slid past her to the fields.

  “No. I’ve been out here reading the journal Sarah gave my mother before she died.”

  Judson relaxed at the prospect of them having a few minutes alone. The Blackstone boys did not like Judson hanging around Marie. They had made their point
very clear years ago when Isaiah and Dante forbade her from seeing him or going near that “condemned hellhole of heathens,” as they referred to the neighboring coven.

  “Did you find out anything you hadn’t seen the other hundred times you’ve read it?” Judson asked, his lip ticking up at the side in a teasing fashion.

  Marie pulled at one of his suspender straps and let it go, snapping it back onto his chest.

  “Hey! That hurts!” he whimpered, rubbing the painful spot.

  “Serves you right, teasing me,” she said flirtatiously while she patted her hand against his chest. She then leaned up on her tiptoes and kissed the underside of his chin before she stepped back to allow some thinking space. “Actually, I did find something I haven’t truly examined yet.”

  “What’s that?”

  Marie held out the journal for him to see as her fingers traced over the metalwork. “Look at this shape, Jud. I thought at first it was a strange butterfly, but I see the diamond-shaped stars of the hunter mark.”

  Judson peered closely at the cover, nodding with a studied frown.

  “And I think something is supposed to fit in inside here, but I don’t know what. Mother never said anything about a key or a lock. Except it doesn’t seem to lock anything, as we have obviously opened and read through it. Doesn’t that seem odd to you?”

  “It is odd, and it’s an oddly familiar shape, though I am not sure where I’ve seen it other than the marking on the back of your neck. I’ve seen this in metal work.” Judson frowned, thinking. “I’ll figure it out. I just need it to come to me.”

  “It’s time to go,” Marie said unexpectedly.

  Jusdon’s head snapped up. “Your brothers?”

  “I feel them coming closer. I’ll come to you later tonight. Meet at our spot?” she asked, suddenly shy and biting her bottom lip.

  “I wouldn’t miss it.” He leaned forward and kissed that bottom lip until she opened for him and allowed him full access to her mouth, groaning as she did.

  Marie pulled back. “Tonight then. Now go, quickly.”

  Judson turned and loped into the brush and trees beyond their property, disappearing out of sight just in time.

  “Marie? Where have you been?” Rodney called. “You were due at the house some time ago.”

  Her brothers all headed in her direction. Rodney, the only one of them human like their father, with dark hair and brown eyes, was the only brother usually sympathetic to her quest for peace with the witches. Isaiah, the eldest brother, looked most like father, but with sandy brown hair and flat blue eyes void of any spark of excitement or joy. Next to them stood Dante, who was closest to her in age, but furthest from the desires of her heart. With their father’s hair but their mother’s face, Dante was a fair blend with dark hair but bright blue eyes always calculating, always watching. They all awaited her response.

  “Sorry, I got caught up reading over Mother’s old journal again,” she responded truthfully.

  “Why do you bother with that old thing, Marie? If there was any information that would be helpful, you would have found it by now.” Isaiah bent down to secure one of his laces on his worn work boots.

  “I think I found something new this time!” Marie said, excited to share what she had found on the cover of the book. “Have any of you seen this shape anywhere in the house? Did Mother ever say anything about a key that went to this journal? I was young. I don’t remember everything before she died.” Her voice grew quiet. She knew they didn’t like it when she brought up their mother, but it was time they discussed everything.

  The brothers each looked at the cover of the journal, frowned, then shook their heads in answer to her question.

  “Why are you pushing this, Marie?” Dante began with a cool tone that spoke to the end of his patience on this matter. He looked beyond her and out into the trees bordering their lands.

  “I’m not pushing anything, Dante! I just believe there is more to learn about our hunter side, more to know in order to control it better and to find peace with our neighbors. Don’t you want to know if there is another way?” With hands on her hips in defiance, she looked to each of them. Rodney looked away from her, the fear of his brothers’ retribution if he agreed with her resident in his eyes. She knew they were hardest on him especially, being human and not quite like them.

  Isaiah scoffed. “I don’t really care, no. I have everything perfectly under control, as you should, too. Or perhaps you’re just weaker than the rest of us.”

  Marie glared at Isaiah. He was her least favorite.

  “Enough, Isaiah,” Dante interfered. Though younger, he was somehow the dominant brother. “Marie is and will be by far stronger than you. She just needs to get her perspective and priorities back to this family.”

  “That’s got to be hard for her to do when all she thinks about is ways to be at peace with the witches,” LeAnna, her only sister, interjected, heading their way with a snide look on her face.

  Marie glared even harder at LeAnna. Out of her entire family, LeAnna and her father were the only ones who knew her secret—and LeAnna only knew because she happened upon her and Judson once, having followed Marie at a distance.

  “Why do you care so much, Marie?” Isaiah blurted now with anger.

  “Because I do! It’s the right thing to do. It’s what Mother believed, don’t you remember that?”

  Marie glanced at Dante, who simply watched the interaction with detached observation; however, a spark of knowledge flashed in his eyes.

  “Why don’t you just tell them and get it over with, Marie? They’re going to find out one way or another.” LeAnna hinted overtly that she would be the one to tell them otherwise.

  “LeAnna! It is not your business to tell. You have ruined everything!” Marie shouted. Angry, fearful tears welled in her eyes.

  LeAnna crossed her arms, bracing for what was to come, and raised an eyebrow. “No. You did, when you went off and married that heathen witch pretender!”

  Shocked gasps reverberated throughout what felt like the entire world.

  “You did what?” Dante seethed.

  Marie crossed her own arms defiantly, staring her siblings down. “I married Judson Carter. In secret.”

  “Months ago,” her sister supplied.

  “Traitor,” Marie shot back.

  “No, Marie. You are the traitor,” Dante whispered in a tone far worse than shouting, before he turned his back to her and left.

  Chapter 4

  In the shed, Dante, Isaiah, and LeAnna gathered weapons while Dante spewed his hatred for the witches. “We act now. It’s time those evil-doers knew where they truly belong.”

  “You know I’m with you, but I’m curious about the source of your hatred—other than being a witch hunter,” Isaiah asked, cleaning off a blade on the leather of his work boots.

  Dante hung his head for only a brief moment, breathing heavily as if grasping the frail tendril of his sanity. “They killed Mother. Is there any other reason necessary?”

  His words were burdened with the pain of the young boy within him and bound to the deeds of the man he was now—a man ready to avenge the only real love he had ever felt, a woman the witches had called “friend.” A woman they could’ve helped, but chose not to.

  “They haven’t bothered us in some time, Dante. Maybe it’s okay to simply ignore their existence for now,” LeAnna said, as if she wasn’t truly sure she believed what she said, but spoke more for the sake of saying it. Shrugging her shoulders, she went back to picking at her nails, unwilling to look Dante in the eye.

  “We have suffered those witches too long, LeAnna. You are either with us on this or against us, like your sister you so easily outed.” Dante’s stare was fierce and unrelenting, and his determination pressed upon her until she nodded her head.

  “I’m with you,” she whispered, almost regretfully, and reached for a dagger on the wall before her. She spun away, toward the cracked open door, and walked out. “I’ll be there. I need
something from my cottage.”

  “We go at nightfall,” Dante instructed, eyeing her as she left.

  LeAnna stopped in the doorframe, half turned her head to acknowledge him, and nodded.

  “Going somewhere?” a voice uttered from the side of the shed, hidden in the shadows from the fading sun.

  LeAnna jumped, hand held over her heart. She caught her breath.

  “Oh, Marie, you startled me!” she whispered, grabbing Marie’s arm and tugging her to follow behind her.

  Marie jerked her arm away, but continued to follow her sister. “I heard Dante. He can’t do this.”

  “I don’t like the witches and don’t think we should assimilate with them, but I don’t think they all deserve to die.” LeAnna’s eyes saddened, then frantic fear quickly took over, bubbling up in her eyes. She looked over her shoulder. In a hushed but hurried tone, she added, “You have to go. You have to warn them.”

  “Oh, I plan to. But why, LeAnna? Why did you tell them? You knew how they would react.”

  “I . . . I didn’t think he would go this far. I’m truly sorry, Marie. I was jealous of your control and your devotion to living your own way.” LeAnna lowered her head, ashamed and genuine.

  Marie gently pulled her sister forward. She leaned in and kissed the top of her sister’s head. “I forgive you, but this is going to get bad. I have the feeling our family will never be the same after this night, and I want you to know forgiveness when you might not be able to offer it to yourself.”

  Marie turned and ran with all she had through their fields and into the forest, following the path to the secret place she and Judson had planned to meet, like they had multiple nights before this one.

  “Marie, what’s wrong?” Judson asked, his voice laced with panic at Marie’s sudden and disheveled appearance.