Heartfire: The Tales of Alvin Maker, Volume V

by Orson Scott Card

  “So you’ll leave her to their mercy,” said Verily.

  “I promise you, Very,” said Alvin, “you’ll get everything you want.”

  Verily nodded. Alvin looked at Arthur Stuart, wordlessly making him the same promise, and the boy also nodded.

  They all lined up behind him on the riverbank. Alvin started off walking, then picked up his pace, jogging along, then loping, then flat-out running. At first the others worked hard at it, but then they began to hear a kind of music, not with instruments, not the kind you sing or dance to, but the sound of wind in leaves and birds singing, the chatter of squirrels and the buzz of insects, the high white sizzle of sunlight striking the dew on the leaves, the languid rush of water vapor distilling into the air. The sound of their footfalls merged with the music and the world around them turned into a blur of green, which contained every leaf, every tree, every bit of earth, and made them all one thing; and the runners were part of that one thing, and their running was part of the song, and the leaves parted to let them pass, and the air cooled them and the streams bore them over without their feet getting wet and instead of growing legsore or ribstitched they felt exhilarated, full of the life around them. They could run like that forever.

  Then, moments later, the greensong began to fade. The trees narrowed to a strip of wood along the river. Cultivated fields held a muted music, low tones of thousands of identical lives. Buildings broke the song entirely, gaps of silence that were almost painful. They staggered, felt the pounding of their feet on the ground, which was hard now, and the branches snagged at them as they passed. They cantered, jogged, walked, and finally stopped. As one they turned away from the fields and buildings, away from the city of Boston with the tall masts of the ships in the harbor rising higher than the buildings, and faced upriver, to the place through which the song had carried them.

  “Mon dieu,” said Audubon. “I have flied on angel wings.”

  They stood in silence for a while longer. And then Arthur Stuart spoke.

  “Where’s Alvin?” he said.

  Alvin wasn’t there. Mike scowled at Verily Cooper. “Now look what you’ve done.”

  “Me?” said Verily.

  “He sent us off and stayed behind to get arrested,” said Mike. “I’m sworn to protect him and then you get him to do something like this.”

  “I didn’t ask him to do this alone,” said Verily.

  Arthur Stuart started walking up the path, back into the woods.

  “Where are you going?” asked Verily.

  “Back to Cambridge,” he said. “It can’t be that far. The sun’s hardly moved in the sky.”

  “It’s too late to stop Alvin from doing this,” said Mike.

  Arthur looked back at him like he was crazy. “I know that,” he said. “But he expects us to go back and help.”

  “How do you know this?” asked Audubon. “He tell you what he plan to do?”

  “He told all of us,” said Arthur. “He knows Verily wants to have a witch trial. So, Alvin’s decided he’ll be the witch. Verily gets to be the lawyer. And the rest of us have to be witnesses.”

  “But the girl will denounce us, too,” said Audubon.

  Verily nodded. “That’s right,” he said. “Yes, that’s right. So the three of you, I want you to wait in the woods until I come fetch you.”

  “What’s the plan?” asked Mike.

  “I won’t find that out till I talk to Alvin,” said Verily. “But remember this: The only charge that matters in a witch trial is, Did Satan rule you? So that’s the only question you answer. Nothing about knacks or hidden powers. Just about Satan. You never saw him, you never talked to him or any demons, he never gave you anything. Can you all swear to that truly?”

  They all laughed and agreed they could.

  “So when it’s time to testify, that’s the only question you answer. For the rest, you just look stupid.”

  “What about me?” said Audubon. “I was baptized Catholic.”

  “You can talk about that, too,” said Verily. “You’ll see. If I’m half the lawyer I trained to be, none of this will ever come to trial.” He joined Arthur on the path. “Come along. It’s legal work now. And if everything comes out right, we’ll have Alvin free and Miss Purity as a traveling companion.”

  “I don’t want to travel with her!” said Mike. “Look at the trouble she’s already caused us!”

  “Trouble?” said Verily. “I’ve been stupefied with boredom in New England. Everything’s so peaceful here. Everything runs smoothly, most disputes are settled peacefully, neighbors pretty much get along, people are happy an extraordinary proportion of the time. I’m a lawyer, for heaven’s sake! I was about to lose my mind!”

  At first Reverend Study was dismissive. “I can understand your being fascinated with the idea of witches, but it’s from the past, my dear Purity.”

  “They bragged about it,” said Purity. “I didn’t ask them.”

  “That’s just it, you see,” said the minister. “They’re not from New England, and those from outside tend to mock our stricter adherence to scripture. They were having fun with you.”

  “They were not,” said Purity. “And if you refuse to help me, I’ll go straight to the tithingmen myself.”

  “No no,” said Study. “You mustn’t do that.”

  “Why not? A woman’s testimony is valid in court. Even an orphan, I think!”

  “It’s not a matter of—Purity, do you realize the trouble you are heading into with these wild charges?”

  “They’re not wild. And I know what you’re trying so hard not to say—that my parents were hanged as witches.”

  “What!” said Study. “Who told you such a thing! Who is spreading such slanders!”

  “Are you saying it’s not so?”

  “I have no idea, but I can’t imagine it’s true. There hasn’t been a witch trial in this part of New England for.. for much longer than you’ve been alive.”

  “But the trial wasn’t here,” said Purity. “It was in Netticut.”

  “Well, that’s a bit of a reach, don’t you think? Why Netticut?”

  “Reverend Study, the longer we talk, the farther these men will flee. And one of them is a papist, a Frenchman, brought here under false pretenses. They’ve been pretending he was mute.”

  Reverend Study sighed.

  “I can see you have no respect for me, just like the others,” said Purity.

  “Is that what this is about? Trying to earn respect?”

  “No, it’s not!”

  “Because this is not the way to do it. I remember the Salem trials. Well, not that I remember them myself, I wasn’t even here, but the shame of that city still endures. So many killed on the testimony of a group of hysterical girls. The girls were left unpunished, you know. They lived out their lives, however their consciences let them do it, because it was impossible for an earthly judge to know which charges were malicious and which were the product of self-delusion and mob mentality.”

  “I am neither a group nor hysterical.”

  “But such charges do provoke a certain skepticism.”

  “That’s nonsense, Reverend Study. People believe in witchcraft. Everyone does. They check for it at the borders! They preach—no, you preach against it in meetings!”

  “It’s all so confusing. What I preach about is the attempt to use hidden powers. Even if they exist, they should not be used to gain advantage over one’s neighbor, or even to gain good fame among one’s friends. But the formal charge of witchcraft, that requires allegations of contact with Satan, of maleficence. Depending on who the interrogators are, there may be questions about witches’ sabbaths, there will be naming of names. These things get out of hand.”

  “Of course they’ll lie about Satan. They never said anything about Satan to me.”

  “There. It’s not witchcraft, you see?”

  “But isn’t that just what we expect?” said Purity. “Don’t we expect a witch to lie?”

  “
That’s what happened at Salem!” cried Study. “They started interpreting denials as lies, as attempts to cover up Satan’s penetration of the community. But later it was discovered, it was realized, that there had never been any witchcraft at all, and that the confessions they got were all motivated by a selfish desire to save one’s own life, while the only ones hanged were those who refused to lie.”

  “Are you saying that you believe the Bible is wrong when it says we shall not suffer a witch to live?”

  “No, no, of course if you actually find a witch, then you must... act, but—”

  “I have found a witch, Reverend Study. Please summon the tithingmen to help me obey the Lord’s injunction in the Bible.”

  Sick at heart, Reverend Study rose to his feet. “You leave me no choice.”

  “As they left me no choice.”

  Study stopped at the door and spoke without facing her. “Do you not understand that many long-pent resentments can be released by this sort of thing?”

  “These men are intruders here. What resentments can anyone have against them? The judges will be honest. My testimony will be honest.”

  Study leaned his head into the doorjamb and almost whispered his answer. “There have been rumors. About you.”

  Purity felt a thrill of fear and joy run through her body, making her tremble for a moment. Her guess was right. Her parents did die for witchcraft, just as she figured. “All the more reason, then, for me to prove myself loyal to the scripture and an enemy to Satan.”

  “Fire burns all hands that touch it.”

  “I serve God, sir. Do you?”

  “Sometimes God is best served by obeying his more merciful statements. Judge not lest ye be judged. Think of that before you point a finger.” Then he was gone.

  Purity waited alone in Reverend Study’s office. His library, really, it was so stacked and shelved with books. How did he get so many? Had he really read them all? Purity had never had an opportunity to study the titles. Sets of pious literature, of course. Collections of noted sermons. Scriptural commentary. Law books? Interesting—had he thought of studying law at some time? No, it was ecclesiastical law. With several books on the prosecution of witches, the investigation of witches, the purification of witches. Reverend Study might pretend to have no concern with such matters, but he owned these books, which meant that at some time he must have planned to refer to them. He had not been “here” during the witch trials in Salem, which were the last held in eastern Massachusetts. That could mean he hadn’t been born yet—how long ago were they?—at least a century, perhaps half again that long. But he had been involved in witch trials somewhere. Yes, he knew and cared very much about these things.

  She held the book On the Investigation of Witchcraft, Wizardry, and Other Satanic Practices but could not bring herself to open it. She heard that they used to torture the accused. But that must not be the way of it today. The laws were strict that a person could not be forced to incriminate himself. Ever since the United States were formed from the middle colonies and put that rule into their Bill of Rights, the same principle had been given force of law in New England as well. There would be no torture.

  The book fell open in her hands. Could she help it? It fell open to a particular place which had been well-thumbed and much underlined. How to put the question to a witch who is with child.

  Was my mother pregnant with me when she was arrested and tried?

  The child is innocent before the law, being unborn and thus untouched by original sin. Original sin inheres to the child only upon birth, and therefore to take any action which might harm the unborn infant would be like punishing Adam and Eve in the garden before the fall: an injustice and an affront to God.

  I gave my mother a little longer life. I saved her by being—yes, my very name—by being pure, unstained, untouched by original sin. How many weeks, how many months did I give to her?

  Or did she think of this as torture, too? Had my father already been hanged as she languished in prison, awaiting her own trial as she grieved for him and for the child in her womb, doomed to be an orphan? Would she rather have died? Did she wish she didn’t have a child?

  She should have thought of that before she partook of forbidden practices. “Knacks” they called them in the wicked parts of the land. God-given gifts, that journeyman blacksmith called them, as he attempted to deceive her. But the true nature of Satan’s false gifts would soon come clear. The “knacks” these witches use, they come from Satan. And because I know I have never had truck with Satan, then the small talents I have can’t possibly be a hidden power. I’m just observant, that’s all. I don’t turn iron into a golden plow, like the one Arthur Stuart told about—a plow that dances around because it’s possessed by evil spirits like the Gadarene swine.

  She trembled with uncontainable excitement. Fear is what it felt like, though she had nothing to fear. It also felt like relief, like she was receiving something long waited for. Then she realized why: Her mother named her Purity to help her keep herself unstained by sin. Today she had faced the temptation of Satan in the form of that wandering blacksmith and his troupe of lesser witches, and for a moment she felt such terrible desires. The barrister was so attractive to her, that half-Black imp was so endearing, and Alvin himself now seemed sufficiently modest and self-effacing, and his dream of the City of God so real and desirable, that she longed to join with them.

  That had to be how her mother was seduced by the devil! Not understanding, not being warned, she fell into the trap. Perhaps it was Purity’s father who seduced her mother, just the way Verily Cooper had been calling to Purity on the riverbank today, evoking strange feelings and longings and whispering inside her mind that this was love. It had to be the devil making her think such thoughts. Married to a witch! Trapped just as her mother had been! Oh my Father which art in heaven, I thank thee for saving me! I am a sinner like all others, but oh, if thou hast chosen me to be among thy elect, I shall praise thy name forever!

  She heard the hurried footsteps on the stairs. She closed the book and replaced it on the shelf. When the door opened, Reverend Study and the tithingmen found her sitting on a side chair, her eyes closed, her hands clasped in her lap, the classic pose of the soul who refused to be touched by the evils of the world.

  Reverend Study declined to go with them to catch the witches. Well, too bad for him, Purity thought. Let others of stronger heart do what must be done.

  Horses would do little good on the river road. One of the tithingmen, Ezekial Shoemaker, took a group of grim-looking men on horseback to try to block escape downriver, while the other, Hiram Peaseman, kept his men with Purity as they walked the path that the witches must have taken.

  “Why are you so certain they went downriver?” asked Peaseman, a stern-looking man who, until now, had always made Purity somewhat afraid.

  “They said they were bound for Boston no matter what I chose to do.”

  “If they’re witches, why wouldn’t they lie to throw us off?”

  “Because at the time,” she said, “they thought to persuade me to join them.”

  “Still don’t mean they weren’t lying,” said Peaseman.

  “They told many a lie, I assure you,” said Purity, “but they spoke the truth when they said they were bound for Boston.”

  Peaseman fixed his icy gaze upon her. “How do you know that wasn’t a lie as well?”

  For a moment Purity felt the old fear come over her. Had she revealed her hidden power?

  And then her new confidence returned. It wasn’t a hidden power. “I’m very observant,” she said. “When people lie, they show it by little things.”

  “And you’re never wrong?” asked Peaseman.

  They had stopped walking now, and the other men were also gathered around her.

  She shook her head.

  “Only God is perfect, miss,” said one of the other men.

  “Of course you’re right,” said Purity. “And it would be pride in me to say I was never
wrong. What I meant was that if I’ve been wrong I didn’t know it.”

  “So they might have lied,” said Peaseman, “only they did a better job than others.”

  Purity grew impatient. “Are you really going to stand here, letting the witches get away, all because you don’t know whether to believe me or not about which way they were going to walk? If you don’t believe me, then you might as well doubt everything I said and go back home!”

  They shuffled their feet a little, some of them, and none spoke for a moment, until Peaseman closed his eyes and spoke what was on their minds. “If they be witches, miss, we fear they lay a trap for us, into which you lead us, all unwitting.”

  “Have you no faith in the power of Christ to protect you?” asked Purity. “I have no fear of such as they. Satan promises terrible power to his minions, but then he betrays them every time. Follow me if you dare.” She strode forth boldly on the path, and soon heard their footsteps behind her. In moments they were all around her, then ahead of her, leading the way.

  That’s why she was last to see why they were stopping not fifty rods along the river path. There sat Alvin Smith on a fallen tree, leaning up against a living one, his hands clasped behind his head. He grinned at her when she emerged from the crowd. “Why, Mistress Purity, you didn’t need to come and show me the road to Boston, or to trouble these men to help me on my way.”

  “He’s the chief witch,” said Purity. “His name is Alvin Smith. His companions must be nearby.”

  Alvin looked around. “Companions?” He looked back at her, seeming to be puzzled. “Are you seeing things?” He asked the men: “Does this girl see things what ain’t there?”

  “Don’t be deceived,” said Purity. “They’re hereabouts.”

  “Am I remembering aright, or did she just call me a witch a minute ago?” asked Alvin.

  “She did, sir,” said Peaseman. “And as one of the tithingmen of Cambridge village, it’s my duty to invite you back to town for questioning.”

  “I’ll answer any questions you have for me,” said Alvin. “But I don’t see why I should go back instead of furthering my journey.”