by James Palmer
“Heathen fetishes will not save you from the works of Satan,” said Cain darkly.
Maggie turned once again to face him. “You are more right than you know, Master Cain. And that devil you’re chasing is very powerful. But he’s afraid of you. That fiend he loosed from the pits of hell is playing pranks with us for now, but it’s only a matter of time before it starts taking souls. In my pride I thought I could stop it. My visions showed me a way. But I can’t. I’m just an old woman…not strong enough. It’s up to you.”
The front door, which stood ajar from where Cain had kicked it open, swung inward once more as a crowd of men entered, rifles, pistols, hatchets and other implements raised and ready.
“Don’t you fools knock?” said Maggie Dean.
“Margaret Ann Dean,” said Josiah Smith. “You are under arrest for suspicion of witchcraft.”
“She is innocent,” said Cain. “She has dabbled somewhat foolishly in the dark arts, but her intentions were pure.”
“Witchcraft used for pure intentions is still witchcraft,” said Reverend Green, who came armed only with a hefty black Bible. “I am sure you would agree.”
“She was acting under guidance she received from her second sight,” said Cain, his eyes narrowing to slits.
The Reverend laughed. “And you believed her? She has been going on about her second sight for ages, and nothing has ever come of it. She sits here in her cabin making potions and conjuring spirits, and you condone her actions?”
“Potions, eh?” Barked Maggie Dean. “There are no potions here. Only natural remedies. You didn’t reject my poultice that saved your baby from the croup, Josiah Smith. And how’s your colic, Thomas Crain?”
The men she addressed hung their heads to the floor and said nothing.
“Enough!” shouted the Reverend, his deep voice thundering in the small space. “Anyone can be swayed to the Devil’s side in time. We must put an end to this madness now, before it gets any worse. Arrest her.”
Two of the men stepped forward, but Cain put himself between them, his sword drawn. “Nay! You have charged me with determining if Maggie Dean is a witch, and I have yet to do so.”
The Reverend laughed. “And yet you interrupted some dangerous ritual she was performing, and you still do not see signs of witchery. We will take no more counsel from heavily armed strangers ranting about destroying the Devil. Now stay out of our affairs.”
“No.” Cain gritted his teeth, his eyes locked with the Reverend’s. Maggie Dean huddled behind him, but her eyes were full of fire and venom for the men who had invaded her home and accused her of witchcraft.
“What are those queer marks on your sword?” asked one of the men.
“They are angelic runes. Representations of the language spoke in heaven by God and his angels.”
The men laughed.
“It appears our Maggie is not the only one possessed of visions,” said the Reverend. “And how do we know that those sigils aren’t Devil’s marks? I think we need to test Mr. Cain for witchcraft as well.”
“Then come and test me, if you can.” Cain waved his sword, slicing the air in a defensive arc.
“Arrest them both!” the Reverend shouted.
The men cautiously closed in. The first man stepped closer, leading with a rifle fitted with a crude bayonet. Cain brought the sword down upon the rifle, knocking it aside, then hit the man in the face with the basket hilt of his sword. They heard his nose break as he yelped and fell backward, his rifle falling to the dirt floor.
A second man approached Cain with a hatchet raised over his head, bringing it down upon Cain with a yell. Cain blocked it with his sword, catching the hatchet where the handle joined the blade. Lifting his sword quickly, Cain was able to pull the handle from the man’s grasp and fling the weapon against the far wall of the cabin. Cain kicked the man in the stomach and he went down with a grunt.
This display of Cain’s ferocity and fighting prowess seemed to strip some of the lust for violence from them, and they stood back aghast at this stranger and his fearsome blade.
“Thou art farmers,” said Cain. “Not fighters. End this madness now before someone is killed. It is not my wish to shed mortal blood. I came for the fiend that haunts thee.”
“I believe you are the fiend that haunts us,” said Reverend Green, a fearful light dancing in his eyes. He glanced at the men. “If you fear God take him down. He’s a witch, and he must burn!”
This got the group going again, and they closed in on Cain with renewed vigor. Grappling was difficult in the small space, and Cain quickly found himself surrounded. Maggie dean gave a yell, and Cain turned to see two men clasping her in irons.
“Unhand her,” Cain demanded, turning to the men for a second. Then something hard and heavy hit the back of his skull, and he knew no more.
*
When consciousness returned, Cain was bent forward, his head and wrists restrained in heavy wooden stocks. He raised his head as much as his wooden prison would allow and surveyed the grim scene before him.
The entire town was gathered round the creek which wound through the center of town at its widest and deepest point. Maggie Dean, wearing only her shift, her hands tied behind her back, stood near the water’s edge surrounded by angry, armed townsfolk. Cain’s buff coat, sword and flintlocks lay in a heap nearby.
The Reverend paced before the group, between them and Maggie Dean, who looked down at the ground sullenly, her fiery tongue stilled by the test she faced.
Cain flailed against the stocks to no avail. “End this blasphemy now!” he yelled, prompting the townsfolk to turn and stare at him coldly.
“You will get your dip in the creek soon enough,” said Reverend Green flippantly. “Perhaps the water will cleanse your body of those obscene marks.”
Turning his attention back to the old woman, the Reverend stepped forward and put his right hand on her left shoulder.
“Confess now or be tested.”
“I am no witch,” said Maggie Dean without looking up. “I will not confess to something that isn’t true.”
“You haven’t seen visions of things yet to come?”
“I have. As I possess the second sight.”
“You were not conjuring black spirits in your cabin this morning?”
“I was not. I was trying to imprison the fiend before it hurt anyone.”
“By using witchcraft?”
Maggie Dean said nothing.
“The good, God-fearing people of this town have a right to purge witches from their midst. If this test proves you are a witch it is our duty to see you burn!”
The townspeople cheered. Without another word, Reverend Green shoved Maggie Dean into the creek.
The heavy woman went down on her back into the icy water. Cain watched helplessly as the townfolk crowded around to watch her float and be labeled a witch, or drown and be proven innocent.
Cain redoubled his efforts to free himself from the stocks, but to little avail. He rattled his bonds, but the heavy iron lock and hinged wooden beams that held his head and wrists stood fast.
“She lives!”
There was much shouting and renewed fervor from the banks of the creek, and Cain tilted his head to watch as the people swarmed and pointed. “She’s a witch,” someone yelled. “Pull her out and burn her!”
“Madness!” Cain spat.They had merely tied her wrists behind her. One could float relatively easily by kicking their feet. That was no proof of witchcraft, as he had learned painfully from the Salem trials. “These ridiculous tests! They will kill anyone, witch or mortal!”
“Grab Cain,” commanded the Reverend. “It is his turn in the water.”
The angry mob rushed toward the stocks, while another group of men hauled the soaked, shivering form of Maggie Dean from the cold water.
Cain waited for the stocks to be opened, then struck with such ferocity that the townsfolk, even though they had been half expecting it, could not defend against. Cain grabbed the man
nearest him, taking his own cudgel from him and bludgeoning him with it. If he could fight his way to his guns and sword, then he might have a chance to release Maggie Dean from this nightmare.
As Cain moved toward his weapons, he could hear the protests of the old woman as two men dragged her up the creek’s steep bank, thus consigning her to an even worse fate than drowning.
Zachariah Marsh came at Cain with his knife. The puritan dodged it easily and punched his attacker in the face. Marsh went down, his face a blossom of blood. Cain sidestepped him and headed toward his weapons, grabbing his sword and one of the flintlocks before he was waylaid by another of the vengeful, mad townsfolk; this one grabbing Cain about his waist in a futile attempt to bring him to the ground. Cain brought the butt of the flintlock down on the man’s head and he went down with a grunt.
The others had pulled back now that Cain had control of his weapons once again, but they stared at him with cold malice. Cain turned his attention briefly to the creek, where a soaking wet Maggie Dean was being held by two men, her hands still bound behind her. Her bluish lips quivered fitfully, and she fixed Cain with a hopeless, downtrodden gaze.
Oh the ignominy! Cain wanted to shout. To dedicate his days to ridding the world of Azazel and his evil, only to be waylaid by these ignorant mortals who burdened themselves with carrying out this affront to justice while real evil bore down on them like a sudden storm.
The men who hauled Maggie Dean from the creek huddled around her protectively even though they were unarmed. They no doubt had the confidence of the zealot flowing throw their hardy veins.
“You seek to frighten me?” shouted Cain as he glared at the townsfolk. “I have fought evils you could not comprehend.”
“Pride goeth before the fall, Gideon Cain,” said Reverend Green from behind the group of angry townsfolk who crouched just beyond the reach of Cain’s sword. “I believe you to be in league with the very devils you claim to dispatch.”
“How dare you, Sir,” Cain hissed, his eyes narrowed to slits. “I am here doing God’s holy work. All who oppose me, be they man or demon, will suffer my wrath!”
Cain lunged for Maggie Dean. Her captors quickly fled back into the crowd that stood in a semicircle, armed with pitchforks, cudgels and other makeshift weapons poised at the ready.
With a deft slice, Cain rent the ropes holding Maggie Dean’s wrists and grabbed her right arm. “Come. We are leaving this place.”
“Aye!” spat the Reverend. “We need no witches hereabouts. Go and work your evil somewhere else. Leave this town for God-fearing folk. And take your damnable fiend with you!”
“May the fiend take you all!” Maggie Dean shouted as Cain fairly dragged her away. “I tried to help, and this is the thanks I get? I curse you all!”
The townsfolk fairly blanched at this epithet, and shrank back from the old woman as if struck across the face.
“Peace, still your tongue, woman!” Cain shouted angrily. “It would be better to refrain from making empty curses than make things worse for yourself. We are not free of this yet.”
“Aye,” Maggie crooned. “The fiend. The blasphemous, black fiend. It comes for thee at night, and it will rend thee. It will rend all of thee!”
Cain turned and looked at the old woman, who stood stock still, her arms and legs rigid. Cain could move her no more. Here eyes were rolled back into her skull, and her face was pointed at the sky, her arms outstretched.
“She’s in the midst of a vision,” said one of the townsfolk. “Hark!”
“It comes in the night for thee and thine. It has so many names! It is called hate and fear. Fear and hate!”
“It’s all a ruse to trick us!” Shouted Reverend Green over the old woman’s cacophonous wailing. “Do not listen.”
“Thou perfect idiot!” Cain hissed. “Where there was no proof of witchcraft, you saw a witch. Now you see a charlatan where something not of this Earth now works? Be quiet before you doom us all!”
The Reverend glared at Cain in slack-jawed silence while the trembling townsfolk cowered around him, staring in horror at Maggie Dean, whose intonations filled them with dread.
“The seed has been planted,” the old woman moaned, her eyes staring blankly ahead. “A black seed of hate was buried yonder.” She pointed a crooked finger toward a stand of poplars at the edge of the town proper. “See, Painted One. Look with thine inner eye and I will show thee.”
Cain knew she was talking about him. “What dost thou want me to see?”
Cain had released her arm from his grip, their flight having been made futile by the old crone’s current state. Now Maggie Dean gripped Cain’s arm and he felt something he had never before experienced.
The scene before him was replaced by one of darkness. The locale was the same, only it was blackest night. Cain knew that somehow he was seeing what Maggie Dean now saw. A man clad in black walked alone without aid of a lantern. He paused among the stand of poplar trees and took something from his pocket. It looked like a small black river stone made smooth by running water. The man lowered himself to his knees and dug into the dirt with his hands, placing the stone or whatever it was into the hole and covering it over. That alone would have been queer enough, but what Cain saw the man do next was horrifying. He took a dagger from a sheath at his belt and gripped the blade with his left hand, then pulled the blade from his clenched hand, drawing blood. He sprinkled the spot of earth he had just covered over with the blood, stood, wiped the blade on his garments, and disappeared into the darkness from whence he came.
Here the vision ended. Cain snapped back into reality, blinking the afterimages from his eyes.
“She tells the truth,” said Cain. “The start of the trouble lies within those trees.”
“Liars,” said Reverend Green. “The stranger bears false witness for Maggie Dean.”
“Your pride dooms you,” said Maggie Dean, now back to herself again. She looked at Cain. “You saw the vision?”
“Aye. Though I do not understand how.”
“The how does not matter as much as the why. You saw because you needed to see.”
“Enough of this play-acting,” said Reverend Green. His face was a ruddy red, and his whole body shook. He held up his left hand, palm flat, a restraining gesture. Cain stared at it transfixed, his eyes narrowing to slits.
“Arrest them both. They are witches. No more testing. No more trial. Before the sun sets on this day they must burn!”
The townsfolk shouted in agreement, and with renewed vigor closed ranks on Cain and the old woman. Their crude farming implements met the broad, sharp blade of Cain’s mortuary sword.
“The key to the fiend lies in yonder copse of trees,” Maggie Dean said above the roar of the crowd. “Can thou not see the evidence put before thee?”
“Evidence?” said Reverend Green. “The rantings of an old woman and a sword-wielding stranger? I see the culprits before me now. Once we deal with the two of you, the fiend that stalks us will be vanquished as well.”
“We are not witches,” Gideon Cain said. “I have been sent here by God to vanquish a fallen angel named Azazel, who may be the fiend you fear.”
This brought forth nervous laughter from the townsfolk, even as they were held at bay by the keen blade of Cain’s lethal sword.
“The wrath of almighty God is worse than any sword blow,” said Reverend Green. Find your courage, men, and vanquish them!”
Cain did not wait for the townsfolk to renew their courage and surge forth. He grabbed Maggie’s arm in his iron grip and moved quickly toward the stand of trees he witnessed in the old woman’s shared vision. If he could somehow dig up the object that was buried there, it might end the town’s shared nightmare and absolve him and the old woman of witchcraft. Or it could prove to the town that they are in fact witches and were the ones who buried the object. Either way, it was better than standing there at this moment. Cain gritted his teeth and made for the stand of poplars on the outskirts of the town proper.
The mob followed, but at a safe distance. They were still wary after the old woman’s display of her gift, and they were still afraid of Cain’s fighting prowess.
Cain did not wait for the townsfolk to find their courage. Instead he gripped Maggie Dean’s wrist and ran. “We must leave this place,” he said, panting. “We’ll never find that which was buried here in time.”
“Wait,” panted the old woman. “I . . . can’t run like you. And this is my home.”
“You must find a new land to call home,” said Cain. “We have both worn out our welcome here.”
The townspeople closed on them just as they reached the trees. They wrenched the old woman from Cain’s grasp, holding a knife to her throat. A well-placed blow from a rake handle wielded by John Turner knocked Cain’s sword from his other hand, then many hands were upon him, restraining him. Their assailants said nothing, instead waiting for Reverend Green to catch up.
“You have led us a merry chase this day, Stranger,” said the Reverend, his eyes filled with a cold, barely contained fury. There will be no more trials, only judgment!”
This brought triumphant cries from the townspeople.
“Do your worst then,” said Cain. “May this fiend of yours take you all.”
Reverend Green smiled at this. A cold, mirthless smile. “I think the fiend shall be very interested in the two of you. Tie them to the nearest tree. Come nightfall, when the fiend walks, it will find them here.”
“I thought they were in league with the creature,” said Zach Marsh.
“Dost thou question the Lord’s will?” asked the Reverend, casting a cold gaze upon the younger man. “The light of Providence hast shown me how to end this madness once and for all, if ye will be but humble and not question the ways of the Lord.”
The Reverend’s will was done, and Gideon Cain, once again stripped of his weapons, and the old woman Maggie Dean, found themselves bound to two of the same trees they had witnessed in Dean’s strange, shared vision.
Night came all too soon, and the town square was deserted. The night air was chill and a pale, fat moon rose into the sky, casting the already eerie scene in a ghostly light. Cain’s sigils stood out darkly on his face and hands as he struggled against his bonds. Maggie Dean hung her head in grim resignation, shivering in her damp undergarments.