The Witchfinder Wars (2 page)

During the second week of my confinement, my
nights were spent in the arms of the most powerful man in England,
saving only the embattled king himself. Words of love were
whispered—from him to me, and I replied as he wished to hear, so
the spell would continue to be woven. Words of adoration and
devotion we exchanged. He offered me abject promises of protection
and privilege and a future—together.

There was to be a false trial, he told me.
One where the witnesses would be allowed to come forward and speak
their lies.

Lies that would set me free.

Hopkins could not protect me from the hatred
of Colchester. But he could save me from the stake.

My life was, indeed, all I was after. As
soon as I had my freedom, he would see me no more.

***

The trial lasted but a few days, days where
those I had considered friends, bought goods from, or sold goods
to, came forward to testify I was in the hands of the Devil and
should be condemned. The stories brought forth as evidence claimed
I, I alone, was responsible for each and every troubles which had
plagued my village since my birth in 1630, and in Colchester since
my arrival there a scant few years before.

Crops wilted and died when I walked past a
field.

Prized animals dried up; their young died,
weak and rotten.

Rains fell on the days I was unhappy while
the sun scorched on days when I was not.

I listened to these tales with a silent
amusement, though I dared not show it. Matthew—aye, he was Matthew
to me now—was the head of the judicial party sent to determine my
status as a witch.

And Matthew Hopkins, the Witchfinder
General, had professed his love to me and promised to protect
me.

On a day in winter when the snows stretched
white blankets over the streets, the judges at last were ready to
announce their verdict. I was brought forward to the wooden rail
which separated me from the men who would decry my innocence to the
world and set me free.

Matthew's great voice boomed out to cry
silence on the crowd gathered to watch the proceedings. All, I
could see, were more than eager to leave the chilled room and watch
the fire sure to follow my sentence.

His voice echoed across the rail between us
and drove into my ears.

"Bridget Sinclair, spinster of Colchester.
You have been charged with the crimes of witchcraft, evil sorcery
and consorting with the Devil, and have been duly tried by good men
and true. In the name of all that is Holy, and with the power
invested in me by our gracious lord and king, I proclaim these
evidences brought forth as true and valid. And your sentence shall
be that which is given to all minions of Satan. You are to be taken
from this court to a place already prepared and burned, so you will
taste the foul, eternal flames awaiting you below. And may God have
mercy on the soul which you regard so little."

Shock hit me first. Anger second. My hands
shook in the restraints as the jailers reached for my arms.
Somewhere, I found my voice above the noises erupting around
us.

"Master Hopkins, I pray you. I crave but a
word and will be silent."

The eyes, which had gazed with love into
mine through the nights we shared, now appeared amused as he raised
a hand and requested silence upon the courts. When the tumult had
ceased, or at least grown lower, he said: "Very well, Mistress
Sinclair. And do you be advised these words will be your last."

I nodded, finding the strength to step
forward to the old railing until I could press my hands against it.
The Goddess spoke for me, through my anger and hurt, to form the
words I needed to say.

"Master Hopkins, for the kindness which you
have shown me, I have but one wish: to bless your firstborn son and
all of his descendants. Each of these first sons will live long and
prosperous lives."

He smiled and those lips I had kissed so
often and had sought mine, lifted into something akin to
disdain.

I could feel my face twist in pain and
anguish as I continued.

"But with this same breath, mark you all who
hear my words, yet do I curse them. Every first male will love one
of my own kind. A Chosen One. These loves will be true and deep,
but even with all their power, fated to be lost. Those they love,
the Chosen Ones meant for them, will be torn and separated from
them, aye, even until the end of time. And what will be the
outcome, ask you? Why, merely this: these men will moan in torment
as their souls are ripped apart by their grief, trampled upon as
you have done to mine. They will be unable to fill the vast
emptiness within them; there will be no replacement for their lost
loves. Until man can undo the sleep caused by death, my curse will
hold true. So it is cast, so must it be."

The gasp of the crowd filled my ears as I
was jerked backward and out into the courtyard where the pyre had
been set up. They slammed me against the thick beam and lashed me
tight to it; below and around me, the pile of sticks and branches
glistened with animal fat.

Meant to make it burn faster.

Meant to make
me
burn faster.

I pressed against the stake, my eyes closed
so the ravenous faces before me could not harm me, as the anger
left me and I grew weak. Not until I heard his voice did I open my
eyes to view the world once more. One last time.

Matthew Hopkins scrambled to the top of the
pyre and wrapped his hands around my waist. His grip tightened as
he crushed his lips to mine.

I am saved.

When we parted, his breath grazed the hair
next to my ear as he spoke, soft yet clear.

"May you, and your curse, burn in hell where
you both belong."

My anger returned as I growled at him,
fighting against the restraints to hurt him as much as he had hurt
me. I stopped only when the Goddess whispered through my
despair.

Your curse is cast, Daughter. So now must it
be.

His descendents and theirs, even unto untold
generations, would know my pain.

All would suffer longer than I would ever
have to.

They would know what it meant to lose
something far more precious than life.

They would know what it meant to lose their
souls.

And with this, I could die in peace.

Chapter One

Present Day: Manning, North Carolina

My pen moved across the paper on the altar
with an ease I wished I could feel. It's never good to start a
spell with such anxiety. Smarter ones than me would have closed the
circle and left it for another night. But I had to do
something.

Anything to figure out what I was doing,
where I was going, with my magic.

With myself.

Anything.

I tried to shrug my discomfort off as
nothing more than nervousness as I began to whisper the words I
wrote, words coming too easily from my scattered thoughts:

Dear Great Mother,

My life has been empty since I found myself
outside of Your Grace. Decisions are harder to make, promises
harder to keep, and worst of all, my actions have taken me
throughout the day with no purpose. There is no reason to anything.
I beg of You to become my Guide once more. I can't explain why I
turned myself away. Perhaps it was fear of becoming something
different.

Something I was meant to be.

Ma and Aunt Evie say our workings are a way
for us to prosper where others fail. I don't believe this. I can't
believe the power You grant to Your children can be so selfishly
used. Please, I beg of You, show me what to do. Lead me through the
darkness I feel without Your presence, and teach me the true power
of magic.

I feel so alone, Great Mother. It's not
because the people in town shrink away from us as we pass, or
because I know I will have to decide whether to stay or to go. It's
because no one understands what it is like to be in constant
shadow, yearning for light but never finding it. Show me, if You
will, that I am not alone.

These words are the seeds of power, and thus
with my hand, they grow.

Anya Blanchett

The words seemed heavier on the page than
they had on my heart as I lifted my pen up. My hands trembled as I
struck the match, and I watched as the script disappeared within
the folds of the paper, eaten by the flames. The burnished glow of
the fire fell soft against the shadows of my makeshift altar, and I
sighed as I held the paper close to me.

Magic is a power much like madness but so
much more like fire. It begins with the simplicity of thought, only
to grow into action that builds until it consumes. An invisible
fire, an unexplainable madness grabbed hold of me as I sat in
silence, and my anxiety melted until it was nothing more than an
ache where the painful knot had been.

"Please, Great Mother. Please show me
goodness where I've known only darkness and indecision. Show me the
path to Your light."

I whispered the words as my grasp on the
paper loosened. I lifted it upward then, bringing a single
sharpened corner down until the flame interrupted my movement and
caught hold of its fragile target. The haze whirled around me
against the shadows and those heavy words became nothing more than
coiling smoke and darkened air as they were released into the
night.

And thus it is done, and so now must it
be....

***

The Carolina sun peeked out from behind the
first clouds of the day, and I smiled as I watched the light
flicker across the wooden floors toward the bed where I sat.
It
will be beautiful today
. My smile faltered as I thought of what
the day would bring.

A sigh escaped.

No more places to hide, Annie
.

I stood and grabbed the brush just within my
reach, pulling it through the long strands of red hair and sweeping
them upward in a ponytail with practiced motion. August
twenty-fourth was a day I had nightmares about all summer long. A
single square I had blacked out on the calendar above my desk, even
with my Aunt Evelyn's astrological predictions things would go
well.

The first day of school. Again.

The mere thought of it made me shudder as I
turned back toward my window to look at the sun. It seemed to
beckon me into an unforeseen danger.

Better to get this over with now,
a
voice whispered against the back of my mind as I pulled on a dark
blue t-shirt.

The sooner it begins, the sooner it will
end.

The town of Manning, North Carolina was
non-existent on any map of importance, but it was home to those who
loved small southern charm and sought easy access to both the
beaches to the east and mountains to the west. That southern charm
had its advantages. A glance never fell on a stranger, and arms
were open to all who walked the streets. I stuffed my notebooks
into my ancient book bag and glanced out to the bright light.

Well, almost everyone
.

My family had lived here for generations,
always practicing our craft in secret. Yet, as secrets have a way
of doing, ours lay boiling under the surface and people in town
began, many years before my birth, to talk. Whispers labeled us as
'the different folk', and I couldn't help but agree with them. We
never participated in anything that wasn't absolutely necessary,
nor did we take part in the social rituals engrained in every
Southern family since the first church was built here. The kids
around me noticed, and they thrived on the cruelty invoked by our
strangeness.

"Anya!"

My mother's voice floated up the stairs and
I grabbed the bag before rushing down to meet her. Ivy Blanchett's
pretty face darkened in concern as I approached, and I sighed as I
grabbed the customary toast and juice she placed before me.

"Oh, Annie...must you always look as if
someone is coming to burn you?"

She chuckled at her little joke as she
whipped around the kitchen.

"Besides, it's your first day back at
school. Your last year. Final memories and all that. Aren't you the
least bit excited?"

I glared at her as my teeth sank into the
toast, reminding myself thoughts could be powerful if one was not
careful.

"You know I'm not a bit excited, Ma. And you
know why."

"Oh, I know. But you really shouldn't let
the other brats get to you so."

I watched as her hands moved clockwise to
brush the steam away from her tea, and I couldn't help but wonder
what she was doing. What magic had been cast? She was quick to
interrupt my curiosity with another scowl pointed in my
direction.

"Besides, the new moon was just last week.
Surely you did a working to make things easier for you today?"

I shook my head and returned the scowl. I
lingered over what was left of my meager breakfast. "I told you,
Ma. I'm not sure if...I'm not sure if I should do workings at all.
Much less for something like my first day of school."

Her bright green eyes rolled at my words and
she sipped her tea before she spoke in the tone she used on the bad
children she often found playing in our garden.

"How many times must I tell you, Annie?
That's what your power is
for
. You are no better than the
rest if you choose to ignore it."

Tea gone, she grabbed her purse and headed
toward the door, her words floating back to me as she disappeared
out of sight.

"Good luck and don't forget about tonight!
You have your fitting at seven!"

I groaned as I nursed the juice as long as
possible, wondering if she had awakened Aunt Evelyn with her
cheerfulness. Our house was the family enclave, with its small
rooms built for lazier days. This was the place I'd grown up, and
presumably would grow old and die in my time, as would my mother
and aunt. I rushed to clear away the mess I'd lingered over as the
walls of our kitchen began to close in around me.