by Brom
“Yes, it is Father’s fault! He’s the one empowering her so. But she is learning how to manipulate the magic. There is no telling what she is capable of with his help. She might send us all up in a ball of flame next.”
Sky and Creek flitted about as though they wanted to be anywhere but here.
“You heard Father. The spiders are back. You know that means Mamunappeht is getting closer. You know this is the woman’s doing.”
“No. It doesn’t matter whether she means to or not, Creek. She is still doing this. Every time they work one of their spells together, it is like sending smoke signals to Mamunappeht.”
“What foolish thing will they do next, I ask you? What door will they open? What do you think will happen if the magic man finds out that Pawpaw has returned to us?”
Sky and Creek met his eye then; both appeared horrified.
“Listen to me, both of you. We must kill her as soon as we can. Before the shaman finds us, before they starve Pawpaw.”
“How?” Forest smirked. “Together, that is how. Lend me your magic, help me call forth the venomous creatures. Let them do their work and there will be no trace of our hand in this deed. It will work. I know it will!”
The two exchanged a painful look, but nodded ever so slightly.
“Good. Tonight then … we set them upon her tonight.”
* * *
The day was drawing to a close, the setting sun coloring the sky brilliant orange.
Samson perched upon the blackened remains of the barn roof. He watched Abitha, had been watching her all day as she went about her task of cutting the honeycomb from the fence and storing it in her cabin.
Hobomok. The word came to him like a whisper on the wind. He shut his eyes, reliving for the hundredth time the shock of hearing that word, how it had burned into him, how in that moment his mind had felt it would split in two. They were back, the spiders. With his eyes shut he could just see them, tiny flickering hairs at the edge of his vision. How they made his head ache. “Leave me be,” Samson growled. He spotted Sky and Creek over by the cabin, watching him, looking nervous, and he wondered yet again what it was they were hiding from him.
Abitha dropped off another load of cut comb, returned, washing the stickiness from her hands in the water pail. She began counting, using her fingers. She smiled. “Samson, I’ve added up what I have in the cabin. Why, there’s almost more than the wagon will hold. Edward was getting a full string, over ninety-six wampum a pound, and that was last year. I’ve heard they’re paying more than double that now. You know what that means, Samson? Do you? It means Wallace can go diddle himself, it does, because this is my land now!”
She let out a laugh, then whooped, a wild grin on her face. She snatched up the broom from the fence, pulled off a bit of the remaining comb, and put it in her mouth, licking her lips loudly. She began to spin about with the broom as though it were her dancing partner, spun until she fell on the grass, then just lay there laughing, sounding elated and exhausted.
Samson felt Abitha’s spirit, her fervor, how the magic was drawn to her, how it bonded with her, how strong it was becoming within her. He closed his eyes, drank it in, trying to channel it to open his last memories, but it was the terrified faces of the Pequot men he kept seeing.
Hobomok, Hobomok. He couldn’t stop hearing the name. Am I truly the spirit of death? Am I?
* * *
Abitha lay in the grass watching Samson, disturbed by how troubled he looked. You have done so much for me, Samson. How I wish I could help you. She found her hand in her apron pocket, upon the chain of braids—she kept them with her at all times now. Mother, if you were but here. You would know what to do.
A bee drifted by and Abitha began to softly hum its song, calling it to her, delighted when the bee responded, began to circle her face, then landed right on the tip of her nose. She marveled at their connection; it wasn’t as though she could actually talk to them, but more a projecting of her feelings and desires onto them. It made her feel one with them, one with nature itself.
She gently blew the insect away and sat up. It was growing dark and she needed to pee. She climbed to her feet and let out a groan as she tried to stretch the soreness from her back. She then headed around the cabin for the privy, or what Edward liked to call the small cabin. And, as was Edward’s way, it was built like a small cabin, solid and secure to keep the wind out and so you did not need worry about a bear or a pack of wolves joining you while you were about your business.
The privy sat at the bottom of the slope, farther away from the cabin than Abitha would’ve liked, especially in the heart of winter, but it needed to be downhill from the well, and Edward had said the soil was right in that spot.
As she approached, a rabbit darted out from the side of the outhouse. It ran directly at her, dashing by as though something terrible was after it. Abi glanced about for predators amongst the nearby trees.
She reached for the door and stopped. Something was wrong; it took her a second to figure it out. Where are the flies? The air around the outhouse was usually humming with them. She lifted the latch and opened the door, saw nothing but shadows, started to step in, then stopped. Someone was there, next to the privy.
A figure, a man, drifted out from the dark. His face a cluster of dancing shadows, with pits where his eyes should be.
“Edward?” She gasped, fell back a step, her hand to her mouth.
Edward stood staring, not at her, but at the privy. He raised a hand, pointed inside, and his mouth opened into a silent scream.
Abitha glanced back, realized the shadows within were alive, the floor of the outhouse a boiling mass of oily shapes. She heard a hiss, saw Forest hanging from the ceiling beam, his black eyes gleaming.
“Kill her,” Forest whispered, and something struck her ankle, another strike, then two more.
Abitha stumbled back, tripped, fell hard onto her rump, and that was when she saw them—snakes, five, maybe six. Tangled amongst them dozens upon dozens of spiders and centipedes. And like a dam breaking, they gushed out, slithering and skittering, racing one another for her, all of them coming for her!
Abitha tried for her feet, but they were on her and she let loose a scream as they slid, crawled, and skittered up her legs. There came a sting, a bite, another, then dozens. She screamed again, gained her feet, only to realize she could no longer feel them, her legs going numb, sending her tumbling back to the ground. She clawed and slapped and still they assailed her.
“What is this!” Samson roared. He leapt past her, grabbing Forest and yanking him from the outhouse, slamming the possum to the ground. And just like that, the spell was broken, the snakes and spiders all losing their fire, falling away, scattering into the grass and underbrush.
Abitha moaned; her attackers were gone, but the searing poison continued to crawl slowly up her legs.
Samson dropped next her, clutched her hand. His face mortified.
“Help me, Samson.”
“I … I do not know how?” He grabbed the earth, her hand, began chanting, but nothing was happening.
The poison continued to spread. Abitha knew she was running out of time, knew if it reached her heart it would be all over. She thought she saw a ghost there in the shadows, not Edward this time, but her mother. She jabbed her hand deep into the pocket of her apron, clasped the braids, pulled them out, pressed them to her lips.
“Aye, Mother, I can do this. I must.”
She clutched the braids in one hand, Samson’s hand in the other, closed her eyes, and focused inward. She knew what she was seeking—the pulse, the glow, the magic that had been lurking within her ever since Samson first touched her, growing with each spell they cast.
And it was there, in her heart, waiting. She felt its hunger, how it wanted her, and she was afraid. She saw them then, the shadowy shapes of twelve women, their faces hidden beneath their long auburn hair. The scent of lavender and sage grew strong in the air, and a sense of calm stole over her.
/> The magic, the power, it is part of me and I am part of it. She set it free and it bloomed and it was at that moment she felt something else, something below her in the earth, something that knew her name. The serpent!
“She is here!” Samson whispered.
The pulse grew stronger, drumming in her chest, spreading, coursing out along her veins and arteries, seeking the poison. And when the magic, her magic, found the poison, she did not fight it, no, but bound it with the magic, the two becoming part of the same. It was her poison now, and she simply pushed it from herself the way one would exhale a breath of air.
She felt a cold dampness along her legs, opened her eyes to see the venom sweating out from her pores. She let out a long groan and fell back on the grass, panting.
Creek and Sky stared at her, stunned.
Samson’s eyes were full of wonder. “Abitha, there is more to you than you know.”
Forest coughed, rolled over, started crawling away.
“You!” Samson snarled, leaping up and seizing the opossum in both hands. “You are done!” He began squeezing, crushing the spirit.
Creek and Sky flew at Samson, biting and grabbing, tugging his fur, trying to make him release Forest.
Abitha felt the presence in the earth move, felt its displeasure. “No!” Abi cried. “Samson, you must not! Do not let the Devil take you! It is over, done. Release him!”
Samson glanced back and forth between Abitha and Forest, his eyes full of fury. Abitha felt sure he would crush the opossum; instead he let out another loud snarl and slung the opossum to the ground.
Forest lay there wheezing.
“You are to leave here!” Samson commanded. “If I should see you again, it will be your end. Do you understand me, foul beast?”
Forest tried to get up, couldn’t. Creek and Sky flew over, and with their help, Forest made it to his feet. Slowly they walked him away. Just before entering the woods, Forest stopped, looked back. “Father,” he called. “Pawpaw is starving.… You must bring it tribute and soon. If you do not heed me, the tree will die … and with it … your soul.”
Samson turned his back on them.
“I tried everything to save you, Father. To save us all. I am sorry I failed you, that I failed Mother Earth. One day, and very soon I fear, you will understand. Only then, it will be too late.”
The wildfolk headed off, disappearing into the dark shadows of the trees.
* * *
Abitha steadied herself against the well and took a deep drink from the bucket. Her legs were still quivering, dotted with small welts and bite marks, but there was no pain. She searched for Edward down by the trees, found no sign of him. You saved me, Edward, she thought, and wondered just what that meant. Are you truly still here? Please tell me. Or have I gone mad? You must show me what is real.
Samson stared at her, not hiding his awe.
Night was upon them, and the fireflies flittered about the grass and bushes. The air felt alive, like a storm was brewing.
“Abitha, Mother Earth, she was here. She came for you. I am sure of it. Did you not feel her? You must have.”
“I felt many things,” she said, as thoughts of her dreams, of the serpent offering her the apple full of spiders came to her. She realized she was still clutching the chain of braids. She touched them to her cheek, savoring their comfort a moment longer before putting them away, back into her apron. Do not judge me harsh, Edward. I am trying to do what is right … only it is so very hard to know what is right. If you are there, you see this; you must.
Samson began pacing back and forth. “You have such a connection, I feel it. Perhaps, if you ask Mother Earth the right questions, she will show you.” He shook his head. “No, show us.” He pulled on his chin, nodding to himself. “Yes, us.” His eyes suddenly filled with excitement. “That’s it! That is the key! Together! All the magic we have done together has proved fruitful. If we ask her, perhaps then she will reveal who I am. Will give me some clue. Yes? Yes!”
His blood was up; she could all but hear his heart thumping.
“Abitha, now is our chance. Let us dance, you and I. Let us stir up some big magic this night. Let us call the moon and the stars to show us who we are. What say you, Abitha? Will you help me find my truth?”
She had no idea what he was leading her into, but she also knew he wasn’t asking, not at all.
He seized her arm, squeezing a bit too hard. “Will you?” He didn’t wait for her to answer but dashed off, returning with her broom, handing it to her.
“What is this for?”
“Abitha, I once asked you what you wanted. Do you remember?”
She nodded.
“You said that when you were a child you dreamed of being a fairy queen, of running barefoot through the woods with the animals. To sing and dance with them. And to—”
“—to fly with the birds,” she finished with a grin.
He took her hand. “Abitha, it is time to fly.”
She laughed, a giddy sound, the sound of someone who has had too much to drink. “I cannot fly, Samson.”
“Have you tried?”
“Samson, I cannot fly.”
“Sky and Creek can fly, can be seen and not seen. You have pushed poison from your blood, have healed the sick, raised the corn.”
“It was more than me.”
“I know.” His silver eyes lit up, and for a moment she felt the old fears. “You have called her here. Her magic is all around us. Why, you are brimming with it. Do you not feel it? Let us seize it before it slips away again.”
It was true, she was flush with the magic, almost buoyant. Almost as though I could fly, she thought. Or at least float. A wave of excitement coursed through her.
“It is time to see just what you are capable of.” He pushed the broom at her. “Let us go for a ride, you and I.”
She started to resist, she was so weary, dizzy, almost feverish from the day, from the venom, and this all sounded like madness. But when he touched her, she felt his fever, felt the pulse grow, both within her and about her. Her body began to tingle.
He smiled and started to spin her in a slow wide circle, first in one direction, then back in the other, almost a waltz. She kicked off her shoes, the grass, still warm from the day’s sun, feeling delicious beneath her bare feet. The humid night air was intoxicating, going to her head.
“Set yourself free, Abitha. Set us both free.”
“Aye,” she replied, her clothes suddenly feeling heavy and confining. She tugged off her blouse, throwing it into the air with a laugh. She felt lighter, light as a feather. She slipped off her skirt and apron, falling over in the process, rolling across the soft grass, savoring the feel of it against her bare skin.
The magic began to swirl around them, in the air and in the ground. She couldn’t see it, but she felt it dancing along every inch of her nakedness.
Samson pulled her to her feet and the dance began again. The fireflies, moths, and bats joined them, drawn in by the magic, fluttering and swimming about in ever-tighter circles.
Abitha began to hum, to sing a song without words, the crickets, frogs, and toads all lending their voices. The night felt to her a living thing; she felt its breathing, its pulse. She moaned, drinking in its intoxicating sweetness, laughed, then sang, then laughed some more. She’d not slept for going on two days now, and she let her delirium take her.
The air grew dense around her, almost a thing you could swim in. She saw it then, the magic, a shimmering haze flowing around her, her hair floating in its current.
Samson released her and she spun slowly about, circling him.
He held out the broom. “Do you still wish to fly, Abitha? With the bats through the night?”
She looked at him, understood this was no jest. She nodded. “Oh, yes.”
“Ask the broom.”
“The broom?” She laughed, the sound echoing in her own head. “Why not?” She sauntered, almost glided over to him, clasping the handle just above his han
d. She had no idea what to do next, then she did. The earth told her as it always did. She closed her eyes and let the broom feel her desire, sent it a vision of her sailing through the night, as did Samson, the two of them together, their hearts as one. The shimmering haze began to swirl around the broom, tighter and tighter, weaving together as Abitha and Samson pushed it, channeling the magic into the broom. The broom shuddered and she felt a throbbing through the handle. The throbbing slowed, becoming a pulse, matching that of her own, that of Samson’s.
Samson let go and stepped back.
The broom was buoyant and Abitha found it took some effort to keep it from drifting skyward. She glanced at Samson and he smiled.
“What now?” Abitha asked, and the broom responded, tugging her gently. She followed its lead as they drifted in a wide circle, slowly spinning. Her whole body, her heart and soul, felt so light, so incredibly light. And at some point, she realized her feet were no longer on the ground.
“Oh,” she whispered, “this is magnificent.”
The oddly paired partners drifted down to the forest’s edge, then slowly back up to Samson. Samson caught the broom, steering the handle down so that the broom was horizontal, floating between them at waist level.
He took a seat on the sweep and extended a hand out to Abitha, his silver eyes aglow. He seemed as drunk on the magic as her. “Are you ready?”
She hesitated a moment longer, savoring the excitement and fear. She started to take a seat behind him.
“No, it is your spell. You should lead.”
“Oh,” she said. “Wonderful, steering a broom. How hard can it be?”
She took a seat in front of him, sitting sidesaddle, all but in his lap. She clasped the handle, gripping it firmly as though for dear life. He slipped an arm about her waist. He smelled of honey and dry leaves, his fur warm and soft.
