I felt all the air leave my lungs in a heave of despair. I saw what this was. It was a no way out. The first tear fell and I didn’t bother to wipe it away. I didn’t answer him, but he took my silence for all the answer he needed as he pushed himself upright away from the chair.
“Come on Miss Walsh, I have a cell set up just for you. Don’t get too comfortable there though, you won’t be in it for long.”
NO MORE THAN A MATTER of days went by before he was right and I found myself alongside the four others of us that had somehow fallen into this nightmare of false accusations and spreading lies. We sat before the Court of Oyer, before a jury of our peers. The humble townsfolk of Salem that were too afraid to have an opinion that might argue against the preaching of the good Reverend Parris or any of his constituents. We were damned and we knew it, our heads bowed and our minds trying to wrap around the insanity of what was happening.
I was on the stand.
“Elspeth Walsh, you stand accused of practicing witchcraft to lure the innocent and of using your wiles to seduce James Corbin down the path of wickedness in the devil’s own image.”
The words droned on, sliding with all the sharpness of a razor over my skin, slicing my emotions bare. I sat frozen to my chair in disbelief, eyes staring in horror at the room filled with spectators, come to see what excuses or supposed proof the already guilty might come up with to refute what they already knew would be the outcome.
I lost count of the number of ‘witnesses’ willing to testify to my supposed guilt. Many had been loyal customers of my mother’s for years. In the back of my mind I noticed the furtive glances they sent towards the avid jury, and the loyal members that sat on the board of the Court of Oyer. They hadn’t, most of them, volunteered to take the stand. But fear of reprisal had loosened their tongues, leaving their words open to attack from the shark like attorneys and fervid magistrates.
“Do you deny that you were with James Corbin on the bank of the Green River two weeks ago on the 21st of July?”
“No, but...” I protested.
“You threw yourself in his arms...” Reverend Parris interrupted.
“No, he...” I denied.
“You kissed him, led him on,” he persisted, eyes alight with malice.
“He kissed me, grabbed my arm.” I shouted, the sound weak and barely audible.
“Ah, the arm. The mark of the devil,” stated John Hawthorne, replacing the good reverend.
“Psoriasis, a skin disease, nothing more...” I explained.
“Lies! We know what psoriasis looks like. Show us your arm, Elspeth Walsh. Show us now lest you be held in contempt by this court for spreading falsehoods to the righteous people of Salem.”
My face was cherry red with anger and frustration as I hid my hands behind my back. With a glare of self-righteousness, John Hawthorne reached forward and snagged my wrist. He pulled it forward and with his other hand, ripped the sleeve that covered my arm midway up my arm, thread and hand-tatted white lace sliding away to expose my freckled skin, covered in iridescent bright copper scales. “I give you proof of the devil’s mark,” he crowed triumphantly to the gasping crowd.
Pandemonium broke out. Several matronly ladies screamed in terror and one fainted dead away from the shock. Amid the sound of the gavel and the shouts of, ‘witch,’ and ‘devil’s spawn’, among others, the court slowly returned to order.
I bent forward, tendrils of blond hair escaping my bun and falling forward to hide my face from view.
It was a nightmare, all of it. Thank God Da and Mama and my brothers weren’t there to see my shame. To be a witness to my persecution by the people of Salem, many of them neighbors and friends, would have been more than any of us could bear. It was Da that had wisely kept them from the courtroom—to keep his family safe. A dragon—or four—transforming in the middle of the Court of Oyer wouldn’t have done much towards refuting my guilt.
Not that I stood a chance, anyway. One look at the hard-eyed patrons of the courtroom and I knew their minds were already made up about me.
The trial wound into the late afternoon, tensions rising along with the oppressive weight of the heat until breathing became next to impossible. During a brief recess around 4:00, the Court of Oyer disbanded, replaced by the Court of Terminer to call for a verdict and decide the sentence.
Of the seven of us, it surprised me when two were acquitted.
Sitting silent, numb with the rest of them, I listened as the rest of us were sentenced to hang by the neck until dead.
I had less than a week to live. Something else, I realized as we turned and were led away with the other hollow eyed victims beside me, was that hopelessness was its own form of antiseptic, deadening us to our reality. Not a one of us uttered a word as we returned to our cells.
I left the hardened bread and broth that comprised my supper until the gravy on top congealed into a greasy pool that curdled my stomach to look at it. I wasn’t hungry.
I thought of my Da and Mama and my brothers. I’d give anything for one more fight with Aidan. Another argument with my baby brother Finn, who was most like me. Even Fergus, maybe most of all Fergus. Whose presence never failed to calm my fiery temper. I wanted it all to disappear and go away. My family weren’t fools. They’d be biding their time and holding their own council. I needed them to stay as far away from it all as possible and safe. Maybe only one of us had to die so that the rest might live. It would be worth it if they left my mother, sweet Moira, alone.
I sat long into the night, knees pulled up and under my chin, huddling on the lumpy bed with the coarse wool blanket that irritated my skin and staring through the darkness. For once, I consciously called my dragon, willing it to come. If I could change, I could escape. But nothing happened. I wasn’t ready yet, not for a full on change. At my age, doing so was tantamount to an agonizing way to die if I managed it. But I was dead anyway, it was a chance I was willing to take.
When morning came I still sat on the cot, my dragon absent, and still wholly human.
Around 10:00 a.m. there was a commotion outside my window. Despite myself, I was curious. The window in my cell was high on the wall and the only way I had a decent view was by standing on the bed. That was when I wished I hadn’t bothered. I had an unfettered view of Gallows Hill at the end of Main Street. I recalled that two of the hangings were today. I’d managed to look towards the top of the hill just in time to see them place the black hood over the graying hair of the matron they’d found guilty. I remembered her as the elderly poor woman who had had a penchant for gossip and her grandchildren. Perhaps her habit of speaking poorly of those she shouldn’t had caught up with her, I wasn’t sure of the entire story.
I should have looked away then, but some macabre emotion held me still, waiting for the lever to spring. When it did and she fell I heard an eerie moan as the rope drew taut, making an odd screech as the weight of the old woman’s body hit the end. I realized the moan had been my own. Tears I hadn’t been aware of trickled over my cheeks as they moved the next victim, a young woman no older than myself, into position. Then I did look away. But the scream when it came wasn’t from Gallows hill, but from the old woman in the cell two doors down. The sound of an animal in utmost agony and despair.
I curled myself into a ball and sobbed then, as the terror wrapped around me. I didn’t want to die. I had so much living yet to do. Had that been that young girl’s last thoughts too?
I looked down along my arms. The scales were back, the itching the worst it had ever been. I dug at the offending brown disks until blood welled to the surface in several spots where my sharp nails had broken the skin. I hated them. Where were you last night when I needed you?
FROM THE CHURCH COURT yard Olivia watched the hangings with several others of the youth from church. As the rope hit its end she winced, looking away. She looked deeper into the crowd to where she could see the Magistrates Johnathon Corwin and his partner John Hawthorne. Beside them stood James. He hadn’t bothered to
look her way once, though he had to know she was there. She’d told him she would be. Beside him, Ella Mae, a blond girl her age from church, stood next to him. Apparently her mother hadn’t thought her too young to attend. The two of them looked exceedingly chummy, chatting and smiling.
It had all been for naught. Bile rose thick in Olivia’s throat as the body at the end of the rope gave a last twitch and she nearly lost her breakfast. That would be Elspeth on the morrow, and she, Olivia, was responsible for all of it. It was her fault. She swallowed against the thick knot of shame that formed a hollow pit in her stomach. What have I done?
CHAPTER SIX
THE DIM LIGHT OF THE old hurricane lamp was the only light cast over the worn table that had seen an entire generation of Walsh’s grow up. It showcased them now in its glow; Finn, Fergus and Aidan, sitting hollow eyed and desperate with their equally confused parents, Duncan and Moira.
Duncan looked the length of the family table. Decisions had to be made, and desperate ones. They had less than a day to put them in action or risk losing Elspeth to a town overrun with mass hysteria.
“What are we gonna do, Da?” Finn asked, his voice much younger than his seventeen years.
Aidan, the oldest, answered before Duncan could. “We tear the place to the ground and get our sister back, that’s what.” He growled, the light from the flickering fire doing nothing to dampen the flinty hardness of his eyes.
“And risk the rest of my children? Stop and think, Aidan; you getting killed too won’t solve the problem.” Moira hissed, running her fingers through her hair, snarling the heavy mass in the lengthening claws tipping the ends of her fingers. It was the only outward sign that she might be more than human. Her true power had always lain in the herbal concoctions and remedies she created. No magic, just plain hard work knowledge passed down through the years in the recipes and journals of her Celtic Ancestors.
“No. We can’t run off half-cocked and do something foolish. Mama’s right, we have to think this through. We’ll only have one chance to get it right,” Duncan agreed, the knuckles of his fists crackling as he squeezed them tight.
“We’re wasting time is what we’re doing.” Fergus worried.
“We have to worry about what comes after as well. It’s not just a matter of getting Elspeth out. The magistrate and judge—the law will come looking for her... and us. We’ll no longer be safe.”
Aidan ground his teeth, his own dark-clawed fingers tapping in agitation on the gnarled wooden tabletop.
“Stop that!” Growled Moira. Normally so calm, she was in a rare state of pissed off, totally out of character for her normally sunny mood.
Aidan slanted her an irritated glance but curled scaled fingers around the mug of ale he hadn’t touched, but clutched with both hands like a lifeline, allowing him to focus. “Da’s right, we won’t be safe here anymore, but at least we’ll still be together and a family. Without Elspeth, we’ll never have that again, like a piece torn out.” He looked at his father, tall and broad and a pillar of strength in their family. Today he looked old and gaunt, as if the world pressed in on him from all sides. “Where will we go?”
Duncan seemed to shrink in even further. “I don’t know. Away from here. Somewhere we can start over. We stay together as a family.” He stated, looking at the solemn faces that depended on him for guidance. They were near grown but still kids in their first year of change. Vulnerable to the iron weapons of man, susceptible to their cruelty and prejudice against anything they didn’t understand. Determined though they were, his children lacked the battle-hardened experience of a mature dragon. And yet, he had no choice but to ask them to break the law and risk their lives.
His mouth flattened to a thin line. Not that the law was anything he recognized as right or fair. Sometimes the few had to stand up to the masses in the name of seeing justice served.
“We’ll go tomorrow night.” He decided, staring at his sons, ready and willing and so inexperienced. “There won’t be room for sentiment or compassion. Nobody you meet will be your friend. If we can get into the cells, maybe we can do a partial shift to break the bars loose. Once we get her free, we need to make it beyond the edge of town and then we’ll shift and get home. In the morning we’ll fly higher in the mountains and make camp for the first day. We’ll have time then to make a better plan, decide where we can go, what our next move has to be.”
He looked at his wife of twenty-two years. Her eyes glittered like wet gold, knowledge of the incredible risk they were all taking reflected there. She knew, as they all did, that the town of Salem had left them little choice. In forcing their hand, the citizens risked the possibility of bringing to their doorsteps the very monsters of superstition that haunted their dreams. But it wasn’t a witch that was coming to play. They’d be dealing with the dragon.
MOIRA STAYED BEHIND as night fell, bringing with it the hint of a late night shower. Heat lightening danced across the sky, still miles off and brewing. It would be here soon enough, but maybe not before early morning. They’d be gone by then, Duncan hoped.
On the edge of town, they waited for the town to settle in. That was the best thing about Salem, Massachusetts and a town full of puritans. Everyone went to bed at dark.
They waited until long past dusk and well into the blackest part of the night, giving everyone a chance to dim the lanterns and tuck in. It would also give whoever they had on duty watching the jail and the condemned a chance to grow complacent and let down their guard.
Duncan had mulled over the best way to get the upper hand without alarming a town of several hundred armed fanatics who shot first and asked questions later. He’d stuck with simple. The condemned were made up of the poor and the homeless. They weren’t expecting any trouble. So Duncan, ever so helpful, waited until he was sure the sidewalks were clear and deserted in both directions and simply walked up to the door and knocked. He schooled his expression into lines of anxious worry. When the young magistrate answered, it was obvious he’d already dozed off at his desk and Duncan had woken him. Brows rose in irritation, taking in the stooped shoulders of the older man standing at the door, stooped and wobbly. The heavy aroma of spirits hung in the air and his eyes narrowed on Duncan in suspicion.
“What do you want?” he asked, getting ready to slam the door. “You aren’t supposed to be loitering on the streets past dark, you know that.”
Duncan nodded, lifting a gnarled finger and pointing down the side of the building on his left. He slurred his words as he spoke, to add to the effect. “Someone breakin’ in zee winder from zee side... thought uz should know...” Setting the bait, he didn’t wait to see if the young magistrate took it, instead he stumbled along down the boardwalk to the right.
Duncan concealed a hard smile when the door closed behind the junior constable, moving left to investigate. A dull thud as something hit the side of the building a moment later had him spinning back and straightening as he hurried to the door. Seconds later Finn, Fergus and Aidan entered behind him. Fergus held up a round ring of keys with a calculated smile. Duncan did not return his humor.
“Let’s get this done, my back is itching like crazy. The quicker we clear the city limits the better I’ll feel about this entire mess.” He admitted, snagging the keys and heading towards the back.
The lengthy line of cells held the three prisoners slated to be hung before noon the following day. One man, an elderly woman, and Elspeth stared at them in owl-eyed wonder.
“Da? Brothers?” she breathed, her breath hitching as she sprung to her feet and pressed her ravaged face between the bars.”
Duncan was already sorting keys, finding the correct one on his third try. He swung the door open and groaned as Elspeth flung herself into his arms with a sob. He crushed her to him for the space of a single second before pushing her back.
He grasped her shoulders and gave her a firm shake to get her attention. “Time for that later. We have to go. He turned and paused when she didn’t immediately follow.
“Hey, you can’t leave us here. Let us out.” The man in the middle cell growled, something otherworldly about his eyes.
Aidan looked back at her; brows beetled in concentration. “Come on, this is no time to get sentimental.” Aidan griped, waiting with his brothers by the door and frowning in her direction.
Elspeth held out her hand to her father. “Give me the keys,” she stated. Duncan opened his mouth to argue. The hard edge to her gaze had him changing his mind as he stepped forward himself, already fumbling for the right key. He stared at the man; fists white knuckled as he wrapped them around the bars. “We can’t take you with us, not where we’re going. You’ll be on your own.” Duncan’s glance drifted to the old woman in the next cell. She hadn’t moved from where she sat on the cot rocking, staring into space. “What about her?”
The man smiled coldly, showing a fine set of canines and a gleam of yellow eyes. “I’ll be fine.” Duncan stared at him in sudden comprehension. He imagined he would be at that. “As for the old woman? She’s already dead. They hung her youngest daughter this morning,” he snarled, joining them in the main room.
They moved towards the door when Finn held up a shaking hand and everyone froze. Excited voices and a low moan from the side of the building reached their ears. Someone had discovered the guard. Waving his fist in a circle furiously, they all made an about face, scrambling for the back of the building and the other exit. There were out of time. Fergus opened the door as silently as he could and together they crossed the thresh hold, easing the back door shut as the front opened. The woods was a dark crease on the edge of darkness and together they broke into a run. Duncan heaved a tremendous sigh of relief as the six of them made the cover of the woods. But it was short-lived. Standing in the shadows, they were far from in the clear.
Dragon's Wish Page 8
