Salem's Fury (Vengeance Trilogy Book 2)

by Aaron Galvin

  He swings the war club, forcing me back.

  The end of it whistles past my face.

  I push off my back foot the moment it passes, diving forward before he can swing again. I roll upon the ground, hooking his ankle with the back of my tomahawk, yanking up and slicing him.

  He roars at the blow and swings anew.

  Again, I duck away and bring my blades to bear.

  Horses scream in the distance and riders approach us, each of them yipping and wailing.

  I near faint seeing the riders carry Sarah and Numees across their laps.

  “Rebecca, run.” Sarah shouts. “Go now!”

  Madness catches me at the pleading in her voice. I rush Two Ravens, stabbing and hacking. My blades cut him more than once, yet still he stands.

  He laughs upon catching my wrist.

  I cry out as he twists it back, and I drop my tomahawk.

  Two Ravens bashes my nose with the blunt edge of his stolen club.

  My world swirls black and red as I drop to my knees. I swing my remaining blade, but even its movement feels slow in my hand.

  Two Ravens kicks me in the back, and falls upon me. He presses my face in the dirt and places his knee upon my spine. He first binds my hands tight behind my back then jerks me to my feet.

  “Walk,” he commands, grabbing my hair and leading me back into the village.

  My feet stumble, yet his grasp warns I must not fall.

  Burning huts light our way, their animal skins seared away leaving the skeletal remains afire. Dogs who so often chased us through the maze of homes lie dead with arrows in them.

  Two Ravens leads me through a maze of bodies, and his braves toss their own dead into the flames with little regard. Some witches stare at me, their eyes hollow. Others pour a blackish-purple powder into their palms then snort it.

  We reach the gathering circle, but Two Ravens does not allow me join them. He takes me instead to the striking pole and ties me to it.

  My legs collapse, though the leather bindings keep me upright.

  Sturdy Oak’s old face quivers at the sight of me and his body sags in relent to his bonds.

  “I-I am sorry, Grandfather,” I say through my tears, “that I could not protect you.”

  “You speak softly to him?” Two Ravens asks. “Let you speak such sorrow to her, old man. You wrong your women by not fighting.”

  “He is a peace chief.” I spit. “By the law, he cannot fight.”

  Two Ravens motions his braves lift Sturdy Oak to his feet. Then he looks back at me. “Did your white father not teach you what happens to those who neither fight nor flee, woman?”

  “No…don’t,” I say, watching Two Ravens stroke the ball of his stolen war club against Sturdy Oak’s cheek. “Grandfather.”

  Sturdy Oak looks on me with the same kindness I recall from my youth. “Peace, child,” he says. “Do not be troubled.”

  His calming voices washes over me, even as Two Ravens swings his club.

  I wince in the final moment, shutting my eyes to Sturdy Oak’s murder, but my ears I cannot close. The smack and screams of the people resound in them.

  “What’s this?” Two Ravens asks, pointing to the prone body of my grandfather. “A sturdy oak felled by Two Ravens?”

  The braves and witches join him in laughter.

  I stare at their faces, making note of their mirth. Like logs to the flame, they feed my hate.

  “Enough,” a female voice calls.

  I look into the crowd. The hoodless she-devil who killed two of our men approaches, flanked by several witches. She carries a pair of books in hand, and I well recognize the covers of both—my sister’s Bible and the Putnam journal.

  “Two Ravens,” she says. “We must be gone from here before the dawn. Kill the rest, or do with them as you will.”

  She grins as her eyes fall upon me and then to Sarah.

  “Leave me the white squaw and her crippled sister.”

  The braves carry out her orders, yet Two Ravens remains behind, watching.

  “What of those who escaped?” he asks.

  “I’ll leave behind some of my coven to deal with them,” the hoodless woman says. “Pretty voices fare better at singing young birds back to the nest than howling wolves do.”

  Numees struggles against the men so willfully they knock her unconscious and drag her away by her feet.

  I rage against my bonds while others in our village shout obscenities at the raiders for such treatment.

  All are greeted with similar brutality.

  My spirit near breaks at what I witness, though my mind wonders what power the she-devil holds to keep Two Ravens and his men in her sway as she kneels before me.

  I reckon her even older than Father by her wrinkles and the gray in her dirtied hair streaking with the blond. I glare into her face, noting her glittering eyes behind the streak of black painting over them.

  “Who are you?” I ask.

  “Can it be you do not recognize a devil’s daughter, birthed in the evils of Salem?” She holds the Putnam journal aloft. Flips through its pages. “Poor, poor Thomas Putnam.” She tsks. “Shall I read you what he wrote of me?”

  “Aye,” I say. “I would know your name, witch.”

  “I think that a fair trade,” she says. “Being that I know yours, Rebecca Kelly…or should I call you by your true family name, Campbell?”

  She casts her gaze upon the journal and opens her mouth to read.

  “The sixteenth day of November, sixteen ninety-one. God be praised, and bless Dr. Campbell.” Her voice rises in a mocking tone. “A knock came at my door late this eve, and he behind it. My daughter Ann stood with him. So too did my servant, Mercy. “What cause did they have to be out so late at night?” I asked them both. “And alone with a young man too?”

  The woman throws her head back in a fit of laughter that shivers me with its coldness.

  “I recall this night well,” she says. “Do not let Thomas Putnam fool you with his stern words. He knew well what cause I should have alone with a young man, especially one so handsome as Dr. Simon Campbell. Believe you me, child, my dear Master Putnam would have had the same of me had I hinted he were welcome to try.”

  “So you are a whore,” I say.

  “Among other things.” She grins then continues reading Thomas Putnam’s journal. “Dr. Campbell requested to speak with me outside. I consented, but first promised both girls a thrashing upon my return for her disobedience. God help me. My daughter knew my act all for show and exhibited little fear in front of my guest. I shall need to remedy her of that. The child should at least pretend to obey me…as Mercy does.”

  The hoodless woman glances up from the journal, looking from me to Sarah. “And so I kept my pretense for Thomas Putnam. All the many days I spent laboring under his roof. And all the nights until I slew him with my Salem sisters.”

  “You,” Sarah says to her. “You are Mercy Lewis.”

  “Aye,” she answers. “And you are the daughters of Dr. Simon Campbell.”

  “That man was no father to me,” I say.

  Mercy laughs. “Fear not, white squaw. I mean you no harm. Dr. Campbell’s plot freed me of my burdensome labor in the Putnam house. He revealed to me the invisible world with his Devil’s powder. Gifted me and my Salem sisters the means to exact our revenge upon those who looked down on us.”

  “He was no father to me.” I insist.

  “I believe that,” says Mercy. “A fire rages in you that could not have been learned from Dr. Campbell. His was ever an icy way, cold to the torments his plan wrought upon our village. So tell me, girl, where did you learn such wildness?”

  I keep my silence, not wishing to give more away.

  “An adopted father, I reckon,” says Mercy. “I did the same. And mine would meet you in Boston.”

  “Cotton Mather…” I say.

  Mercy nods.

  “Why?” Sarah asks. “Our father died fifteen year ago at the hand of Abigail Williams
. Why should anyone care what happened to his children?”

  Mercy shrugs. “Let Rebecca ask when we arrive.”

  She draws a bone-hilted dagger.

  The red and black ribbons flutter as I await her to loose my bindings, wondering if it be possible to steal the blade and slay her before the braves kill me.

  “The others gave up their search for you lot,” Mercy says to me. “Old age and new lives weakened their will. They would have me believe Abigail accomplished the task set before us. That finding Dr. Campbell’s body, gutted and strung in the woods, was proof enough vengeance had been served…but I knew some of you yet lived.”

  Fear wells within me as Mercy stands, turning her attention to Sarah.

  “Abigail was always the favorite.” Mercy’s cheek quivers. “She and her pretty face and still prettier manners. I remember well how she would toy with those she accused and the joy in her face when she watched them dangle on the rope. We shared that delight, she and I. And all the while, I often wondered if she would look so happy at her own death.”

  The tip of Mercy’s blade quivers as she kneels before Sarah.

  “Then I heard stories Abigail was slain. Murdered by a daughter of Dr. Campbell.” She taps her blade against my sister’s shins. “What lames you?”

  “God,” Sarah says. “He punishes me for my sins.”

  “No,” says Mercy. “He has no place here. These are Satan’s lands, filled with heathens.”

  “God is everywhere,” says Sarah.

  “Then let Him come down and heal you now,” Mercy says. “It is a long march to Boston and the Lord knows I will not be slowed by a cripple.”

  I struggle against my bonds to no avail as Sarah rises and falls, her legs giving out with each attempt.

  “Get up, Sarah,” I say. “Stand.”

  She tries again and fails.

  Mercy feigns disappointment. “Will you offer up no prayer?”

  “I-it is written,” says Sarah. “Thou shalt not tempt the Lord thy God.”

  My limbs burn with the leather against them when Mercy kicks Sarah’s ribs.

  “Do you think me a savage who knows naught of the scriptures? That you must quote book and verse to me?” Mercy asks. “I know the good book well, daughter of Campbell. Let you remember Genesis nine and six, ‘Whoso sheddeth man’s blood, by man shall his blood be shed. For in the image of God made he man.”

  “Coward whore!” I cry. “Leave my sister be. Let you take me instead.”

  “And send you to Heaven for your sacrifice? Never.” Mercy looks to Two Ravens. “Take the squaw from this place. I will leave a warning for those who would raise their hand against us.”

  Two Ravens moves too quick for me to react. He palms my forehead, pinching my nose shut and forcing a bit of wood into my mouth ere tying it off behind my head. I scream through it, and feel my bindings loosened as he takes me from the striking pole.

  The pain returns an instant later when Two Ravens tightens them so that my blood flow closes off. At his whistle, a brave bring him a horse. He slings me atop its back and binds me to it.

  The bit in my mouth muffles my demands as my sister struggles against Mercy, fighting to keep off her back.

  But even I know it a one-sided affair as Mercy knocks Sarah in the heads and turn her to her stomach.

  “Those who escaped the night Abigail died told me of a girl who fell from the sky,” Mercy says, putting her knee in Sarah’s back. “Like Lucifer cast down.”

  The bindings hold me fast despite my struggle.

  “P-please,” Sarah says through her tears. “Let you take me but leave my sister alone…God save you, leave her be.”

  “I mean your sister no harm, Sarah Kelly,” Mercy says. “But you—”

  She takes hold of my sister’s hair and yanks Sarah’s head back.

  “You killed my Salem sister.” Mercy brings the edge of her bone dagger to Sarah’s forehead. “And I have longed for the chance to repay you in kind.”

  My teeth near shatter upon the bit at the sound of Sarah’s blood-curdling cry. My skin flaming with leather burns as my bonds keep me atop the mount.

  My struggle sets the horse to panic. It wheels away from Two Ravens and saves me from witnessing my sister’s final moments.

  “Enough.” Two Ravens yells, reining the horse to calm.

  His words mean nothing to me.

  My wail rises and an endless flood of tears cascade down my cheeks as Mercy stands, leaving my sister’s lifeless body in the dirt.

  Mercy lifts her hand, dyed crimson-black in the firelight.

  She holds what I believe a bit of bloodied cloth against the striking pole. Then stabs her bone-hilted dagger, nailing the cloth to the pole. She leaves more than two ribbons fluttering in the wind.

  A moment later, I realize it a wrongful claim.

  There be only the two ribbons.

  The other bits are hair.

  My wits leave me at the realization of that which Mercy leaves upon the pole. I taste blood on my tongue, shrieking curses at my sister’s killer.

  Then Two Ravens appears, striking a blow to my head that sends me into darkness.

  -9-

  The sounds of the forest waken me—an owl’s hoot, and the echo of a wolf pack howling in unison. I look to the sky and note it darker than I remembered. A new night, judging by the moon’s placement.

  The throbbing in my head speaks I might well have slept the whole of day away. Dizziness bids me fall over, yet my bindings keep me upright and tied to the trunk of an old oak. The taste of dried blood fills my mouth and a raw fire rages in my throat, begging relief.

  “Wa…water…” I choke the words.

  “Do not look for kind treatment here,” says a woman’s voice behind me. “You shall receive little and less from this lot.”

  “Wh-who are you?”

  “A captive like you,” she says. “And a prized one, for what comfort that may bring me.”

  “Prized?”

  “Aye,” she says. “Look you to the west and find those not so prized as we.”

  Not a few campfires burn from the direction she speaks. The largest of them built some fifty yards away. Laughter and talk hail from some. Moans and cries from others, further off.

  “Mercy keeps us separate from your people,” the woman behind me says. “She would not risk us fall prey to savage desire for womanly comfort. We at least may be grateful for that.”

  My soul weeps at the sounds of woe hailing from the direction where my people lay captive. My anger stokes anew at the thought of those who can no longer cry out, my sister chief among them.

  “I would show Mercy Lewis how grateful I am,” I say, through gritted teeth.

  “You would do better to hide your hatred, if you desire your tongue. Mercy will not suffer scorn, if she be anything like the girl I remember from our youth.”

  “You know her then?” I ask.

  “Aye. Much as it pains me,” she says. “I know you also, Rebecca Kelly.”

  I struggle against my bonds to turn and know her better. Instead, I find the bondsman did his work well, and I cannot see for the tree’s girth and the surrounding dark.

  “Who are you?” I ask.

  “We met at your brother’s trade post, near one week and a half past. Mary is my name, in the event you forgot, as most are wont to do when meeting me.”

  I think back and recall the burly trader and his equally large wife’s meek demeanor at the table. “I remember you,” I say. “Though you were quiet and shy.”

  “Aye,” she says. “It has ever been my way, though I would change it if I could.”

  Her voice pains me as one who feels deep regret, yet she speaks so blatantly as to make me doubt her words.

  “Mary,” I say. “If you are here, where is your husband?”

  “Dead,” she says. “Mercy and her lot happened upon us not a few days past. They killed him before his body knew him murdered. An arrow through his chest without warning.�
��

  Mary sighs.

  “I should be dead also,” she says. “If not for Mercy. All these many years and still she recognized my face.”

  Mary quiets as a lone torchbearer walks toward us, lighting the brush.

  “Murderer,” I shout, the moment Mercy steps into my line of sight.

  My sister’s killer shakes her head. “Peace between us, Rebecca.”

  “I will never—”

  “Then let us have quiet at least,” says Mercy.

  I scream defiance at her. Fight against my bonds, hoping for a chance to free myself and strangle her.

  “You killed my sister.” I seethe.

  “And she killed mine.” Mercy cocks her head to the side. “And so it goes, back to Cain and Abel. Do not judge me harshly, girl. Your father began this game. We three here tonight are but a few of the pieces left upon the board to finish it.”

  “Aye.” I glare at her. “I will finish it.”

  Mercy laughs at my words. “A kindred spirit is a rare thing. I have lived long enough to recognize that now. We should have been great friends, you and I, if not for this game between our fathers.”

  I spit at her. “I could never have befriended a murderous whore. I know that is how you keep the natives loyal to you.”

  Mercy’s lip curls, and I relish that my words have stirred such a reaction.

  “What could you know of me, girl? Only what Thomas Putnam wrote,” Mercy says. “Ah, but I know well of you and yours. Birthed in privilege, then raised among the natives as their own. Taught the freedom in a life among the wild, far from the greed and sway of powerful men. But you have never been made to serve them, not like Abigail and I.” She looks past me to the opposite side of the tree. “Nor Mary either.”

  Her mention of ties confuses me, a sight which must be plain upon my face for Mercy again mocks my ignorance with laughter.

  “Did your fellow captive say naught of how she and I know one another? Or would she fill your head with lies, as she is known to do?” Mercy parades around the tree. “Come, Mary. What have you told this poor girl of our kinship?”

  “I-I said nothing to her, Mercy,” says Mary. “Nothing at all. Only that you recognized me in the woods.”