by Aaron Galvin
They cease the song of a sudden.
Not a few of our women gasp as part of the circle breaks.
A trio of braves stands on the border of firelight and darkness, one an impressive native who leaves little doubt he is their war chief. To his right stands a younger brave I well recognize—the hostage I had in my care. Seeing the two side by side, I think it easy to know them for father and son.
The third brave holds his own hostage. An over-sized woman with her hands bound behind her back and a noose round her neck, its end leading to the rope held in his hand.
“Mary Warren…” I say.
At a foreign word from the war chief, the brave leads Mary toward me. Fear and panic glow in her eyes as they cross the yard. The brave makes a show of handing the rope to me, and his chieftain speaks again.
“He says the debt is paid,” says Creek Jumper, stepping to join me. “A captive for you in exchange for the safe return of his son.”
“Thank him for me,” I say, taking the rope in hand, acknowledging the chieftain as Creek Jumper relays my words.
I stare into Mary Warren’s eyes, my hatred burning clear for her, knowing now that Mercy spoke true—Mary is a coward and abandoned us all in our time of greatest need. I realize now she would do again if given half a chance.
She means to speak with me, but the gag in her mouth keeps back her traitorous words.
I think there be little reason to remove the gag and hear them.
The brave returns to his chieftain, and I am not a little surprised when his son, the captive I kept, steps forward next. All while his father continues speaking to us.
“They have thought long on your words,” Creek Jumper translates. “And would have peace with Red Banshee and her people.”
I turn to Creek Jumper of a sudden. “What did you say?”
He grins as the captive we kept walks toward us, bearing a gift in his hands.
“They knew nothing of your name,” says Creek Jumper. “But his son heard Bishop call you banshee and they saw for themselves your spirit and body red with fury.”
The young brave stands before me, raises both his hands up to me bearing a calumet, a peace pipe of his people that gleams of polished wood in the firelight.
“They offer this token as a sign of peace,” says Creek Jumper. “They were given it by the Iroquois as a symbol of the peace they wished to uphold. A peace Two Ravens meant to destroy. We saw to the punishment both peoples would have given him.”
I take the calumet in hand and nod to the brave in mutual respect as his father continues.
“They will stay tonight, that we might honor our dead,” says Creek Jumper. “And they promise safe passage through their lands when you are prepared to leave.”
“What of the Iroquois?” I ask. “Will the Wyandot speak to them also and cool their anger?”
Creek Jumper relays my words and keeps careful watch of the Wyandot chieftain. I wonder what he must think of me as he speaks.
“Yes,” says Creek Jumper. “They will escort you to the Iroquois lands, telling of your deeds and what you have done for the people. In return, they ask that you hold true to your vow”—Creek Jumper looks on me—“and end this white devil who plagues all our peoples.”
Staring into the eyes of the Wyandot chieftain, I grip the calumet tight and thrust my hand into the air. Ciquenackqua leads our people in a war cry, and the chieftain’s chin dips in acceptance.
I lower my arm, and stare upon the calumet. I think of Father’s teachings and how he raised me to hunt, rather than hide as we have done for so many years. I rub my fingers over the calumet and look up.
Andrew stands before me. Anger rises in me at the sight of him, yet I do nothing.
“You will journey to Boston?” he asks. “Truly?”
“Aye—”
I turn at my brother’s voice. George strides toward us.
“And you are coming with us, Andrew.”
“George,” says Andrew. “I cannot—”
My brother grabs Andrew by the shirt and shakes him.
“My wife died on account of you,” George thunders. “She should be here still if not for your drunken way. And your cowardice,” he spits at Mary then looks on me. “Throw her to the fire, sister. Let her burn for her sins.”
“No,” I say. “She comes with us also.”
“You cannot trust her,” George says.
“Aye, and I do so no longer. But she is a Salem sister,” I say, looking Mary Warren in the eye. “And it might be she has some use to us yet.”
“As you might also,” says George to Andrew. “You said earlier these events were your fault. That your future wife gave our presence away to Mercy Lewis.”
“George, I—”
“Do not speak my name as if I am friend or family to you any longer, Andrew Martin,” says George. “We are neither from this night on, though I will see you make amends to my family.”
“How?” Andrew asks. “Let you name it and I shall do—”
“Lead us to your bride,” says George. “For I would have words with her also.”
Andrew squirms in George’s grip, and yet he looks to me. “Let you speak some sense to your brother, Rebecca.”
“No,” I say, glancing back to the barn, and seeing my manitous gone. “Call me that no longer in the wilderness. That name were only a mask I wore for a time. I am the daughter of Black Pilgrim, and I, too, have a name given me by my native brothers and sisters.”
I look into the fiery pyre. Feel its warmth penetrate my skin, liken to the rage burning within me, as I unsheathe the dagger in my belt.
“I am Red Banshee. And before his end, Cotton Mather will hear me sing his name”—I rotate the dagger in the firelight—“and feel my song of fury.”
-20-
Swelled bruises held hostage the prisoner’s eyes, but he could still hear.
He listened to his native captors demand a better price for the sale of him, noted the English dialects on the tongues of those bidding.
They know. The prisoner recognized the strained desire to win him in their voices. They know of my lineage and my worth.
With each passing exchange, the prisoner grew more certain the Englishmen would buy him, no matter the price asked by the natives.
From the darkness holding him, the same blackness for which the natives named him, the prisoner called a memory—a face to grant him strength for the journey ahead. A reminder of why he must live.
Then, soft as wind rustling through blades of grass, he spoke her name.
“Rebecca.”
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Thank you for reading Salem’s Fury. If you enjoyed the read, please consider leaving a review to help Aaron’s books reach a broader audience. It is much appreciated.
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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
As a boy, my maternal grandmother told me tales of our forefathers and said the blood of a proud people—the Miamiak—flowed in our veins. God only knows how much time I spent in the woods behind her home pretending I was a brave. Their stories will forever fascinate me, as I hope this story has fascinated you.
In regards to this novel, I could not have done without my coven: Annetta Ribken, Jennifer Wingard, Greg Sidelnik, and Valerie Bellamy. Thank you all for lending me your many talents and knowledge to shape Salem’s Fury.
To Karen, my wife and first reader, thank you for loving me and believing in me, especially seeing as I don’t write kissy-kissy books, provide the endings you hope for, or change the fates of characters even when you demand it.
To my parents, siblings, and the countless family and friends who have followed my crazy antics all this way, my thanks for your continued support.
And thank you, dear reader, for continuing this journey with me.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Aaron Galvin runs the creative gamut.
He cut his chops writing stand-up comedy routines at age thirteen. His early works paid off years later when he co-wrote
and executive produced the award-winning indie feature film, Wedding Bells & Shotgun Shells. In addition to the Vengeance Trilogy, he also authors the Salt series, a YA urban fantasy praised for a unique take on mermaids and selkies.
He is also an accomplished actor. Aaron has worked in everything from Hollywood blockbusters, (Christopher Nolan’s The Dark Knight, and Clint Eastwood’s Flags of Our Fathers), to starring in dozens of indie films and commercials.
Aaron is a native Hoosier, graduate of Ball State University, and a proud member of SCBWI. He currently lives in Southern California with his wife and children.
For more information, please visit his website, www.aarongalvin.com.
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Find out more about Aaron Galvin:
Website: www.aarongalvin.com
Amazon: http://goo.gl/3ZdNNL
Goodreads: http://goo.gl/NCFpyo
Facebook: http://goo.gl/JLFUL1
Twitter: twitter.com/aarongalvin5
Also by Aaron Galvin
Salted
Salt Series: Book I
Taken With A Grain of Salt
Salt Series: Book II
Salem’s Vengeance
Vengeance Trilogy: Book I
