Spellbound: The Awakening of Aislin Collins

by Margeaux Laurent

I went to pull away from the bowl but another image appeared; still of Abigail. She was older now, and surrounded by children. She lived on what appeared to be a plantation of some kind. She looked sad and her arms were covered in deep green and blue bruises. The love of material possessions above all else, the spirit explained. I must have shed a tear for Abigail because a ripple moved through the water, causing rings to spread from the center of the bowl and move outward.

  Abigail’s image faded away and I saw myself in Greer’s arms. We were embracing in a room covered with stone walls and old paintings. Furs were thrown on the floor and more covered the four-poster bed where we lay. I looked into his beautiful hazel eyes and cried out in fear, for they had turned completely black, and a low growl came from his throat. All is not as it seems, my guide said.

  I gasped and fell back from the bowl. I was shaken by what I had seen. I ran downstairs to find my mother performing divination with sticks. I could not disturb her and even if I could talk to her, I was not certain that revealing my vision would be the best of ideas. She may forbid me to see Greer or she may cast a spell to make me forget him. No, I could not share this with her. I crept back to my room and stood near the scrying bowl. Maybe I needed to see more; although I was not sure I wanted to. A horrible, uninvited thought crossed through my mind. What if Greer was the one who was hunting me? What if he was playing with me as a cat plays with a mouse before it finally becomes bored and consumes it? I shook my head to banish the words. I must be wrong—I had to be.

  I gulped down the rest of the tea and went back to the basin. I was determined to understand what I had seen. I stared into the water and asked my guide to take me back to the same image, as I gripped the basin at its sides, terrified of what I might discover. Watch carefully. All is not as it seems then or now, the guide reminded me.

  The images moved slowly this time. I saw that I was wearing the same garnet necklace. I saw Greer stroking my dark hair with his fingertips. My head lay back as he moved in to kiss my exposed neck. My eyes were closed and his touch was gentle, but then something caught his attention from the corner of the room. He was staring passed me now. I watched as my body stiffened in his arms and he pulled me close to him, still looking passed me, his hazel eyes darkened into total blackness. He growled deeply at whatever was in the far corner, although I could not see it. I had never heard a human make a noise like the one that emanated from his very core. My eyes followed his to the corner, and I felt my mouth go dry and my skin grow cold. There stood the Grey Man; he was so tall and broad, that the wall behind him was completely hidden by his massive form. He was smiling wickedly at us. His sallow skin and grey hair glowed eerily in the firelight, as he raised a gun from under his long black coat and fired a single shot. I fell limp in Greer’s arms. I saw a red cloud slowly covering my white dress. Greer was screaming. Tears trickled down his cheeks as he rocked me in his arms, but the Grey Man did not move. He turned his body so his eyes were looking straight at mine as I stared into the bowl. I could see his face so clearly that I even saw flecks of burgundy in his dark brown eyes. He had used his magic to invade my vision. “You cannot escape me Aislin,” he said to me in a deep and threatening voice.

  I threw the basin off the table as I leaped back from the image. Water spread across the floor and the bowl shattered, cutting my leg as the fragments flew across the room. I touched my chest where the bullet had penetrated me in the vision. As far I could tell I was unharmed, but a burning sensation was growing where the bullet had landed. My breathing was quickened and my hands were trembling. I could feel blood dripping down my leg from where the shard had sliced it open, but I could feel no pain from the cut.

  My mother threw the door open and ran to me, “What happened?”

  “He found me in my vision. He said I could never escape him,” I replied through shallow breaths.

  My mother opened the curtain to my window, letting light pour into the room. She spotted the blood and pulled up my dress. “Blood sacrifice,” she said, as she walked from the room and pulled me alongside her.

  In the kitchen, she mixed an herbal potion and placed it on the cut.

  “It is not deep. It just seemed so from the amount of blood you spilled.”

  “It was an accident,” I said.

  “This was no accident Aislin. This was an attempt to work a spell.”

  She cleaned the drying blood off my skin and lit another candle.

  “This day is not only powerful for us. Practitioners of dark magic have adopted it and use it as well. We must ask our ancestors for their magic and protection.”

  “Were we not going to do that anyway?”

  She gave me a scathing look, “This is a day to honor those who have come before us, but now we must ask them for their help.”

  Scrying had taken longer than I thought it would. My father would be home soon. We gathered all the herbs, potions, and extra candles and hid them from sight. I took the book upstairs and placed it underneath my pillow and I stopped by the window one more time to see if Greer had responded yet. He had not, and my heart sank.

  ********************

  Before my father came home, my mother placed an extra place setting at the table. This was for our ancestors—although my father would believe that Abigail would possibly be joining us.

  When my father walked in, he kissed my mother and then stopped abruptly when he saw me. Things were still very tense between us and when my mother left the room, an awkward silence seemed to settle in the air.

  “Are you well Aislin?”

  I did not reply. Instead, I went into the kitchen and helped my mother carry the food to the table.

  After we were all seated and my father said grace, he tried talking to me, but after a few minutes of enduring my silence, he gave up. Instead, he talked to my mother as though I was not even in the room.

  “The Marthaler’s came into the shop today. Apparently, a few of their horses have been found slaughtered in the field behind their house. The entire town is filled with gossip and suspicion. I printed the story for tomorrow’s paper, but the Marthaler’s have told so many people that I feel I just wasted my time today,” he said while he shoveled meat into his mouth.

  My thoughts immediately led me to the Puca and I felt my appetite decline.

  “What was the cause?” my mother asked.

  My father rubbed his eyes and shook his head, “No one knows really. The oddest thing is that a few weeks ago, the Indian Chief came into town asking if anyone had spotted a strange animal lurking about. Apparently, some of their livestock had gone missing. Well, of course we thought it was just silly Native superstition.”

  As my father spoke, my mother and I exchanged a look. We both admired the Lenni Lenape people and understood their way of life. Hearing my father speak in such disrespectful tones made me furious. How could he speak this way when we, and all the other immigrants, owed our lives to them? When the winters were harsh, they brought the first settlers food and warmth. When medicine was needed, the Lenape provided it. They shared their land with us and we pushed them out. “Savages” we called them, although we treated them much more savagely then they ever treated us. For all my father’s worldly knowledge, he was still ignorant and naïve.

  “Anyhow, the most disturbing part of the Marthaler’s discovery was that the animals were scattered, some dragged up into tall trees, while others were dropped on the ground. Even worse, all were drained of their blood. Not a single drop was left.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  November 2nd 1734

  The Marthaler’s had lost one horse and two of the goats that they used to keep their yard groomed. The Lenape said that they lost much more than that, but it was over a longer period of time. People were saying that the Marthaler’s livestock was brutally attacked by an unknown creature. A hunt was organized to begin at sundown each night and would continue until the beast was captured and destroyed.

  Martha and my mother both agreed that these hunts would pr
ove to be fruitless. The animal they sought was not of flesh, and would not be found unless it wanted to be.

  Women were held captive in their homes as soon as the sun was beginning to set. The only exception permitted was if they were accompanied by male companions. This decree of sorts had no effect on me. I had not been allowed to walk outside by myself in weeks, and had not seen the night sky except through my bedroom window for an equal amount of time.

  Tonight, my father would assist in the hunt and so he left at dusk to join the others. I stared out my bedroom window and watched the glow of the lanterns clustering together as different groups of men gathered and collaborated in hopes of catching their elusive prey. I knew that my mother was casting a protection spell for my father, but I did not bother to join her. My heart had grown cold toward my father.

  My eyes flicked down to the windowsill, but still no letter found its way to me. I had begun to fear that perhaps the Puca had gotten to Greer. Maybe he was a victim of the demon too.

  I turned from the window. I did not want to think about Greer being in danger; it was too much to bear. Downstairs I found my mother furiously cleaning. It was what she did when she was nervous.

  “I tried to convince him to stay home, but he would not listen to me.”

  “He will be fine. I have had no visions of anything involving father,” I said in an annoyed tone.

  My mother did not seem to hear me. She was deep in thought. Sneachta was rubbing against my legs and purring. Outside, we could hear whistles from men as they tried to get each other’s attention without startling their prey. As time went on, the whistles grew further and further away from the house. Within half an hour’s time, the sounds from the hunting parties had faded all together. They were moving deep into the woods, away from town.

  As I polished my mother’s silver tea tray, Sneachta jumped on the table that I was sitting at and meowed softly. The she gave me an intense look, then leapt from the table and ran up the stairs. I carefully placed the tray down and followed her, leaving my mother to her cleaning. She would be scrubbing the floor until my father returned and it was pointless to try to stay any longer. The house was clean. She was just keeping herself busy.

  Sneachta went to the window and stood up on her hindquarters. She was pawing at the latch.

  “It is not safe for you out there,” I said to her. She did not listen to me and kept pawing at the latch until I picked her up and opened the window so she could look out. It was then that I understood her intention. There on the ledge, underneath a small rock, was a letter.

  “How did you know?” I asked her. She purred and hopped out of my arms, jumped on the bed and started kneading my pillow. She waited for me to join her and read the letter.

  I looked around to make sure that no one was watching me from below and then I quickly grabbed the envelope and closed the window. I went and sat next to Sneachta and she peered from under my arm as we both read the words.

  My beautiful Aislin,

  I am aggrieved to learn of your father’s arrangement with the Marthalers. When I first read your letter, I planned on carrying you off into the night and leaving with you on a ship at first dawn. My thoughts were in hast and I had to force myself to stop with my plan before I reached your backdoor. I know that what is hunting you will relentlessly search for you. It would not matter where I took you, he would be only steps behind. Jamison Lamont will not give up his hunt and therefore he must be destroyed. That is his name Aislin. Although, I still do not understand why he seeks you out as his prey. He is ruthless and cunning and you are in grave danger as long as he lives.

  If I take you from this place, I remove you from the magical protection of your mother and Martha. I cannot risk your life over my petty jealousy and I will not.

  Aislin my heart aches at the very thought of what I must ask you to do, but it must be done. I cannot continue to try to protect you from both the man that hunts you and the cruelty of the Marthalers. If by chance, my identity is revealed, all the tracking and work I have done to destroy this man and his monster will be for nothing and you would be left defenseless.

  Please do not fight with Zachariah or his father anymore. You must, at least for time being, pretend that you are willing to marry him and you must not tempt them to use their hands against you.

  Aislin, I vow to you that I will not allow this wedding to occur. Please trust me and know that I will do anything for you.

  You are everything to me,

  Greer

  The letter trembled in my hands and the disappointment that his words delivered sunk into the depths of my heart.

  I now understood the vision in the bedchamber and how the Grey Man, Jamison Lamont, had found and killed me in the arms of my lover. I knew that if Greer and I ran, this was indeed my fate. The spirits had warned me of such things and it was so. Even though I knew Greer was right, it did not dampen the pain of rejection. My pride would be harmed when I would be forced to publically submit myself to Zachariah’s will, but my heart would break when I would be forced to deny my love for Greer.

  I made up my mind then and there that I would never utter the words “I love you” to Zachariah, no matter what consequences my defiance may bring. Zachariah would never have my heart.

  Sneachta allowed me to hold her and cry upon her soft white fur. She abhorred being wet, but made no complaint as I sobbed and buried my face into her shoulder and back.

  “I love you Sneachta,” I said in a weak voice before I drifted off to sleep.

  ********************

  I stood on a grass-covered hill, looking into the night. Mist crept up around my feet and a soft, salty breeze blew my long loose black hair behind me. Greer stood to my left. He was covered in green, black and blue paint. He was completely naked, but did not look ashamed or even aware of it. In his right hand he held a broad sword and on his left forearm was strapped a large shield.

  I looked down and noticed that I was wearing a long tunic and in my right hand, I too, carried a large, heavy sword. I saw figures moving toward us under the veil of darkness, and we simultaneously raised our weapons to the oncoming threat. My mind told me that the soldiers were Romans and that they had come to eradicate us and take our land for themselves. We were considered barbarians and savages. In the Roman’s eyes, we were better off dead.

  I glanced at Greer from the corner of my eye and he nodded. We charged directly into the path of the invaders and we fought. I moved with the grace of a cat and leaped at my opponents, swinging my sword in great arches. I struck numerous soldiers with each sweeping arc. Greer moved like a great bear, charging, lunging and using his brute strength to finish off his foes.

  Within minutes, the battle was over. The Romans had sent strong and valiant men to fight us, but they had not sent enough. We left their bodies where they fell and went back into our fortress, leaving the blood of the invaders to nourish our soil and feed the wildlife that had just as much a right to remain on this land as we did.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  November 10th 1734

  Zachariah was standing outside the tavern with his friends: Clement, Jeremiah and Alden, when I passed by on my way to purchase thread for my mother. She had decided that as long as I kept all my charms with me and stayed in public places, that I could occasionally venture outside. The whole town was ill at ease with the presence of the strange beast and so local groups of men were patrolling the village both day and night. I was grateful to be out of the house, although seeing Zachariah darkened my mood.

  “Aislin,” he called out, as I passed where he stood.

  I pretended that I had not seen him standing there, and did my best to smile when I finally turned to acknowledge him.

  “Hello Zachariah,” I kept walking, but he ran to catch up with me.

  “Would you like to have a drink with me in the Tavern?” he asked.

  I was very tempted to give him a swift push and say no, but I thought about Greer’s request and I gave in.

&
nbsp; “I am sorry Zachariah. I promised my mother that I would buy her thread and then come straight home. She is making my gown for the Ball and needs the thread immediately.”

  He looked crest fallen at my rejection and I knew I had to do something to keep him from becoming angry. I had to respect Greer’s wishes.

  “Would you mind accompanying me to the shops instead?” I asked half-heartedly.

  Disappointment faded from his face and he gave me his arm to hold. As I took his arm, I watched him flash a triumphant smile back to his friends who all huddled together by the tavern door ogling at us. I wanted to vomit but I remained collected. Instead, I smiled and waved to Jeremiah, who in reply smiled and waved back to me.

  Jeremiah had always been kind to me. Seeing him reminded me of when we were younger and Zachariah had insisted that we all trek deep into the woods and watch him hunt deer with his father’s new rifle. On the way back, one of the hunting hounds got a thorn deeply embedded in its paw and could not walk. The other boys wanted to shoot the dog or simply leave it there to die, but Jeremiah insisted on carrying the animal home to his father, the town doctor, so that its paw could be mended. Jeremiah and I walked slowly behind the others as he carried the heavy dog over his shoulders. It took a long while for us to negotiate the long journey back to town, and the others left us behind, but Jeremiah never gave up.

  Now, looking at the young men that surrounded him and knowing the true nature of his heart, I could not understand why he associated with the other retched boys. They were nothing alike. Then again, Abigail and I were no longer alike—perhaps Jeremiah was holding on to the memory of friendships that once were, just as I was clutching to the remaining shreds of the Abigail I once knew.