Outcast (Moonlight Wolves Book 4)

by Jasmine B. Waters

  “But I haven’t made a mistake!” Ligeia persisted. “I have done everything well. Not a single person I have treated has died!”

  Henrik sighed. “Do what thou wilt,” he said bitterly. “But know that you act against me, and without my support.”

  “Aye,” Ligeia said stiffly. She turned on her heel and stalked back inside the cabin, continuing her lists of all the supplies they would need for the long winter ahead.

  The rest of the day passed quietly. Ligeia supped with Henrik and the other witches of the coven, but her mind remained firmly on the people of the village of Exeter. Just last week, she’d been in town to deliver a woman suffering with a breeched babe. The babe and the woman had both lived, but they had been very weak. Ligeia had it in mind to return and offer some poppy for pain. From previous experience, she knew that the woman must still be suffering.

  At nightfall, Ligeia shed her loose, comfortable robes and pulled on two petticoats, followed by an apron and a white cap atop her dark head. She took a few envelopes of the bitter-yet-effective powdered poppy in her leather purse and a flask of water, and then slipped out and began the long walk through the woods.

  The town of Exeter reminded Ligeia of Ipswich, her childhood home. Every time she went to visit, she was flooded with nostalgia. She often thought of her parents. Were William and Constance still alive, or had they perished? And what of her brothers and sisters?

  Ligeia spent only a few minutes in the home of the woman who had just delivered. The mother and babe were both doing better than expected, and Ligeia felt relieved. Somehow, after her conversation with Henrik, she had a nagging feeling that her arrival in the village would have yielded a horrifying discovery.

  Just as she was leaving, she heard the patter of childish footsteps behind her.

  “Miss, oh, miss! Prithee, stop!”

  Ligeia turned on the muddy street to see a young girl chasing after her.

  “Yes, child?”

  “You must come,” the girl begged. Her cheeks were stained with tears. “It’s my mother. She’s given birth!”

  “Child, if she’s already birthed, she will likely live,” Ligeia said. She felt weariness down to her bones. It was a feeling she was no longer used to experiencing, and more than anything else, she wished she were at home, in bed.

  The child shook her head. Her blue eyes were wide with fear, and her dark hair was wild and uncombed about her shoulders.

  “It is not like the other times, miss,” the child said. She sniffled. “I am worried! My mother is an older woman. This is the eighth child.”

  Ligeia frowned. “Child, what is your name?”

  The child trembled with fear. “Prudence,” she said softly. “Prudence Arrowsmith.”

  Ligeia felt faint. ‘Oh, Mother!’ She thought in desperation. ‘Prithee, do not die!’

  “I’ll come with you,” Ligeia said quickly. “But we must hurry.”

  Prudence turned and darted down a dark alley. Ligeia followed, her feet barely making a sound as they landed. Prudence led the way into a small, stone cottage that was filled with smoke from the fire blazing in the hearth.

  Ligeia could hardly believe her eyes. Her younger brothers had grown into young men, and they were sitting in front of the hearth, talking quietly. She didn’t see her younger sisters, Abigail and Drusilla, and wondered what had happened. Had they been married off?

  “Here,” Prudence said. She took Ligeia into a small chamber. An elderly Constance reclined on a straw mattress. Her eyes were closed, and Ligeia panicked when she realized that her mother wasn’t breathing. It took every ounce of will not to throw herself into her mother’s arms and sob for forgiveness, but Ligeia knew she couldn’t disclose her true identity…at least, not yet.

  Ligeia stepped close to the mattress and knelt by her mother’s side. When she took Constance’s hand in her own, she realized that Constance was already dead.

  “She has passed,” Ligeia said softly. Sorrow and regret filled her, and tears came to her eyes.

  “No!” Prudence threw herself on the bed and wailed, sobbing loudly. Ligeia pulled her younger sister into an embrace, and they rocked together. As Prudence sobbed, Ligeia closed her eyes and thought of her mother. All of the times Constance had gently chided her came rushing back tenfold, and Ligeia felt as though she could weep until her eyes were as dry as sand.

  “I am sorry,” Ligeia said softly. “I arrived too late.”

  The straw mattress under Constance’s body was soaked with blood. Ligeia pulled a sheet over her mother’s waist to hide the worst of the stains, then charged Prudence with bringing a bucket of water and some rags. For a time, the two sisters cleaned together in silence.

  “There is nothing more I can do,” Ligeia said softly. “You must arrange for a funeral and a burial. Is your father at home?”

  Prudence whimpered. “My father is dead,” she said softly. “He was sick for a long time, but I did not think he would die.”

  The news hit Ligeia like a fist to her gut. She sniffled and dipped her head, hoping that Prudence wouldn’t see her cry. Straightening, she made sure to compose her face. ‘Oh, magic,’ she thought. ‘Serve me well. Allow me to remain calm. Allow me to summon strength from the depths of my will and guide this young child.’

  “Where are your elder siblings?”

  Prudence sniffled. “Abigail and Drusilla are wedded,” she said. “Abigail lives in Salem, and Drusilla is in Ipswich. John and Thomas are at home. Thomas can never leave. He is too soft.”

  Ligeia stared. Her lips went white. Abigail had been in Salem, perhaps even during the same time as her! Oh, my sister, she thought desperately. I hope you are happier than I would have been!

  “Who is the elder of the village?” Ligeia asked. “You must call upon him and make the arrangements for your mother.” It pained her to hide the truth from her younger sister, but Ligeia knew that Prudence should not be trusted with such sensitive information.

  Prudence sniffled. “Elder Thorn,” she said. “Do you not know him? Do you not reside in the village?”

  Ligeia thought of lying for a second. Instead, she shook her head. “No,” she said softly. “I do not dwell within Exeter. I hail from Ipswich, then from Salem. Now...well, child, I do not live nearby.”

  Prudence stared for a moment. She was almost a perfect twin of her elder sister, and it was unnerving for Ligeia to look upon her. Ligeia was still in shock. She could not believe that she had finally failed to save a life…and the life that had been lost was one of the dearest possible.

  “My family moved from Ipswich years ago,” Prudence said softly. “My eldest sister was promised in marriage to a young man from Salem.”

  Ligeia’s heart began to pound. ‘Surely, she cannot know ‘tis me,’ she thought quickly. ‘Surely, she has never been told the whole truth!’

  “And what happened, pray tell?” Ligeia asked softly. “Where is your eldest sister now?”

  Prudence gave her a sad smile. “‘Tis but a mystery,” she said. “But she is likely dead. She ran away from the home in Salem after murdering her betrothed.” Prudence sighed. “It tore my family apart,” she whispered. “My mother and father could never forgive each other – or themselves – for allowing their daughter to commit the vilest of evil acts.”

  Ligeia stiffened. “Mayhap your sister acted out of self-interest,” she said softly.

  Prudence’s blue eyes were turbulent with anger. “No,” she said sharply. “My parents spoke of Ligeia as a headstrong, ungodly child – a child who paid no heed to their word, a child who was bound for a life of misery and noncompliance with the Lord.”

  Pain shot through Ligeia’s heart and she forced herself to look sympathetic. It was more difficult than usual to control her emotions. Suddenly, she resented herself for disobeying Henrik. She felt selfish, willful, and guilty for tearing her family apart. ‘If only I had obeyed Father and Mother,’ Ligeia thought sadly. ‘None of this would have happened.’

&nbs
p; The thought that she would have been miserable as the wife of Thomas Whittier did not cross Ligeia’s mind. She was wracked with guilt, and she felt as though she’d never recover.

  “My eldest sister ruined my family,” Prudence spat. “She was a child of the devil. Mother and Father always said she couldn’t have come from God.”

  A lump formed in Ligeia’s throat, and she stood up. “Child, may I be of further assistance?”

  “No,” Prudence said. Hatred shone in her blue eyes. “You cannot.”

  Chapter Seven

  I went crawling back to the coven last night, feeling worse than I’d ever felt in my life. Prudence’s words haunted me. I couldn’t believe that such a young girl was already so fervent about religion. Somehow, that made me feel worse. What was wrong with me, that I’d never accepted the scripture as truth? What had happened to me to keep me unafraid of sin?

  Why was I so selfish?

  Henrik and the others seemed to sense a change, but no one spoke to me about it, not even Henrik himself. I ceased my visits to Exeter as well as all the surrounding New England villages. I threw myself into a work as a mistress of the coven and a healer, counseling everyone who sought my assistance. But I no longer disguised myself as a godly woman. I no longer wore dresses and petticoats, only robes – both plain, and ceremonial.

  At Samhain, three new witches joined our Coven. Henrik and I planned an elaborate ritual, followed by a feast. We slaughtered deer, bear, and moose to keep for winter. Henrik often compared our coven to the coven of Avalon back in Arthurian times. But I never felt prosperous or happy again. Prudence’s words stayed in my head, and even though I knew I could never return to a normal, godly life, I felt as though staying with the coven was doing a disservice to both myself and the other practitioners of witchcraft.

  ---

  Twenty miles west of Exeter, New Hampshire – 1693

  At four and twenty years old, Ligeia was no longer a young woman. She often spent solitary days alone, away from Henrik and the other witches as she studied plants, herbs, and the craft of healing.

  A year had passed since Constance’s death. Ligeia had tried to give herself time to mourn – time to mourn Constance, William, and the life that she’d never had. At first, she’d thought that with enough time, she would overcome all of her sadness and trials. But the guilt plagued Ligeia, and eventually, she ceased speaking except for the occasional affirmation or argument.

  Henrik was bothered by the changes in his companion. Despite his aloof behavior, Ligeia knew he cared for the coven more than anything else in the world. One day, he came to Ligeia’s small hut and knocked on the door.

  “Mistress,” he called. “You are much missed within the circle. Rejoin your family, Ligeia.”

  Ligeia stared. She had not disclosed what had happened, but she felt the weight of Constance’s death more with each passing day.

  “I cannot,” Ligeia said simply. She attempted to walk past Henrik, but he grabbed her arm, pulling her close.

  “Mistress Ligeia,” Henrik said sarcastically. “You forget to whom you owe respect. Have you forgotten ‘twas I that saved you from a life of misery?”

  The dam that had been building inside Ligeia for almost a year broke loose. Tears streamed down her face, and she looked away, letting her long, dark hair fall in her face.

  “Mistress Ligeia!” Henrik softened, tilting her face toward his. “What has happened?”

  Ligeia shrank from his touch. “My own sister found me the last time I returned to the village,” she said.

  Henrik’s eyes went wide. “And she knows about us? Did you disclose knowledge of the coven?”

  “No!” Ligeia said. “She came to me because her mother – our mother – was giving birth. But the babe arrived, and Mother perished before I could intervene.” Ligeia began to sob, burying her face in her pale hands. “I am useless,” she said softly.

  “Even the best of magic cannot save lives,” Henrik said. He shook his head. “Ligeia, what were you expecting to happen? That your family would be pleased to know about what happened in Salem? When I took you in, I made you a promise that no harm would come to you. Ligeia, I intend to keep that promise. But you cannot continue to compromise the safety of the coven!”

  “I know!” Ligeia screamed. Her sadness melted into rage, and she snarled in Henrik’s face. “You’ve ruined everything! Without you, I would still have my family!”

  Henrik threw his head back and laughed. “The family who sold you into misery? That family? The family who called you ungodly and selfish?”

  “I am ungodly and selfish!” Ligeia roared. “And ‘tis all the fault of you!”

  Henrik laughed. “You’re a fool to blame that upon me,” he said. “Have you never considered the life of unhappiness you would have endured at the hands of Thomas Whittier? You realize he would have kept you as a meek servant, do you not?”

  Ligeia shivered. “At least my family would not have turned their backs on me,” she said softly. “At least I would have that.”

  Henrik shook his head. He glared at Ligeia in disgust. “You are a fool,” he repeated. “My Sight never lies, Ligeia. I saw you miserable, and you were indeed miserable. I took pity on you because I could sense the power and magic deep within your soul.”

  Ligeia shook her head. She wanted to argue, to tell Henrik that he was wrong, that she would have lived a satisfactory and happy existence as Mrs. Thomas Whittier.

  But deep down, she knew that he was absolutely correct. She knew that Thomas would have abused her, made her miserable and unhappy for the rest of her days. She shuddered. I could even be dead, she thought. ‘I could have died in childbirth, just like Mother. And Abigail and Drusilla – what of them?’

  “Think on it, Mistress,” Henrik said angrily. “But you must know that I’m correct.”

  He stalked past Ligeia, angrily shoving her with his shoulder. She stayed rooted firmly to the spot, silently fuming with anger and guilt.

  ---

  The week passed uneventfully, and Ligeia kept even more to herself than before. She began taking meals alone in her hut, staying up until the sky was streaked with light and studying the art of healing until her eyes ached from reading.

  One such night, Ligeia was startled to hear the door of her cabin burst open. One of the younger witches, a girl named Faith, ran into the room, panting.

  “What is it?” Ligeia asked. Her heart slammed against her ribs. “Is it Henrik? Is he injured?”

  “No, Mistress,” Faith said. “There is news from Salem!”

  Ligeia’s heart sank. “My sisters,” she said softly. “Abigail and Drusilla!”

  “No, miss,” Faith said quickly. Her cheeks were pale and bloodless. “Prudence – Prudence Arrowsmith!”

  Ligeia stood up and grabbed Faith by the shoulders, shaking her quickly.

  “You must tell me! You must!”

  “Prudence Arrowsmith is on the hunt for witchcraft,” Faith said quickly. “She has spoken to the town magistrate and arranged for the burning of five young girls.”

  Ligeia felt faint. She gripped the back of her chair until her knuckles went white. “That cannot be,” she said softly. “That cannot be possible!”

  “Aye,” Faith said. “But ‘tis, Ligeia.”

  Ligeia grabbed her cloak and ran to Henrik’s cabin. Unsurprisingly, he was awake, sitting in front of the hearth, warming his hands.

  “Henrik!” Ligeia cried. “Henrik!”

  Henrik frowned, but when he saw the genuine concern on Ligeia’s face, he stood up and ran to her, pulling her into his strong arms. For a moment, Ligeia sobbed against the chest of her oldest friend. Then the panic came back, and she pulled away, pacing back and forth in front of the flames.

  “I did not tell you before,” Ligeia said quickly, “although you may have surmised. My sisters, Abigail and Drusilla, were both sent to Salem to be married. And now my younger sister Prudence is there, as well!”

  “And I assume yo
u want to intervene, to pull her close,” Henrik said.

  “No! She has told the village magistrate that witchcraft is taking place, and five young girls have been sentenced to burn! To die, at the stake!”

  Henrik sighed softly. “Ligeia–”

  “It’s my fault,” Ligeia said quickly. “It’s my fault that I didn’t speak up, that I did not disclose my true identity to Prudence before.”

  Henrik scoffed. “And you think that would have made a difference in the child? She is a fanatic, Ligeia! There is no helping someone like that – no turning them away from the Lord and back to rational thought!”

  “Henrik, she’s going to have five innocent girls murdered!” The hair on the back of Ligeia’s neck stood up. True witches could survive such a sentence; the fire would not burn them. But innocent women had no such power, and Ligeia felt sick to her stomach as she imagined the scent of roasting human flesh singing her nostrils.

  “And you wish to travel to Salem, to prevent this?”

  “Aye,” Ligeia said. “I do.”

  To her shock, Henrik nodded. “Aye,” he said. “This might be a chance to redeem yourself, Ligeia. Redeem yourself in own your eyes.”

  Ligeia felt shaky and nervous with fear as she fled the coven. She packed a small bag and raced through the forest, disguising herself and traveling through the air as fast as a demon. It took hours to reach Salem when it would have taken a normal human days, and Ligeia reached the small village just as the sun was shining high in the sky.

  As quickly as she could, she ran to the magistrate’s house. The door was bolted and locked, and Ligeia pounded her fists, screaming for help.

  No one answered the door. Panic consumed her, and she raced through the town, not even thinking about what would happen if she saw a member of the Whittier family. There was a crowd gathered at the marketplace, and Ligeia’s heart sank when she saw the five stakes piled high with straw.

  Young Prudence, looking absurdly mature for her three and ten years, was standing at the front of the crowd.