The Belial Witches

by R. D. Brady

  The words were tempting. Letting it all go. Unlike the other sisters, she had always been terrified by the responsibility laid upon them.

  “Give it here, Meg. You are the last. They have gotten all the rest. You are alone, just one scared, terrified girl. Hand that over and your fears are over. You can live in peace.”

  “You—you promise?”

  Ann inched closer. “Of course, child. You are not important. You have never been important, none of you have. It is the book that I want. Give it to me and all this is finished with.”

  Meg nodded, her voice trembling. “Here. I never wanted this responsibility.” She stepped forward and extended the satchel forward. “Take it.”

  Ann’s eyes fixated on the satchel. She smiled, moving forward quickly. She snatched the bag and pulled it to her.

  But Meg gripped her arm, wrapping the necklace around both of their wrists, trapping them together.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Sending you back.” And then she began to repeat the words that she had memorized from the book. “Spirit of darkness, inhabit this soul no longer. Find this vessel blocked from your evil. Pain and darkness will be all you will feel in this place.”

  Ann screamed as the pendant began to glow. Meg grimaced as the heat began to burn her arm, but she didn’t let go. And she could swear she felt the hands of her sisters on her shoulder, giving her their strength.

  “Be gone from this place. Leave this soul alone. In the name of the Great Mother, I banish you now and forever.”

  Meg repeated the words over and over. Ann screamed and yanked on her arm. “Let me go! Release me!”

  The amulet heated up so much it glowed bright orange. But Meg barely felt it. “Be gone from this place. Leave this soul alone. In the name of the Great Mother, I banish you now and forever.”

  A blinding light burst from the amulet and Meg cried out as she was thrown back. Ann screamed as well, landing across from Meg.

  The air rushed from Meg’s lungs and she gasped but no air came. She climbed to her knees and struggled to breathe. And then, blessedly, the air returned. She turned her head. Ann lay on the ground only a few feet away. Fire seemed to burn under her skin along her veins, making her glow bright.

  Ann turned her head to glare at Meg, even as pain made her grimace. “You are a witch.”

  Then with a scream, Ann’s mouth opened wide and fire expelled the soul from within. Meg scrambled back, watching the display with wide eyes. When it finished, she dropped to the ground and tears stung her eyes. She pictured the venom on Azazyel’s face and began to tremble anew. She gripped the amulet to her which was now cool to the touch.

  “No, I am not a witch. I am a sister.”

  CHAPTER 25

  The burn on Meg’s arm began to radiate pain and she grimaced. The amulet had burned through her sleeve and she carefully peeled it back, biting her lip, as part of it had come attached to the burn. There on her arm was a perfect Star of David.

  The pain was making her light-headed, and she breathed through her mouth deeply a few times, trying to get the pain under control. Her whole body ached and she could not seem to stop shaking.

  Ann lay silently, not moving. Meg crawled over to her. She stared at her chest and was rewarded with its subtle up and down movement. Ann’s arm had been branded as well.

  Meg knew she needed to leave before Ann awoke. Even without Azazyel present, convincing Ann that she was not a witch would be all but impossible if she woke up to find her here.

  Meg grabbed the satchel and looped the strap over her head, wincing as it rubbed against her arm. With one last look at Ann, she hurried back into the woods. Her night was not over yet.

  MEG STAYED off the roads and cut through the fields. She was careful, keeping her steps quiet in case someone was about. A few times, she heard a branch snap and envisioned Ann flying out at her. Doubts about whether the incantation had been successful plagued her. But she knew it had worked. The power of that moment had been too strong. Azazyel was gone and now only Ann was left, such that she was, which meant there was no impediment to her fulfilling her task.

  The book was heavy and her arms ached, but she welcomed the pain. She deserved it and so much more. She pictured the girls, Samuel and the magistrates. They deserve the most.

  The Followers knew that the life you led here would determine where you went next. The lessons you learned, the kindness you showed; it was all repaid. So she had no doubt that each of those that had willingly taken part in this evil was in for a horrific repayment.

  She was human and petty enough to want to see them pay in this lifetime. But that was not going to happen. In this lifetime, the wicked were rewarded and the good were punished. And she knew the stain on the wickeds’ souls would take lifetimes to wash away.

  She pushed through the trees, seeing her destination ahead. Despite all she had been through, she still believed the plan to bury the book with one of the Followers was the best idea. And she needed to do it now, because tomorrow she had other plans to see through.

  She hurried up the hill, knowing the land even in the dark. She had played here. She had laughed here. She had learned here. And now, she would have her final free moments here.

  She walked up to the Jacobs family cemetery. Like most in the area, it was rimmed by a wooden fence. She opened the gate, wondering where she would be buried. She walked straight to the newly dug grave.

  “Hello, Grandfather.”

  IT HAD TAKEN Meg hours to dig up the grave. In part because of the work involved but also due to the weeping. When she finally unearthed his coffin, she had been overcome. The shovel had dropped from her hand and she collapsed on the dirt, sobbing.

  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” she cried over and over again.

  She lay there, her tears spent as the first rays of sunlight appeared on the horizon. She was exhausted, both physically and spiritually. But her job was not done. Her arms shaking, she pushed herself up as she finished uncovering his grave. Steeling herself, she pulled back the lid.

  Her grandfather looked nothing like himself. And the smell. It was unbearable. She held her breath as she climbed out of the grave, her stomach heaving. She knelt on the side of the grave, not wanting to go back in there. Not wanting to look at his face—at what she had put in motion.

  You would be responsible for setting me free from my pain. That will be a gift.

  She prayed that he was free now. That his sacrifice had wiped whatever stains were on his soul away. Slowly she pulled her satchel over and pulled the book out. The light was so dim it was difficult to make out any of the pages as she flipped through. But as the sun appeared, so too did the images.

  The Great Mother, her smile beatific, who was the beacon of light and hope for generations, stared back at her. Each lifetime, she was persecuted. Yet she persisted. She lived. She did what was right, regardless of the consequences. Meg had always been amazed by that strength. But now, now she understood the strength it truly took to sacrifice not just yourself, but those you loved. It was almost unbearable. She ran a finger lightly over an image of the Mother.

  “Please give me strength.”

  Then she slowly covered the book and placed it back in the box and wrapped it in the leather satchel. She placed it on the edge of the grave before lowering herself back down. Without looking at what had become of her grandfather, she placed the satchel on his chest and then closed the lid.

  She placed a hand on the closed coffin. “Thank you, Grandfather.” Then she climbed out and began filling his grave. She packed the earth when she was done, but it looked no different than the last time she had seen it in the light. She placed the shovel back against the fence and shed her gloves. Washing up at the well, she took a deep breath, turning her face to the sun.

  Then she stepped back and headed into town. The walk went quickly. Everyone gave her a wide berth when they crossed her path. Even though she had not been found guilty, she had been tainted by the accusati
on. And no one wanted to associate with her lest they too be accused.

  The magistrate was arriving at the courthouse when she approached. “Magistrate,” she called.

  He turned. “Sister Jacobs. What are you doing out so early?”

  “I came to speak with you.” She took a breath. “I recant my accusations against my grandfather and Reverend Burroughs. They were innocent men.”

  He reared back, shock splashing across his face. “Are you saying you are guilty of witchcraft?”

  “I am saying none of us are or were. You put to death innocent women and men.”

  His expression hardened. “Recanting will not bring your grandfather or Reverend Burroughs back.”

  “No. It will not. But at least it will wash some of the stain from my soul.”

  CHAPTER 26

  TWO MONTHS LATER

  Once again, Cotton stood outside his father’s door. His father had sent him an urgent summons. Cotton was not sure what to make of it. It was not like his father. He smoothed his wig and rapped quickly.

  “Enter.”

  Cotton opened the door and stepped in. “Father. I was—” He paused at the sight of the second man who turned from the window at Cotton’s entrance. Cotton bowed. “Governor Phips, it is a pleasure to see you again.”

  Phips tilted his head, but his anger was etched in every line of his face. “What has happened in Salem?”

  “Ah, the trials. They are going well—”

  “Well? Nineteen people have been hung! My wife has been questioned. And now I hear you attended and spurred one of the executions.”

  Cotton faltered mid-step. “Sir, I assure you that—”

  “You assure me of nothing!” Phips thundered. “This was supposed to end these ridiculous rumors, but they have just spread further and further. Neighbor is turning on neighbor. You have turned Massachusetts Bay into a battlefield. Bad enough I must fight Indians on the border, I do not need my people fighting amongst themselves.”

  “But, sir, we are rooting out evil. The Devil—”

  Phips strode across the room, glaring down at Cotton. He spoke through clenched teeth. “Are you saying my wife should have been questioned?”

  Cotton stumbled back. “I—”

  “Governor,” Increase interceded, “your wife is beyond reproach. A mistake has obviously been made.”

  Phips glared down at Cotton for another long moment before nodding at Increase. “I am disallowing the spectral evidence. If there are any more witches in Salem, you will have to prove it with tangible evidence. I never should have allowed it to begin with.”

  “But, sir—”

  “Another word, Cotton, and I will have you strung up.”

  “Me? But I have done nothing wrong.”

  Phips sneered. “I am sure I could find someone who dreamed of you harming them. Get on the right side of this or I will take you down.” Phips stormed out of the room, the door swinging wide at his departure.

  Cotton stared in shock at the retreating figure of the governor.

  “You were looking for the book, weren’t you?”

  Cotton turned back to his father. “It is a grimoire. It is a beacon of evil. It is—”

  “Not what you think. I went looking for information when I heard of your involvement in the trials. I still have some of my father’s old books. The book you are looking for is not a grimoire.”

  “But surely—”

  “It is a biography of sorts. It is the story of a woman who has lived throughout several lifetimes.”

  “Then surely she is a witch and should be—”

  Increase shook his head. “You have many degrees, my son, and a lot of knowledge stored in that brain of yours. And yet you remain ignorant of the larger world. That is my fault. But you will hear me now—the tome you are looking for is not about a witch. She is anything but. She is a force of good.” He paused. “Have you found any mention of the book?”

  “No, Father, but I am sure with time—”

  “People are dead. That is on your hands. You will have to answer for that one day. And I suppose I will as well. I have already sent a letter detailing a need for the trials to end. I strongly encourage you to do the same.”

  Cotton blanched. “But, sir—”

  “You are on the wrong side of this, son. Do not compound your crime by continuing down this path. Save the lives you can.”

  Cotton nodded stiffly. “Yes, sir.”

  CHAPTER 27

  APRIL 1693

  Meg had recanted, as she said. And then she’d waited for the day when it was her turn to face Gallows Hill. But the day never came. The governor had finally declared the trials unlawful and brought them to an end. All who had been awaiting trial or execution had been released.

  All told, two hundred people had been arrested and accused. Over twenty had died, including those who had passed away in prison. Those deaths were horrible, but it was the betrayals that made neighbor unable to look neighbor in the eye. And Tituba, who had inadvertently started all of this, had been sold again. Meg wasn’t sure if that was the worst punishment or the easiest.

  The town was shattered. People who’d participated as members of the jury were shunned. Many moved out of town. And Salem’s name was now known far and wide. There was even talk about changing the name of the town to signify that it was a different town, that they had divorced themselves from the horror of the last year.

  But the horror would not be that easily erased.

  She had seen Ann only once since that terrible day. The girl looked haunted, and Meg was sure the memories of what Azazyel had done in her body remained with her. They had messed with powers beyond their comprehension and other people had paid the price for that ignorance. One day, Meg knew she would forgive Ann. But it would not be today.

  Meg walked slowly down the lane. It had been almost a year since she had been released. She’d missed spring that year. But now the leaves were changing and there was the scent of new growth in the air. Meg loved the smell of spring—the dirt, the grass, the flowers breaking through. It reminded her she was alive.

  Although she had to admit she was having trouble accepting that she deserved to be. She had gone to the court and recanted. And then she had sat in her cell waiting for the executioner to come and take her to Gallows Hill. The truth was, she welcomed it. The ghosts of her sisters, her grandfather, Reverend Burroughs, they haunted her dreams and even her waking hours. She longed for the peace that death would bring.

  But it was not to be. Once the governor had disallowed the spectral evidence, the convictions stopped. Without the testimony of the girls there was nothing to convince a jury of a defendant’s guilt.

  But Meg had a feeling that most of the members of Salem were glad for the change in the rules. The trials had destroyed lives, families, even the sense of safety for the town.

  By the end of April, all the charges had been dropped and the court shuttered. The magistrates had left Salem and Reverend Samuel had gone back to being just the town’s religious leader. Nineteen people had lost their lives at Gallows Hill. Another four had died in prison, not including Sarah Goode’s daughter, Mercy, and poor Giles Corey had been pressed to death.

  And then there were the victims that lived but who would never be the same. Salem was perhaps the biggest one. Neighbor could no longer look at neighbor. The town was so splintered, so divided, so cold.

  The girls who had been the accusers had gone silent after Ann was restored. At the time, Meg had been unable to feel any sympathy for the haunted look in their eyes. But as a woman with two deaths at her own feet, she felt their pain and hoped they could find a way to smile again, just as she hoped she could find her own way.

  But Meg herself was unsure what her next steps were. Her cousin had moved from Boston to stay with her. She was trying to talk Meg into moving to Boston with her. Part of Meg longed to go. To leave all the memories and nightmares behind and start somewhere new.

  But she was the last o
f the Followers, and she had a duty here. As much as she wanted peace, she would not turn her back on what needed to be done. Her sisters had bravely given their lives to protect the legacy of the Great Mother. They had died to protect it. Which left Meg to live to protect it.

  She had been making her rounds as she did every weekend, looking in on all the children and grandchildren of the Followers. But she always left this visit for last. It was the most difficult. And yet also the most important. Straightening her shoulders, she made her way up the path and rapped on the door to the small cottage.

  Daniel Goode opened the door, relief on his face. “Oh, good. I was worried that perhaps you had changed her mind.”

  Meg stepped in as he stepped back. “You never have to worry about that. Where is she?”

  A flash of melancholy slipped across his face. “Where she always is.”

  Meg nodded before stepping back outside and making her way around the cabin. A rocking chair had been set outside underneath the tall maple. A small figure bundled in blankets sat unmoving. A small stool had been set next to the chair.

  Meg approached the figure silently, but even if she had shouted a greeting the figure would not have responded. “Hello, Dorcas.”

  Sarah’s daughter did not look up. She continued to stare out over the fields. Meg took a seat next to her and reached for the little girl’s hands. Dorcas had been released just after Sarah’s death. But she had not spoken a word since. She barely moved. Meg had been worried that Daniel would not be able to take care of her. But he had shown amazing concern that touched everyone in town. Dorcas was a silent, living reminder of the damage done by the trials.

  Meg squeezed Dorcas’s hand gently and forced a levity into her tone that she did not feel. “It is good to see you. Now, where did we leave off? Ah, yes, I remember. We were speaking about the ring bearer. The one who is called to duty when the Fallen try to beat back the soldiers of light.”