
The village rests in silence, but silence is never empty. It presses close, listening, waiting. Some shadows don’t simply fall with the night — they move, they breathe, and once you notice them, it is already too late to turn away.
The nights are quieter now. The only noise to disturb the dark air is the hoot of the owl or the blood-chilling cry of the vixen. Annie and Dora still sleep, and their grave is tended and watched over. The house reverted to Emily after Liam’s freak accident, and with the help of Cora, Marie, and an assortment of nursing staff; it is now a retirement home. Its occupants the inmates of Hillcrest enjoy a freedom denied to them for so long. Between them they have restored the gardens. Marble statues appeared, haphazardly dotting the ground, when the trailing vines were stripped back. Everything was cleaned and polished, giving a sense of renewal. The old take pleasure in Laura and Shelly’s childish chatter and they in turn, love their newly acquired grandparents. They sit together at night and swap news, the two young girls just beginning their life, the others contemplating the end, but safe and content at last.
Still, there are times, when the dark closes in and the house lays quiet, when Cora stands at her window and watches. She looks across the gardens at the statues glowing white in the moonlight and standing like silent sentinels over the grave and wonders how long the peace will last. The red band on her wrist, burnt there by Annie’s hand, shows stark against the whiteness of her skin, and is a constant reminder of the eternal battle she witnessed. She traces her finger along the mark and her mind strays back to the day of Liam’s funeral. Many dismissed her lack of emotion for shock and her sob one of anguish, on seeing Liam’s latest pillow friend. They tut-tutted and whispered about bad taste, but Cora cared nothing about social niceties. What caused her to cry out was the unmistakable bulge in the front of the woman’s coat?
Marie was at her desk earlier than usual next day. To take the afternoon off, she would have to get her work completed. The fact it was so early meant there was no phones to delay her sorting of the post. Rachael breezed in just after nine and was soon followed by Liam. Marie saw by his bleary eyes and hangdog expression; this was not to be one of his better days. She had arranged the post on his desk in neat piles and she heard him shuffling through it.
The next few hours passed in a flurry of phone calls and appointments. The usual sad panorama of his clients filed past her desk and disappeared into his office. They reappeared, either looking smug or dejected. None of them paid her any heed, other than giving their name. It was almost noon when a lull came. Cora would be waiting for her at 1 o clock as arranged, and she could not let her down. But just as she was about to rise, Liam came storming from his office.
“I’m going out.”
“I need the afternoon off,” Marie managed to get in.
He stopped and looked at her.
“I have a dental appointment.”
“Since when?”
“This morning. I’ve been up with toothache all night.”
“I’m surprised you have any teeth left at your age,” he smirked at Rachael, but she looked away.
“My appointment is for one thirty and it may take a couple of hours.”
“You’ll go when I come back, understand?”
“I’ll go at one.”
“Do that and you can stay away.”
They stood face to face, prize fighters squaring up.
“If that’s what you want, I quite understand.”
He looked across at Rachael who was gaping open mouthed at them. Though he hated to admit it, he needed the old witch.
“Very well,” he gritted his teeth. “Go at one, but don’t make a habit of it. And you,” he turned to Rachael. “Don’t screw anything up.”
“Yeah, whatever.”
He glared at her and slammed the door behind him so hard, they thought the glass would break.
Cora spent much of the morning sitting by the window watching the driveway. The night was uneventful with no unwelcome footsteps or strange sounds. Laura seemed more subdued at breakfast, or was she imagining that? Her mind was in so much turmoil she did not know what to think.
Annie sat opposite her, but Cora was unaware of her presence. The only sounds came from the grandfather clock in the hallway, as it ticked away the minutes. All around them the house sighed and settled. As the morning wore on, Cora became more anguished. She would not rest until she found out the house’s secret.
It was well after noon when she saw his car appear. She ran to the kitchen and stood with her back to the knife block, waiting. He did not come straight in or even call her name. She heard his footsteps on the stairs, and it was a few moments before he came looking for her.
“Ah, there you are.”
Cora gripped the edge of the worktop.
“I want you to change my bed linen.”
“Your bed linen?”
“Yes, wash and dry the same linen that’s on it.”
She stood looking at him for a moment before answering.
“I have other linen.”
“For fuck sake will you do as I ask? Strip off the old linen, wash it and replace it. It’s hardly rocket science.”
“All right,” Cora dodged by him, and Annie followed.
Cora pulled the quilt from its cover and gathered up the sheets and pillowcases. Neither of them realised Liam had crept up behind them. Cora was struggling along the gallery towards the stairs; the linen bundled up in her arms when she heard the noise. She stopped and listened. It sounded like breaking glass, then…
“Cora, help. For God’s sake help me, I’m hurt.”
She dropped the linen and ran towards the stairs. Annie realised too late, what was about to happen. In the seconds it took for her to register the cord pulled taunt across the stairs, Cora’s ankle met it and she fell. Her back, her side, her stomach bounced hard off each step, until she landed on the marble floor. Annie looked down in disbelief at the battered figure. She smelt the blood that was yet to show seeping from between Cora’s legs. Annie heard him speaking but couldn’t see to whom he spoke. She was clutching the banisters so hard her fingerprints scorched and blackened the wood. Once again, she had failed; another child died. The rage within her roared, and she felt herself change as she charged down the stairs.
Liam was looking down at his wife’s still form as Annie came towards him, her blackened hands reaching for his throat. A scream from the doorway stopped her, and she turned to find Laura and Shelly standing there. Shelly ran to her mother sobbing and calling to her, but Laura stood with her hand clasped over her mouth. She saw what the others could not, the burnt skeleton with its tendrils of hair sticking to its bones. The gaping mouth and hollow, cobwebby eyes though sightless, could still see her.
“What did you do?” She whispered.
“I did nothing,” her father answered. “Your mother had a fall. An ambulance is on its way. Take Shelly and wait in there.”
He ushered them towards the sitting room. As soon as they were inside, he ran to the top of the stairs. Taking the claw hammer from its hiding place, he pulled the nail from the skirting board and tucked it and the wire into his pocket. The scattered bed linen was thrown to the bottom of the stairs.
“Such a silly thing to happen,” he muttered.
From close by he heard the wail of sirens and ran back down to play his role of concerned husband.
They were loading Cora into the ambulance when Marie drove up. Liam rung and asked her to call, saying there had been an accident.
“What happened?”
Liam ran his hand through his hair.
“She was coming down the stairs with some sheets. She must have snagged her foot on them. I warned her not to do heavy work in her condition.”
Had she not known of his treatment of his wife and his desire to be rid of the child, she might have believed him. Instead, she looked towards the window and the two tear stained faces framed there.
“I’ll have to follow the ambulance,” Liam said. “Will you take care of the children for me?”
“I have an appointment, but I’ll take them with me. I’ll keep them overnight if need be.”
“Good, yes, do that.”
“We have to hurry,” the paramedic called.
“I’ll be right behind you,” Liam ran to his car.
Marie shivered as the paramedic climbed inside and sat beside the white, still form of Cora.
The house smelt sickly sweet when she entered the hall, like flowers that had lost their bloom. The children were squashed together in one small chair, their fingers entwined.
“Will my Mam be all right,” Laura asked.
“I hope so, dear,” Marie held out her arms and Shelly slipped from her seat and ran to her. Laura remained seated, though her lower lip trembled. They both knew who Marie was, having met her on their rare trips to their father’s office. Laura liked her on sight. She smelled sweet like a baby, and she talked in a funny way.
“Your Dad wants you to stay with me overnight, so we’ll need some things from your rooms.”
“No,” Laura jumped up. “Don’t go upstairs.”
“I’ll only be a moment,” Marie promised. “Just while I get your pyjamas.”
“I’ll show you,” Shelly offered.
“No,” Laura screamed, throwing her arms around her sister.
“Very well; I’ll go up alone. Just tell me where your room is.”
“We can sleep in our undies.”
“I can’t sleep without teddy,” Shelly whimpered, and before Laura could offer any more resistance, Marie walked from the room.
That child is really frightened she thought, but when she saw the pool of blood at the end of the stairs she could understand why.
Annie was sat huddled in a corner of the children’s room; her features normal again, now the hatred had subsided. She watched as the old lady rummaged around, pulling open drawers, and taking clothes from them. Annie sensed the woman’s goodness, and she cried out. Marie froze, as the shuddering, sobbing, pain-filled cry echoed around her. She turned and looked around the room. Her first instinct was to run, but when it came again, its pain touched her.
“I’m lost and I’m frightened,” it cried.
“Oh, dear Lord,” Marie heard the words clearly. Picking up the teddy bear, she ran from the room and bundled the children into her car.
“I have to visit with someone,” Marie explained. “And I need you to come with me. “It’s a nice old lady I promised to call on. It’s not far away.”
“I’d rather go to the hospital,” Laura said.
“This is important. It’s something I’m doing for your mother.”
“Oh, OK.” Laura sat back and watched the bushes on the roadside flash by.
“Why were you home from school so early?” Marie asked.
“The heating broke down and everyone was complaining about the cold, so we were sent home.”
“Disgraceful,” Marie snorted. “And they didn’t have the decency to let your mother know.”
“It’s only down the road,” Laura sighed. “We often walk home.”
“Still in this day and age.”
“Yeah, whatever.”
Marie had no idea if this was a smart answer, but it sounded decidedly so.
Hillcrest Rest Home was not on a hill, neither did it have any hills around it. It stood, quietly decaying behind rusted gates, that creaked and groaned as they drove past. Even the few trees surrounding it appeared jaded. They hunched and stooped; their branches stripped clean by the late autumn wind. Ivy trailed down the walls and dark roots sprung from the earth and grasped at the building, as though the land wanted to reclaim it; to suck it down so it was no longer an eyesore. The Home itself had seen better centuries. The paint was picked clean from the windows, and the door was so damp, the rotten wood showed through. All the front windows were misted over. There was no answer to Marie’s hesitant knock and the door swung open when Laura pushed against it.
“Phew,” the children cried in unison.
Marie had to agree. It smelt of mould, boiled cabbage, and something much more overpowering.
“It smells of pee,” Laura concluded.
“Is that any way for a young lady to speak,” Marie hushed her, but she had to agree it did smell of urine. It emanated from the faded carpet.
“Hello, is there anyone there?” Marie was bristling now. There was not even a reception desk.
“Paging nurse pissy pants.”
“Will you behave?”
But it was no use Laura and Shelly were too caught up in the joke.
“Hello,” they moved towards a door at the bottom of the stairs. The latch no longer worked, and it swung noiselessly open. They stepped into what was once a sitting room. Although it was early afternoon the light was already starting to fade, and only the embers of a fire lit the room. Chairs were arranged to form a circle and a hunched figure sat on each one.
“I’m frightened,” Shelly whispered.
Marie had to admit the scene before them was surreal. No one moved or spoke. She felt along the wall for a light switch. Even the wallpaper felt damp on her fingers, and relief surged through her, when she felt the cold switch and flicked it down. The light in the centre of the ceiling came on, but the bulb was much too low for such a large area and threw the room into shadow. Still no one moved. It was if they were unaware of the change. Marie looked around at the men and women sitting there and her heart ached, because she saw the despair etched in each face. These were the unwanted people, the ones considered no longer useful to society or their family. They had been sent to this place, this elephant’s graveyard to await their death. She saw the neglect they suffered. Dried food clung to the clothes of the feeblest and stained their faces. Hastily spooned by impatient hands into mouths unable for the load, it was allowed to spill over and lie wherever it landed. Her eyes travelled downwards, and she touched the papery dry skin on the hand nearest to her. It felt dry and cold, but her touch sparked something in its owner, and the old woman looked up and smiled. Then, noticing the two girls hiding behind Marie, she whispered, “children.”
Instantly the others came to life. Those who could heaved themselves up from their chairs and came towards them. Others held out their arms in longing for the softness of a child once more. Marie wanted to ask them where their children were, or what they had done to warrant such a sentence in this awful place. Instead, she urged the girls to speak to the old people, whispering they were lonely and needed someone to talk to. Soon Laura and Shelly overcame their reserve and were telling everyone about their school and their friends, and were no longer afraid of the fingers touching their hair or holding them close.
Marie bent down to the old woman, who was still holding on to her hand as though it was a lifeline and asked. “Do you know which of these women is Miss James?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know anybody’s name, my dear.”
“Are you new here?”
“I’ve lost count of the years I’ve been here. I think it’s about ten or more.”
Marie shook her head in disbelief. Ten years and she did not know anyone’s name. This place was surely the nearest thing to Hell.
None of them heard the footsteps on the corridor outside. The door was thrown open and an angry voice asked. “Who turned on the light?”
“I did,” Marie turned to find a grim-faced nurse framed in the doorway.
“Oh, yes, I see,” she became flustered and ran her hands down her stained uniform, trying to brush the filth away. “I don’t like any of the guests to move in case they fall. I’m never far away and they only have to call.”
“I’ve been here for over…” Marie looked at her watch. “Fifteen minutes and I’ve tried to attract someone’s attention a number of times.”
“Well, I was probably down in the kitchen preparing supper,” she was growing angry now. No one ever answered her back.
“Are there no other members of staff?”
“I really don’t see why it concerns you, or what business you have here.”
“I am here to see an old friend of my family’s, a Miss James, Emily James.”
“Well, you won’t find her in here.”
“That,” Marie said. “Is blatantly obvious. Where is she?”
For a moment she was afraid Miss James was dead until the nurse, deciding she was obviously trouble and it was best to let her have her way, gestured towards the ceiling.
“She’s upstairs. She has become very weak over the past few weeks, so she spends most of her time in bed. If you follow me, I will take you to her room, but I have to say I’m not one bit happy about this intrusion. I do not even know you and have only your word as to who you are. After all, you could be anyone.”
“Yes, your right. I could be anyone; even the health inspector.”
“Are you threatening me? I run this place in accordance with nursing home regulations.”
“Then believe me those so-called regulations need to be revised. But, since I have business elsewhere and have neither the time nor the inclination to bandy words with you, I would appreciate seeing Miss James.”
“Follow me,” she turned, then stopped and glared at the girls. “And another thing. I don’t like children running all over the place.”
“We’re not running,” Laura stood with hands on hips. “We’re just standing here, talking.”
“See that you stay that way. I don’t want you tripping up one of the guests.”
Laura threw her eyes to heaven and answered with the customary, “Whatever.”
Marie put her finger to her lips and Laura shrugged, resigned to having to do as she was told.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Marie said. “Stay here.”
As she followed the nurse outside and closed the door as well as the faulty catch allowed, she became aware of the buzz of conversation inside. In dawned on her, as she climbed the stairs, her feet making squelching noises on the dirty, sticky carpet, there was total silence once the nurse appeared. The old people were afraid of her. Well, she would see about that later. She had made many useful contacts in her years as a legal secretary and the health board would hear about this place.
The upstairs was colder than below, and the low lighting did nothing to dispel the gloom of the long, door lined corridor.
“In here,” the nurse threw open a door and stood aside to allow Marie to pass. “There’s a lamp beside the bed,” was her parting shot, as she slammed the door and the room was plunged into darkness.
For a moment, the only sound was the beating of her heart, then a small voice asked.
“Is someone there?”
“It’s all right, Miss. James,” she started to edge her way across the room. “I’m a friend. I’ve come to visit you.”
The outline of a bed appeared, and she felt her way along it.
“But I haven’t any friends,” the voice had an edge of fear.
“It’s all right. I promise. I have come from your old home. Can you turn on the light for me?”
“I can’t reach that far.”
Marie knew if she did not locate the lamp soon the old woman would start to cry. Her hand knocked against a glass and a couple of things fell from the overcrowded bedside cabinet. Like the rest of the lights in the Home the wattage in the bulb was extremely low, but it was enough for her to see the old woman who lay propped up on a nest of stained pillows. Tiny care worn hands clutched the faded bedclothes and her eyes, like all the other prisoners in this place, had the same hopeless look.
“It’s all right,” Marie whispered. “I just want to ask you a few questions.”
“I’ll help if I can, my dear.”
To her horror Marie realised the woman’s breath made small white clouds as she spoke. The adrenaline rush from the fright of being left in the darkness made her oblivious to the cold, but now she shivered in the damp air.
“It gets very cold here in the evenings,” the old woman noticed her discomfort.
“I expect it’s cold here most of the time?”
Marie looked around the room at the faded carpet, the peeling wallpaper, and the patches of damp on the ceiling.
“Of course, you’re right. This really is the most dreadful place.”
Realising she hadn’t introduced herself; Marie told the woman her name and was rewarded with an outstretched hand so small and delicate that she was afraid it would break at her touch. But the grasp as she folded her fingers over it, was surprisingly strong and the smile the old woman gave her as she insisted, she call her Emily, took the anguish from her face making her appear younger. Marie explained the reason she was there.
“Do you have any idea what’s happening? I thought you might know something of the house’s history. Can you remember anything?”
Emily’s eyes seemed to glaze over, and Marie was worried she’d upset her; so reaching out she patted the old woman’s hand.
“So, she is back, is she? Poor child.”
The fine hairs on Marie’s neck prickled.
“Who, who’s back?”
As though she had not heard, Emily asked. “Is it that cur, O Brien that’s living there?”
“Yes, the family name is O Brien. Liam was your solicitor.”
“Yes, I remember him well enough. He cheated me you know. But he will get his comeuppance now, by God he will.”
“Who is she? She asked again. “Why is she here; can you remember?”
Emily answered in a tired, sad voice.
“Many things blur over a lifetime and get forgotten. But there are some tales belong to you. They stand out in your mind and are so powerful they chill the blood and wake you screaming in the darkness.”
With this she started her story. Told Marie the history of the house. How it started out as a humble cottage and was added on to as the family fortunes improved. Marie listened enthralled as Emily told her of Annie’s fate and the curse, she had placed on the O Brien’s.
“We have all heard the legend of the Banshee. There’s not one true Irish man who hasn’t.”
Marie nodded and waited for her to continue.
“Well that’s what O Brien has, his own private Banshee who’s wandered throughout the centuries trying to find peace. The O Brien’s were rogues back then and they are still the same today. I take it he’s without heir?”
“There are two children, girls. They’re downstairs now,” she explained about Cora’s accident and how the children came to be in her care.
“That’s what’s causing her to rise. A son would’ve saved him.”
“My God,” Marie was horrified. “Then she’ll kill him?”
“It’s the only way she’ll ever rest, but in doing so she’ll destroy any hope of salvation. If she takes his life, then she loses her soul. But she’s wise, and I pray that during her long years she’s learned to forgive and will let him live out his allotted time.”
“Was she an ancestor?”
“I’m descended from Rose, her sister.”
“What am I to do?”
“There’s nothing you can do. To warn him would be a waste of time. She is not tied to the house. She can rise in the air and be carried on the breeze. So, you see it is useless, she’ll seek him out.”
A noise at the door made them turn. Laura, who had grown tired of waiting crept up in search of Marie.
“Laura, come here.”
“Were you talking about Annie,” Laura asked.
“Have you seen her, child?” Emily sat up straight in the bed.
“Yes, I’ve seen her when she’s pretty, and I’ve seen her when she’s ugly.”
“She changes? Marie asked.
“Yes, when she gets angry, she looks like a monster. She was like that when Mam fell down the stairs. I saw her and she saw me.”
“Then nothing’s changed,” Emily sighed. “The hatred she felt is still there.”
The clattering of a trolley on the corridor outside announced the arrival of Emily’s supper. A blowsy, hard-faced woman came through the door with a tray. This she dumped on Emily’s lap and without a word to her or her visitors walked away. All three of them stared in disgust at the food on the plate. A cremated sausage, two pale, fat slices of bacon and a half-buttered slice of brown bread, to be washed down with milky tea from a chipped mug.
“Are you very ill?” Laura asked.
“I’m not ill at all, just heartbroken. I took care of the big house you are living in on my own up to a few months ago. You’ve seen the others downstairs?”
“Yes, they’re a bit creepy,” Laura pretended to shiver.
“The walking dead I call them. I pretend I am ill, so I don’t have to sit there and stare into space. I’ve no time for the old.”
“But you are old. You must be a hundred.”
“Laura, please,” Marie scolded.
“Out of the mouths of babes, eh,” Emily laughed.
“I’m sorry,” Laura said. “My teacher says I have the most annoying habit of saying exactly what I think. It gets me in terrible trouble.”
“I should think it does,” Emily smiled. “But I wouldn’t have you any other way.”
Laura hugged her. She liked this small, old woman with the white hair and crinkly smile.
Oh, you’re still here,” they hadn’t heard the nurse come in.
She looked down at the tray of uneaten food.
“Not hungry Miss. James?” Without waiting for an answer, she scooped up the tray and started to walk away. “Please don’t be much longer,” she said to Marie. “I don’t want you tiring Miss James.”
“What she means is she doesn’t want you poking your nose in here,” Emily whispered. “And supper will be kept for my breakfast.”
“Oh, gross,” Laura pulled a face. “I’d die if I lived here.”
“That is what will happen, I afraid. I’ll fade away and die.”
“No, I won’t allow it,” Marie walked to the wardrobe and started to rifle through it. “Can you walk?”
“Yes, dear, but…”
“Get dressed,” Marie tossed some clothes on the bed,” I’ll pack your things.”
The agility at which Emily sprang from the bed was amazing.
“You’ll come home with me,” Marie told her, as she folded and stacked the woman’s few personal belongings into a suitcase she found on top of the wardrobe. “We’ll figure something out. Come along Laura. Let us leave Miss. James to dress in peace.”
“I’ll go and get Shelly,” Laura ran ahead, and Marie followed carrying the suitcase.
“What have you got in that suitcase?” The nurse stood at the end of the stairs.
“Miss. James’s clothes. She’s coming home with me.”
“Over my dead body.”
“If need be.”
“She was placed in my care because she was unable to look after herself.”
“I’ll be looking after her from now on. Move aside,” Marie nudged her with the suitcase, but she stood firm.
“I mean it. She is not leaving here. I’ll call the police.”
“Marie, dear, “Emily was standing at the top of the stairs. “Perhaps it’s best to leave me here.”
“You’re not staying in this awful place. Do not worry. I have seen the papers that committed you. They won’t stand up in court,” turning back to the nurse she ordered. “Get out of my way.”
“You’re not taking her.”
Marie handed the suitcase to Laura. Though she had never in her life been involved in any physical confrontations, she was ready to do battle with the woman. She walked down the last two steps and stood facing her, so close their noses almost touched.
“Kick her ass,” Laura cheered.
“Not only will I do as the child asked,” Marie warned her adversary. “But when I’m finished, I’ll drag you through every court in the land.”
Shelly, who was drawn out by the argument added. “My Dad’s a solicitor. He’ll put you in jail.”
This weakened the nurse’s resolve.
“Very well,” she stepped away. “But you’ll sign for her. I’ll not be responsible once she steps foot outside.”
“Help Miss James to the car,” Marie told the girls. “I’ll be right out.”
The nurse’s office consisted of a desk and a filing cabinet in the corner of the kitchen. The stench was worse here, a dirty butcher shop smell.
“Sign this and she’s yours,” this was said as though Emily was a piece of lost luggage
Marie filled in the appropriate details and walked away. Out in the hallway an old woman leaning on a Zimmer frame came hobbling towards her.
“Are you taking her home?”
“Yes,” Marie answered. “I’m taking her home.”
“I’m glad,” the woman’s eyes filled with tears. “No one should have to die in a place like this.”
Marie leaned down, stroked her cheek, and watched her eyes light up as she said.
“I’m coming back. I promise you that much. Things are going to change.”
It was pitch black when she stepped outside. The wind whipped up and leaves whirled around her as she ran to the car. It looked as though it was going to be a bad night. She turned the key and the engine sprang to life. Switching the car heater to its highest setting, she leaned across and patted Emily’s hands. “You’ll soon be warm.”
“Thank you, my dear. I was feeling a little cold.”
“And we’re starving to death,” Laura’s voice came from behind.
“My apartment’s nearby. We’ll soon be there, and I’ll fix dinner. A proper dinner,” Marie winked at Emily.
The car headlights cut the dark as Marie guided it over the rumbling cattle grid and out through the gates of Hillcrest. The first splatters of rain hit the windscreen as she turned onto the main road and headed for home.
The piece of ceramic was stuck to Cora’s fingers, so she had to wipe away her tears with the back of her hand. It was useless, shattered beyond repair. She gathered the pieces into her cupped hand and dropped them into the kitchen bin. The blue of the Virgin’s veil was still visible, even in the dark recess of the black, plastic liner. The glue made webs of her fingers, and she walked to the sink. The warm water and liquid soap did little to remove it, and she knew it would take days before she managed to pick it free. Even the cloth she used to wipe the table down stuck to her fingers.
“Stupid thing,” she pulled it free, but it left pieces of cotton behind.
She sat at the table and slowly lifted the material from her skin. The tears splashing on her hand surprised her. She had not realised she was crying again. But then, she was always crying. It was a sort of sick hobby and gave her something to do during the long nights when her children lay asleep, and her husband lay, God knows where.
It took little to put him in bad humour, and since they moved into the new house, his temper was worse. She knew the renovations were costing him a fortune, but she played no part in his decisions. He chose the house and uprooted them from everyone they knew. Now they would be made to pay if anything went wrong. It was so unfair. She tried to be a good wife, a good mother, but nothing she did ever pleased him. Her stomach rumbled and she brought her hand down to soothe it. She had not eaten since breakfast and she gone without dinner the night before, as she hated to eat in front of him. It only gave him an excuse to mock her.
“Still going to your fat class?” He would say, scorning her attempts at slimming.
Her eyes strayed to the bin in the corner. Tonight, she really upset him. The holy water font was a farewell present from her neighbours, who all knew of her commitment to her faith and she hung it inside the front door. The sight of it sent Liam into a rage, and she had to block her ears and thank God the children were asleep. He cursed her for her bad taste, as he hurled the font onto the marble floor, and she groaned aloud, as the images of mother and child exploded at her feet. Not done with cursing her, he cursed her religion, the day he met her and the ideals of a judgemental society that kept him tied to her.
Then he stormed off and left her crouched on the hall floor, picking up the pieces.
It was late now; well past midnight, and she was weary. The kitchen, yet untouched, grew colder. Outside the autumn wind sent leaves scuttling across the windows and she shivered. The lighting was much too low for a room that size, and threw the corners into trembling, threatening shadows. She frightened herself with images of dark cowled figures lurking there. It was time for bed. She rose and switched off the light, not daring to look back into the darkness. The grand chandelier in the hall was restored to its former glory and its crystals cast diamond shapes on the floor beneath. Small replicas hung from the walls and it was these lighted the stairs. They would be left burning until Liam returned home if he returned.
The stained-glass window was cleaned, and she stopped at the gallery rail and looked at it. They had been in the house for over a month and she was still in awe of the scene it depicted. A young girl with flowing dark hair who held out her hands before her in what Cora imagined, was a vain attempt to ward off the great advancing beast.
“Poor child,” she whispered and brought her hand once again to her stomach, nauseous now from lack of food.
It was past eight when she woke the next morning. Liam’s side of the bed lay smooth and untouched. She groaned and rolled onto her side. It was another Saturday and at least there was no school run, and no hoards of workmen around the place. Running her fingers through her hair, she kicked off the covers and went to rise. A wave of nausea overwhelmed her, and she ran for the bathroom with a hand clasped over her mouth. There was little in her stomach, and her body shook as she retched. Her quivering fingers sought out the washbasin, and she managed to locate a face towel. She wiped the bile from her lips and sat shivering on the bare floor.
“Oh no,” she sobbed. “He’ll kill me.”
“Who’ll kill you, Mam?” Laura stood in the doorway.
Cora eased her way up and held onto the washbasin for support.
“It’s nothing. I am just being silly. I’ve been sick on the new paintwork.”
“He can’t kill you for that.”
“No, I told you I was being silly.”
They walked back into the bedroom and climbed into bed. Cora was still shaking from the shock and glad of the warmth of her daughter’s body. The girls were going to a birthday party this afternoon, so she could rest then. Although she hadn’t had a period in over five months, she assumed herself her swollen stomach was because of her strict diet or fluid retention and the slight fluttering within, nerves Anyway, she was probably blowing it all out of proportion. It was a bug of some sort. It had to be.
The house was quiet when she returned from dropping the girls off. Liam had obviously gone on one of his binges, so it could be days before he returned home. She secretly enjoyed these times. When he was away, they had more fun, more freedom and she did not feel as uptight. Her thoughts strayed to the paper bag in her purse.
The white plastic cylinder of the pregnancy test lay on the sink top. She stood and walked to the basin but avoided looking down in case the blue line showed. Was it just the light she wondered, as she studied her reflection in the mirror; made her look old and the circles under her eyes so dark? She glanced down towards the test kit. The blue line showed clear against the white background. The realisation made her stomach turn, and she had to take deep breaths to still the nausea. Beyond tears, she dumped the cylinder in the waste bin and staggered towards the bedroom. She felt trapped, and pulled at the neck of her jumper, gasping for air. She had to get out.
It had grown colder. A biting wind hurried clouds, swollen with the promise of rain, across a darkening sky. The garden lay grey and wind-swept before her. This was the first time she had walked there. The plot of land on either side of the house was huge, but it was impossible to judge the size of the back garden, even from the upstairs windows. It was so overgrown, and, in a way, she was glad of this. At least Liam had not infected it with any of his ideas. Large thorn bushes blocked her way and she tugged the branches aside, pricking and scratching her hands in the process. Some caught in her hair, and she pulled them free uncaring of the tufts left behind in the struggle. She made her way towards the trees at the end of the garden. Something told her she would be safe there, and free from prying eyes. Once through the tangle of branches she found herself in a clearing. The grass was waist high, but there was a small, uneven footpath, so she picked her way along the large stones. She was sweating, despite the cold and her heart thudded painfully. She felt hunted and glanced over her shoulder to make sure no one was following.
The land continued onwards for she guessed about four acres. Her legs shook and a couple of times she thought she would collapse. Now, on the border of the garden and the wood, she stopped and rested her forehead against a stout tree trunk.
“Oh, thank you,” she whispered to the wood, glad of its firmness in a day that was fast becoming surreal.
There was no sound other than the sighing of the breeze. Deep shadows cloaked the woods, and she knew it would be foolish to venture further. The light was fading, but she felt safe here hidden by the trees. Her thoughts were interrupted as a light was switched on upstairs in the house. Its beam cut a pathway through the gloom, and she knew Liam was home.
“What will I do?” she asked.
She looked around, searching for the answer on the darkening air. Sentinel spirits, who had watched throughout time, heard her anguished question and whispered to one another. The wind suddenly whipped up again and skimmed across the grass parting it before her. It was then she noticed the top of the tombstone. The wind blew stronger catching at her clothes and pushing her towards it. The stone, what she could see of it, was blackened and scarred. The writing if there was an inscription, was hidden. Her movements were dreamlike as she knelt and pulled aside centuries of leaf mould. There was something carved there, but it was faded and hard to read in the dim light. She used a twig to poke away old spider cocoons and bits of dried mud. When the carvings were clear, she traced her fingers across each letter and spelled out the words. “Annie Ryan aged 17. Dora Ryan aged 6. September 1653. In restless sleep.
“So young,” Cora whispered
She glanced across the garden towards the house where Liam would be waiting, and her hand went instantly to her stomach.
“What’s this?” Liam held the test tube in front of her.
It was so close she smelt the chemicals and urine inside it. Her stomach lurched, her throat contracted, as she answered.
“I had to do a pregnancy test.”
“Why?”
“I’m pregnant.”
“How the fuck can you be pregnant?”
She did not bother to answer.
“I mean, when?” He dropped the tube into the bin and ran his hands through his hair.
“About five months, I think.”
“Really, he smirked, “And how drunk was I at the time?”
“Please, Liam,” she tried to put her arms around him, but he pushed her away.
“Get rid of it.”
“What?”
“You heard me. Get rid of it.”
“This is a child, your child.”
“I don’t care. I told you I didn’t want any more children.”
“It might be a boy,” she pleaded.
“It might also be a girl. I do not really care what it is. Get rid of it.”
“No, it’s a sin. I won’t do it”
She tried to run, but he caught her hair and dragged her back.
“You had better do as I say or God himself won’t save you.”
“I won’t kill my child,” she stabbed at his hand and felt her nails slice into his skin.
“Bitch,” he roared, lunging at her.
She stumbled, but managed to keep upright and then she ran, down the stairs out the main door and back through the thicket of branches, uncaring of the thorns reefing her face. The trees in the wood seemed to be spreading their branches wider, willing her to come to them. She stopped when she reached them and hid. So far there was no sign of Liam. Her face stung and she winched when she felt the puckered skin. She knew she had no choice but to return to the house. The girls were being brought home by their friend’s mother, and she would have to be there to shield them from their father’s temper. Still, there was plenty of time, so she walked a little further. She had not intended to return to the tombstone, but now she was beside it. Her heart ached when she remembered the ages of the girls’ buried there, and she sank to the ground.
“What will I do,” she whispered. “He wants me to kill my child.”
She thought of her aged parents and decided against troubling them. There was no one else. Though she had always been frightened of Liam, that fear was tangible. This new terror took her breath away.
“But I won’t do it. No matter what he says or does. I won’t let anything happen to this child.”
The tears that were threatening spilled over, and she laid her head against the tombstone.
“I’m frightened,” she sobbed. “God help me, I’m so frightened.”
The loud laughter of children drifted towards her on the quiet air and she knew her daughters had returned. Wiping the tears from her face, she forced a smile and walked back to the house. This time she was ready to do battle.
The children were full of stories about the party. They were over stimulated, and it was difficult to get them to settle that night. Even Laura, who was caught up with news of her friends, failed to notice her mother’s pale, tear-streaked face. Cora was glad when they finally drifted off to sleep. Liam locked himself in the study and she was spared his anger for now. She showered and got ready for bed. With a little luck he would sleep elsewhere. The moon was shining bright enough to light the room, so she left the curtains open. She lay huddled beneath the covers and prayed harder than she had ever done. From far away she heard the creaking of floorboards and the heavy footfalls on the stairs.
Liam stood silhouetted in the doorway.
“I’ll be sleeping in the spare room from now on,” he said, then unsure if she was awake. “Did you hear me?”
“Yes.”
“Good and I meant what I said. Get rid of it.”
Cora started to cry once the door closed.
Liam pulled a duvet and pillows from the linen cupboard. He would have a makeshift bed that night but, in the morning, she could make up the room properly. He was sick of his wife, sick of her holier than thou attitude.
Later, when the night grew deeper and the things belonging to the dark were about, something stirred. Deep beneath the earth an ancient soul heard Cora’s tears for her unborn child and started digging its way towards the surface.
Her body continued to burn throughout the day. The sight of her smouldering corpse met Meg and Pat when they rode into the village that evening, and it was one, they would never forget. Annie’s blackened figure hung amid the embers of the fire. The spear held it in place.
The children were asleep in the back of the cart and spared the terrible sight, but Meg and Pat were inconsolable. A shadowy figure moved from the shelter of the mill and stumbled towards them.
“I threw the spear,” the young guard sobbed.
“You…” Pat cried, catching him by the throat.
“I had to; she was cursed to feel each flame.”
Pat looked at him uncomprehending, and it was only when Meg pulled at his arm, he released the boy.
“Let him be, Pat. He put her out of her agony.”
The boy coughed, rubbing at his bruised throat.
“I worked all day putting the fire out.”
“Where is he,” Pat asked. “This man, Tanas?”
“He disappeared before she died.”
“And the O Brien’s and the rest of the village?”
“They fled in terror.”
“They will have more to fear than the Devil when I find them.”
The sound of Meg retching made them run to her aid. She could no longer bear the sight of the burnt corpse, or the smell of cooked meat pervading the air.
“Take us home,” she beseeched Pat. “Take us to Annie’s cottage.”
“She will need a Christian burial.”
“You can come back when the cart’s unloaded and bring her home. The embers are still too hot and there is no hurry now. Just take us away.”
She had to be lifted onto the cart. The very life seemed to have drained from her, and she sat in a stupor for the rest of their journey.
The cottage looked dark and deserted. A melancholic breeze sighed among the trees. Even the little pool beside the cottage was covered with green slime. Nature itself mourned the passing of one so good.
The sleeping children were carried inside and put to bed. Meg took some wood from the stack beside the hearth and lit a fire. Even its comforting light did nothing to dispel the gloom. Pat brought water from the well, filled the kettle and swung the arm over the fire.
“I will make you some tea.”
Meg slumped into a chair and watched the leaping flames. Pat realised, for the first time, how old and frail she really was. They sat in silence until steam hissed from the spout, and the water threatened to boil over.
“My God, my God, why hath thou forsaken me?”
The hair on Pat’s neck rose at her whispered question, and he gulped back the tears. This was his fault; he knew something was brewing.
“You are not to blame.”
Her words startled him.
“Sit down,” she pointed to the chair opposite hers.
Pat handed her the tea and sat down. He was glad of the solidness of the wood beneath him. It was the only thing that seemed real. He held the cup with both hands to bring it to his lips, and he noticed how Meg’s hand trembled also.
“This is not a time for blame,” her eyes seemed to bore into him. “Nor a time for revenge.”
“I do not understand. What happened?”
“Annie, Lord rest her soul,” Meg continued, then stopped suddenly as the sound of the familiar name pierced her heart. She allowed the cup to slide from her grasp and it shattered on the stone floor.
Pat could do nothing to help. The tears that were threatening spilled over, and he was forced to hold a hand over his mouth, least the sound of his anguish wake the children.
“Come now,” Meg managed to rouse herself. “There is much to be done and plenty of time for grieving in the months ahead.”
Pat wiped the tears from his face.
“Take your cart to the store and unload it, then bring Annie and Dora home.”
“Dora?”
“Dora is dead. I felt her spark die before Annie’s.”
She rose and motioned him to do the same. He was afraid to leave her alone and told her so, but she knew the danger was past. The Dark One was vanquished. There was nothing left for him there.
The young guard was keeping watch over Annie’s body, and it was with his help, Pat managed to take her down. She felt warm to touch, and he moaned when he realised the pieces of ash falling from her was skin. They placed her in a blanket and loaded her onto the cart. Still the village lay in silence. No dogs barked; no lights showed in any of the windows.
“There was a child, a little girl…”
“They buried her outside the chapel wall,” the guard told him. “I can show you where.”
Pat led the horse along the village street. The sound of its hoofs shattered the quiet. Clip—clop, they rang through the silent night.
It was easy to find the small, unmarked grave. Burial outside the chapel walls was a fate reserved only for suicides, witches, and stillborn babies. The guard went inside and returned with two spades, the property of the gravediggers. Dora was not buried very deep, and the earth was dry and easy to dig. She was wrapped only in a blanket. Pat threw this aside and cried out when he saw the condition of her body. The stench made him draw back and he gagged at the raw, rotten smell of her decay. When he lifted her from the dank earth, her hair that was hiding her face, fell back, the moon lighted upon her, and he gasped at the beauty and serenity of her features. Despite the marks on her body, death left no sign of suffering.
The young guard, who introduced himself as Tom O Shea, offered to make the coffins and help with the grave digging. Pat accepted with a nod, and Tom climbed up onto the seat beside him. Meg came out to meet the cart. Pat stopped her from pulling back the blankets shrouding Annie and Dora.
“It is best to remember them as they were.”
They spent the rest of the night in the woodshed fashioning makeshift coffins from pieces of timber.
At dawn they buried Annie and Dora side by side, in the farthest corner of the property. A light rain fell as Pat and Tom filled the hole. A wind blew up, and it seemed as though the trees were bowing over the grave; paying homage to one who was a part of the forest.
“Should they be in consecrated ground?” Pat looked at the mound.
“Anywhere she lies is blessed,” Meg wiped her tears and turned to go. “The children will be awake soon and there is a lot of explaining to do.”
It was a solemn procession that walked back to the cottage that morning.
Meg, Pat, and the children stayed on at Annie’s cottage. More rooms were added to make way for the growing children. Pat’s business prospered, though it was whispered he was never the same after Annie died. Meg did her best at being mother to Rose, Paul, and Lily, but the loss of her loved ones took their toll. She spent hours beside the grave each day talking and whispering about old times. Flowers grew in abundance and covered the mound watered by Meg and Pat’s tears.
Slowly the seasons passed, and it was soon winter again. The sky was dark with the promise of snow when Meg set off to collect kindling from within the forest. There was no need for her to do this, as Pat had a woman come in and help with the housework, but it kept her busy and her mind from tormented thoughts. It was reported Mary O Brien was dying. Some said it was from a broken heart, but Meg knew it was from vexation.
The holly bushes were heavy with berries, a sure sign of a hard winter. Lord, I am tired Meg thought, as she stooped to pick up a stick. A cold wind stirred the trees above her, and she gathered her shawl tighter and was about to turn for home, when she heard it, a long, mournful cry that froze her blood. Meg listened as its volume increases and tore at her heart.
She allowed the sticks to fall, as she followed the sound. It took her way beyond the forest and into the village. Every window and door were locked, as the villagers tried to escape the cry. Her search took her to the O Brien’s house, where Hugh’s ashen face appeared at the window. Annie stood in the garden; Annie as beautiful as she had once been. The wind whipped her hair around her and carried her cries with it. Those who heard it would describe it as a keening, a ghostly lament for the dead.
Annie, Annie child,” Meg leant on the gatepost, her eyes blinded by tears.
“Do not come near me, Meg,” Annie sobbed, her cries rising and falling. “I am cursed to walk the earth until the end of his line.”
“I will find a way to help you, child,” Meg walked towards her. “Let me take you in my arms.”
“You cannot, Meg. You will die. I am death to all who touch me.” Annie floated towards the house and sat upon the windowsill.
Her crying continued unabated until dawn. Meg sat on the steps to the house praying and never taking her eyes from Annie’s face. The sounds she made were frightening, and Meg prayed, asking God for some relief for the child. Snow began to fall at first light. Soft flakes at first, but it soon came faster swirling about the village, covering everything.
“I have to go,” Annie called to Meg. “She is dead.”
“Where will you go?”
Annie’s eyes opened wide in terror. “I belong to the night. I lie shrouded in darkness. Help me, Meg.”
Sheets of snow blinded Meg, as she fought her way towards where Annie sat. But she was gone, fading into the air. The last thing Meg heard was her crying. “It is not fair; I am so frightened. Help me, Meg.”
The waiting was the worst. Annie jumped at each sound, as the old mill creaked and groaned about her. Common sense told her it was the timbers settling and the scratching and tearing, nothing more than the clawing of mice or rats in the beams. The smell from the next cell made her feel sick. Stefan’s body fluids mixed with the damp straw, and to Annie’s heightened sense of smell, it was rancid. She could almost taste the sweet, coppery blood. It seemed to stick to the back of her throat, causing her to gag. Walking over to the gate of her cell, she pushed her face between two of the bars trying to gulp in the air streaming from the slatted windows. Beads of sweat formed on her forehead, as she prayed once again for the courage to bear what was about to happen.
There came the sound of footfalls from above, and she moved deeper into the cell, when she heard a door open and the steps upon the stone stair. Turning her face to the wall, she refused to look at her visitor, but sensed someone was standing, watching her.
“Annie, dear.”
She turned to see Mary O Brien.
“I have come to save your life, Annie.”
“Really?” Annie knew The Dark One had sent Mary.
“This is no time to be proud,” Mary’s smile tightened. “But, then, why should it surprise me. Your mother was the same. She could have married well you know?”
Annie did not answer, but this did nothing to stop Mary.
“But, no,” she sneered. “She had to marry for love. Love, I ask you,” the laugh sounded like a snort. “And to a lowly woodcutter. Well, see where it got her. She left three orphans, two of them in prison.”
“Two in prison?” Annie ran towards the bars. “What do you mean two in prison?”
“You have not heard? She raised an eyebrow in mock disbelief. “Oh, they brought your younger sister in this morning. Dora is it?”
“And the others?”
“I have no idea. They could be dead for all I know. Something of the kind was hinted at.”
“No,” Annie started to cry. “No, you are lying. You must be. I would have felt it if they were dead.”
“There you go with that silly talk again. Felt it, indeed. No good will come of it, mark my words.”
“Please listen to me,” she pushed her hand between the bars and held it out to Mary. “Cousin, help me.”
Mary ignored the proffered hand, but Annie saw she was prepared to listen.
“If you find out what happened to my sisters, I will give you my cottage and land.”
Mary looked around her, checking no one could hear, but there was no mistaking the spark of greed glistening in her eyes.
“I am sure I do not know what you are talking about.”
“Listen,” Annie grew more desperate. “The deed is hidden in the cottage. Do as I ask, and I will tell you where it is. You can keep it. I care for nothing other than news of my sister.”
“Very well,” Mary nodded. “I will see what I can find out, but not a word to anyone. I do not want to be seen helping a witch.”
“You know I am not a witch.”
“Oliver says you are and since your imprisonment and the deaths of the gypsies there have been no more cases of the fever.”
“But that is because the weather has grown colder. Please, Mary you must see reason.”
“I know only what my intended tells me, and I have no reason to doubt him.”
“Your intended?”
“Yes,” Mary smiled. “We are to be married as soon as all this unpleasantness is finished.”
Annie looked at her in wonder. Did she really believe the Devil would marry her?
“Do you not wish me luck, Annie?”
“Oh, yes indeed. I wish you all the luck you deserve.”
Mary was unsure if the words were barbed, so chose to ignore them. After all, the cottage and lands would fetch a good price. The money would come in handy and her new lifestyle might be expensive. Dear Oliver, was generosity itself, but she had to impress him with her independent spirit.
“I must go now,” she pulled her silk shawl tighter.
“You will do as you promised?”
“I will do my best, and I hope you will stick to your side of the bargain?”
“I promise. As soon as you bring me word of my sisters, Meg and the gypsy children I will tell you where the deed is.”
“Very well,” Mary turned, and as an afterthought… “I almost forgot my reason for calling on you.”
She made it sound as though this was a social call.
“I came to beg you to repent and admit to your sins. I have no grudge against you and wish you no harm.”
Annie knew this was untrue. Not only was Mary grievously vexed by Annie’s refusal to marry her son, but also because of her resemblance to her mother, Mary’s cousin. She always envied her looks and kind nature, and the simple happiness she found in her woodcutter husband and daughters.
“I am not a witch. I admit nothing.”
“Well, I did my best. I can only hope your suffering and the suffering of your sister will be swift.”
With these words she was gone, and Annie stayed staring at the spot she’d vacated. Dora, surely, they would not harm her. She was only six years old, almost a baby.
She heard the slam of the mill door overhead, and pictured Mary sweeping along the main street on her way to report to Him. The thought of her cousin in a wedding dress, with The Dark One by her side made Annie laugh, such a fitting bride for the Devil. She laughed louder, tears streaming down her face. But there was no merriment in the sound, and she collapsed on the straw still laughing hysterically.
Somehow, she managed to sleep. When she woke it was still daylight, but the shadows lengthened, and she judged it was well into the afternoon. Brushing the hair from her face and wiping at the dried spittle staining her mouth, she stood. She was covered in straw. It stuck to her skirt, worked its way into the cleft between her breasts and seemed to cling to every strand of her hair. She picked as much of it as she could from her clothes and shook it from her hair. So intent was she at her work she failed to notice Hugh was watching her.
“Good day, cousin,” he bowed. “I have been sent to fetch you.”
Annie backed away, but he threw open the gate and seized her arm.
“Come along now and none of your nonsense.”
He propelled her along the corridor and towards the dark door, and into the room that played such a part in her tortured imagination. There was a row of six chairs on one side of the room. The squire and five of the elders were all to sit in judgement of her. There were three large books spread open on a table and she saw to her dismay these were Meg’s books. Meg would never part with the books. She would guard them with her life. Did this mean…? No, she could not be dead.
“Gentlemen,” The Dark One addressed the assembled jury. “You see here before you the grimoires of this witch. Within the pages of each of these accursed books lie the Devil’s words. It was with these innocent looking books she,” he pointed at Annie. “Cast her spells and killed those you loved and held most dear.”
She turned towards the men and shook her head, her eyes pleading with them for understanding, but their faces seemed set in stone. The Dark One was still speaking. Picking passages from each of the books. Jumbling up the words and making them sound sinister and evil. The tirade continued for so long Annie lost track of time. The Dark One’s eyes blazed, as he hurled accusation after accusation at her. She never answered but shook her head in denial. He became angry at her refusal to speak and turning to the jury, cried. “Will not one of you good men question her?”
There was a shuffling of feet, heads were shaken, whispers passed between the men until finally, one of them stood.
“Well,” he cleared his throat. “Do you deny any involvement with these books?”
“No, Sir, I do not.”
“Then you admit to reading them; to have knowledge of their evil!”
“These books are used in healing and in the protection of the dark forces,” she explained. “There is nothing evil within any of the covers.”
“But,” the man spluttered. “We have heard the words for ourselves. They speak of spells and charms. Do you deny this?”
“I deny they are evil. The words were muddled up in the reading. It is he,” she nodded towards The Dark One. “Who tries to fool you.”
“And why should he do that? He has nothing to gain. There is no fee involved in his work.”
“He is the Devil and he works to empower himself.”
There were gasps and mumbled calls of blasphemy.
“I have no more questions,” the man turned away.
Once he resumed his seat, the jury whispered together. The squire looked up from time to time and smirked at her. The Dark One allowed them to confer for a while and then asked.
“What is your verdict, gentlemen?”
The squire answered for all. “Guilty of witchcraft.”
“Very well,” The Dark One smiled. “A wise decision. I will deal with her in the approved way from here on. You may go,” he waved towards the door.
They filed from their seats. One or two cast a furtive glance in her direction, but most avoided looking at her. Annie stared down at her lap, not wanting to meet their gaze. She listened to the shuffling of feet and the heavy thud of the door closing, until the silence came surging back and she was alone with The Dark One and Hugh.
“You have heard the verdict of your elders. They have found you guilty of witchcraft. What do you have to say?”
She looked up at him.
“Nothing I can say will make any difference. You have already decided my fate.”
“You know what you must do to save yourself,” He glared at her. “I have given you plenty of opportunity.”
Turning to Hugh she asked. “Do you really have any idea of what he wants?”
Hugh shrugged. “He wants what we all want, the end of the plague.”
“No, he does not. He wants my power. He wants …”
Before she could say any more The Dark One roared.
“Take no heed of her words. They are meant to enslave you to her will.” And taking Hugh by the arm he walked him towards the door, whispering. Hugh nodded, before turning to look back at Annie. She had never seen such a look before, but then, she’d never seen what lust looked like.
“Did you really think you could bring a mind as weak as that around to your way of thinking?” The Dark One sat opposite her and nodded towards the door.
“I was merely telling him the truth, but you know nothing of the truth.”
“Oh, my dear,” he laughed. “I know all about the truth. I just bend it to my will and make it much spicier.”
“What happens now?”
“That is up to you. You know what must be done. I give you one last chance. Give me your power.”
“No.”
“Not at any price?”
She shook her head.
“Very well. You care nothing for your own life, but I have something that might convince you to change your mind.”
He walked out of sight. Her heart pounded in her ears and looking down, she saw the front of her blouse moved in time to the beats. The door opened. She felt the cool air rush into the room dispelling the stifling heat. There came a shuffling of feet, the clanking of chains and a small cry of pain, as Dora was pushed towards her.
“Dora,” Annie tried to go to her, but he grabbed her from behind. His hands were like claws on her shoulders.
“Dora,” she cried, and the child who stood with her head bent looked up. Her hair hung in damp tendrils about her face, and there was dried blood at the corner of her mouth.
“Annie,” she shuffled forwards. Her legs and wrists were bound with chains, as the shackles were too big for her. “Annie, he hurt me,” she started to cry. “He hit me,”
“You fiend,” Annie struggled to get free, but it seemed impossible to move. Then, she heard Meg’s words. “You have the power of angels. Your power is equal to his. He is a fallen one, you are not.”
Annie tried to concentrate, tried to block out the cries of her sister, and called out with all her might. “Take your hands off me, Lucifer.”
The pressure lifted at once, as he was thrown from her, and she rushed to her sister’s aid.
“There, there, my precious,” she picked the child up and carried her to a chair. Brushing the sweat-soaked hair from off her face, she kissed the flushed cheeks. “I am here now. It is all right,” she tried to ease the chains over Dora’s wrists, but they were bound too tight. She forgot all about The Dark One until the child was yanked from her grasp.
“No,” she screamed, lurching at Dora, but he was too fast.
With a flick of his wrist he sent her propelling back into her chair and invisible hands held her there. “That was clever, witch,” he laughed, and hoisted the crying, struggling Dora under one arm. “But my power has grown over the centuries, your time has been short, and there is much to learn.
She screamed at him to let the child go and to her surprise he agreed. Dora was put back down. He stood her in front of him, one hand on her tiny shoulder.
“Will you let her die?”
Annie looked at the shaking child and shook her head.
“Then you will do as I ask?”
She never took her eyes of her sister. How could she give him her power? In order to save her sister, she would have to go against God. Please help me, she prayed, show me what to do.
“I keep telling you he is not listening. He seemed to lose all power of hearing at these times. If I correctly remember the last time, I witnessed so touching a scene I was in a garden with his son. His son, Annie, what are you to him?”
Dora stopped crying and was staring straight at Annie. Her face started to glow, the features changing until they became the face of a young boy. The voice coming from Dora’s mouth was ethereal. “All this will pass; Annie and you will walk in my divine light.”
The Dark One roared, twisting Dora round to face him, but her normal features returned. He screamed in anger and the same voice that spoke, answered his cry. “This was to be your punishment, Lucifer. You will never again look upon my face.”
In his anger he forgot about Annie and the child. Dora ran to her and Annie knelt on the floor holding her sister close and trying to block her ears from the curses and taunts he screamed at the heavens. Dora was shaking, and Annie rubbed her back trying to sooth her trembling. The child felt delicate as a bird, and she was aware of how easy it would be to hurt her.
“Where are the others,” she managed to whisper, before the child was pulled from her once again.
Dora shook her head in answer. The Dark One calmed down. Spittle dripped from his lips, but it was green in colour and burned his clothes as it splashed on his chest. Wiping the slime from his face with the back of his hand, he hissed at Annie.
“For this you will all die.”
No,” Annie begged. “Not my sister. She is innocent and no more than a baby. Have mercy.”
“Mercy,” he roared. “What mercy was shown to me?”
“I do not know.”
“Well, I know and you,” he spat. “One insignificant girl tries to stop me having my revenge. Guards,” he called. “Take this one away,” he pushed Dora towards the waiting men.
“Annie,” the child screamed and tried to wrestle free, but a resounding slap sent her spinning into the arms of the guards. Annie had to listen as her anguished cries echoed along the corridor.
Stefan was shackled in the same chair that Roma was tied to. But his captors were taking no chance with him. As well as the leather restraints, thick chains looped around his arms, across his chest and around his legs. There was a pounding in his head. Blood streaked his hair and dripped down his neck, staining the collar of his tunic. He shook his head trying to clear it, but this only served to agitate the wounds; the skin tearing further, the blood rushing faster, until he felt its warmth on his chest. That last blow, the one he received before they dragged him from his cell, was the worst. The whooshing sound of the wood as it cut through the air wielded with all the force his attacker could muster, still rang in his ears, or was it the pounding of his heart causing the sound?
Blinking, he tried to dislodge the blood flooding into his eyes, turning the whites red. His mouth was filled with its sweet, coppery taste, and it sprayed from his lips, bubbling and foaming, as he mouthed a prayer for protection. His eyes darted to the chains on the wall and the cruel chair with it spiked seat.
It had been quiet for a few minutes, but this made his suffering worse, for within the silence was the uncertainly of knowing what they were doing. What vile act they were perpetrating on his wife and Annie. Then he heard them approaching.
“You, gypsy,” The Dark One lost no time. “I want you to admit to these men assembled here that your wife is a witch. That she is in league with the devil and the one who initiated her into his ways is Annie Ryan.”
Stefan refused to answer.
“Speak or I will make sure you suffer,”
Stefan shook his head. He loved Roma and he would never betray her.
“You wish to remain silent?”
Still he refused to speak.
“Very well,” The Dark One moved to a table and though his back was to Stefan, he heard the clink of metal against metal, as he chose from the assortment of tools spread before him. Turning back to his men, he ordered. “Hold him tight.”
Stefan’s head was pulled back against the chair, a strap was placed around his forehead and tied to the wood making it impossible for him to move. The Dark One stood before him, a set of pinchers in one hand and a blade in the other. Firelight gleamed across the blade outlining its razor-sharp edge. Stefan’s eyes bulged.
“Open his mouth.”
He clamped his teeth together as two of the men tried to force his lips apart. They held his nose making it difficult for him to breathe, and he turned purple from lack of air. Finally, he was dealt a resounding blow across the head that made him cry out in pain, and a piece of wood was jammed between his teeth. He tried to bite through it, but it was too solid, and he felt the pinchers snatch at his tongue and pull it from his mouth.
“You wish to remain silent,” The Dark One drew back the blade. “Then so be it.”
To Stefan’s horror the blade sliced through the air in slow motion. Its movement in time to his pounding heart before finally, it contacted the soft tissue of his tongue slicing through membrane and muscle. Blood sprayed in an arch following the blades wake. As in Roma’s case it would be impossible to describe the agony. He tried to scream, but all he could do was make deep, guttural sounds. His mouth filled with blood, choking him, but he was unable to move his head to clear the blockage. He gulped, swallowing the blood. Its raw taste was now beyond him, but his stomach heaved and sent it back up and it spewed from his mouth drenching all before him. Some of the men drew back in horror at what they were witnessing; others cursed him for staining their clothes. The Dark One stood with the pinchers held out before him, Stefan’s tongue held tight within its claws and the blood-covered blade dripping at his side.
“Release his head.”
The strap was loosened, and Stefan’s head fell forward. Blood dripped onto his lap soaking his trousers. Tears mixed with his sweat; mute sobs shook his body as he too prayed for death. The pain roared within his head, fiery needles pierced his mouth and his body started to shake from the shock. Looking up through his tears, he saw The Dark One was watching him, an amused expression on his face. The men stood frozen, watching as his life’s blood gushed from him. As an afterthought The Dark One looked at the pinchers he held. Scowling in distaste, he walked towards the fire, loosened his grip on the pinchers and allowed the flesh in its claws to drop into the flames. It sizzled and jumped before catching alight. Stefan closed his eyes and tried to block out the awful sound of his own flesh frying. Although the room was stifling, he felt a cool breeze caress his face. From somewhere close by he heard children’s laughter and the tinkling of harness bells. He was no longer in the torture chamber. Instead, he was walking barefoot through a green, leafy glade. Birdsong echoed through the trees and the sun felt good on his body. The caravan was just ahead of him. He saw Roma leading the horse and his children, leaning on the back door called to him.
“Hurry up, Da, hurry up,” they held out small hands, but no matter how fast he walked they moved further away. He tried to call out to them to wait but was unable to speak.
The torturers watched him in awe, as his eyes grew bright, his breathing slowed, and his face turned ashen. The blood still pumped from him, but there was not as much now, as it kept time to his fading heartbeats. There was no longer any pain, not where Stefan was. He started to run, crying out in his mind for Roma to stop, to wait for him. She turned, sensing the cry, and he sobbed with relief, when she smiled and held her arms wide. Her arms encircled him. He smelled once more the perfume of her skin, the softness of her touch before the pain within him roared, darkness descended, and he was no more.
“Oh my God,” Roma clutched at her heart.
“What is it?” Annie asked.
“I do not know. A horrible, stabbing pain.”
“Perhaps it is the skin knitting together.”
“No. It is something bad, like emptiness in my soul. “Oh God,” she sunk to the floor, her arms crossed over her chest. “The very life seems to be draining from me.”
Annie did not kneel beside her; instead, she walked to the cell bars. Her mind reached out for Stefan, calling to him. There was nothing, just a vast stillness. Still, she did not panic; she let her senses guide her. Invisible fingers roamed the dark corridor and into the room at the end, past the watching guards, heedless of anyone other than Stefan. Then, she found him.
His lifeless body lay slumped in the chair. His head bowed over, dark hair covering his face, the smell of blood overpowering. She probed deeper trying to touch Stefan’s mind, but it was useless. The flame was extinguished; all she felt was the coldness of death and the echoes of his suffering.
The Dark One sensed her presence. Walking over to the body, he waved her away as though dispersing mist, and she found herself back in the cell.
“Annie,” Roma screamed at her. “What is it? What do you feel?”
“Nothing. I felt nothing.”
“Annie,” she heard the rustling of straw as Roma stood. “You’re the only friend I have in this world. Do not lie to me, please. I could not bear it.”
“Leave me be.”
Roma’s arms went around her waist.
“Please, tell me.”
“I felt his soul cry out in pain.”
“Then what?” she managed to ask.
“And then,” Annie started to cry. “And then…nothing.”
For a long time neither of them moved. It was not until they heard sounds from the darkness they broke apart. The guards were dragging Stefan’s body back to his cell. Annie saw him first and had to drag Roma away, but not before she saw his blood-soaked corpse. They heard the jangling of keys, the creak of the rusty cell door, and the thud of his body, as it was thrown to the floor. It was then Roma started to scream.
There were times, over the next few hours, when Annie felt she would surely lose her mind. Roma spent the time whispering through the wall to her dead husband. She dug with her nails at the dry clay between the bricks until her fingers bled, wanting to see him one last time.
Annie huddled against the wall at the opposite side of the cell. She was beyond tears and resigned to her fate. But it was her sisters, Roma’s children and Meg who worried her. The Dark One said they would go for them at dawn. Already the air grew chill with the promise of first light, and from far away she heard the thrilling of bird song.
Just as the first, white fingers of light moved towards the cell, they came for them.
A great rumbling started above their heads. Roma seemed not to hear it, but Annie looked towards the ceiling and followed the sound as it moved across the floor. It was the great wheel, the one chained to the mill wall. Footsteps resounded on the stairs leading to the cells. A group of men passed. Ignoring the women, they made straight for Stefan’s cell. Four of them carried his body away. Roma screamed curses at them, her bloodstained fingers reaching through the bars, trying to touch her husband.
“Where are they taking him?” She turned to Annie.
Her hair stood out wild from her head. She had torn some of it from the roots in her misery. Her eyes were red rimmed from crying, her face swollen. Now, she truly resembled a witch. Before Annie could answer, the men returned. Throwing open the cell, they dragged Roma away, pushing Annie aside, so she lay amid the straw and listened to the fading screams of her friend. Her throat ached with unshed tears.
There were shouts from outside the mill, where a crowd gathered. She could still hear Roma’s faint crying from overhead, but this rose to a scream, as the rumbling of the wheel started and mingled with the sound.
“Mistress Ryan.” The Dark One stood outside the cell.
Hugh, as always, stood beside him. He opened the door and motioned for her to come out. Her legs quivered as she stood, but she would not allow him to see how frightened she was.
“This way,” he walked back into the darkness, and she thought she was being taken to be tortured. Hugh gripped her arm as they walked, but they bypassed that terrible room, and she hitched up her skirts as they led her up a stairway towards a door. The sudden rush of light dazzled her, waves of noise confused her, and she found she was at the back of the mill, facing the gallows.
“Up you go,” Hugh propelled her towards the wooden steps.
Soon she was standing looking down at the assembled crowd. They had grown quiet on seeing her, but with a wave of his hand the commotion started up again.
“Watch and learn,” The Dark One whispered.
Hugh’s grip never slackened on her arm. Two round cords of rope swung from the overhead beam. Roma was led out first. Her hands tied behind her back; her legs manacled in stout chains made walking difficult. Annie watched her progress through the jeering crowd. It parted before her, many trying to avoid even her shadow least she curse them. Others threw stones, and Annie cried out as Roma’s body jerked, when each missile hit her. She had to be helped up the steps of the gallows
Roma seemed unaware of what was going on as the noose was tightened around her neck. The crowd parted again, as the rumbling of the great wheel started up. Annie saw, to her horror Stefan’s dead body was tied, spread-eagled across its rungs, so each turn crushed him beneath it, as it moved forward.
“Look, witch,” The Dark One pulled Roma’s hair so she was forced to watch this further act of barbarianism. Though Stefan was beyond pain, Roma was not. Anyone who has loved knows when those you love are injured; it’s the most infinite agony. The rough ground rendered Stefan’s skin, but there was no blood; that congealed hours before.
The wheel reached the steps of the gallows. Stefan’s mangled body was taken from it and carried up to the platform. The noose was tightened around his neck causing his limp body to be jerked upright.
“This is madness,” Annie looked up at Hugh. “Why were they doing this? Stefan is already dead.”
Roma turned to look at her dead husband, then her eyes strayed to Annie.
“I am sorry,” Annie called to her. “This is my fault.”
“The witch admits to her terrible crimes,” The Dark One called to the crowd. “You have heard her words with your own ears.”
The crowds answered booing and jeering, waving their fists at her. Roma shook her head. Even then, in her worst pain, she would not blame Annie.
“Make ready,” The Dark One pointed towards the lever that would spring the trap door.
“Let me do it,” Hugh begged eager as a child.
“Very well.”
Annie was thrust towards a waiting guard, while Hugh took his place at the lever.
“Any last words, witch?” The Dark One asked.
She turned towards Annie. “God bless you, child.”
“And you,” Annie whispered.
She had never before witnessed the pain she saw in her friend’s eyes, and she knew she would never forget that look, ever. For in it she saw the fading of the spirit, the death of hope.
In the second it took for Hugh to pull the lever, Roma’s mind joined with Annie’s and she heard her words as clearly as if they were spoken. The children, what will they do to the children?
Annie closed her eyes and did not have to see her friends disappear into the gaping hole. She heard the thunk as they fell, and the creaking and groaning of the rope, as it took their weight and swung backwards and forwards. A cheer rose from the crowd, and from somewhere the sounds of pipes and drums started up. They were celebrating the death of the innocent.
“You are next.” The Dark One hissed.
She started to pray, an act of contrition.
“You are being much too premature,” he laughed, leading her down the steps and back towards the mill.
She had expected to be hanged.
“Oh, that would be much too quick. I have great plans where you are concerned. What you just witnessed is a drop in the ocean to what you will suffer.”
Throwing her back into the cell, he slammed the door.
“Think about it, Annie,” he warned. “I am talking about the ultimate in humiliation, the ultimate in suffering.”
His footsteps faded in the distance and she was left alone. The crowd outside moved away. The silence descended and hummed in her ears. She realized she was panting, and holding her hand to her breast, she tried to slow her pounding heart. When she achieved this, when the noise in her head was gone, and her breathing was keeping time with her heart, she reached out her mind with every bit of strength she could muster and screamed, Run Meg run.
Meg watched the path through which she expected Annie to make her way home, until it became too dark to see. The evening grew colder and the breeze carrying the perfume of the woods, smelt rancid.
“Sweet Jesus, protect us,” she murmured, ushering the children inside.
They were restless all day, barely touching the food she prepared for them. She had not been able to eat a bite either. The worry for Annie’s safety weighed heavy on her. It was an even worse struggle to get them to go to bed and they did so, only after she promised to wake them as soon as Annie came home.
But Annie was not coming home, not tonight. Meg lowered herself into a chair beside the fire. She placed a lighted candle in the two small windows fronting the cottage. Small beacons to light the way for one she loved more than her life. She would rest awhile here in the quiet and surrounded by all the things familiar to her. Looking around the kitchen, she smiled at the jumble she collected over the years. Wooden shelves groaned under the weight of jars filled with hundreds of dried herbs, powders, and oils. Vervain root acted as a mild stimulant, valerian to ease a troubled mind, plantain, for bites and stings and other more powerful plants to relieve the pains of childbirth. She taught Annie all about these things, and the child knew each plant and root by its feel and smell. Had she been wrong to encourage Annie in the ways of the healer? But the child was born to do so, and surely it would have been sinful to discourage such a gift? I will not cry, I must not, for all will be lost if I weaken. She tried to occupy her mind with other thoughts and glanced at the faded tapestries on the cushions adorning each chair. Meg’s cats and Blackie all huddled together on one of the cushions, a maze of heads, paws, and tails. It was hard to see where one cat began and the other ended. From above the fireplace two bright, searching eyes appeared. The jackdaw took shelter in a nook in the wall and was watching her, bobbing its head from side to side as if asking, what is wrong? The old dog at her feet stirred, sensing her mood, and put his face on her lap. Reaching down, she stroked the animal’s coarse hair and her mind was filled with plans for the coming day. They would set off at first light and make their way towards the town. The going was hard, but the weather was dry and with God’s help they would make it in time. She would find Pat and tell him of Annie’s imprisonment. She knew the child was being kept against her will, for nothing other than death would keep her away from her sisters. Crossing herself, she prayed for Annie and the strength to endure the journey they were all about to make.
The torture started as soon as the sun set. They came for Roma first, tearing her from Annie’s grasp and ignoring her pleas for mercy.
“Watch and learn.” The Dark One sneered.
Stefan kicked against the bars of his cell in vain. They were too solid for even his great strength, his shouts of terror and impotence echoed along the empty corridor, even after the door slammed shut and he could no longer hear his wife’s sobs. He had always been strong in both mind and body, but now he went unmanly with grief. Gripping the bars, he laid his head against them and sobbed. Annie sunk to the floor and listened in terror to his crying. Maybe, The Dark One was just trying to frighten her, and wouldn’t really hurt Roma? No sound came from along the corridor. For a while it was quiet save for Stefan’s anguished sobbing and then she heard it, a desolate cry resounding from far away.
Roma listened to the accusations against her and once again denied them. He bound her hands to a chair, and she struggled against her restraints. A fierce fire burned in the brazier, and the coals were red and angry looking.
“Confess and be free.”
She looked up at him in wonder.
“Yes,” his voice was kind. “Tell us the truth and you can go free. Take your husband, return to your children and be on your way.”
Sweat glistened on her upper lip and trickled into her mouth. She licked at the salty liquid and watched as he strode around the room.
“Well?”
“If I say I am a witch,” she asked. “I can go free?”
“Yes, that is all there is to it,”
She failed to notice his smile of triumph, as it was directed to Hugh O Brien.
It would be going against God to utter such blaspheme, but if it saved their lives.
“I am a witch,” the whisper was indistinct.
“Speak up.”
“I am a witch.”
“Good,” he sat opposite her. “Very good.”
“Can I go now?” God forgive me Roma prayed, but I am only doing what mothers have done throughout the centuries, lying to save my children.
“In a little while, but first I have a question for you. Answer carefully,” he warned. “Your very life depends on it.”
“Your friend, Annie Ryan. It was she who instructed you in the Devil’s ways, was it not?”
“Annie, no! Annie is goodness itself. She would never think of such things.”
“Think again, gypsy,” he snarled, causing her to draw back. “If you value your freedom answer true.”
“But what I say is the truth. Annie is good and kind and I will not betray her.”
“Not even to save your husband, your children?”
“No,” Roma’s heart ached with sorrow, for she now saw the road she had to take. The Dark One could not be allowed to have his way.
“Perhaps this will persuade you?” Walking over to the fire, he withdrew an iron resting among the coals. The head was flat and glowed white from the heat.
“Prepare her,” he motioned to Hugh, who came and stood before her.
She looked up at him, shaking her head and crying.
“No, please no,”
There was no mercy in Hugh’s face as he leaned down, grabbed her blouse in both hands and pulled it apart exposing her breasts. He leered, stroking her smooth skin with the back of his hand, before stepping aside and allowing the Dark One to take his place.
“Do you still say she is innocent?”
The iron was so close she smelt its heat.
“I am afraid. Oh, God help me, but I am so afraid,” coal-black curls tumbled across her face as she bowed her head.
“Pull her head back.”
Hugh, standing behind her chair, grabbed her hair and pinioned her head against the hard wood.
“Last chance,” The Dark One’s face drew close to hers. “Just say the words and you will be free.”
His breath smelt blood-sweet and in that few seconds she noticed, for the first time, his eyes had no colour within the pupils, just a flat blackness. Hugh’s grip loosened somewhat on her hair and she managed to draw even closer to The Dark One, their noses were almost touching when she spat into his face. He drew back, disgusted and wiped the spittle away with his sleeve.
“Very well,” he thrust the iron as though it were a sword. It contacted the skin on her left breast, just above her heart and she screamed in agony. It would be pointless to describe the pain; she could not have found the words. He did not withdraw the iron immediately but held it in place allowing it to burn past the skin and into the tissue beyond. Roma writhed and howled, trying to get away from the pain, praying for death. Even when the iron was withdrawn, the agony continued. A large circular piece of her skin had burned away and was stuck to the head of the iron. Her left breast was now an open wound, the skin around the hole blistering and bubbling causing her to moan and scream. It felt as though she had a fever. The heat raged within her and sweat dripped down her face. Even the small trickles that reached the wound caused her to cry out.
“I will just let the iron reheat.”
He was speaking to Hugh who still held her hair, but she managed to move her head enough to see the fire. The head of the iron was buried deep with the coals and already turning white from the heat.
“Please no,” she whispered. “I cannot take any more.”
He had withdrawn the iron and was advancing on her again.
“No please.”
“Then tell me the truth. Say she is a witch and has instructed you in the ways of the Devil,” he moved the iron closer to her right breast as he spoke. She felt its heat on her skin.
“Yes,” she cried. “Yes, Annie told me to do it.”
“Do what?”
“What do you want me to say, tell me?”
“You will sign a confession that Annie Ryan instructed you in the ways of the Devil. That through her intercession you mated with him and bore his black offspring’s,”
Roma was sobbing from pain, but also from self-disgust. “Then I can go free?”
“Yes, of course. I will give you freedom.”
Hugh loosened one of her restraints. A thick manuscript was dropped into her lap and a pen, its nib dripping ink, handed to her.
“Sign there,” Hugh indicated a space on the bottom of the document.
“I cannot write.”
“Then make your mark. A cross will do.”
Roma’s hand shook as she traced a cross onto the yellow paper.
“Very well,” The manuscript was grabbed from her lap. “Take her back to the cells.”
“But,” she panicked. “I have done what you asked. You promised to set me free.”
“Oh, I will give you a freedom of sort. Take away all your pain,” he laughed. “Now take her away.
Roma was dragged back along the dark corridor. Her blouse open, her breasts hanging loose, but she was beyond shame. They threw her into the cell, and she lay on the floor, trying to burrow into the dirty straw. She heard Stefan’s curses and roars at the men, and she pulled away from Annie, when she tried to lift her.
“Leave me be,” she sobbed. “I betrayed you Annie. I have signed your death warrant.”
“Roma, hush now,” Annie tried to brush back the sweat-soaked hair. “Turn around let me see what they did to you.”
“Do not be kind to me Annie,” Roma’s voice was muffled by the straw. “Please, I cannot bear it.”
“Roma, listen to me,” Annie was crying now. “I know what you did was not out of malice. Let me help you.”
Roma sat and tried to gather the remnants of her blouse around her, but she was not fast enough. Annie gasped, when she saw the wound and the raw, burnt flesh around it. Blood dripped from the tear, caking Roma’s side and there was an aroma of cooked meat. Annie tried not to retch, when she realised the smell was emanating from her friend.
“Do not look,” Roma tried to hide.
“I have already seen. Do not pull away. I can help.”
“No,” Roma brushed at Annie’s outstretched hand. “It hurts too much.”
“I know, but I can ease the pain. Trust me.”
Annie called out to Stefan several times to be quiet. He was out of his mind with worry, and although she could understand his desperation, there was work to be done. Her powers were limited under such a strain, but she would do what she could. Reaching out, she placed the palm of her hand over the wound. Roma screamed and tried to pull away, but Annie whispered to her, the words soothing. Closing her eyes, Roma swayed slightly, and Annie held her upright with one hand, while laying the other on the open wound.
“Lord,” she prayed. “It is a good thing I wish to do with this gift you gave me. I ask you now, you who healed our Saviour, Jesus Christ and staunched his bleeding wounds. Have pity on this woman who suffers in your name.”
The flesh beneath her hand began to cool. Roma gasped as she felt the pain ebb and the fever within her body faded away. Charred and torn tissue started to knit together. The puckered, burnt flesh uncurled and stretched itself across the wound. When Annie removed her hand the only evidence of what Roma had suffered was a round, red mark.
“I cannot believe it,” Roma traced her fingers over the mark. “Annie, how can this be?”
“I do not know,” Annie was amazed by what she had done. “I have always been able to heal, but I cannot explain how or why.”
“Stefan,” Roma wanted him to hear what Annie had done.
Leaning on Annie’s arm, she managed to get on her feet. She was still badly shaken by her ordeal, but now the pain was gone, her thoughts were of her husband. Before she could walk to the bars, before she could reach out a hand and try and touch him…
“Bring the man next.”
The command from the darkness made her draw back in fear.
“Get down,” Annie warned, and Roma crouched in the corner of the cell, pulling her tattered blouse around her. Annie stood in front, shielding her from the group of men who arrived to take Stefan. There were at least ten of them and each held a stout club. They knew he would put up a fight, and Roma and Annie clung together listening to the roars from the next cell. Sobbing, they cringed as blows rained down on him, and they heard the smack of wood against flesh, the dull thud when it hit bone.
“Right, bring him along,” one of the men stood back to allow the others to drag Stefan out.
Annie rose and walked to the bars of her cell. The man who had spoken was sweating, and the club he held was matted with blood. All she saw of Stefan were his heels as he was dragged away, toes scraping along the flagstones.
“Wait,” Annie called to the man.
“What do you want, witch?”
“Tell him,” she indicated along the passageway. “Tell The Dark One I will admit to being a witch. Sign anything, he wants if he lets Stefan go.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The one you call Oliver. Tell him what I said.”
“I take no orders from the likes of you,” with this he struck out at her.
She was too quick, and the blow from the club meant for her fingers, rang against the bars.
“Tell him,” she warned. “Or I will say you are in league with me.”
He drew back as if struck and hurried away into the darkness. The Dark One and Hugh O Brien accompanied him on his return.
“What is it you want?” The Dark One was annoyed.
“I will sign whatever document you want; admit I am a witch if you let Stefan go.”
“That is not what I want from you,” he hissed, moving closer to her.
“I cannot give you what you ask.”
“Cannot or will not?”
“I will not go against God.”
“Why?” Then, noticing Hugh moving closer, he turned. “Go, make sure all is well.”
Hugh and the man moved away.
“Now,” he turned back to Annie. “Tell me why you defend this God of yours, this Saviour. He is willing to let you and yours suffer and die; while I will give you everything you desire.”
“I love him.”
“You love him! Have you taken leave of your senses? How can you love him? He is a monster, an abomination that sees your suffering and does nothing.”
“I feel him all around me,” her face became rapturous. “He whispers to me on the wind. When I am in the woods, I feel his wonder beneath my feet. I can feel the opening of each bud, the birth of every creature no matter how small. It is their life renews the power in me. It flows over me. I can feel it now, even in this dreadful place.”
Roma turned and looked up at Annie. She seemed to be glowing, emitting a warm light. Even The Dark One seemed mesmerised.
“This is why I love him. I can feel his goodness. Can you not try to feel the same?” She reached through the bars and touched his face. The magic within her fingers was like acid on his skin.
“I am sorry. I am so sorry. I did not mean to hurt you.”
“It is not you,” he snarled, holding his hand against his severely burned cheek. “It is him,” he shook his fist towards the ceiling. “He has tormented me since the beginning of time and continues to do so through you and your like. You will pay now, all of you will die.”
“No,” Annie backed away as the fire in his eyes grew stronger
Hugh and the others came running on hearing his cries. Their eyes flew from his burnt face to Annie and back again.
“See what the witch has done to me?”
The looks they gave Annie were filled with fear.
As if noticing Roma for the first time, he turned on her. “Show me your wound, gypsy.”
“No,” Roma huddled deeper into the corner.
“Leave her be,” Annie warned. “She has suffered enough.”
“Do I have to come in there?” He roared.
“No, please,” Roma held up a hand to ward him off.
He knew what happened. Annie healed the wound and having had evidence of her power; he knew she was capable of much more.
Turning to Hugh he asked. “Did she not under pain of torture admit to being a witch?”
“She did.”
“And did I not brand her with a hot iron and tear the skin from her bones?”
“You did indeed.”
“Yet,” he indicated to one of the men to open the cell. “I see no sign of her suffering, no marks. Do you?”
“Come to think of it,” Hugh scratched his head, a stupid look on his face. “I cannot see anything.”
Annie backed away towards Roma and was shielding her with her body. Two of the men approached her, grabbed her arms, and dragged her kicking and screaming to the other side of the cell. Roma was pulled to her feet and offered little resistance, as he moved towards her and pushed aside the remnants of her blouse. Hugh gasped at the red patch on her skin and pointing a trembling finger, stuttered.
“But she was horribly burned. There was a hole and blood.”
“Now you see how powerful this witch is?” The Dark One looked round at the men, who were shaking their heads in disbelief. “While she lives, you will never prosper. She will bring sickness and suffering on the village until she and her servants are wiped out.”
“No,” Annie tried to pull away. “What he says isn’t true. I am a healer. I heal man and beast, and I do so in the name of God.”
“Enough,” he walked outside the cell and waited for his men to join him. Annie and Roma were thrown to the floor by their captors.
“I will be back for you later,” was his parting promise.
“No,” she ran to the bars, but he was already lost in the darkness. “Please,” she whispered. “Oh, please God help us.”
The only reply was the laughter of The Dark One and his mocking whisper.
“He is still not listening.”
“It’s all right.” Annie whispered. “It’ll be over soon.”
“Even now,” The Dark One’s voice broke the silence. “Even here before you good people they continue to plot.”
Annie looked up at him.
“Yes,” his mocking sneer had returned. “They continue to mouth their evil spells. Though I know nothing of the language of the Devil, the chant she used is clear enough.”
“This is madness,” Annie spun around to face the people. “You all know me. I’ve helped many of you through the sickness.”
There were mutterings from the crowd.
“And how many more have you helped to kill?” The Dark One asked. “Is there anyone who has not lost a loved one through your potions?”
There were shouts, voices raised high in anger.
“My potions were made of herbs and roots. There was nothing in them to cause harm,” Annie hoped her voice belied the terror she felt.
“Enough,” The Dark One roared. “We will hear none of your excuses and lies. All you are doing is prolonging the outcome of this trial.”
“I thought this was a hearing?” Annie’s heart started to thump against her breast. “If this is a trial who is to speak on these people’s behalf?”
“Perhaps you would care to address the court?” He waved his hand towards the seat on which the Squire sat.
Annie had forgotten about the Squire and the O Brien’s. She knew, even as she turned to face them, it would be hopeless to plead for mercy. Mary and Hugh looked at the proceedings stony faced, lips pulled into tight little lines. The Squire gazed down at her from his high seat and smiled. She had refused his advances and he would now keep true to his promise.
“Well,” The Dark one was speaking to her. “Have you nothing to say on their behalf. No fanciful explanation for their sorcery?”
“They are not sorcerers nor witches; just simple travelling folk and you wrong them greatly.”
“And do we wrong you?”
“You know you do. I am a healer; there is nothing sinister or magical about my power.”
“Then you admit you have power?”
“No,” Annie spun around to face the crowd. “I admit nothing of the sort. I have the power to heal not to harm. You all know me; have known my family for years. Jane,” she searched the crowd for her friend. “Jane, come and speak for me.”
“Where is this Jane you speak of? Bring her forward,” The Dark One commanded.
Jane O Regan was dragged from her hiding place among the crowd and pushed to the top of the room.
“Jane,” Annie begged. “Tell them I do no harm. I only do what I can to heal others.”
Jane’s eyes darted from Annie to her accuser.
“Well, speak up,” the Squire roared, making her jump.
“I am not sure what you ask of me, Sir.”
“It’s very simple, my dear,” His voice was sweet. “Is this woman a witch?”
“No, Sir. I do not think so.”
“You do not think so. What does that mean?”
“She never done me or mine anything, but good.”
“And your youngest child did she do her good?”
“She died of the fever, Sir.” Jane was close to tears.
“But you told me you were all sick when she arrived with her potions and spells; yet only hours later your little one was dead. How do you account for that?”
“She was small and weak, sir. Her strength gave out.”
“Do you not realise you stupid woman, that witches always take the youngest children and during their death throes breathe in their life force?”
No,” Jane was crying. “That is not true.”
“Yes, it is,” the honeyed voice again. “I have no wish to cause you any further distress, but what I say is the truth. Your child’s soul lives on in that creature you see before you. She has bound your child to her will, refusing to let her rest in order to help her in the Devil’s work.”
“No,” Jane looked at Annie, her eyes wild in terror. “It is not true, is it?”
“Of course, it is true,” The Dark One put his arms around Jane’s shoulders. “Think, were you there when your child died? Did you witness every drop of the potion she administered?”
“I was resting below stairs while Annie nursed her and asleep when she died,” Jane was shaking her head in disbelief.
“Of course, you were asleep and why, you must ask yourself this question. Would any mother sleep peacefully knowing her child was so gravely sick?”
Jane looked up at him, shaking her head.
“She gave you a sleeping draught. That is why you slept and were unable to hinder her in her dreadful act.”
“Then my child,” Jane sobbed, pointing at Annie. “My little one is in her?”
“No Jane, no.” Annie pleaded with her. “Don’t listen to him. It is he who spreads such lies. Do not listen to him.”
“See how she turns on me now?” He addressed the crowd. “More lies and slander. Anything to save herself and her servants.”
Roma’s soft crying was peculiarly piteous. Stefan regained consciousness and was struggling against his bonds, muscles standing out like wires on his bare arms.
The crowd was in an uproar. Screaming taunts and accusations at Annie. Men shaking their fists, and the women reaching out at her crying hysterically and calling for revenge.
Annie watched it all in disbelief. This was madness; everyone seemed to have lost their minds. The crowd surged forward calling out for blood, and she found herself ushered back behind the table. Looking up at her protector, she was surprised to find it was The Dark One.
“I will not let them harm you, not yet.”
She shivered, trying to pull away, but he held her fast. At his command, the men holding Stefan and Roma formed a barrier between them and the crowd. Annie, Roma, and Stefan were herded away towards the cellar steps and down into the cells. The women were pushed into one cell and Stefan into the other. They still heard the thundering of feet from above and the shouts of the crowd. Annie and Roma huddled together in fear, sure at any moment they would gain access to the cells and they would be torn to pieces. But slowly the noise abated, and they heard a soft mumbling. The footsteps overhead retreated towards the main door. They heard the clattering of feet on the steps outside, and through the small, slatted gaps serving as windows, they watched the skirts of the women and heavy-booted legs of the men pass by. A few fell flat on the ground and tried to see inside the cells, but Annie and Roma retreated into the shadows. There were curses and threats hurled at them through the bars, and they covered their ears. The one thing all three of them heard from each foul-mouthed voice, was the promise of seeing them next day.
“What do you think they mean?” Annie asked Roma when the last voice had died away. “Why will they see us tomorrow?”
“Oh, Annie, Annie,” Roma fell against her sobbing. “My children, what will become of my children?”
“Hush now. They are safe and well. I told Meg that if I was not back by nightfall to take the children and set off for the town. They will find Pat, he is a good man and he will help us.”
“But,” Roma wiped the backs of her hands across her face. “The town is days away from here and that’s by horse and caravan. It could take much longer walking. Meg is old and the children will tire easily.”
Stefan, calling to them from the next cell interrupted their conversation. Roma reached out through the bars and managed to touch the tips of his fingers.
“The children are safe,” she whispered. “Meg is taking them to the town to get help.”
“Thank God,” he moaned. “Let us hope they are not too late.”
“Are you very badly hurt, my love?”
Annie moved to the other side of the cell ashamed at having to hear their whispered words of love and endearment.
Her mind was in turmoil worrying about her sisters and Meg. She prayed for their safety and protection, and the strength to bear what was about to happen. Picturing in her mind Meg’s cottage and the route they would take to the town. She hoped they would keep well into the shadows of the trees until they were clear of the village. Then they could get a ride in one of the many carts heading for the town. She was so deep in thought she did not realise Roma was calling to her.
“Annie, come,” she beckoned her over and stood back in order that Annie might take her place and speak to Stefan.
“Stefan, are you, all right?”
“I am fine, Miss, but it is sorry I am for bringing such trouble on you and yours.”
“This is not your fault,” Annie assured him. “We are all part of some dreadful plan. In truth I think it is me he is after, and I will do whatever I can to help you both.”
“There will be no help for us, Miss, I fear.”
“You must not think such a thing,” her whisper grew more urgent. “There is always hope.”
The sound of approaching footsteps made Annie draw back. Taking Roma by the hand, she pulled her towards the back of the cell.
“Well, well, well,” The Dark One stood outside the bars with Mary on one side of him and Hugh flanking the other. “Your bravery seems to have deserted you,” he spoke to Annie.
She refused to answer him, and his eyes grew hard.
“Bring her to me,” he roared, before walking away.
A man appeared with a bunch of keys hanging from a belt around his waist.
“Come along you,” he dragged Annie outside, throwing her hard against the wall.
She stood there winded, as he locked the cell.
“Come on, I want no trouble from you, witch,” with this he caught her wrist in an agonising grip and pulled her along the dark corridor. She caught Stefan’s look of despair as she passed his cell, and she heard Roma sobbing, as she descended deeper into the mouth of darkness. Her jailer knew the dark passageway well, but Annie stumbled a few times on the uneven stone flags. She was shaken and pulled to her feet and her wrist burned from his grip. Just when the darkness seemed absolute a door opened, and she was propelled into a room. The door slammed behind her and she found herself once again facing The Dark One.
“Sit down,” he pointed towards a chair.
Mary and Hugh sat opposite her, their eyes never leaving her face. A fierce fire burned in a brazier in the centre of the room and chains hung from the walls. A huge wooden chair stood in one corner and the seat was made from long nails! Their sharp points glistened in the light from the fire and the arms were fitted with leather restraints.
“Now,” he continued, “We can make this all quite simple. If you confess your guilt here in the presence of you cousins, you will be dealt with fairly. If, however you persist in denying your guilt, you will suffer a torture you could never imagine. I’ll make an example of you.”
“You know I am not guilty of the crime of which you accuse me. I know this is some dark plan hatched by you, but I find it hard to understand your reason. What have I got that you want?”
“Do you hear that, my dear?” Reaching down, he took Mary’s hand and brushed it with his lips. “What has she got that I want?”
“My dearest Oliver wants nothing from you,” Mary hissed. “You are an evil, wicked child.”
“Then you,” Annie asked. “What do you want, the cottage, the land? Take it; I will give it to you in exchange for our freedom.”
Mary’s eyes lit up at this, and she was about to say something, when…
“She will make no deal with the Devil,” He answered for her. “This woman,” he placed a hand on Mary’s shoulder. “Is sainted and above corruption. She wants nothing from you.”
Annie’s mind was racing. The heat from the fire was searing and her mouth felt dry, as she tried to swallow. As if sensing her discomfort Hugh asked.
“Would you like a drink of water?”
“Oh, yes thank you, Hugh.”
She watched as he walked across the room to a barrel and filled a large wooden scoop. He carried it carefully back to her, and Annie watched the small dribbles falling from it and licked her lips anticipating it coolness on her parched throat.
“Here you are.”
Annie reached out to take the scoop, but before she could do so he laughed and threw the full contents into her face.
“I show no mercy to witches,” his mouth curled into a sneer.
His mother was laughing as though it was the funniest thing she had ever seen, but there was no sign of mirth in The Dark One’s eyes.
“I think,” his voice put a stop to the laughter. “I should work alone from now on.”
“Why, Oliver, dearest,” Mary became flustered. “Have we upset you in some way?”
“No,” his tone belied this fact. “You must not witness what is about to happen. Not a woman of your sensibilities.”
“Very well,” Mary stood for a moment brushing the creases from her dress, unsure of his dismissal.
He took no notice of her and turning to Hugh, ordered.
“See your mother safely home.”
“But, I…”
“Just do as I ask,” the flames leaping in The Dark One’s eyes left no room for discussion. “You may return later.”
Hugh started to lead his mother away. As he passed Annie’s chair, he grabbed hold of her hair and pulled. It hurt so much she screamed, and she felt each hair as it was ripped from her scalp.
“I will see you later, cousin,” he hissed in her ear.
She tried not to cry and rubbed instead at her torn hair. It felt wet, and she gasped at the blood on her hand. Once the door slammed behind them there was silence, save for the crackling and spitting of the fire. She was alone with The Dark One. Concentrating on the pain in her head, she prayed for relief, but there was none. The pain raged within her and she bit down on her lip to keep from crying out.
“He is not listening.”
Oh, please God, she prayed, do not let me cry.
“I told you he is not listening.”
Still, she refused to acknowledge him, digging her nails into the palms of her hands until finally…
“Sit still.”
She tried to leap from her seat when his hands touched her head. Sharp, icy needles pierced her skin until slowly the pain subsided. She brought her hands to her head. The pain had completely disappeared. He sat opposite her.
“I can be good to those who obey me. What I have done is nothing to what I can do for you and for your sisters; if you’ll only bend your will to mine.”
“I don’t understand,” she croaked, her mouth even drier than before.
He stood and walked to the water bucket, returning with a scoop. She shied back at first, but he pushed it towards her.
“I take no pleasure in such pettiness.”
She reached out and took it. The water tasted like honey.
“Thank you,” she held the scoop out to him, and he took it, flinging the last dregs of water into the blazing fire. The flames hissed, protesting the intrusion of the cold water before settling down to their crackling once more.
“Now, let us not waste any more time,” he returned to his seat. “There is much to be done if we are to save your sisters.”
“What do you mean?”
“They will go for them at first light and bring them here.”
“But they are innocent. Oh please, I beg you. Do not let this happen.”
“There is no need to beg. All the power you want is within your grasp. Just say the word, Annie,” his voice was soft. “And all this will pass from you. Things will return to normal and your life will continue until it has run its course.”
“I still do not understand.”
“Let me explain. You have a power I desire. Give me the power and in return I will reward you. Whatever you want, gold, property, the lives of all you love will be saved and you will have the sort of life you could only dream of. Just say the word and it will be yours”
“How can I give you my power?”
“I do not ask for it now; no indeed. My only desire is to have it when you are no more. Think of it Annie. You can leave here now and take your gypsy friends with you. Live out the remainder of your life in luxury. See your sisters grow and prosper. I see many children in their futures and long lives. Do it for them.”
“So,” she asked. “You would take my power once I was dead and not until then?”
“That is right. You have nothing to lose and everything to gain.”
Annie chewed on her lip. The children would be saved. So would Roma, Stefan, and Meg. What right did she have to condemn them?
He was grinning, sensing her weakness. The power so strong in her he could almost reach out and touch it.
Please God, she prayed, one last time. Show me what to do.
“Yours is the power of angels, Annie,” the whisper was close as lips against her ear. “The power of light over the darkness you see before you.”
Closing her eyes, she allowed the sense of peace to flow within her and felt its goodness, its light reaching the very core of her being.
“And what would you do with this power, Lucifer?” The voice asking the question was no longer that of a young girl’s, but a more enlightened soul.
“You dare address me with that name!” He jumped up and, in his anger, threw the heavy, oak chair across the room. “You, who know nothing of my power, of my legions.”
“I know you would use my power against God.”
Even then, as he stood over her, his face resembling the beast, she refused to fear him.
“You will die. All of you will suffer, but you,” his spittle stung her face. “Your suffering will be absolute. The death I give those you love will be nothing to what I’ll do to you.”
The fear welled up in Annie, but then the voice in her ear.
“Be at peace, child.”
He reached out an odious gnarled claw at her and she covered her face trying to avoid the sharp talons. Cringing, she waited for it to make contact on her skin but…. Spreading her fingers wide, she peeped through and saw he was backing away. A strong breeze threw her hair around her in disarray, blocking him from sight. Brushing the hair from her eyes, she looked around the room for the source of the wind. She saw nothing except the shadows thrown on the walls by the firelight. They looked like…wings. Yes, like giant birds’ wings flapping. Faster and faster they moved, their shadows uniting until they moved as one. The Dark One covered his face and was screaming curses. It was a language Annie never heard before or would ever want to hear again. The shadows moved from off the walls, surrounding him. Something brushed against her face, its touch as soft as cobwebs stirred her. She got up and ran towards the door. She would escape into the woods and save her sisters. The door was heavy, but she pulled with all her might. It swung open and hit the wall with a resounding thud, and she ran straight into the arms of Hugh O Brien.
Annie pushed her way through the crowds making for the mill. She had not realised so many people would turn up for the trial. There were street hawkers all along the road selling sweet biscuits and fruit. Others had effigies of sharp-nosed witches, riding on brooms, or swinging from a rope. The whole event had a feeling of carnival about it. She was one of the first to arrive at the mill.
The building fell into disuse years before, long before Annie could remember, but it was still used as a meeting place and at rare times, as a jail. The worse crime she could recall was an argument over cattle or land, and no one was held for long. The culprit usually gave in after a few hours in the draughty, barred, basement cell and was sent on their way with a heavy fine. Now, as she picked up her skirts to begin the climb up towards the door, she felt as though she was stepping up to the gallows. There were fourteen steps in all; she counted them as she moved. The stairway was wide and there were people on either side of her; the wood resounded to each footfall, the thuds echoing and vibrating. She stopped at the top of the stairs and stared in amazement. Mary O Brien and Hugh stood on either side of the door as though greeting guests to their home.
“Why, Annie,” Mary smiled. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Why not, everyone else seems to be here?”
“Yes, of course, dear,” Mary agreed. “And where are your sisters?”
“They are safe and well, thank you,” she started to move past, but Mary grabbed her arm.
“It was a big mistake you made in refusing my Hugh.”
Annie glared at her and looked across at Hugh.
“I don’t think so.”
The inside of the mill was set up with all different sized benches. At the top of the room, there was a high desk, a chair, and a large, sturdy table. She wondered who the judge might be. Luke Richards oversaw such things in the past. He was also the local wise man and the leader among the elders. Sadly, he had succumbed to the sickness and would be a great loss to the village. She had not noticed the gallows on her way there and looked up at the dirty, dusty windows lining the room. It was only by listening to the general hubbub around her she learned it was built round the back of the mill. The room was filling, becoming stuffy despite the cold morning air. Many were unable to get seats and stood around the walls or sat on the stairs leading to the upper rooms. Annie prayed for Stefan and Roma, trying to block out the heightening buzz of conversation and the crying and fussing of children. Suddenly, it stopped, and she felt her heart tighten with dread. A loud rumbling was moving towards the hall. Whatever it was clattered and rolled over the cobbles. Everyone held their breaths. It reached the steps outside and the noise stopped as suddenly as it had started. There came a rattling of chains and the muffled curses and shouts of the men, as they hauled, whatever it was, up the steps. The doors were flung open and the thundering began again, louder this time on the wood floor. Annie glanced to her right as it passed her. It was a giant wheel of sorts. Like two cartwheels, one on either side and joined together by stout rungs. It was rolled to the front of the room and chained to the wall. She saw the hooks that were made to house this contraption. The whispering and chatter started up again until Annie wanted to put her hands over her ears to block out the sound.
“Silence.”
She strained in her seat to watch the procession coming from the main door. The Squire led the way and she felt sick when she realised, he was going to be acting as judge. A dark man followed close behind him, she was unable to see his face, then Mary and Hugh O Brien. The Squire took his place on the judge’s bench, the dark man, Mary, and Hugh sat in specially designated chairs to his left.
“Bring in the prisoners,” the disembodied voice again.
There was a wave of movement as everyone in the room leaned forward, wanting to be the first to see the witches. Annie gasped; when she saw them, but the sound mingled with so many others it went unnoticed. Stefan and Roma were dragged in chains to stand before the judge. Stefan’s head was bowed, and he reminded Annie of some great, gentle bear being held in captivity. Only Roma held her head high, scanning the crowds. She caught Annie’s eye and shook her head. Their clothes hung in tatters around them, and she saw the marks of the whip and the blood-streaked patches on their skin. Annie’s throat ached with unshed tears.
The list of charges was being read out; it was as she had expected. Roma was charged with being a witch. Of cavorting with the Devil and siring his children, of selling charms and potions to aid in his work. Stefan was charged with much the same things as his wife.
“Will you say now before this court and these good people that your wife is a witch? That she aids the Devil’s work and has sired his children?” The Squire roared at Stefan.
“My wife’s no witch,” Stefan’s voice was a low growl.
“So be it,” the Squire turned to Roma. “Will you admit before this court and before God that you are a witch?”
“I am not a witch,” she spat. “If I were, I would turn you into a man.”
There was laughter and sniggers from the crowd, but these were soon silenced with a glare from the Squire.
“Proceed,” he turned to the dark man, and for the first time Annie got a good look at him.
He was very handsome and somehow familiar. This must be the famous Mr. Tanas Jane spoke of. He bent down and fumbled in a bag beside him, withdrew a knife or large needle and held it up for everyone to see. The sunlight streaming through the windows lighted on the tip and showed it cruel, sharp point in all its glory. There were more gasps and ooh’s from the crowd, as he walked across the room with the weapon held high.
“This will help us to prove,” he told the crowd. “If these people are really in league with the Devil; a witch will have a mark that’ll does not bleed when it is pricked.”
Nodding to the group of men who held Roma, he waited as they picked her up and placed her on her back on the table. She screamed and struggled against her capturers, but they held her fast. Stefan roared and pulled free, the chains on his arms hitting the men who held him and knocking them to the floor. But, before he could reach the table, the men gathered about the walls set on him, trying to drag him to the ground. They beat at his legs with clubs and though he fought bravely, he was no match for the weapons. Even when he fell to the floor, they continued to beat him. Annie held a hand over her mouth to stop herself from screaming. She watched the faces of the men as they went about their merciless work. Men she had known all her life. Men who had once been kind were somehow been transformed into snarling beasts
“Enough”.
The men stopped and looked up at the voice. Sweat dripped down their faces from the effort and spittle ran from the corners of their mouths. They turned to go back to their place by the wall. Their eyes wild, they were more beasts than men.
“I take it I am safe to continue?” The dark man looked at the fallen Stefan.
“He will give you no more trouble.” Hugh laughed.
“Very well. As I was saying…” he stopped, annoyed by Roma’s sobs and unsure he could be heard above the noise, he slapped her face. The sound seemed to resound within the room, and for a moment there was silence.
“Now, I will start again, and I take it I will have no more interruptions?”
Roma was crying quietly.
“Very well. I shall now look for the witches mark,” he took the hem of Roma’s tattered skirt and pulled it up about her waist. She kicked and struggled, mortified at such a violation. The women in the room gasped and hid their eyes; the men leered at her exposed limbs.
“Do you want me to strike you again?” The dark man roared at Roma.
Annie felt all hope fading as Roma lay still and allowed him to examine her legs. He found what he was looking for, a small mole just below her knee.
“I have found the mark.”
He looked around the room and was satisfied by the gasps and looks of fear. Taking the needle, he placed the tip against Roma’s leg, and they all watched in disbelief as he pushed it in, all the way to the hilt. It must have reached the bone, yet Roma seemed to feel no pain. He then withdrew the needle and called to the Squire to inspect the mark.
“There is no blood,” the Squire seemed as astonished as the people, and he called on others present to witness this.
There was a general shuffling as everyone wanted to witness this sign, this abomination. Annie sat frozen in her place as the people beside her tried to push past.
“Get in line.”
The shout brought about some order as the pushing and shoving ceased, and they filed past Roma as though viewing a corpse. Some of the women lifted their children to see the mark, and each child was carried away screaming. It was whispered the children, in their innocence, could tell a witch, but Annie knew differently. She watched each child as its eyes moved from the mark to Roma’s face. It was her look of terror frightened the children. Annie pulled her shawl tighter around her. Icy hands seemed to move up her back and she felt the fine hairs on her neck rise. The dark man was looking at her. She held his gaze for a moment, before looking away. The people were filing back to their seats and the crowd around Roma thinned. She was no longer crying; her shame was now absolute. When everyone was finally back in place, the dark man spoke down at the prostrate figure on the table.
“Will you now admit that I have proven it, declare you are a witch and save your soul, if not your life?”
Roma turned her head towards the crowd, searching. Annie saw blood on her mouth. The man was still speaking, but Annie had no idea what he was saying. She was too busy trying to make eye contact with Roma. There were jeers from the crowd and shouts at Roma to admit her guilt, but Annie could not hear any of it. A silence seemed to envelop her, as her mind reached out to contact Roma. Their eyes met and she watched as Roma mouthed three words. Her view was constantly being blocked as some of the villagers ran forward and poked and prodded at Roma. Some of the women pulled her hair, as they screamed at her to admit her sin. Everyone within the room seemed to be caught up in some religious fervency. Annie tried to block it all out, calling to Roma with her mind, tell me? “The Dark One.” She heard it as clearly as it was whispered in her ear. She looked towards the table and Roma nodded at her. The Dark One was here? Annie looked up at Roma’s tormentor. He was staring at her again. This time she did not look away.
A cool breeze ruffled her clothes. She was no longer in the mill. The crowds disappeared, the jeering was no more, and she was no longer in that time. She was standing on a plateau, the full moon lighting the road before her. The grass about her was brown and dry and crunched beneath her feet as she walked. There was no life in this strange, arid place. Blood dripped from the moon staining the velvet blue sky. She walked quickly onwards as the plain parted before her, dividing into two roads. The one to her right looked dangerous. The ground was covered with sharp stones and deadly looking thorns sprang from the blackened hedgerows lining either side. It would be safer and wiser to take the left path. She turned to walk towards it and heard Roma calling out to her.
“Take the right-hand path, Annie. Do not be afraid. This is the right way.”
“But, it’s dangerous.” Annie shouted. “I will walk the other way and meet you at the end.”
“There will be no end if you choose that way. Your journey on this path will be hard and the going slow, but it’s the way to salvation.”
“Such theatricals, don’t you think?”
Annie spun round. The Dark One was walking towards her along the left path.
“I do love a good performance, don’t you?”
“What is this place?”
“This,” he swept his hand around. “Is the place where most decisions are made? It is part of your mind, the darkest part. Yes,” he smiled at her. “We are inside your head.”
“But I would never imagine a place such as this,” she looked at the red moon and ravaged landscape.
“Nevertheless, we are here and it’s your time to decide.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Neither did I once and like you, I had many questions.
“What do you mean?”
“Enough,” he was angry. “The time grows short and there’s much to be done. Choose now. Take the right path and your suffering will be great. All you love will be punished for your folly. Your sisters will perish if you choose to listen to the words of the gypsy. She has decided her fate and you will see the outcome of that, but you, you have a chance. Watch what happens to her and then decide, but I warn you. Choose her way and her death will be nothing to the death I will give you. Do you understand now?” He leaned towards her.
Annie closed her eyes, not wanting to look at him, but she could smell him. He smelled of freshly baked bread and spring flowers. It was all so familiar to her and yet she turned from it.
“Open your eyes.”
She looked up at him. He was very handsome, and she could not tear her eyes away.
“Come with me, Annie. I will keep you safe and your sisters too. With me there will be no suffering. We could be incredibly happy.”
His eyes burned into her soul. They seemed to light his face and all around her. She wanted to feel safe again. She was so frightened since her parent’s death, and she did not want to suffer like Roma. She did not want Dora, Rose, or Meg to suffer either. He smiled, sensing her weakness, and held out his hand. She hesitated for a moment before slowly, very slowly, her hand moved up from her side to take his. Their fingers were almost touching, when…
“Annie, child,” it was her mother’s voice. There were no tricks this time. “Come away.”
“Don’t listen to it,” The Dark One urged. “It’s a trick.”
“No,” Annie started to back away. “No, it’s you who plays tricks.”
The white hand he reached towards her began to swim and change. The veins stood out against the skin and the fingers stretched and gnarled. The carefully manicured nails turned black and pointed. The fire was still there in his eyes, but the light in them burned like the flames of Hell. His talons reached for her and she held up a hand to stop them.
“No.”
The words formed an invisible barrier and she watched as he clawed the air before her but was unable to penetrate the shield.
“You will pay dearly for this,” he hissed, and she saw his tongue was long and pointed.
“Maybe so, but you will never have what you desire,” with this she launched herself towards the right path, threw herself into the thorns and landed with a thump back on the bench in the mill.
The dark one was still staring at her, but this time he bowed, before going back to his work. She felt the sweat on her face and could smell her own fear. The noise returned; the jeering of the crowd and Roma’s moans filled the air. Annie saw wet patches in her hair and smelt the blood coating it. They were tearing her apart, she had to stop this, but before she could rise his voice rang out.
“Tell us the name of your leader; whom it was initiated you into the Devil’s work.”
Roma moaned and tried to turn away from him, but he caught her hair making her scream and turned her head back towards him. Leaning down, he seemed to be listening to something she said.
“Annie,” his voice rang. “Annie, who?”
Everyone turned towards Annie. She got up, tried to run. She knew Roma had not betrayed her and this was his work, but she was frightened. She did not want to die; she wanted to live. She wanted to see her sisters grown and watch their children grow. It was so unfair; she was no more then a child herself. The hands stopping her flight were strong and vicelike on her arms. She struggled; begged with them to let her go, but her pleas fell on deaf ears.
“Bring her forward. Let us hear what she has to say.”
She knew as they were propelling her forward toward The Dark One, her life was at an end.