The Skinwalker's Apprentice (11 page)

Easthampton, NY
,

1658

Margo’s eyes were swollen to the color of beets. She ached so deeply that walking was nearly impossible. She had failed her family and was completely alone. Now she was on her way to the only person in the village who could help her: Goody Garlick. She walked past the row of houses along Market Street, passing the cemetery, and walked right to Goody’s house. She rapped on the wooden door with all her might and observed blood trickling down her knuckles. Margo looked at her hands and saw that the scars she’d gotten as The Priestess’s prisoner were visible again. She had not meant to heal her, only to cover her up temporarily. Margo knew The Priestess would be after her soon, and she knew why. She needed to get to New Amsterdam, but she had no vessel, and she was too weak to get herself across by magic. She had always suspected she could trust Goody with her secret, but now she had no choice.

The woman opened up her door, smiling gently at Margo, and then after looking her over, pulled her inside in a panic.

“Margo, what’s happened to you?” asked an alarmed Goody, running her fingers along Margo’s hair. The long black locks had begun to disappear; her hair looked as if it had been haphazardly cut: long in some parts, and short at others.

“Goody, I must tell you something, but you must swear to me it will be kept a secret.” Margo searched the older woman’s face in despair.

“You can tell me, dear, of course, I will keep it to myself. Who am I going to tell, the cows? You know I haven’t got any admirers in this village.”

Margo took a deep breath. She felt hungry and tired, much as she had when she had left the stone house. Soon she’d be too weary to speak. She must make this quick.

“Goody, I am a witch.”

It was the first time Margo had said the words aloud, and she felt a strange exhilaration coursing through her body, despite the tremendous pain she was in.

“That’s lovely, dear. Now what’s the secret?” Goody asked without flinching.

“You mean you knew this whole time?”

“’Course I knew. I could see those flashes of light halfway across the island every day, and you walking in that direction every morning, and coming back weary every night. I might be getting on in years, but I haven’t gone blind yet. Figured you were taking lessons or practicing by yourself.”

“What about the townspeople?”

“No, they can’t see magic unless we allow them to. They saw the same humdrum sky as always.”

So Goody was a witch after all. She would have smiled had she not been so distraught. Margo could hardly believe it, but she couldn’t stop to ponder the new information now.

“Goody, I’ve come here because I need your help. I’m in need of a vessel, and I wanted to see if you or your husband had one I could take to New Amsterdam.”

“What in heaven’s name is going on, Margo? Do your parents know you’re leaving the settlement?”

Margo looked Goody in the eye, trying her best to keep from sobbing.

“They’re dead.” A shadow cast across Margo’s face. “All of them.”

Goody covered her mouth in shock, and draped one arm across Margo’s shoulder.

“I’m … Margo, how, how could this happen?”

“I don’t have time to explain it all, but there’s someone hunting me, and they got to my family first. I need to get off this island, and I can’t do it alone. Will you help me, please?”

“We haven’t a vessel, but I could help you get there.”

Goody got up and walked around the living area. She spotted what she had been looking for and grabbed something from the right side of the room by the fireplace. She turned around towards Margo, a large black umbrella in her hands.

Margo gulped. An umbrella?

“This will do. Whoever is hunting you will expect you to be above them, not on the water,” Goody blinked. Of course, if The Priestess went looking for Margo in that direction, she would probably fly on her broom, zooming past her without noticing a small black speck in the river. Goody took a wooden wand from the inside sleeve of her dress and tapped the handle of the umbrella.

“
Ite, et aqua
,” she said softly, and the umbrella shook to life, opening and closing like a blooming flower.

Margo was grateful for Goody and surprised at the truth about her. She hadn’t been alone after all.

Goody walked over and handed the umbrella to Margo.

“I have one more question, Goody, and then I  must go. Do you know what a  skinwalker is?” 

Easthampton, NY

1658

Goody was whey-faced and hadn’t said a word in over three minutes. Margo’s question about skinwalkers had forced her to sit down and get her bearings.

“Are you alright?” Margo had tried to provoke the woman into speaking, but Goody was silent. Finally she opened her mouth to speak and looked at Margo with a frightened expression.

“
Why
in heaven’s name do you want to know?”

“Well, those flashes of light you saw every day, those were me practicing magic, but I wasn’t alone. I was the apprentice of a priestess, The High Priestess of The Coven, or at least I thought she was. I’ve observed small stitching on the side of her face and hands. She attempts to cover them with magic, but once or twice she’s forgotten to, or maybe has stopped caring to. One night, before she put me in the wire cage . . . ,” Margo winced remembering the tiny blue bird and the cage which was so small, she couldn’t even lay down in it, “…I found a book in her chambers.”

Goody’s eyes were wide with anticipation. Margo could see her knuckles going white from gripping her skirts as she pulled the wolf pelt book from her own dress pocket.

“I found this, and inside it describes some of the things I’ve seen while held captive, but I can’t understand all of the writing and symbols.”

She pushed the book towards Goody, who looked at it as if it were an enormous rat. Carefully, Goody opened the cover with the tip of her fingers and ran her eyes across the first page without bothering to bring the book any closer. She continued to turn the pages that way, with only the tips of her fingers, and squinted to read it from where she sat. After a few minutes, she sighed heavily and closed the book.

Without a word, she walked to the windows and with a wave of her wand, closed all her shutters and drew the heavy curtains. The fire was the only source of light in the dark room, until she waved her wand again, lighting the three gas lamps around them, and casting a soft glow on the witches. She waved her wand once more, and nothing happened.

“What was that one for?” asked Margo curiously. She was anxious to get going before The Priestess began searching for her, that is, if she hadn’t already. But she needed this final piece of information if her plan was to work. She had been too late to save her family, but she could still do something to stop the woman she’d come to know as her teacher from doing any more harm.

“I was casting a protection spell around the house,” said Goody. “We’ll be invisible to whoever is looking for you, at least for a little while,” assured Goody before sitting down next to Margo. “Margo, skinwalkers are the foulest creatures in the magic world,” she said gravely. “It’s Indian magic worked by wearing the pelt of an animal. When you wore the pelt, you took the animal’s form. At least that’s what I understood of it.”

“What’s so awful about that?” wondered Margo aloud.

“That is not the type of skinwalker that
book
speaks of,” said Goody, eyeing the book with disdain. “No, the skinwalker of that book is the one who perverted the magic. Who made it something entirely different, and gruesome. Margo, I’m afraid your priestess was not who she said she was at all. A few months ago, The Priestess of the Coven, the true Priestess, was murdered. That I know from word of mouth on a trip to New Amsterdam last fall. It was an enormous scandal and tragedy in our world. How did you not hear of it?”

“Who would I hear of it from?” asked Margo, suddenly angry at Goody for not warning her family that they were in danger. “My family keeps to themselves, and the only other witch we know is you, though I did not know it until tonight. Why didn’t you tell my family what you knew when I went missing?”

“Because I wasn’t certain they were witches at all. I couldn’t be sure,” said Goody shamefacedly. “They concealed their powers so well, I’m afraid my own powers of perception were fooled. I only knew about you because of the light show in the forest. I had no inkling, Margo, or I, of course, would have told them everything I know.” Goody looked abashedly at Margo. “Believe me, Margo, had I known who you were dealing with, that she had tried to pass herself off as The Priestess, I would’ve told you straight away. But imagine me telling your family, had they not been witches. What would’ve become of me?”

Margo knew this was true. Had Goody’s instincts steered her into the arms of a non-magical family, she would have been tried for witchcraft and most likely killed; killed as her family had been killed, thought Margo bitterly. But she could not blame Goody.

“So go on, please. Tell me what you know of this woman, whoever she is.” Margo didn’t know how long she had left; she must be quick about her plan or it would not work.

“Well, piecing together what I heard of The Priestess’s murder, and what I’ve just read, it seems your teacher was not only her killer, but she skinwalked on her.” Goody shuddered at the thought.

“What does that mean?”

“I’ve never seen this being done,” said Goody, “ but when The Priestess was murdered, there were rumors that a new, unspeakable kind of magic had been born. It seems that whoever killed The Priestess took her skin and made it her own. The book is a diary of sorts and an instructional manual all at once,” said Goody with a shiver. “I’ve heard tell it’s happened more than once. That there are others.”

Goody looked into the young witch’s eyes intently.

“Margo, never forget that there are those who will go to great lengths to make what is yours their own.” 

Goody braced herself and opened the book once more. She translated the symbols and words that looked like gibberish to Margo.

“‘I ended that odious high priestess’s life where she stood, and then took her skin as my own, as I had been taught to do, but with my own special alterations,’” read Goody from the book. “‘When I killed her and evoked the spell of the skinwalker, her flesh was peeled from her body, and it crawled on its back towards me, feet first. It moved of its own accord, until its toes were touching mine. It groaned horribly, as if protesting whilst it moved. Then the thing began to attach itself to me as if it were a piece of clothing, slowly working its way up my entire naked body. Once the body enveloped me completely, it then stitched itself up on the edges along my face, arms, legs, and torso. Our two fleshes became one. I could only smell her blood for a few hours, and her skin stopped groaning after a few short moments. Soon it was as if I were The Priestess herself. I possessed all of her powers, all of her memories and knowledge, even her voice, but it was as if her mind continued to be one with her skin. I could hear her thoughts coursing through my own brain, her despair. She screamed for help (as if anyone could hear her). I only laughed at her foolishness and told her to keep quiet.’”

That explained The Priestess, or whoever she was, talking to herself and the tiny stitching she had observed on her face,
thought Margo. She was nothing but a patchwork doll.

Goody continued reading, “‘The stitching on my body is easy enough to conceal, though sometimes the wretched thing breaks my spells on its own, as if The Priestess is still trying to fight for her life. Bless her.”

She was crueler than Margo could have ever imagined. She could almost hear the icy laugh in the written words.

“This is horrible. Are you certain you want me to continue reading, Margo?” Goody looked as if she was going to be sick, but Margo only nodded. She needed to know everything.

Goody sighed and went on. “‘The skinwalking has overall been pleasant for me, an innovation of magic to say the least. I am only sorry the poor priestess’s powers did not all transfer through to me. It is, of course, my luck that I finally find a time-telling witch, and I cannot myself wield the magic. As vexed as I am, it will do me no good to dwell on this setback. I have learned much and gained many a skill for my troubles. Next time, I will simply be sure to have my victim teach me first.’”

A chill ran over Margo’s spine and she finally understood. The vision her grandmother had seen that summer wasn’t Margo at all, she had been meant to die all along.

Easthampton, NY

February 1658

It had been the coldest night of the year, the bleakest moment of Margo’s life, and had it not been for Goody, it would have most likely been Margo’s last. She had explained to Goody what she intended to do, a spell she’d learned of from one of the imposter priestess’s books. Goody was reluctant, to say the least. The scheme would be quite dangerous, but Margo had pleaded so intently that she at last had agreed. What other choice did she have? Together the two devised a plan against the witch who had killed the true Priestess. Goody took a book from the top shelf of her bookcase and handed it to Margo.

“You will need this, and do exactly as I said,” she said somberly. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

“I know she means to skinwalk on me, and if this is the only way to stop her, so be it,” said Margo defiantly, thinking of her family lain around the hearth, lifeless. She thought of her grandparents, the one thing she’d been trying not think of. They had died hand in hand and were still in that position when Margo found them. She bit her lip to keep from screaming.

“Then you must be quick about it now, for the spell will take days to brew. Are you sure the place you’re going to will keep you safe until then?”

“I have an aunt who lives on New Amsterdam in a small home. I don’t know how safe I will be, but it’s the only place I have to go. There are a lot of people there. Perhaps it will be enough?” asked Margo hopefully, though she knew in her heart after learning what she just had, that it would not be safe there.

“I have a more suitable option, but it will take some searching,” said Goody, getting up from the table and going to the bookcase once again. She grabbed a small cedar box and from it pulled a small scroll. She walked over to the table and unrolled the parchment in front of Margo. It was a map.

“If you follow this red line from the shore to this spot in the north here,” said Goody, pointing to a small star on the map, “you will be safe. Here, you will need this.”

Goody pulled a heavy golden key from her pocket and handed it to Margo, who took it and put it in her own dress pocket, nodding her head.

“What is it? A country home?” The map was green with no sign of houses or roads where the small star was.

“It is a home of sorts,” said Goody, looking as if she were trying to find a way to explain it to Margo. “When you reach this spot, you will see a wall of ivy. Thrust the key inside, even if you do not see a keyhole, and the house will be open to you alone.”

None of it made much sense to Margo, but she had few other options. Margo was ready to leave but before she did, Goody fashioned a sling for her from one of her wraps and put it around her body. There she cradled the book and map beneath a coat which Goody had given her as well. She made her have a warm cup of broth before she left, and the two witches stood at the doorway of Goody’s home.

“Good luck to you, Margo. I am dreadfully sorry about your whole family,” she said, taking the younger witch’s hand in hers, “but I know your fate is not the same. For whatever that is worth, I know you will make it through.”

The words did little to comfort Margo, but the warm embrace Goody gave her in the next instant did. It had been so long since she had felt a tender touch, Goody’s hug brought tears to her eyes, and her knees threatened to buckle beneath her. What she wouldn’t give to be at home safe with her mother and father. But she knew as she thanked Goody and said goodbye that she was further from being safe than she had ever been. Before she left she turned to Goody and asked one final question.

“Goody, does it say what her name really is? The … skinwalker?”

“Her name is Drusilla,” whispered Goody, before closing the door with a nod and leaving Margo alone in the cold February night.