Traitor to the Crown The Patriot Witch (22 page)

Elizabeth came looking for him late in the afternoon. “Can thou help us gather any of the items the dead men left behind?”

He showed her the items in the barn. “It's mostly their weapons.”

“That'll do fine, since we mean to ask them about their intention to kill us. Can thou sort out anything that belonged to the one called Dick?”

“I think these are his boots. This is his hatchet, I'm sure, and the bloody pistol belonged to him.”

“Keep them separate, and bring it all inside.”

A space had been cleared in front of the hearth for the trestle table and plank benches. Five candles had been arranged on the table at the points of a star, but they were unlit. The room smelled of soap and herbs, the floors and walls scrubbed clean.

Elizabeth directed him to place the dead men's items on the table. “Dick's stuff on this side of the candles,” she said, “and the other one's over there.”

At first he piled the items randomly, but on reflection he rearranged them, laying them out the way he would if he were going to get dressed. He didn't explain that to anyone, because he didn't want to feel foolish. But he thought the spirits would be more likely to recognize them that way.

Cecily hovered around the table, fidgeting, touching things. “I think this is the right thing to do,” she told Elizabeth. “But we shouldn't do it to night. You're not ready. Let's sleep on it another night. We can still try tomorrow.”

“No, to night is the night to do it,” Elizabeth said. She sat down and massaged her crippled arm. “These men are not well known to us—no more than half of one's name, and it might not be his real name at that—nor are they bound to this piece of land. Their spirits will want to wander back to more familiar places. This will be the third night since their death. I fear if we do not attempt it to night, we will have no chance at all for it to work.”

“But look at you, dear heart—you haven't eaten for several days, much less slept.” She frowned at the table and rearranged items, putting weapons together on one side, clothes on the other. “Your hands are shaking even now as we speak. What difference will one more day make?”

“I am also vorried,” Magdalena said. “Ve could pray on it for anudder day.”

“We all agreed this morning that we would try,” Elizabeth insisted. “We were led to believe it was the right thing.”

“I want to know why people are trying to kill us,” Alexandra said sulkily. “Frankly, I would feel safer back home with my kin, even if folks there did want to burn me for a witch.”

They fell into uncomfortable silence. Elizabeth rose and left the room, followed by Cecily. As soon as she was gone, Proctor quietly moved all the dead men's items back to their original positions.

A moment later Elizabeth bustled back into the room as if she were trying to escape conflict by outrunning it. “Do thou not want to know who's trying to kill us?”

“Of course I do,” Cecily said. “But don't you see, we need you, Elizabeth, to guide us and help protect us. What good can you do us if you're completely drained?”

“The power should flow through the circle to me, not away from me. I won't be drained.”

Cecily's hands moved, sketching possibilities in the air. “What if something bad happens and you're so tired, you can't react fast enough to protect us the next time?”

“I thank thee for thy confidence, but if thou art all so helpless without me, then I have done a poor job indeed.”

“Oh, my dear Elizabeth, perish such thoughts. None of us would have near the skill we have without you. But could anyone else here capture fire and channel it the way you did when the widow attacked?”

Elizabeth looked at Deborah.

“The hour is upon us,” Deborah said. “If we are in agreement to do this thing, let us begin now.”

Her mother nodded. She took Cecily's hand and chose seats on one side of the table. Deborah and Alexandra took seats on the other side.

Elizabeth looked at Magdalena. “I cannot do this without thee. In the name of the God we both love, I beg thine assistance. If it does not work, I will forgo the attempt and not try again.”

Magdalena's jaw worked as if she were chewing over some unpleasant phrase. Finally, she went and sat at Elizabeth's right hand.

“Ya, I vill help you this vunce,” she said. “But I vill do no more than join the circle. I have seen the dead summoned back before and do not vish to see it again.”

“That will be enough. I thank thee. Lydia, Proctor?”

The two of them were standing to one side. “Yes?” Lydia said, and Proctor said, “Yes, ma'am?”

“A circle of seven is stronger than a circle of five. Both are in the sequence of holy numbers. Join us, please.”

Proctor's heart pounded. They took seats across from one another on the ends of the benches, Lydia next to Cecily, Proctor next to Deborah. The circle was formed with Magdalena, Elizabeth, Cecily, and Lydia on one side of the table, with Proctor, Deborah, and Alexandra going up the other.

“Let us join hands,” Elizabeth said. Deborah's hand felt
smaller than he expected. He tried to hold it gently. He reached across the table and took Lydia's hand, finding it large, and rough, and callused. Cecily rested her hand on Elizabeth's crippled arm.

“May the Light lead us to do Thy will, O God,” Elizabeth said. After a moment of silence, she said, “Girl, if thou please?”

“Yes, Mother,” Deborah answered. She slipped her hand from Proctor's grasp and fetched a taper from the coals, returning to light the five candles. She sat, holding out her hand for him.

He looked at it a moment before taking it.

“A really powerful witch can draw on another's power by proximity,” she said. “But we require touch.”

“Shhh!” Elizabeth said. “The time for lessons will be later.”

Proctor took her hand. He felt a tingle moving through him clockwise, through his right arm and out his left. Then it faded and disappeared.

“Ah,” Elizabeth said softly. “Yes.”

The light of sunset through the windows slowly matched the glow from the candles. When the quality of the lights seemed indistinguishable, Elizabeth spoke.

“We are ready. Proctor, call the name of the one thou heard addressed.”

He pulled back. “I don't know what to do. Shouldn't there be a, a prayer, or a ritual, or something?”

“Let the Light flow into thy heart and guide thee,” Elizabeth said. “All miracles are performed by the grace of God. Open thy heart to God and call the name of the man who attacked us.”

Proctor sat quietly for a moment. He felt too self-conscious to speak aloud, but to himself he recited the prayer his mother had taught him for scrying, asking the Father for guidance and knowledge. He was no calmer or surer when he was done.

“Dick?” he asked uncertainly, looking around to see if something happened.

They waited a moment, and nothing did.

“Which items are his?” Elizabeth asked.

Proctor nodded toward the pile in front of him. “Hold his items in your mind as you call him,” Deborah said. “Let the power flow through you to the rest of us, to Elizabeth. We'll do the work.”

“I don't know how to do this,” he whispered.

“Maybe we should wait until tomorrow,” Cecily whispered to Elizabeth.

Deborah squeezed his hand. “You can do this. First, close your eyes, as if in prayer.” He did. “Now feel the pulse in your right hand, your pulse. When you sense it, feel the life pulse of the other person, beating in your palm.”

He slowed his breathing and relaxed until he thought he felt it. He opened his mouth to say so, but she interrupted him first.

“Now feel it pulse out of your left hand,” she said in a low, soothing tone. “Like the double beat of your heart, in, then out, in, then out.”

As her sentence dropped to a murmur, he felt both hearts pulsing. A light burst inside him, like the heat from a flame. It coursed into his right arm, through his chest, and out his left, the next wave starting as soon as the first one was gone. He opened his mouth in delight, but Deborah interrupted him again.

“Call to him now,” she said softly.

“Dick, are you out there?” Proctor said, waiting for a response. He opened his eyes and lifted his head. “Dick?”

Again, nothing.

Deborah squeezed his hand more firmly. “You could always try calling as though you actually expected him to answer.”

He recalled the phrase the man had used. “‘Help me out, Dick, the dog's mauling my arm!’”

Quit your whining. We'll bind it up after we kill the witches up at the house
.

The candles flared, and smoke twined up from all five of them, forming the torso and head of a man. The smoke seemed to capture the light and reflect it, giving the shape a glow from within. Proctor forgot to feel the pulse going through him and a bolt of ice shot up his arm through his shoulder. But Deborah gave a tug on his hand that drew the next pulse through, and he felt the spirit flowing freely again.

“Who sent thee, Dick?” Elizabeth asked. The candlelight on her face in the dark gave her a similarly ghostly appearance. “Dick, answer me, who sent thee?”

Old Nance sent us
, the ghost shape said.
Wait, who are you? You're not Billy
.

“What did Nance send thee to do?”

To kill them witches, just like it says in the Bible. Nance said they must be killed, paid us to do it. Who are you? Where's my brother, Bill? Bill?

“Dick,” Elizabeth said. “Thou must tell us who Nance is.”

But the ghost twisted its head from side to side. The smoke had started to dissipate and the glow was fading.

They hadn't learned anything yet. Proctor shouted, “Hey, Bill! Get your sorry ass in here!”

Deborah twitched at his yell, but the second man appeared immediately. His face and body, suffused with light, formed out of the smoke. He was staring at his shredded arm. The first image solidified again. The pulse grew stronger through Proctor's hands.

I don't know what happened, Dick. The dog bit me, and then we were running toward the house, and then it all went black
. His chin lifted and he looked blankly around the room, then he looked down.
Hey, there's my gear. Where are we?

Hell if I know. It's all so black and cold
.

“Thy souls may still go into the Light if you make amends
for your evil deeds,” Elizabeth said forcefully. “Where dost thou come from? Who is Nance and why does he want us dead?”

Both faces turned toward Elizabeth. Finally, Dick said, again,
Who are you?

Why are you talking to her?
Bill asked.

“Do rightly here,” Elizabeth said. “Tell us who Nance is.”

Proctor wanted to scream at her. These were rough men, backwoodsmen—he knew the type well. “So did you fellows take the road up from Boston?”

Bill looked over his shoulder, shook his head.
No. Nance arranged it. We boarded a smugglers' ship at Hancock's pier, and he sailed us up the coast to Salem. Didn't hear his name, didn't want to either
.

Shut up, Bill, I don't think we should be talking to him either
.

“Nance wanted me to check up on you,” Proctor said. “Find out where things went so wrong. You two mucked it up pretty bad, didn't you?”

He felt a sharp pain flow into his right hand, like a needle red from the flame, and he winced.

Wasn't me who mucked it up
, Bill said.

Nance promised it'd be easy. Said they were witches and Quakers, traitors to the Crown, spies for the rebels. Said they were already headed to hell so we weren't doing no wrong
.

Bill's ghost nodded.
We just had to speed them on the way. We were supposed to spare—

The pulsing through Proctor's hand stopped abruptly. The light drained from both figures, and they were only dusty shadows lit by the natural candlelight.

Cecily had covered her mouth, and she was pale and shaking. “God forgive me,” she said. “They were going to spare no one.”

Elizabeth whispered, “Take Lydia's hand. Now, please.”

She did so reluctantly, only when the ghosts had almost faded away. Outside the house, darkness had fallen. Proctor immediately called to them, “Finish your report.”

That's all there is to report
, Bill said.
What do we do next?

Dick closed his hand on Bill's mangled arm.
Come on, we're done for. There's nothing left for us here
.

They stared off into the distance beyond the dark horizon. “Thou art welcome to stay here awhile,” Elizabeth said. “Make amends for what thou did.”

It's cold here, Dick. It's so cold it burns
.

That's all right, brother. If it gets cold enough, we'll just fall asleep and then we'll forget everything
.

They started to fade. The ropes of smoke unraveled. The candles sparked, flames flaring, and then guttered back to normal. The ghosts were gone.

Around the table, it was as though everyone finally remembered to breathe.

Elizabeth said, “Let us keep our hands linked, and our hearts and heads clear a moment longer. Proctor, call them back.”

He nodded. He didn't think it would work, but he would try.

“And do not cheat them vith the lies this time,” Magdalena said.

He wanted to argue with her—this whole calling forth spirits was a lie, making dead men believe they were still alive. But he held his opinion for now. “Dick, Bill, come back here. You haven't been dismissed yet. Dick! Fall in to muster!”

The candles flickered, but the smoke failed to coalesce, so he called out again. Again, nothing.

“Call back the dead men now,” Elizabeth said, her voice sounding desperate.

Proctor thought about the tone of voice his captain used in militia training. “Get your ass in here now.”

The flames shot up, consuming the candle wax in a second, and then they all fell dark. He felt his pulse flowing both ways, out both arms. A ball of light appeared above the center of the table, unshaped by any smoke. It had a warm, honeyed glow that illuminated the faces around the table with a holy light.

“Hold on to one another,” Elizabeth said, her voice shifting from desperation to fear.