Downfall

A Witchfinder Chronicle:

  Downfall

  Cynthia D. Witherspoon and K.G. McAbee

  Story © copyright Cynthia D. Witherspoon and K.G. McAbee 2014

  Cover art: Playing Futures by Applied Nomadology; edited for cover use. Creative Commons.

  A note from the authors:

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  Colchester, England 1646

  The water . . . I must reach the water . . .

  My thoughts raced like a whirlwind. I stumbled, quick to catch myself as I fell against the needle covered path I had memorized carefully in previous days. I pushed upward and ran; heavy branches slapped against my flushed skin while I raced through their gauntlet.

  Silence. The first thing I shattered as I barreled down toward the water’s edge, my feet pounding as I snapped the less fortunate branches. At last, the shore spread out in front of me. The relief made me careless. I could almost forget the sounds of hooves and the howls of the dogs following so close behind me.

  At the last, the roots captured me, not the Witchfinders. My ankle twisted and tangled with one so thick it snaked upward off the ground. I slammed to the earth; the sound of a bone snapping in my foot reminiscent of the branches broken behind me only moments before.

  My pursuers, dogs and men alike, were on top of me before I could move. The men who prided themselves on capturing the evil witches of England grabbed me up with rough hands. Their leader pulled his steed to a halt before us.

  No introductions were needed between us. For I knew to fear him for his great evil . . . even as well as he knew to fear me for mine.

  Matthew Hopkins. England’s one and only Witchfinder General.

  His thick blonde hair showed beneath a hat askew from his ride. His dark eyes glared down at me before he spoke.

  “Bridget Sinclair. You are hereby placed under arrest by order of his Royal Majesty for the crimes of witchcraft, sorcery and consorting with the Dark One. You are to come with us at once.”

  As if I had a choice in the matter. As if my woman’s voice had a place amongst them.

  The fear coursing through me revived my strength, helped me forget about my broken ankle. Such a charge was not unexpected. Nearly every unwed woman in Colchester had been named as a witch; falsely accused, near all of them.

  Except this time, the Witchfinders had found what they sought.

  A Chosen One. A true witch.

  But to go to my death with ease, without struggle, was something I could never do.

  I would not do.

  They tied my arms behind me with sleek leather bonds, but my palms opened as I called forth to the waters lining the shores to my back. I could hear the waves churning behind me.

  Rising at my Lady’s command.

  If I had ever needed the Great Goddess, it was at this dire moment.

  The waters responded to my pleas for help. They rose until the waves were crashing against the sloping shore, rising far enough to slap against the boots of the men who held me in place. I would drown these men, all of them, if I could, if I must.

  I had little choice. I knew what was in store for me if I failed.

  Torture. Confession. Death. And not a quick one, either.

  Hopkins pulled back, his men jerking me with them as they scrambled to dryer lands.

  “Gentleman, stop her, I pray you! She is calling upon the Evil One to aid her!”

  I saw the large fist coming; it met the side of my head and left me dazed, unable to focus. The waters receded at once to their former placid state.

  I had already begun the desperate attempt to call them forward once more before another blow struck me; the world shifted, then darkened into blackness.