Spellbound: The Awakening of Aislin Collins (15 page)

“Hold on Becky,” I shrieked, as I clung to
her. She did not reply but kicked with her free leg and tried to
fight the beast off. It did not respond to her kicks, but instead
pulled harder. She screamed out as the demon’s claws ripped into
her calf. We were both on the ground now—me holding onto Becky, her
struggling against the monster, and both of us being pulled off the
road.

“Aislin!” she shrieked, as I felt her grip
loosening.
I would not let go of her, no matter what. I would
not leave Becky to die alone.
I looked back into the darkness,
the bell had fallen from my hand when the Puca lunged at us and the
only thing I now had left was my pocket of herbs.

I let go of Becky’s arm with one hand and
twisted my free hand into my pocket, grabbing the last of my salts,
I flung it all towards her feet.

The beast howled wildly and Becky dropped to
the ground as it released her. Still holding onto her, I pulled her
to her feet, wrapping her arm over my shoulder to support her
weight.

“We need to keep going. We can not stay here
and wait for it to come back,” I said, taking Becky’s arm and
leading her forward.

She was limping badly as we moved.

“I cannot walk,” she whimpered.

I heard the monster moving about. It was not
finished with us.

“We must keep moving,” I insisted as I
picked up the lantern and tried to sustain her weight.

We were walking directly into the path of
the creature, and I did not know what to do to fend it off. The
smell was horrible and every step we took in its direction seemed
to lead us deeper into pitch darkness, until the lantern was barely
useful. The air around us was frigid and we could see our breath as
we walked, step by step, closer to the monster but also closer to
home.

“Becky, do you know any prayers?” I asked
quietly.

“Yes,” she stammered through her pain.

“Start praying. Do it aloud and I will do
the same. Do it in your own language if you think it will give you
more strength.”

We both took a breath and started pleading
to the spirits for help, each in our own sacred tongue. The Puca
snarled and hissed. It was unrelenting. We would not make it back
to town alive.

We crept forward and could hear the beast’s
hoofs scatterings pebbles on the path before us. It was encircling
us again. It must have sensed that we were running out of
protection and now it was playing with us.

It would rush forward at great speeds and
then knock us over and retreat. Becky and I clung to each other,
and she forced herself to use her injured leg as we inched our way
down the dirt path towards town. We could not see the demon, but we
could feel the air rush around us in chilling bursts as it
charged.

“What are we going to do?” I asked Becky as
we both looked around frantically.

“We must try to keep moving,” she grimaced
through her pain.

I secured my hand around her waist and she
tightened her grip on my shoulder as we pressed forward. The Puca
howled and the reverberation thundered in our ears.

“We aren’t going to make it,” Becky
whispered as she dropped to the ground.

I knelt beside her, “I won’t leave you,” I
promised as she took my hand.

“Aislin, you must go…go tell my family that
I love them. I can provide you time…” In the dim lantern light, I
could see tears streaming down her face.

“No,” I stammered as I clutched her
hand.

Ahead of us, I could hear the demon
snorting, its heavy breathing sounded like a bull about to charge.
I looked in its direction, but saw only darkness.

Then a little ways ahead of us, a light
appeared in the darkness. It was small, but it was moving in our
direction. We kept chanting and slowly moving toward it until
finally we heard a strong, sweet sounding
ring
fill the
night air.

The beast wailed in misery as the bell kept
ringing. Martha was walking toward us and was swinging a large bell
back and forth in her hand.

“Keep praying!” she instructed us, as she
wrapped her arm on Becky’s free side and we all walked together.
The Puca soon disappeared into the night. We had won. It had enough
and fled from us.

We could see the lantern lights from town
now, and we whispered our prayers, so no one would hear us. At
last, we reached my house.

“Please, stay here tonight so you do not
have to walk on by yourselves,” I said.

“No child. I need to tend to Becky at my
house,” she said.

“But will you be safe?” I asked in concern,
as I looked passed them into the dark night.

Martha nodded and I then hugged Becky
tightly. “I have no way to thank you for your bravery tonight.”

Becky reached for my hand and held it. “You
are like family to me.” She looked away for a moment at the
crescent moon and then back to me, “You are a most powerful witch
Aislin. I am glad to have been with you tonight.”

Martha placed Becky’s arm over her shoulder
and I watched as they walked away. I went into my home and shut the
door, locking it behind me. I may have encountered a demon tonight,
but in so many ways, I was surrounded by angels.

********************

I had been lying in bed, trying desperately
to fall asleep, but I could not. Sneachta had curled up at my side
and kept flicking her tail at me, conveying her annoyance at my
constant tossing. I had already sewn the latch of my cloak back on,
and gave up embroidering the holly and ivy to go on my gown for the
Governor’s Ball. Yet, I could not stop thinking and could not fall
asleep.

My mind has been churning over the images of
tonight’s events, of the beast, of Becky’s face twisted in fear.
Images of the whole event slowly passed through my mind. Curious
happenings that I had not bothered to notice suddenly made
themselves clear.
Where had that rock come from? It flew out of
the woods and sped passed us—it must have been Greer.
I settled
on that thought happily, but my mind would not subside.

It then drew me back to the night in the
woods with Zachariah; to when he was looming over me and then he
suddenly stopped, frozen in place. I had always assumed that it was
because he sensed Greer behind him, but my mind was telling me
otherwise.
The trees,
my mind screamed at me. I thought
back, straining to remember every moment—and then I saw it. I had
fought as hard as I could. I was losing strength against Zachariah
but something within me gave one last effort. The trees moved. The
branches were
cracking
above Zachariah’s head. Then, Greer
was there and the trees stopped moving.

Questions filled my head.
Was this
Greer’s magic, or was this my magic at work? If it was Greer, why
had he not shown himself tonight? Why would he let the demon get so
close to us and why would he let Becky and I believe that we were
alone?

I looked over to find Sneachta stretched
across my pillow, her paw was resting on the book. I knew what she
was telling me, and I opened up the book, letting the pages fall to
the information I needed.

I reached for a candle as to see the pages
more clearly.
Bogadh
was the title of the page that now lay
open in front of me. I rubbed my eyes and tried to remember the
language. It meant—movement.

Bogadh

Few are gifted with the power of Bogadh.
This is a skill that must be honed to reach its full potential.
Young witches will be able to use natural objects, these items will
be mainly small and light in weight. It takes time and practice to
move larger items. A witch with such powers must learn to control
them or they risk their powers giving away their identity.

I got up from bed, went over to my dresser,
and started collecting items to practice with. I placed them at the
foot of the bed and then crawled back in. Leaning upon my pillows,
I sat facing the items. I looked at the thimble that I had placed
on the mattress and I willed it to move. It did nothing at all.
Then I aimed my attention toward the kerchief that I had placed
next to the thimble. I stared at it for what seemed like an
eternity, yet it did not stir from its spot. I looked at Sneachta
for guidance, but she just stared at the items and ignored my
impatience.

I took a breath and tried again. This time I
thought about the rock that shot from the forest. I had not even
thought about the rock at that time. I just needed help and it was
there. So I thought about needing the kerchief in my hands and I
stared at the item. Slowly, faintly, I saw the cloth flutter and
then fall still. I jolted backward from the astonishment of seeing
it move, collected myself, and tried again. This time it lifted a
little higher into the air and landed on my right foot. Sneachta
purred with approval.

I sat up into the early morning learning to
work with this new power, until I saw the sunlight streaming into
my bedroom window. Before I went downstairs, I was able to lift the
book in the air and twirl it in a circle. I tried to lift Sneachta
but she would have nothing to do with it, and bolted out of the
room when I opened the door.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

My mother and father were downstairs, talking
in hushed tones as I entered the room.

“When did you get home last night?” my father
asked.

“Very late. Becky and I had to walk home by
ourselves.”

My mothers clasped her hand to her mouth and
my father's eyes grew wide.

“You mean to say that no one escorted you
home?” he raised his eyebrow in astonishment.

“Well Becky, Martha's daughter, was with
me.”

He shook his head angrily, “No man
accompanied you?”

“No,” I replied.

My mother turned red with rage and rounded on
my father, “I told you it was a horrible idea to leave her in the
care of the Marthalers! She could have been killed on her way
home.”

My father did not answer her but grabbed his
coat, “I must go to the shop. Aislin, I am sorry that you had to
walk back by yourself. Forgive me,” he said in a gentle voice.

“I am fine father.” This was the kindest
thing I had said to my father in weeks and he looked grateful to
hear something other than a harsh remark from my mouth.

When my mother opened the door to see my
father off for the day, they were startled to find Mrs. Marthaler
and Abigail walking up the path to our home.

“What are you doing here so early?” my father
asked.

“The church is having a prayer vigil for
Zachariah and we came to get Aislin,” Mrs. Marthaler replied.

She was dressed in black and looked as though
she was already in morning for her beloved son.

“You expect us to trust you with Aislin after
you let her walk through the woods by herself last night? After
your own son was attacked and hunters are searching for an unknown
beast, you send a young woman into the darkness with nothing more
than another young woman for company? How dare you!” my mother
bellowed at the Marthaler women.

Mrs. Marthaler looked as though she had
smelled something rather rancid and Abigail kept her head down. “We
needed to tend to Zachariah and she obviously could not stay the
night at our home. There was no other choice.”

My father shook his head in disbelief, “You
should not have kept her so late if you could not make arrangements
to have her escorted home safely. If someone had treated Abigail
with such distain you would have them flogged.”

“Well, that is a little melodramatic for my
taste, but nonetheless, Aislin needs to dress and attend service
with us. It is her duty.”

I looked to my father, hoping that he had
learned enough about the Marthalers to free me from the agreement
and spare me the misery of spending more time with them. He had
not.

“Get your things,” he said and then looked at
my mother, “both of you.” He turned and leaned in toward my mother,
“Do not leave her alone,” he whispered in her ear.

My mother nodded and then we both went to
dress. My father led the Marthalers into the sitting room and then
he left for work.

********************

Saint Mary's Church was a small brick
building lined with box pews and currently filled with the women of
the town. Every pew was lined with reverent churchgoers and the
back wall was lined with their slaves.

As my mother and I followed the Marthalers to
their pew at the front of the church, I saw Martha and Becky
standing against the wall. We gave each other a little glance and
then they looked down and I looked forward. I was to be seated
between my mother and Zachariah's.

The Minister walked to the pulpit and I cast
my gaze towards the ground. He was a solemn man,
rather short and rotund, whose frocks did not fit as loosely
as they once had, years ago. The white collar of his robes appeared
to be two sizes too small for his stocky neck, and he fiddled with
it as he made his way to the pulpit. He stepped up to the podium
and cast his gaze across his flock. His round face was red and
shiny as he took a wheezing breath before he broke into his
sermon.
He always found new ways to remind his congregation
of the danger of their sins.
As he spoke, he
frequently dabbed the beads of sweat that gathered on his forehead
with a folded kerchief. He was known for becoming so animated as he
lectured, that he would perspire until it looked like he had been
caught outside during a downpour.

Occasionally, I would
glance at the parishioners around me. They were soaking up every
word of his fear mongering with wide, reverent eyes.
I never
understood the need to go into a building to worship what was
always around me. I always felt quite out of place in church.