Spellbound: The Awakening of Aislin Collins Read online

  “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.

  The Minister rambled on about Zachariah being from a good, God-fearing family and about how devout Zachariah was. He encouraged all the youth of the congregation to be more like the Marthaler children, and begged the young women of the congregation to find young men to marry that were like Zachariah. I found it difficult to refrain from snickering, and I felt the sharp kick of my mother's shoe more than once.

  After the sermon was over, my mother and I rose to leave but we were surrounded by the other church members. Girls that never bothered talking to me now hugged me and told me how envious they were that I was chosen to be Zachariah's promised bride. Mothers hugged and wept with Mrs. Marthaler, while others congratulated my mother for the success of such a strong match between Zachariah and me. It was too much to bear and I wondered if they really knew the boy's true nature would feel the same about him? Looking at the envious faces that surrounded me, I believed that they would.

  I looked passed the swarm of women and saw Martha and Becky. They were still against the wall, and the Minister was talking to them. Actually, it was as though he was interrogating them. I broke away from the crowd and moved in closer to hear the conversation.

  I could not hear exactly what was being said to them, but one word caught my attention. 'Witchcraft.' They were staring at the ground and the Minister was hovering over them when I walked up behind him. I had to get him away from my friends.

  “Sir,” I said tapping him on the shoulder, “your sermon was wonderful today.”

  He turned around sharply, but his expression softened when he saw that I was complementing him.

  “Thank you Miss Collins. I am praying for your fiancé and know that you are as well.”

  I hoped that Martha and Becky would take the opportunity to escape, but they stood perfectly still. There must have been brutal consequences for leaving unexcused.

  “Do you think that Zachariah will heal fairly quickly?” I asked, trying to draw his mind away from my friends.

  “His wounds are numerous and deep. They will take awhile to mend. When did you see him last?” he asked intently.

  “Yesterday. I stayed by his side until the evening.”

  “You are a Godly young woman Miss Collins. I am glad to see that you have a heart full of charity and love.” He looked over at Martha and Becky, “Tell me Miss Collins, what do you know of these two?” he said pointing to where they stood.

  “They are good women Minister. Just the other night, Becky guided me home from the Marthaler's house so that I would not have to walk alone in the dark. She led me in prayer the whole way back.”

  “What kind of prayers?” his eyebrows furrowed as he looked upon Becky with suspicion.

  “Psalms, sir. We prayed other prayers too, did we not Becky? I was too frightened to remember. Which other prayer did we say?” I asked encouragingly.

  Becky looked up at me, “The Lord's prayer ma'am,” she replied in a timid voice.

  The Minister's cold demeanor faded just slightly. “Do you believe that these women are serving the Lord?”

  “Aye sir. I know that they serve the Lord with all their hearts. If it was not for Becky's reverent prayers, we would have been lost the other night.”

  He seemed satisfied with my answer. “I have been told that there is witchcraft being practiced in town and fingers have been pointed to these two,” he said. “What do you think of that?”

  Uneasiness started to flow through me, but I hindered it from shattering the calmness of my voice, “These women are not capable of such acts. They are good Christians. If you need, I can get my father to testify for them… and my mother as well.”

  At that moment, my mother appeared at my side and placed her hands on my shoulders.

  “You should not be keeping the good Minister from his business Aislin.”

  “Mrs. Collins, your daughter has told me that you and your husband would vouch for the spiritual wholeness of these two slaves. What do you think of that?”

  My mother nodded her head, “Of course we would. They are devout women.”

  “Well, that is good enough for me. You may go,” he said waving a hand at the two women to dismiss them.

  “Who would accuse them of such atrocities,” my mother asked.

  The Minister shook his head and smiled, “These are not things that you should concern yourself with my dear lady. Now go in peace and serve the Lord.”

  My mother and I turned from the Minister's company and left the church in hast. Abigail and her mother were still surrounded by the congregation outside the church doors and when we walked passed them, Mrs. Marthaler grabbed my arm.

  “Will you come back and tend for Zachariah?” she asked loud enough for all to hear.

  Now all the townswomen's eyes were upon me.

  “Let me tend to my mother first. She is not feeling well,” I lied.

  I could hear tisks and huffs from the other woman as they found my response to be unsatisfactory.

  She loosened her grip on my arm, “Well come as soon as you can.”

  She turned to Abigail and then started to walk with a group of women back to their home for lunch. We were not invited to such formal lunches. Our status was not high enough, and Mrs. Marthaler did not want to be embarrassed by my mother or myself anymore than could be helped.

  We walked slowly behind the other groups of women. Martha and Becky trailed behind us with the other slaves. I noticed as we passed some of the merchant shops that many of the girls were staring in the same direction, as though they had spotted a large gem hanging in a window. I followed their gaze and could not believe my eyes. It was Greer. He was standing outside the cobbler's storefront talking to a few men. His skin looked olive today, and the sunlight reflected off his black hair, showing just how shiny his locks were.

  All the girls were ogling at him and whispering to one another, but he did not notice
them. He glanced at me, his soft hazel eyes catching mine. I felt my cheeks flush and I swiftly looked away.

  It took all the strength I had not to run straight toward him, but I knew this would be a mistake.

  My mother squeezed my hand as to say that she saw him too and we kept walking. It felt so unnatural to deliberately move in the opposite direction as Greer—every part of my being longed to be by his side.

  ********************

  Martha, Becky and my mother sat in our kitchen discussing what had transpired today. I had already changed into comfortable clothing, and was fixing tea for us.

  “I bet everything I own that it was the Marthalers who accused us of witchcraft,” Martha said.

  “But why? It does not make any sense,” I replied, as I poured the tea into four cups.

  “Because Becky got you home safely the other night and Mr. Marthaler and Zachariah had other plans for you. They are angry and this is their way of taking revenge,” said my mother, while scooping sugar into her tea.

  I looked into my cup and searched for a way to tell them what deep down inside I knew, “It was not the Marthalers. It was the Grey Man . . . I am sure of it,” I sighed deeply.

  The room grew silent. All eyes were upon me. “How do you know?” Martha asked.

  “Because I saw him at the Marthaler's when I was tending to Zachariah. He was in the field behind their home with the other hunters.”

  “That was why you felt sick,” Becky gasped.

  I nodded my head. “He did not see me. I think it was the sight of him that startled me and made me ill.”

  “That makes sense. If he can get rid of all of your support than it will be easier to come after you,” Martha said with anguish in her voice.

  “I am so sorry that I have put you all in danger,” I said, hoping that I could keep the tears from exiting my eyes.

  “This is not your fault,” Becky replied as she dabbed my face with a napkin, “Do not cry Aislin. We are more than capable of fending off these people.”

  “Are you? How will you fend off a whole town, a demon, and a man with unknown powers . . . we do not even know if he really is a man. He may be some creature too,” I said.

  Martha nodded, “Aislin is right. We do not know what we're up against. I saw the animals that were slaughtered in the Marthaler field. I have only heard of such killings in stories from my country. My people called such a beast the Asanbosam. It would wait in the trees and stalk hunters. When the hunters would pass by the creature, it would drag them up into the tree and then drink their blood. I am not sure if the creature is the same, but from what I have seen of its victims, it is at least very similar.”

  “What kind of wounds did the Marthaler's animals have?” my mother asked.

  “Only one wound . . . a bite at the neck and nothing else.”

  My mother covered her mouth with her hand. She had paled considerably and she seemed to be shaking, “It is a Dearg-dul,” she gasped.

  “What is that?” I asked.

  She shuddered and struggled to speak, “When I was a child we were told the tale of Dearg-dul. I thought that perhaps it was a story meant to keep us from running out into the night, or maybe just a nice fireside tale, but my mother always insisted that we must be careful. Dearg-dul is an ancient creature. She was a beautiful woman who, like you Aislin, was forced to marry a wretched man by the hand of her father. She had fallen in love with a commoner and although she begged her father to allow her to marry the boy, he refused. The peasant's status was unworthy of his family name and he would not have it tarnished. Against Dearg-dul's will, she was given to the man that her father had chosen. The marriage was too much for her and her husband's cruelty was too great. Dearg-dul killed herself as a way of escaping her spouse and the life in which she was imprisoned, but her hatred for both her father and husband was too strong. She was turned into a creature. She rose from the grave the same night that they had buried her. Some say her anger turned her into a demon, but I always believed that she must have made a deal with a faerie. Either way, she arose from her grave. Her beauty was preserved as though she was frozen in time. Her skin was lily white, and cool to the touch as she stood in her husbands bedchamber. He was once again captivated by her beauty. She lured her husband out of bed and seduced him. When he came close enough she kissed his neck and then bit, creating two perfect teeth marks from her perfect new fangs. She drank all his blood and left him to die alone. Then, she found her father and killed him as well. She is now an immortal, doomed to spend an eternity alone.”

  My heart was pounding. The story struck me hard. “I do not fear any creature that became such a thing to avenge their love,” I said defiantly.

  My mother and Martha exchanged a look, “Do you not understand? That creature could be on the side of the Grey Man,” my mother was yelling now, “Martha had a similar tale and it was not as romantic as mine. This could be some demonic creature and you are acting as though it may be a friend! You will endanger us all if you do not use your head!”

  I pushed the chair back in anger and ran from the room. Never had my mother spoken to me in such tones, and never in front of anyone. I went into my room and slammed the door behind me.

  ********************

  Half an hour later, there was a knock on the bedroom door. My Mother came into my room holding an envelope in her hand.

  “This came for you,” she said while handing me the letter.

  I took it from her and examined it. It was addressed in black ink with a red wax seal closing it shut. The initials on the seal were blurred, as though it was pressed in haste.

  “Who is it from?” I asked.

  “I do not know. Someone knocked on the door and the letter was placed on the front mat. No one was there when I opened the door.”

  I ripped open the envelope and my mother moved in closer, in order to see what the letter contained. It was from the governor's committee and a formal invitation to the Governors' Ball as a guest of—Zachariah.

  “But you already received an invitation,” my mother said in a confused tone.

  I crumpled the letter in my hand and dropped it on the floor.

  “Yes, but that was an invitation for me to accompany you as a single woman. This letter was to let me know that I can now accompany Zachariah. The Marthaler's must have told the Governor of our engagement,” I said in disgust.

  My mother shook her head, “They are determined to take over every facet of your life.”

  “I will not attend the Ball,” I said coldly.

  “But I have been working on your dress for months, and you have already accepted the invitation,” she replied in a hurt voice.

  As angry as I was, I did love my mother and would not do anything to hurt her.

  I sighed and dropped my face into my hands, “If it matters to you, I will go. I appreciate how hard you have been working on my gown.”

  My mother kissed my head and picked the invitation off the floor, “I have been looking forward to seeing you in the gown . . . I changed the color for you as a surprise. Your new gown will match your necklace,” she smiled.

  I reached up and touched the deep red stone and my thoughts drifted to Greer. My mother left my room and went downstairs, leaving me to become lost in dreams of my beloved.

  I fell asleep at only midday and my dreams were like none I had experienced before.

  ********************

  “Aislin, wake up,” said a soft voice. It was a voice that I knew, a voice that I loved.

  “Greer,” I smiled, still keeping my eyes shut tightly for fear that my dreams would be disrupted if I dared to open them.

  “We must go my love. Wake now and we will take a journey together.”

  I carefully opened my eyes, hoping that his voice would not leave me. He was standing at my bedside with one hand outstretched for me to hold. I took his hand and moved from the bed. He held me to him and kissed me. I looked back at the bed to see my body still there, sleeping peace
fully. I was alarmed and froze where I stood. I looked down at my hands; they seemed the same, solid and whole. Yet, there was my body in bed, causing the covers to rise and fall with my soft breath.

  “We are in spirit now,” Greer said, “Your body is fine. There is something I need to show you.”

  He took my hand and led me to a dark tunnel that opened near the wall by my window. We walked into it and I held his hand tightly. I was not afraid as we moved through the darkness. We passed through the other end of the tunnel and stepped onto a bridge.

  We were in the countryside now and staring through heavy fog towards a very large stone building. Stone walls bordered the property, and the long path led us to enormous wooden doors that were arched and adorned with rod iron. The castle was built from dark stone and it stood ominously against the starlit sky. We made our way to the doors and simply passed through them, as though we were specters.

  We entered into an enormous hall. It was adorned with large paintings of great lords, and tapestries hung high from the rafters. Fires were crackling from two large stone hearths and firelight was bouncing off the shining dark wood furniture. I knew this place.

  “My ancestral home,” Greer smiled warmly as he guided me toward the paintings that hung on the opposite side of the staircase. “My father, his father, and all the way back for ten generations.” He pointed to the long line of portraits.

  He guided me up the long staircase and I let my fingers drag against the perfectly polished cherry wood railing. It felt like silk under my fingertips and I realized that this was familiar to me as well. I had walked up this staircase many times before.

  We moved down a long corridor that was lit by torches on each side and turned left down another passage, and then took another left until we reached a massive wooden door that led into a great room.