Spellbound: The Awakening of Aislin Collins Read online

  “No, you are no such thing. We believe in the same God that they do, the same God you learned about in church. Unlike them, we also embrace the Goddess and we know that much knowledge has been hidden. There is much more to our God than people in power would want us to know. You are by no means evil Aislin. You are blessed.”

  “So, witches are not bad?” I asked in a hushed tone.

  My mother took some time before she answered. Finally, she responded to my question. “Some witches are. Some choose to follow the dark path and they are indeed dangerous, and as much a threat to you as those who would hang you in the name of their Lord. We are good witches. We follow the white path and what we do is meant to help others.”

  We talked all through the night and my mother made plans to teach me about the Craft during the day while my father was at work. I was never to discuss such things with anyone and I was never to do anything to bring attention to myself. The ramifications of doing otherwise would not only fall on me, but also on my mother.

  While I found great joy in my newfound identity, I also savored all the time I was able to spend at my mother’s side. We were so much alike, and this new discovery had only brought us closer. Unlike all of my friends, my mother and I did not exactly resemble each other. While I was petite with an hourglass shape, my mother was tall with a slight build. She was nearly as tall as my father, who stood five feet and nine inches in height. Our differences did not stop at our height. She had deep auburn hair while mine was nearly black, just like my father. Although his hair was greying now as he was reaching his later years. My mother and I both had the same crystal blue eyes with flecks of silver in them, and the same stark white skin, although our bone structure differed greatly. She had thin lips, smaller cheekbones and far less pronounced features than I did. I often noticed this as we stared into the scrying bowl together while she was teaching me to see into the future. My lips were full and my cheekbones higher, features that also resembled my father.

  During the day, my mother would allow me to study her book. This was our ancient family book that had been passed down from one generation to the next. She taught me how to read and write in the ancient language so that I could keep the book in its original form, which would also act to encrypt the book from prying eyes if its secret hiding place was ever found. She taught me how to conjure things, how to control my gifts and how to amplify them through practice, prayer, and herbs.

  In the evening, my father would return home and we would continue our lessons, which now comprised of me helping him with his weekly receipts and tallying up the weekly expenditures of the shop. I was not permitted to accompany him to work after those nasty women had bombarded my father with complaints, but he would not let that stop him from spending time with me or teaching me about his trade.

  In truth, he found his apprentice, Jack, to be a bit of a drunk and did not trust him with looking after the records and business affairs. My father would not have even considered taking Jack as his apprentice if he had not been the governor’s nephew and felt social pressure to comply. Jack was immature and lazy, but my father felt obligated to keep the young man out of the governor’s hair.

  A strong wind picked up as I walked by the front gate that bordered the property of my home. It was a two-story white and grey home. The house was not particularly large, but quite comfortable for three people. Inside were four chamber rooms, and outside, many gardens full of vegetables and herbs were scattered throughout the large backyard.

  As I stepped passed the gate, my cat, Sneachta, scampered by; flecks of moonlight reflected upon her white fur. She had been following me the whole way from Abigail’s house, as she always did.

  CHAPTER TWO

  October 21st 1734

  Abigail and I were dressed in our traveling clothes. She wore a bright blue woolen cloak, while mine was a shade of dark green. The type of cloaks needed for the long winter that would soon be here. We sat in the carriage as Abigail’s older brother, Zachariah, drove the wagon down to the dockside. Their family carriage was very luxurious, and perhaps worth more than most of the villagers’ means, but Mrs. Marthaler insisted in showing the family wealth and was often seen making purchases that would make even her husband’s stomach lurch. While Mrs. Marthaler asked much of her husband, my mother, Deirdre, asked my father only for herbs, and fabric to make us clothes. Today, Abigail and I were sent to purchase items for our mothers.

  Word had come to town that new merchant ships would be in today, carrying many new items for the local community to buy. Some items were of necessity, while others would be purely for pleasure.

  My mother wanted me to collect as many herbs as I could. She had provided me with a list to follow and she also wanted me to purchase fabric for my new gown and had requested both taffeta and silk. This was the gown that I would wear to the Governor’s Ball. The gala, which would be held in December before the Christmas holiday, was the talk of the town, and all the young women in Burlington were in the midst of preparing for the event. While I hoped I could find the fabric my mother wanted, I worried that I would not be able to. Items brought into the docks varied with the ships that came in.

  Before I had left the house, my father handed me some extra money so I may purchase something special for myself.

  “Think about some trinket that may look pleasant with your new gown. A necklace perhaps… or maybe earrings,” he recommended as he helped me into the Marthaler carriage.

  Zachariah had scurried and tried to beat my father to the carriage door, but to no avail. He had been attempting to court me for the past two years. Although he was fancied by all the girls in our town, I felt nothing for the boy. I found him to be cruel and rather self-centered. He was determined to prove himself otherwise and continually tried to woo me with flowers and kind words. I knew that his mother would never allow Zachariah to marry me and for that, I was grateful to Mrs. Marthaler, even if her motivation for thwarting Zachariah’s plans was out of pure hatred for me.

  “This is not the way to the port. We are headed to the forest!” I exclaimed, as I looked out the carriage window.

  “Mother wants Zachariah to take us to the Philadelphia port instead. She believes that the merchants will have better quality products there.”

  I shook my head in disbelief, “It will take all day to reach that port. Ours’ is closer and better,” I protested.

  The sun was beginning to brighten the early morning sky and I knew that we would not be getting home until long after it had set. The Philadelphia port was far away from our town.

  “It is what my mother wants,” Abigail shrugged.

  As I looked out the window, I noticed that we were passing the Leeds’ home. It looked dark around the home and unkempt. The canopy of trees overhead filtered out most of the soft dawn light, leaving the house in a shroud of darkness. The Leeds children were playing outside and some were running in and out of the house. I noticed the carriage speed up as we came in sight of Mother Leeds. I thought of Zachariah observing the pregnant woman and wondered if thoughts of similar plans for me had entered his mind. I shuttered at the thought, but then remembered the impossibility of his intentions and I relaxed.

  Abigail was in a talkative mood and sighed deeply to get my attention. “I saw Jack outside your father’s shop yesterday.”

  “Did you speak to him?” I inquired, wondering if she would ever build up the courage to do so.

  “No, but I waved to him and he smiled at me,” she said excitedly.

  I tried to remain interested, but this conversation has occurred at least once a week, for the past six months. It would be a lie if I said that I was not interested in love or men, or marriage for that matter. Maybe that was not true. A more accurate assessment would be that I am not interested in any of the men I have met. I want to be married to someone who will treat me as an equal. I want someone who will allow me to have the same freedom that my parents have granted me. I believe that I will never find such a man.

&nbs
p; “My brother is smitten with you,” Abigail said quietly so Zachariah could not hear.

  I ignored the comment and placed the focus back on her. “Who else do you fancy… besides Jack?”

  Abigail rolled her eyes. “There is no other than Jack. He is a perfect match for me. He is the nephew of the Governor and your father’s apprentice. He will make a fine husband and move me up in society.”

  Abigail spoke, but it was her mother’s words that poured from her girlish mouth. Her mother had convinced her to give up on the notion of love and to find comfort in marrying for practical reasons, mainly money and social standing.

  “Do you think that you will love Jack?”

  Abigail’s eyes grew wide and her smile broadened, “I will learn to love him and I will certainly love the large home, silk dresses, and slaves that he provides me with.”

  At her last listing, I felt my stomach tighten. I wanted to reach over and slap her as hard as I could, but I knew I was not allowed. My family did not own slaves, and we had our reasons for that, but those reasons were never to be uttered aloud. Yet another family secret that I was forced to keep to myself, and yet another moment when I would be bound to bite my tongue. Abigail tried to talk to me but I ignored her, and we rode on through the deep forest in silence.

  ********************

  As we worked our way through the woods and toward the pier, I started to hear the bustle of the busy port. Zachariah settled the carriage in a little spot designated for such vehicles and he then came around to the side of the carriage and helped his sister and I to exit the contraption.

  He puffed up his chest and ceremoniously stretched out his hand for me to take. He was a tall boy, and perhaps one day he would fill out like his father, but as of this moment, he appeared as lanky as his little sister. He smiled at me as he assisted me out of the carriage, yanking my hands in close to his body and placing them on his shoulders; he then lifted me by my waist and gently placed me on the ground. I pressed my hands against his shoulders to put some room between us. I found that being this close to Zachariah was not only awkward, but rather threatening. I looked up and his brown eyes caught mine, I could not help but cringe as his frail pointy features stretched into a smile, his sandy blonde hair sat slick against perspiring forehead head. Abigail smiled broadly. She wanted nothing more than for us to be sisters and found this union to be the best option of accomplishing her goal. Zachariah took a long time to take his hands off my waist. I finally had to swat them away.

  He ignored my rejection as he haughtily pulled at the cuffs of his expensive brown jacket, then turned on his heels and led us to the port, where shops were set up by the ship merchants in order to trade with the locals. The locals in turn had shops that catered to the needs of the merchant vessels, selling fresh produce, livestock, and medical supplies. Many large ships were docked in the harbor and the port was crowded with people from many different nations. Some free, some slaves and some were the Native Lenape, who also came to trade their custom goods.

  Once Zachariah showed us where all the shops were located, he walked away to have a drink at the tavern. Abigail and I decided to get the herbs first and went from vendor to vendor, collecting all the items on our lists. My favorite was the English lavender. I purchased as much as I could carry and then went back to the wagon and placed it inside along with all the other herbs. Lavender has a lovely fragrance and I remembered that it has magical properties for luck, so I pinched off a little sprig and placed it in the pocket of my dress.

  We went back to the merchants but this time we were looking for fabric and jewelry.

  “My mother wants rubies,” Abigail said, as she searched the table of sparkling goods.

  The seller resembled what I would imagine a pirate to look like. His skin appeared weathered and he was very tan. He wore tattered silk with lace and tall black boots. He dug through a little velvet pouch and dropped a ruby pendant onto the table. Abigail picked up the trinket and held it to the light. She nodded that she liked it and then turned to me to take care of the trade. Abigail was not good with counting money. I bartered with the man and corrected him when he tried to cheat me. He watched me in shock as I tallied up his payment and handed it to him.

  “Thank you,” Abigail smiled at the pirate as he handed her the jewel.

  He just nodded in reply and waited for us to leave before he went off gossiping to his friends about the girl who could count and trade. My father had indeed taught me well.

  We made our way down the dock and were standing at another little jewelry vendor, when I felt something pulling at my back. I spun around but no one was there. I was holding a necklace in my hands. The pendant dangling from it was a deep garnet stone inlaid with silver Celtic knots on a silk cord and it had a silver clasp. Somehow, when I held this piece of jewelry I felt my memories jolt, although I did not know why. I was holding it in my hand when my attention fell to a giant ship that was offloading its passengers. I looked around briefly to see who had tugged at my cloak, but no one had, or at least I did not see anyone who could have. I thought of what my mother would say. She would say it had been a spirit trying to get my attention. Why was my attention required? Was it the necklace? Was Abigail in need? I looked over at my friend and found that she was holding up gold earrings and primping in the mirror that a young merchant was dutifully holding for her. It wasn’t Abigail.

  As I scanned the dock, my attention was cast onto the enormous ship. I watched its passengers descending from the craft, most seemed quite normal. Tired, hurried and being pushed by the force of the others behind them, all anxious to get off the ship. Yet, I stood in the same spot and searched the crowd. I knew that something or someone on that boat was the reason I had been tugged upon by an unknown friend.

  Finally, I saw an older man, very large with long grey hair and dressed all in black. He was trailing behind the others. Everyone else seemed to avoid him, and he walked with an air of utmost confidence, as he seemed to float down the ramp. I do not know why, but looking upon this man made me tremble. Staring at him was like looking at a great demon. I could not move. I could only stare and pray that he did not feel my gaze upon him.

  To my utmost dread, he stopped mid stride upon the middle of the ramp. He seemed to sniff at the air in a way I had only seen hunting dogs do—and then he found me. His eyes met mine and I felt a force strong and wicked encompass me. I started to choke as I felt my throat constrict. Darkness seemed to encompass me. A stabbing pain surged through my skull as though a blade had struck me between the eyebrows and I felt weak and started to sway. I lost sight of the grey haired man as a crowd of Royal Navy sailors walked passed where I stood.

  Suddenly, I felt two strong hands on my shoulders; gripping me with the strength I could only imagine that a bear would posses. The garnet necklace dropped to the ground with a soft clunk and when I blinked and gasped, I found that I had been placed into a local shop. I found myself hidden behind spools of towering fabric. A man stood close beside me. He was young and tall with black hair and soft hazel eyes.

  “You are not safe here Aislin,” he said with a thick accent, “You must go home.”

  I stared at the man. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, blood was rushing to my brain, and I felt faint. I clutched onto a shelf in an effort to keep myself upright.

  “Who are you?” I asked, while trying to catch my breath.

  “I am a friend,” he said slowly, with reservation in his words. “But I must leave and you must as well. He will be coming for you and you will not be safe until you are out of his sight.”

  I noticed that his accent was very similar to my mother’s, although his pronunciation was different in some way.

  “Do you know my mother?” I asked.

  He shook his head, “No, I do not.”

  “My father then?”

  “No,” he said in haste.

  “Then how do you know my name?” I asked.

  “I cannot say, but my dear girl it is
time to go.” He grabbed me by the hand and led me out the back door of the shop. He picked me up as I stumbled on the dirt road and found the Marthaler carriage. He placed me inside and shut the door. I slumped down and fainted.

  ********************

  Moments later, at least I believe it was moments later; Zachariah opened the door to the carriage with Abigail at his side.

  “Aislin!” He gasped, as he discovered my limp form amongst the herbs and goods we had purchased throughout the day.

  I thought of my protector’s words and could hear his soft voice as though he was whispering in my ear. “Zachariah please take me home right away. I must go home,” I whispered, too weak to raise my voice any higher.

  Abigail placed my head on her lap and stroked my hair, “I looked all over for you. Where had you gone?” she asked, her voice trembling.

  I was too weak to respond. I continued to lay still.

  My body was limp and I felt pain running through it and spreading like lighting bolts, but my mind was sharp and alert, as though the two were not connected. As we rode into the evening, I worked things out in my head. The man on the ship, the terror I felt, the young man who pulled me from my trance, the urgency in his voice and the fact that he knew my name, and now the illness that came over me. I thought of the ancient book that was hidden in the floorboards of our home. I knew it was the only place I would be able to find answers to these riddles. I just needed to find the strength to study the book and to tell my mother what happened.

  CHAPTER THREE

  October 22nd 1734

  I opened my eyes to find that I was in my bed. The smell of herbs, strong and potent, woke me from my slumber. My mother was leaning over me, a wet cloth in her hand, with a look of great concern on her tired face.

  “I’m so glad you are awake,” she sighed. I could tell that she had been up all night tending to me.