The Necromancer

The Necromancer

By Kevin Dunn

First Edition

Oshawa, Ontario

The Necromancer

by Kevin Dunn

Managing Editor:

Kevin Aguanno

Acquisitions Editor: Sarah Schwersenska

Cover Art:

Katharan Wilkes

Typesetting:

Peggy LeTrent

Published by: Crystal Dreams Publishing

(a division of Multi-Media Publications Inc.)

Box 58043, Rosslynn RPO, Oshawa, Ontario, Canada, L1J 8L6.

http://www.crystaldreamspublishing.com/

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review.

Copyright © 2008 by Crystal Dreams Publishing

Paperback

ISBN-10: 1-59146-071-9 ISBN-13: 9781591460718

Adobe PDF ebook

ISBN-10: 1-59146-127-8 ISBN-13: 9781591461272

Microsoft LIT ebook

ISBN-10: 159146-128-6

ISBN-13: 9781591461289

Mobipocket PRC ebook ISBN-10: 159146-129-4

ISBN-13: 9781591461296

Palm PDB ebook

ISBN-10: 159146-130-8

ISBN-13: 9781591461302

Published in Canada.

CIP data available from the publisher.

Contents

Chapter One: The Affl icted .......................................................... 5

Chapter Two: The Sermon .......................................................... 17

Chapter Three: Witch-Hunt ........................................................ 29

Chapter Four: Susanna ................................................................. 39

Chapter Five: The Wood ............................................................. 45

Chapter Six: Odara ....................................................................... 55

Chapter Seven: Escape ................................................................. 77

Chapter Eight: Fugitives .............................................................. 89

Chapter Nine: Walpurgisnacht .................................................. 101

Chapter Ten: Gallows Hill ......................................................... 131

Chapter Eleven: The Summoning ............................................ 143

Chapter Twelve: Home .............................................................. 163

Chapter Thirteen: Martha’s Eyes .............................................. 181

Chapter Fourteen: Ressurection ............................................... 191

Chapter Fifteen: The Vision ..................................................... 203

Chapter Sixteen: All Hallow’s Eve ........................................... 209

Chapter Seventeen: November Coming Fire ......................... 271

Chapter Eighteen: Susanna’s Condition .................................. 289

Chapter Nineteen: A New Beginning ...................................... 295

Chapter Twenty: Daniel And Molly ......................................... 309

Author Bio ................................................................................... 341

The characters and events in this book are fi cticious. Any similarity to real persons, living, or dead, is coincedental and not intendedby the author.

Roger Harrington’s Journal—

27 December 1691- These are most grievous times. The cold has been cruel and relentless, racking our livestock and our bodies with sickness and dying; and the piracy that has been so ubiquitous of late amongst our ships has sorely impaired our commerce. I am more greatly distraught by this now that my poor youngest, Phoebe, has been stricken with the smallpox and is in need of medicine, and I fear my beloved, Martha, is falling into a similarly weakened state. She and Susanna tend to Phoebe during all the wretched hours of light and dark while I must maintain my strength for the daily hardships I endure for the good of the family. I pray to the dear Lord, our God, nightly, that we may overcome these tribulations anon, so that we may continue to spend our lives toiling in the service of Him, our most benevolent and just Creator. Amen.

5

The Necromancer

Tituba fl ed back through the forest as fast as her fl eshy body would allow, amongst the naked trees and small bushes, down the narrow path from which she had

come. The forest seemed to awaken like a predatory beast whose long hibernation had been disturbed by some intruder violating its lair. Creatures of the night hooted, whistled and squawked.

The turn at every bend revealed a new, yet fl eeting, horror. Tituba rushed through the woods, her mind washed blank of everything but the image of those eyes. She couldn’t seem to remember anything else—not the slightest description of any feature or garment, and not the crime which she had just witnessed. But the image of those eyes was seared into her mind and would surely haunt her until she was dead.

It was near dusk, and the black mass of clouds

looming over the village, obscuring the sun, gave portent of a storm.

The wind howled.

A gust of icy air blew a few dead leaves up toward her face, which remained largely hidden under the hood of her cloak. She held her satchel close, and her garments tight as they threatened to burst open. The wind lashed at the skin of her face and hands, stinging them, making them feel as if the fl esh were being raked from the bones.

She looked up into the wind, squinting into the face of the oncoming storm, as she plowed her way through thin and godless winter air, back toward the Parris home.

She arrived at the house breathless and threw open the door. The wind caught it, and it crashed into the wall. She maneuvered herself behind it, using the whole of her body, and shouldered it hard against the wind until it slammed shut.

She shuddered.

6

The Afflicted

Tituba shook the chill from her bones as she removed her cloak. The reverend and his family were dining, having already said grace. She stole a glance over at the dinner table and was confronted with several puzzled and accusatory expressions.

“Tituba,” Parris said.

She did not answer.

Her countenance was still stricken with fright, her eyes still wide with terror. Tituba unconsciously ignored the reverend.

“Tituba! Where have you been keeping your person?”

he demanded.

She let out a woeful sigh, threw her cloak back on, and ran out of the house to her cabin.

Parris followed her and barged into her chambers, closing the door behind him.

“Answer me!”

She turned around.

“I beg your forgiveness, Master Parris. Please do not punish me,” she said almost desperately, her large brown eyes looking up at him soulfully.

Her plea seemed sincere and fi nding her in such a disheveled state, he decided not to press on. She was a good servant, and he’d never had any problems with her before, but he decided to give her a brief warning anyway, and leave it at that.

“Do not forget your duties to this household, Tituba, lest you should receive more severe reprimands.”

He glared at her for a long moment and left the room.

7

The Necromancer

Afterward, he thought he might have been too harsh with her. After all, she was human too, although he was sure that some of his associates felt quite differently about that.

This whole matter with slaves was very new to him. He had never owned a slave before, and he wasn’t sure he liked the idea of owning anyone, no matter what the color of their skin. They were people, complete with their own thoughts and feelings. It seemed cruel to enslave them. It seemed cruel, but that didn’t stop him from acquiring two of his own. Of course, he hated the hypocrisy of his situation, but he was a very busy man, and Naomi couldn’t do everything. Whether he liked it or not, he was a politician of sorts, and as such had to consider how others would perceive his actions.

He didn’t like it, but he treated Tituba and her husband, John Indian, well, never taking the lash to them, and that was all he could do. A minor incident such as tonight’s angered Parris because they did need Tituba, but she must have had her reasons for being so late. And, even though he was angry with her at the time, he felt no need to question her of her whereabouts. She needed her own privacy too.

*****

year-old daughter, entered Tituba’s chambers and found her doing peculiar things, saying peculiar words. Burning candles cluttered the room. Tituba sat on the fl oor in the center of the room, pouring a circle of salt around a shriveled-up cock’s head bound with a lock of hair, as she chanted incantations and made strange gesticulations in the air above it.

“What are you doing there, Tituba?”

Tituba, having been discovered and feeling no harm in answering the child’s question, responded casually:

“Weaving a spell to banish the forces of evil which have been cast upon me.”

8

The Afflicted

“What do you mean ‘spell’?”

“Ceremonies like those of meeting, but magic. The people of my land do such ceremonies to protect one’s self, or destroy one’s enemies, or make men insane with love.”

“Oh, tell me more. Do tell me more.”

And Tituba did.

That night, and every night since, until Elizabeth’s breakdown, Elizabeth and several of her friends sat by Tituba’s fi replace and listened eagerly to her tales of voodoo and West Indian folklore.

The girls learned of zombies and fortune telling; stories of babies carried off in the night for sacrifi ces to Damballah. Tituba taught them palm reading; divination with the dead; magic spells to steal another’s boyfriend; how to throw hexes on one’s adversaries.

“During the ceremony, the houngan looks on and

leads the dance with the force of his will,” Tituba once told them. “...and we are mounted by the loa, spirits who control us during the ceremony and make us behave as they will.”

Then Elizabeth fell ill.

It happened one night late in January as she sat down to an early supper. All seemed well, but abnormally quiet.

Tituba had prepared a meal of pheasant, corn, and rye cakes—

a feast in those times of privation and hunger. (Reverend Parris was, up till the present time at least, still well-respected in the community, and thus given privileges not bestowed upon the less than elect.)

Parris was out getting more fi rewood (since he had sent John Indian to town on an errand), and they needed the wood badly. But both men were late in arriving home, and, not 9

The Necromancer

wanting the food to get cold, Naomi decided to have Tituba serve the meal.

“May I say grace tonight?” asked Abigail, Elizabeth’s cousin and playmate.

“You may,” Naomi replied.

“I wanted to say grace,” Elizabeth complained.

“Now, Beth. Abby asked fi rst.”

Elizabeth frowned, sulking.

“You may say grace tomorrow,” Naomi said.

Elizabeth straightened up in her chair and folded her hands as Abigail began.

“Thank You, O Lord, for this food we are about

to eat, that we may be strong and free of malady. And bless this home, that we may be protected from savages and cold.

Amen.”

“Amen,” the rest said solemnly, crossing themselves, and then commenced eating.

Elizabeth took a bite of food. Her face grew

contorted as she chewed the morsel. Her body twitched. She squirmed in her seat in spasms. Her head thrashed about, whipping her hair around while she shrieked, sobbed, and laughed madly, screaming strange words.

She sank down in her seat and collapsed to the fl oor, hitting it with a thud as she went into convulsions. She crawled under her chair and cowered, shaking, her teeth chattering, her lips trembling.