The Witching Hour (57 page)

This can be no simple exposition; no plea to sanity; no sentimental entreaty as I made in my youth to Deborah. There must be meat to these arguments, there must be talk between me and this woman, so that she will allow me to examine with her this thing brought out of invisibility and out of chaos to do more harm than any daimon or spirit of which I have ever heard tell.

For that is the essence of it, Stefan, the thing is horrific, and each and every witch that seeks to command it shall in the end lose control of it, I have no doubt. But what is the career of the thing itself?

To wit, it struck down Deborah’s husband on account of what it knew of the man. Why did it not tell the witch herself? And what was meant by Deborah’s statements that this being was learning, statements which have been made to me twice—the first time years ago in Amsterdam, the second time only lately before these tragic events.

What I mean to do is consider the nature of the thing, that it meant to spare Deborah pain in striking down her husband for her, without telling her the why of it, though it had to confess when it was asked. Or that it sought to leap ahead and do for her what she would have had done, to show itself a good and clever spirit.

Whatever the answer, this is a most unusual and interesting spirit, indeed. And consider its strength, Stefan, for I have exaggerated
nothing of what befell the populace at Montcleve. You will soon hear of this, for it was too horrifying and remarkable for the story not to spread far and wide.

Now, during these long hours of soreness and torment, as I have lain here, I have considered carefully in memory all I have ever read of the old lore on spirits and daimons and the like.

I have considered the writings of wizards, through their warnings, and through anecdotes and the teachings of the Church Fathers, for no matter what fools they be in some matters, the Church Fathers do know a thing or two of spirits, in which they are in agreement with the ancients, and that agreement is a significant point.

Because if the Romans, the Greeks, the Hebrew scholars, and the Christians all describe the same entities, and issue the same warnings and formulae for controlling them, then surely that is something not to be dismissed.

And no nation or tribe to my knowledge has not acknowledged that there are many invisible beings, and that they divide into good spirits and evil spirits, according to how they benefit man.

In the early days of the Christian Church, the Church Fathers believed that these daimons were, in fact, the old gods of the pagans. That is they believed in the existence of those gods and that they were creatures of lesser power, a belief which the Church surely does not hold now.

However, the witch judges do hold this belief, crudely and in ignorance, for when they accuse the witch of riding out at night, they are accusing her in foolish words of the old belief in the goddess Diana, which did infect pagan Europe before the coming of Christianity, and the goat devil whom the witch kisses is none other than the pagan god Pan.

But the witch judge does not know that this is what he is doing. Dogmatically he believes only in Satan, “the Devil,” and the devil’s demons. And the historian must point out to him, for all the good it will do, that the fabrications of his demonologies come from the pagan peasant lore.

But to return to the main consideration, all peoples have believed in spirits. And all peoples have told us something of spirits, and it is what they have told us that I must examine here. And if memory serves me now, I must aver that what we see through the legends, the books of magic, and the demonologies is a legion of entities which can be called up by name, and commanded by witches or sorcerers. Indeed, the Book of Solomon lists them as numerous, giving not merely names and
properties of the beings, but in what manner they choose to appear.

And though we in the Talamasca have long held that most of this is pure fancy, we know that there are such entities, and we know that the books contain some worthwhile warnings as to the danger inherent in evoking these beings, for they may grant our wishes in ways that cause us to cry to heaven in desperation as the old tale of King Midas and the peasant story of the three wishes make plain.

Indeed, the wisdom of the wizard in any language is defined as knowing how to restrain and carefully use the power of these invisible creatures, so that it is not turned upon the wizard in some unforeseen way.

But no matter how much one reads of learning about the spirits, where does one hear of teaching the spirits to learn? Where does one hear of them changing? Growing strong with evocation, yes, but changing?

And twice Deborah spoke to me of that very thing, the education of her spirit, Lasher, which says that the thing can change.

Stefan, what I perceive is that this thing, called forth from invisibility and chaos, by the simpleton Suzanne, is a complete mystery at this stage of its existence as the servant of these witches, and that it has advanced itself, through the guidance of Deborah, from a lowly spirit of the air, a storm maker that is, to a horrid daimon capable of killing the witch’s enemies upon command. And I hold that there is even more to it than that, which Deborah had not time or strength to make known to me, but which I must make known to Charlotte, though not for the purpose of guiding her in her devotion to this thing, but in the hope of coming between her and the daimon and effecting the dissolution of it by some means.

For Stefan, when I consider the words of the being which Deborah quoted to me, I believe that the spirit has not only characteristics to be learned by the witch, but a
character
through which he learns; in sum, not only a nature to be understood, but a soul perhaps through which he understands.

Further, I am also willing to wager that this Charlotte Fontenay knows next to nothing of this daimon, that she never learnt the black arts from Deborah; that only in the eleventh hour did Deborah make known to Charlotte her secrets, and command Charlotte’s loyalty, and send her away with her blessing that Charlotte might survive her, and not see her suffer in the fire. My beloved daughter, she called her, which I remember well.

Stefan, I
must
be allowed to go to Charlotte. I must not shrink from it as I did years before from Deborah on Roemer Franz’s
command. For had I argued with Deborah and studied with Deborah, perhaps I would have won ground with her, and this thing could have been sent away.

And finally, Stefan, consider my request for this mission on two further counts. One, I loved Deborah and I met defeat with her; and therefore I must go to her daughter, for this much is required of me on account of what passed between me and the woman before.

And two, that I have in my possession money enough to go to Saint-Domingue and can get more from our agent here, who will advance me plenty, and I may go even if you do not allow.

But please, do not make me break the rule of the order. Give me permission. Send me to Saint-Domingue.

For it so happens that I am going.

The Talamasca
Amsterdam     

Petyr van Abel
Marseille

Dear Petyr,

Your letters never fail to surprise us, but you have surpassed even all your past triumphs with these two lately from Marseille.

All here have read them, word for word, and the council has come together and these are our recommendations:

That you come home at once to Amsterdam.

We understand full well your reasons for wishing to journey to Saint-Domingue but we cannot allow such a thing. And we beg you to understand, that by your own admission, you have become part of the evil of Deborah Mayfair’s daimon. In striking down Father Louvier from the roof, you carried out the wishes of the woman and of her spirit.

That you violated the rules of the Talamasca by this rash action concerns us heavily because we fear for you and we are of one mind that you must come home to take the advice of those here, and to restore your conscience and your judgment.

Petyr, you are being ordered under threat of excommunication: Return to us at once.

To the story of Deborah Mayfair we have devoted much study, taking into account your letters to us, as well as the very few
observations which Roemer Franz saw fit to commit to paper (Translator’s note: to date these have not been found); and we do agree with you that this woman and what she has done with her daimon is of considerable interest to the Talamasca; and please understand that we do intend to learn what we can of Charlotte Fontenay, and her life in Saint-Domingue.

It is not beyond possibility that we should in future send to the West Indies a nuncio to speak with this woman, and to learn what can be learned. But such cannot be contemplated now.

Wisdom dictates that after your return here, you write to this woman and make known to her the circumstances of her mother’s death, with the omission of your crime against Father Louvier, as there would be no good reason to broadcast your guilt, and that you make known to Charlotte Fontenay also all that her mother has said. That you invite her to enter into correspondence with you would be more than advisable; and it is possible that you might exert upon her an influence that is beneficial with no risk to yourself.

This is all that you may do with regard to Charlotte Fontenay, and once more we order you to return at once; please come to us over land or sea, as quickly as possible.

But please be assured of our love and high regard for you, of our concern. We are of the opinion that if you disobey only misery awaits you in the West Indies if not worse. We judge this as much from your own words, and confessions, as from our premonitions regarding the matter. We have laid hands on the letters. We see darkness and disaster ahead.

Alexander, who as you know has the greatest power to see through touch of any among us, is most adamant that if you go on to Port-au-Prince, we will never see you again. He has taken to his bed over this, and lies there, refusing food and speaking only in strange sentences when he does choose to speak.

I should tell you further that Alexander went into the hall at the foot of the stair and laid hands upon the portrait by Rembrandt of Deborah, and withdrew near to fainting, and refusing to speak, and was helped by the servants to his room.

“To what purpose is this silence?” I demanded of him. To which he responded, that what he saw made plain that it was futile to speak. I went into a rage at this and demanded that he tell me. “I saw only death and ruin,” he said. “There were no figures or numbers or words in it. What do you want of me?” And then he went on to say that if I would know how it was, look again to the portrait, to the darkness from which Rembrandt’s subjects are forever emerging, and see how the light strikes the face of Deborah only partially, for that was the only
light he could divine in the history of these women, a partial and fragile light, forever swallowed by darkness. Rembrandt van Rijn caught but a moment, no more.

“One can say that of any life and any history,” I persisted.

“No, it is prophetic,” he announced. “And if Petyr goes on to the West Indies he will vanish into the darkness from which Deborah Mayfair emerged only for a little while.”

Make of that lovely exchange what you will! I cannot withhold from you that Alexander said further that you
would
go to the West Indies, that you would ignore our orders and you would ignore the pronouncement of excommunication, and that the darkness would descend.

You may defy this prediction, and if you do indeed defy it, you will work wonders for the health of Alexander, who is wasting away. Come home, Petyr!!!!

Surely you are aware, as a sensible man, that in the West Indies you need not meet with daimons or witches to endanger your life. Fever, pestilence, rebellious slaves, and the beasts of the jungle await you there, after all the perils of the sea voyage.

But let us leave the matter of common injunctions against such travel, and the matter of our private powers, and look at the documents which you have laid before us.

An interesting tale indeed. We have long known that “witchcraft” is a great concoction of judges, priests, philosophers, and so-called learned men. That by means of the printing press they have disseminated this fantasy throughout Europe, and into the Highlands of Scotland, and perhaps into the New World.

We have long known as well that the peasant populations of the rural districts now see their cunning women and midwives as witches, and the bits and pieces of custom and superstition once held in high regard by them have now been woven into fantasies of goat-footed devils, sacrilege, and preposterous Sabbats.

But where have we ever perceived a more exquisite example of how the fantasies of these men have created a witch than in the simpleton Suzanne Mayfair, who taking guidance directly from the demonologies has done what one in a million women could do—conjured up for herself a true spirit, and one of redoubtable power, a fiend which was passed on to her clever and embittered daughter, Deborah, who has gone further into the practice of Black Magic to perfect her hold over this being and now has passed him on, along with her superstitions no doubt, to her daughter in the New World.

Who among us does not wish that he or she had stood with you at Montcleve to see the great power of this spirit, and the
ruin of the lady’s enemies, and surely had there been one of us at your side, that one would have stayed your hand and let the good Father Louvier meet his fate without your help.

I should say further that no one among us fails to understand your desire to pursue this fiend and its witch to Saint-Domingue. What would I not give to speak to such a person as this Charlotte, and to ask what she has learnt from her mother, and what she means to do.

But Petyr, you yourself have described the power of this demon. You have related faithfully the strange statements made in regard to it by the late Comtesse Deborah Mayfair de Montcleve. You must know that this thing will seek to prevent your coming between it and Charlotte, and that it is capable of bringing you to a bad end as it did with the late Comte de Montcleve.