Trial by Water

    “Thomas Swain, thou stand accused of witchcraft. Mr. Laton, if thou wouldn’t mind.” Pastor John guestures widely for Mr. Laton and two of his daughters to come forward with a thickly clothed arm. The white robe is edged with gold and, since arriving at our small village, in mud. Mr. Laton is a heavy man who could easily swing the ax to chop off my head but his daughters are almost mirror copies of their mother, who stands silently to the side with the rest of their several children. The two of them step forward, one nervous and the other almost straightlaced. Both are younger then me by a winter or two. Everyone in the small parish grows quiet to hear their tale.

    “We were hunting for mushrooms ‘i the wood,” the straightlaced one announces. “That’s where we saw him. Thomas had lit a fire ‘i a stone circle. We were about to announce ourselves when he stuck his hand into the fire and… and lifted it up. He was bearing the fire and it didst not sear him!” A collective gasp runs through the village, whispers and murmurs ramptent with rumors darting between each person faster then a humming bird could hope to. I shift in the stocks, the rough edges of the wood pressing uncomfortably against my bare neck and wrists as almost-splinters poke at my skin. The stocks are driven permanently into the ground at about stomach height, forcing me to bend over at a very uncomfortably and embarrassing angle. The chill wind sweeps through and I shiver. I dread that I’ll be left here, in the mercy of late autumn, until whatever punishment they decide is taken out.

My eyes slide to my own family. Father shakes his head wearily, his hat clenched between his hands. Mother looks gastly white, clutching my youngest brother to her chest. The rest of my siblings must be off somewhere in the crowd but I don’t care to look for them because Emeline stand with them, tears shining in her blue eyes. She shakes her head slowly, almost begging me to stop this if I could. I slowly shake my head at her and she closes her eyes, turning back to Mother to cry into her skirts. I have to look away before my eyes tear up. I refuse to cry in front of them.

    “Thomas,” Pastor John says in that booming way of his that could hurt the ear if you stand to close. Unfortunately, the stocks kept me very close to him. “Doth thou forswear their claim.”

    “No.” Another gasp, this one ending with Mother nearly fainting into Father’s arms and him having to take the baby from her. “Yes, its true, I had been bearing fire when the two girls screamed and alerted me to their presence.” Murmurs and whispers evolve into yelling as the crowd divides themselves, half yelling for me to be burned at the stake as a witch, and the other half praying for God to forgive them of their sin of ever speaking to me and banish the blasfomer. Paster John quickly quiets them.

    “We will try him as a witch by drowning.” If it wasn’t for the stocks, I would have crumpled to my knees in terror. “Would he floats, he is a witch. Should he drown, he is human!” The crowd roared in agreement. I felt my very blood slow in my veins as a deep cold set into me, like I could already feel the water surrounding me. “He will be tried ‘i the morning.” The crowd roars their disapproval but Pastor John is firm, “He will be tried ‘i the morning.”

    The village soon calmed and started to filter out of the parish. Joseph Orlow and his son Tobias step up in front of me and I have to crain my neck to look up at them. I’ve never seen Tobias this angry before. “Thou lied to me,” he breathes, a white puff coming from his lips. “Thou were mine… mine friend. You told me that you were my friend.” I open my mouth speak, to try and explain that we are friends, but he spit in my face and I jerked back in surprise. “Don’t look upon us, welp. Thou lost that privilege when thou turned from God.” I hang my head until my chin rests squarely against teh rough wood, eyes squeezed shut as I listen to them walk away. I feel my eyes being to water and I squeeze them tighter, refusing to cry in front of my entire village. No… I guess its not my villege now.

    Something soft brushes my cheek and I open my eyes, lifting my head to stare straight into the eyes of Emeline as she wraps her small, red scarf around my neck. Dirty tear streaks track down her face in several paths.

    “Emeli—”

    “Emeline!” Father’s hand was suddenly around her arm, roughly jerking her away. “Forbear from it,” he snaps. He wrenches the scarf from my neck and throws it to the ground. “Great, now thou hast no scarf.” He pulls her away, leading her down the foot worn path to our house—their house. I suppose that I won’t ever be going back to it.

    I look down at the small red scarf laying on the ground, already dusty on the leafy ground. A drop of water splashed down onto one of the leaves. I close my eyes and finally let myself cry.

***

The river is calm here, almost still, but not clear. Its slightly muddy with long underwater plants obscuring its depths. I stare out at it from the cart they had set me in just minutes ago. I thought they would make me walk but someone yelled about my trying to escape to they tied my wrists and ankles and lifted me into this cart.

    Pastor John steps into my view and I turn to him. He and Mr. Orlow lift me out of the cart and make em stand on the rocky riverbed as they tie the weights to my bindings. They started with my feet, tying the one large, round ball of metal to each foot with ropes and double checking the knots. They rest the third on the back of the cart and position my bound arms over it so they can secure it to me. Then Mr. Orlow pushed the weight off the cart and the sudden weight dropped me to my knees in the rocks. I suck in a breath at the stinging pain it sent through me but I’m almost certain it didn’t draw blood.

    I kneel there at the end of the cart, breathing shallow and heart racing. This is it. They’re really going to drown me. I crain my head to look back at the crowd, searching the faces for Emeline’s blue eyes but they were nowhere to be seen. I’m not surprised, Father pry ordered her and my siblings home. But I am disappointed that neither Mother nor Father had come. None of my family is here, just a crowd of strangers who I had once known so dearly. I’ve never seen so much hate in my life.

    What would I do if this had been someone else? If it had been Tobias? Would I be standing there with them, hatred in my heart that burns through into my eyes? Would I be a monster, too? Emeline flashes through my thoughts. No. I shove the thought down. I would never put anyone through this. I will never let them do this to her. Just a little bit longer and then this will go away. It will just go away.

    “Where is the family?” I freeze at those words. A woman steps forward from the crowd: Mrs. Druscilla Calton. “Where is the family that raised the witch?” she yells to the crowd. “He’s only a child. He couldn’t hast learned of this on his own. Where are the parents?”

“No,” I breathe as the dread of the situation sets into my bones.

    “The Swain’s are good people. Its just one ill apple,” someone yells out.

    “There is ne’r ‘just one ill apple’,” Mrs. Calton hollars. “The roots are decaying. The branches are snapping. He is the oldest, how could his siblings not hast seen? How could they not hast participated? Thou know how they looked up to their oldest brother! They’re all witches!”

    “No!” I yell. The words rip from my throat, thrown out with as much venom as I can muster. “Thou churls! I practiced witchcraft because of all of thiu! Because of this forsaken place and all of the monsters that live within it! Thiu regard that I would let mine own siblings experience the mad hatred that drives people like thou! I am the oldest. I protect ‘em from thy villany!” My panting breath and the skittering of something small through leaves were the only sound for about three seconds.

    “Drown the witch!” The cry came from a single voice but soon evolved into a chant. They scream over Pastor John as he tried to speak. The crowd advance, several people grasping at my skin and clothing. I fought against their grappling hands as they lift me, haul me, drag me to the edge of the water. Men and women alike gave a great heave and then I was flying, hands leaving my body, wind pricking at my skin wherever it could reach.

    The frigid water shocked me to my core, freezing my body in place as ice stabs at my skin and water envelopes me. The weights swiftly drag me to the bottom, my back sinking into the soft riverbed, the weight bound to my arms crushing my chest and forcing out what little breath I had. I thrashed under the water, the weeds brushing against my skin. I force myself onto my stomach, the weight rolling off my chest and providing such a huge relief that I pause but it quickly returned when I was not able to expand my lungs. I squint through the murky water as pain begins stabbing at my abdomen, begging for air. Sunlight sparkles on the surface of the water so close to me that if I could just raise myself to my feet I would be able to breathe but the weight was dragging my arms further down as it sinks into the murky riverbed. I can feel the water bubbles created by my thrashing, mocking me with their air.

    Something wraps around me and I suddenly no longer able to thrash. I’m jerked back, my body suddenly thrust into motion as I’m pulleed down the river, water rushing around me as I’m forced upstream. I twist and thrash, begging for the force to drag me to the surface but they do no such thing. I finally can’t bare it any longer and open my mouth, letting the water flood my lungs.

    I was drowning. Then I was breathing.

    Gasping for air and throwing up water at the same time is not easy, it scratches my throat bare as my body convulses with pain. I feel poking grass and rough rocks against my skin as the plants slowly recede. Soft hands against my dripping skin and a voice yelling in water-logged ears. I squeeze my eyes shut, limp on the ground as air finally floods my lungs.

    “Thomas! Thomas!”

    “Emeline?” I murmur. I slowly open my eyes, looking up at her, kneeling beside me on the ground. “What…? How goes’t hither? Where is everyone?”

    “Its fine. I pulled thou out.”

    “Thou thou pulled me out? Of the river?” She nods. “The village, didst they see you? Why would they let thou” I trail off, my eyes sliding to the river weeds that are clithering on the gras like snakes. One of them nudges her hand and she pets it like it was actually alive. “Thou pulled me out.”

    “Yes. Please don’t be mad,” she says quickly. “I know that I shouldn’t use magic ‘i front of the others yet they were going to… dispatch thou and I couldn’t let ‘em doth that. Thy mine older brother, I need thou, Thomas.”

    “Eme, you’re the best,” I breathe. “Thy magic is getting so strong.”

    She brightens slightly. “Really?”

    “Aye, the first time thou show’d me, thou could barely lift a leaf.” I try to reach out and touch the closest weed-snake but the weight stopped me. Eme immediately sent her pets to untie the knots. “Thank you, Eme. Thank you.”

    “You’re welcome.” She grins.

    I glance around at the small bit of river bank, surrounded by trees. I shiver. It was already cold but now my wet clothes cling to my skin and give me no protection. “Where are we?”

    “Hold, but for a bit up stream. I was afeared of going to far and not being able to reach thou.”

    “We hast to get going. I can’t go back home yet you still can.” She lowers her head. “Eme? What’s wrong?”

    “I… Ede wouldn’t let me leave so I asked one of the trees to forbear her…” she trails off, hands bunched up in her dress.

    “Then we’ll go somewhere else.” The weed-snakes had finally finished untying me so I can sit up. “There are other villages where we can live or we can live on our own. Aye, we can live on our own.” I gesture to the weed-plant that she’s petting. “Thy obviously good with plants, doth thou think thou could grow food grow?”

    “I can try.”

    “Then I can try to build us a house. We won’t want anyone else, just the two of us. And thou doth magic whenever thou desire.”

    “Promise?” she asks.

    “I promise. We just need to get away from here. Far, far away.” She suddenly hugs me, squeezing tight against me.

    “Hey, thy will get wet,” I say. “We can’t both catch a cold.”

    “I’m sorry,” she says quietly, squeezing tighter. “This is all mine fault.”

    I sigh. “Nay, nay its not. Its their fault. They don’t understand thou and sometimes, when people don’t understand things, they’re afeared of it. They are so stupid to be afeared of thou.”