CHAPTER 3

The magistrate's command sent shivers down Adira's spine. He stepped forward, glancing down at the woven sack her mother still clutched in her hands. "What have you there in your sack, woman?" he asked.

"It is only some herbs," Beth said softly, "brewed in a tea."

"She lies," the man said. "Maria DaCosta said this woman was bringing a potion to cure her young son. But she feared the witch would deliberately wait until it was too late to help the lad, and her fear proved true. A witch's brew lies in that sack, Your Honor. Nothing less, I vow."

"It is no potion nor brew," Adira's mother told him. "It is simply some medicinal tea, I tell you."

"Are you a physician, bitch?" the magistrate demanded.

"You know that I am not," Beth replied.

"Give me the sack," he demanded.

The hands holding Beth's arms eased their grip, and she gave her sack over. The magistrate opened it, pawing its contents, and Adira shuddered while recalling the stones they had put inside. Glittering amethyst, and deep blue lapis lazuli, for healing. And the candles, that were hand-made by Adira and her mother and were carved with magical symbols to aid in John's recovery. They would have set them around his bed, where they would have burned all night to protect him from the ravages of the plague.

The magistrate saw all of this, and when he looked up again, his eyes had gone cold. So cold that Adira felt even more chilled despite the warmth from the fire at his back. "Put them in the stocks (an instrument of punishment consisting of a heavy wooden frame with holes in which the feet, hands, or head of an offender were locked.) We try them in the morning. Perhaps a night in the square will convince them to confess and save us the time." The magistrate withdrew, leaving the door wide, and reappeared a moment later with a large key, which he handed over to one of the men. "See to it."

"No!" Adira cried. "You must not do this! We have done nothing wrong. Please, Magistrate. I beg of you..."

His door closed on Adira's pleas, and again she was pulled and dragged as she fought the captors. But her struggles were to no avail. And soon she found herself being forced to bend forward, her wrists and her neck pressed awkwardly into the stock's evil embrace. The heavy wooden top piece was lowered as her own neighbors held her fast, and she heard the chain and the lock snapping tight.

Adira could not move, nor she could see her mother, but she knew that her mother was nearby, for she heard her mother's voice, strained now, but steady. "Tell the magistrate he shall have my confession," Adira's mother, Beth said. "But only if he will let my daughter go free. She knows nothing of this matter. Nothing at all. You must tell him."

The man to whom Beth spoke only grunted in reply. And then the villagers left them. In the town square, bent and held fast, they waited in silence for the dawn. The freezing wind cut like a razor, and the wet snow continued to slash at them. Adira shivered and began to cry, her face stinging with cold, her hands numb with it, her feet throbbing and swelling.

And then she heard her mother's gentle voice, chanting softly, "Sacred Northern wind, kindly do us no harm. Ancient Southern wind, keep us warm." Over and over she repeated the words, and Adira forced her teeth to stop chattering and joined with her, closing her eyes and calling to the winds for aid. Her mother's folk magic could not make iron chains melt away. But she could invoke the elements to do their bidding.

Within minutes the harsh wind gentled, and the snow stopped falling. A warmer breeze came to replace the bitter cold, and her shivering eased. But Adira was still far from comfortable, bent this way, unable to relieve the ache in her back. But she knew that her mother must be suffering far more than her, for her mother's body was older than her's. Yet her mother did not complain. Adira took strength from that and vowed to keep her discomfort to herself.

"Hard times await us, my daughter," she told Adira. "But whatever happens tomorrow, Adira, you must remember what I will tell you now. Promise me you will."

"I promise," Adira whispered. "But, Mother, you must not confess anything to them. Not even to save me. I could never live if you were to die." The thought terrified her, and she pulled her hands against the rough wood that held them, prisoner, though she could not hope to work them free. Her mother was all that Adira had in this world. All she had.

"Perhaps this is my destiny," her mother said softly. "But it is not yours."

"How can you know that?" Adira asked her.

"I know," she whispered. "I have known from the day you were born, child. By the birthmark, you bear upon your right hip. The crescent." Tears burned Adira's eyes. But her mother went on. "You are a far more powerful witch than I have ever been, Adira."

"No. It is not true. I can barely cast a decent circle," Adira replied.

Her mother laughed then, softly, and the sound of it touched Adira's heart. That she could laugh at a time like this only made Adira love and respect her mother more than she already did, though she would never have thought it possible.

"I speak not of the form of ritual, but the force, Adira. The power is strong in you. And you will need that strength. When this is over, my child, you must leave here. Go to the New World. My sister Helen James, stays in a township called Thunder Bay Sanctuary, in the colony of Michigan. She is not a witch and knows nothing of our ways. She was born out of my father's faithlessness and raised by her own mother and not in our household. But she is kind. She will not turn you away."

"Perhaps not," Adira said. "But I will not leave you behind."

"I fear, it is me who is going to leave you behind, my darling. It is the night of the dark moon when our powers ebb low. But even were our lady of the moon shining her full light down upon us, I doubt I could be able to save myself. Do not cry for me, Adira. Dying is a part of living, a birth into a new life. You know this," Adira's mother said to her.

"Oh, mother, stop saying such things!" Adira cried loudly, sobbing, and choking on her tears.