I
Salem, Massachusetts - 1692
Gillette could feel the sting of the brisk autumn wind cut across her face as she rushes through the dense forest just outside of Salem. Her path, barely visible in the moonlight, seems to stretch onward for an eternity. All that matters is that the city is behind her
She pulls her emerald hood closer around her face concealing her pale complexion that almost seems to glisten in between the shadows of the branches surrounding her. Her grip tightens around her cargo. She can feel the cold hard edges of the small box tucked under her cloak. She knows not what was inside, but was tasked with a single mission. Protect the box.
A peculiar object made of solid gold. On each side is etched a pentagram detailed and ornate in almost ritualistic fashion. On the top of the box in the center of one of these etchings sat a small green jewel. She muses at what mystery the box contained, but there is no time to satiate her curiosity. Not in light of recent events.
The town had been in a state of hysteria, killing many of their own in what would later be known to history as the Salem Witch Trials. What the history books would not remember however, is that there were actually witches in Salem. Not the devil worshipping tricksters that the puritans were looking for, but witches nonetheless.
Most of the townsfolk in Salem believed that the young women were afflicted by a curse, much of which was spurred on by the reverend Cotton Mather, but she knew the real cause. Gillette knew all too well who started this witch hunt. It was all the work of the man who was on her trail at this very moment. She had to keep moving forward.
She reaches her destination. A small circular clearing at the edge of the forest. Some of her sisters have already started the ritual. Good. They wear cloaks in the same style as Gillette, but in various colours. Some are oak brown, some the same green she is wearing, others black, and one a deep crimson. This is their leader, Lanora.
Lanora is the youngest witch to lead her own coven at the age of twenty eight, a feat none of them could even dream of accomplishing, but she commands with the wisdom of those twice her age. Her wisdom is only matched by her fierce nature and fighting spirit as fiery as her auburn hair.
Gillette moves toward her and hands her the box. "Lady Lanora, We have been found."
Lanora looks at her sister unflinching. Her bright blue eyes shown in the night cutting through Gillette's fear with a strong comforting presence.
She turns to the rest of their sisters and simply utters "Run."
Their sisters begin to vanish in the trees, but Gillette stays. "My lady, they will kill you," she pleads.
Lanora's face softens at her concern. She glances down at the box and rests one of her hands on Gillette's shoulder.
"Do not fear for me. Take the box."
Gillette holds out her trembling hands. "My lady."
Lanora interrupts her. "Take the box! Its fate is more important than our lives."
Gillette begins to slowly back away box in hand.
"Hurry," Lanora urges.
The woods around them begin to rustle as Gillette hesitates.
"Run!"
Gillette disappears into the woods.
Her mind races as the trees flash around her. She spots a large tree in the distance. I need a proper vantage point. If she can help her mistress in any way she has to at least try.
Gillette has known Lanora since they were both children. She grew up as her ward, but Lanora always treated her as something more. She could remember many autumn nights that they spent out under the stars exploring nature and trying to find every constellation. Her favourite was Virgo.
Lanora was the first to teach her about magick and the only one to recognize her abilities. As a ward Gillette was always discouraged from practicing her craft. She and Lanora would sneak off at night and dance naked in the moonlight practicing spells and carving runes.
As they grew older and more curious they even shared each other's first kiss. She longed to travel back to that time when everything was simpler. But now her friend was facing her possible death.
Crouched behind the tree she watches. Lanora is pushed along by a large brackish man dressed enveloped by a heavy black coat. He shoves her knees to the ground with a thick, black, wooden cane. Gillette tightens her grip on a thick branch.
The forest begins to rustle as more men appear around them. Gillette can make out their clerical attire hidden underneath the trench. "Shit."
A figure steps out from them and pauses in front of Lanora. He is wearing similar garb with a large brimmed hat hiding his short cropped grey hair. The moonlight seems to exaggerate his wrinkled skin making him look decades older. His hands are covered with thick black leather gloves that squeak as he adjusts them. His gaze shifts down at her.
"Lady Lanora Ainley, I cannot say I am surprised."
She looks up, her gaze meeting his unaffected by his presence. "Hello, Ezekiel."
He smiles at her to hide his annoyance.
"Father Ezekiel. Not that it makes a difference," he corrects as he begins to circle around her like a snake stalking prey.
Lanora does not utter a word.
"Where is the box?" he hisses.
Their eyes remain locked. Silence.
He pulls off one of his gloves and slaps her across the face with his bare hand. "I will kill you." He pauses for a second as if to contemplate then continues. "In fact God requires it."
Ezekiel crouches down to meet her at eye level. "I am offering you a chance at repentance before you face judgement."
Lanora returns Ezekiel's stare without breaking. "Fuck your lord."
Ezekiel stands up, slips on his glove, then steps back with a disappointed sigh. "Well, that is unfortunate." He looks down at his hands, then at Lanora.
"Abraham," he utters as if giving a command.
With that, the man standing behind Lanora lifts up his cane and swings it toward her head with a large crack. Everything goes dark.
