Three days had passed and Amelia stood at the threshold of her workshop, staring at the pile of ash in the field, still unable to process her feelings. She avoided looking at the mound of dirt that marked the spot where they’d buried Mother, which was fairly close to the ash.
“You okay?” Father asked.
He stood beside her, because neither one of them could bear the reminders of the woman they’d lost, which were everywhere in the little house.
Amelia turned to look at him and shook her head.
Her jaw quivered for a time as she tried to speak her mind, though she wasn’t able to get the words out, for fear of what Father might say. She was absolutely terrified what his reaction might be, because everyone in Daleshade knew how fiery his temper could be, especially without Mother around to temper it with a little wisdom. He’d never raised a hand to Amelia, but she worried he might, because…
He stepped over and wrapped Amelia in his great and muscular arms, saying, “I love you and I always will. I know you’ve got something on your mind, something that worries you, something you want to say to me, specifically. I promise, no matter what it is, I’ll still love you, because you’re my daughter.”
Amelia relaxed and started, “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!”
Father whispered, “You blame yourself for your mother’s death?”
Amelia was so terrified, all she could manage was a quiet nod of her head as she trembled. Father kissed Amelia’s forehead and the trembles ended.
“Not your fault. You were just being you and this was something your mother has been dodging for decades. She made one tiny mistake with her magic and there was one witness, who refused to ever let it go.” Father looked at the pile of ash as his tone filled with a fiery rage, “I know exactly who to blame,” his tone softened again, “and it definitely isn’t you.”
Amelia wrapped her arms around Father’s torso, though she wasn’t quite able to reach all the way, since she was so small and he so large.
Someone cleared their throat and the two of them let go of each other, startled by the intrusion.
Amelia looked on a boy she knew fairly well. Henry Hillwind was the village crier and messenger. He was thirteen years old, but he was a quick runner and could read well, though he wasn’t much of a thinker, a quality the mayor sought in all village employees. Both his hair and eyes were about the same shade of brown and his skin was a little darker than average.
Henry’s expression was one of fear as he unrolled a scroll and read, “By order of Mayor Godfrey Rumblecleaver, protector of the village of Daleshade, all property of the confessed witch, Erika Blackwell, shall be forfeit one week from her death, to be sold at auction to pay for the cost of the firewood. The auction takes place tomorrow, at dawn.” Seeing the thunderous expression of Father, the boy stammered, “I’m sorry! I’m just doing my job!”
Father was tense for a long, quiet moment, while Henry backed away, cautiously. After the moment was over, the tension left the woodcutter’s body and tears rolled down his cheeks.
When he finally spoke, his quiet tone was more terrifying to Amelia than anything she’d seen before, because grief poured from him in nearly-tangible waves, displaying a level of bewilderment and loss she’d never seen in him, “Hasn’t the mayor taken enough from this family? Must he also take everything we own?”
“I’m sorry!” Henry turned and ran away, rather than meeting Father’s gaze.
Amelia’s mind raced, pouring over the many laws she’d memorized. She had to conclude the mayor was following the law, but not everything on their land belonged to mother. In point of fact, Amelia’s workshop and the contents of it belonged to her, as well as the horseless carriage.
They would be required to forfeit the land, but Amelia saw a potential way to protect most of their property.
“Father, were the things Mother inherited from Grandmother specifically given to her or were they simply inherited the usual way?” She asked.
Father shrugged, “Her mother and grandmother both left written wills, just the same as your Mother has. I don’t know the actual wording, but I know she kept them.”
“Show me.”
Ten minutes later, after digging through an old chest that had always been off-limits to the Blackwell girls, Father produced an old pile of yellowing papers, which he handed over.
Amelia sat on the old bed her parents had shared and pored over the documents, each of which was a last will and testament of Blackwell women, going back centuries. Amelia read for close to an hour, starting with the oldest, a grim smile forming on her face as she worked, getting larger with each.
Along the way, Amelia learned something she’d never quite understood before, since she’d never asked: the Blackwell name had been passed from mother to daughter and men had been marrying into the family in a strangely matriarchal way for centuries, taking their wife’s surname for themselves. It wasn’t the usual custom, but the marriage forms the village used had lines to specify who’s name was changing as a result of the ceremony, which had puzzled Amelia when she saw an example of the form in the law book.
When she was halfway through, Father asked, “What have you learned?”
“If the pattern I’m seeing holds true, then the only thing Mother actually inherited were the house and land. The law requires such to be assigned to a specific individual, to minimize arguments about shared property. On the other hand, Blackwell women have been specifically leaving the rest of their property to all of their female descendants for the past fifteen generations, with every will using the same language. Based on the way it reads, I think it was originally written by a lawyer. It’s ironclad and the Mayor can’t take anything from us, other than the land and house, but that won’t happen for another four days. Until then, my sisters and I are free to do with it as we please.”
Father frowned, “The mayor has had his eye on your mother’s land for decades, so I’m certain he’ll be bidding on it at the auction and he’ll certainly be able to out-bid anyone else, since he’s the richest man around.”
“Find my sisters!” Amelia commanded, “We need to discuss strategy and decide on a course of action together, but in the mean time, I have a few more wills to read, to make absolutely certain.”
“Okay.” Father nodded and rushed out of the room, while Amelia got back to reading.
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Amelia had seen a few auctions over the years, but had never really taken an interest.
Ironically, the courthouse was a place Amelia was very familiar with, because it was also the local chapel, at least on Sundays, when a series of traveling priests and priestesses showed up to perform services and listen to people confessing their sins. The hard, uncomfortable benches were technically also pews and there were little trays built into the backs of them, which held hymnals. Currently, the little altar and podium used for Sunday worship were off to one side, while the judge’s bench was front and center.
The mayor normally served as auctioneer, but since he was planning to bid, a clear conflict of interest, the job had fallen on the shoulders of Deputy Nicklebender, who sat in the judge’s seat, holding the mayor’s gavel. He looked horribly nervous and performed his work awkwardly, but did his duty and brought the meeting to order, selling off a few items of property the village had seized as a result of crimes committed by villagers.
The room was fairly empty, because only a few villagers hoping to get some land had shown up, who’d quickly been out-bid by the mayor, but once that minor skirmish was over and the mayor thought he’d won with a bid of ten silver pieces, Amelia shouted, “Ten silver and one copper!”
“Eleven silver!” The mayor immediately countered, launching into another bidding war.
Amelia spoke with measured calm, “Eleven silver, one copper.”
Hours passed with Amelia intentionally driving the price up, always bidding one copper piece higher than the mayor, just to infuriate him. The price rose in small increments from silver and into gold, of which Amelia only had the equivalent of five, from a combination of steel sales and the contribution of all the money her family possessed, while she was certain the mayor had much more than that.
After the mayor’s most recent bid of four gold, Amelia countered, “Four gold, one copper!”
Finally, the mayor lost his temper and significantly raised his bid, “Twenty gold!”
With a feigned look of defeat, Amelia met the gaze of the Deputy and shrugged, “I can’t beat that.”
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“Going once…going twice…sold to Mayor Rumblecleaver for twenty gold!”
Amelia intentionally allowed the grief of losing her mother to surface, bringing tears to her eyes, that she might more fully portray the look of defeat she wanted the mayor to see on her face.
The mayor grinned evilly, “Better luck next time, witch!”
Amelia stepped outside, into the light of late morning. She’d delayed as long as she could to frustrate the mayor and was quite surprised she’d managed to drive the price so high, since the family farm was only worth ten gold. That gave her a particularly warm feeling on the inside, because she’d only intended to drive the price up, but hadn’t counted on the man’s pigheaded nature and desire to win at any cost.
She smiled through her tears, certain her mother would love her plan and that ironic twist.
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The day after the auction, the Blackwell sisters watched from the porch, sipping from ceramic cups as men from distant villages arrived with wagon loads of unusual supplies, while Father shouted instructions to the workmen that arrived with them.
The first was a wagon brimming with salt, which was liberally dumped all over the disused farm field in which their mother was buried, then evenly raked into the dirt and weeds.
The second bore large, ceramic jugs full of alchemic waste, which was sprinkled all over another field. Amelia was quite amused to watch as the weeds and flowers visibly smoked and wilted, because the stuff was so toxic. The men doing the dumping work were forced to wear masks soaked in some alchemic agent that kept them safe from the vapors, in addition to goggles protecting their eyes.
The third cart brought whole bags of lye, which were slit open and distributed over yet another field.
When night fell, the sisters held hands and chanted ancient words of power that summoned a rain storm, to soak the salt, waste and lye into the soil, making it impossible to remove.
The next day, the rest of the fields were contaminated in a similar fashion, followed by another magical storm.
The last day they were on the property, a wagon with two horses was delivered, which Father had purchased. It held some supplies for the road, including tents and rations. They spent the day loading everything they cared to take with them into it, which wasn’t very much. Amelia was very careful about how their books were packed, making sure they were stored in a pair of oilcloth sacks.
When evening came, they drove both the wagon and Amelia’s carriage about a hundred yards down the road and setup a tent, before returning to the house.
“Are you sure this is what you want?” Father asked as he looked at his daughters.
All three of them nodded and Amelia asked, “Would you rather Rumblecleaver got the house?”
Father shook his head and looked back at the family home with sadness, while Iris stepped past him, raising her hands as she mouthed the words of a spell. She cupped her hands, spoke the word ‘fire’ in the ancient witch’s tongue and blew into them, causing a flame to spring up from nothing more than burning air.
She blew on it as if it were an ember, until the flame was too big to hold, hurling it at the straw roof of the family home. There was a fiery explosion, which set the thatch ablaze! Not one of them could look away as their much-loved home burned until the thatch collapsed inward. That resulted in an explosion as Mother’s alchemical supplies ignited and the flames briefly turned blue, then pink and green!
After an hour, the blaze was done and Marta stepped up, because the stones of the structure were still intact. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she spoke ancient words of power for ‘earth’, ‘stone’ and ‘crumble’.
Mortar cracked and stones split, sending fragments of rock flying in all directions! The walls fell inward as the stone became as brittle as thin ice, crumbling to dust. When the magic was done, all that was left was a pile of dust and ash.
Amelia stepped over to her workshop with a small steam engine. She spent a little time wedging all of the pressure relief valves closed, then adjusted a little knob on the side to drop the steam generating plates into the water inside, cranking it all that way to maximum throttle. The shaft for the belt wheel on the side started spinning and she ran outside.
“Let’s go!” She shouted, running past the rest of her family.
It took about a minute for the little engine to build enough pressure to explode, but they were far away when that happened, though the sound echoed like thunder.
They climbed into their tent and tried to sleep, but not one of them could.
Eventually, Father got up, muttering, “There’s something I need to do, or I’ll never be able to move on.”
“You need a hand with anything?” Iris asked, “I can’t sleep, either.”
“No. It’s just something I let fall by the wayside, nothing too big.”
“Be careful out there in the dark.” Marta cautioned.
“I always am.” Father nodded.
“Make sure you’re back by dawn. We still have to hand over the deed for the land.” Amelia reminded him, “I’m sure the mayor will personally come for it and I’d rather you were with us.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll be back on time.”
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Rolf woke to a heavy pounding on the door of his house in the middle of the night. Fearing something awful had happened, he rushed to the door and opened it, transforming his fear into pants-wetting terror, because it was Tim Blackwell.
“I’m sorry! I had no choice! It’s the law!” Rolf stepped backwards, tripped and fell against a wall as Tim towered over him.
Tim’s voice was full of menace, “There’s always a choice, but that’s not why I’m here.”
“Then…then what is it?”
“Tonight, you’re going to do as I say, regardless of what I ask, both you and your son. It’s the least you owe me.” Tim’s eyes smoldered in the dim light and it became clear he was only barely controlling his temper.
Rolf gulped and asked, “Is this going to be legal?”
Tim put a fist through the lumber of the wall beside Rolf’s head and growled a curse word that referred to procreation, finishing with, “-legal, though it will be morally right and just.”
Rolf nodded and gulped, but agreed, “Okay! Whatever you say!”
After seeing the results of the law, Rolf was actually intrigued to see a little moral justice, because legal justice had been awful, though above all, he was more terrified of Tim than he’d ever been of any living thing.
After a moment’s silence, Tim asked, “Does the mayor have any enemies I’m not aware of?
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Godfrey lay in bed, unable to sleep, despite having gotten everything he wanted. He lay alone, because his wife had passed shortly after the death of their son and his mansion was quiet, because he was the only one living in it; the servants had an old, leaky little shack of their own, at the opposite corner of the property.
Erika was finally dead and her land would be his in the morning, a fact he was quite eager about. He’d paid most of his fortune into Daleshade’s coffers for it, but that hardly mattered, since the Blackwell farm had historically been extremely fertile. He was sure to make the money back in only a year or two and he already had plans for what he’d put into the village coffers, which would go toward renovations the courthouse and village offices badly needed.
He should have been feeling wonderful, but Erika’s parting words bothered him. He lay staring at the ceiling, unable to enjoy his success, wondering if her curse had been more than the mere words he’d shrugged off after a couple drinks. It didn’t help that he was feeling itchy, worried that was part of the curse.
He would have to consult the doctor, just to make sure-
His thoughts were interrupted by a heavy blanket being thrown over his head, while strong and rough hands wrapped him up in it! His feet and the blanket were carefully bound with what could only have been rope, despite his struggles!
He commanded, “I’m the mayor and I order you to release me!”
Several people laughed at the same time, while someone grabbed his foot! Godfrey’s head smacked on the stairs as they dragged him from the house! One little sliver of moonlight reached through a hole in the blanket, but he wasn’t able to twist his body to see out of it!
“What are you going to do to me?” He wailed as the terror of a potentially less than peaceful fate gripped him!
The answer was intentionally deep, to disguise the voice of the speaker as they answered, “Mayor Godfrey Rumblecleaver, you stand accused of violating the laws of the Gods, which are higher than the laws of Man. You’ve twisted the law until it no longer serves its purpose, leaving the people of Daleshade with no choice but to discard it, in favor of a more pure and true justice.
“Additionally, it’s a well-established fact you persecuted Erika Blackwell for an antiquated crime that no longer matters, despite her lifetime of service to this village. You also stand accused of three counts of murder, because while scheming to legally murder Mrs. Blackwell, you killed two young men, simply for loving her daughters, namely Conrad Rumblecleaver and Zayne Blackwell, who’s surname before marriage was Witfire.”
“You can’t prove any of that!” Godfrey shouted, though he trembled with fear.
His accusers laughed again and their speaker asked, “Proof? After the way you’ve treated others, accusation should be proof enough! You persecuted Mrs. Blackwell for more than twenty years, all because she cast a harmless spell, but you? You murdered your own son and the only son of the Witfires, even though you know for a fact that Mrs. Witfire can bear no more children!
“You took a child from those that had but one, all to satisfy your own selfish pride! For your crimes, you deserve death!”
“Please, don’t kill me!” Godfrey begged, “I’ll change my ways! I’ll do better!”
“Hark at the way the man begs and pleads, the coward! Were he a true man, he would stand and face us with his head held high!” Another voice cried out.
There was a murmur of agreement, not unlike the lynch mob Godfrey had whipped together, to see the witch burn.
Godfrey asked, “What are you going to do with me?”
The first voice answered, “Less than you deserve, but hopefully enough to see a measure of justice. This time, it will be a beating, but if you ever twist the law again, we won’t stop until we’ve avenged the fallen!”
With that, the mob was clearly done talking. One of them kicked him in the ribs of his right side, followed by a stomp to the gut! After that, something with the weight of a brick struck his other side, audibly cracking a rib! Godfrey howled, but the next kick knocked the wind out of him!
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“He’s actually late.” Amelia commented in the light of dawn.
Father shrugged, “Let’s give him another half hour. I gather the mayor had a busy night.”
“What did you do last night?” Marta gave Father a quizzical look.
Father feigned ignorance and laid a hand on his chest, saying, “Why would you think I’d done something? I just went for a walk to clear my head, that’s all.”
“Yes, but you were gone for hours and when you got back,” Iris narrowed her eyes, “you seemed almost cheerful.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“He’s still alive, right?” Amelia asked.
Father sighed and nodded, “I promise, though…he might wish he wasn’t.”
Amelia nodded, “Good.”
“I can live with that.” Iris grinned a little.
“On those cold, winter nights, I imagine his knee will really ache,” Father smiled and looked to the horizon, wistfully, “and I hope he’ll be reminded of all the bad things he’s done.”
Marta chuckled, “That makes me feel slightly better, actually.”
“Me, too.” Amelia agreed and they were silent for a time, before she asked, “Do we really need to stick around to hand over the deed?”
Father shrugged, “Probably not. Just put a heavy rock on it, near the house foundation. That should be enough.”
Amelia nodded and ran toward the remains of their house, carrying the yellowed piece of paper. When she returned, Marta was in the driver’s seat of the carriage, while Iris was in the back and their Father was at the reigns of the wagon’s horses. Amelia climbed into the carriage.
They had a long journey ahead of them, which all of them hoped would lead to a life without persecution and prejudice.