The Immortals: The Witches Immortal

The Immortals Series--
Book One: The Witches' Immortal
By chaos_reaper

HERE'S MY DESCRIPTION, AND DEFENSE: First, I'd like to say, welcome and thanks for reading, but I must warn you. This story isn't for people who easily get offended. My job is to not care what YOU think, just get read and rant an rave to your friends because I decided to tell the truth, in both racial and religious aspects. And hell, you can get even more pissed because I put two people in history together because I wanted some romanctic tension. But since you've gotten this far, I guess you're going to read.

Prologue--

"There's going to be a storm today," came Tituba Indian's voice from the darkness. A cock crowed from somewhere outside of her cell, and the first rosy fingers of dawn crept over the horizon, playing peek-a-boo with the clouds. She looked up and out of her cell window, taking hold of the bars in calloused hands. The first activities of life began to spread over Salem Village as men stumbled, drunk, old fools, out of the inn and onward home.

Though they were filled with a drunken stupor, even the most intoxicated of men knew not to be around when the Inquisition arrived at that the jailhouse. Tituba looked down at the dark, damp earth, wet with the early morning's dew. She sighed and sank to the cell floor. Across from her, in the opposite cell, was Sarah Goddy and Sarah Osbourne, and in other cells throughout the jail, other victims of such a mad age sat.

The two women, though, looked worn and shabby, as if the weight of the world rested heavily upon their shoulders. The Caribbean woman felt pity for them. They shouldn't have been there, in this predicament. It was her fault that they were suffering. Sh eshould not have told the Inquisition, no matter how much they would've tortured her.

Magick, as it stood, was a secret power, a thing that should not have been shown to mere mortals. Those hateful little girls knew less about their spectral evidence or the future or the earth than they did about their own feminine mysteries. Tituba regretted having ever shown them anything of her people's legacy. She should've known that the white man could never understand the power of the Carribean healer or the Haitian seer. It was just like them to believe that her people's beliefs were heathenistic.

"And we called upon the names of our God: Nyame, Nzambi, Dzemawon,and Murungu. But He did not hear ," she remembered her father saying. A powerfully built man, who spoke as if he were older than the stars themselves. "The white man has wiped our people's mind clean and made us forget our God, but, my little Tituba, you shall remember all things that have been said and done."

And remember she did. She remembered lifetimes of knowledge, all stored a way in her mortal body and soul. But soon, maybe even in the next few hours, she would die. Or maybe she would live, who knew? She knew of a hundred-thousand practices, of thousands of rituals and of the Powers. And forever she would know these, until eternity itself ended.

Tituba heard the ditant creaking of a cell door and the heavy shuffle of soldiers' boots. She rose quickly to her feet as four burly guards and another man stepped into her line of view. Osbourne and Good didn't stand, they just looked up, tired and worn. One of the guards, a heavy set man with a bloody-red colored beard and sharp beady eyes, hit the cells bars roughly with his bludgeon.

"Get up!" he cried angrily in his thick English accent. "Get up, ye witch bitches!"

Tituba went quickly and quietly to the bars, watching as Goody Osbourne tried to stand. Her old bones creaked as she stretched them and her back hunched over as she tried to stand upright. Goody Good stood up quicker, her being much younger that the elder Sarah.The guard turned and fixed his sharp eyes on Tituba.

His bludgeon rose and struck her fingers where they rested on the cell bars. She gave a cry of pain, instinctively bringing them to her mouth.

"And yeh, yeh black bitch," he said through gritted teeth," y'mind yer place while Reverend Mather's aroun'"

Tituba stepped back and looked down. Then risked a glance back up. She met the hard, cobalt eyes of Cotton Mather as he glared at her coldly. He turned away from her gaze as she lowered it to the floor.

They had no use for her today. She had made her confession, admitting to the proposterous accusations of those hateful girls and had brought down the wrath of Salem upon Sarah Osbourne and Good. Stupidly, she gave herself and the other two women away thinking that only they would suffer and die, and this whole mess would be over with. But she was wrong, so sorrowfully and hatefully wrong. The girls drunk off their power and giddy with their fame, named off more names. Innocence, left and right, were being tried unfairly, and people like Cotton Mather were abroad.

She looked up again, and glared daggers at the back of his head. 'What right did he have,' the thought suddenly occuring to her, anger boiling like lava in her stomach, 'to kill innocent people?' And merely on spectral evidence?What divine power gave him the right to self-proclaim an act of murder righteous?!

He was a hyprocrit.A dirty hyprocrit: he could no more prove that any person on trial were witches than he could prove thathe was a sinless man, utterly righteous in God's eyes.

He turned and met her eyes again. And, suddenly, the anger she felt dissipated as if it had never been. Tituba was taken back. Who was this man that he could wordlessly calm the fury of a woman of her power? He had no idea what she was capable of. And...yet...
He did.

He met her glare for glare and she said in her mind, almost as if speaking spirit to kindred spirit," Why do you harm us so? Why do you punish us for power you do not yet understand?"

He took an involuntary step back, and Tituba's hopes soared! Her magick had not abandoned her! His cold glare relaxed to that of puzzlement and he looked away from a moment, not sure, uncertain.

The seconds ticked a way into minutes passing a way into eternity. His eyes met her's agin...and the coldness returned in full force.

"They will be questioned, he informed the guards dispassionately. Tituba's hopes shattered.

"Aye, Guv'nor!" The red bearded guard said in malicious glee.

"Forgive me, Sakto, Na'ida," Tituba whispered as the guards and the two women walked down the jail hall. Cotton Mather lingered a little, as a gentle wind swept in from Tituba's window. He looked back.........