Covenant of the Cauldron

By Ruty Aisling

The year is 1692 and Salem Village is in turmoil as allegations of witchcraft rage through the community. War with the French and Indians is encroaching. Several have already been accused of witchcraft and the lives of everyone will be changed forever.

For one small group of settlers these allegations are particularly dangerous, because they carry with them an ancient secret that, if discovered, would mean their death. For the Danann's practice Ancient Arts that few understand. In this strange new land they hope to carry these forward.

Only news from the Royal Court can provide the means for their escape; but what they do not know is that a notorious Witchfinder bent on destruction and driven by greed knows their plans.

In a tale of intrigue, mystery and magic based on historical facts and real events this novel weaves a spell that casts a shadow on generations to come. One woman stands as Banriona, Queen of the Witches, and sacrifices all!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kephra Publications
• Release date: Nov 14, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301299539

Ruty Aisling

The Aislings live deep in the mountains of New Hampshire and have had a lifelong interest and involvement in the magical Arts. They enjoy writing both non-fiction and fiction. Their non-fiction is carefully researched and draws from their lifetime of diverse experience. Their fiction is based on actual myths, legends and magical practices with just a touch of high fantasy and romance.

Book preview

Chapter One - The British Isles, 1684

It was a cool summer night as Sarah made her way across the moonlit meadow and into the woods at the edge of the old Hastings farm. She was late. She knew it. Sarah had lingered too long with young Master Hastings, the son of a prominent land owner and devout church elder in this ancient English village. She quickened her pace as she made her way along the secret path that led deep into the forest.

Sarah received the coin today, a bronze medallion with simple symbols cast on either side. For all intents this gave the appearance of being similar to other currency used in the community to purchase goods. The coin she received was special, handed to her as change when purchasing baked goods that morning. It had become a regular custom to pass special coins between merchants and customers then back again to bring good luck. Sarah made a point of stopping at the baker's every day. This was her place of contact, the one spot in the village where she had to go in order to keep in communication with the others. For the deeper hidden meaning of the simple custom of passing the coin, beyond that of bringing luck, was only known to a handful of people in the community.

This coin held a symbol which had been long recognized among the others as representing the fact that a meeting was taking place that night. A rough symbol of a tree stamped on the back of the coin told her the location, the ancient grove which local legend had held as being haunted by demons and spirits from ages long before.

Sarah came from an old family whose roots reached back to the tribal clans of the Celts. Druidic lore and murky myths long surrounded the family. But all of this was hidden now, suppressed by the new religion that had crept into the Isles. For centuries the Old Ways and the new coexisted in relative harmony with each drawing strength from the other.

Kings would swear allegiance on two altars, first in the stone circles of the Old Ones and then in the churches of the new. But slowly the invading religion spread, its adherents seeking domination. As the centuries passed the new religion began to brand those who still practiced the Old Ways as evil servants of the dark one - Witches. Soon fear gripped every village and hamlet - for the new religion feared the power of demons, devils and the humans whom they believed consorted with them.

The devil dwelt in every corner and shadow. Illness was a direct cause of wickedness or evil works and therefore not natural. Misfortune was dealt by some dark hand and never the result of incompetence of those it befell. To those who believed in the new religion there were only two things that shaped this world - God and the Devil - with nothing between and they were sworn to give no quarter to the dark ones.

For the families that still worshipped the in the Old Ways, it was a fear of being hunted down and slaughtered. Numerous communities had seen many old farms taken over by the church and local townships after entire clans had been executed for practicing Witchcraft. This became an easy way to fill the coffers of the now established authorities.

To avoid persecution the old families began to hide their traditions, practicing only under the cover of night. The coin was passed today. Sarah knew that she was the last in the line of people in the village to get the coin and her job was to return this to the Mistress of the Clan tonight when she attended the meeting.

Sarah was a young woman with long red hair, deep green eyes and a slender form. Young men of the village vied for her attentions. She took advantage of her natural charm, having several lovers at different times in her young life. While she would tell herself and the others in the Clan that she was discreet, there were very few in the village who didn't know that Sarah could be quite amorous, to a fault. This, of course, didn't sit well with the church elders.

Tonight, before the meeting, she had a deep desire to share her affection with young Tom Hastings. She had long admired his strong form as he worked the land of his Father's farm. Several times she had stopped by to bring him water or bread on the long, hot days, if only to watch his lean body sweating in the noon day sun. But it wasn't until this past month that she had managed to bed Tom in the field, far from prying eyes. Both knew that his Father would be furious over the affair, so they met in secret.

As the sun set and Sarah prepared to head to the meeting of the Old Ones she had to stop and see Tom. The full moon was slowly creeping up over the eastern horizon as she quietly stole her way to the old barn on the Hastings farm and gave the short bird call that had become their secret invitation announcing her desire.

Within minutes Tom slipped out of the house and ran to her. Together they lay in the hay, just inside the barn. Their bodies entangled in passion and lust. The rush of desire flooded through them in an exhaustive climax. Although it seemed to be only moments, more than an hour had gone by. Sarah jumped to her feet, slipped into her petticoat and threw her black wool cloak on. She leaned forward kissing Tom passionately and then ran off into the night.

All of these thoughts filled her mind as she went deeper into the old oak grove. There was a stillness in the air as she followed the narrow deer path known only to those within the Clan. No matter how many times she walked this course the grove always seemed eerie, with a sense of otherworldly presence.

Long gone were the days when the Druids maintained these sacred woods. Now they were overgrown with gnarled wood and thick brush. The full moon's light cast deep, long shadows across the path. More than once she thought she heard something . . . a crack or snap not far behind her. But turning to look only found her confronted with the dark shadows of the oak grove.

She quickened her step. The meeting would begin soon. She had to be there. She was the Circle's Maiden, second in line to the Mistress, servant to the Master and a representative of the young Goddess in the ceremony. What had she been thinking running off to Tom before the ritual? She really didn't care for Tom. Sure he was handsome and not bad as a lover. But she had no interest in him other than as a sexual diversion. She had always been like that. The Mistress of the Clan told her it would be her undoing and that she had to be discreet. Too much was at stake. Too many lives hung in the balance. And the ancient traditions with the knowledge from countless ages had to be persevered. With the new religion becoming so predatory, so resolute in its destruction of all that was in the past, secrecy had to be maintained no matter the price.

Snap!

There it was again.

Sarah turned around quickly, looking behind her at the trail she had just followed. There was nothing. No sign of anyone or anything. The night was completely still. She turned back now and continued on to the meeting. Minutes passed as she made her way through the woods until she could see the faint glow of a small fire just up ahead. With it there was the low murmur of voices in a unified chant. The ritual had already begun. Twelve cloaked figures stood in a circle around the fire as the incantation slipped from their lips in the old tongue. Everyone stopped as Sarah entered the clearing. They had barely begun the age old rite.

Where have you been? a woman's voice questioned.

Sarah stammered for a moment. I . . . I am sorry. I had to stop somewhere on the way, she managed to say.

The Mistress walked over and passed a staff with two prongs on the top in front of Sarah. There was a rush of power as a silver mist brightened before her. Sarah stepped into the circle and assumed her place next to the hooded figure at the center near the fire. She could feel the Master's gaze on her as he said, Your indiscretions are very dangerous. Were you followed tonight?

No, she replied. I don't think so . . . Sarah's voice trailed off.

There was a long pause. The Master gave a nod and the Clan once again began the ancient incantation in a low unified voice that slowly rose in beauty, power and form.

Several minutes later shouts were heard from the edge of the circle. Torches began to flare up one by one as dozens of men ran into the clearing. Panic over took the Clan as they broke the circle and tried to flee. But it was too late. They were out numbered. Quickly all thirteen members of the group were held in place.

A tall figure strode forward from the crowd. He reached for the hood of the central figure, pulling this back to reveal the identity of the Master. Others in the mob did the same with the rest of the members of the circle.

Tom Hastings stepped out from the crowd with his Father.

Sarah broke into tears. Tom, she cried.

Witch! Tom yelled. You bewitched me with your charms and spells. You succubus!! You seduced me! My Father planned this. He knew you would come for me she-devil. He and the others followed you here. The Witchfinder knew you would lead us to the rest of coven!

The Witchfinder stepped forward and spat at the leader of the Witch clan. I am Reverend Wilton, Witchfinder General. No one escapes the Lord's justice, he said. "Hang them from their sacred grove of trees! Let us see if their Old Ones save them now!"

Screams and cries came from some of the Clan. One young girl no more than fourteen years old began crying hysterically as others tried to console her.

Hang them all! Wilton said again. Send them back to hell where they came from!

Then a voice at once both strong and feminine rang out from the circle.

A curse I lay on your head, Wilton, Witchfinder! the Mistress chanted, A death more painful, a disgrace so profound, your body will rot and your mind will sour. The Ancient One's vengeance will fall on you now, delivered by a woman of great power!

String them up! Wilton yelled.

Chapter Two - Salem Village, Spring 1692

In the great room of the small colonial home the women had gathered. Being as large as the house, the room was typical of those found in other homes of that period. Filling one wall was a massive fireplace sporting a gallows-crook from which hung various trammels and pot-claws for the many kettles, lids and tools that were needed for cooking, cleaning and other necessary chores to run a home. Opposite the great hearth was an almost equally massive dresser displaying highly polished pewterware dishes and other kitchenware positioned to reflect any lamp or firelight in the room. Between the two was the table-board. Seated on the two forms, the backless benches that were placed on either side of the table-board, sat these goodwomen busily chattering about their work, designs and the upcoming warm weather.

A spinning wheel that once belonged to the house-mistress' mother stood motionless against the wall. To one side of the wheel sat a woman in a rocker breast-feeding her newborn babe. On the other side sat a red haired woman wearing a scarlet petticoat and matching bodice, the latter sporting borders and loops of multicolored ribbons and edged with thread lace. She sat quietly as the other women chatted, steadily spinning thread from the wool gathered at the end of a distaff.

All the women wore homespun decorated with lace, tapes and ribbons that were also handmade. The servant girl in her bright blue cap with a matching broadcloth bodice and petticoat poured cider into two communal flip glasses and placed them at opposite ends of the table.

The mistress of this home wore green silk, the bodice embellished with gold thread. They wore all wore a range of diverse colors from dark blues to Freya's bold red except for Goodwoman Ducane. Hester seemed to be most comfortable in her S - the black bodice and petticoat covered by a crisp white apron. She also sported a black cap and black hat; the latter greatly frowned upon as much as the showiness of the other women's styles.

Softly the sanded floors crunched under the housemaid's shoes disturbing the carefully swept design while she moved about the room assisting her mistress' guests. As normal and relaxed as the group appeared on the surface, there was tension in the air.

The kettle that was