The Demon of the Deep

By Kim Gauge

Drawn together on the high seas, by an unseen hand, two groups of fighting men will be embroiled in a contest of wits, a reckoning of virtue, and ultimately, the fight of their lives. Some will find redemption, many will not. But all will die gruesome deaths before the day is out.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kim Gauge
• Release date: Aug 30, 2021
• ISBN: 9780648814801

Kim Gauge

Busy observing the real and the imagined.

Book preview

The Demon

of

the Deep

by

KIM GAUGE

***

Edited by

CATE RYAN

from

CateEdits

Copyright © 2020 Kim Gauge.

All rights reserved.

ISBN: 9780648814801

Cover Art by Kim Gauge.

Published by Kim Gauge.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, copied, displayed, modified, stored in any form of retrieval system, or distributed by any other means without the prior consent of the author.

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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Dedication

To my mother—you are beauty and grace personified.

Acknowledgments

I would like to thank Jean Levasseur, Samantha Adair and Alexa Booth-da Silveira for taking time out of their busy schedules to read my dinky little story. Each, in their own way, lent their valuable insights and words of encouragement that helped me find the path out of the fog and into the light. Thank you all, for your generosity of spirit!

The Burning of a Witch

We forget that some things should never be forgotten.

In the small coastal town of Salem, Massachusetts, the townsfolk have gathered in the town square for the execution of a young woman accused of the crimes of witchcraft and heresy. The woman has dominant red hair and porcelain white skin. Her lips are blood red, and she has beautiful green eyes. Her name is Isabel Sage—so it’s said. Her exact identity is a mystery because she’s not of the village, and none can say, with certitude, where she comes from. Some say she’s a foreigner. That she’s not of these parts, that she can speak many languages, and that she speaks of strange things. And there are rumors of her activities at night. Rumors of her coming and going to and from the moors, and the dark woods, in the dead of night, when not a soul stirs. Some say she looks for babies to sacrifice, though none can point to a single child that has ever gone missing. But some of the townsfolk say that she is a kind woman who has helped them with her healing powers and her knowledge of the ancient ways—that she is an educated woman. What the truth is none can say for sure. But all the rumors pass into irrelevance now for Isabel now finds herself tethered to a large stake in the ground by her neck, with her hands bound behind her back. Beneath her feet, wood has been piled two feet high and has been doused with black tar and lamp oil.

In attendance for her execution is the local parish priest, Father Jacob, and his Excellency, Bishop Francis, who sits on a gilded chair on a raised platform in front of the church steps. Three men wearing black hoods stand nearby with torches. From under her curly hair, Isabel’s green eyes warily scan the townsfolk, but she eyes the parish priest and the bishop with particular fear. Father Jacob circles Isabel as he shouts his accusations at her in front of the large gathering. Among them is her chief accuser, a large woman called Mrs. Ashcroft, who, together with her husband, owns the largest acreage in Salem. Ashcroft has secret plans to claim large tracts of the forest for herself, but there is a problem: the area is frequented by Isabel.

Isabel Sage, ye have been condemned to death by a jury of your peers by burning at the stake for the high crimes of heresy against the church, the giving of advice contrary to established church doctrine, the practice of witchcraft, the making of potions for ailments, and the practice of forbidden pagan rituals. Do ye now confess to these heinous crimes? shouts Father Jacob.

I do not. I am falsely accused by those whose interests it serves to accuse me of such things. I’m not a witch, nor have I ever said anything disparaging against your church. I am a wise woman, and a healer, that is all. I have nothing to confess, replies Isabel.

Lies! More lies! My dear child, there is no need for any of this. Though ye crimes be heinous as they are, the kind and patient bishop is prepared to absolve ye of your sins, if ye only confess. Don’t make this harder on ye self than it otherwise would be. Confess ye sins now, and absolution will be yours. It is a simple thing my dear, and will show your contrition before his Excellency. The bishop is a kind man and wants to extend his hand in mercy, but ye must confess to your crimes. Are ye guilty of these things or not? asks Father Jacob, as Bishop Francis looks on with an air of pious conceit, from his elevated position.

Ye speak of mercy, but extend it by force of arms, and on pain of death. Is this the forgiveness your savior spoke of? For if it is, it is of no value to me, nor is it true, she retorts.

Heresy! She speaks heresy! How dare ye question the Lord thy God, in the presence of his Excellency? shouts Father Jacob, as he circles her once again, more agitated than before.

Ye accuse me of heresy, yet ye have made a business of selling false salvation for the cost of an indulgence. Ye care more about wearing fine robes in public, and the building of grand churches than ye do about the poor folk ye claim to serve. The act of heresy is yours, priest. For ye seek to make yourselves out to be gods among men, and in so doing, ye lead the innocent astray. Ye are nothing but charlatans, and haughty ones at that, says Isabel, in defiance.

Sinner! Your lying tongue spits heresy upon heresy! yells Father Jacob, who now turns to Bishop Francis to plead his case directly to him. "Your Excellency, the case is lost.