“I have,” I tell her, “but I am sure no such tunnels were built here. I would have heard. Besides, these look older.”

  “Freed slaves are not the only ones who have needed to move in secret,” she replies cautiously. “Hundreds of years ago, when witches were first being hunted here in America, similar arrangements were made for their movement. The witches had some small advantages when it came to building such tunnels. I'd heard rumors that there was a network somewhere around here, even that there were entrance and exit chimneys hidden in the forest, but I never truly believed those rumors were true. Now, though...”

  She turns and looks back the other way, as if she's lost in thought.

  “So what are you suggesting?” I ask. “That terrified witches used to come along these tunnels, so that they could travel without fear of being captured and killed?”

  “Exactly, Sebastian. You have to understand, most witches who came to America did so because they thought they could be free here. The old English witch-hunters had driven them out of their original homes, but there was a hope that the new world would be more enlightened. As you will surely know, that did not turn out to be the case. Persecution here was just as bad as it had been in the old world. Worse, even, in some cases. Hope swiftly turned to despair, and to the realization that witches will never be safe.”

  “Why did they not use their powers to subdue their enemies?” I ask.

  “Is that how you think it works?”

  “Is it not?”

  “There were strong witches like Derian, to be sure,” she continues, “and a few with more minor powers, such as Black Annis. But most witches, Sebastian, are more like me. They have small powers, enough to influence the world around them, but they cannot command the elements or strike down whole armies of men. We have enough power to show, but not enough to defend ourselves.”

  “Then what is the point?” I ask.

  “The point?”

  “Why even have powers, if you can't use them to change the world?”

  “It's not a choice we are given,” she replies. “I myself learned that I had this curse when I was just a child. I hid my powers from everyone, for I knew that I would be cast out as a freak. When I was nine years old, I was forced by my parents to attend a witch trial in a neighboring town.” The tears in her eyes are clearer now, and after a moment one of the tears escapes and runs down her cheek. “I saw that woman tortured in a town square,” she continues, “and then disemboweled before a baying crowd. Then, while she was still just about alive, her guts were hung around her neck and she was then burned to death. I don't even know whether she truly was a witch, but I understood that day that the world is very dangerous for our kind. So I completely understand, Sebastian, why witches of earlier generations went to all the trouble of building these vast underground networks. They were terrified.”

  I wait for her to continue, but she simply turns away. At first I think she is looking along the tunnel, but then I hear a faint sniffing sound and I realize she is weeping.

  I step closer, to comfort her, but at the last moment I do not dare. Perhaps she does not want to be touched right now. Why would anyone want to be touched when they are so upset?

  “I can feel their fear,” she sobs finally. “At first I thought I was imagining it, but now I know it's true. I can feel such fear in this tunnel, Sebastian. The witches who came this way were running for their lives, and they couldn't even be sure that they'd find safety when they eventually resurfaced. Most of them probably didn't. There's a reason you don't hear of witches very much these days, Sebastian. Most of our kind were slaughtered. It's one of the greatest acts of mass genocide in human history, yet you'll find barely a mention in the history books.”

  “I'm sorry,” I tell her, although I know such words are of little comfort.

  “Look!” She steps past me and holds the candle up to light a set of scratches on the wall. “I think this might have been a map, to help the witches get about.”

  I follow her over and see that the scratches form a complex pattern.

  “It can't be a map,” I point out. “Why, if that's a map, then this tunnel system must be enormous. It must run as far as the mountains in the east, and maybe even to the Palianna River near Meadow's Point.”

  “Let's get out of here,” she replies, stepping back over to the patch of light beneath the opening. “Can you help me up?”

  “Don't you want to explore?”

  “I don't want to be down here for one moment longer than I have to,” she says bitterly.

  “But we could find -”

  “Help me up, damn you!” she hisses, turning to me with an expression of pure anger. “You might not feel the misery down here, but I do! Now help me up, or what use are you at all?”

  I hesitate, and then I step closer and start helping her reach up to haul herself to the surface. I am shaking a little, horrified by the violence of her temper, but I tell myself that she is simply in an emotional state. And I make a secret promise that one day I shall come down here and explore properly. Although when I look back over at the scratches, I cannot help but wonder whether these tunnels truly stretch for so many miles. Is it possible that, beneath our feet this whole time, there has lain this reminder of an entire forgotten history?

  Thirteen

  Sebastian

  She's still sobbing.

  Sitting in the kitchen, reading the book of witches by candlelight, I can hear Angela sobbing in her room. She has been in there for hours now, ever since we climbed back out of the tunnel system, and I do not know how to comfort her. I have knocked once or twice on her door, but there has been no answer and I have chosen to not disturb her. She will come out eventually, I am sure, and for now I am trying to discern more secrets from this book's archaic pages.

  Turning to another section, I am surprised to see a drawing of a common bird. A crow, perhaps, or a raven. The bird has several small round objects balanced on its back, and when I look at the next piece of text I find that it relates to the drawing.

  “One of the first tests of any witch's power,” I whisper, reading from the book, “is to make a bird balance stones on its back. This simple test examines many of the disciplines that a witch must master, and demonstrates an ability to counter nature. A bird balancing stones cannot fly properly, of course. Most witches can make a bird do this regardless, can force it to go against its nature in a manner than will ultimately lead to its death. After all, a bird that cannot fly is unable to hunt, or to feed. But a witch of reasonable power can make the bird keep the stones on its back until eventually it dies of malnourishment.”

  I look at the drawing again.

  Such a simple task, and I am already wondering whether I might succeed. Tomorrow I shall go out into the forest and see whether I can pass this test. I think I have a chance.

  Hearing footsteps, I quickly slip the book away and take up some papers, pretending to once more be at work. I am careful to not look up, even as I hear Angela coming into the room, and then I tense a little as I realize she is coming this way. Finally she kneels next to my chair, and I try to affect a casual attitude as I turn to her.

  Her eyes are red from weeping, and half-dried tears glisten on her cheeks.

  “I did not want to disturb you,” I tell her, although I am startled by the intensity of her stare. Something is different. “I thought it best to...”

  My voice trails off.

  “What is it?” I ask after a moment, setting the papers aside and turning more fully to face her. “You are troubled by those tunnels, I know, but -”

  “They were so alone,” she stammers, her voice tense and halting. “The witches who moved along those tunnels in centuries gone by. They were terrified and they were alone. That's something that scares me so much, Sebastian. I know this will sound utterly foolish, but for so long I have forced myself to be alone because I wanted to lie to myself. I wanted to tell myself that it was my choice, rather than risk knowing that it was because I have no other option.”

  “I'm not sure that I follow,” I reply.

  She opens her mouth, but then she hesitates before leaning forward and kissing me hard on the lips. She places a hand on my shoulder, to hold me in place, and I do not struggle as she presses her lips harder and harder against me, until there is almost pain. And then, slowly, I begin to realize that I can feel the wetness of her tear-stained cheeks against my own face.

  “Come to my room,” she says finally, moving her lips while they are still touching mine, breathing her hot breath directly into my mouth.

  I can smell her skin, and her hair, and her tears.

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  “Come to my room, Sebastian. All night. Come to my bed.”

  “Why?”

  “Don't be a fool, Sebastian. Not now, of all times. You're a man, and I know you understand what I want from you tonight.”

  I swallow hard.

  “We are... We are not married,” I point out. “It might be a sin.”

  “Don't talk to me about sins, not after what I felt in that tunnel today. Sins go unpunished in this world every day, and purity unrewarded. And I refuse to believe that the two of us, going to bed together for one night, is a sin in anyone's book. But that's not for us to decide, anyway. We're animals, Sebastian. Let's be animals.”

  “But you said -”

  “I don't care,” she whispers. “I'll rationalize it tomorrow. I'll tell myself whatever lies are necessary. Just come to bed with me tonight, so that I'm not alone. Let me feel the warmth of another body.”

  I get to my feet, and she immediately begins to lead me to her room. I tell myself that she means only for us to sleep side by side, for comfort and companionship, but I quickly find that this is not the case. As soon as we reach the bed, she begins to undress me, and I swiftly fall with her in a way that I have never fallen with a woman before. The night is magical and perfect, and I explore every inch of her body just as she explores every inch of mine.

  By the time the sun rises the next morning, I am a man and she is my woman. And it all feels so very, very right.

  Fourteen

  Sebastian

  “One more,” I whisper, kneeling on the forest floor and carefully lowering a small stone onto the back of a crow that I have commanded to stand still for me. “Just one more.”

  I set the stone next to the others, and now there are five balancing on the poor bird's back. To my astonishment, I have managed to make the crow obey me completely, and I cannot help but smile as I look at its blank black eyes.

  “Now you keep these on, do you understand?” I continue. “You can fly, and do anything you want that you would normally do, but you are to keep these stones on your back because... Well, because I command you to, that's why. Under no circumstances are you ever to take them off. Now go. Try to fly.”

  The wretched bird looks around for a moment, before suddenly hopping forward and spreading its wings. It does indeed attempt to take off, but the stones jostle on its back and one almost rolls off. Then, as if it has sensed that it might be about to fail, the crow adjusts its position and manages to keep all the stones in place, although evidently it has – for now – given up on all thoughts of trying to fly.

  “Well done,” I say with a smile, as the crow hobbles across the forest floor. “You have passed your test, as indeed I seem to have passed mine.”

  I watch the crow as it tries again and again to fly, and as it continues to fail. It could cast the stones off and soar up into the sky, of course, but it does not do so. My command seems to be drilled into the bird's mind in a very firm manner, and I have no doubt that the bird will continue to follow my instructions even when I am back at the farmhouse. In my heart, I already feel the warmth of pride, and I am starting to wonder what other tests might be described in Angela's book.

  Getting to my feet, I start walking back across the clearing. I am aware, as I have been all morning, that I am walking slightly differently now. It is as if something fundamental has changed in me, since I spent last night in bed with Angela. I am a proper man now, and I know her as intimately as any man can know a woman. I made love to her, and I satisfied her, and when I rose this morning I left her sleeping soundly in her bed. In our bed. I put on one of my fine new shirts, and all that is left now is -

  Suddenly I hear a scream, ringing out through the forest, and I immediately recognize Angela's voice. She cries out in pain, and I break into a run as I race back to the farmhouse.

  ***

  “No!” Angela sobs, dragged forward by a rope that is wound tight around her wrists. She stumbles and falls, landing hard against the mud, but the man pulls on the rope and starts dragging her sobbing and screaming toward the waiting horses.

  “Stop!” I shout breathlessly, finally reaching the yard. “Let her go!”

  I immediately recognize three of the men as the reprobates who showed up here once before. The lead of them is named Charles Ranleigh, and it was he – with his two pitiful colleagues – who entered my home two years ago and announced that they were searching for a witch. They are with another man, however, and it is he who is dragging Angela through the mud.

  “Stop!” I shout again, rushing over and dropping to my knees, trying to untie the wrists of my beloved. “What are they doing to you?” I stammer. “Angela -”

  “Run!” she sobs, and I see bruises and fresh blooded cuts all over her face. “Sebastian -”

  Suddenly something hits me hard on the back of the head, knocking me sideways until I slump down in the mud. The pain is intense, throbbing around my skull, but I sit up and reach once more for Angela, only to see her being dragged once more away.

  “You should know better, farm-boy,” the taller man says, turning to me with a sneer. “Hiding a witch is a capital offense. And don't tell me for one moment that you don't know exactly what she is. I just examined her myself, and it's plain that coitus has taken place. You are going to pay a very dear price indeed for giving in to the witch's temptation.”

  “Sebastian, run!” Angela screams. “Get -”

  Before she can finish, the man punches her hard on the side of her head.

  “No!” I shout, stumbling to my feet and running to her aid, only for the other men to grab me and hold me back.

  “You shouldn't have lied to us two years ago, Staiter,” Ranleigh sneers into my left ear. “Did you really think we wouldn't eventually find out? As soon as we saw a better sketch of this witch, we knew we'd seen her before. And Edmund Gaines here is one of the country's top witch-hunters. He's never failed, not even once.”

  “Save it for the jailhouse,” Edmund Gaines says as he starts tying the rope to the horse, evidently intending to drag Angela away. “We'll take them both. The witch's crimes are beyond doubt, but there's some hope left for the man if he confesses fully and quickly. He might get away with merely losing a limb or two.”

  “Don't you touch her!” I hiss, struggling to my feet again, only for Ranleigh and his two associates to force me back down into the mud. “If you do, I swear -”

  “You swear what?” Gaines says with a laugh, as Angela groans on the ground. “You don't look like much, boy. Fine clothes you're wearing there, though. You must have spent some money.”

  “They won't be fine for long,” Ranleigh chuckles, reaching down and grabbing a handful of mud, which he quickly starts smearing all over the front of my shirt. “Oh, that's such a shame. So much mud in your nice new things, Staiter.” He runs his hand onto my face, and despite my struggles he manages to shove a handful straight into my mouth with such force that I feel crumbling wet mud rushing down the back of my throat. “You know we could execute you right here and now, don't you? You're lucky we're honorable men. We'll be taking you to town for a full trial.”

  Turning away, I spit out as much of the mud as I can, and then I gasp for air.

  “Let's get out of here,” Gaines says, and I turn to see that he has tied Angela firmly to the back of the horse, and that he's now getting ready to mount his steed. “Gentlemen, I'm sure I don't need to tell you that the witch has soiled that house in which she slept.”

  Two of the men start making their way toward the farmhouse, as Ranleigh hauls me up onto my feet.

  Angela is barely conscious, groaning in agony on the ground with her wrists tied to the rope.

  “Leave her alone,” I whisper, feeling a growing sense of anger rising through my chest.

  Suddenly I hear a crashing sound, and I turn to see that the other two men are smashing the farmhouse's windows. To my horror, one of them then takes a lit torch and tosses it into the kitchen, and a moment later flames start rippling inside my home.

  “You can't do that!” I sob. “You can't do any of this!”

  “You'll find we can,” Gaines says, climbing up onto his horse as I turn to him. “The Lord -”

  “No!” I scream.

  Gaines turns to me, but suddenly some invisible force pushes against him and knocks him clean off his horse, sending him crashing down to the ground.

  “What the -”

  He immediately starts getting to his feet, while brushing mud from his tunic. He looks around for a moment, before stepping over to Angela and kicking her hard in the ribs.

  “Is that the best you can do, witch?” he sneers. “Knock an honest man off his horse!”

  “She didn't do anything!” I shout, struggling desperately to get free from Ranleigh's grip. “It wasn't her!”

  “Then who was it?” he asks with a faint smile. “You?”

  He turns and starts climbing back onto his horse, but I feel another surge of anger. In an instant, Gaines is flung once more to the ground, and this time there's a loud cracking sound as he lands. He cries out as he rolls onto his side, and this time he does not get up so quickly.

  “What's happening?” Ranleigh asks, sounding scared but still holding me firmly. “Is the witch doing that?”

  “Kill her!” Gaines gaps, clutching his left arm as if it's broken. He stumbles to his feet, clearly in pain. “Kill the witch!”