The First Book of the Pure (9 page)

How can these girls find this amusing? They
toy with people’s lives! In all of my years, all my identities,
I’ve never been so cruel.

Execution

Mary was in her cell when Alice and her
daughter Sarah were hanged, and she cried out for the injustice of
it. She was sure the gallows was positioned so close to the cells
to add terror for those still on trial, and for those waiting their
turn for the noose.

Alice and Sarah were hanged together. She
sobbed when she heard the proclamation, and then could barely
breathe as she heard the gallows rope hum as Alice’s body dropped
and caught, snapping her neck. Then she screamed aloud as young
Sarah met the same fate. She envisioned the girl as one of her own
daughters, now long since gone. Once again she experienced the pain
of having a friend and a child wrenched from her. It caused her
great anguish that she was never as close to her own children as
they might have been. This wasn’t justice. This was worse than
Crete. She was beside herself with anguish, anger and a renewed
hatred for the men perpetrating this horror. She knew she could
never forget or forgive this terrible thing, and suddenly she
realized how much she had cared for young Sarah. Now it was too
late; Sarah was dead, and Mary had unwittingly contributed to her
death.

Mary was taken out when there was little in
the way of a crowd. She had hidden some things on her person. She
did it not for this specific incident, but for whatever came up.
She’d lived many lives as Ruby, and knew her circumstances could
change in a heartbeat. She had a small but finely honed throwing
star sewn into her long dress, ratty now by way of imprisonment,
soilage and the inability to change into clean garments. She was
certainly looking the part of a witch or a hag as they took her out
for her hanging. Her hair was bedraggled, her face dirty, her
clothing disarrayed and filthy. But she was also ready.

“What would happen to you if I escaped?” she
asked the man leading her out.

“You won’t.”

She pressed him. “But what
if
?”

“Witches have disappeared before. It would’ve
happened again,” he said with a leer. There was no one else about,
and he pressed her body, dirt and smell and all, up against the
wall and kissed her, saying, “I guess it won’t hurt you to give me
some fun before they stretch your neck.”

As he groped her, she finished slicing the
bonds that held her hands together behind her. “Any more from you
and I’ll scream so loud the hanging crowd will all hear.”

“So what?”

“Do you really want to live in this town with
them all wondering if you’re perverted?” The question was one that
would cause anyone who lived in or near Salem to pale. He let her
go and started her back on route to the gallows.

As they walked past the fire that was kept
burning all the time now, and up the steps to the gallows, she
moved a hand to the slit, not quite a pocket, that held her pouch
of powder. She tossed off the rope from her hands, shoved the guard
down the steps, and threw the bag of powder into the fire. It was
as impressive as she knew it would be. It was not so much an
explosion as it was a rush of smoke and sparks. The smoke spread
instantly, shocking the small crowd, and hid her as she headed for
the route she’d chosen. Only the man leading her to her expected
death was close enough to see anything, and he’d struggled to his
feet and grasped for her, ripping her dress nearly off. She flung
her star into his throat, turning to run instead of watching the
blood spray from his jugular as he dropped to his knees, still
clutching her torn dress. By the time the smoke began to clear she
was gone, the witnesses were having terrible eye trouble, and a
couple of fresh guards were rushing up to take charge.

Later, when questioned by the magistrate, a
guard, concerned for his job, offered the rags of her dress as
evidence that Mary Parker
had
been hanged. He stated that
her body had turned to ash but the dress was untouched. She’d been
a witch, after all.

It didn’t need to make sense. Often these
things did
not
make sense. They just needed to be believed
to become truth to those deciding what the truth was at that point
in time. Nobody there could admit she escaped. They declared that
her death was by hanging in September of 1692, and continued in
their series of trials.

Only the guard, handling the razor sharp star
carefully, remembering how he found it embedded in the throat of
Mary’s dead guard, knew the whole truth, and he wasn’t about to
admit to anything. That woman was clever, and she was still alive
somewhere.

Session 5

Another morning, and Kenneth had gotten up,
dressed, and walked to the room he’d grudgingly begun to get used
to. He walked with the slow steps of a man walking his last mile
down the hallway to his lethal injection. His host started right
away.
“Yesterday’s tales were
long, and I had business to tend to, so I let you sleep in. Today
I’ll tell you of another man, one who was born somewhere around 750
AD. He, as all of us, worked many trades, learned many skills, and
moved about to hide
his great
age.
He is a wonderful study in humanity, or
perhaps, the new humanity.
His
name is Karl, and he became the Duke of Normandy, and King of
England.”

Startled,
Kenneth looked up sharply, and his host saw the surprise on his
face. “Yes Kenneth, some Pures have been notable people. You’re
surprised?”

“Ah, surprised
only because it seems unlikely that they could keep a lid on this
kind of information, if they were in positions like King.” Kenneth
felt the need to carefully challenge this strange man who held him
captive. “I can’t believe, and logic would not allow for this to be
true of people in high places. They can’t just disappear to start
new lives elsewhere. I’m sorry, but I don’t buy it.”

“Yes, well,
whether or not you choose to believe my tale makes it no less true.
We’ve all learned how to move on, even from prestigious, powerful
roles in government or finance. Have you never heard of the war
criminals from Nazi Germany? They were sought by the world, yet
established new identities and lived, most of them, for decades
before being discovered? Some were never uncovered; they had new
identities.”

Seeing a
flicker of realization on Kenneth’s face, his host pressed on. “You
see, already your logic crumbles in the face of a reality you
didn’t want to acknowledge. Ah Kenneth, you have a fighting spirit,
hidden deeply beneath your civilized exterior, but you yield too
easily.

“
The
length of our lives requires some anonymity, as I’m sure
you
’ll realize
as I tell
this tale. Karl was, and is, unique among the Pures.” His Host gave
him a broad smile.

“
To
understand who the Normans were, let me take you back to 911 AD.
Karl was on the order of 160 years old or so by the time a large
Viking chief named Rollo accepted the offer of a large area of
Northern France from the king of France, Charles II, as part of a
peace treaty. Rollo and his ‘North Men’ settled in this area of
northern France, later known as Normandy. Over the years the North
Men were eventually called Normans. Rollo became the first Duke of
Normandy and over the next hundred years or so the Normans adopted
the French language and culture, or at least a close facsimile
thereof.”

“Wait!” Kenneth
couldn’t stand it. Without thinking it through he broke into his
host’s narrative. “I know this history.”

That evoked a
laugh from the host. “But not very accurately I’d wager. Shut up
and listen to the real history, or you’ll never know it.”

Karl: Duke, King, and Killer

On
January 5
^th
,
1066,

Edward the
Confessor,

King of
England,

Expired.

To say
the King of England expired was simply a gracious way of saying he
died. Nature and politics both abhor a vacuum, so history shows
that the very next day the Witan Council elected Harold Godwin,
Earl of Essex, who also happened to be Edward’s brother-in-law, to
succeed him. King Harold’s problems started the moment he was
crowned. The coronation was the worst thing that could have
happened to him, as many politically prestigious positions were
wont to b
e.
He wouldn’t
wear the crown long.

In
Normandy
,
Duke William
didn’t agree with the voting of the Witan, and was quite vexed that
they didn’t
recognize
his abilities and see his claim to the throne as paramount.
William claimed that
the recently deceased King
Edward had promised the crown of England
to him.
Actually, h
e was
more than a little vexed, so a very annoyed William prepared to
invade England and take what he believed should have been
his.

Karl, having been known as Karl to many over
several identities, was now known as William, and he was a
pragmatist. He believed that what worked out best, by definition,
was the best thing. He always included the caveat that it needed to
work for him personally. For a long, long time Karl had been doing
just what he wanted to do for himself, and as William he wasn’t
about to change his style. His motivation was purely selfish. The
world was his, and he would be denied nothing. He and his
bloodthirsty brethren were getting ready to invade the weak, though
more cultured people to the south. He turned to his second and
barked marching orders at him. “Finish getting the men ready today;
we’re going to war tomorrow.” One day later he had thousands of
Norman soldiers on their way to invade Britain. They, as he, had no
higher goals. It was all about conquest and power. Other portions
of his armies would meet him on the way, conscripts and such.

The Vikings that had settled in Normandy with
Rollo hadn’t adjusted well to being farmers and merchants. Their
children and grandchildren loved the idea of taking what they
wanted, as their Viking forefathers had done. Motivating them to
invade England hadn’t been all that hard to do.

The first village they encountered in what
William considered, “enemy terrain,” was a very simple affair. It
essentially consisted of hovels around what seemed to be the center
of town, just an area with no buildings. There they demonstrated
who and what they were. The village men were killed, overwhelmed by
William’s far greater force. Had the villagers been at all prepared
for war, they would have recognized immediately that this wasn’t
the proper time or place, if there ever was such a thing, and
they’d have run away. With both greater numbers and brutality on
his side, William and his Normans came in and devastated the
village. The men were killed. The women were raped repeatedly, and
afterwards their throats were cut and they were left for the
scavengers. William’s troops seemed to have no humanity about them,
perhaps mimicking their leader.

After they’d destroyed several villages his
warriors were weary. William’s second came to him concerned for the
men. “We need to wait here a few days to rest and recover.” This
was a public discussion, and there were a fair number of people
loitering about, watching and listening. Without any warning at
all, with a reaction time that human vision could barely follow,
William took his well-worn, but well-stropped battle ax and hewed
the man’s head from his shoulders.

As the severed head rolled to a stop in the
mud, William turned to his followers, and with his deep voice
yelled loudly, brandishing his ax while blood was still dripping
from its blade, screaming, “Who else would argue with me? Who else
would choose to lead our people instead of me? If you, then step
forth and die
now
!” He shook his head as he issued the
challenge, throwing his blonde mane back and forth as if
emphasizing his words.

As in the many times before when William had
offered this challenge, nobody stepped up. So they marched on, a
well-armed and bloodthirsty rabble, swarming like locusts across
village after village.

When they came to fortified cities, William
treated his rabble more like the army it could have been had he
cared. But on one occasion it didn’t go well. This time the English
longbows were ready for them. As the Normans neared the
fortifications, a whisper went down the line of English
long-bowmen, “Don’t fire until the commander gives the word.” The
commander knew that William was the threat, and that he led his
troops personally. He was the primary target, so they waited.

Again William raised his battle ax, screamed
his command to charge, and his troops sprang forward at his
command. They rushed the Brits in their solid positions, and when
the English leader gave the command to fire, a funnel of arrows
arrowed as they approached William’s position. One of the first
long yew arrows that struck was the one that took down William. The
shaft completely impaled him, with the feathered end in front of
his chest and the wicked, hand beaten blade protruding from his
back. William dropped to his knees, and panic rippled through his
ranks. His battle companion and first lieutenant, face and arms
still showing traces of blood from earlier in the campaign, stopped
his charge and dropped to his leader’s side. “Duke William, we’ll
get you off the field!” He turned to call for a field medic and
bearers, but William stopped him.

No, I’ll be all right. Give me a minute!” He
gasped out his words.