October 24, 1646
To my sire, King Charles the First of Great Britain,
I am pleased to inform you that my colleague and I have safely reached the Salamancan province. It appears the sea possessed a mind of its own, defying Captain Shills' previous estimated length of sailing. Nonetheless, the ship survived a small storm in transit. I am also pleased to announce that my landing party met no hostiles in combat. However, our sailor escorts barely endured their own superstitions in the journey. The forest surrounding Salamanca has a certain degree of mysticism to its nature: the ground was blanketed in autumn leaves as it is blanketed by snow in the winter, but the trees themselves retain an unnatural abundance of their orange and yellow leaves. It is as if, as the sailors claimed, the woods were magic. It was indeed strange how the trees could retain so much of their leaves compared to how much had been apparently lost.
I am in awe of the silence of the forest surrounding Salamanca as well. One would assume to be able to hear the sounds of the ocean near Salamanca, for the settlement is closer to the sea than it sounds. It is as if the forest eagerly swallows all sounds of nature, leaving an echoless void occasionally broken by the rustle of leaves in the wind. Or am I truly lost in the woods? The distance between Salamanca and the beach may feel shorter when traveled that it really is, and possibly the absence of the oceanic noise is completely natural. It is strange how these woods can disorient the directionless.
When Mr. Collingsworth and I passed the walls of Salamanca, the sailor escorts we were assigned made haste back to their vessel, fearing what ghouls and goblins emerge in the night. I am still confident there is nothing to fear here, maybe except for an infection or disease. The state of your settlement is poor, at best. The fears of the village people have taken the best of them: food is scarce, waste defiles the corners and streets, and most of the tools, houses, and carriages are in need of repair. The Salamancans fear to venture far outside of their homes; even the guardsmen at the bridge outside of the settlement were exhausted and unkempt. An unseen darkness grips this town and its citizens in fear.
The sheriff of Salamanca, one Mister Harold Barnes, was the first person Mr. Collingsworth and I were introduced to. Sheriff Barnes at last revealed to me the nature of Salamanca's ailment: the settlement was regularly terrorized by witches and their curses. There are three witches haunting Salamanca, all referred to as the Circes sisters. Their names are Morgana, Sable, and Marion, and they dwell deep in the forest outside of Salamanca. Sheriff Barnes ceased to explain any more, as he had to return to overseeing the securing of the town for nightfall. It is custom for the Salamancans to bar their doors and consecrate their dwellings with holy water each night, no doubt to protect their families from the witches and their magic.
Sheriff Barnes has allowed my companion and I to reside in the church for this night only, and in the morning we shall be relocated to a proper dwelling. It is in the church where I met the venerable Mayor Daniel Williams, and dare I say he has proven a pleasant host thus far. The Mayor helped make arrangements for Mr. Collingsworth and I to station ourselves on a loft in the church with a placement in the wall for us to observe these nightly haunting on the streets.
It is nearly dark, and I must prepare myself for a nocturnal study. I shall write again in the morrow.
Sincerely,
Doctor John Berkeley