The house continued burning behind her the following morning, as she walked dejectedly away from the Wilkins she so loved. She did not have a wit about her and continued stepping forward only drawn on by some vague inference of obligation. She assured herself the flames would not spread even to the alder trees due to the overall wetness of morning and previous rain falls.
Who was to blame? Where were the girls? Had she, herself not come only a day or two sooner she could have tried to protect them. The manner in which the men were killed was indicative of native warfare, for while the colonials did offer bounties for scalps she did not know them to disembowel their victims. But the natives were not at war; the Wampanoag were already moving inland to winter and would not wreak such vile destruction on anyone. Yet it bore marks of indigenous ferocity. Something was not right.
She turned around and looked over the Wilkins property and the burning home whose roof was now caving in, sending sparks dancing into the morning air. She had only made it to the top of the incline, and so could see the whole premises. She directed her wand at the house and spoke firmly, "accio, villainy!" Nothing came. "Accio, weaponry!" Nothing, the wind blew teasingly the stains of tears upon her cheeks. She frothed with boiling frustration; she threw herself behind her wand, and gripping it with both hands commanded, "ACCIO, EVIDENCE OF MY FRIENDS KILLERS!"
Suddenly, a small slender object flew out from inside the house. It was so small, and it came so fast she could not catch it; she didn't panic but cast a shield charm, "protego!" The thing glanced off her momentary shield and fell at her feet. She picked it up and saw that it was a small arrow, only fourteen or fifteen inches long. It was charred black from the flames of the house. She did not know a tribe that used such small arrows, but she was determined to discover it. She would not leave a stone unturned in her endeavor to discover the girls, she only prayed she would not merely discover their bodies lying unattended in the forest.
She began to sense purpose again as her wits returned to her; she needed to uncover the whereabouts of the Wilkins girls. She did not visit the winter sites of the Wampanoag often for they were inland and quite a distance from the colonial homesteads she tramped between. So she didn't like the idea of apparating to them, due to her uncertainty of their specific locations. But she knew they were always near water sources or springs. So she found the stream on the Wilkins property and followed it west and away from the colonists of eastern Massachusetts.
Mary made her way, trudging through the long grass and picking her way through the briars beside the stream. The hem of her dress snagged upon wild rose bushes and she could hear little Maggie reciting, "Gather the roses, thorns and thorns, keep to sedate and steep." Claret, the older sister, was a sweet girl, blessed with a gentle disposition. Mary feared to think what her captors might attempt against her. Claret helped Mary at every opportunity; gathering books or helping hold Maggie's hand across the ditches of milkweed by their homestead.
Mary swore; if the Wampanoag had anything to do with this, she would not hesitate to make them pay, indeed, suffer for their works. Yet whenever a wave of retribution washed over her she failed to pinpoint a target for her calamities. She could not convince herself the local tribe would act so aggressively, so unbeknownst, and the arrow, the short arrow, what felon persons used these instruments?
The sun reigned high over the forests' canopy when Mary picked up the trail of Wampanoag travelers. Even the leather shoes of the natives couldn't completely erase their footprints in the wet leaves and rain shifted mud washouts. She tracked them for some time discerning at least five children, two sets similar in size to what Maggie and Claret's footprints would be; and besides six adults at least. Her efforts and diligence brought her deep into the forest passing wild glades of white flowered, wild carrots.
The terrain had up till now matched the various inclines like that of the Wilkins hill. Now the paths became rockier and the stream she followed, cut through great mounds and hills of old, green stone.
And then she heard the car-rack of gunfire echo in the forest; again and again. It was a volley! They had to be no less than a mile away. Mary brandished her wand, seized a handful of her dress, and broke out in a mad sprint towards the still echoing discharges. The humid air inside the forest hung heavy in her lungs and she labored to power it without and within. There! She saw them, the family she had been tracking, strewn across a glade ahead.
She ran among their bodies, wand raised and ready to defend them. Then suddenly she heard shouting and running. Wampanoag men were rushing towards the glade, some gripping flintlocks and others wielding tomahawks. Were these the assailants, these Wampanoag? The younger men reached her first and trained their guns upon her. They berated her with questioning in their Massachusett tongue; she could decipher little of it at shut speed and from multiple speakers. All she could say was, "wait. Wait!" And hold her hands up in a token of innocence.
Some of older men reached them now, and demanded they lower their aim from her. As soon as they did so she flew to the nearest person, prostate upon the ground and motionless this whole time. They were covered in blood, she looked at the wounds, and they were riddled with holes: their faces, necks, upper and lower bodies. But there were no – "bullet holes," exclaimed a familiar face. It was Wamsutta, one of the sachems Mary knew well, whom she had helped perfect his already considerable understanding of English, along with his wife. They exchanged a glance in which Mary conveyed her gratitude. "There are no bullet holes, Mary."
"I don't understand."
The air was rent by a teenage boy. He hunched over the body of a young man, shouting hoarsely into his loved one's lifeless face. He tore his clothes in agony and Mary ached with him, seeing the boy so effected. Others rushed to comfort him. But the shout disturbed the nearby forest, something moved away like a crawling animal through the brush. Mary followed everyone's gaze and acted without seeing her target, she lunged to her knees and whipped her wand, "STUPIFY!" The brush rippled from the blast of the hex. There was a wretched squeal cut short and they heard a thud upon the ground.
Mary and Wamsutta raced to discover what they had caught. She understood the circumstance allowed the others to overlook her brash spell casting she had more-or-less tried to keep to herself. They plunged into the overgrowth and found a creature so ugly and inhuman, she could hardly believe it. Wamsutta gave Mary a look of grim astonishment. "We've never caught one before."
"A what… what is this?"
"Pukwudgie or Puks," and he spat upon it, with utmost distaste. "They're the cause of many a capable hunter's disappearance." The immobilized, humanoid creature was not more than two and a half feet tall. Its face was small and set with shriveled features denoting unkindliness. The mangled, wiry mane sprouted out from its head and continued down to its squat legs, dominating its facade. The fleece was multihued, cobwebbed, and stuck all over with burrs. Its mouth was frozen in a grizzly gnashing, and its yellow, bloodshot eyes stared wildly at them under half shut lids. She leaned close to it and noticed quills, like a porcupine, concealed in its mane.
"Look at this," said Wamsutta, pointing to the creatures blackened, cringed fingers. Mary looked closely, and smelled the substance. It was unmistakably gunpowder. "Gunpowder, but no bullet wounds." The two returned to inspect the bodies once more. The other men had moved the bodies and laid them out in a line. Mary could not suppress a whimper as she saw she was correct about the five children. They were Wampanoag. Two of them the same age as Maggie and Claret. Their limp bodies were uncanny, given the reckless manner most children exhibit. It would be near impossible to keep them still or quiet during a ceremony, and yet here they were in the forest, their playing grounds, as still as stone. Mary covered her mouth with her hand, and rung her eyes. How much were death and the New World so grossly permutable?
She noted after a few moments the others did not share her tears, even the aggrieved boy, and she wiped hers away with embarrassment. In an attempt to save face she said, "Those appear to be inflicted by knives or arrows, do they not?" Wamsutta nodded, they were too messy and irregular to be bullet holes, and there was too much blood. Mary produced the small, burnt arrow she summoned from the Wilkins house. Wamsutta's eyes stared out of his head; he seized the arrow from her and snapped it in half, flinging the remains into the forest. "Those are bad omens. The Puks use them and dip them in their poisonous sap. Where did you find this?"
"The Wilkins homestead has been ravaged, three of them slain, two are missing. The men were scalped, Wamsutta."
The native took offense to the pointedness of Mary's last statement. He stepped towards so he could look her squarely in the face. "We did not abuse your Wilkins."
Mary already drew this conclusion in her mind that the Wampanoag were not responsible, especially considering what she had just bewitched. But it was her duty to press Wamsutta anyway. She knew also, Wamsutta was a man of directness and thoughtfulness. He did not attempt to defend himself to her, because his 'yes' meant 'yes' and his 'no' meant 'no.' To Mary the Wampanoag were thus acquitted.
