One for the Witch
The water around him was dark, leaving him unable to tell the surface from the bottom. Leaving him with little hope of survival. He was however well aware that something was circling around him, swimming in the darkness. A mouth full of grey teeth, eyes white as stone and hair of seaweed.
"So this is the witness they call Crane?"
The voice was clear, a beacon in the surrounding maelstrom. It laughed. A slithering noise, hissing like ice.
"Have we to worry about those, sister?" asked a second voice, teeth clasping near Ichabod's throat.
"What for? If we wait, that one will have the other killed like his wife and son."
Crane woke up in a cold sweat, that damn hissing laugh still ringing in his ears. The room was filled with darkness. The sun would rise all too soon on a time that wasn't his. He glanced at his left hand. His wedding ring was still here. He had almost expected it to fall in ashes during the night, along with his hopes of getting used to this estranged era with Katrina by his side. Hers would just be another name to cross on the list of close ones he had lost to war, hate or time. It wouldn't make the pain, nor the guilt, fade away. Ichabod took off the ring. Katrina might have been the one who had fallen but what was it saying about him?
His thoughts were interrupted by noise coming from his phone. Abbie had picked some 'funny' (according to her) music as her ringtone and, if Ichabod was honest, he had not understood how to change it yet.
"Hey Crane, sorry to disturb you so early but- have you left yet?" asked the lieutenant's voice once he had picked up.
Right. He had mentioned his desire to leave for Scotland a few days.
"Not yet, I haven't." answered Ichabod, without mentioning that he was still to buy his way there, "May I be of any assistance?"
He heard Abbie sigh.
"I know you wanted to take a few days off, but I'm afraid we might have another case."
"What happened?" enquired Crane as he picked his coat to leave.
"Five women were found dead in the forest. They're not sure of what happened and believe it might be some kind of ritual, which is why they called us. Ain't no rest for the wicked."
The crime scene was deep inside Sleepy Hollow's forest, a few meters away from the lake. The latter was surrounded by mist, its water glimmering under the first rays of sunshine. For a few instants, Ichabod believed he had seen something move on the island upon which had stood the Roanoke colony. Shadows of the past, disappearing under the sun.
"Over here Crane!"
Abigail was standing next to the CSI team who was currently packing up their samples and evidence to leave. Crossing his arms behind his back, a faint smile appeared on Crane's lips as he walked to the other witness.
"You're just on time, they're about to take the bodies to the morgue." she welcomed him, throwing a pair of gloves for him to catch.
With a single glance, it was easy to understand why the sheriff's department thought it was a sort of ritual. Five women were laying on their back, in a circle near perfect. The killing had likely took place during the last hours of the night, leaving their torso and foreheads covered in blood, eyes looking blindly at the sky. The five of them looked quite different from each other. Clothes, skin tones, hair colours, the only thing they seemed to share was the striking wound on each of their foreheads. With a blade, someone had carved a strange symbol in their flesh. A sun with six rays, three on each side as well as one above and below, with an eye in its centre.
"Any idea of what it is?" enquired Abigail as she noticed her partner's interest.
The latter nodded:
"I've seen this before, during the war and my readings in the archives. I will have to search for it but your colleagues might be right to consider the hypothesis of a ritual. It was used by a cult going by the name L'épée du destin, the sword of destiny. If I'm right, those women were likely killed with such a weapon." he answered before frowning, "Do we know what caused this?"
At the very centre of the circle, the ground showed a strange, blueish, scorch mark.
"No clue." shrugged Abbie before grabbing a shovel and joining him inside the macabre circle.
"May I ask what are your plans with this shovel leftenant?"
"Well, there isn't any ashes on top nor around, the CSI didn't find anything having burnt, therefore whatever caused that mark must be under the ground." retorted the latter with a grin.
Ichabod cocked an eyebrow. That was actually quite logical. As Abbie started digging carefully, the bodies were taken away, leaving with most of the officers. She was about one foot deep already when her shovel hit metal. The shock rippled through her arms and shoulders, sending waves of pain in her nerves. She swore loudly.
"Are you alright?"
"Yeah, yeah, just found something…" replied Abigail as she got to her knees to excavate whatever she had bumped into, "How did I miss this…"
Indeed, it would have been hard to miss the tall golden cup she now had in her hands. Even after being buried, it still shone as if it had just been cleaned up. The stem was engraved with intricate lines of ivy, its leaves set with jades. Its bowl showed the remains of a copper-based mixture and ashes.
"Yup. Definitely our area." concluded Abbie after examining the artefact.
"How surprising." sighed Ichabod, his eyes still locked on the cup.
"Let's hope you won't have to cancel your plane ticket."
She had packed the cup in an evidence bag and was already giving it to one of the other officers.
"No need to worry, I was yet to buy said ticket." Crane reassured her, "If we don't have more to do here, I will go to the archives to try and learn more about this… Cup."
Abbie nodded:
"I'll drop you on the way, I'll check with our records to try and see what those women had in common."
Abbie was not in the greatest mood when she stepped inside the archives later that morning. She had been going through testimonies for a good two hours and being the one to announce the death of someone's loved one… Well, let's just say it was hardly her favourite part of the job. Having her own new encounter with Death, or witnessing Jeremy's and Katrina's, had not helped at all. But it had been the only possible outcome. Right?
All of this made being in the archives feel almost nostalgic. The sun was coming through the coloured glass windows onto the bookshelves and piles of papers, books and even papyrus. At a table, almost hidden behind one of those piles, Crane was frowning as he studied multiple volumes at once. She smiled.
"I brought coffee." Abbie warned as she joined him, pushing papers to the side to make room for the cardboard cups on the table.
"Leftenant Mills, you are a gift from God." sighed Crane as he brushed away the volumes he had been reading to take one of the drinks.
"Nah, being their witness is tiring enough."
He chuckled:
"Anything new?"
The lieutenant took a sip of her coffee before answering.
"Green dress victim is Kayla Millard, thirty-seven, runs a hair salon and has two kids. Expensive suit's name is Jacky Fergusson, thirty-six, psychiatrist, active in the community center. We also have a florist, Myrtle Song, thirty-nine, married with one kid; a lawyer Zia Viper, thirty-five, and the oldest one at forty was a high-school literature teacher named Mathilda Suarez-Garcia." she listed as she pulled the notes from the file she had with her for the other witness to read.
"I take there was no link between them?" guessed the latter.
Abbie shook her head:
"They were all between thirty-five and forty years old, all native of the state but that's all we could get. They went to different schools, different careers, interests, nothing alike. Any ideas?"
"With what I just learnt about the mysterious cup you found, I might have an educated guess." suggested Crane as he reached for a manuscript Abbie recognized to be Washington's journal.
On the pages he had opened, three drawings had been made, each of a cup of similar designs. It was not hard to recognize the one she had dug up earlier.
"I had heard about them but never saw them myself. During the war, we made a few… Irregular allies in which Washington could count two covens, small but powerful enough. During a rather frantic run up with a Nun'Yunu'Wi, those two covens had three cups made to be used during a ritual. One of gold and jade, one of silver and sapphire and one of bronze and garnets. Given we found the first next to those women, it would seem logical to assume they were witches." he pursued, his tone failing only slightly at the end of his sentence.
"You okay?" asked his partner.
"I will be, eventually," he smiled, "but it is not the subject we should be worried about." Crane declared as he placed a more recent, typewritten, book over the journal.
The book was in French and illustrated by hand. It was a unique exemplar, which likely explained why the drawing on the page had been made in golden ink. The sigil they had found was in the middle of the page, the eye stylized as a simple circle with a diamond-shaped pupil. Under it, a sentence had been scribbled:
La vérité du tout-puissant ne brûle que les infidèles.
"It was already an old symbol during the war, so it must have been ancient when this book was written." started Crane, "The only time I've seen it was on a medal, belonging to a French soldier. As I said earlier, it's linked to a cult which had its origins under the Accursed Kings era. They were called that way because, after King Philip the Fair attacked directly the Knights Templars, he was apparently cursed by their leader, Jacques de Maulay. As he burned at the stake, the latter would have cursed both the Pope and the King on thirteen generations."
"Talk about a grudge." noted Abbie.
"In his defence, he had been tortured by the inquisition and was currently burning alive." retorted Ichabod, "From that so-called curse, French Kings started dying suspiciously quick, same for the Pope. Many saw that as a proof of the Templars' heresy, but just as many saw in those deaths the accomplishment of Godly justice. A few of them therefore created the cult I mentioned earlier: the order of the sword of destiny. They decided to… Help, this godly justice through violence and plots, marking their way with this symbol. Their motto was 'La vérité du tout-puissant ne brûle que les infidèles', the all-powerful's truth only burns the non-believers." he concluded.
Abbie sighed. A real-life cult and witch covens. What a day.
"They picked the right time to make a comeback," she exhaled, "but what's the link with the victims? Apart from the fact that, as witches, they're pretty far on the heretic specter."
Crane shrugged:
"That I do not know for sure," he admitted apologetically, "but whoever committed those murders might have been after the cups. If they were made to keep something locked away, one may assume they could be used for the opposite as well, or at least that they have great powers. And that's without considering their financial or historical interest. After all, the sapphire which was part of the silver cup was gifted by Martha Washington herself. That cup was kept by the sisters of the ember forest, as they would go on to save both Washington and his wife, they are the most documented in his journal. We already know that the golden one was likely kept by the coven it had been given too, the circle of the silver river. And we do not need the journal to know what happened to the third one."
"Why do I feel like you were involved somehow?" mocked Abigail as she leaned against the back of her chair, crossing her arms on her chest, a small smile on her lips.
"Well," started Crane with a slight movement of the head, "I should indeed have been involved. We had been asked to retrieve the bronze cup from a British outpost but I had to change our plans and leave my 'partner' to take care of it alone. I was expected in a small town which needed reinforcement going by the charming name of 'Sleepy Hollow'." he eventually answered.
"Damn, who would have ever guessed you almost committed a heist." chuckled Abbie.
"To be fair, it had been stolen from us first and, in the two that we were, I most certainly was not the thief." retorted the tallest with a dismissive shrug.
"Sure thing Crane, sure thing. So, what happened to that cup?"
The other witness stayed quiet a moment, glancing at the lines scribbled on the diary:
"According to Washington, none of the two covens wanted to keep watch of a second artifact. He therefore asked Hermes to hide the cup for it would be too dangerous to see it fall into the wrong hands." he answered with a sigh, "I'm afraid that is the last thing written about it here. It might be a dead end."
"Maybe, maybe not. That Hermes guy, what do you know about him?"
Abbie had not even blinked at the name. In the middle of the information, she could only think about how impossible it was to know so much and still hit a dead end.
"Hermes was only a code name for Thomas Alden, a smuggler, thief and my partner for a few missions. After the… 'cup incident', Alden is not further mentioned in Washington's journal. If he is the one who hid the artefact, I doubt anyone will ever find it." explained Crane, apparently trusting his old partner's capacities.
But Abbie was more cautious. Those events had taken place centuries ago. Five women had just died, even though they might have been witches, next to one of these cups, it could not be just a coincidence. Not in Sleepy Hollow.
"It was two centuries ago Crane, we need to find those two cups before anyone else gets killed. I can start searching for any descendants who might still be alive, did Alden ever get married?"
To her surprise, Crane started laughing.
"He was not when we met, and I honestly doubt he ever got married later on. However, I would be quite surprised if he had never had children." he answered, "Nonetheless, they may be hard to find. He was one of the last well-known pirates of our era, it wouldn't be out of character for him to have gone back to his travels after the war."
Abbie cocked an eyebrow in front of her partner's pessimism:
"Crane. A pirate, smuggler and thief, who helped Washington himself? No offense, but that's the stuff people love. Stuff of legend. I think that finding descendants might be way easier than you think."
"Thomas Alden, a legend?" Crane scoffed before frowning, "I'm afraid you might be right."
"No need to be jealous Crane, I'm sure you'd be considered 'stuff of legend' if your story was told." Abbie laughed before standing up, "I'll try to find what I can, we should also try to locate this silver cup, maybe Jenny can help?" she then suggested.
Crane nodded:
"She is indeed most capable when it comes to find 'stuff of legend'."
"She's never gonna believe me when I tell her I got you to say that." muttered Abbie, not without noticing the smile on her partner's lips as the latter got back into his books.
Jenny had been most helpful when Crane had called her. If she had not heard of the sigil, she was familiar enough with American covens to recognize exactly the cups he was talking about. She had called them the 'radiance cups'. Apparently, they had been a great subject of discussion in the field recently. As the lieutenant had mentioned earlier, someone was eager to find the artefacts, may be eager enough to leave bodies behind. Jenny had agreed to try and learn more on the silver cup, but she was pretty adamant it was still guarded by the sisters of the ember forest. The sorority had the reputation of being benevolent but also dreadfully territorial.
Once sure he could not learn more in the Archives, Crane had left for the Sheriff's office to share what Jenny had told him with her sister. He had barely entered the place when an alarm began to scream. Ichabod winced at the shrilling sound, barely avoiding someone running the opposite way. The alarm kept on blaring as he eventually joined Abbie near the evidence locker room. The latter's door was surrounded by most of the force. None of them bothered to talk while the alarm was still on, it would have been useless. It eventually stopped once the door opened.
"What happened?" enquired Crane as the officers rushed inside.
"Qadir was on guard duty, he's the one who pulled the alarm but the door refused to open, it was locked from inside." the lieutenant informed him as she followed her colleagues.
"I think I can guess why…" whispered Crane.
The opposite wall of the room had been torn open like paper, leaving concrete dust everywhere but little to no rumbles. Qadir had been tossed aside like an old toy, hitting the desk in his fall. Apart from blood stains on his forehead, and the bruises, he had sustained no injuries which could endanger his life.
"Slater and Hillam are starting to check if anything has been stolen but given the state of the place, I'm betting on something witness related." pursued Abbie as Crane had got closer to the wall to examine it.
It had been opened with a blade, leaving an entrance just large enough for someone thin to go through. Among the dust, Crane almost missed the golden medal shimmering under the sun coming from outside.
"I'm afraid you are right once again, leftenant."
On the medal, Abbie could see the sigil of the order. She sighed.
"I believe we can easily guess what has been stolen." Crane added as he walked back to her.
"Then let's hope that guy can help us find the bronze one before it gets stolen too."
In her hand, she had been holding a museum's brochure. In capitalized letter stood the following title:
RED HERMES: Pirate, Spy & Legend
Camille Drescoll gives historical exposition on their ancestor's legacy