"Cast your eyes upon the sun and be scorched." The Troubler, a woman of mid-age from overseas, spoke over the growing crowd in the square.
Hermione moved against the villagers following closely behind her father, who stood tall amongst the crowd in his ironed coat and neatly rested hat. Hermione's babe sister, Evelyn, hung close on Hermione's heel and held tight on Hermione's apron. Evelyn had turned seven that spring, and Hermione eighteen in early fall. It was nearing winter, but the chill in the air came not from the cold front.
"Follow not prophets who bask you in warmth and light, but leave you burnt and blind." The Troubler was what Father had named her, she was known to her congregation as simply Dolores. The Troubler had a penchant for conspiracy and blasphemy, spending her mornings giving false sermon in the square or in the blighted. Father had said The Troubler preyed on the impoverished, the sick, and those unwilling or unable to attend proper sermon on the top of the cliff, where the town's church stood tall. In the spring The Troubler spoke to empty streets, but of late the crowds had become so great that it was nearly impossible to navigate to the path leading to church.
"Be gone the wicked, be gone the tricks!" A woman near Hermione cried out, her skirts were muddied and her face struck with tears. Hermione recognized her as The Butcher's Wife, whose son had been found hanged from the black gum east of town. Hermione redirected her gaze towards Father's heels, lest she meet The Butcher's Wife's eyes. It had been Hermione to find the son that morn noosed in the tree.
"There goes the harlot," The Butcher's Wife yelled before she spat on Hermione. "Listen not to the lies she sang." Evelyn took hold of Hermione's hand, taking them through the crowd swiftly at Father's lead.
"Vigilance is nothing without Faith." Pastor Dumbledore had a voice of thunder, which was fitting for a man of God. He was an outsider, a fact that was always apparent in his colorful imported suits and the lingering drawl in his words that he carried from overseas. He had immigrated before Hermione was born, inheriting his congregation from a pastor ready to retire. Father had already worked as prosecutor, working in the courts that had once shared property with the church.
Everything had changed when The Pastor had come.
Father had said the old church had been demolished. Pastor Dumbledore insisted that a place of worship be separate from one of prosecution. The town had constructed the new church on the cliff overlooking the bay, and the new courts down the hill near the square.
It had been a close friend of Father's who had the first trial in the new courts. Hermione had been just a babe when Mr. Black had been hanged for murder.
"There is a darkness among us." The Pastor had a waning congregation, yet those who remained loyal to his teachings were transfixed in his word. They feared what lurked in the shadows. "It waits behind the veil of sin and gains entry to our body, soul, and mind when we least expect."
Hermione frowned at The Pastor's words. Evelyn held tight to the golden cross worn around her neck. Evelyn feared most that she would be taken by the dark; she had told Hermione just the night before that the wood had spoke Evelyn's name.
"Minny," Evelyn whispered, her olive eyes wide. "I pray that your name stay clear from curse. I pray the night will not take you."
"Shush, dear." Hermione chided. "You needn't worry such things."
"How can we prevail?" asked The Banker. The Banker's face carried deep lines of sorrow for the soul of his eldest son, who had succumbed to voices that called from the wood. Hermione still remembered the gut-wrenching wails of The Banker's Wife, who had found her son's head decapitated and sat on their porch, his eyes cast towards the rising sun.
"We must have faith." The Pastor always said the same things, but only Hermione seemed to notice. A town struck with fear would never notice their beacon of hope was nothing but repetitive verse.
Hermione's father would have her hide if he knew she had been struck with blasphemous thoughts. She would have to remember to say an extra prayer of forgiveness before bed.
"The town speaks ill of my sister, I shall worry if I please." Evelyn spoke, Evelyn had a way of disobedience, and Hermione felt torn between pride and concern. She was proud of Evelyn for speaking true to her heart, but the same actions had led to Hermione's disgrace.
"And when they speak ill of my sister, who shall be there to cleanse my name?" Hermione kept her hands clasped and head down in prayer, but bore a smile in resemblance to her babe sister. Evelyn nudged Hermione's side, her elbow sharp against Hermione's rib.
"A hundred thousand curses they could speak of me and still they shall not take my pride."
Hermione bit her lip to keep her smile from widening, praying The Pastor not notice the sin of her distraction. "Pride or ignorance? Must we have a repetition of Father's lesson from last week?"
"Spare me, dear sister." Evelyn bowed her head, but kept her eyes cast side towards Hermione. "For the punishment of your lecture is far greater than the fall of Lucifer."
Hermione lifted her head towards the glass depiction behind The Pastor. The construction of a new church came with the import of stained glass windows depicting that of The Pastor's choosing. On the left wall were scenes of Job, Cain and Abel, Jeremiah, Peter, and Paul. Men who suffered, and grew stronger despite it. On the right were scenes of Hagar, Hannah, Mary, Esther, and Magdalene. Hermione had found all their stories tragic, but none as such as depicted behind The Pastor.
Above were the Heavens, an array of streaming lights of whites, blues, and pinks. A warm and comforting assortment of complementary shades, casting light against the fallen figure of the angel. Below was naught but black: a vast and atramentous void to swallow a sinner.
Lucifer, an angel fallen from grace, framed beautifully in his eternal damnation. Hermione had always thought him beautiful: his pale flesh reflecting the shades of the heavens, his silver eyes strewn tears of regret towards the hells, and his silken white hair melting seamlessly into the feather of his wings.
Hermione imagined his fall: his body tense in anticipation of collision, his tears warm against her palm as she wiped them from his cheek, the flutter of his wings as he attempted to ascend back to the heavens.
Hermione spoke a silent prayer of forgiveness for her wandering thoughts, and for the press of her thighs to one another in an attempt to calm her aching loins.
"God will bring all evil to light," chanted The Writer's Wife, who took her seat in the pew behind Hermione's family. Luna, the Writer's daughter, had been a friend of Hermione since they were small. Luna was to be married in the following months, and if Hermione's father had his way, her betrothal wouldn't be far behind.
Hermione hoped she would marry a scholar. She knew from listening to the scholars in the town that cities inland had libraries filled with books. Hermione spent the majority of mornings reading the bible; it was the only book she had ever been allowed to read. Father kept his law books locked in his study. "A lady mustn't concern herself with the written word," he had said. Hermione yearned for the forbidden knowledge that books held.
Betsey, the Granger housemaid, had been the one to show Hermione other texts. Betsey had told Hermione to never let her father know what she had been shown. Betsey had told Hermione of books that existed in Betsey's old home where she had been a housemaid to a doctor.
"There are numerous ways to heal the body," Betsey had told Hermione. She described different herbs and tinctures that could be made to cure ailments. The Doctor that Betsey served had taken an interest in herbal medicines, and he had been hanged for it. The church claimed he made magic potions and persecuted him a witch.
"I ask of everyone in this congregation to keep a keen eye for wickedness, and that any of you who bear witness to such crime report it at once to the church." The Pastor had a habit of using a lexicon that the common townsfolk would not know. Father had said it was a tactic that people in power used to show authority and prestige. Father always made sure that Hermione and Evelyn had an expanded vocabulary that would coincide with their economic status. Father was the town's persecutor of the law, and he used language as a weapon to confuse and to incite confessions.
"Am I a witch?" Evelyn whispered; her eyes brimmed with tears. "The Pastor speaks of wickedness, the crimes of the dark. The dark, she calls my name in the night."
"Do not be silly, Evelyn." Hermione said. "A witch could not stand to wear a cross like you do around your neck."
"How does one know what a witch can or cannot do?" Evelyn gripped her necklace so tight she might have drawn blood.
"A witch has a pact with the devil." Hermione took Evelyn's hand from her cross and held it securely. "A devil's ward would be averse to Christ's imagery. God protects all who worship him."
"Is God a witch?"
It pleased Hermione greatly that Evelyn and she were so alike. Hermione remembered when she was Evelyn's age she often questioned everything. Hermione wondered what she should tell Evelyn. Father would have nipped Eveyln's curiosity and forbade her to think as such; that is what he had done with Hermione.
"How have you come to such a conclusion?"
"God created everything that we know out of nothing, is that not magic?" Evelyn chewed on the inside of her cheek. She often did that when she was deep in thought.
"You are too clever, Evelyn." Hermione said. "Perhaps there is such a thing as good magic, a magic that is reserved for God and all those who serve him."
"I think it would be nice to be a witch," Evelyn whispered. "A good one, that is."
"Good sermon," Father told The Pastor as they all exited the church. Hermione's family were the last to leave, Judge Riddle had summoned Hermione's Father to speak in private after prayers.
"Good sermon," Hermione said as Father shook The Pastor's hand.
"Good to hear," The Pastor said. "I was worried I had lost you when I noticed you and Evelyn in conversation."
"Forgive me, Father." Hermione bowed her head. "Evelyn knew not of wickedness. I told her she should not concern herself with such things."
"Such is true." The Pastor turned his attention to Evelyn. "For too much knowledge on the subject will lead to wicked things themselves."
"You needn't worry about my girls," Father said. "There is not a thought that strays from the word of God in either their heads." Father sat his hand upon Hermione's shoulder and drew her and Evelyn under his arm. He had a way of still making Hermione feel like a child when she was embraced; but it was always with love and warmth that he held her. "Isn't that right, girls?"
Hermione and Evelyn nodded, neither The Pastor nor Father needed to know what went through their minds. It was for God to decide whether thoughts amount to sin.
They stopped at the Butcher in town's center to buy rabbits for supper. Betsey made the best rabbit stew; she promised she'd teach Hermione how to make it before Hermione was to be married. When Hermione was young, Betsey would take her into the wood to search for herbs to simmer the rabbits in; but recently Father insisted they only use ingredients from the shops in town.
"Evelyn, you mustn't speak during the sermon," Father said as they walked from the town to their home. "It is imperative that we not draw attention to ourselves."
Evelyn only nodded; her gaze was fixed to the cobblestone path that led up the hill towards the church. They lived only a few buildings down the hill from the church; Father had made their home close to that of God.
Fort Mor was prosperous. The proximity to the sea gave surplus of fish to dry and trade inland, and the soil was rich and bore strong and healthy crop. Even the derelict and impoverished suffered not from famine, as there was more than enough to go around. Father made their home on the hillside where only the wealthy and powerful were welcome. The views were of the sea and the wood, spared from the shacks and unpaved roads of the necessitous who lived beyond the town's square.
"Is something the matter?" Hermione asked. Father had been quiet since his meeting with Judge Riddle after sermon. Normally they'd discuss The Pastor's interpretations of the Bible on their way home, and how they could bring his teachings into their lives.
"Nothing for concern." Father was stern, it was unlike him to be such a way. His face was harsh and surly, as it usually was when he was in court.
"Are you to prepare for a new trial?" Hermione asked. They were nearing their house now; Hermione could see the smoke rising from the chimney. Betsey always boiled water to warm a bath for Evelyn after church.
"There is to be a trial, but I will not have any involvement in the prosecution," Father said.
"I don't understand." Evelyn ran ahead of them into the home. The lights inside were warm and inviting after their long walk in the autumn chill.
"Judge Riddle has requested I not take part in the trial, on the grounds of my involvement with the guilty."
"Is he a great friend of yours?" Hermione asked. Father had prosecuted many people before that he had known. It had been his best friend many years ago who had been tried and hanged for murder.
"Hermione," Father stopped her before they entered their home. Hermione could hear Evelyn talking amiably inside. "You must promise me that you will be on your best behavior from now on. There is a great danger coming, and I will not have it taking any more of my family."
"Has something happened to Betsey?" Hermione asked. She could feel the tears well up in her eyes, threatening to spill.
"You mustn't shed a tear for her." Father wiped her face and rested his hands upon her shoulder. He always had a way of making Hermione feel so small. No matter her age, she was always a child to Father.
"Is she to be hanged?" Hermione asked. Hermione could be strong. She had faith that she could be strong.
"The courts are bringing in an expert to review her case." Father said. "We are all to be interviewed when he arrives."
"And then she will be hanged." Hermione knew the answer. Betsey was but a housemaid, and in the eyes of the town she was nothing but an animal. Betsey was more than that to Hermione, and to Evelyn. She had raised them when Mother had bled to death birthing Evelyn. She had sewn all their dresses and kept them fed. She had taught Hermione how to read beyond that of God.
"She will remain in the jails until the new prosecutor arrives. He will dock within the month." Father straightened his coat and made way towards the house. "Remember, Hermione. You mustn't do anything to draw attention to yourself."
"Of course, Father," Hermione said. She smoothed her skirt and followed Father into the house. Ms. Molly, a kindhearted woman from church, had taken Betsey's place as Housemaid. 'She needs the money for her family,' Father had said. Hermione understood. Ms. Molly had a handful of children, all of which attended church with The Grangers. Ms Molly's youngest son, Ron, had proven interest in Hermione's betrothal, and Hermione had a sneaking suspicion that Ms. Molly's intentions may exceed that of samaritanism. Ms. Molly took the rabbit from Father's bag and began to prepare it for supper. Her stew left something to be desired.