"Before a secret is told,
one can often feel the weight of it
in the atmosphere.
-Susan Griffin

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-Pestilence-

"Segenah. You will come straight away to Pennybacker Settlement and dispel of these creatures for good. The time has come. You must put aside your ancient folklore and free these people of this monstrosity."

"You know not of what you speak, Reverend Dunleavy, and as Cornelius Pennybacker found out, so shall you, if you attempt to bring change to what has been long standing respect of the talisman who have for many moons protected the land there. Ask any living person there, or ask the dead. It matters not to me. I cannot reverse what has been brought forth by my ancestors," Segenah shrugged noncommittaly.

"I do know of what I speak. See here now. You are not dealing with the Bishop Swinburne any longer. I know things he will never understand. Religion and faith by far, take precedent over these made up tales. There may have been fear about such forces long ago, but times have changed and you will do as I have instructed," Byron insisted. "You are the only one who can."

Segenah's face remained stonelike and staunch to Byron's dismay. It was going to be much more difficult than he first thought. Beyond his high intelligence, Segenah was excruciatingly stubborn and Byron had no such patience for any of it.

"Sir-- Segenah, I will expect to see you in the settlement tomorrow. Let this be a fair warning," Byron replied.

"You should heed my warnings instead Minister. For you would bring great death upon an innocent people," Segenah answered back cryptically.

Byron gave him a look of pure authoritarian impatience. "Be there or else." He turned on his heel and walked off leaving Segenah with cliched fists.

⚖︎⚖︎⚖︎

Constance stood in the parlour with tears streaming down her face across from Iris.

"You will tell him or I will resort to something I never wanted to have to do again. Is that understood?"

In abject failure, Constance nodded and Iris left her there alone.

⚖︎⚖︎⚖︎

Byron endured the journey home feeling almost more helpless than before if it were possible.

Now without the company of Cyrus, his thoughts continually strayed to Constance and her sweet innocence. If anything he thought wryly, her innocence had been stolen of her all because of some crazy wives tales nobody wanted to talk about. Curses and questionable deaths. Sacrifices to mysterious totems who no doubt were the conjured up spectres of nightmares.

It was all foolery. Shadow, and light intermingled. Stories invented to take believers of those tales to an early grave.

Normal peace loving people commiting murder on their loved ones all for what? Living in silence. Escaping one prison for another. He wiped sweat from his upper lip and reached for the leather canteen hanging at his side.

He had returned Bishop Swinburne's black priestly robes, trading them for frontier clothing. He was done with formalities. If the settlement wanted a Minister, they would have to take him as he was.

This New World, its terrain and it's wild landscape or it's people were not suited for formal black robes and white collars. Besides, he had made the decision to ask Constance for her hand in marriage.

He no longer cared if he lost everything.

She was all he could think about in the month he had been here. He was in love with her and did not care a wit what others thought or said. He fully intended, if she would have him, to make her his wife. All of it was contingent on Segenah's compliance to his wishes of making an end to the atrocious situation this settlement had lived with for years.

⚖︎⚖︎⚖︎

Constance paced the floor in the kitchen as she waited for the bread to bake. She was going to give them to Reverend Dunleavy tomorrow. Tomorrow when she told him the Elders of Pennybacker had decided they wished him to leave. Why it upset her, she couldn't answer to herself. It was their choice, not hers. She had never once indicated to anyone how she felt about having him there. Why would she? Her Grandmother's words floated to her mind like a phantom on the wind.

'You must never seek out love Constance.'

A shiver crept up beneath her dress collar washing across her shoulders and she hugged herself. Aunt Iris had retired to her rooms after giving her order to Constance, but why had she demanded her to tell the Reverend and not one her Uncles? It was nonsense to her and upsetting. Perhaps because Reverend Dunleavy didn't look at her with that knowing stare she had lived with her entire life.

He was an outsider with no knowledge of her past, or her Mother's mistakes. He had no preconceived ideas about the Pennybacker name. Or at least if he did he somehow never showed it. In her entire life, she could not remember a time when her awful heritage hadn't reared its ugly head and hung over her life. She had never known anything different.

Not so with the Reverend. He didn't look at her with pity, or fake interest. No, his advocations were genuine. Unsoiled by rumors or disgust. It was a shame but there was naught she could do about it. She resolved her angst to protect Reverend Dunleavy as Aunt Iris had made up her mind and so Constance's burdens were set. Her Granny's words lived deep in her heart and though her life was reliant on the good nature of her family it would be hard to see him go. Was this what love felt like, she wondered idly.

She heard the front door open and went to the kitchen door. It was only Cyrus. She smiled faintly as he joined her in the kitchen.

"Where have you been all day Cyrus?" She asked absently. "You missed dinner."

"I know I did," he drawled. "I spent the day with the Reverend."

Constance spun around.

"But I thought he was gone to Jamestowne?"

"He is," Cyrus shrugged. "I went with him."

Constance looked at Cyrus with undisguised shock. "You went with him?"

Cyrus nodded. "He will return tomorrow."

As he spoke, Constance saw the long, dark outline of a shadow filling the doorway behind him and she shrank back gripping her throat with both hands. "Aunt Iris," she whispered.

Her words were so laced with fear that Cyrus swung around and into the barrel of a flint-lock musket.

"Go outside Cyrus," Iris snarled threatenly.

"No! Aunt Iris please, no," Constance cried reaching a hand toward Cyrus.

"Shut up harp, or you'll be next," Iris issued stabbing the barrel toward Cyrus. "Do it now I said," she backed up and Cyrus crept forward like an injured pup, looking for an escape.

Constance was frozen in unbelief and the words she wanted to say stuck in her throat as Iris directed Cyrus to the front door.

"You should have been dispatched years ago," Iris said to herself. "All this time I've put up with your leering smile like you knew something the rest of us didn't."

"I did know!" Cyrus shouted. "I saw her kill him! I SAW IT!" He howled and his anguish was palpable.

"Shut up! You haven't the foggiest idea of what your saying! Now get on! You get no mercy. You can join your Aunt Sadie in her hole!"

Cyrus pushed the front door open and tripped on his feet so great was his fear. Iris laughed at his stumbling, following him down the front steps onto the sidewalk.

"Go on! You know where you're going," she taunted him ruthlessly. "Down there where you took the preacher today."

Constance gripped the chair at the table and, forgetting the bread, she lunged forward, running to the front door with a desperate scream for help but no help would be coming. Instead her nephew would be met with tightly closed shutters and silence.

As it had been, since the day Cornelius Pennybacker had succumbed to a Shamans curse.

Cyrus cried out, a soul wrenching scream begging his Aunt for respite, but she knew no one was coming to his aide. Not in this town. Not as long as she lived and ruled, and the secrets her Father had died for would stay in the grave where they belonged.