This story is a standalone entry separate from the previous What It Takes to Survive story. Feel free to start here!

Bristol, England—1628

Mother had been quiet the last few days. I knew something was wrong; how could I not? My mother, who was always laughing, hadn't shown so much as the tiniest smile in days.

I hadn't ever seen her this distant for as long as I could remember.

My brother John had sometimes spoken of the time when our coward of a father had traveled to the New World and how broken our mother had been when it became clear that the man had no intention of sending for us as he'd promised.

As I watched my mother while she sat on our porch that morning, staring blankly at the open fields that surrounded our modest home, I wondered whether this was my mother broken again.

I might have called out to her if I thought she would answer me. It was a stark contrast to only a little over a week ago.

"Alright Rowan, it's your turn," my mother had said with her usual smile just as my older brother was getting out of the chair.

I stared in horror as I saw the little hair my brother had grown clumped on our porch floor. My mother, who always cut his hair, had left him with very little on top.

"I don't want to," I had protested by crossing my arms and taking a tiny step back.

"You must," she said quickly as though she'd been expecting my defiance, "You're starting to look like a girl. I imagine the neighbors are starting to talk."

"I say let them," I argued.

"We should probably start calling you Fran at this point," my older brother John chimed in.

The truth was I really liked my hair. It was the same brown, curly hair that sat atop my mother's head, although hers was neatly styled while mine was more wild in nature. In any case, it would take much more than my brother's teasing to get me to agree to cut it.

"Can I at least get it under control?" My mother asked, "Just a trim?"

I shook my head and heard her sigh a moment later, "Suit yourself," she told me.

"That's it?" John asked in disbelief. "Where's the cane? You would have never let me keep such a mess on my head when I was his age."

"That's not true," Mother protested as she tidied up the mess that used to be my brother's hair.

"Oh, it's true, not to mention the fact that some of the boys at the docks were asking me about my little sister some time ago,"

"What would you like me to do then?" She asked with her ever-present smile, "Tie your brother up with a rope and cut his hair?"

"You might have done as much to me when I was his age,"

I remembered how my mother had laughed at that moment. Now it was as though she wasn't even the same person.

I was about to turn to head back into the house to begin preparing breakfast when I heard approaching footsteps. My heart skipped a beat when I realized it sounded like more than only a few men.

That many men approaching could only mean trouble.

I had known the past few days that something was wrong, but John had only insisted on trying to assure me that it was nothing.

And now he wasn't home.

He'd left before dawn that morning for the docks, where he worked as an aptly named dock worker transporting goods from the arriving ships into the various company warehouses.

It paid decently well and allowed us some comfort, but it was grueling work that the three of us knew I could never manage with my slight frame.

That work was the reason he wasn't here now while armed men were approaching our home.

I took some steps forward to meet them as they approached. I'd briefly glanced back at my mother, who sat there unmoving.

With my brother gone, I knew I had to be the man of the house. I had to protect my mother.

"Who—who are you?" I stuttered as soon as the men were in range, "What do you want with us?"

I glanced at the ten or so men in front of me. I didn't recognize any one of them. I may have seen or met any one of them at some point in town, but I had no way of knowing.

"Out of the way, girl," the man who led the group spoke harshly, "This is church business. That woman is wanted on suspicion of witchcraft and shall be placed in our custody until the truth of the matter can be determined."

"Witchcraft?" I asked in disbelief. My shock must have been clearly visible on my face.

One of the men closest to the leader leaned in to speak but spoke loud enough for me to hear, "I believe that's one of her sons."

His full-bearded face looked a bit familiar, but now wasn't the time to try to place it.

"I see," the leader spoke softly, "No doubt she has bargained the child's manhood with the devil she serves. I've seen it happen."

I was mostly in shock trying to process all that was happening. The accusation of witchcraft had seemingly come out of nowhere. It was mad to think my mother of all people could be a witch. Anyone who knew her would say as much.

"By the order of the magistrate, I, Constable Sharpe, order you to take this woman." Another man from the group stepped up to say, and only when the group of men behind him began advancing did I snap out of my trance.

"No, you're making a mistake," I pleaded, "My mother is not a witch!"

"I witnessed it for myself," the bearded man spoke up in response, "I watched my baby boy turn blue at her touch, mere seconds after his birth."

"She stole his soul for her master," The wicked man that led the group quickly agreed, "Take her now and be careful lest she cast a spell on you."

"No, stop," I pleaded some more, "This is a mistake!"

"Silence," the man spoke to me as I struggled with the men trying to make their way past me, "Your destiny has already been sold off and your soul is damned. We must save the soul of this city now."

One of the men reached my mother and took hold of her arm. I tried to stop him, but I was hit hard from somewhere outside my field of view.

I staggered and fell to the floor.

"Take her before she sees fit to take her revenge," I heard as I tried to regain my bearings.

From my position on the floor, I could see that they had forced her to her feet. Even now, she looked just as distant. I desperately wanted her to say something, to advocate for herself, but she only remained silent.

"Please," I begged, "You have this all wrong. Let her go."

My words were falling on deaf ears. I'd realized that as they retreated with my ailing mother. I knew I needed my brother, and so I ran.

I ran until I thought I might collapse from exhaustion, and I ran some more.

By the time I reached the docks, I was panting wildly and suppressing the urge to vomit. I fell to my knees, and I heaved as I tried to catch my breath.

It briefly dawned on me that I hadn't worn any shoes before I began my journey here, and my feet were sore and bleeding, but of course, I had other priorities. I had to find my brother.

At that point, I had the attention of the entire docks, and under normal circumstances, that might have been terrifying, but not today.

As soon as I had caught my breath enough, I screamed his name right there in the open area.

Anyone else that wasn't yet looking at me did so. I desperately hoped one of those faces would be my brother.

I made a single brief glance over the crowd before screaming my brother's name again.

This time, another voice carried his name following mine.

"John!" the unfamiliar voice called out after me, "Come over here."

It didn't take long for my gaze to meet my brother's, and just like that, the tears began to flow. Almost as though I no longer had to be strong.

"Rowan?" he called out as he hurried over to me.

"Ma--" I swallowed. "They took her," I told him in between breaths.

The look on his face told me he had no idea what I was talking about.

"They came, these men; I tried to stop them," I explained. "They took her; they said—John, they said witchcraft."

I said those words and watched the color drain from his face.

=^..^=

"Come on, Rowan," John called out to me from outside the room we both shared, "We can't afford to be late."

It had been around two weeks since our mother was taken from us. It's been two weeks since I saw her last.

The house felt so terribly empty. I would sometimes lie in bed thinking about how different things were only a month ago. I couldn't believe how quickly everything could turn sour.

John had tried, of course, to see her, but he'd been denied on account of my mother being a dangerous witch. So dangerous that she wasn't being held in the jail like we'd expected but in the church.

I couldn't imagine what she was going through inside those walls. It made me sick.

"Why won't they let us see her?" I asked my brother as I exited the room now dressed in one of my only good clothes.

"I see you combed your hair," he replied, trying to change the subject.

"Yeah," I voiced quietly before raising an arm to touch my long hair gently.

"You look even more like a girl now," he added. If he was trying to cheer me up, it wasn't working.

"Aren't you worried that we haven't been able to see her?" I asked him.

"Of course I'm worried," he replied, "But we'll get to see her today."

"At a trial," I confirmed.

He nodded weakly.

"Why does she need to have a trial?" I asked, feeling my anger well up, "She's done nothing wrong."

"I know," he told me, "I know it's hard, but I need to tell you something, and I need you to understand me, Rowan."

"What is it?" I asked in the hope that my brother had a daring plan to keep our mother safe.

"No matter what they say, no matter what you hear, you cannot say anything," he stressed, "You must not speak."

"I don't--" I paused. "We have to come to her defense, surely."

"No--" he continued.

"We have to tell them she's done nothing wrong."

"No!" John shook his head. "You can't speak. If you do, they can accuse you of being a witch just like her. I need you to promise me that you won't say anything."

"Then why are we going there?" I raised my voice, "I don't want to go."

"We have to," he replied, "We can't raise suspicion. I heard from someone that the church is eager to accuse you of also being a witch. You have to listen to me."

"So we just leave her there? With them?" I asked him with tears in my eyes. I'd been crying a lot more in the past two weeks than I ever did before. It felt as if I was a little child again, weak and powerless.

John stepped up, placed a hand on my shoulder, and squeezed lightly. "Ma would want me to protect you, and that is all I'm trying to do now," he said, "And to do that, you need to listen to me, okay?"

"Okay."

=^..^=

The city was awash with people that morning. It wasn't unusual, as Bristol, being a port city, seemingly had an unending supply of new people arriving and old ones departing.

What I noticed, however, as we entered the city that morning was what I could only describe as an air of excitement.

It had been a quiet walk down from our home on the outskirts but had progressively grown louder as we approached.

Something else that had only grown more intense since we left home was the stares my brother and I received as we walked.

At that point, all the residents of the surrounding area must have known by now that a witch trial was to take place.

They may not have known my face on account of my seclusion, but they certainly knew John's who had continued to work throughout the two weeks since Mother was taken.

I couldn't imagine how hard it must have been for him, having to subject himself to their unwanted attention just so he could keep food on our table.

I turned my attention to the city itself to keep my mind off everything I was feeling. I noted how dense the city was with timber-framed buildings so tightly packed that it cast the narrow alleys into near-permanent shadow.

I shuddered to think what ill activities were carried on in those small corridors.

Although not as thick as when standing near the docks, the air here was still thick with the smell of the River Avon, mixed in with the smell of smoke from countless chimneys.

I watched the children run past, laughing joyfully, oblivious to the evil all around them. I wished I could go back to the time when I was one of them—tiny and oblivious.

But today my mind was heavy. Heavier still when I was drawn to the sound of hammers driving into nails, and I turned to find gallows being constructed.

The sight drove a shock through me, and I gasped audibly.

John quickly grabbed my wrist and pulled, "Don't look," he told me, but I couldn't tear my eyes away from the sight.

Many people had gathered to watch the construction or simply lingered to take in more of the sight as they went about their day.

They looked happy.

At the time, I had been so consumed by my despair that I hadn't even considered how strange it was for them to be building that now, before the trial, or even at all. I knew for a fact the city of Bristol had had its fair share of executions in the past.

=^..^=

John and I arrived at the Guildhall to find yet another crowd standing outside, albeit a smaller one.

John, still holding my wrist, pushed past the crowd as we approached the closed door of the hall. There he addressed the guard whose role was to keep the rabble from disturbing the proceedings.

"We are the accused's sons," John told the guard.

He eyed the pair of us for a moment before answering, "Come through."

I noticed that John's admission had stirred up the murmuring of the crowd behind us, but we paid them no mind. We had bigger worries.

We were ushered into a large room where our mother's trial was to be held.

The room sloped downward from the entrance, with several rows of tiered seating, all leading to a podium at the lowest point.

Several of these seats were already filled, and just as we had all morning, we drew their attention with our appearance.

John led me down the stairs towards the front, closest to where our mother would be standing. I was grateful for his help. I don't know how I could have possibly done all this without him.

"She's done nothing wrong," I said to him as soon as we were seated. "Why--"

"I know," he cut me off before quickly glancing around to make sure no one was listening, "It's okay. It will all be over soon."

He was right, as he always was. Only a few minutes later, the doors were opened and the crowd poured in. Everyone was desperate to find a place to sit. When the seats ran out, the rest found a perch to stand.

Nothing was going to keep them away from the spectacle.

I tried but found it very difficult to keep from listening to all the murmurs around us.

"That's them there," one person said.

"I heard the witch had two sons."

"The wee one's a lass, isn't she?"

"Looks like it."

"Say, you don't think--"

"I've heard it happen."

I could feel myself trembling but could do nothing to stop it.

I only found some reprieve from the onslaught when the key figures began making their appearances.

I recognized Constable Sharpe with them, but the rest of the magistrates, their identities, were not known to me.

There were clergy present, this being a witch trial and all. Among them, I recognized the man from two weeks ago who had convinced his group that my mother must be a witch. A witch hunter, I expected.

With him, I found my mother's accuser. The man who claimed my mother had taken his child's life as though babies do not die all the time in childbirth.

He was the man that had brought hell upon my family, and I hated him.

Unlike the other figures who marched on to an area reserved for those presiding, the accuser returned to the front row of tiered seats, settling only a few seats away from my brother and me.

Despite the fact that he was ruining our lives, he paid us no mind.

"We are here to examine the dealings of one Margaret Hale and come to a conclusion regarding her status as a witch." One of the presiding men spoke with a booming voice, "Bring in the accused."

The attention of all the people present turned to a door that led deeper into the guildhall, out of which I saw my mother for the first time in weeks.

She looked tattered. It took everything I had in me to keep crying only because I had promised John I wouldn't make a scene.

My mother was dressed in rags and covered in dirt. Her eyes darted around the room frantically until they met mine.

I felt a warmth I hadn't felt in so long when she smiled at me. Despite her terrible outward appearance, her eyes seemed to have returned to how they were a month ago.

She seemed to have overcome whatever it was that had weighed her down in those days before her arrest.

I had my mother back, but yet I knew she was entirely out of reach as she was led to the stand.

"Margaret Hale, you have been accused of dealing in the most vile act of witchcraft." The man spoke after the crowd had quieted down. "How do you plead?"

My mother's gaze lingered on mine for a moment longer. I was happy I got to see that smile one last time before she turned to face the clergy and the magistrates.

"Guilty," she said, "It is true that I am a witch."

=^..^=

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Hiya :) I hope you enjoyed the first chapter. Please let me know what you think about it so far.