Page 21 of Damnation (Gallows Hill)
Thomas Putnam III
‘ T is my eighteenth birthday on this summer evening, though it feels as if it is a day not worth celebrating. The wake of my father’s death has rocked the very core of Salem.
Though nearly two months have passed, life has not quite moved past his legacy.
My mother is distraught and unwell, my siblings are filled with a mixture of emotions, but it is the town who suffers the most. He was not just a wealthy influence, he was a leader, a guide, a savior.
The trials may have ended seven years ago, but his work was far from over. With the end of the trials came the birth of something greater, something holier, something everlasting.
The Brethren has been built brick by brick at the hands of my father and the others who have dubbed themselves the Elders. Each family has taken up position inside the town’s hierarchy, far more encompassing than just businessmen and landowners. They are investigators, protectors, and executioners.
My father did not allow me knowledge of Brethren business until three years ago.
As they were constructing Gallows Hill University, he sat me and my brothers down to explain the work he has created.
The university took years to construct, a massive structure that no other town in the New World has been blessed with yet.
Not only is the building of impressive nature, designed to train and groom only the best of future generations, but the significance of the land is pertinent.
Built upon the graves of those tried, the university stands proudly upon Gallows Hill, forever a reminder of the sacrifice and determination the Elders have made and continue to make to protect us from our enemies.
My attendance at Gallows Hill commences with the coming of fall, but as the heir of my father’s title and position inside the Brethren, my work has just begun.
True to his suspicions and concerns, a force has been created.
Escapees, descendants of those tried, and some we never even suspected, have rallied together.
They call themselves the Coven. As if that wasn’t the clearest proof of the evil they embody.
They seek revenge for the justice that has been served.
They are in search of revenge. If only they weren’t half as intelligent as us with a quarter of our numbers.
We are stronger, smarter, and larger than they shall ever be, and we are growing by the day.
I have sent letters to influential families we are close with in Boston as well as New York, inviting them to join our society.
My father wished to keep the Brethren private, to only include the Elder families, but I say to hell with that.
Strength is in numbers, and power is in the size of your influence.
Besides, he is now unable to make decisions as he rots in the earth with those who have fallen before him.
A new order is rising from what he has built, and with my direction, we shall transform the Brethren into a society greater than any monarchy, any society that has ever been.
We shall rule with the power of the Egyptians, the strength of the Romans, and protect the values of England herself.
Under God and for his name, we shall cleanse this land, and the next, and we shall not stop until every last witch be charred and beneath the dirt.
I twist the ring he hand commissioned for himself and the others around my finger.
The curled B stamped upon the precious metal gleams in the glow of the torch lit room as I wait for the others to join.
This shall be our first meeting since my father’s passing, and only my second that I am witnessing, let alone in control of.
As the others file through the tunnels and into the room, they each take their seats at the table, their heirs standing behind them as I have instructed them to do so. Until tonight, I was the only heir to have been afforded the privilege of attending a meeting. Another change I am seeing to.
“Brothers, welcome. It pains me greatly to be here in place of my father, who was truly a great man.”
The words are only half truth. As a man, he was truly great. As a father…he was a swine at best.
“Why hast thou demanded our young be invited?” Walcott snaps.
I turn to him, lifting an eyebrow as I look upon Lenord, my best friend and his son. He takes a step behind his father, clasping his shoulder with a swift grip as he nods.
“So that we shall be well trained and ready for when your time of passing arrives.”
His father looks to him, understanding the threat that has been laid upon his feet as my uncle chimes in.
“Why do you assume you should take your father’s place, boy? You have no seniority here.”
I look upon him with consideration. He has been near manic since I have assumed the throne, and I notice that growing with each day. Something must be done about him, and soon.
Looking to Jeremiah Griggs, I nod my head to him, confirming our previous discussion.
My uncle must perish, but ‘tis too soon to assert my power with violence. That time will come. I confided that when my uncle is to pass, it must be done with no ties to myself or the Brethren, and he agreed. His outcry was confirmation enough that this matter must be taken care of immediately, and who better than the physician’s son?
A man knowledgeable in medicines, ailments, and how the body lives… and dies.
“I am the best man for the position. I believe in the cause and will commit my life, my children’s lives, and the lives of all my descendants to protect it.
‘Tis not just about being vigilant of our protections, we must stay proactive. We must seek the witches out, chase them out of the shadows and into the fire, send them back to the pits of hell for which their souls were birthed from.”
Murmurs of agreement echo through the room as I nod.
Standing to lead the way, I guide the Elders out of the room and through the tunnel, where a keeper is standing with robes for each.
The men look upon them in confusion as I encourage them to take the exquisite material.
A merchant was peddling through town, and I placed an order that shall sustain him till winter.
His thanks were received by many, and now our society may be clothed properly, in unity.
I slip on my own robe, flipping the hood over my head as I lead the others to the cemetery inside the university, where the fire has been prepared.
I have spent many months studying the Coven, taking in their every move.
From what I understand, their gatherings around a fire is most sacred to them, so I find much joy in the irony of us emulating such practices.
One by one, each man gathers to complete a circle around the fire as I speak to the group.
“Brothers, the work we shall do is not easy, but necessary. For the good of our families, Salem, and the new world. Lend me your hand in our efforts, and we shall remain ever victorious in the Lord’s honor.”
“Aye!” Parris cheers enthusiastically, a bloodthirsty look you would not expect upon a reverend. I quite like the sight, though.
Reaching into my inner pocket, I pull out the pages I have torn from my father’s journal.
For years, I wondered what he was scrawling upon those pages, keeping hidden from all around him.
Two weeks with it, and I understood the desire.
He was in love. With Sarah Good. With a witch!
He consummated such affections and created life.
The Good child that died at Ipswich was my kin, his blood.
The guilt and disgust ate him alive for years to come, each page a proof to that.
I did not breathe a word to anyone, for doing so could damage my reputation and position.
Who would follow in the steps of an heir to a traitor?
Not a sane soul alive. I carefully selected which pages to dispose of, but the others will do nicely in telling our history.
I shall pass the teachings down of what really happened in Salem all those years ago to my children, and their children, and on and on.
All I can wish is that my father’s sinful acts and disgraceful choices will burn with these pages.
Throwing them into the fire, a satisfaction rolls through me as I watch the parchment turn to ash, floating into the sky as if God does not wish me to be in their presence for a moment longer. Finally, our time has arrived.
“Maleficis esse mori,” I shout.
“Maleficis esse mori,” the room echoes.
Death to witches. Death to them all.