A Witch's Revenge

(Originally posted in r/WritingPrompts, inspired by this prompt: https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/1ebymsp/wp_the_town_priests_dark_secrets_finally_catch_up/ )

"Regina Whitman, you have hereby been convicted of the crime of witchcraft," Father Jeremiah said as he raised his torch high. "And for your crimes, you have been sentenced to death by fire."

"You honestly think a little fire will silence me?" I laughed as two of the townsfolk tied me to the stake. "Do you know how many towns have tried that on me? All of them. And none have succeeded."

"Cease your devilish lies! This ends now!"

"Go ahead," I said with a defiant smirk as I stared directly into his eyes. "You'll find out just like the rest of them."

"James! Get a gag on her! Now!"

"Yes, Father," the young man said, tying a gag around my face.

That could be a problem. I hadn't yet mastered psychic spellcasting yet. I couldn't save myself without my spellcasting. Then again, necessity was the greatest teacher of them all. Perhaps this would provide the perfect environment for me to learn the technique.

"In the Holy Name of God, I hereby cast you back to the fires of hell from whence you came!" Father Jeremiah lowered his torch to the bundle of wood and kindling at my feet.

I winced in pain as the fire licked at the skin around my ankles.

I closed my eyes, focusing on the incantation in my mind. I could master the technique. I had to master it. My life literally depended upon it.

"Make your will a reality," my mentor Agatha's words echoed in my mind. "Your mind is more powerful than you think."

Yes. My mind is powerful. I am powerful. I can make my will a reality.

I willed my body to become resilient. Impervious to the flames. I willed it with my whole body and soul. And then...

The pain ceased as I felt my flesh knit itself back together. It was working. I could still feel the heat of the flames. But now it was pleasant. Like a warm blanket on a cold day.

I extended my will towards the clothes on my body. Briefly opening my eyes, I saw my clothes give off a shimmer, a magical shield enveloping them as the flames grew higher. My fear was all but evaporated now. Raw power flowed through me, from the mountains, the trees, the river, the ground beneath my feet, the sky above.

I stared directly at Father Jeremiah as pure elation eclipsed my mind.

After about fifteen minutes, the ropes binding my wrists and ankles had completely burned away, as had the gag across my face. A smile spread across my face as the flames grew even higher. Its warmth enveloped me as I brought my hands in front of me. I stretched up to the sky and down to the ground, my magic shielding me from the fire's hunger. I let out a gleeful laugh.

"Father? Shouldn't she be dead by now?" James asked hesitantly.

Father Jeremiah swallowed, sweating nervously.

"I can smell your fear," I said with a grin, the stake I was bound to falling to the ground behind me. "What's the matter? Never encountered a real witch before?"

Father Jeremiah was too stunned to speak. Not just stunned. Terrified.

"I must thank you, Father Jeremiah," I said as I slowly walked towards him, the flames encircling around me like a fiery shield. "Without your help, I may never have mastered psychic spellcasting. But you unknowingly created the exact conditions I needed to master the technique. I'm more powerful than ever, thanks to you."

"I'm...dreaming. This is just...a terrible dream."

"It's no dream," I said with a smile as I channeled the flames into a fiery serpent. "It's real as the sun in the sky."

"None of the other witches have ever escaped the flames!"

"That's because none of the other people you've burned have been real witches," I said. "You, Father Jeremiah, have burnt thirty-four innocent women to death. I have heard their cries of agony. And I have come to exact vengeance on their behalf."

"That's blasphemy!"

"Did I claim to be God?"

"Well, no, but--"

"Did I claim to be using the power of God?"

"No, but that's not the--"

"Then by definition I haven't committed blasphemy," I said with a smirk. "If you're gonna accuse me of crimes, at least accuse me of the correct ones."

"Y-you--"

"But we mustn't forget about your crimes, Father Jeremiah," I said, my fiery serpent slithering towards him. "Thirty-four innocent lives, dead by your hand. I daresay that sounds like murder. Wouldn't you agree, good citizens of this town?"

"You mean my mother was innocent?" James looked at me with tears in his eyes.

"Ruth, her name was, yes?"

James nodded.

"Then that is correct. Your mother was innocent," I said.

"And my wife Elizabeth?" Mr. Elijah Smith asked.

"Yes. Completely innocent."

One by one, the townsfolk started naming people that Father Jeremiah had burned. Mothers. Daughters. Sisters. Aunts. Friends. And one by one, I confirmed their innocence. Their cries of anguish pierced the sky as they realized what had been done them.

"So, Father Jeremiah," I said, my serpent slithering around him so close his clothes started to singe. "You claim to speak and act under the authority of God. But if God is truly the all-knowing, perfect, loving creator of this world, why would he authorize you to commit acts of murder in his name? Why would he sentence thirty-four innocent women, his beloved daughters, to an agonizing death by fire?"

Father Jeremiah swallowed, his eyes wide with terror as my serpent grew closer and closer to him. I could see the sweat dripping from his forehead.

"The answer is simple. You have lied. You do not act under God's authority. You do not hear his voice. You are a fraud. A pretender. Up until this moment, you did not believe in the existence of witches, did you, Father Jeremiah?"

Father Jeremiah slowly shook his head, trembling in fear.

"That's right. You used these witch-hunts to solidify your power over the good people of this town. You are guilty of murder, blasphemy, and deceiving these good people. You saw talented and intelligent women as a threat to your legitimacy, so you called them witches to give you an excuse to murder them. And you didn't even offer them the decency of a painless death. Their cries of agony pierced the skies."

My serpent grew in size, poised to strike.

"You want to know the truth about witches, Father Jeremiah?" I asked.

Father Jeremiah shrunk down within himself as an effort to avoid the flames.

"We witches are not agents of evil. We are punishers of it. And you, Father Jeremiah, are among the most evil of all the people I've come across. You used torture to force confessions. You manipulated these people into turning on each other. You ripped people away from their wives. Their mothers. Their daughters. Their sisters. Their friends. Your sins are a stain upon your very soul. And now, you shall pay the price."

"Please, have mercy," Father Jeremiah said, kneeling down to the ground.

"Mercy?" I laughed. "I'm not sure you know the meaning of the word. But in the interest of fairness, I shall allow the survivors of your tyranny decide your fate."

The pitiful pretender looked around frantically at the townsfolk, searching for any sliver of sympathy in their eyes.

"What say you, good people of this town?" I asked, my voice like thunder. "Shall I spare this man? Or shall I deliver vengeance?"

A chorus of vengeful anger rang through the crowd. Not a single man, woman, or child vouched for the pitiful creature before me.

"Well, there's your answer, Father Jeremiah," I said. "Your only mercy will be the fact that you will no longer be capable of further staining your soul with innocent people."

The spirits of the departed whispered thanks in my ear as my fiery serpent struck. The town was now safe from tyranny. And never again did I hear the agonized cries of the innocent from the beautiful town of Salem, Massachusetts.