The Stoning
“Tie her wrists to the punishment pole.” Two men secured the struggling slip of a girl to the stake and stepped away. “On this day, the tenth of October, 1692, I, Jonathan Binder, witchfinder, do decree Bethany Pells to be a witch and sentence her to death by stoning.”
The village’s population stood around Bethany in a great circle, afraid to get any closer. Binder walked bravely to the stake and whispered in Bethany’s ear, “You should have given yourself to me when you I requested it; then your painful fate, this witchcraft lie, could have been avoided.”
Bethany looked up at his smug face and spit in it.
Binder stomped away in anger, wiping his face and yelling, “Pass sentence. Stone her!”
Hands picked up stones, rocks and pebbles from the rough ground and flung them with good accuracy at the captive girl. Bethany was bleeding and bruised, hanging now from the leather thong. Her weight was too much for the old thong, cut by stones hitting it as well, and it snapped. Bethany tumbled to the ground, groaning as she fell on the rocks.
Then, miraculously, Bethany struggled to her feet. The village murmured as one, and Binder glared furiously at her. “Finish the sentence!” he roared.
But now Bethany’s hands were free. Crooking her arms, she spread her witching fingers wide and chanted low, summoning an ancient power. The stones all around her began to vibrate, then rose inexplicitly into the air and flew with savage speed and killing force into the astonished villagers.
Many dropped dead outright, while others fell gravely hurt or crippled. A handful hobbled off as fast they could, howling in pain. Bethany faltered, falling against the pole for support. She smiled a bloody smile through cut lips, and using the last of her fading strength and power, hurled a pumpkin-sized rock to cave in Binder’s head.
Then Bethany collapsed dead on the killing field.
