Chapter Six Origins 1.2: Queen Martha saves the witches.

A collective gasp filled the courtroom. "I went to my room, intending to ask her in the morning why my brother was in her bed." The courtroom fell silent, like a cemetery, as the weight of her words hung in the air. The audience was stunned, sensing that more shocking revelations were yet to come that day.

Please, explain further, the prosecutor pressed on, his curiosity piqued. "Did you peek into her room? How did you know he was in her bed?" The courtroom was silent, with all eyes fixed on the little girl, eager to hear her response. "I recognized the squeaky sounds coming from Atika's room," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. "It was the same sound brother Irvine's old bed used to make, the one that was given to the slave." The prosecutor's eyes narrowed, his mind racing with the implications of her words.

"Thank you, Miss Edwards," the prosecutor said, dismissing the little girl from the witness box. Next, Atika was summoned to testify. As she stood in the witness box, the prosecutor's tone turned accusatory. "Miss Peters, the child testified that Irvine was in your bed. Did you perform any sinister rituals on your master's son?"

Atika's eyes dropped, and she cleared her throat, her voice barely audible. "It was not a ritual, and Irvine was not sleepwalking." She paused, her words hanging in the air. "It was consensual." The courtroom erupted into a mixture of gasps and murmurs, as the weight of Atika's admission sank in. Without a lawyer to defend her, Atika stood alone, her fate precarious.

"In other words, you mean you were indulging in sexual intercourse with a minor?" the prosecutor pressed, his voice firm and accusatory, cornering Atika with his words. This was a tactic often used to extract confessions from defendants, and Atika, without legal counsel, was vulnerable to the prosecutor's aggressive questioning. The courtroom's atmosphere grew more tense, as the gravity of the accusation hung in the air, awaiting Atika's response.

 "I object!" Miss Peters declared confidently, her voice ringing out in the courtroom. The other slaves exchanged amazed glances, wondering where she found the courage to speak out, especially as a woman of color. The prosecutor raised an eyebrow, trying to trap her. 

"Come again?" he asked, inviting her to repeat her statement. But Miss Peters was no fool. Despite having no lawyer, she was quick-witted and sharp-tongued. 

"What I mean is, that man over there is not a minor," she clarified. "He just turned twenty-one last week. Yes, I admit we've been in a sexual relationship for about a year and a half. If you're talking about minors, I'm the one who's been wronged – I'm the minor in this situation."

The prosecutor's face flushed with embarrassment as he backed down, his attempt to bully Miss Peters exposed. "My apologies," he muttered, before quickly moving on to the next question. "How old are you?" he asked gruffly. 

Miss Peters' voice trembled as she replied, "Seventeen..." Tears streamed down her face as she continued, "And I'm not a witch. I'm just an unfortunate soul, born to slave parents, doomed to be a slave myself. I was sold, shipped, and treated like livestock – a man's possession, nothing more." As she gazed out at the emotional faces before her, Miss Peters knew it was time to play her final card, her only hope for salvation in this desperate situation.

"I was just fifteen when Mr. Edward purchased me, forcing me into a life of servitude from a tender age. But then I met him - a boy who promised me a future where I could make my own choices, a life free from ownership. I fell deeply in love with him, and I beg of you, don't prosecute him for our relationship. He owns me, and by law, he can do as he pleases with me. But I don't want him to suffer because of me; he has a bright future ahead, while I'm just a slave, doomed from the day I was born." Her words were laced with a deep love and desperation. "However, our child will not suffer the same fate. I will not let them be doomed like me."

That final statement turned everything upside down. The witchcraft accusations were forgotten, replaced by the scandalous revelation of Miss Peters' pregnancy with the master's son. The courtroom erupted into chaos, with journalists snapping photos and clamoring for a scoop on the new celebrity in town. 

As a result, more people were accused, captured, and prosecuted for witchcraft, but Miss Peters' situation was unique. Despite being held in custody, she received special treatment due to her status as the carrier of an Edwards' heir. However, her master couldn't forgive her transgression, so he ensured she would still face prosecution, even without concrete evidence. This was a stark reminder of the power and status wielded by the elite, where the truth was secondary to their interests.

As I mentioned earlier, politics played a significant role in the witch prosecutions. If someone in power had a vendetta against you, they could easily accuse and frame you for witchcraft, leading to a death sentence. This is precisely what happened to Atika, a white witch who was falsely accused of dark magic. Mr. Edwards, seeking revenge, ensured her punishment. Similarly, the relatives of Mr. Edwards, with whom he had land disputes in Salem, were also framed for witchcraft. By doing so, he eliminated them in an instant, conveniently disposing of his enemies and consolidating his power.

The long-awaited moment had finally arrived - the birth of the Edwards' heir! Everyone anticipated a black baby, hoping to use its appearance as a pretext to dispose of it. However, fate had other plans. In a surprising twist, the baby's skin was fair, making it difficult for them to find a reason to eliminate it. Unbeknownst to them, Atika had made a sacrificial deal with the jury, accepting any punishment meted out to her in exchange for the baby's and its father's freedom. With her life, she had protected the innocent lives of her loved ones, ensuring their safety and future.

As the baby arrived, everyone was astonished to see that it wasn't black, but rather had a subtle hint of its mother's heritage. The baby's skin was a gentle blend of its parents' tones, with its mother's luscious black hair and its father's striking green eyes. 

"Thank you," Irvine whispered, his eyes brimming with tears as he gazed at his newborn daughter. He wasn't ready to be a father, but he vowed to accept the responsibility.

"Don't mention it, Irvine," Atika replied, her voice trembling. 

"Promise me you'll take care of our baby, give her everything she needs. I'll be watching over her from afar. I love you, and I always will." With those final words, she handed the baby to Irvine and returned to her cell, leaving him in tears. A few months later, Atika was led to the gallows, her life cut short. But even in death, she knew this wasn't the end – her spirit would endure, watching over her child from beyond.