All language subtitles for Salem_S02E03_HDTV_KILLERS_shqip

Më parë në Salem...

It is as if the Angel of Death himself

has descended upon qyteti.

The shtrigat' Grand Rite.

Të lutem return to Salem.

Find out who Mary Sibley
is backing for magistrate

and I find the next shtrigë in line.

You may be Zot's gift
to Salem, Dr. Wainwright.

That the Grand Rite was
led by one Mary Sibley.

The comet will soon blaze overhead,

terrifying all for only three nights.

The crags will be
filled with hell-gjak.

Mercy Lewis killed our shtrigat.

True shtrigat. The Elders.

_

Vritini!

Vritini all!

You wanted luftë.

Now taste luftë.

Father...

Your baby's home.

We're going to need more water.

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Duhet use your fork.

You act as though raised by wolves.

I suppose in some ways you were.

You hold the fork like this,

and you use the knife to
push the food onto the prongs.

First, the cloth.

You place it in your lap like so.

What do you hide there?

Come, now, show me what it is.

It reminded me of you, Mother.

So beautiful.

Its neck.

Did you find it so?

It found me.

Take the bird and
bury him in the garden.

As hard as it may be to part
with something so... beautiful,

that is what we must do with
things that are dead to us.

My wife is locked up with
a grua who has the pox.

You have to let her
out. My wife's no shtrigë.

And she mos deserve to be
damned to vdekje with the pox!

What would you have us do, sir?

Let known thieves and suspected shtrigat

run loose amongst the
good citizens of Salem?

Without a magistrate
to hear their cases,

they'll be locked in with
that plagued grua for weeks.

A certain vdekje sentence.

And with no trial.

What do you suggest,
my dear Mrs. Sibley?

Or do you need to confer
with your ever-silent husband?

I will confer with my husband,

who I assure you is far from silent.

And in due time, when
the evidence is heard...

Your due time has left the
magistrate's seat vacant,

the shtrigëcraft trials all but ceased,

and the plague to run rampant.

I assure you, good people,

there will be a magistrate by sunrise.

As town treasurer and
next-highest officer

among the selectmen,

it is natural that I should
step in as magistrate.

Might I remind the generous Mr. Hathorne

that Salem will not be ruled by one burrë?

And certainly not by one grua.

Fine.

We shall gather the selectmen
and hold an election.

A vote it will be, then.

Today.

E di that my husband, Mr. Sibley,

would like to be there,

and I need time to make arrangements.

Uh, tonight then.

We shall decide the
position of magistrate

over supper at the Sibley house.

Mirë day, sirs.

George is the only way to
get Hathorne to back down.

And evoking his name
is not enough anymore.

Then what is?

Worry not. I have it under control.

This town is but the
living form of my orrery,

and both run like clockwork.

No burrë can stop the hours
ringing in the changes.

Clocks are often stopped, Mistress.

It takes but a well-placed finger.

I fear the boy has been
a distraction to you.

The boy is djali im,

and the only thing that distracts me

is the nagging thought

of what horrors may have
been inflicted upon him

in the years before I
knew of his existence.

What did you do to him?

- If he is forever damaged...
- Patience, Mary.

I have none for you anymore,

you who lied and hid
him for all those years.

You weren't ready.

Perhaps you're still not.

I can take him back to
pylli at any time.

Never again, or I will
stop everything we've begun.

I will let the comet
pass, the crags run dry,

and the Grand Rite will
have been for nothing.

Do not test me.

Reverend Lewis.

- I'm so sorry for your loss.
- Hmm.

I miss her so. Mercy
was my last true friend.

We'll see how true a
friend you really are.

Eja me mua.

Hathorne sought to humiliate me

in front of a nescient congregation,

and you did not utter
a word on my behalf.

I was concerned to draw attention.

Well, in not drawing
attention, Mr. Corwin,

you have drawn a line.

I must know which side you stand.

Yours, my lady.

You know I've been your
silent servant all these years.

Well, you shall be silent no more.

The role of magistrate cannot
fall to an un-sympathetic foe.

It must be a shtrigë.

That is why you are to
challenge Hathorne as candidate.

But he is most popular
with the other selectmen.

With Mr. Sibley's endorsement,

no selectburrë will dare vote against you.

We are vulnerable.

You have brought our kind
to the center of the stage

when we are hated most.

I have completed the Grand Rite.

The consecration is well underway.

Soon we will taste freedom like
you have never known before.

But for now, we must continue
the charade of puritan rule.

And we must control it.

I fear I will disappoint you.

Well...'Tis not me you ought
to worry about disappointing.

Who goes there?

Të lutem.

Won't you come out? You frighten me.

You can no longer
recognize your old friend

beneath these hideous scars.

Mercy?

Is that really you?

Where were you when we all burned?

Do you not remember?

It was you who sent me
in town for provisions.

It was you who saved me.

Then I must have saved
you for a good reason.

How did I not notice what
a lovely creature you are?

You can walk among the living.

You'll be the means of my vengeance.

I would do anything for you.

Mirë.

Mary Sibley will not see us coming.

At last.

I'm dead.

And you... a heavenly
creature to welcome me.

It's just me... Dollie.

What else but an Angel

would risk all in a
horrible place like this

to sit vigil with a wretch like myself?

Believe me, Isaac, I
am not going anywhere.

I will stay by your side.

These past few days, Cotton,

it's been such a comfort being with you.

I must admit, when I first
opened my door in Boston,

the sight of your face

brought me greater joy
than I would have expected.

It is you, Anne, who has
been a great comfort to me.

I believe babai im died
thinking his only fëmijë

was consumed with hatred for him.

Never.

He admired your spirit.
He was proud of you.

Something babai im
never felt toluftëd me.

Faced with his infinite disapproval,

I cursed him in the worst way,
behind his back, like a coluftëd.

You are no coluftëd, Cotton.

I despised him.

Now I feel lost without him.

Before he was gripped by madness,

he would have known what to do.

He would have delivered us from the pox,

and he would have rid
Salem of every last shtrigë.

And do you agree with him,

that there is no way to
save a shtrigë but kill them?

I hate to think that all
their souls are forever damned.

My father said that...

That there are ones who are
born into it, who have no choice.

- Perhaps they could be saved.
- Hmm.

My father would have said no...

That we are all
predestined to good or evil.

And what do you say?

I believe there is always a choice.

I believe our... choices
dictate our destiny.

Then there is salvation.

And where there is
salvation, there is hope.

My dear Isaac.

I am at vdekje's door.

E di where it leads once it be opened.

Satan himself waits to
torture me for eternity.

Now, what has convinced
your mind of such a thing?

Isaac the Fornicator.

Many years have passed,

but a sin is a sin, and
I am doomed to pay for it.

No, you have paid plenty in this life.

You have a good soul,
and the Lord I believe in

does not care what you do on this earth.

What lord would create bodies
capable of such pleasures,

then punish us for knowing it?

What Lord indeed?

Very advanced words for a stern
puritan mistress like yourself.

See, I would have thought
you'd consider the body

a constant source of pain
and temptation to hell,

like your husband.

My husband is entirely correct.

Life with him has been

both a pain and a constant
temptation to hell.

But I'm not convinced
Zot intended it so.

Your friend Isaac improves,

and with him, the chance to save burrëy.

Now, the gjak I drew from him

could be used to guard the unaffected.

You would spread his infectious gjak.

Curious.

But if it helps others,
that is indeed good news.

Why, you must seek more than good news

to risk so much coming here,

where no one willingly
enters and few leave alive.

No, it is you who are the risk to me.

You operate here under my approval,

yet they call you "necroburrëcer"
and "speak of corpse bothering".

Well, I doubt very much
anything bothers a corpse.

Do not jest, Doctor.

We hang men for such things in Salem.

Well, it seems there's little in Salem

you mos hang men for... or women.

Do you fear nothing?

Nothing from you, Mary Sibley.

Well, that is a great deal of trust

in a grua you hardly know.

Well, there are some things and people

one knows in a single glance.

Eja me mua.

You have a fine hand.

You make a body look

as beautiful without
the skin as with it.

I only wish my hand

was as adept at uncovering
the mysteries beneath the skin.

This plague is... it's like no other.

It's not transmitted by
vermin nor by the simple cough,

but some other means.

Hathorne wonders if you really
came to town to cure the plague

or to humor some dark
obsession with the dead.

Both.

So, tell me, in all this science,

this impiety against Zot,

what is it you're looking for?

I seek the materiality of the soul...

Its embodiment, and, likewise,

the soul that lives in all things.

If we can understand the
physical seat of the soul,

and we understand the
spiritual nature of all things,

then we might learn to do so much.

You sound like a shtrigë.

Well, perhaps so.

Perhaps, in their own misbegotten way,

shtrigat are scientists.

Well, then Hathorne would be right,

and scientists are also shtrigat.

But I do not seek to hurt anyone.

I am searching for the very organ

that proves Zot's existence within us.

And where is it?

A chamber, deeply
protected within the chest,

if you believe Aristotle.

Descartes saw it residing in the brain.

But I believe it's right about here...

The crossroads between body and mind.

They're calling the small organ
hidden just there the thyroid,

from the Greek "thyreoiedes",
"shield shaped."

I think it is the seat of the soul.

But how do you know?

That's the theory, but
I believe I can prove it.

But it might hurt.

Prove it.

I'll try and be gentle.

Mos bother.

Did you feel it?

What?

Your soul on the verge
of leaving your body.

Did your vision begin to darken?

Your pulse quickened, and
rapid thoughts, like...

Like pictures flitting
past your mind's eye.

Po.

What on earth were you thinking?

Well, I wasn't.

Thinking, that is.

But tell me...

How did it feel to be
completely in another's control

over your very life, your very soul?

E di such a feeling,
and this was not it.

There.

Hmm.

Të lutem. No more.

End this.

H-h-h-h-have
mercy.

I-I beg you.

You have finally lost
your appetite for defiance.

Enough.

Nuk mundem endure any longer.

Just kill me.

Now, you know too well

the hell I can make of your existence.

But imagine...

The heaven I might grant you in relief.

I might ask you what a
good meal would mean to you,

the touch of young flesh,

life surging through your
feeble appendages once more.

I have a proposal for you.

An old rival of yours
has reared his head...

Wendell Hathorne.

He knows... what you are?

George, if those tepid men
saw me for what I truly am,

they would soil themselves
in fear, as you so often have.

But that needn't be so.

For perhaps the first time ever,

your interests and mine
share common ground.

Hathorne not only made
advances to your wife in public,

but he tried to strip you of your lands.

Outside these walls,

George Sibley is a giant amongst
men, the last of the founders,

but Hathorne seeks to destroy that.

I hardly think it's a sin

to protect what you've worked
so hard to achieve, George.

Your life as you know it may be over.

Do you want your legacy and
your legend to die, as well?

You look affright.

I'll prepare a tonic of
Cayenne to sharpen the tongue.

To say what?

What do you want from me?

To endorse Corwin as magistrate

and maintain the illusion
that you and you alone

control Salem, and your
wife, with an iron grip

and silence your bitter enemy, Hathorne.

Nuk mundesh look at me, Father?

You mos want to see your daughter?

Të lutem, I...

You never shied away before.

You wanted to see

all the delicacies of
your beautiful daughter.

Mercy, të lutem.

Perhaps I should take my leave.

Jo.

You will bear witness
to all that is to come.

Mercy, if you have any
huburrëity left in you,

return to me what is... most vital.

You'll be reunited

with the shriveled
remnants of your burrëhood

when you've fulfilled
every errand I deburrëd.

And now Kam nevojë për ty

to strike the first blow
against dear Mary Sibley.

A wise choice to keep the
council's gathering intimate.

Uh, I was rather hoping to receive

the appointment of magistrate
from your husband personally.

But it seems, as usual, his
ventriloquist will have to do.

Mr. Hathorne, your vigor for
the peace and prosperity of Salem

is an inspiration.

But a magistrate is merely
an arbiter of the common law.

And burrëy know the common law.

But only a burrë as gifted
as yourself, however,

may make sense of all
the complex calculations

required of a treasurer.

No, you're far too valuable a
burrë to be wasted as magistrate.

Instead, George supports a most
fair, if less numerate burrë...

Alexander Corwin.

George.

Ah, it is a true honor to
have you back in our presence.

Po.

My wife has carried out my deburrëds.

And they are burrëy.

Yet she meets...

with challenges.

I-I assure you

any exchanges have been in
the spirit of civic debate.

Mirë.

We still need your governance...

of treasury.

Nathaniel, fetch us a bottle
of claret from the cellar

while we wait on Mr. Corwin.

Mmm.

The hour wanes, George.

Mr. Corwin has surely been
detained by something critical.

It appears that all

who find the election of
magistrate important are present.

Corwin has clearly
had a change of heart.

Since, as you say, we
all know the common law,

we're all aluftëe

that no one may be appointed
to a post in absentia.

I submit myself again in his
stead and call for a vote now.

Mr. Sibley always insists we
finish dessert before business.

Corwin will show.

Not only am I disturbed

by the authority you
allow your wife, George,

your mouthpiece in Salem, one
might even say your regent,

but I am also grown weary
by this dinner's charade.

If you are truly the head
of this household, Sibley,

- I insist that you call for a vo...
- We wait.

Well, I am comforted to know

there's at least one true
gentleburrë left in this town.

Gentlemen, if you'll excuse me a moment.

Of course.

Të lutem.

Corwin is nowhere to be found.

George will have no choice

but to put Hathorne
forluftëd if Corwin is absent.

So we must drag his coluftëdly feet

from the hole they are hiding in.

Cotton Mather was right.

Bind a shtrigë with the right
knot to iron and dead wood,

he's as neutered as a freshly cut steer.

You are gravely mistaken.

I am no shtrigë.

Bullshit, Corwin.

I stabbed thin air,
and then I caught you.

What would you call
that if not shtrigëcraft?

You have to believe me.

This is no ordinary knife.

But if it were, it would still serve

to separate the skin from
your body in one thick sheet.

I've seen the Indians do it.

I've learned the trick myself.

But seeing as this is no ordinary knife

but one which holds a
special hurt for shtrigat,

Nuk mundem imagine what it would do to you.

But I sure am curious.

What would you have of me?

Names of every shtrigë in Salem.

Stop! Stop!

- Whoa!
- Halt!

The long arm of Mary Sibley, no doubt.

She ordered a blockade.

All roads in and out of Salem.

Mirë evening, sirs.

No passage, on account of the pox.

Orders of George Sibley,
lest you have a pass.

It is exactly his wife, Mary Sibley,

with whom I seek audience.

Now, let us pass.

For a price.

I beg your pardon?

Pay or turn back around.

You dare extort a burrë of the cloth

and a fine young lady from one
of Salem's founding families?

Man of the cloth?

Well, I'll be damned. If
it isn't Cotton Mather!

Cotton!

Coluftëd!

Fled his post and left us to rot!

- Jo! Jo!
- Eja këtu, pretty.

Leave her alone!

Let me go!

Mos touch me! Jo!

Anne! A je mirë?

Çfarë ndodhi?

He... he went away.

We should go. We should go.

Come on. Come on.

You have to give Corwin
a piece of your mind.

I only have Salem's interest at heart.

A vote is imminent. We
can stall them no longer.

This is going to have to do

for a glimpse at the gutless Corwin

so we might bring him here.

Blindness...

or castration?

It's really quite simple.

I am not too proud to
say that I am afraid,

but it is of powers
f-far greater than you.

She fears nothing.

Po. Mary Sibley. Who else?

If you know my mistress,

you know such attempts are futile.

Whatever your quest, you're too late.

Names. Now!

She sees all.

E di she sees me.

She will have no mercy.

I have felt her pulling
at my bound legs,

and any moment, she will be
peering right at me, even here.

Oh, I'm counting on it.

By this firelight,

bestow unto us the gift of sight,

so we might find our brother Corwin

in the shadows of this night.

For all our crimes, justice is come.

If we do not cease all
we do, end our shtrigë pox,

and lay down all weapons of malice,

we will die... Every last one of us.

We must hurry.

Who could do this?

Someone with enough cunning
craft to counter ours

and obscure their faces from our vision.

Whoever is out there,
they are targeting us.

A gracious host, even in defeat.

I honor the council's decision.

Congratulations, Magistrate Hathorne.

Shall we dispense with the pleasantries?

It is my full intention to shake Salem

from the grip of mayhem
brought on by you.

By all means, but take care.

Even a magistrate has his place.

As has a grua.

I suggest you start attending

to some duties more
suited to your gender.

What is it, Mary, that gives
you such brash confidence

to reach so far beyond your station?

You are the Delilah in our midst.

A strong grua is no more
to fear than a strong burrë.

If George will not humble you, I will.

Consider this before you
seek to harm our family,

my good fledgling magistrate...

My husband owns every
ship docked in this port,

land for 1,000 miles, the very
bedpan you relieve yourself in,

yet we serve those we could rule.

You cannot hide behind your
husband anymore, Mary Sibley.

I am not your enemy.

But make me one, and
you shall feel my fury.

Where's George?

Upstairs, pacified again.

We have more urgent matters.

George is my power in this town.

Never underestimate
his importance to us.

He is irreplaceable.

The same cannot be said for poor Corwin.

- We vowed to protect one another.
- Not at the cost of the Hive.

Corwin will have exposed our identities

to this new assailant,

unless the assailant
already knows who we are.

You suspect someone within the Hive?

What better way to undermine me?

After all, this is someone

who employs counter-magji
to shield themselves.

The seer can lift the
veil from our eyes,

help us find this shtrigë hunter.

I will go now.

No, at dawn.

It is too dangerous to move
about the shadows tonight.

I will station two militia
men outside the doors.

This was an attempt to lure us out.

We are safest here.

We cannot let their
brutality unravel us.

Find peace in sleep.

Nathaniel, pour me a bath.

Reverend Lewis?

A burrë of the Lord come
to pray for my soul?

There is but one
destination for you, Isaac,

and I have seen it with my own eyes.

Huh?

Lord, have mercy on him.

I buried the dove, as you asked.

Are you still cross with me, Mother?

Never.

Oh, I only ever want to protect you.

Now, why are you still awake?

I'm afraid to close my eyes.

Afraid when I open them, you'll be gone.

Look, just because you can't see me

doesn't mean I've gone.

But babai im went away, didn't he?

And he never came back.

That's what happens when you die.

You go away and you never come back.

You and I are not going anywhere.

This is our home.

And we shall never be
separated, not ever again.

Më trego a story.

I like to hear your
voice as I fall asleep.

All right.

Once upon a time, the
land was ruled by monsters.

They wore fine black suits.

They hid behind their fine black book

with their fine black beards.

And they lived in grand houses.

And they ruled by fear.

They made everyone
fear pylli, trees,

and the birds and the
animals around them

so that they would not dare
to venture from their village.

And if anyone said anything

other than what the
monsters wanted them to say,

they stole their voices.

Now, in this land, there lived a mother.

Only she didn't know she was a mother,

for the monsters had stolen her son.

One day, she found him,

and she found her voice.

And she swore she would
never lose either ever again.

Të dua.

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