Witchery Afoot

 

Ignorance and prejudice and fear walk hand in hand

-- Witch Hunt (Part III of 'Fear') Rush

 

Late September, 1672

Touches of frost dusted the leaves and grass early that frosty morning. A thick covering of leaves crunched as Margaret searched for Valerian among the trees and red sumac that had lost half of their leaves. The roots would be useful in the medication she would be making later in the day. She always enjoyed it here in the quiet of the forest away from the town. Many times she could hear the tall sentinels as they whispered to one another in their long forgotten language. Whenever she touched their trunks she could commune with them through her thoughts.

June Ludlow had been suffering throughout her pregnancy while carrying her tenth child. The town doctor couldn’t seem to do anything for her. Then again, maybe he just didn’t want to. The general attitude was that it was God’s will if a woman died during childbirth. Far too many graves were filled by those who were trying to bring a new life into the world. As a result, there were many women of the area that chose to come to Margaret instead of seeing the doctor during a difficult pregnancy. At least there was a better chance that both the mother and child would survive.

The early morning chill seemed to sink deep into Margaret’s bones. A shiver involuntarily travelled through her body. To help ward off the cold a little she drew the red wool cloak in tighter to herself. Finding one of the plants she began digging in around the root with her sharpened stick. Being careful she removed the dirt and was able to extricate it in one piece. Opening the little satchel she was carrying she placed the root in it.

Noticing an elm tree nearby she decided she should get some of the bark. It would be useful ground up and given as fever reducer and to help relieve pain. Lately, her stock had been getting a little low with all of the requests there had been. Making her way over to it through the underbrush she carefully cut away some of the useful substance with the knife she was carrying. The pieces made their way into the satchel with its other contents. Asking the tree for forgiveness she closed her eyes as laid her hands on the trunk.

Taking her hands off of the trunk she inspected the area around her. I wish I could find more as June will need a lot more throughout her term. While it was never very easy to bring a new child into the world this one definitely proving it wouldn’t be.

Lost in her search for some more Valerian she continued to search between the trees. Reaching an opening in the forest she could see the rooftops over the planks of the palisade around Southmoor. Oh no, I’ve gotten too close! I need to watch where I’m at all times. Her eyes got wide as she desperately hoped that hadn’t been spotted by any of the watchmen. Every day at least one of them would walk along the walkway at the top of the wall to spot the natives. After the vicious attacks that happened the last few years it seemed to be good insurance.

While the women willingly went out of their way to consult her, most men weren’t of the same persuasion. Some of them in the town called her a witch and said she was in league with the devil. It was obvious that some would have burned her at the stake gladly, the pure vitriol was amazing. Many times when she was in the village she heard the scripture quoted usually in passing especially by the preacher. “Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live as it’s been stated in the good book.” I wonder. What’s so good about it when it says things like that?

Little did anyone know the real truth of what she really was. What her motivations were they weren’t interested in. She wasn’t entirely sure that they could handle it if they knew either. It was just something they didn’t care about. There so much that they just couldn’t understand or seem to be able to tolerate. An entire town was living in abject fear just like in so many other places throughout the countryside.

Sneaking back around behind the tree she made her way directly away from the town until she reached a thick copse of trees nearby. Once under the shade of the trees she felt she could breathe a little easier now that she was in relative safety. It would be possible now to make her way back to her little hovel without being seen.

On entering the woods she surprised a deer that had come to feed on the few delicate shoots that were still growing on the edge of the meadow. She smiled as it bounded through the closely growing thickets. Making her way through the grove she had to keep ducking the brambles and blackberry bushes that had grown quite large. They could hook on her wool cloak and tear it if she wasn’t careful. With winter coming soon she would be able to get another one very easily either.

Weaving her way carefully through the grove she reached the delightful meadow on the other side. After the chill of the grove it felt quite a bit warmer in the full sun of the clearing. She removed the hood of the cloak from over her head. Her long brown hair was now free to cascade down her back and shoulders. Absent-minded, she reached up and moved the stray hairs back that had fallen in front of her face and tickled her nose.

Following the little trail she walked through the meadow to her little hovel on the other side. She ducked as she entered the opening and hanging skin that acted as a doorway. The curve of the roof and the outer wall was created by the bent saplings that were ingeniously woven together much like an upside down basket. Bits of moss and mud inserted in any gaps helped to insulate the walls from the inevitable drafts during cold weather.

In the middle of the floor was the well-used hearth and cast iron kettle covered in smudges. Still glowing embers from the early morning’s fire added some warmth to the space but there was still a chill. Throwing a couple more branches on the coals set them aflame to heat the place up. The stones arranged in a ring around the hearth were scorched and blackened by the numerous fires that were set over the last two years. A few of them were cracked and broken when the fire was stoked until it became roaring to warm the shelter. During the winter that happened quite often.

Margaret warmed her hands a few moments rubbing them together in the rising heat. She could feel it penetrate throughout her entire body from where it faced the crackling blaze. Clenching and unclenching her hands a few times she made sure that she could move them.

She turned and stepped towards the table along the wall where the old leather bound book sat in the middle of the top. Opening it she looked at the curious symbols covering the margins of the pages that formed a border around each of the handwritten spells. Seeing them brought back memories from a time now in the past. Many of them were from languages that were no longer spoken. They had been written down by numerous conjurers over the millennia the book had existed. She had tried to sit down and read through the book to explore it fully when she was much younger. That didn’t go so well during her perusal as the symbols changed and began to appear as if they were writhing upon the parchment pages.

She was lucky that were teacher Cynthia came into the room and could see what was transpiring. Just as a set of claws began to reach out from within she slammed the cover closed. It blocked the view of what appeared as the parchment disappearing to become a bottomless pit. From that moment it was indelibly imprinted on her mind so that she would never again forget it the rest of her life.

Cynthia admonished Margaret as she set book aside. “Be careful with this book, a lot can easily happen if you aren’t.” From that day forward she took her teacher’s every word to heart. Together they applied a set of spells that were intended to help keep the magic in check from escaping. She continued to wander through the memories.

“That is something that could be really dangerous and not just for you if they ever got loose”, Cynthia further warned.

With her head bowed to show submission to her teacher’s authority, “okay, I will”.

“I can understand your being curious, I was once just as curious as you are this moment.”

Margaret gazed into the pleasant black eyes of Cynthia, “you were?”

“Well, yes I was. Long ago was saved by my teacher long ago the same way I just saved you.” She cracked a smile at her student.

Margaret nodded her head slightly, “I’m glad that you were”.

“I had created a spell that I shouldn’t have when I created something that I shouldn’t have. She came in at just the right moment and kept me from getting hurt.”

Registering a look of astonishment Margaret asked; “you really created a flaming bird?”

“Yes, according to the annals they are something that’s called a phoenix and they are very dangerous. I was really lucky that time of course it burned just about everything in the place. Just be careful with that book from now on.”

“Okay, I will be.”

Having had enough of an excursion into the past she now turned her attention to the book in front of her. By memory she now turned to the correct pages that she needed for the spell. With the book lying open she pulled the mortar and pestle off of the little shelf it was occupying. Setting it down to the left of the book she began to make the concoction. Valerian root, Echinacea, Cinnamon and Ginger were all ground together and mixed. Thoroughly prepared she poured the mixture into some folded paper. When she needed some of it June would be able to pour some into a cup of tea to help ease her pain.

Having completed her primary project she stood lost in thought. What should I do next? I know, I should try that one next. She grinned as she turned a few pages to the spell she was interested in trying. Together in the caldron she mixed feldspar, Queen Anne’s Lace and a number of items. They began to mingle as she ground them and a blue glow began to emanate from within its confines. Wispy tendrils were creeping up and over the sides until they were forming into kind of a luminous puddle on the table.

As it coalesced together the pooling essence began getting larger until it turned into a glowing bubble. Then it poured over the edge of the table onto the stone floor. There it began to take the shape of a person standing next to her. Holding out a few strands of hair to the glowing form it sent out a string like appendage. Wrapping around the hairs it gathered them into itself as it solidified its essence.

“Go do what I bid you to do now, seek the owner of the hairs and give them a greeting.”

The entity that had become almost solid began to disintegrate once again into kind of a mist. Searching along the wall it was unable to find any spaces between the thatching twigs. Finding the doorway it hesitated a moment before going out into the open air outside. Margaret smiled to herself thinking about how the butcher would be getting quite the surprise with his new caller. The man had been quite the problem ever since he first came to town two years ago.

More than once he had stirred everyone up to the point that they tried to permanently drive her out of Southmoor. That last time he finally succeeded and now she lived outside of the town in her little hovel. It was so quiet on the edge of the meadow. So far, the distance had proven to be very effective deterrent but knew that could change at any time.

Memories of the mob that night came flooding back in. They were bearing torches and were threatening to burn her out. Her dread at the images turned into an involuntary shudder. Shouts and cries filled that impossible night. A torch was thrown into one of the open windows of the little wattle and daub house. What had been a comfortable place to live was consumed by the blaze. Upon reaching the thatching of the roof the blaze became a major inferno. Burning embers sailed up into the air to some of the nearby houses. The thatched roofs went up in flames to add to the conflagration that had started.

When the sparks and embers began to fall on the mob is when they noticed it. They turned their attention to forming a fire brigade to save the buildings. That single event is what allowed Margaret to escape with her life. Since that horrendous night she had nightmares that it would happen to her again.

She stood for a moment trying to get all of the images out of her head. As her head cleared she realized it would probably be best if she wasn’t home. Now would be a good time to visit her patient. Besides she liked spending time at Mrs. Ludlow’s house. Since it would be winter soon unfortunately the flowers of spring and summer would now be gone. The very few that were left would at least lend a little brightness, especially the roses. She was glad that the woman’s house wasn’t in town where some of the townsfolk could see her. Simply following the forest trail around the long way would bring her to the front door.

Just before heading outside she also grabbed some Echinacea so that they could have some tea during her visit. It should help with a few of the symptoms by itself. With it warming up nicely for the day she decided to carry her cloak in a basket. It could get a little chilly later. She ducked out of the doorway and headed down the forest trail.

Mr. Frost, the butcher was readying himself to prepare some meat for the day in his shop. He was hefting onto the stump the lamb’s quarter that was delivered by the farmer early in the morning. With saw in hand he was going to cut it up into the amounts necessary for the day. In the back of his mind he hoped that today all of it would sell. All too often he had too much and had to throw some of it out. That is such a waste when that happens.

Over a year ago he came to the little town where he set up his butcher shop. It always took time to get any business going well. This one seemed to be taking longer than usual to get started than before. When he first came to the town he had jet black hair. During that time his hairline steadily receded and became more and more gray. He was sure that it was the worrying how he would keep the shop going that was causing it to become more pronounced.

He decided that witchcraft might be something that could be at fault. Since he didn’t understand what Margaret was doing he thought she could be casting spells. Who ever heard of easing childbirth? Far too proud to ask questions about what was really going on and not being really interested in the answers he just assumed the worst.

Out of the corner of his eye he could see something moving into the room from the doorway. He attempted to keep his attention on the saw he was attempting to operate, “we’re not open yet”. Receiving no response he quit attempting to cut the meat and turned observe the intruder. Seeing the glowing blue mist creeping in began to frighten him immensely.

Pooling up in the middle of the room it started to take shape. His eyes got wide and he dropped his arms to his sides. Frozen in place he couldn’t move, his mind became a complete blank. The ethereal form came closer to him and he ran outside.

When he seen that it came doorway to stand there. It now displayed glowing red eyes and fangs as the butchers face began to show his abject terror. His legs took over as he began to run down the street heedlessly. Many came to their doors and watched him fly on by shrieking. Many of the townsfolk was wondering what happened to him.

Together some of the neighbors began to talk about what they had just seen. A few stated it could be witchery afoot and many were quickly beginning to think that Margaret might be the one responsible.

"She's always been trouble!"

"We shouldn't have ever let her stay!"

"We should burn her on stake!"

She could feel what was being said in the little town as she was approaching the main road. While the little trail offered pretty good cover that wouldn't hold true in the open space she was coming to. Out of habit she put her cloak on and pulled the hood over her head. Then she observed the butcher running by as fast as his legs could carry him away from the town.

Stopping in place on the little trail she gasped, “Oh no, Not again!”

Seeing him run by she knew that she would have to travel once again. No matter what, she wouldn’t be visiting Mrs. Ludlow today. Turning around she headed back up the trail to her hovel. For a few moments she looked around and the memories returned of building it. Sighing, she resigned herself to what she knew she must do.

Not seeing the need to keep quiet what she really was she decided to take a chance. No one was nearby to see. For a moment she wished that she really could fly but that was impossible. “Oh well, time to make do.”

She said the words of a spell she remembered well and a whirlwind started to swirl around.

“The tempest changes all

What was once big is now small

Gathered together

For the wanderer”

Everything in hovel began to shrink until it was in a tiny pile. After living so many places over the last 350 years it was the only way of life that she knew. It seemed to be a never ending cycle. So many different places she ended up having to move from.

Now that she was prepared to travel Margaret gathered everything into a small bundle and found a stick to suspend it from. From long experience many would think she was a tinker. The only time that impression was a problem was when someone started to wonder where the wagon they expected would have was at.

She then spoke a few more words of another conjuration which would change her appearance. Hopefully there wouldn’t be anyone that she came across that would be very inquisitive.

“Essence of age becomes me

What was new is now old

A vagabond I will be

On a journey untold”

In a matter of moments she began to look like an old man wearing a gray beard and white hair. With the change in appearance she looked a bit more what she actually did when she wasn’t using any magic.

The last but not least item was the staff leaning up next to the doorway. Grabbing it as she passed through the door she held it in one of her hands. It would help set the pace of her steps as she moved along. Hoisting her little burden onto her other shoulder she began to follow the road to wherever it would lead her. She began to sing the first stanza of the song she had so many times before over the centuries.

“The road leads ever on

Into the distance beyond

To new places far away

Beginning of a new day”

Heading out the door she looked back at the place she called home. Wishing it well she headed around the long way so that she could take the road back through town. She wondered if it had changed very much since she had been there last. Once again, a memory of what had happened before crept through her mind and caused her to shiver. Steeling herself she continued on her way.

It wasn’t a moment too soon that she started on her journey as an old travelling vagabond. The mob passed her with torches burning as they turned off into the woods. With her head down, she walked along as if the weight of the world was on her shoulders. She breathed a sigh of relief that none of them recognized her but she had momentarily forgotten how different she now looked. There probably wasn't anyone that would recognize her now.

On into the distance she began to sing the whole song once she was sure that she was out of passerby earshot.

“The road leads ever on

Into the distance beyond

To new places far away

Beginning of a new day

The past is now gone

Into the future beyond

Many places far away

Into a brighter day”

Margaret wasn’t quite sure where she was going but she would know the place when she had finally seen it. Like so many times before it would come to her in a dream where that was, probably tonight. Reaching the crossroads she looked both ways. A thick blanket of leaves edged the road that was extending either way into the distance. So many choices were available to her from this place. Which way will I go from here? She closed her eyes and thought about the future.

The end

Witchery Afoot