The Witch Within Read online

  I look at the beautiful white branch of the birch tree and I behold that all that is ill disappears if one eases themselves beneath it. Then I spot nettle bushes and enthuse over the vision of a potent lunch, even more so if I boil it with nuts. Nuts, my favourite treat—food we share with squirrels. I also observe a few clovers and visualise the perfect bondage for injuries or scars. I pick one up and wrap it over my swollen finger. I fell on something sharp as I landed with my hands in the mud yesterday, during the horrid parade.

  I feel like I'm still being guided through those woods, although my deer has disappeared. I step into a small clearing and start nibbling on blueberries that I have found under the three intertwined oaks. And then I remember that I was here before. Oh yes, we used to come here with my grandmother to pick all kinds of berries that nobody ever finds, because they are too afraid to come here.

  I hope that my grandmother awaits me, still alive and healthy, because the image of me living here all alone, never being able to talk or communicate with any other human being again makes my heart ache. I shall miss my father, even with his unmerciful judgements and I'm going to miss my mother and her gentleness. I shall miss my sister too, and my dear brother who is in heaven now, if there is such a thing as heaven.

  It’s starting again. I remember it rained the day before yesterday, the first time since my grandmother’s heritage awoke in me. It was when my little brother got badly injured and everybody gathered by his bed waiting for him to pass away. As I gazed upon his pain-struck face, I suddenly knew that if an elder tree does not help, then nothing else will. I snuck out into the deep night and ran across the field to where the oldest elder tree grows tall. An elder tree lady is said to possess it, she is a goddess of harvest and potency that celebrates the abundance of any natural fruition. Only those who ask and those who are kind at heart may gather her fruits and use it for their purposes. If used without permission or for ill reasons, it loses magic power, lest the intentions were erring.

  I begged her to help my brother, relieve him of pain and the omen of death. I picked the luscious berries and prepared a dark red liquid. Then I poured it down his dry throat and all of a sudden my hand started involuntarily moving over his forehead, drawing symbols and shapes that I couldn’t recognise, yet still harbouring a feeling that I knew these symbols somehow.

  The next morning he was dead and they found me lying next to him, my hands still red from the elder tree juice. Only now can I finally mourn his death, the state of shock that followed afterwards choked me in a trauma of unspoken words and unspoilt tears.

  I allow myself to cry a whole river, but then anger spills over me. I'm angry with the elder tree lady and her deceit!

  Later, I fall asleep on the moss, resting my head on the comfortable green pillow. I dream of the elder tree lady. She rises from the strong old trunk and speaks softly:

  “It is not up to me, dear child,

  whether someone lives or dies.

  You were all granted with the greatest gift - free will.

  No one can ever take it away if you don’t allow it.

  We the spirits of the woods will guide you to the cave.

  Be aware of the harsh man who wears a dark cape

  And the woman with a big mole.

  These two will soon test your soul.”

  Her face is wrinkly, hair dark green, and her dress pale brown, however, it's clear that her frown is not devious, but wise.

  “Speak to the moon, listen to the sun,

  speak to the sun, listen to the moon.”

  Once the elder tree lady pronounces the words, she closes her eyes and becomes one with her tree again.

  *

  This morning I caught myself striding with vigour. After all, there is a goal ahead of me - the cave that lies in the middle of this forest. Grandmother used to secretly go there and sometimes even stayed the night. I was the only one who knew about it. I used to beg her to take me with her, but she insisted that she would take me there only once I was ready.

  I believe I’m going to find it, because I still have my guide, the deer. Whenever I go astray, he appears and assures me I'm safe. The cave I'm looking for could be considered a mysterious castle of our ancestors. My grandmother said it's protected by the circle of the elders, the women sorceresses who used to nourish and take care of others, including animals and plants of these lands. They used to pray in there, rested when they were feeling down, prayed and performed divine rituals in harmony with nature and the guiding spirits of the previous sorceresses.

  Thank God I have opened my heart to my grandmother and the memories that have vivified since! It's my only salvation now.

  I open my heart to God a little more as well, but I'm still concerned as to if I perceive him in the right way and if he is really a HE or there is some heavenly mother as well. My mother used to say that I should pray to Virgin Mary every night and so I did, but I always found myself wondering how it is possible that she is a virgin. Why is she a virgin? Why is it heavenly to conceive immaculately? Is there something wrong with an ordinary conception, with the ordinary nature of women? I wish I could ask my grandmother now, but nothing related to this theme is stored in my library of memories. I suppose I never asked her about that. And I don’t have to worry about it anymore anyway. I will probably remain a virgin until the end of my life, live here as a chaste maiden with no husband and no children to nourish. It’s not like there is a chance of marriage in the village. Although I turned sixteen last month, I have never really taken an interest in any boy and no boy has seemed to take an interest in me. I don’t know if it is because of my short, weak figure, unruly straw-coloured hair or deep black eyes that some find too intense, maybe it’s simply because I have always been considered a bit of an outcast. I used to play alone, or cling to animals more than to fellow children.

  I remember that my father often warned me that I should not communicate with beasts because I could call their temptation upon me. I have never understood what he meant. I didn’t find sheep, goats, cows or wild cats scary. I used to fear wolves, though. It was because the emaciated wolf packs often descended from the mountains and attacked our village. Whenever the time of the wolf attacks came upon us, we would close ourselves at home and lock all the doors.

  One sullen afternoon, I witnessed a boy being attacked by one of those beasts. He was acting out a heroic scene in front of his brothers, showing off that he was not afraid to be outside during the wolf attacks, and so he ran away from home and kept running further away, giggling and fooling around. And then the pack crept into the village and the biggest male caught him in one bite. I’d witnessed creatures dying before, I’d seen my father killing farm animals a few times, but my father was skilled and quick. The animals would cry, but it lasted shorter than when that boy was eaten alive, crying out in an excruciating pain, until he gave in to the shock and fainted. After that, something changed in me, I realised that I couldn’t eat animals, just like I can’t eat a human. I couldn’t be like those wolves.

  People thought it was strange, my father forced me to eat meat many times, but my mother was more understanding and advised me to hide the meat in my apron when we dined together, and later she threw it to the pigs. Even now I have decided not to hunt, unless I'm starving during winter months. I altered my upper skirt and now use it as a sack, occasionally collecting nuts, acorns and any leaf that attracts me.

  *

  The moon has exchanged places with the sun and I’ve started roasting some acorns, in order to open them more easily and also to make some acorn flour for later. Now, as I eat this bitter food, I spot a light on the top of the ancient triangle-shaped forested mountain called the Cursed Mount. This whole so-called Cursed Land was sacred to my grandmother, but not that peak. She used to warn me not to go up, because of the latent danger which dwells there.

  She said that when our ancestral tribe migrated from the North and found a home in these lands, they also settled
at the top of that mountain, but found something dark there, something that scared them off. Some decided to stay, including a very powerful sorceress, but they have been forsaken by the others since.

  I observe that the rest of the acorns are ready and so I take them out of the fire and when I peer back to the mount, the light is gone.

  As I'm waiting for my dinner to cool down, I notice that I have been sitting right next to a ring of my favourites – bolets! I pick a few and I remember what my grandmother used to say, that mushrooms harbour some secret knowledge, that they are like the veins of the forest, the secret guardians of the subterranean kingdom.

  “If an ill person damages or eats us greedily

  Our feed will bring him nothing but a full belly

  Whereas if a person eats us with gratitude

  We will grant him, or her, the truth.”

  The verses flow through my mind without origin or end. I can’t recognise whether it's my mind or someone else’s. Is there a spirit in everything? Are those bolets actually communicating with me? Or am I going mad? I shake off all the worries, giving in to their rhymes.

  “The root of our wisdom is underground,

  you can’t harm us once we sprout.

  Just please don’t damage our lair,

  For we will come up again one day

  When we know the grounds have been saved.

  Our wisdom will transmit to your heart,

  So that you don’t ever have to starve.”

  The flow of information is unstoppable and I have finally become fully aware that these are not my thoughts, it’s some sacred knowledge from these sacred grounds that I hear.

  “Be aware of the two strong men, we hear their steps as they are near,

  they were sent to hunt you down, one is stuck in rage, the other one in fear.

  But do not lose your hope, for just like we thrive underground,

  you all thrive in the web of time.”

  If it's true and there is someone after me, then I should not linger, but find the cave as soon as possible. I know that there I will be safe, particularly if grandmother is still alive. I eat the bolets with deep gratitude, pack up and continue walking. It's dark, but the moon is full and shining brightly. I stride ahead until the dawn and then with the first clearing of the morning mist, I finally spot the deer standing right in front of me. He appears strong and wise as usual, only his eyes aren‘t calm, in fact he looks quite alarmed. He is clearly warning me about something.

  I hear steps behind me and freeze. Before I manage to turn, I discover that the deer has set off and someone’s fist strikes the back of my head.

  Chapter 3 – Captive

  I stumble, fall and receive another kick to the stomach. It has been quite a while, simply walking in the dark. After the fist struck me, I recovered on the ground, cold and weak, my whole body in pain, mainly my head and my neck. I have never felt such a creepily dull ache in my life; I can’t seem to focus on anything else.

  My eyes have been tied with a piece of smelly cloth and so has my mouth. I have no idea who the two men are or why they did it. I can’t recognise their voices or see a thing through the cloth. I was hoping to find a place where the fabric was loose, but no luck. Each pull of the rope that cuts into my wrists sends a sharp pain through my body.

  I have an inkling that they are taking me back home to face not only my beloved, but most probably, the so-called justice. What else would this be about? My captors are unmerciful, cruel, and each time I fall, they make me stand up by causing me even more pain. I can’t remember how many times they have slapped or kicked me. Actually, only one of them, the other one seems to keep to himself, striding slightly ahead of us.

  They have exchanged only a few words since I recovered, making it even harder for me to know what they are after, or if they were sent to hunt me down or perhaps have different intentions with me.

  The one leading me is rough, has a raucous deep voice, his grasp is harsh and hands ice cold, the other one has only touched me once, when helping me up, his hands warm and gentle. However, I'm not entirely sure he empathises with me.

  The coarse man hurries me by pulling on the rope and says the one thing he has been saying since we started this cruel march:

  “Get up, you stinky witch!”

  My feet can hardly keep up with him, clumsy because of the rocks and roots of trees that get in my way with each step I take. I have no choice but to obey that bastard who causes me even more suffering. Suddenly, the quiet one has stopped. For a while there is the same old silence between them, it seems as though the two are contemplating something, but then he speaks:

  “What do you think, Daniel, which way should we go now?”

  “How should I know? You’re the expert!”

  “I never said that.”

  “You said you used to come here.”

  “But that was years back and this forest is like a labyrinth, I told you I am not entirely sure where we are.”

  Daniel sets off to face an unknown direction.

  “That’s what one gets when he decides to rely on a beginner...”

  “Wait. That way is far too difficult for us, what about her?”

  “What about her?! Don’t tell me you sympathise with this witch!”

  Does he? My heart starts beating faster. He does not answer and that elevates my hope. Daniel’s pace gets faster and the path he has decided on is full of thorny bushes. My dress occasionally rips, ostensibly making Daniel amused, as he lets out a few derisive laughs. Once we have finally passed the worst part, Daniel stops abruptly and I accidentally crash into his back. He pushes me away and I fall again, this time on something sharp. A stinging pain runs through my arm. A deep cut. Never mind, still better than the headache that certainly surpasses everything, even the desperate need to urinate, that I have been experiencing for some time now.

  I can feel the warm hand of the less harsh man on my wrist. He rips my dress in the place of the injury and most probably examines the wound, because Daniel snarls at him:

  “Leave it! She deserves it!”

  He does not listen to him and rips off the rest of my sleeve and wraps the wound. My heart starts beating again as a flood of warmth spreads over my chest. Any form of kindness makes me elated now. Could it be that this man has a good heart? Will he eventually take pity on me? Or am I completely foolish? If he was kind, he would not be assisting this Daniel individual in the first place, or if possible, he could have set me free already. No, he can’t be my saviour; it’s just my silly naive mind trying to hold on to an image of a male hero coming to my rescue. There is no hope for that to happen—maybe I really am cursed, like my father said. I still recall the first time he said the word “witch” to me.

  “How could you! Your own brother! How the hell could you—you witch!”

  I still can’t understand what the word “witch” really means.

  My mother used to tell us tales about evil witches that ride their magic canes and cast spells over the lands. Wild women dancing with devils every night, drinking the blood of men and waking up the dead, making them attack people they come to dislike. I used to have nightmares about such women and the word “witch” certainly sent chills down my spine. During my childhood and throughout my life, I’ve met many women, including my grandmother, who were called witches just for trying to heal an animal or a man, or for casting protective spells or prayers to assure harvest or potency.

  I once saw a woman, one of those so-called witches, being stoned to death on the main square and since then I have had nightmares, not about the witches from the tales, but about the people who created those tales. I have been trying to forget the incident, erase it from my memory once and for all, so that it does not come back to haunt me, but for some reason such memories hold on to one’s soul stronger than the pleasant ones.

  *

  I keep on walking, but my legs are growing weaker. The awful headache, the urge
to urinate and the overall weariness keep turning on the wheel of my misfortune, making it impossible for me to decide which one is worse. Is it my lot to suffer so much? Is it ever going to stop? Do I really have to leave this world? Is that the only way to finally end it? Or am I destined to an endless hell? Headache stronger, urge to urinate becoming impossible to bear, the fatigue is inescapable. Is there anything, at least one part of the suffering that I could relieve myself of? At least one part of the suffering? Yes, there is. I squat down and start peeing, not worried about my dress getting wet; at least it's wide enough and long enough so that I'm completely covered. I don’t care if I receive another slap or kick, part of the pain simply has to stop. Daniel roars at me:

  “Learn to walk, scum!”

  He is quiet for a while as he has probably figured out what I'm doing. Normally, I would be embarrassed, but I don’t care about being a chaste girl at the moment. All I feel is a bit of relief and it is worth the shame.

  “Come on, how long do you have to take? You disgust me!”

  He drags me up before I can properly finish. Never mind, I'm already dirty and stinky anyway. I haven't found a river, stream or a pond to bathe in since I stepped into these woods.

  *

  In the night they tie me to a tree near a river. I can hear the water crashing soporifically over the rocks, finding its way to keep flowing. How I wish I was the river, peacefully devoted to its destiny, free in its natural path. The sound makes me slightly calmer. Water always had that effect on me. It’s as if it has the power to wash away all my worries.