Whats that?
Hunter came closer and held it out to me. This is very interesting. Its a record of sorts. My father found it in Justines library.
I shuddered at hearing her name again, but I composed myself and took the book from him carefully, so that I didnt have to touch his hands. I ran my hands over the cover, which was made of torn and faded leather. Opening it, I could see that the pages were handwritten. A Book of Shadows?
Not a Book of Shadows, exactly. Hunter flipped the pages back to the beginning, where a handwritten title page read, A Book of Spelles and Memories, by Rose MacEwan. Its more like a memoir.
Rose MacEwan, I whispered. Do you think.?
Hunter nodded gravely. She lived in Scotland during the Burning Times. Its very likely that she was an ancestor of yours. This book could be invaluable for what it can tell us about the dark wave spell and how it came into being. My das read most of it, but I havent looked at it at all. He closed the cover of the book and looked up at me hopefully. Would you like to read it with me, Morgan?
I looked into Hunters clear green eyes. I could see his love for me, pure and unbending, along with the pain hed suffered and his hope for the future. My heart still ached with the knowledge of what hed done, but I hoped that wed be okay. eventually. I turned my attention to the book. When I ran my hand again over the worn embossed cover, I felt a rush of energy. My ancestor. I knew it.
Yes, I said finally. Lets read it.
1. Scotland, April 1682
The rose stone.
It glimmered brightly in my palm, catching the few rays of light allowed in by the drab portals of the church. The reverend mumbled on, glorifying the Christian God. My thoughts were far from the church altar as I considered the spell I would cast over this precious gem.
Beside me, my mother lifted her head from pretending to pray. I closed my fist suddenly, not wanting her to see the stone that Id borrowed from her cupboard of magickal things. The crystal, with its soft, pink hue, was known to evoke peaceful, loving feelings. It was a wonder to me that I shared the same name as the stoneRoseyet I had never come close to falling in love. Ma raised her brows, chastising me without words, and I dropped the stone back into my pocket and clasped my hands the way the Presbyterians did.
Would Ma mind that I had borrowed the stone for Kyra? I wondered. Ever since my initiation my mother had encouraged me to work on my own magick, practice my own spells and rituals. But somehow I didnt think she would appreciate that one of my first attempts would be to cast a love spell for my best friend. My mother had warned me against using spells that tamper with a persons free will, but a love spell was for the good, I thought. Besides, Falkner had been oblivious to Kyra for so long, and I knew she was getting desperate.
A few rows ahead Kyra turned to me, her mouth twitching slightly before she turned back to the front of the church. I knew what she was thinking. That church was tedious. Nothing like our beautiful circles in the woods, gatherings lit by candles, sometimes festooned by ribbons, blessed with the magickal presence of the Goddess. Not that I had any quarrel with the Christian God. Time and again Ma had reminded me that they were all the sameGod or Goddess, it was one force we worshipped, albeit different forms. The problem was the ministers, who could not open their minds to accept our homage and devotion to the Goddess. Consequently the kings men and the Christians were ever crossing over the countryside in a mad witch-hunt that brought about dire results.
Makeshift trials. Hangings. Witches burned at the stake.
And so every week my mother and I knelt in this church, our heads bowed, our hands folded. We pretended to practice Presbyterianism so that we might avoid the fate suffered by other members of the Seven Clans who had been persecuted for practicing magick, for worshiping the Goddess. The puritanical wave that had been moving through Scotland had claimed many a life. The toll across the land was frightening, with tales of so many witches persecuted, most of them women.
Just last year a woman from our own coven, a gentle wisp of a lass named Fionnula, had been found killing a peahen with a bolline marked with runes. Those of us who knew her understood that the hen was not intended as an offering to the Goddess but as a very necessary meal. Still, the townspeople could not see beyond the fact of the strange markings on the small knife she used to kill the bird. Fionnula had been charged with sacrifice and worshipping the devil.
I lifted my eyes to the altar, staring at the robed back of the murmuring reverend who had been so instrumental in Fionnulas fate. At her trial Reverend Winthrop had testified that the young woman missed his sermon every week, defying the Christian God. He had called her a vassal of Satan.
I clenched my hands, recalling the horrified look in Fionnulas eyes as she was sentenced to death. Christians had come from nearby villages to witness the triala ghastly spectacle in these partsand although every Wodebayne had wanted to save her, no one spoke in her defense. Twas far too dangerous.
The following day she was hanged as a witch.
Sometimes when I catch suspicious gestures of the townspeoplea curious stare or a whispered commentI cant help but recall the fear in Fionnulas dark eyes. Her execution brought a new veil of secrecy to our circles. More rules passed down by my mother, who was sometimes a bit overbearing in her role as high priestess. Ma wanted me to see less of my friend Meara, a kind girl who loved to laugh but was born into a staid Presbyterian family. Everyone in the coven had been warned to take great care in all their associations, whether it be trading baked goods for mutton or simply washing garments in the brook. No one outside our all-Wodebayne coven was to be trusted.
Tools were to be well hidden and guarded by spells that made them unnoticeable. Skyclad circles were no longer safe, and when we gathered for an Esbat or a sabbat circle, coveners went into the woods in small groups of two. We were so afraid of being caught that we tried not to be seen gathering together at market or in the villagenothing beyond a cordial greeting. And now every member of the coven attended church every Sunday.
We were prisoners in our own village. By night we practiced our craft in secret. By day we played at being just like the rest of the townspeople.
The injustice of it fired up a fury within me. That my motherSíle, high priestess of our covenshould have to kneel amid their wooden pews. It was a travesty, to be sure. Just one of the heavy burdens upon my shoulders, making me feel like a trapped animal in a dark sack that was closing in around me. There were so many rules governing my world. I had to hide the fact that I was a blood witch from the townsfolk. I had to avoid contact with other clans, whose members considered themselves our rivals although we were all witches and worshipped the same Goddess. (This was a tedious war, I felt, but I had been told the rivalry among the Seven Clans had worn on through many generations.) I had to make entries into my Book of Shadows, gather and dry herbs, learn to make healing tonics and candles, bless and inscribe my own tools.
Aye, the life of Rose MacEwan was filled with constraints. Was it any wonder that I felt suffocated by them?
When I thought of what would make me happy, the answer was not forthcoming. I wasnt quite sure of my own hearts desire; however, I knew that my destiny was not to spend the rest of my life concocting spells and practicing witchcraft secretly in this remote, provincial village.
At last the prayers ended and townsfolk began to file out of the church. I waded into the aisle, hoping to catch Kyra before her parents whisked her back to their cottage. Kyra was my lifelong friend, a member of my clan and coven, though she was not as adept at casting spells as I was said to be.
Wouldnt she be surprised to see what Id brought for her? I reached into the pocket of my skirts and closed my hand around the small gem. My fingertips felt warmed by the stone. I planned to give it to Kyra to help her attract Falkner Radburn, a boy from our own Wodebayne coven. Falkner was all Kyra had spoken of since the children jumped the broom-stick at Samhain. All winter long I had heard of Falkners strength and Falkners eyes. Falkner this and Falkner that. Bad enough that poor Kyra was captivated by him, but to make matters worse, Falkner was unaware of her love.
I had agreed to help my friend, though I didnt really understand why she favored him. Then again, I had never known any attraction like that. In my eyes boys were silly galloping creatures, and men had nothing to do with me. They seemed to me like the wolves who roamed at night, pouncing on their prey without warning. I was a Wodebayne of seventeen years, initiated into the ways of the Goddess at fourteen, and as most girls my age were already betrothed or wed, I had come to the conclusion that I would never meet a man who caught my fancy. Since it hadnt happened as yet, I felt that the Goddess didnt intend it to be.
Outside the church, Ma greeted the Presbyterian villagers cordially. I kept my head bowed, not wanting to meet their eyes or see the cruel faces that had so quickly sentenced Fionnula to death. Some time had passed since her trial, yet I could not forgive these people for their crime. I would never forgive them.
Good day to you, Rose, said a familiar voice.
I turned to see Meara, her freckled face wrought with shadows. Meara, I didnt see you inside.
Da and I were late getting in. Ma was up all night with the pains, but shes back resting again. Da said we should come to church and pray to Christ Jesus for her recovery.
Mearas mother had not truly recovered from the birth of her sixth child a few months earlier, and as the oldest daughter, the burden of taking over her mas responsibilities fell on Mearas shoulders. I felt sorry for her, having to tidy up the cottage, mind the young bairns, and cook enough porridge for the whole brood of them.
Whos caring for the children, then? I asked her.
Mas sister, Linette, has come from the south to help for a while. Her eyes were hollow, and I wasnt sure if it was simply tiredness or fear over what might happen to her mother. Ma had visited Mearas mother once, hoping to help. She told me theyd talked awhile and she had tried to raise the womans spirits, but twas all Ma could do. She didnt dare pass on healing herbs or place her hands on the ailing womans worn belly to perform a spell. And that was the shame of it; Ma had the power to perhaps cure Mearas mother, but since that very act could get Ma hanged as a witch, it would not be done.
I havent seen you down by the brook lately, Meara told me. Do you not draw water for washing?
Ma sends me later now, I said awkwardly. She says the morning chill is too much. It was a lie, and I hated telling it to Meara, who had always been a good friend. But the truth was, Ma had told me to find a different place to draw water so that I wouldnt meet Meara every morning. Its too dangerous, the two of you talking with such ease, Ma had told me. One of these days youre liable to slip and speak the Goddesss name or mention the coming Esbat, and that sort of breach I cannot allow.
Mearas father summoned her from the edge of the crowd.
Id better go, Meara said reluctantly. Godspeed.
I nodded, wondering what would happen to my friend if her ma passed. Already Meara was acting as mother to the large family. My own father had died when I was but five years of age, and though I often wished for the protection a father could offer, I remembered so little of him. Losing a mother had to be worse.
Tell your ma... I wanted to espouse an herbal tea that would help her mother feel better, but I knew it was too dangerous. I sighed. Tell your ma I will pray for her.
Meara nodded, then went off with her da.
Ma was speaking with Mrs. MacTavish, an elderly woman from our coven whod been suffering from a hacking cough. As she spoke, I slipped away from Mas side to find Kyra.
Gently I took my friends arm and led her away from her ma and da. Feeling whimsical, I touched the stone in my pocket. I have something for you, I said quietly. Something to attract your certain someone.
She stared at me, uncomprehending.
I glanced around to make sure that none of the villagers were paying us any mind. Folks were engaged in the usual chatter, complaints of the long winter and worries over the spring planting. I turned back to Kyra. Can you guess whats in my pocket? When she shook her head, I whispered in her ear, Ive brought an amulet for you to attract Falkner.
Her cheeks grew pink at my words, and I wanted to laugh aloud. Kyra was so easy to embarrass. She took my hand and pulled me off the stone path, away from the churchgoers. Would you have everyone in the Highlands hear of my secret love?
Harmless words, I said, adding in a whisper, though I dare not show you the magickal gem before everyone in the village. The sun was still rising in the sky, promising a warm spring morning. Only days before, the last of the snow had melted from the ground. Come with me to the woods, I said. I need to collect herbs. Well do the gathering ritual together, and afterward well charge the rose stone.
Oh, I wish I could, but I promised Ma I would help with the baking. Kyra pressed a hand over her heart. Are you sure the stone holds power?
Ma used to let me hold it whenever we quarreled. Its powerful enough.
Turning slightly, Kyra glanced toward the crowd still spilling out of the church. I knew she was looking for Falkner, a beanpole of a boy who had yet to show any signs of intelligence in my presence. Nothing seems to work on him, she said wistfully. He cant even spare me a glance. Its as if Im just a passing dragonfly, hardly worthy of notice.
I pressed my lips together, wishing that Kyra wouldnt go into it again. It was precisely the reason I had borrowed the rose stone from Mas cupboard: to put an end to my friends pining and suffering. Come to the woods with me, then, I said.
Kyra! her mother called. Her parents were ready to leave.
She nodded at her ma respectfully, then tilted her head. I cannot go, she told me regretfully. One chestnut braid slipped over her sapphire cloak. But I do want the stone. Can you leave it on my doorstep? In a basket by the woodpile?