I dare not. Its too precious a thing to leave out.
Rose...
Maybe tomorrow. Stop by our cottage on your way to market, I told her, wishing that Kyra could just once summon the courage to sneak away from her parents. She was my friend, but in every situation I was the bolder. While I dreamed of travel to distant places, of exploring and celebrating all corners of the Goddesss earth, Kyra was content to remain in her small world.
I went off to join my mother, who was getting an earful of unhappiness from Ian MacGreavy and his wife. Once we were out of earshot of the village, I told Ma of the failing health of Mearas mother.
I fear she is not long with us. Ma shook her head.Tis a pity the Christians dont accept the Goddesss healing. I would like to help her.
A feeling of melancholy washed over me. Poor Meara. Shes already feeling the burden of so many chores to keep the children fed and clean.
She shall forge ahead, Ma said stoutly.
I wondered if that had been Mas attitude when my own father, Gowan MacEwan, had died. It made me sad that I barely remembered him, and whenever I asked about him, Ma went cold as the brook in winter. Do you still miss Da? I asked suddenly.
Ma sucked in a deep breath of crisp spring morning. I will always love him. But tis not a fit subject to discourse upon, especially when we have pressing matters at hand. The MacGreavys are in a tumult.
Has the miller asked about dark magick again? I asked, recalling how he had recently suggested calling on a taibhs, a dark spirit, to wreak vengeance against a Burnhyde man who had crossed him.
As if we dont have enough trouble with the townspeople always on the lookout for witches, Ma said as we tramped down the rutted road to our cottage. The tension among the Seven Clans is heating up again. Ian MacGreavy is outraged over a snub by a few men of the Burnhyde clan. Seems they wont use his mill, and theyre telling all the others in their clan to avoid it, that its cursed and the evil is spilling into the grain.
The unfairness of it irked me. If the mill is cursed, its because of a spell from one of them.
Indeed. Mrs. MacGreavy found a sprinkling of soil and ashes on the threshold of the mill one morning, swirled in a circle.
A spell wrought of minerals and soil... Everyone knew that the Burnhyde witches were masters of spells involving crystals and minerals. A sure sign that the Burnhydes are behind all their trouble.
Aye, and trouble is rising for the MacGreavys. They fear the mill has been infested by rats. She pressed her lips together, and I could see from the bluish vein in her forehead that Ma was angry. Its dark magick the Burnhydes are playing with.
I cant believe it, I said, kicking at a dirt clod in the road. This isnt about Ian MacGreavys mill at all. Its about the other clans turning against the Wodebaynes again.
For as long as the Seven Great Clans had existed, there had been strong rivalry among them. Everyone knew of the clans and their distinctions: the healing Braytindales, the master spellcrafters of the Wyndonkylles, the Burnhydes with their expertise in the use of crystals and metals. I had heard of the astute Ruanwandes, who were well schooled in all of the ways of the Goddess, though I had never met anyone from that clan. We knew of trickster Leapvaughns in neighboring villages, and everyone dreaded the war-loving Vykrothes, who were rumored to kick dirt in your face while passing you on the road. Aye, the clans had their reputations, the most slanderous being that of our own clan. For decades the other six clans had looked down upon our Wodebayne clan, their prejudice and hatred stinging like a wound that refused to heal.
Their hatred was prompted by a notion that Wodebaynes practiced dark magick. When a witch tried to harness the Goddesss power for evil purposesto harm a living thing or to tamper with a persons free willit was called dark magick. Other clans seemed to think that we Wodebaynes were expert at this black evil. They liked to blame their hardships on our dark spells, and consequently they had grown to hate all Wodebaynes.
And now, as a result of that hatred, our own village mill was to be overrun by rats. Can we help the MacGreavys to thwart the spell?
Ma nodded. The Burnhyde spell doesnt scare me, but their hatred of the Wodebaynes frightens me deep down in my bones.
Her worry spurred my anger. Yet again were back to the same hatred of the Wodebaynes. What did we do to bring on such animosity? Can you tell me that?
Easy, Rose.
They act as if we were marauders and murderers! Its unfair!
Aye, it is, Ma said quietly. But I have always said that the other clans will come to know us through our acts of goodness. The Goddess will reveal the true nature of the Wodebaynes in time.
That doesnt help Ian MacGreavy, does it? I asked.
We will place a spell of protection around the mill, Ma said. Well do it tomorrow, on the full moon, the perfect time to cast a spell of protection. Youll need to collect sharp objectsold spearheads, broken darning needleswhatever you can find. They are to be stored in a jar, which well take to the mill.
As Ma went over the details of the spell of protection, I felt myself drifting off into an ocean of sorrow. My pitifully small world was growing smaller. With conflict among the clans heating up, we would be forced to become even more closed and guarded than we already were. Members of our coven would stick close to our hopelessly small country village, a tight knot of cottages that was already like a noose around my neck. Beyond my sweet but unadventurous friend Kyra, I was without a friend or possible mate within my own clan. No one outside the Wodebayne clan could be trusted, and any notions Id ever had of exploration were squashed by the sure and steady evil lurking in new places.
Seventeen years of age, and already my life seemed to be over.
By now we had passed out of the village, which consisted mostly of the church, the mill, the inn, and a tangle of cottages that were built far too close to keep your business private. We came upon a flat, grassy field that was used by one of our own Wodebayne clansmen for herding his sheep, and indeed, two men were there at the edge of the field, talking to a sheep as if it had the sense in its head to understand and heed them.
The scene made me smile. The two men looked like bumblers, but Ma sucked in her breath, as if shed just come upon a tragedy.
What is it, Ma? I asked.
She stopped walking, her hands crossed over her chest as she stared at the men, still not speaking.
Aye, they could be punished, I observed. Out on a Sunday, when work is to be set aside to praise the Christian Lord.
If only they would meet with punishment, Ma said. For thievery.
What? I ran ahead, then turned back to her to ask,
Who are they, Ma?
Vykrothe men, she said, reaching for my arm and holding it tightly.
Now that she said it, I could feel it. A blood witch can always sense other blood witches, and their presence was now palpable as a bracing cold wind. Wait... I said. And now the Vykrothe men are stealing our Wodebayne sheep? A sheep that would provide wool for spinning blankets and cloaks. A sheep whose slaughter would provide mutton to an entire family through many seasons. I tried to pull away from her. We must stop them!
She pulled me off the side of the road, behind the cover of a haystack. Hush, child. Speak not your mind on thisthe danger is too grave. We know not how strong their magick is, and they look much stronger than us physically.
But
Ill try to stop them. She lifted one hand, drawing a long circle around her body and then around mine. I couldnt hear the words she murmured, but I realized she was putting a cloaking spell upon us so that the Vykrothe men would not know we were blood witches.
Then Ma clasped her fingers through mine, locking me into place by her side as we stepped out of the shadow of the haystack and pressed ahead. I felt her fear, though I wasnt sure if she was frightened of the men or of my own desire to blast them. I pressed my lips together, determined to defer to my strong, noble mother on this.
Good day to you, sirs, my mother called out to them.
They lifted their heads, mired in suspicion. Good day, the taller man answered. His hooded eyes seemed sleepy, and he wore his flaxen hair pressed to his skull like a helmet.
Did the sheep break loose? Ma asked lightly. They so often do, and I recognize that one as belonging to Thomas Draloose, who lives in the cottage just beyond the spring. Ill tell him of your act of kindness, returning his lost sheep to its pasture on this fine Sunday.
Act of kindness?I pressed Mas arm, irked by the way she was coddling these tubs of lard.
But Ma went on. Its noble of you, gentle sirs, taking the time, and
This sheep is not returning to pasture, but departing, the tall Vykrothe said.Tis an evil beast, a harbinger of dark spirits. I know for true that this sheepherder you speak of is not a Christian man but a practitioner of witchcraft.
You must be mistaken, sir! Ma cried out.
Tis not a mistake at all, the shorter man insisted. He was a bull of a man, with so much flesh on his large bones, he could easily ram through a castle door. This man is evil, a ghastly witch. He fixed his eyes on us menacingly. Do you know him well?
Aye, I do, Ma answered boldly, and I must proclaim his innocence of such ungodly pursuits.
The taller Vykrothe yanked on the rope. Proclaim what you will. We must remove this sheep before it turns into a demon.
Ma shook her head and gave a fake laugh. A mere sheep, sir? It is but an animal. One of the Lords creatures, is it not?
I gave Mas hand a squeeze. The man could hardly argue with Christian philosophy.
The tall Vykrothe leaned closer, and his unpleasant smell of sweat, dung, and sour cheese rankled the air. This sheep is possessed. I have seen it bleat at the moon, its eyes red with Satans fires.
Aye, Ma countered, and what reason have you to be lurking in a strangers fields at night?
The tall man leaned back, but the bull answered, And Ive heard rumor that the herder is planning to spill its blood in a dreadful spell of harm and destruction. He turned to his friend, dropped his voice to a whisper, and added, Just like those Wodebaynes.
I felt my fists clenching at the muttered slander. He had thought we would not hear or understand his strike against our clan and likely didnt care that we did since he thought us to be Christian women. But I had heard, and my blood boiled at the insult. These men werent even common sheep thievesthey were bigots, striking out against one of our own.
This, sir, I must dispute, my mother said. She sounded so sincere, so earnest. How could these men refuse to believe her? Do you imply that all Wodebaynes are evil?
When Ma spoke the word, the bullish man took two steps back. What Christian woman knows so much of evil? the man accused.
How dare you speak to her that way! I shouted. My fingers twitched with the urge to shoot dealan-dé at him and burn him with its flinty blue sparks. But Ma was already pulling me down the road, her other arm having slid protectively around my waist.
Make haste, she whispered in my ear, lest they raise their ire toward us. The Vykrothes are known to love war, and raise arms they will.
But the sheep... I gasped. Theyre stealing it. and even talking of witchcraft could get Thomas Draloose and his family hanged.
Hush, child. Ma hurried me along, pressing her head down against mine. We must choose our battles. I did my best to defend Thomas and save the sheep, but we cannot always win against such cruelty.
Its unfair, I said, feeling tears sting my eyes. Why do they hate the Wodebaynes so?
I cannot say, child, Ma whispered. I cannot say.
2. Gathering and Sanctifying Spring Herbs
That afternoon I collected my gathering basket, retrieved my bolline from its hiding place in the seat of one of our wooden chairs, and set off to collect the newest herbs of spring. I knew many small trails through the woods, tiny lanes and hidden paths that led to my favorite gathering places.
A few years ago, when I was around the age of ten, Ma had agreed to let me gather the first herbs on my own. Since then it had been a ritual I performed gladly, grateful for the peace of mind it offered and for the thread of power that laced itself up from the plants through my fingertips. Aye, the feeling of power was sweet when it came my way, though it didnt happen to me often enough in the coven circle.
Sometimes I worried that I had fallen in the shadow of my mother, that somehow Ma was interceding and collecting my blessings until she thought I was ready to deal directly with the Goddess. An odd belief, I know, but I had my reasons. For one, Ma had never given me a significant role at sabbats. And she constantly questioned me when I returned from the woods, having performed a spell or consecration in a solitary circle. She said it was her duty to educate me in the ways of the Goddess, but I sensed that she didnt trust me. And why was that? When I was on my own, I felt a strong connection to the Goddess, and I had always quested to grow in my craft. Why, then, did my own mother question my devotion?
Shes just your ma, doing what mothers do, Kyra always told me. Perhaps she was right. Perhaps Ma didnt realize how difficult it was to be the daughter of a high priestess.
Birds chirped in the woods as I swung my basket gently. Id spent many a winters eve sewing pouches of sapphire blue, ruby red, and saffron cloth in preparation for this day. A different pouch for each herb, enough to replenish our supplies. Of course, back at the cottage the herbs would need to be dried in the rafters and eventually ground, but this was my favorite part of the ritualgathering under the crown of trees and the canopy of blue sky.
I followed the path until I came to my solitary circle, a small natural clearing with a large gray stone that Id cleansed for use as an altar. Beside a tall oak was my broom, modestly constructed of twigs and a long stick Id rubbed smooth with the help of a rough stone. I placed my gathering basket on the altar, then began to sweep the circle, swinging my broom as I walked slowly. The spell I chanted was my own, one that Id created years ago. Ma had once called it primitive and childish, which wounded me deeply, yet I clung to the spell. It had come from my heart, and I always felt that the Goddess heard it and answered favorably.