The Witch Within (3 page)

*

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.

My captors have made a fire and after some bustle that has passed, I hear them chewing and drinking. I do feel thirsty and hungry, but my throat is stuck in the drought and my stomach sick from emptiness. I hear footsteps. Someone is approaching me.

“I bet you're thirsty?”

Could it be that Daniel is the one to show me kindness this time? No. He pours the cool stream water over my limp head, making me shiver even more. He laughs at me when he notices that I'm trying to swallow at least the drops that have reached my lips, to ease the dryness. I can sense that the quiet one is watching me as well, for I can hear that he has stopped chewing. He keeps to himself, completely unbiased, unreadable. Daniel leans closer to me and whispers:

“And I bet you're hungry too.”

He uncovers my mouth and stuffs it with mud. I spit it out, almost choking on it, but he ties my mouth, making it impossible for me to get it all out. I swallow the dirt and pray that it won’t come back up.

“Daniel!”

The quiet one gets angry now.

Daniel laughs again. I turn away from him, letting him know how much I despise him and that I don’t care about his abuse. But I do, and each of his words stings me a little more. I dread giving him the pleasure of seeing me cry. He may have power over my body, but he has no power over my soul.

“Was that necessary? Why do you have to be so mean to her?”

“Stop being so wimpy, Nathaniel, I told you to just keep quiet and learn.”

“Learn what? To humiliate and torment women?”

“She is not a woman, she is our captive. And your captive is your property, until you place it in the hands of justice.”

Silence. Daniel finally walks away from me and Nathaniel takes a deep breath. I blindly stare into the woods and find myself asking them for help. Please trees, bushes, plants, animals, my deer... I know you recognise the voice of my heart, please, please; I beg of you, help me! Everything turns deadly silent, even the river seems to have stopped flowing, the fire crackling, the owl hooting.

How could it be all gone when there was so much noise before? Where are the mysterious voices of the wild? Where are the memories of my grandmother that came steaming up the lovely soup of ancient knowledge? Is it the pain that blocks it all away or is it the choking fear, or the hatred toward Daniel?

I wish I could wake up from this nightmare. I can’t stand it any longer. And I dread the image of me dying in the hands of these two brutes. I haven’t even found the cave yet! I haven’t found out if my grandmother still awaits me there.

Nathaniel’s voice breaks the horrid silence.

“What if she is innocent?”

“That’s nonsense. This witch is our key to freedom. She will save our father. So stop it!”

Save their father? This makes them brothers, but their mission even more confusing. How could my misery help their father? My head aches even more, it has been stuck with me for too long...

I cry to myself a little, hoping they won’t find out. I can’t give Daniel the pleasure of seeing me suffer. I can sense that Nathaniel has noticed me cry though, I always sense when he lays his eyes on me.

*

Later in the evening they both grow quiet. My pain eases again and so I finally rest and hope to have some peace and quiet. I know I won’t be able to sleep, but at least I don’t have to walk. I have been given the chance to just idly lie here and numbly rest my tortured body. One of the captors, probably Nathaniel, had been gone for some time now, but I can hear him coming back.

He seats himself somewhere opposite to me and I can again sense his curious gaze. I turn my head as though to look at him. Daniel disturbs the strange connection.

“Go on if you want to. I know you have desired it since we captured her.”

I instinctively know what he implies and bring my knees up, curling up like an animal that seeks protection within itself. I have seen women and men becoming one when spying on some lovers, but I have also witnessed a girl being raped. The horrid experience made me feel grateful that no man in town was interested in me romantically.