The Witches Digest

by Erin Haley

She dreamed in colour, bright vivid blues and greens as she found herself flying over the countryside. Up and away from the place of her birth, on and on – something was drawing her to a place far away, a place she needed to see for herself.

The sun was warm on her shoulders as she skimmed through the frothy clouds. She found herself laughing joyously as a flock of geese flanked her sides, their squarks and croaks sounding almost intelligible, as if they were saying, “Come play – come fly with us.”

Shaking her head apologetically, she waved them on to the East, watching them until they appeared as specks on the horizon.

Finally she began to drop lower and lower, until she could see the place she knew was her final destination.

A small cottage stood nestled in the bosom of two sloping hills. Behind it she could see a large bonfire, almost completely hidden away by a wild hedge maze.

She landed in the courtyard, and breathed in deeply. She knew she was dreaming – it was a gift she’d always possessed, one that had seen her relief through many nightmares, but she couldn’t help the feeling that something of it was real.

The scent of warm hay and large beasts was actually ripe in her nose, and turning her head, she could see a pair of oxen staring at her from the stalls. Walking towards them, she carefully stretched her hand out and patted the first one on the nose, the bristly hair tickling the sensitive skin of her palm.

Her moment of reverie was interrupted by the sound of metal striking metal, a high note almost like a bell. Following the sound, she crept round the side of the cottage and watched a tall woman working away in a forge.

“Excuse me,” she called out to her, “Where am I?”

The woman, dressed in blue, stopped and looked across, revealing that whilst one side of her face was unflawed and beautiful, the other was scarred and disfigured. After a long moment, the woman raised her hand, and pointed towards the back door of the cottage.

“I should go inside?” she asked.

The woman nodded, then continued with her work.

Leaving the sooty forge, she wiped her feet and walked inside. The fragrance of the air changed immediately, instead of animals, the rich scents of herbs and spices drew her to the sitting room, where bundles were drying over the heath.

“Welcome,” another woman was sitting in the tall chair, her face identical to the lady in the forge but her clothes coloured a rich brown, “You have travelled here for a reason.”

“I know I’m dreaming,” she approached and kneeled down by the fire, her eyes drawn to the flames, “So I know this isn’t real.”

“Dreams can teach, and although this may not be real to you – the lessons you learn and take away, are.” The woman stood, her hair gleaming copper in the light of the fire, “You seek knowledge, and have questions that burn inside you. Leave here and travel through the maze – reach the fire and it will reveal to you what you seek.”

About to answer, she suddenly found herself alone and in the cold, the cottage disused and run down. Picking her way over the stones and overgrown weeds, she left the compound and headed up the hill and the maze she’d seen from the sky.

By the entrance, the woman stood again – this time clad in green, “Take this,” she handed her a reel of string, “Use it to find yourself and return.”

Taking the string, she tied it to the entrance and began to make her way through. Each twist and corner she discovered made her think of her life and her problems; as solutions rose in her mind, the way became clear and she advanced on, deeper and deeper until she reached the heart.

The flame in the centre burned brightly, and the three women stood together, almost blurring into one. They reached out and drew her closer, causing her to look deeply into the flame, and into her own heart. A spark jumped out and landed on her chest, but instead of burning, it sunk inside – warming her core and opening her spirit out.

Realisation occurred in a rush, and turning she opened her mouth to address the women she know knew to be a single Goddess, but before she could say a word, she was drawn away and back into the waking world.

Looking down at herself, she smiled and knew the Goddess had been right – the dream had taught her about herself and given her the confidence and wisdom to follow the path she chose for herself.

From the Witches Digest Imbolc 2008

“She’s back,” said Annie, without looking up from her laptop. From the far side of the room Moira raised her head, frowned thoughtfully and sniffed the air. Norma nodded to herself and smiled.

 

The harsh January wind almost lifted Chrissie off her feet. It grabbed at her scarf and hair with sharp cold fingers until she was bullied into finding refuge down a narrow side street. It was dark between the high old buildings, but a short way down she could see the inviting glow of golden yellow light from an open doorway. It lay out across the icy cobblestones like a welcome mat of forgotten summer sunshine. Her stomach tightened slightly as memories flooded back. It had been almost three months since she had last been at the Black Boar. For a moment she hesitated… unsure, but the wind that was blowing from down the great glen had other plans. It ripped and gnawed at her back, forcing her forward. Once again she stood in front of the café with its ancient stone archway, where a blackboard declared the “Specials of the Day”.

She stood… still uncertain and more than a little afraid. The last time she had been here her life had changed forever. What would happen if she crossed this threshold a second time? Her mind raced back to that day in late October when she had last been here. It had been a crisp and golden end-of-autumn day…

…and Chrissie was in a hurry. She had less than an hour for lunch before her appointment. She walked briskly down the street, oblivious to the shop windows with their garish and gory Halloween decorations. At the corner she went to turn left… and almost tripped over an enormous cat that seemed to appear from nowhere. Swearing softly, she stopped to check her shoe heel, which had made a rather ominous click as she’d dodged the cursed cat. As she balanced on one foot, twisting to check the heel of the other, strange flickering lights caught her eye. Further down the narrow side lane a row of carved-out neeps (swede turnips, traditionally carved in Scotland) grinned at her out of the shadows. Amused and intrigued she went closer, for a better look. The neeps were set along the edge of a bay window. Above an arched stone doorway a sign declared, “Samhainn specials – Come dine with the Dark Boar”, below that was painted a big black pig dancing under a full moon. From deep within the blended scent of real coffee and fresh-baking floated out and wrapped around her, like the arms of a lover. She decided to give this unusual place a try.

The entrance led to a surprisingly chic café. Muted lighting showed round glass tables on long metal pedestals and high-backed dark leather chairs. In the soft warm glow the tables seemed to float, like crystal lotus leaves on a dark pool. Mirrored panels, set at subtle angles, created the illusion of a room flowing out into infinity. A bit disorientated she stood for a moment trying to decide where to sit. The room was quiet, virtually empty. With a salad and tea on its way she headed for a table and pulled out her phone. She was just about to text her boss a reminder that she wouldn’t be back until two when a woman’s voice interrupted her concentration.

“Sugar?” the woman asked, smiling slightly. She was holding out a small silver dish full of sugar sachets… something Chrissie’s own table was lacking.

 “Thank you. I don’t take sugar actually.”

The woman put the dish down anyway, “I always take sugar. Not much point in life if you can’t enjoy the sweet moments.” Chrissie glanced at the woman, quickly assessing and dismissing her fidgety plain face, untidy hair and equally non-descript clothing. 

 “My name is Norma,” Chrissie gave a loud deliberate sigh and stared pointedly at the woman, but Norma went on talking, quite oblivious, “I heard you order the salad special. Good choice. We do an excellent salad.” The last sentence was not expected.

“You own this place?”

The woman nodded, “Actually we all do,” she waved a hand vaguely towards the back of the shop where two other women were sharing a table. A very tall dark woman hunched over a laptop and a slim elegant woman with sleek ginger-brown hair. They seemed to realise they were being spoken about. Both looked across; the slim woman smiled. She gave a polite nod-and-smile back.

Norma waved to them, “Come here and say hello.” The two women started to make their way over to her table.

Chrissie gave another deep sigh, “I don’t have time…” she started to say, but Norma was already making introductions.

The tall woman spoke in a gravel rough voice, “I’m Annie.”

“Black Annie,” the small slim woman added with a dry smile. Annie pulled a face and gave a small mock bow as everyone laughed at the joke. In her tailored charcoal suit and long black coat, and with her crow black hair feathering her bony face, she was very black indeed.

“I’m Moira,” the slender woman smiled again, holding out her hand. Chrissie smiled back, noticing the small details that spoke of prosperity and prestige. Her hand was soft and her long perfectly manicured nails picked up the sparkles from the gold and diamond bracelet around her wrist. Her rich brown hair had stylish streaked copper highlights that reminded Chrissie of stripes on a tabby cat.

The three women seemed an interesting trio, but she really wasn’t in the mood for small talk. She deliberately glanced at her watch, “I should be going soon. I have an appointment.” The three women nodded understandingly, but kept their places at her table. Feeling strangely powerless she ate her salad while Norma prattled on, explaining how the three of them had started as friends before becoming business partners in the Black Boar.

“Why didn’t you change the name?” she asked. Annie frowned and Norma looked confused. She tried to explain, “I mean, obviously the place was named the Black Boar when you bought it?” The women looked at each other in amusement.

“Oh, we picked the name,” said Norma.

“You chose the name… deliberately?” They all nodded. “But it’s so…” she struggled for a tactful description, “old fashioned.” All three women burst out laughing at that, even dark dour Annie.

Moira patted her hand, “My dear,” she said, chuckling, “you have no idea how old.” Once again all three burst into mirth as if at some private joke.

She changed the subject. “So… what brought you together as friends in the first place?”

Norma smiled, “We’re weavers.”

“Oh!” she was surprised, “Craftwork.”

All three laughed. “You could call it that,” replied Moira.

She could imagine Norma doing something as mundane as needlework, but the other two? Androgynous Annie with her laptop and frown… Moira with her inch long pearly nails and chic little clutch purse… She simply could not imagine the three of them sitting together at some rural women’s social club drinking tea out of mugs and sharing gossip as they worked on their mutual hobby. She was so completely lost in trying to visualise the three women weaving together that she didn’t realise that Norma was holding out her hand as well. A little embarrassed, she shook the woman’s hand. As their fingers touched she gave a jerk.

“Static,” Norma giggled, but Chrissie wasn’t so sure. What she’d felt as their hands touched was more like a ripple of water going through her entire body. This time when she looked into Norma’s face she looked without preconceptions. What she saw was a quivering energy that she had completely missed before. And her eyes! How had she not noticed Norma’s eyes? They were almost abnormally large and such a light bright brown, almost golden; held within their gaze she felt stripped to the bone and spirit.

Flustered, she checked her watch again, “I should go.”

As she went to rise Annie reached out and grabbed her arm tightly, “Remember to ask him about the little thing.”

Norma nodded, “He needs to know.”

“You need to know,” added Moira.

Her mind raced madly for some sensible logical answer as to how these three complete strangers could know about the ‘little thing’. There was no way they could know. No-one knew, not even her mother. Not even her boss. He thought it was a regular check up and it was… or at least that was what she kept telling herself. Except the little thing had been growing into the Big Fear that left her awake and ice cold in the early mornings. She turned to Annie to demand her release, but something in the woman’s face made the words shrivel like dead leaves in her mouth. Up this close Annie’s angular features were made grotesque by the shadows and light reflections. What had first seemed sombre stylishness now looked jagged and ghoulish. Annie stared down her enormous beak of a nose with eyes as darkly bright as the ice-covered cobbles outside. She recoiled and looked away only to realise her right shoulder was being held by another strange hand. Moira’s sharp pearly claws were digging into her skin through coat and clothing. Her face was so close that Chrissie could see the long coarse whiskery hairs on her lip and chin, and notice the sharp little teeth behind her painted coral lips.

The three stared at her with unrelenting intensity as she crouched back in her seat, panting with sudden fear. Her own rasping breath was the only sound in the room, but she could barely hear it beneath the overwhelming drumming of her heart. Her need to escape was almost primal. She wrenched her arm out of Annie’s hard grasp and almost sprinted for the door. As she paid her bill she looked into the mirror behind the counter to see if the three women were still watching her. For one mad moment she could have sworn that she saw a huge rabbitty thing standing beside the table she’d been sitting at, but when she glanced back it was only drab Norma.

Once outside she took three long shivering breaths of the autumn air before walking as fast as she could back to the main street with its hurly burly of lunchtime shoppers. She giggled at her own silliness, but still leapt like a shot deer when a crow cawed loudly from a rooftop. Mad, insane, pure coincidence, she told herself …but deep inside her a persistent whisper echoed in the voices of three.

Now once again she stood at the door of the Black Boar, but this time her feet refused to move. A soft voice startled her out of her reverie.

“Goodness child, you’re frozen!” It was the sleek gingery woman, Moira, elegant in fur and Italian leather. Her face showed concern and a genuine compassion. She put her arm around Chrissie and drew her indoors. Inside the café tall Annie, smiling gently, helped her with her coat as Norma came dashing from the kitchen with a large mug of steaming tea. She was completely unprepared for such gentle mothering. A large tear fought its way free and rolled down her cheek. Moira pulled a crisp white tissue from her tiny leather purse and handed it to her. It was too much to bear. Chrissie put her face in her hands and sobbed like a lost child. Not even the pressure of six hands on her arms and shoulders could stop the flood of emotion that was sweeping through her.

After what felt like a lifetime of weeping, she blotted her eyes and looked about her. Once again all three women had her encircled, but this time she felt held in love rather than held by fear. Feeling calmer than she had in weeks, she sipped her tea and began to tell what she knew they had known before she even knew them - that the ‘little thing’ had been a Big Thing after all. They nodded when she related how she had gone to the doctor and, spurred by their terrifying words, had told him about the little thing. How he had sent her for tests… and back again for more tests. She told them how she had spent her Christmas in hospital corridors with machines and syringes and seen in the New Year wailing like a wild woman, refusing to believe or accept. She told them about test results and statistics, the pamphlets and admission slips, how her life was a blasted heath…

“Rubbish,” said Annie, “Your life is whatever you choose to make it.”

Moira reached across and took her hand. “Sooner or later we all dance with the dark boar,” she said.

Seeing her confusion Norma explained, “In the old times the Dark Boar was the devourer.”

“Death,” Annie added bluntly.

Chrissie looked away…  watched the snow falling outside the window. Silence, as perfect as snowflakes, fell around her. Cool unfathomable peace…“Is this the end then?” she asked. 

Moira shook her head, gently, “There are no endings, only seasons.”

“…and seasons,” continued Norma, “Always circle back to the beginning once again.”

Annie nodded, “Winter isn’t death, winter is the pause between breathes.”

“Hibernation… gestation,” added Norma, “The waiting time.”

Chrissie wiped away another tear, “I’m not sure I can wait.”

“Nonsense,” said Annie, “Of course you can wait. It isn’t a science. Even mould knows how to wait.”

Moira smiled, “and beyond winter there is always the promise of spring.”

“The dance,” said Norma, and they all nodded.

Annie leant forward and touched Chrissie’s cheek lightly with one finger. “The dance you weave is up to you now.” She pointed to the mirrors behind her and Chrissie looked… and looked…

In the dark mirror reflections the café’s tall-backed chairs were mountaintops and the ceiling lights became stars. She felt herself drawn into this otherworld horizon. Across the boundaries of imagination and reality a dark plain came into focus between the mountains and the stars. There were people here, men and women, and a bonfire that hissed and crackled. It was hard to see clearly and at first she thought they were dancing around a maypole. She thought they were holding ribbons, but as they came closer she realised they weren’t swapping over ribbons as they danced in a circle - they were throwing and catching spindles of silvery yarn. As everyone turned and spiralled, threw and caught, the threads were criss-crossing. They were dancing and weaving a net of light. Fire-bright stars and embers swirled around her as she stood and watched. Beyond them, amongst them she saw three familiar figures. They never really joined the dance and yet they were a part of the weaving. Here in this place they seemed so tall, Moira and Norma towered above the others and Annie’s dark head was up amongst the stars themselves. 

With a blink and a heartbeat she was back in her seat in the café as before. She looked at the three women who encircled her at the table and felt her soul shiver at what she could now see before her. Three sets of eyes watched her watching, and in their deep and gentle gaze she saw a hundred thousand dances and more winters than any human mind could comprehend. She got to her feet, slowly this time. There was no more need to panic or rush. Outside in the alley the shoppers were long gone and the newly fallen snow lay unmarked, perfect and pure. Her footsteps would be the first to leave their mark. Chrissie smiled, pulled her scarf a little tighter, and walked out into the hushed winter white.

 

Inside the café Annie went back to her beloved laptop and clicked on her appointment diary.

“Now,” she said, scrolling down to the next week “when shall we three meet again?”

 © Michelle Frost

The names of the three were picked deliberately:
Annie – Black Annis (Scottish mythology Witch/Celtic Goddess)
Norma - the Norn (Norse mythology goddesses of fate and destiny)Moira - the Moirae (Greek mythology Fates)

I live about six miles from the witches stone where the last three witches of Forres were executed. They are supposed to be Shakespeare’s inspiration for the witches in Macbeth.

From the Witches Digest Samhain 2008  

 

 

Cyril heard the church clock strike and realised it was time for his afternoon patrol of the lane leading to the cottage. The dwelling was cold and derelict now but he still felt comfortable there.

The Children would be coming home from school now and he must maintain his “Watch”, in order to protect Evelyn. If only he had been able to do so then. This was his constant regret, keeping him here year after year. He did not mind, it eased his guilt to keep vigil over the house where she had lived from birth to her death, patiently waiting for her to return.

He sensed the quickening of a cool breeze and the dimming light told him that evenings were beginning to draw in early.

The children began to straggle home along the lane, good natured, chatting to each other, some skipping and jumping swiftly past the old man, not noticing him standing there.

Did they not remember what they had done? Were they the same children who killed his friend? Dear Evelyn, a frail, delicate old lady who healed people with herbs and incantations, who lived to serve all living creatures.

He saw it happen from his own front gate, getting ready to help her carry the bundle of flowers and hay. The children seemed to appear from nowhere, running towards her, pelting her with stones and clumps of earth shouting, “Witch! Witch! Witch!” Cyril called out to them frantically waving his arms and they ran away.

Too late, Evelyn had crumpled to the ground, covered with the hay she had bought for her rabbits and loose flowers scattered all around. He gathered her lifeless body easily in his arms, carried her to the cottage and laid her on the comfortable couch. Smokey the old cat jumped up on her chest and sat there purring.

When the doctor arrived he thought that death had been caused by a heart attack brought on by fear.

Cyril took Smokey and the Rabbits to his home for the remainder of their lives and soon his own heart failed, but still remained here in the lane, watching and waiting.

The months and years came and went but one bright morning everything changed. As Cyril was standing on Evelyn’s porch, he heard the sound of a car and two voices, one deep and mellow, the other higher, like the tinkling of bells.

“Look Eve” called the man, as he moved through Cyril into the hall, “We can use all these bricks in the walls to build the new house.”

“How wonderful” the young woman cried, her chestnut hair flying about her shoulders and amber eyes flashing with delight. “The blending of old and new will enhance this atmosphere which I know I can work with.”

She gazed about her at the landscape, her fingers toying with the large pentacle which hung on a silver chain around her neck. She looked strong and powerful, as did the young man with her and in that moment Cyril knew that this Eve was Evelyn.

He smiled to himself and sat down on the step, though he had no body to do so and at last he knew, after all this time, he could close down his senses, go to the light, rest and one day return.

 From the Witches Digest Mabon 2008

Technorati Tags: pagan stories, pagan story, short stories, short story

She was warm and content, wrapped in a fragrant blanket. Reaching out with her senses, she drifted into a meditative state and called out for her One; hoping that today there would be an answer.

A terrible shaking, rumbling noise broke her concentration and forced her rudely away from her thoughts. She could do nothing but watch in horror as she was lifted from her home and separated from those she’d grown with.

Determined to see the changes as a chance to experience more and find her One, she allowed herself to slumber.

A gentle rocking was the next sensation to permeate her awareness, soothing the jarring feeling of nothingness beneath her.
Awake in the dark, she became aware of others around her - all of them reaching out to talk and teach; for many countless hours she absorbed their stories, their histories and all the wisdom they had to offer.

The movement finally slowed and came to a stop, telling her that the next stage of her journey was about to begin; she sat close to the others and watched in amazement as they were lifted free to revel in the sunlight.

Her surroundings were so different to those she’d known, everything was tall and square - strange structures made of stone and wood; she marvelled at their beauty and allowed herself to be drawn into one of them.

Inside, more strange beasts, like the ones that had sundered her home, stood idle - their sharp fangs gaping above them. It was with great relief that she and the others were moved away into a smaller den, filled with curiosities and plants she’d never seen before.

A creature, different - fleshy and gentle - lifted her free and applied something to her, rubbing away the dirt and grit that masked her true face.
For the first time since her awakening, she felt beautiful - that her full potential was being reached by just allowing her inner self to be seen; and she basked in the feeling and those of the ones around her that were experiencing a similar sensation.

Not long after her initial cleansing, she was placed in a bed so soft, she was sure one of the Fleshy Giants had reached up and plucked a cloud from the skies, just so she could lay on it - she was overcome with awe and wonderment, stunned that these others cared about her so much they would treat her this way.

The light was blotted out by one of the creatures, and she felt herself being moved again - the peculiar weightless feeling she’d experienced before told her that she was leaving the stone jungle, her journey taking her someplace new - perhaps to her One in the end.

It felt like forever before the light and the Giants returned; when they did she found herself in a veritable wonderland - large units, brimming with hundreds and thousands of her brothers and sisters, members of her family she’d never before been aware of; it filled her heart with immense joy to join them in their stories and share a small part of their lives.

However, her journey had not yet finished and she was once more wrapped in a warm darkness and hurried across the vast stone jungles, the fierce purring of her carriage marking their passing.

Finally, she ended in a small stone dwelling, full of life and energy from plants, trees, stones and other living creatures. She was placed with great care on a platform that made her feel as if she were flying.

“You’ll like it here.” the creature - something she learned was called a woman - said, “People are drawn in here for all sorts of reasons.”

It was the very next day that a blissful feeling swept through her, and the sweet song of her One called. Answering it, she beckoned a young girl inside and sang joyously as she was picked up and cradled.

“I’ll have this one please,” the girl showed her to the old woman, “I could do with some luck.”
“You’re sure to get it with that one - sunstone is very lucky.”

And as she dozed contentedly in her One’s arms, she found that she couldn’t agree more.

© Erin Flitton 2008
From the Witches Digest Lammas 2008
 

Sitting in the coffee shop with her friends, Diana found herself
distracted by a low humming.
It seemed to be coming from
everywhere at once, and tugged at her senses so strongly it almost felt physical.
“We ready to go then?”
She was jolted away from her
contemplations by an elbow in her side, and hurried to follow the other girls to the till with their bill.

As they left the mall and its artificially cooled aisles behind, the noise  louder - beckoning her down a small shadowed street.

“Guys, let’s go this way,” she smiled at her companions and started
walking, sure they’d follow her if she didn’t stop to explain.

The side street was less crowded than the main walkway, and she found herself looking curiously at dozens of small shops she’d never even realised existed.

“Where are we going?” one of her friend’s caught her elbow and tugged, “There’s nothing down here - just a creepy little hippy shop.”

“Just… hold on,” freeing her arm, Diana approached the ‘creepy little hippy shop’ - a tingle of something like electric and excitement joining the hum in the back of her mind,
“I want to see what’s in here.”

With mutters and rolled eyes, her friends agreed and they all trooped inside the small building.

The air was rich with blended scents of incense, curls of white smoke
whispering out of the nose of a haughty clay dragon on the tall counter at the rear of the shop.

The humming grew louder as she approached a tall basket, filled to the brim with shimmering crystals and shining gems. Digging her hand down, she gasped as her fingertips grazed a delicate purple stone, her head filling with warmth and song.

“Looks like that one called to you.” a kindly looking woman appeared at her shoulder.

“Diana,” her friends were looking vaguely irritable, “Are you going to be long?”

“Just let me get this,” she handed her prize to the woman and dug in her shoulder bag for her wallet, ignoring the sceptical comments and moans from the group.

Happy with her purchase, she allowed herself to be pulled out of the shop - turning a deaf ear to the insults and ignorant remarks made about the shop and its owner.

Later that evening, she returned home and sat with the crystal in front of her - studying it under the light as she turned it this way and that.

The colours seemed to intensify and she found herself drawn inside, a whole world of colours and sounds opening out before her - space and time flaring out to show her the stone’s birth and formation deep in the heart of the planet.

She sat for hours, entranced by the knowledge flowing into her, and fell asleep with the crystal clutched firmly in her hand.

Her dreams were peaceful and calm that evening, and when she awoke she felt a level of peace that she couldn’t remember feeling before.

Booting up her computer, she typed in the properties of her stone and found its name - Amethyst, a stone of a Goddess whose name she shared.

Feeling a little awed by the
connection she felt, she smiled and set the stone aside on her dresser - determined to find other calling
crystals with it, her own secret little world away from everyone and their expectations - a welcome relief and refuge just for herself.

© Marie Flitton 2008

  From the Witches Digest Litha 2008 
 

Technorati Tags: pagan stories, pagan story, short story

Despite the cold, she’d sat outside for most of the night. She’d watched her breath rising like clouds of smoke into the star-filled December sky, and as her friends slept in the shelters behind her, she’d reflected on her past.
 
Joanna had known she was different to most other people for virtually all of her life.
 
She’d first noticed it as a child. While her friends were all engrossed in their computers, or in collecting whatever the latest fad in card games was, she was always happiest outdoors. She had spent many an hour building shelters in the woods, first constructing a frame from old branches and twigs she’d collected, and then working into it the living limbs of sturdy trees. Ferns and leaves, knitted together, had formed an almost watertight canopy, and she’d sat inside - alone but content - happy to just lie back and listen to the sounds of nature around her.
 
Fires had come next, and she had quickly learnt the best way to build them, and how to contain them. With a shelter constructed near the stream, and a small fire outside its entrance, she’d relished the quiet as she’d watched the dragonflies dart and dance across the water. The smell of the earth, the soothing melody of the river and the warmth of the sun had all combined to turn her surroundings into what her young mind had perceived as her own special world: her paradise. Being an outcast at school never mattered, because nature was always her best and most dependable friend.
 
As the years passed her feelings of being different had intensified. As a teenager she hadn’t shared the obsessions of her classmates, and while the other girls were either preoccupied with boys, or with what shade of lipstick they should or shouldn’t buy, Joanna’s interests lay elsewhere. Unworried by the taunts of her peers, when she’d found out about a medieval re-enactment group she had been quick to join. Given the role of herbalist, she began to study plant lore. She learned about old recipes and remedies, and about gardening by the moon, and her keen interest in the natural world had deepened further.
 
College had come after that, and if her teenage friends had found Joanna odd, then her college friends had found her doubly so. Happy to enjoy an occasional night out, she had avoided the constant partying - and all it entailed - that had gone on around her, and continued unrelentingly with her natural studies. The re-enactment group had stirred within her a love of cooking and she had thrown herself into this wholeheartedly, determining for herself the importance of a wholesome, natural diet. And as her friends had ranted about how bad some of the latest bands were, Joanna’s main grievance was finding out that a type of food purported to be good for you was actually made from bacteria grown on industrial waste! She really hadn’t been able to understand why none of her classmates shared her outrage.
 
By the time she’d reached adulthood, normal was a term she knew most people didn’t think applied to her. And as far as their perceptions of normal were concerned, she agreed with them completely. She had only a passing interest in what seemed to them the be-all and end-all of existence; fashions, fast-food, soap operas and drink…they were all distractions she didn’t need too much of. What she did need, she had decided, were good size helpings of astrology, crystal healing and magic.
 
Learning about ancient cultures, and about myths and prophecies from across the world, had led to some interesting “conflicts” with the people around her. They hadn’t understood why she was so captivated with the past; as far as her office colleagues had been concerned nothing from “back then” had any relevance to today.
 

“Why do you need to know how to build a fire when we’ve got central heating?” had been a regular question. “What’s wrong with using the microwave? The government wouldn’t allow us to have anything that wasn’t safe….”

 
Joanna pulled her cloak tightly around her shoulders and put another log on the smouldering fire. No one was asking those questions now, were they? she thought with a sigh, staring at the smoke that began to curl upwards into the still morning air. No one thought she was odd now - not that that gave her any satisfaction. In a way she would have preferred to have been proved wrong - for the ancient peoples and their calculations to have been proved wrong.
 
But they hadn’t been proved wrong. The cities had fallen and modern life had come to an end. And as a new dawn broke over a technology-absent world, she knew her friends now realised what they had to do: in order to survive, and have a future, they needed to learn the lessons of the past.

By D, L and A

From the Witches Digest Issue 1 - Beltane 2008