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In the misty night sky, a clouded crescent moon shed meager light on the surroundings. Turning slowly she examined the primitive thatched hut behind her. In the small front garden, a split log supported by two stumps served as a bench. An oaken bucket sat by a door that flew open. An elderly woman hobbled out, dressed in a black cloak. The woman reminded Leah of her grandmother, but instead of a look of fierce determination, terror pulled her face into an anxious mask. Reaching Leah, she tugged on her clothes, pushing her toward the woods. “Flee, flee, they come. Smell the torches.” The woman pointed to a path winding toward the east.
A dim glow was coming from that direction, along with the sounds of voices and snapping branches as dozens of feet marched in their direction. An overwhelming desire to run after the unknown woman came over her. Another part of her wanted to see who was coming down the path. It was only a dream, right? People couldn’t be hurt in a dream, or could they? She struggled to remember what her psychology teacher, Mr. Schaeffer, had said. He’d said either people couldn’t be hurt by their fears or your fears could kill you by bringing on cardiac arrest.
A few men came into view, burly men garbed in shapeless garments, with wild hair and ragged beards, Held high, flickering torches illuminating a small circle around them. One held a curved knife, reminiscent of the scythe the grim reaper carried. It didn’t bode well. One of the men spotted her, yelled, “Witch!” and charged her way. It was a definite bad sign, causing her to sprint toward the woods in the same direction as the old woman. Sticks, rocks, and briars pierced her feet, reminding her of her shoeless state. At home, she excelled in cross-country, but she had shoes, sunlight, and a feel for the course with no angry villagers behind her. The running men drew closer. Leah stumbled over a tree root, wasting precious time.
“Here, over here.” The voice came from overhead. Staring up into the canopy of leaves, she saw a small hand motioning to her. Of course, hide in the trees. Why didn’t she think of that? Grabbing the lowest limb, she pulled herself into the leafy covering. In the dark, she felt for the branches, climbing higher. Eventually she grabbed an ankle or calf, and received a hand up for her trouble, helping her climb higher.
Good Goddess, how many people were in this tree? She held her breath as the light and noise came closer. The few men below argued about which way to go, while a woman waded in with her opinion. “Samuel, let the witch get away. Mayhap he uses the witch for his own purposes.”
One of the front-runners denied the accusations. “Martha seeks to harm my name, because I did not plight my troth with her.”
The argument moved on a little farther away from the tree. Leah exhaled in a whoosh, thanking the stars for the scorned woman and lack of dogs. As if hearing her silent prayer, a long canine bay rent the air.
More footsteps ran underneath their tree, where there was some minor disagreement about which way to go, then they ran after the previous party. The sound of her heart was so loud in her ears she couldn’t believe her pursuers hadn’t heard it also. The barking dog came closer, along with the sound of its handler.
“Ar-roo, Ar-roo.” The dog sounded close, very close. Its nails scratching at her tree stopped Leah’s heart, or it felt like it. Stupid canine. She was history. She was ready to drop out of the tree and give herself up when a hand touched her and stopped her in the dark. A single word sounded in her ear. “Wait.”
Two villagers stood under the tree, arguing. “Pull the hound off the tree. You will anger the tree spirits. Misfortune will befall us entering the forest at night.”
“Umfrey, still your wild speech. You speak of the old ways. We are now all Christians by order of the king. Such talk will cause the witch hunters to take you up.”
“I tell you this, Collin. A decree does not make the tree spirits, the fairies, the mysterious lights in the woods cease to be. Do you think they bow to kings?”
The dog’s protest about the lack of interest in his treed prey caused Leah’s heart to slow a tiny bit, but not return to normal. Crouched in the tree, similar to blackbirds on the line, she waited with the still unseen others.
“Morn is coming, and the field needs plowing. Umfrey, I will return, not because of your fears of tree fairies and what not, but because I’ve land to attend to.”
“Good call. Your Mary may have some porridge simmering over the fire.”
She listened to them move away. The staying hand remained on her arm. They all crouched in the tree for what seemed like hours as they waited for each group of witch hunters to pass by them. Dawn colored the sky with a pink glow, giving way to the sun’s rays.
Finally, the hand released Leah’s arm. They dropped out of the tree, one by one, the old crone in the black cloak, a young woman a bit older than herself but not by much, and a man, which surprised her. “I didn’t think they took men as witches.” She covered her mouth with her hand, realizing she’d spoken the words aloud.
The young woman stared at her, “What manner of speech is this?”
Before she could answer, the weathered-looking man chose to answer her inquiry. “They take whoever has trespassed against the village elders in some form or manner. My sin is I accused the miller of using unfair scales. People like Old Margaret, who has no one to stand for her, also are taken.”
Turning to the young woman, Leah touched her own chest with her hand. “My speech is different because I am from America.”
“A Mer Rica.” The young woman tried to sound out the name. “Strange, I never heard talk of such a place. My name is Sabina.”
“Leah,” she answered, pointing to herself.
Sabina cocked her head at her slightly, “Is that your real name or your witch name? It is best you do not speak your Christian name.”
Her witch name? Her grandmother had insisted on giving her the witch name Raven, but she never used it. “I assume Sabina is your witch name.”
Sabina bobbed her head as if the whole discussion was a no-brainer. “It is and isn’t. I didn’t have a witch name to begin with, but since we will go to a new town, I will need a new name. Sabina it is. Witches only give out their false name to each other else it will be spoken under the pain of torture.”
It made sense. She remembered something about that when Nana had made her watch one of those online videos about the Burning Times, full of grainy black-and-white illustrations of people being tortured in myriad of ways. Guilty or innocent, somehow the people had always ended up dead.
Margaret started walking in the direction of her house. The man grabbed her arm. “No, someone will wait at the cottage for your return.”
The old woman struggled in his grasp. “I must save Odo.”
“Odo is a creature of the wild. He can take care of himself better than you,” the man insisted, turning the woman to walk deeper into the woods.
A whoosh and the sound of crackling caused them all to turn in the direction of Old Margaret’s house. A thick plume of smoke filled the air, darkening the morning sky. The old woman cried out, “That is all I have!” and shook in the man’s half embrace.
Sabina stepped forward to touch the woman’s cheek, wet with tears. “You have life, Margaret. Once the witch hunters come, you can never return home.”
Sorrow swept over Leah for the weeping devastated woman weeping. Margaret raised her head to glare at Leah. Pulling herself out of comforting arms, she pointed one bony finger at Leah. “You are the reason they came. If I had not found you in the forest and took you and gave you succor, I would have my home and my beloved Odo.”
Found her in the forest? At least that explained how she’d ended up here, but not really. “I am sorry. I did not mean to hurt you or Odo.”
“Margaret,” the man inserted. “You are speaking out of your loss. It was only a matter of time before they came for each of us. We all knew it. Why else did we create witch names or our dark clothing so we can vanish into the night? We do not call ourselves witches. We may not worship the new god or practice the old ways to ensure a good crop, but that does not make us evil, or witches. Still, once others call us witches, we have to prepare.”
Leah wanted to protest that witches weren’t evil, but she listened and considered the trio. The man served as a sort of shepherd, as he managed to get everyone back on the trail through the woods. He nodded to Leah. “You can call me Henry.”
Leah nodded to him, well aware that Henry probably wasn’t his name. “Thanks. This is a new place for me, and I appreciate your help.”
Henry nodded and gestured to the path ahead. “Make haste. Many have chores to do. Most fear the monks more who travel to villages stirring up suspicions with their talk of witches and intercourse with the devil. They will head back into the woods in search of people they can label witches. Their sins might have been lingering in the woods too long or picking herbs for a disorder instead of calling on a physician. I heard an entire town in Germany was taken up as witches, the children, and priests, too. The blood lust is on them, making me wonder if there will be any people left to populate the earth.”
Leah shuddered. Hearing or reading about the Burning Times was something entirely different from walking through the woods with people accused of being witches. Not a good different, either. She preferred the distance accompanying a span of centuries. Still, there had to be a reason behind this. These dreams were more realistic than anything she had dreamt before. Was the universe speaking to her? Was this something she should understand? In a way similar to her father, she never spoke about her faith. Could be she was having a crisis of faith.
“Sabina, I was wondering what happened to people who practice the old ways.”
“Same thing,” the woman replied matter-of-factly. “We are all people in the way of the newest religion, government, or what comes down the road. No place for differences. Everyone has to be the same. Is that the practice where you come from?”
Just before falling asleep, she had wondered the same thing. “I thought it was, but not as bad here. Being different or practicing the old ways might keep me from getting a date I might want or hanging out with the popular kids, but I doubt our house would get burned down.”
Sabina regarded her oddly. “What is a date or hanging out? Why are these things important?”
Good question. How did she explain dating, especially if these people participated in the practice of arranged marriages? She searched for a way to explain, but a beeping interrupted her explanation.
A dim glow was coming from that direction, along with the sounds of voices and snapping branches as dozens of feet marched in their direction. An overwhelming desire to run after the unknown woman came over her. Another part of her wanted to see who was coming down the path. It was only a dream, right? People couldn’t be hurt in a dream, or could they? She struggled to remember what her psychology teacher, Mr. Schaeffer, had said. He’d said either people couldn’t be hurt by their fears or your fears could kill you by bringing on cardiac arrest.
A few men came into view, burly men garbed in shapeless garments, with wild hair and ragged beards, Held high, flickering torches illuminating a small circle around them. One held a curved knife, reminiscent of the scythe the grim reaper carried. It didn’t bode well. One of the men spotted her, yelled, “Witch!” and charged her way. It was a definite bad sign, causing her to sprint toward the woods in the same direction as the old woman. Sticks, rocks, and briars pierced her feet, reminding her of her shoeless state. At home, she excelled in cross-country, but she had shoes, sunlight, and a feel for the course with no angry villagers behind her. The running men drew closer. Leah stumbled over a tree root, wasting precious time.
“Here, over here.” The voice came from overhead. Staring up into the canopy of leaves, she saw a small hand motioning to her. Of course, hide in the trees. Why didn’t she think of that? Grabbing the lowest limb, she pulled herself into the leafy covering. In the dark, she felt for the branches, climbing higher. Eventually she grabbed an ankle or calf, and received a hand up for her trouble, helping her climb higher.
Good Goddess, how many people were in this tree? She held her breath as the light and noise came closer. The few men below argued about which way to go, while a woman waded in with her opinion. “Samuel, let the witch get away. Mayhap he uses the witch for his own purposes.”
One of the front-runners denied the accusations. “Martha seeks to harm my name, because I did not plight my troth with her.”
The argument moved on a little farther away from the tree. Leah exhaled in a whoosh, thanking the stars for the scorned woman and lack of dogs. As if hearing her silent prayer, a long canine bay rent the air.
More footsteps ran underneath their tree, where there was some minor disagreement about which way to go, then they ran after the previous party. The sound of her heart was so loud in her ears she couldn’t believe her pursuers hadn’t heard it also. The barking dog came closer, along with the sound of its handler.
“Ar-roo, Ar-roo.” The dog sounded close, very close. Its nails scratching at her tree stopped Leah’s heart, or it felt like it. Stupid canine. She was history. She was ready to drop out of the tree and give herself up when a hand touched her and stopped her in the dark. A single word sounded in her ear. “Wait.”
Two villagers stood under the tree, arguing. “Pull the hound off the tree. You will anger the tree spirits. Misfortune will befall us entering the forest at night.”
“Umfrey, still your wild speech. You speak of the old ways. We are now all Christians by order of the king. Such talk will cause the witch hunters to take you up.”
“I tell you this, Collin. A decree does not make the tree spirits, the fairies, the mysterious lights in the woods cease to be. Do you think they bow to kings?”
The dog’s protest about the lack of interest in his treed prey caused Leah’s heart to slow a tiny bit, but not return to normal. Crouched in the tree, similar to blackbirds on the line, she waited with the still unseen others.
“Morn is coming, and the field needs plowing. Umfrey, I will return, not because of your fears of tree fairies and what not, but because I’ve land to attend to.”
“Good call. Your Mary may have some porridge simmering over the fire.”
She listened to them move away. The staying hand remained on her arm. They all crouched in the tree for what seemed like hours as they waited for each group of witch hunters to pass by them. Dawn colored the sky with a pink glow, giving way to the sun’s rays.
Finally, the hand released Leah’s arm. They dropped out of the tree, one by one, the old crone in the black cloak, a young woman a bit older than herself but not by much, and a man, which surprised her. “I didn’t think they took men as witches.” She covered her mouth with her hand, realizing she’d spoken the words aloud.
The young woman stared at her, “What manner of speech is this?”
Before she could answer, the weathered-looking man chose to answer her inquiry. “They take whoever has trespassed against the village elders in some form or manner. My sin is I accused the miller of using unfair scales. People like Old Margaret, who has no one to stand for her, also are taken.”
Turning to the young woman, Leah touched her own chest with her hand. “My speech is different because I am from America.”
“A Mer Rica.” The young woman tried to sound out the name. “Strange, I never heard talk of such a place. My name is Sabina.”
“Leah,” she answered, pointing to herself.
Sabina cocked her head at her slightly, “Is that your real name or your witch name? It is best you do not speak your Christian name.”
Her witch name? Her grandmother had insisted on giving her the witch name Raven, but she never used it. “I assume Sabina is your witch name.”
Sabina bobbed her head as if the whole discussion was a no-brainer. “It is and isn’t. I didn’t have a witch name to begin with, but since we will go to a new town, I will need a new name. Sabina it is. Witches only give out their false name to each other else it will be spoken under the pain of torture.”
It made sense. She remembered something about that when Nana had made her watch one of those online videos about the Burning Times, full of grainy black-and-white illustrations of people being tortured in myriad of ways. Guilty or innocent, somehow the people had always ended up dead.
Margaret started walking in the direction of her house. The man grabbed her arm. “No, someone will wait at the cottage for your return.”
The old woman struggled in his grasp. “I must save Odo.”
“Odo is a creature of the wild. He can take care of himself better than you,” the man insisted, turning the woman to walk deeper into the woods.
A whoosh and the sound of crackling caused them all to turn in the direction of Old Margaret’s house. A thick plume of smoke filled the air, darkening the morning sky. The old woman cried out, “That is all I have!” and shook in the man’s half embrace.
Sabina stepped forward to touch the woman’s cheek, wet with tears. “You have life, Margaret. Once the witch hunters come, you can never return home.”
Sorrow swept over Leah for the weeping devastated woman weeping. Margaret raised her head to glare at Leah. Pulling herself out of comforting arms, she pointed one bony finger at Leah. “You are the reason they came. If I had not found you in the forest and took you and gave you succor, I would have my home and my beloved Odo.”
Found her in the forest? At least that explained how she’d ended up here, but not really. “I am sorry. I did not mean to hurt you or Odo.”
“Margaret,” the man inserted. “You are speaking out of your loss. It was only a matter of time before they came for each of us. We all knew it. Why else did we create witch names or our dark clothing so we can vanish into the night? We do not call ourselves witches. We may not worship the new god or practice the old ways to ensure a good crop, but that does not make us evil, or witches. Still, once others call us witches, we have to prepare.”
Leah wanted to protest that witches weren’t evil, but she listened and considered the trio. The man served as a sort of shepherd, as he managed to get everyone back on the trail through the woods. He nodded to Leah. “You can call me Henry.”
Leah nodded to him, well aware that Henry probably wasn’t his name. “Thanks. This is a new place for me, and I appreciate your help.”
Henry nodded and gestured to the path ahead. “Make haste. Many have chores to do. Most fear the monks more who travel to villages stirring up suspicions with their talk of witches and intercourse with the devil. They will head back into the woods in search of people they can label witches. Their sins might have been lingering in the woods too long or picking herbs for a disorder instead of calling on a physician. I heard an entire town in Germany was taken up as witches, the children, and priests, too. The blood lust is on them, making me wonder if there will be any people left to populate the earth.”
Leah shuddered. Hearing or reading about the Burning Times was something entirely different from walking through the woods with people accused of being witches. Not a good different, either. She preferred the distance accompanying a span of centuries. Still, there had to be a reason behind this. These dreams were more realistic than anything she had dreamt before. Was the universe speaking to her? Was this something she should understand? In a way similar to her father, she never spoke about her faith. Could be she was having a crisis of faith.
“Sabina, I was wondering what happened to people who practice the old ways.”
“Same thing,” the woman replied matter-of-factly. “We are all people in the way of the newest religion, government, or what comes down the road. No place for differences. Everyone has to be the same. Is that the practice where you come from?”
Just before falling asleep, she had wondered the same thing. “I thought it was, but not as bad here. Being different or practicing the old ways might keep me from getting a date I might want or hanging out with the popular kids, but I doubt our house would get burned down.”
Sabina regarded her oddly. “What is a date or hanging out? Why are these things important?”
Good question. How did she explain dating, especially if these people participated in the practice of arranged marriages? She searched for a way to explain, but a beeping interrupted her explanation.
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