Just a Woman

My heart is still clamoring hard against my ribs, but the rhythm has begun to settle a little. I no longer feel as if it is attempting to claw and pry it’s way out to escape it’s bony prison. I allow myself to acknowledge that I have found a temporary reprieve in this darkened, old barn that I stumbled into. My heartbeat settles further still, but it maintains an insistent rhythm- a nervous thrum of trepidation for what the future may hold.

This is not my life. Or it wasn’t until today. Until this very morning my life was easy, comfortable, even glamorous at times. As a young woman flitting about in the upper echelons of society I had very few cares in the world- and the cares that I did possess regularly coincided with the arrival of new, handsome faces that often journeyed into my humble little town. Things have changed now. In less than 12 hours I have gone from living a lush, lavish life to being a hunted, penniless woman.

Or Witch as I was now being named.

But I am not a Witch. I do not brew noxious potions, or curse unwitting individuals. I do not cast spells, take flight on brooms ( so help me I have never touched one!), nor do I enchant men or women to fall in love with me- tempting as that may be. I am damned because I am different. The townspeople took notice of me and my preferred pastimes, and then they sent the Silver Swords.

Witch Hunters.

Witch Killers.

More like blood-thirsty hounds than men, desperately nipping and biting at the heels of every woman condemned under the label of witchcraft. When they finally sink their teeth into her they gouge and tear and maim until her spirit can no longer exist within it’s shredded, tattered vessel.

As a woman of leisure I have simple pleasures. I love to spend time with the trees and flowers and the little critters that create comfortable, safe abodes for themselves in the hollows of oaks, the branches of elms and the bases of willows. I love to take moonlit walks through the forest- it is especially lovely when all 3 moons are full and bright. I love to read stories of wondrous, fantastical places. I love to root my hands into the soft earth, tending and mothering plants. I have always understood that these were not typical diversions for a young woman such as myself, But my family always encouraged me to be who I am. It has been only a few years since the unrest began to ripple into my own town. This incessant drive to root out any woman who partakes in practices of witchery. The lines that separate woman from witch are murky at best non-existent at worst. Any woman who does not fall in line with the law, societal norms, or concede to the inquiries of men are in danger of being labelled mischievous spellcasters and consequently subjected to the violent, sharp edges of law and punishment. Death is always how it ends.

I awoke this morning to find my Father standing over me, a harrowing look on his face. He had been warned by one of his powerful friends on the town council that the Silver Swords were being dispatched to our home. That they were coming for me. I sat there in shock as the rest of my family - my parents and two younger brothers - stumbled, sprinted and cried throughout the house as they worked to pack a satchel for me to take. My mother desperately worked to help me change into a simple men's uniform and shoes so that I could move with ease in my efforts to escape. None of them could come with me. They had not been accused, so as long as they were not actively hiding me they would be deemed innocent. If they were found with me, they would be killed on the spot. I had to do this alone.

It was only when I heard the distant thunder of horse hooves clattering on the cobblestone that reality hit. I furiously scrambled to gather the items my family had prepared. Still in disbelief but with my survival instincts guiding me, I ran to the back of the house- my family following, all of us wailing in despair and terror- unlatched the back door and raced as fast as my legs could carry me into the town woods that backed onto my childhood home. I left my family at the threshold. I did not look back.

For hours I could hear the distant sounds of horses and men in the thrall of a hunt. But I have spent much of my life within the embrace of this forest, and I know how to travel whilst avoiding detection. Eventually those sounds faded out and all I could hear was bird song and tree chatter. Dusk arrived, and then full dark. All 3 moons are in hiding tonight. Perhaps they are hiding with me.

I made my way so deep into the forest that I no longer recognized my surroundings. It was purely luck when I managed to stumble my way into this old, dilapidated barn. In the darkness I can barely make out the shapes that form my own hand, but I carefully take a few steps to the right of the door and come upon a large, warm, dry pile of straw. My nerves fried and my energy depleted, I settle on top of the pile, nestling into the very corner of the barn and welcome the sleep that heavily drapes itself over my eyes, my bones and my heart. For a little while I let myself melt away into dreams of silver-eyed wolves, swollen moons, spirit-laden forests and witches.

Real Witches.

Not me.

I awaken.

For the second morning in a row I am jolted out of sleep, this time by the visual in front of me. Sun streaming in through a single high upper window allows me the pleasure of fully experiencing the space. For a moment I am most assuredly convinced that I have found myself in the throes of a wonderful dream. The sunlight dances over oak shelves lined with blue, green and amber bottles of all different sizes and shapes. From the rafters dried herbs and flowers languorously descend. Wooden counter tops lined neatly with mixing, grinding and cooking implements of all sorts take up the entire space at the back of the barn. I cautiously approach one of the shelves and remove a small, clear blue glass jar from it’s home, unstopping the cork embedded within the opening. Within the jar is a very finely ground, bright green powder. I have a strong urge to swirl my finger through the pulverized plant material when the sound of a throat being cleared behind me dissuades me from that fine idea.

I am frozen in place, If the Silver Swords have somehow managed to find me this quickly, my life is forfeit. But something tugs at my rational mind, a distinct impression that the sound uttered by the individual behind me was lilting, musical and female. No woman worked for the Silver Swords, because any of us could be their next target. The few women who had attempted to work in league with those murderous men had been accused by the town the very day they were exposed. It is only this impression of femininity that allows my limbs to soften and my mind to release its grip. I turn to face the person who has caught me unawares, and staring back at me with the same searching gaze that I am wearing is the most dazzling human I have ever seen. Eyes of shining stars, hair of blazing fire, skin of clear night. Her eyes glitter as they hold mine, drawing me into her universe.

With the clear, resonant sound of crystal, she speaks.

“And to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, Little doe?”

It takes me a moment to gather myself, and before I speak I must withdraw my gaze from hers.

“Madam, I am sorry, When I stumbled in here last night I did not know that I had trespassed. I assumed this was just an old abandoned barn, it was dark and I believed that I was in the middle of nowhere”

“Ahhh, I see. You may very well be in the middle of nowhere, or on the edge of somewhere at any given time. But tell me, what has you so afraid?”

I hesitate. Telling this woman that I have been accused of Witchcraft may not be the most sensible idea. Women don’t work for the silver swords, but they have been known to point them in the right direction if it so suits them. Witches are supposed to be frightening, evil creatures, and if she thinks I am one of them she may entrap me and lead them here.

But, her eyes. I cannot help but feel a sense of peace and trust as they softly, silently encourage me to speak the truth.

“I have been accused of Witchery, I am on the run from the Silver swords, but madam, I guarantee you I am no Witch!”

She cocks her head, and a half smile forms on her lips. “Hmmmm... That’s unfortunate. My friend, I will help you.”

With deftness and agility, the products of practice, the woman begins to pull bottles and vials from their places on the shelves. Bowls, spoons, knives, mortar, pestle and many more implements make an appearance as she swiftly blends and combines a plethora of different powders and liquids- all while maintaining a constant musical murmur of unrecognizable sounds under her breath. I am in awe of the ease with which she works and the almost inhuman speed as she transitions in between tasks. All of this while remaining calm and serene in character.

I am left wondering desperately who this strange woman could be, when she comes to a dead stop, gently whirls round to face me and hands me a little clear vial filled with liquid rainbows.

“This is for you, young one. If you find yourself found by the witch hunters, take this. Drink it down to the very last drop and no harm will come to you.”

I look down at the tiny bottle of mysterious concoction in my hand, and then back at the woman. “Who are you?” I ask.

“I am just a woman, and I am a friend. Trust.”

I nod, helpless to do anything other than trust the gift she has given me.

“You must go now, gentle mouse, they are here.”

Startled by her words, the terror seeps into my bones once again, my heart begins to pump at a treacherous pace and my instincts kick into high gear. I grab my pack, make my way to the doorway and turn quickly to thank the woman before I leave. She is no longer there. I do not have time to think through the impossibility of that fact, so I step out into the day.

A horrible sound pierces the din of the forest all at once, the metallic clang of numerous swords being drawn from their scabbards. 10 men emerge from the trees, weapons in hand, hunger in their eyes. I fumble to remove the top from the little vial still in my hand, and quickly drain it dry. They approach with swords outstretched and one sword violently moves to bite into my flesh, and then it is no longer a sword, but a wildflower. A hand moves to grab my throat and then it is no longer a hand, but the branch of a tree. I am surrounded by swords and men for a time and then I am surrounded only by roots, leaves, bark and flower heads.

I smile and think to myself, It is no wonder these men hate witches.