The moonlight shone as bright as day across this bend in the river, there was a long mud bank, barren of anything bar exposed roots of a tree long since fallen and washed away. On the long flat back was a badger, grunting and snorting in a way I never knew could happen outside of my uncle Dave on a treadmill to win back his pizza and beer privileges after Auntie Sue had to pull plastic garden furniture off him one summer.
It was snout deep into large fish which was flapping around hopelessly as the badger opened it's mouth wide and ripped large mouthfuls from it. It was fascinating viewing, the way it used its paws to grip and hold the fish as it effortlessly removed chunks and devoured them.
I relaxed, which was a mistake as a very forward thorn pierced a very tender spot on my inner thigh. The noise I made leaping up caused the badger to turn and growl, baring its teeth. It was a huge animal, much bigger than I expected watching them on night-vision on wildlife programs shuffling around back gardens. It was also one of the most terrifying things I could remember at that point in my life; my heart raced and I went cold knowing I could not defend myself here, nor anywhere against such a creature. Muscles tensed under its fur; it was all muscle and as solid as one of my jellies which was thicker than a concrete elephant.
I should be safe here, I thought, it wouldn't come into this bush. I was right, it didn't.
A wave surged forth from the mirror smooth river and engulfed the creature in a wash. A scream gave out from within the cascade and as the water drained into the mud a sleek body slipped back into the river. The badger was no longer a threat, not with the back half of it now missing.
With difficulty I removed myself from the hawthorn and stupidly rushed forward to look at what had happened. There was a lot of churned mud, holes pushed down and gouges made by something pulling itself out and then back into the water. I swore out loud, no longer worried about secrecy as I reached for my phone to activate the camera. Not enough power to launch it or give me light to look. I knelt down bringing my face closer to the badger, it was dead, nothing could have lost that much of itself and be anything other. I looked at hole in its side, I had no idea what I was looking at or for. Why doesn't life reflect TV shows? There was no claw or tooth conveniently left stuck into the remaining fur; neither did whatever it was make a easily identifiable noise like meow or howl like the wild predators always do just as the hero arrives on the scene. Cursing again, this time at getting mud all over my hands and knees I wondered how I get myself into these situations. How did I go from a good night out with the girls to rolling in the mud with a dead badger inches from my face.
A tap tap tap beat rippled along the surface of the river and I looked over the still water. A shadow passed and came about before it disappeared further as its movement caused a surge of water to swept across the bank, covering me head to foot and rolling me backwards like a sock in a washing machine. When I looked up the shadow was gone as was the badger; what was left of it anyway. What was left was three gouged lines, like fingers dragged through sand, on the mud bank.
"Ugh'' I ejaculated as I whipped my arms about causing lines of water to be flung from my fingertips which glittered like moonlight as it fell to the floor. There was no one around, so I shook like a dog, something I have enjoyed doing since I was a little girl. More water drops escaped my body and curved to the ground shining like small and brief lived comets.
Bedraggled and with confidence I was going to develop pneumonia by morning I stumped off into the night looking for home, assistance and with the hope towels grew on trees.
Wednesday 7th May
Very early. TOO early.
A beacon in the dark shone brighter than a lighthouse. I had walked for hours in the dark, or what felt like it as I carefully placed my feet missing exposed roots and crudely placed blackberry thorns whilst traveling only a few meters. There was no where else to go, at least anywhere preferable, so, like a moth blindly following a route to a flame, I was drawn in.
The clearing I found myself in was unusual; I'm no expert in all things woody, but the plants seemed to be all leaning away from the centre as if an invisible orb sat there with its bubble thin walls pushing them back. In the middle, like a snow globe without the glitter, sat a stone box. I couldn't even call it a cottage, although it did have a roof and four walls it lacked pretty much all cottagey things. A breeze block shed with a door and very thankfully a light.
'You look half drowned.'' the voice was not only authoritative like it was stating a clear point but it also made me literally jump and give a little squeak.
A shadow detached itself from the wall of the - I'll call it a house, and stepped forward into the light streaming from the window. Although in silhouette it was clearly the old lady who scared me earlier - she also scared me now. I'm sure I didn't wet myself but I would have to remind myself to check later.
''The kettle has boiled.'' she said and moved towards the door. I didn't know if this was an invitation to tea or another statement of fact. I hesitated and in that time the threshold had been passed and the door remained open, I took this as a sign of invitation and as I fought every impulse starting from the soles of my feet to walk away and walked into the house feeling like a naughty schoolgirl being requested to visit the headmistress. I got as far as the doormat. Maybe my instincts had won as I didn't move any further.
''The rear door is open. Kindly use it.'' came the statement, 'Your tea is getting cold.''
The walk around to the rear was short but filled with aroma. Garlic bulbs, close to a hundred of them, were hung threaded together by their stalks around the door. The smell almost knocked me backwards. ''Strong enough to keep out vampires.'' I muttered as I held my breath. The door was opened from the inside and I entered, this time without issue.
''There is a chair by the fire.'' the lady was busying herself with making tea in a small kitchen area at the back of the room. I restated my previous comment to my audience and was rewarded with a piercing stare straight down her sharp nose; I felt two inches tall.
“I would have thought someone in your world would have a better understanding of the principals and respect for the pale ones than you; but......'' she walked over with a large mug of thick brown tea and gave it to me. '' with your Master I am not surprised one little bit.''
She moved away and opened an artisan crafted cupboard built into the room. I use the term artisan to describe a craftsman who isn't a master of their craft but kept going with whatever materials they had to hand. In this case what appeared to be reworked pallets. From within it she extricated an old brown towel and a shapeless black dress, these were delivered to me with efficiency or at least no wasted energy. I did not see into the cupboard for long but I half saw a jam jar with its lid firmly screwed down and within a half ember with a wisp of smoke curled as if lying along the curve of the glass as it lay on a pile of things; it looked in that half second as if the end of the tiny plume of smoke were banging futility on the glass. There was also a small rag doll dressed in black and tied at the wrists as if restrained, a length of rope old and frayed and the last thing I saw was a huge fire extinguisher, I guess anyone playing with fire needs to take precautions no matter what the intent of the flame is for. The cupboard was banged shut, not I am sure to stop me looking but it was the only way to get the to door close.
“You know who I work for?'' I asked with my head wrapped in the towel which smelled of rich tea biscuits.
I heard a sniff from within my cocoon of towel. '”have had my share of dealings with Xanthic over the years. He knows me and I know of him and I know what he says and does.''
The tea was as strong as it looked but tasted like manna compared to the taste of muddy water I had in my mouth for the last half hour.
"Thank you for the tea.'' I said as I moved the towel down to my shoulders and back. “I'm sorry.''
''Why?'' came the response.
I wasn't sure and I said so.
''One piece of advice my dear, never apologise for anyt
hing especially if you can do anything about it and even then know exactly why you are apologising and why you have too. I can see your education is severely lacking.''
My had felt two inches tall when I got here and that stature was reducing by the moment and if I wasn't so scared about venturing out into the dark I probably would have left. She noticed the look I had on me which I hoped was one of defiance but in truth was more of kicked puppy.
''Drink your tea and I'll have you home at first light.''
''Look, what do I call you. I can't be sitting here scared of someone I don't know in their own home.'' I said with as much dignity as I could muster.
The corners of her mouth turned up in what I assumed as a smile and I hated it if it was mocking me. I amused myself by imagining it was the closest thing to a smile she's had for years.
"At last a sensible response and about time too. You can call me Melody, and before you ask it's not my real name but it's as good as any.''
''Nice to meet you Melody I'm......''
The woman not really called Melody cut me off with a wave, her eyes wide and bright with intelligence.
"You are Valentine, and you are working for the devil himself. Luckily he's pretty useless in that role and your learning under him reaffirms that opinion. You have power; what that power is I cannot at this time tell but I do know you are in a great deal of trouble and it’s growing all the time you are here." Melody sniffed and looked around me before reaching forward and carefully with index finger extended, pulled the collar or my dress down an inch.
"And you are also under some powerful protection."
My tattoo, still raw and throbbing felt hot under Melody's gaze. She walked to a shelf on the wall which remained on the wall more through will power and spider web than with sturdy looking brackets. Upon it sat a small line of old worn leather bound books. Melody reached for one slightly apart from the others as if there were an invisible line keeping it apart from the others; that or the books had an argument and the last one had been ostracised by the others.
Melody leafed through the book, turning pages carefully until she found what she was looking for. She turned it around and handed it to me. In my hands the book weighed a ton, heavy with knowledge and shaped by time; age hung over it. The pages were printed but with more than enough hand added extras, comments and scribbled doodles and diagrams to make it a handwritten document. One well annotated page included a woodcut print of a circle surrounded by faint lettering containing a tailed eye within a triangle. I looked down at my own chest and then back at the book; although the lettering in the book was unclear, not through age but either by poor woodcutting or the artist did not fully know of what they were recreating. I closed the book and on the spine between a gold line image of a burning star at the top and a goat legged satyr were the faded and marked words ARA CUSTODIA ARX and within my mind violins, tuba, piccolo and flute swept into life as if a weighted and heavy history detailing the saga of the book wanted to break into my head to impress its importance with nothing but song.
06:00
Melody was true to her word; she had walked me home as soon as the light was strong enough to break through the heavy canopy suspended over the forest by the ancient trees. From the early light I could see the roughly built house, no bigger than a play house from the outside, crafted from any materials at hand. Mud filled in cracks around the sides as weather proofing and tarpaulins acted as repairs to the roof. A small out building made up of wine bottles, jars and other round glass stuck together with mortar and wooden poles formed a square one metre by two metres and as tall as a man. The light from this building casting rainbows or coloured light around the small clearing.
It wasn't a long walk, and Melody seemed to be squatting on Xanthic's estate further into the woods than is easily visible or directly accessible from the paths leading their beautifully managed way to the house. That or she was deliberately leading me along a confusing route of lefts and rights and sharp changes in direction. She needn't of worried if she were as each tree looked the same to me and I soon had no idea where I was nor how to turn around and re-find her home.
We were both extremely silent on the journey home, this gave me time to reflect on what was a hazy and rapidly evaporating memory of last night. I was holding a spell book, which Melody had pushed firmly into my hand as we were leaving the residence; it had a hard cover but was handwritten, old and judging from the condition and state of the pages, well used; although Melody informed me in a matter-of-fact tone it was a ward book as it offered protections and not a method of projecting one's will or power over the world.
What was that other book?” I asked, referring to the Ara thingy book I had seen, and Melody told me a little of what she knew of it.
The Ara Custodia Arx was old. No one knew where it first came from or by whose hand it was first written; copies, or more accurately fragments of passages that create it, have turned up all over the world on many different materials. The eye, in its lesser form according to Melody, has been seen in Egyptian culture on papyrus and carved into solid rock, it’s on medieval tomes and in South American temples to unknown Gods. It’s origin may be clouded in mystery and fog but it’s meaning is well understood by those that have made it their mission to know. The 'eye' was of protection or to be more exact it was a statement that whatever or whoever carried the symbol was being watched over by something with power. I thought this was ancient graffiti saying my gang is bigger than your gang so stay off my turf - this I believe is closer to its meaning than the expert opinions.
The extras, especially the runes, markings or squiggles - no-one knew what they were, were the clearest examples known to Melody. This led to an uncomfortable half hour of the older woman taking photos, sketching and poking my breast to try and understand their meaning. I had worries some of these pictures would end up on the internet and exploded poster sized reproductions of my tattooed left boob would festoon young goth teenage boys’ darkened and festering bedrooms for years to come. After the intimate examination I had more tea, more sugar was piled into it along with Melody's than I had used in five years, but it tasted good for it. I commented how fortunate it was for me she had the kettle on when I turned up cold and wet.
"It was no coincidence Valentine, I knew you were coming." came the reply.
I was shocked to know she knew I would be out in the woods that night. She was more witch-like than anyone I had ever know, with little effort she emitted 'Witch' more than my old Wiccan group who spent a fortune on trying to look the part.
"Don't look so glazed." Melody continued reading me like an open book, in large print with an audio accompaniment and a signed interpreter. "I didn't have to exert myself, you came stumbling so loud in the night signalling your presence that I had time to fill the kettle and wait for you to arrive. Someone of your line should be more at ease in her surroundings and only let herself be known when and more importantly if she wants to be known."
''What do you think a witch is?'' she asked me while we were still sat in her cottage. The following silence bore down on me forcing an answer to form on my lips before my brain could begin to work on any response verging on the intelligent.
''Night, um, black hat......look I know about witchcraft I have studied the subject since school........cat.''
The look that followed could have cut diamonds.
''Hm.'' Melody took the book off me at that point and my head cleared from the thundering strings and I felt like a small child had been removed from my arms.
''A witch you will not be; such a waste of potential but fate has other ideas." she said almost to herself in gentle words. They felt like a hard punch to the stomach.
I had obviously displeased her, but how was I, let alone anyone supposed to concentrate with something as outstanding as that book in my hands? I was suddenly so angry I could not wait to get out of the house, to contact Xanthic, to run and shout and punch things. I knew I wouldn't be a witch, I was Xanthic's aide but be
ing told I wouldn't kicked me emotionally to the ground and a burning pyre stoked by the anger of opportunities lost and doors being closed to me. I was in half a mind to call Xanthic as soon as my phone was connected to a power supply and demand he instigate a development plan or get me into a witch night school or something; he knew everyone or of them at least, so he must be able to help me. O.k, I hadn't discussed any of this with him or how I felt around people of his kind, but he must have seen something in me to have offered me this job in the first place and......How dare she, this Melody, condemn me on the back of five minutes. The miserable bitch.
The very first blue broke though and diluted the fading blackness and I was stood ready to leave. I walked to the front door and stopped. It opened in my hand but I did not walk through, I simply looked across the threshold. Melody opened the other exit. She stood there with a hand on the door keeping it open and I turned and walked through it without making eye contact or uttering any thanks.
We walked home in silence.
09:00
I screamed when I got through the door and punched the wall. That's how I strained my throat and now have my right hand surrounded by a bag of frozen peas found in the freezer and with an expiry date of June 1983.
I found my phone charger and plugged in my mobile then stomped upstairs and kicked the bathroom door as hard as I dared - I was angry but I didn't want to break a toe and all the doors were solid wood. I threw my damp pungent clothes onto the floor and reached for the tap, cursing when I tried to bend swollen fingers around it and shocks of sharp bitter pain ignited within them.
Diary Of An Occult Resolution Assistant Page 11