In a hundred years, the Inquisition would not have seen her for what she really was. How could it, when its members had, in fact, never seen a true witch.
Real witches, powerful witches, do not get caught. That is the essence of the witch. There is no one to best her. And this woman was, and perhaps forever shall be, the most powerful witch the earth has ever known.
She grew up rather sheltered. An only child, due to a number of miscarriages of her mother, she shared a small cottage with her parents in a very remote area near the shore.
Her father was a fisherman, her mother a seamstress. They had very few animals to take care of and on the whole led a rather ordinary, somewhat lonely life. Apart from her chores which brought her into the village occasionally, she didn’t have much contact outside her home.
She grew up a god-fearing, well-mannered, if somewhat unsophisticated young woman. No one knows if she had already discovered her powers at that time or when and how exactly they had manifested.
At the age of eighteen she went to work as a seamstress in the village, replacing her ill mother, from whom she had learnt the profession. It was there, one day, that she met the man who changed her life.
She fell head over heels for a Gaelic lord who, in turn, seemed quite taken with her. And how could he not be? She was an exceptional beauty with long bright red curls and eyes the shade of emeralds. He took her as his mistress as he couldn’t marry her against the wishes of his family because she was a commoner.
Having been as sheltered as she was, the young woman was too naïve to recognize the extent to which the lord was using her for his own amusement. She undoubtedly was under the impression he would marry her in the near future.
On the night he came to her door to tell her he would not see her again, and that he would be taking a wife his family had chosen for him, her whole world shattered into tiny little pieces. The extent, to which she loved him to the exclusion of everything else in her sorry forsaken little life, made her crash and hit rock bottom.
Bewilderment turned to shock, then to despair … and finally to rage.
And somewhere along the line, perhaps without even realizing it, the young woman, who up until that day had never wronged a single soul, turned to the darkness within and spun a web of magic so black and horrid that it became known throughout history as the Black Death.”
“The Black Death? Are you serious?” Aaron seemingly couldn’t help but comment. “This is ridiculous. The Black Death has nothing to do with magic. It was caused by bacteria and was spread by oriental rat fleas. Are you trying to piss us off with such a ridiculous story?”
“Just because you believe in the truth of what you have been taught about the Black Death, it does not make my story any less true. The truth that we cling to obstinately could well be the lie we refuse to acknowledge.”
“Oh great, sounds like a fortune cookie line,” Aaron muttered.
“The truth as I and the people of this society know it, the legend behind the Black Death that has been handed down from generation to generation within the Haven, is that the Black Death in its entirety is the direct result of the darkest kind of witchcraft.
It may be that the bacteria in question is the actual cause of the illness, but the way in which this bacteria was spread, the speed and ferocity with which it hit and eradicated nearly 60% of Europe’s total population, this was not random. This was the result of a soul torn asunder and aching for revenge.
The Black Death hit Ireland in 1348, the same night, even the same hour the Gaelic lord bid his young mistress farewell. The very first known case of the plague in Ireland was the illness of the young woman’s lover. He died an hour after the first symptoms appeared. Usually the subject would die two to seven days after the initial infection.
So, you don’t think it strange that the very first victim died an hour after displaying symptoms? No one he had been in contact with before had gotten the plague. So, where did he get it?”
“And how is it that you are so sure about the Black Death and seem to know so much surrounding events you can’t possibly have witnessed yourself? Has all this ‘knowledge’ been passed down through the generations as well? And who exactly was there that night inside the cottage to pass along the exact hour the lord dismissed his mistress?” Aaron asked in an incredulous tone.
“You may think you are clever and that you know better. But there is a whole world, a whole universe out there that you know nothing about,” Malcolm responded passionately, “There are powers on this earth you have never dreamed of. We have ways to get information we need. We have power, we have magic. We are the Haven. There is nothing we can’t witness for ourselves, be it the past or the possible future.
But you will find out soon enough. And then you won’t be so quick to dismiss the unknown or the seemingly impossible.”
Aaron didn’t seem to know how to respond to that, and I had to admit, if only to myself, that the tale Malcolm was telling us, as absurd as it may seem, started to ring true to my ears, which in turn was a revelation that caused goose bumps to erupt all over my skin.
“The night after the lord had lost the battle for his life, the young woman climbed to the very top of a remote, foreboding cliff that protruded high above the shoreline.
On any other day it would have been a peaceful, beautiful spot. But in this forsaken hour, visited by a dark and twisted heart full of hatred, the ocean below was in turmoil, sending gigantic gushing white waves crashing against the face of the cliff with a deafening roar that cut through the otherwise silent night, splashing the surrounding air with gusts of salty sea water.
The woman standing at the very top of the cliff was not the woman who was known throughout the neighborhood as the gentlest soul of the village. That woman was gone. By then, there was no light left inside the black pit that had become her soul.
The moment she had arrived at the top of the cliff, she had fallen to her knees, her hands and legs digging into the muddy ground that had remained wet from the downpour of the night before. As if the sky had wept along with her, it had rained for hours on end.
The blood-red moon gazed silently, reproachfully down upon the broken shell of a once loving vibrant young woman as the creature that had taken her place spun her ultimate web of revenge and destruction.
As the night fell quiet, as though awaiting the final storm, … as wind and time stood still … as a nonexistent breeze blew long red curls into the air behind her … she raised her outstretched arms to the sky and uttered a curse. The spell she cast, that to anyone who listened sounded like a single bloodcurdling cry, held the following incantation:
In the age of a new dawn when hundreds of years have come and gone, a boy and girl hence shall be born, to revenge this woman scorned.
They shall meet and they shall fall, they shall suffer above all; shall desire one another yet never get to be together.
Nor shall they ever be apart, lest it stop her beating heart; made for one another, there shall never be another.
And when they finally succumb to loves intoxicating drum, my revenge will be complete with destruction at their feet.
For the world that I do hate, the perfect curse I thus create; the love that never would be mine shall no longer be divine.
It shall be a curse, a damnation and much worse; it shall be the perfect means to unravel all the seams.
Thus shall be my legacy, to the bride and to the groom, the world shall shatter to the core when the rose is in full bloom.
Let the mark thus be my sign, let the flesh be yours and mine, thus I travel time and space to meet my lover face to face.”
After a silence that seemed as thick as a brick wall, Malcolm continued.
“Her name was Morrigan O’ Hara,” he said slowly, looking steadily at me as if waiting for something.
“Is that supposed to mean something to me?” I couldn’t help but ask after being continuously scrutinized by Malcolm.
“She is you.”
“You don’t honestly expect us to believe any of this? Quit fooling around, and tell us what you want from us,” Aaron answered heatedly, having had enough of hour-long fairy tales by the sound of it.
“Why would you think I would waste my time telling you nonsense? Don’t you think I have better things to do than to sit here and ‘bullshit’ you ― as you would call it?” Malcolm tried to reason with us calmly.
“What do you mean by ‘She is you’?” I blurted out, completely ignoring the men’s banter.
After a silent spell that seemed to last forever Malcolm said:
“You are that woman … you and her are one and the same person.”
“The woman in your story. The one who had a … how did you put it … evil, dark, twisted soul, or something like that? How could that be me?” I asked outraged.
“Never mind the fact that she lived ― when exactly? ― Thirteen-hundred-something? You don’t think I look a little too fresh for an over 600 year old?” I continued heatedly.
“This is so ridiculous I don’t even have a word for it ― but I’m pretty sure it needs one, someone should invent a word to cover such a profound load of crap as this is,” I babbled, unable to stop myself for fear of having a moment to think about the actual possibility that Malcolm wasn’t completely crazy.
“Miss Jones, I realize this must be an awful lot for you to contemplate at this moment, and I do apologize for the indelicacy I undoubtedly showed in bluntly telling you to your face that you are the reincarnation of an evil witch, but I can assure you that it was necessary. You need to know who you are; Mr. Chambers needs to know who he is, only then …”
“Excuse me, what’s that about me?” Aaron suddenly asked, seemingly having been jolted awake by Malcolm’s last sentence.
“Why do I need to know who I am? I believe I’ve got that covered, thank you very much. And I’ll have you know, I’d rather take my version than the one you’ve no doubt brewed up for me … less drama, I’m sure.”
“Well Mr. Chambers, thank you for that refreshing speech. On that note, you’ll be pleased to know that you are no reincarnation of any kind,” Malcolm said calmly.
“Didn’t think so,” Aaron retorted.
“However,” Malcolm added quickly, supposedly before Aaron could get too comfortable with being off the hook, “you cannot be a reincarnation of any kind because the sole purpose behind your existence lies in your damnation.”
“Come again?” Aaron asked, completely thrown.
“Let me put it to you bluntly,” Malcolm suggested.
“Yes, because you’ve been so tactful up until now,” Aaron obviously couldn’t help but counter.
Malcolm waited for the expectant silence he needed before continuing.
“You exist because it has been ordained.”
“For the love of God, can’t you just tell me in plain English?” Aaron exploded, finally losing his patience.
“All right,” Malcolm retorted, “I shall try. The story I have just told you; the curse that Morrigan cried unto the night … She had come to hate everyone and everything around her.
All she could see was destruction, a thirst for revenge so profound that it surpassed every bit of love she had ever felt for her family, for the place she had called home, and every ounce of compassion she had ever felt for her fellow men.
In one single moment of blind hatred she condemned our whole world, our beloved planet and everything on it, to death. And to be especially cruel, she devised the world to be destroyed by the very thing that makes our small lives worth living; the one thing that should be good and pure, she has turned into an instrument of pure evil … love. Two lovers will be drawn to one another.
Neither will be able to keep away from the other, and the union of their bodies will ignite an unstoppable vortex that will keep growing in speed and bulk … ultimately sucking all of earth into its fiery depth.
You two are the ordained lovers. Persephone is the reincarnation of Morrigan O’Hara; she has the birthmark ― the rose ― to prove it. You are the man she will fall in love with in the here and now.
If you separate, she will die. If you consummate your love, the earth shall cease to exist. This is your legacy. This is why you are here. I hope that was ‘English’ enough for you.”
“I don’t believe you,” was all I was able to say, my head shaking adamantly in denial, all the while a gnawing little voice in the back of my mind telling me it might actually explain the way I had been feeling since I met Aaron; or actually, now that I thought about it, ever since my eighteenth birthday, when I had felt the very beginnings of a powerful gnawing fear and couldn’t understand where it was coming from; and ever since my birthmark had so suddenly and unexpectedly changed into the image of a rose.
None of the things that had occurred since that time could be rationalized with the knowledge held by the world I knew. There were no explanations to be found … save the completely irrational, unfathomable one Malcolm had just thrown at us.
And with every moment that sped past, thought chasing thought, the truth of Malcolm’s words had carved its own forceful way through my clouded mind, finally hitting home. Clarity suddenly flooded me. As if Malcolm had magically ignited a light inside me, I now grasped the reality of what he had said.
Perhaps the only world that held answers was the one whose existence I had tried with all my might to deny.
A world I knew nothing about.
A world Malcolm had described both as powerful and terrible.
A world that coexisted with the one known to all of mankind … but forever hiding behind the shadow of reality … impenetrable to anyone who did not belong to it.
And now it seemed the veil that had kept it hidden from me throughout the first act of my life had shifted … the mystery of everything that was happening to me about to be revealed.
The stage was mine, now … a whole world of magic suddenly lay at my feet, within my grasp after countless years of knowing nothing about its existence…
And I didn’t want it.
I didn’t want this horrific force that was supposedly inside me, the darkness that threatened to destroy the whole world ― the world I loved.
And although I recognized the truth behind Malcolm’s words, I somehow couldn’t help myself when I uttered my next words, hoping against hope that it must be some kind of a mistake.
“But I can’t do … magic. It’s absurd. I’ve never had that kind of ability. Please,” I said, a pleading, desperate edge to my voice now, “you’re mistaken, it can’t be me … how can it be me?” Tears had finally made their way to my eyes, softly spilling over as I contemplated what it all meant:
I would be responsible for ending the world. Who didn’t secretly dream of such a legacy? All the times throughout my life when I’d thought about what my life could be, if I would ever end up doing something truly meaningful, heroic, I had never once entertained the thought that I would be doing anything less than being beneficial to society or humanity.
Now, it seemed as if I would be responsible for the demise of every single soul that walked the face of the earth.
But that was only if I would let that happen. I had a choice, right?
After what seemed a very long pause, Malcolm finally responded, his words calm and measured:
“I realize this must come as a real shock to you, but although you profess not to believe a word I’ve been saying, I can see very clearly that you do, in fact, believe me, no matter what you might say. I’m sure you’ve felt the rightness of my words, for I can see it etched in every line of your face.”
I didn’t know how to respond and it seemed Malcolm hadn’t expected a reply because he soon continued, “The reason you believe you can’t do magic is simply that you have not learnt it.
Like almost everything in life, every new skill you hope to acquire, it must be learnt first. You are born with the ability, and to a certain degree you have inherent instincts that will guide your way when y
ou are using magic, but to actually use magic in the sense that you will know what you’re doing and to be able to control it to your advantage … that requires a certain skill and training. So you see, it does not signify that you cannot yet do magic.”
I was silent for a long moment, trying to come to grips with the new reality I had just been presented with. I was about to ask another question when Aaron, who had been utterly silent for the last few minutes, suddenly found his voice again.
“So,” Aaron asked carefully, “what does this mean?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Chambers, but could you please be more specific as to what it is you’re actually asking?” Malcolm requested intently.
“I’m asking,” Aaron retorted casually, “what does this mean for us, for Persephone and me? Providing that any of this is true, providing that Persephone and I are really going to end the world by … having sex … what are we supposed to do about this? How can we avoid our fate?”
“I would say: by not having sex,” Malcolm responded.
That was probably one of the most unhelpful suggestions I have ever heard, I thought morosely, trying very hard not to snort at such a stupid and obvious response.
Aaron, however, seemed not to have any qualms about snorting at Malcolm’s response.
“Thank you very much,” Aaron replied sarcastically, “that was so helpful.”
Malcolm’s mouth twitched very slightly in a way that sort of resembled a smile before resuming the conversation.
“All right,” he said, “I’m sorry for that. You of course want to know if there is anything that can be done about your situation.”
“Providing any of this is actually true,” Aaron qualified carefully, seemingly still not content with just taking every word of Malcolm’s at face value.
“Yes, providing it is true,” Malcolm conceded before continuing.
“This situation will be dealt with. What you must understand is that the solution is not an easy one. I most certainly cannot allow you to consummate your love and destroy the world,” he added too matter-of-factly for my taste.
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