by R N Merle
‘Are you ready?’ she asked impatiently.
As she waited for Darklin’s reply, Gressyl’s fingernails dug into the surface of the wood, where her hands gripped the arms of her chair.
Slowly Darklin’s head bowed. ‘Yes,’ she whispered.
Gressyl let out a rush of breath. It was several minutes before she spoke again. ‘I will perform the rite tomorrow. Drink your tonic and go to your bed.’ Gressyl ladled the potion into a cup with a shaking hand. For once, Darklin took the drink gladly, unsteadily retreating to the darkness of her room where oblivion awaited.
The next night, Darklin woke as usual, her body jolting upright and her heart racing. When her eyes focused, she noticed on the back of the door, a red garment she had never seen before.
‘Wash and put that robe on.’ Gressyl commanded from the other room. ‘’Tis a special occasion, to receive Her gift.’
Darklin lay for a moment in confusion. She stretched, and felt the aching muscles in her legs, neck and shoulders. The events of the previous night came crawling back, the images entering her mind in a slow, horrifying procession. The grotesque masks, the blood splattered clothing, the abysmal dungeon, and at the end, the dead girl waving. She curled herself into a ball under her blanket. What had Gressyl said? That she was to receive Vardyn’s gift? She dimly recalled agreeing to accept the powers, and closed her eyes again, wishing she had never woken.
She thought of how a week, even a day ago, she would have been thrilled to be initiated into the practices of witchcraft, it had been something that she had wished for. Now, the reality of it was oppressive and filled with dread.
A witch’s life; a ghost in the darkness creeping about other’s houses and handing out curses, living always in fear of being caught. Was this what she was destined to become? After the previous night, Darklin never wanted to go to Fallenoak, or anywhere like it, again. She knew in her heart she could not do it, the whole of her being revolted at the idea of it. Nothing would induce her to go; she would rather face all Gressyl’s wrath than set foot in that village, go near the dungeon, or walk by the tree at the crossroads. She shivered. But what would Gressyl do to her if she said no?
Would she turn her out, so that she must go and live among the others? To be reliant on the folk was no way to live either, trapped in a slavish life, living at their mercy, or else locked away in a dungeon.
She thought over the last night’s events, trying to find something in them that would make being a witch worthwhile, something about that life she could get used to or even like. Gressyl always said a witch’s life was the only free way to live. She would be able to perform spells and do magic, and it would give her the ability to defend herself from the folk if they came after her. She would be powerful and fearsome, she would be masterful and strong. She knew she should be impressed by these things, but instead, inside was a terrible emptiness.
‘Hurry child!’ Gressyl growled from the other room, ‘The moon is rising high!’
Darklin did not know how to stop the course of events that were already set in motion. Resigned, she fell back on obedience, and slowly did as she was told. She cast off her smock, and quickly washed with icy water from the bucket Gressyl had left by the door. She used the smock to dry herself, and pulled on the awaiting robe, her body, mind and heart, frozen.
Darklin opened the door and observed a ring of black candles on the floor by the fire. They punctuated the points of an upside down pentagram, overlaid with the letter ’v’, drawn with charcoal onto the flagstones. She looked at Gressyl dressed in another unfamiliar robe, huddled over the spell book lying next to a tall silver chalice on the table. Darklin had a sudden impulse to bolt through the door and run as far as she could. But where to?
‘Quick now, stand in the circle,’ commanded Gressyl.
Darklin’s eyes flickered back and forth between the door and the candles. The crow fluttered restlessly in the rafters, unusually noisy as it hopped agitatedly from beam to beam.
‘What will happen to me?’ asked Darklin.
‘You will be given the power to do magic.’ Gressyl answered without looking up from the spell book.
‘Will I be…changed?’ asked Darklin, unsure of exactly what she meant.
‘You will be stronger.’ Gressyl answered so quickly, the sound of Darklin’s words still hung in the air.
‘What…’ Darklin began, but Gressyl cut her off,
‘We do not have time for your questions. Stand in the circle.’
Darklin hesitated. She wanted to have a reason not to do it, one that Gressyl could not dismiss. But she couldn’t think…there was nothing compelling she could say.
‘What are you waiting for?’ Gressyl hissed, raising her cane at Darklin.
Darklin lowered her head and stepped into the pentagram. She shivered, the room was startlingly cold and she could sense a strange, icy energy lapping at her bare feet. As she watched Gressyl checking the pages of her spell book, she had an unwonted urge to say goodbye to herself, believing she would not be the same after the ritual had been completed.
Gressyl turned and rolled up her sleeves. She took a deep breath, her cane in one hand and the chalice in the other, and began to circle the pentagram slowly.
‘You have offered your life to the Coven of Vardyn. Before the secrets and the gifts of the coven are bestowed upon you, you must swear your allegiance to Vardyn. Do you promise that you will keep Her secrets, even if a rope is placed about your neck and you are ready to be hanged?’
Darklin stared at Gressyl in shock. She had never said anything about a promise… Darklin fidgeted, clawing at her own skin, not knowing what to say.
‘Say “I promise”.’ Gressyl hissed.
‘I promise.’ said Darklin quietly, trying to swallow a lump in her throat. The cold energy spurted upward in a column, and then returned to the floor.
‘Do you promise to abide by Her rules and stay true to your word until the end of your living nights?’
‘I promise.’ repeated Darklin.
‘You have sworn your loyalty, but remember, if you should ever break your promises, you will endure more evil torments on earth than any devil could devise in hell.’
Darklin gulped. She instantly wanted to take it all back. She wanted to escape out the door, but the cold energy seemed to have grabbed hold of her ankles, and she could not move. Gressyl spoke again,
‘In ancient times, in the very heart of the land, there lived a very powerful witch. She had five daughters. Each daughter was endowed with a special gift. The eldest had the power to make things grow and heal, the second had the power to manipulate time, to see glimpses of the future and the past. The third had the ability to restore natural justice, the fourth to influence human emotion. The youngest and most powerful sister was named Vardyn. She could harness the powers of the earth; wind and rain, fire and water.
They all lived on an island in a river, enchanted to keep them safe, because their magic was powerful and dangerous, and they did not want to come in contact with men who would abuse it. As long as the five daughters stayed on the island, they could not be harmed. Occasionally, people would come to ask for their help, and if they were worthy, the witches would do all they could for them, without asking for anything in return. They were held in great esteem for their power and benevolence.
But when the men came to the land in the name of religion, everything changed. The people were taught that witches were Satan’s instruments, and that they must be abolished. The witches of the island were made wary. They knew that the men of the church had turned the people against them, but still, they did not turn their backs on those who held faith in the old ways, and came to them for help.
It was at this time that Vardyn was one evening sitting on the bank of the island, watching the flow of the water. Floating down the river came a boat. In the boat was the most handsome young man she had ever seen. As he spoke to her, she fell in love with him, and from then on he would come often to visit her.
One day, he offered to take her for a ride in his boat. Though Vardyn knew she should not go, she wanted to know what it would feel like to float across the water, and being young and foolish and unwilling to refuse him, she agreed.
While they were drifting downstream, a strange darkness came over the sky, and Vardyn knew that something was gravely wrong. She demanded that the boy should take her back, but he refused. So she summoned the river to carry the boat back to the island. The water rushed to her aid, and when she neared her home, she saw people crowded onto the island. They had come from the nearby villages, amongst them, she recognised the faces of those the witches had blessed with their help.
They did not notice her at first. Their eyes were all turned toward a willow tree that grew in the centre of the island. Vardyn followed their gaze and saw from the branches her four sisters and her mother, hanging. All were dead.
Vardyn was consumed by a rage of grief and betrayal. The dark sky turned black. Where the crowd stood, the ground began to tremble and break apart. All the people fell into the river, and Vardyn sent a fearsome wave to be sure that they would drown. Not one of them survived. After she had buried her family, Vardyn went in search of the beautiful boy that she had loved. She found him in the deserted village, weeping alone in his empty house. He accused her of murdering his family, and told her that he had never loved her. He had only lured her into his boat so that the others could get onto the island. As soon as these words were spoken, Vardyn called for a thunderbolt to strike him in the heart, and he fell down dead.
Although Vardyn had her revenge, it was not enough. She declared war on all the people of the land. If she had wanted to, she could have destroyed all the towns and settlements in England; but a swift death was too easy, she wanted to make them suffer all the days of their lives. For many years, Vardyn worked alone, observing the folk to understand all their faults and failings, delivering her curses and dispensing misery. The darkness in her heart made the blood in her veins turn black. And when she began to grow old, she recruited five women, and prepared them to take over her work after she had gone.
She devised the Rules of Vardyn, and told each witch that she must live by them, explaining their reasons and their purpose. She told them that when their time was coming to an end, they must train another witch to take their place, and in turn, teach her to obey the rules. Down the centuries, the secrets of Vardyn have been held sacred. Five witches hidden in the land, never meeting, but knowing of each other’s existence, all working to avenge Vardyn and bring suffering on the plague of mankind.
Now in the darkest hour, we stand in Her honour. One loyal servant, nearing the end of her service, offering another she has prepared to take her place. Darklin,’ Gressyl stopped pacing and stood before her, forcing Darklin to look into her eyes. ‘Do you consent to become a witch of Vardyn, to have Her spirit enter your body, to reside within your heart and mind?’
Darklin stood terrified. She tried to speak, but only a whimper sounded from her lips.
‘Do you give your consent?’ Gressyl snarled.
Darklin didn’t want to say yes, but she was too afraid to say no, believing the furious spirit of Vardyn would rise from the ground and strike her down for her refusal.
‘I do.’ she stuttered.
Gressyl closed her eyes and began a chant in a language Darklin had never heard. The cold energy again reached up out of the ground and wrapped itself around Darklin, setting all the fine hairs on her body on end. She reached out, instinctively trying to hold the energy away, but instead it enveloped her hand, weaving in and out of her splayed fingers.
Gressyl then spoke in words Darklin could understand, ‘I humbly summon the spirit of mighty Vardyn, to fill this child with Her power.’
All the candles and the fire in the cauldron, flashed out.
‘Drink of her energy,’ Gressyl put the chalice to Darklin’s lips and tilted it. The liquid inside smelled acrid, and Darklin couldn’t bring herself to take a sip. Instead, Gressyl poured the potion into her mouth, too much at one time, it spilled out the corners of Darklin’s lips and she almost choked. The black liquid seeped down her throat, burning a line from her mouth to her stomach. Immediately Darklin felt the effects of it. It was as if she were strangely far away from herself, as though her mind had become detached from her body and was floating outside of her.
‘Take hold of your wand.’ Gressyl put in her hand a stick of spiralled and twisted rowan wood. In the strange language, Gressyl repeated her chant. As her voice grew louder and louder, the cold energy grew stronger, swirling around Darklin in an invisible vortex. Darklin could see Gressyl chanting, but the words did not resonate through the magical swirl. Darklin could feel the dark power crawl over her skin, and lift her long hair. The sensation was sinister, unbearable; an icy breath of something cruel and fierce. It eddied around her as if struggling to find a point of entrance. Suddenly the chanting stopped, and Darklin felt excruciating pain as the energy entered her body; a thousand pricking needles piercing every inch of her skin, passing ice into her blood, as her world turned black.
Darklin found herself lying on the floor. The room was still and hushed, and all traces of the dark energy had vanished. For a moment Darklin could not move. Slowly, the painful sting the energy had caused began to fade. Darklin felt like she had been bathed in ice, her whole body shook with cold, and her teeth chattered violently.
After a few moments, she began to warm, and when her body stopped convulsing, she could sense a new strength and power within her blood. Darklin locked eyes with Gressyl.
‘We must see if it has taken.’ Gressyl said urgently.
‘How?’
‘Use the magic to light a candle. Put your wand to the wick and imagine a flame, then in your mind, will the flame into existence. Then say the words of the spell.’
Darklin crawled over to the nearest candle and knelt by it. She took a moment to steady herself, then she put her wand, still within her hand, to its wick.
‘Concentrate.’ whispered Gressyl.
Darklin closed her eyes and imagined the flame flickering in the darkness, and wished it to come to life. She felt the cold energy fluttering around her heart.
‘Flame flicker,
blaze and burn.’
‘You’ve done it!’ exclaimed Gressyl. Darklin’s eyes flashed open in surprise, she couldn’t believe that it had been accomplished so easily. She looked at Gressyl, and thought she caught the trace of an emotion, possibly relief, wash over Gressyl’s face then vanish. Before Darklin could catch her breath, Gressyl said, ‘I have prepared another you can try. You must brew the potion and deliver the curse. I have procured you a subject.’
Gressyl went to the shelves and picked up a sack, stored at its base. The sack moved visibly as the thing inside struggled for freedom.
‘What is it?’ asked Darklin, with some trepidation.
‘A rabbit. I want you to turn the colour of its hair. It is a simple spell, a good one for you to start with. The book will tell you all you need to know.’
Darklin rose from the ground unsteadily and went to the spell book. Her hands shook as she turned the pages and when she found the spell, she read through the words slowly to give herself more time. Then she gathered some dried plants from the stocks on the shelves and threw them in the cauldron, along with a vial of animal blood.
Darklin needed a hair from the rabbit. She reached her arm inside the sack, not expecting the vicious flurry of claws that greeted her hand.
‘Ahh!’ she cried in pain, drawing her hand back to look at the furious red scratches.
Darklin frowned then tried again, roughly grabbing the rabbit from the outside of the sack, feeling its shape until she had it by the scruff of the neck. The rabbit began to scream. She turned the creature on its back and shook off the sack. She plucked some hairs from its stomach, avoiding its scrabbling claws, and covered it over again.
She drew an upside down pentagram within a circle, carefully copyin
g the lines drawn in the spell book, completing it by slashing a distinctive letter ‘V’ over the top, then placed the sack in the centre. She gave the potion enough time to brew, then ladled some into a small glass bottle.
When it had cooled, she opened the sack and sprinkled it over the rabbit. She took a breath and re-read the spell book until she was sure she knew the words by heart. She stood over the rabbit with her rowan wand in hand, and commenced chanting. As the magic began to generate, Darklin felt its raw cold energy passing through her.
‘Misuse dark,
Alter light,
Colour fade
To purely white.’
Grey smoke curled from the tip of her wand in a thin line, that swirled firstly around Darklin, then around the circle of the pentagram. When the spell was completed, the smoke rushed downwards, disappearing into the floor.
Darklin stood, breathing hard, she looked at Gressyl and thought she saw the corner of her mouth twitch.
‘Well, look in the sack. See if your spell has been a success.’ Gressyl urged.
Darklin tipped the rabbit out of the sack. Its grey brown fur had turned a bright undiluted white.
‘It worked!’ Darklin exclaimed.
She couldn’t take her eyes away from the rabbit. It sat stunned within the circle she had drawn. Darklin was suddenly overwhelmed with the realisation of her own power. She could change the rules of nature, she could influence the course of life. Almost no other human could do that. Inside, she swelled with confidence and power. The magic made her strong, it would protect her. A smile broke across her face.
‘Shall I turn it out in the woods?’ she asked Gressyl after several minutes.