"From Heloise. It appears Lord Benedict went straight to the Bishop as soon as the pestilence struck the village, and they are certain a witch must be behind it. So they have called in a scharfrichter to root out the sorceress."
"What a preposterous notion," Aunt Bernadine scoffed. "As if any decent witch would waste her time cursing men with bleeding buboes."
“Certainly not us. Bernadine is more of a ‘die painfully in the flames’ kind of witch,” added Aubrey.
"Don't be so cruel," I sobbed. "So many more have died, including Andreas. And we did nothing to help them–"
"My Andreas … dead?" Aunt Aubrey turned pale.
"I saw them lifting his body on to the pyre with my own eyes," I said. "I am so sorry. People in the village are so scared they won't even walk out onto the streets in case they breathe in some foul air. If this witch hunter comes and tells them all that they have a witch to blame for their troubles, we are going to be the ones dying in a fire, and the air is going to be thick with the soot from all our bodies."
Aunt Bernadine sat down again, tapping her fingers against the table. "This is worse than I thought," she said.
"Yes, it is. The scharfrichter will arrive in the village in a matter of days. We must do something, or else they'll have us burning on the stake before the week is out. If we all call upon our powers, together–"
"No, Ada, you do not understand." Aunt Aubrey sank into her chair. "Without Andreas, we will soon have no powers. We must have a man for our coven to be strong."
"I don't understand. There has never been a man in our coven."
Aunt Bernadine and Aunt Aubrey exchanged a look. "Perhaps it's time we told her," said Aunt Aubrey.
I glared at my aunts. "Told me what?"
Aunt Bernadine sighed. "Very well. It seems cruel to burden you with more problems now, but we have no choice. Ada, you must know that there is a curse upon our coven."
"What?"
"Centuries ago, a curse was placed on this family. You see, your great, great, great, grandmother Cedany – she was the finest witch in all of Europe – fell in love with a man. He was a powerful witch, too, and very handsome, and theirs was a passionate romance, such as you'd only heard about in women's tales. But he was also hungry for power and dominance. The more Cedany fell for him, the more power he gained over her, and over the coven. He controlled the rituals, he oversaw the rites, and, before Cedany's eyes, he began to twist the coven's magic toward his own ends, pulling from her more and more of her own power in order to feed his growing thirst.”
“He sounds like a delightful sort man,” I said, sarcastically.
"Oh, he was. He used his powers to scare farmers from their land, to coerce the wives of noblemen to come to his chamber, and to force laws to be passed that increased his wealth. He acquired great tracts of property and a vast residence. He was even appointed deacon of the district. He brought the coven prosperity, but with it greed and corruption began to infect their hearts.
"Day by day, Cedany began to see him for what he had become. She still loved him with a deep and maddening passion, but she also feared him, and hated him for what he'd created from their magical bond. But Cedany was not a woman to be trifled with. She had her own powerful magic, erotic magic–"
I stiffened. "Is there such a thing?"
Aunt Bernadine gave me a strange smile. "Of course, Ada. Woman do not lead armies, we do not sit on councils, but we have our own ways of getting what we want."
I could feel the blush creeping even higher across my cheeks. As a woman of only twenty-one summers, I had no experience of erotic love, although I'd heard stories from my friend Rebekah of what it was like to lie with a man. She made it sound so exciting, I secretly longed for my first taste of erotic love. But I didn't want my aunts to know that.
Aunt Aubrey continued. "Cedany knew that while he came to her chamber, she still held some power over him. She was able to exercise some control over his ever-expanding ambition. But he knew it also, and he was determined to harness her power for himself. He asked her to marry him."
I leaned forward. "What did she do?"
"She refused him," said Aunt Aubrey, with tears in her eyes. "She knew that if he took her as his wife, he would gain control of her magic, and he would be truly unstoppable. She knew that to tie herself to him would bring about her own ruin, and so although she still loved him deeply, she told him she could not marry him."
"He did not take her rejection lightly." Aunt Bernadine pulled her pipe from above the hearth and lit it with clumsy fingers. "He loved her too, in his possessive, hungry way, as only a creature such as he is capable of loving. When she refused his offer of marriage, she broke his heart. And so he called down every dark spirit he could summon, and he cursed her and all her female descendants. For as long as our coven exists, if we go seven days without one witch lying with a man, we will all lose our powers forever."
"What?"
"I'm sorry Ada," said Aunt Aubrey. "We did not want to tell you so soon, but if Andreas has died, our situation is dire. As each day of the week passes, our powers grow weaker."
"But that’s … do you mean to tell me …"
Aunt Aubrey nodded, smiling sheepishly. "Andreas has been a kind companion to me. And his services have kept this coven alive for several years now. But without him we are in real danger of losing our powers, perhaps when we need them most. So now, Ada, it is your turn."
"You mean, I must–"
"You must sleep with a man, any man, within the next three days, or we three will lose our powers forever. In fact, the more men you sleep with, the better." Aunt Aubrey gave a sad smile. "Our powers become stronger with the binding of man and woman."
A blush crept across my cheeks. "But Aunt, I have not–"
"You are twenty-one summers old, my dear. I think it's time you learned." Aunt Bernadine turned to Aunt Aubrey. "There must be a man in the village who will take her."
"What about Alexander Priory, the farrier’s son?"
Alexander Priory. He was tall and handsome, with sandy blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes that seemed to channel the summer. I'd been secretly in love with him since he moved to the village ten years ago. But he – like every other boy of my age in the village – had eyes only for my pretty, flirtatious friend Rebekah. I looked away, my cheeks reddening. "He would not have me," I said.
"You do not try hard enough," Aunt Bernadine snapped. "What about Walter the Cordwainer?"
"Raisin-face? Yuck. No thank you." I grimaced. "You couldn't tell if he caught the plague or not, in between all the spots."
"You've only to bed the man, not enter him in a competition," sneered Aunt Bernadine. "In case you haven't noticed, our supply of eligible bachelors is dwindling, and you're not exactly the prime catch of the village–"
"I resent that remark," I shot back at her, but my cheeks flushed. She was right. The men in the village fawned over Rebekah, who seemed to know exactly what to say and do to draw men to her. But I wasn’t blessed with Rebekah’s petite figure - I was all curves and lumps, my skin too pale and my eyes too wide. I was completely without allure. With only a few men left in the village who weren't either married or aged, it would be next to impossible for me to find one willing to sleep with me within three days.
"She could perform the rite," Aunt Aubrey said.
Bernadine nodded, pipe smoke swirling around her scowling face. "Yes. Ada will need all the help she can get."
I glared at them both. Aunt Aubrey seemed intent on scrubbing away some imaginary crumbs from the table. Aunt Bernadine met my eyes with a hard gaze.
"There is a rite," she said, her scowl deepening. "It has been performed many times by the women in our family when the days of the curse are counting down and they find themselves in desperate need of a man. It is dangerous – you need to drink a potion containing some herbs, and if mixed incorrectly, it could kill you, as it did my grandmother. With your sorry powers, I doubt the rite will have much success, but we
have precious little time before this scharfrichter arrives, and with the village on alert for signs of the Devil, we can no longer openly perform magic."
"When must I go?"
Aunt Aubrey closed her eyes and consulted the star chart inside her head. "We're in luck. Tomorrow is the full moon. That is when the ritual must be performed. But I don't know if this is such a good idea, Bernadine. If anyone from the village sees Ada–"
"I'll be extra careful," I said. "I promise. I'll do anything to keep you safe."
Ada
That night, I tossed and turned in my bed. I could not sleep, thinking about everything my aunts had told me.
We're cursed.
I could not believe it. Every seven days for the past nineteen years, my aunts had been sleeping with men, in order to keep our powers intact … I thought of Aunt Bernadine in her younger days, before the arthritis had clawed at her hands, when she would entertain the woodsmen while Aunt Aubrey took me fishing at the lake. I thought of Hans, the young farmhand not much older than I, who showed up at the doorway every week last summer with a bowl of fresh roots from his garden, and Aunt Aubrey made me go to the river to wash them, even if they'd already been washed. I thought of Andreas, sauntering down the path with a big grin on his dopey face …
For twenty-one years they'd kept this curse – and their men – secret from me. And now it was my turn to use my body in order to preserve our powers. This was not the way I imagined losing my virginity.
I had to find a man, and sleep with him. All within three days. When all the most eligible candidates were either dying of the plague, or skinning their knees in the church praying for salvation, and a witch hunter was making his way to our village to destroy my coven.
I didn't know anything about sex. I'd heard other girls in the village talk about it, but they said it hurt. They seemed to regard it as something you did for men so they'd give you money or food or attention. My aunts were both quiet on the subject, in fact, it was impossible to imagine Aunt Bernadine even kissing a man, let alone lying with one with enough regularity to keep her powers all these years.
My sexual education was limited to Rebekah's spirited retellings from behind the public house, and a couple of forbidden lithographs Waltraud once brought to Sunday school.
Even with the help of the ritual, how was I going to seduce a man within three days?
I woke the next morning in a cold sweat, jolted from my bed by a nightmare. I dreamed I'd gone into the forest to perform the rite, only instead of conjuring a man, great buboes grew all over my body, and the skin on my hands grew black and flaked away. It was just a dream. You don't have the pestilence.
I clutched my chest, waiting for my pounding heart to return to normal. My wool blanket was dripping with my sweat. With shaking hands, I lit my candle and checked every inch of my body – running my hands over the flawless skin, searching for the buboes or rash that announced the arrival of death. Nothing.
It was only a dream, I told myself again. But I couldn't stop my hands from shaking. My aunts, as seasoned witches, placed much importance on the contents of dreams. Was my dream a prediction, or a warning? Is it telling me that death waits for me in the grove?
I sat down at the table as Aunt Aubrey cut thick chunks of bread, and gave me a wooden bowl containing a foul-smelling tea. "Drink that," she patted my shoulder. "And do not fear, Ada. I have mixed it perfectly. It is not dangerous."
"How long until it takes affect?" I lifted the bowl to my lips with shaking hands, stealing myself to gulp down to foul liquid.
"A few hours. Are you ready? You will need to hurry to the grove."
The grove was a long distance from the village – nearly a full day's hike, even from someone as young and fit as me. The women in my family had used it for centuries as a safe and secret place to perform rituals. The last time I had visited the grove had been for my ritual of initiation into our family coven – two summers ago. Now I had to return on my own to ask the Goddess for a man.
I nodded, threw my head back, and drowned the bowl in one gulp. My stomach twisted in protest as the foul concoction wound its way through my body, but I managed to keep it down. Aunt Aubrey handed me a walking staff and a pouch with some food, a knife, and the other implements for the ritual. She wrapped her warmest fur cloak around my shoulders, and strapped my bow and a quiver of arrows across my back.
"Where's Aunt Bernadine?" I demanded, my voice hoarse from the burning tea.
"She's by the stream, performing a ritual of her own," Aunt Aubrey hugged my shoulders. "Do not mind her – she cares for you deeply, in her own way. May the Goddess protect you, Ada." She kissed my forehead, and pushed me out the door.
The morning air was crisp, and a light pattern of crunchy snow dotted the forest floor. As I walked I kept my eyes on the ground, searching for the herbs and ingredients I would need to complete the spell. Patchouli, juniper, myrtle, white oak bark … Aunt Aubrey assured me the walk to the grove and the searching out of the herbs were an important part of the ritual – my movements now would help the magic become stronger.
If I wanted a man, I needed all the help I could get.
Minutes turned into hours, and I covered the ground quickly, unhindered by my elderly aunts and their weak bones. I found the patchouli easily – it grew wild in this part of the forest. I knew there were juniper bushes near the edge of the grove. Now all I needed was some white oak bark. I scanned the forest for the right tree, twisting my neck one way, then the other, searching for the familiar thick trunk and rugged branches. I could feel the potion churning in my belly, a strange warm sensation that spread out into my limbs.
Finally, I saw a white oak tree, down at the bottom of the gully. I descended the slope slowly, gathering my skirts in my hands so they would not drag in the mud. As I stepped around a fallen trunk, my foot slipped on a pile of wet leaves and I fell forward, sliding on my hands and knees, drenching my clothing and satchel in mud and snow. I sighed, pulling myself to my feet. "Just look at yourself," I muttered. "You're a mess. No wonder you need magic to find a man."
At least I was only a mile or so from the grove, and could soon wash away the filth under the waterfall.
I reached the base of the oak tree. Taking my knife from my pocket, I began to scrape away a section of bark. As I scraped, I heard a noise behind me. Just a bird. Or a deer. I kept cutting.
No. It wasn't a deer. It was a larger animal, its steps heavy in the crunching snow. There was a road – not often travelled – not far away. It might be a horse and rider perhaps? Or it could be a wolf, stalking the foolish girl who'd entered his territory? Either could be dangerous. I swirled around, scanning the forest for any sign of life. It wouldn't do to be caught out here by myself, clutching a satchel laden with magical implements. I squinted through the trees around the gully, but could see nothing.
A twig snapped. My heart leapt to my chest.
As silently as possible, I pulled the small bow from my back and removed an arrow from my quiver. Although most women in the village were forbidden the use of weapons, my aunts taught me to use a bow to hunt animals in the forest. I was a decent shot. There's many a winter we wouldn't have survived if it hadn't been for the rabbits and birds I brought home for the stew pot.
Again, I searched the undergrowth, listening for the familiar tread of a wolf's paw, or the faint whiff of rotten flesh that often accompanied them.
I waited for several moments, steadying my breathing, my senses poised for an attack. But there was nothing. It is nothing. My stomach twisted again, Aunt Aubrey's potion working its foul magic. My imagination was getting the better of me. I replaced the bow and arrow and moved toward the grove.
I moved silently now, as if I were approaching an animal. If there was something out there, I didn't want it to follow me. I entered the grove through a line of fir saplings, several of their branches bent or broken from last week's storm. The rain had raised the level of the pool inside, which lapped at the edges of t
he firs, the stones on the bank submerged under clear water. It was not yet cold enough for the water to turn to ice. I remembered the pool being fed by a peaceful, trickling waterfall, but the recent rains had turned it into a torrent, churning the water around it into white froth.
The grove was empty, and even the birds fell silent as I walked to the edge of the lagoon. Nothing would disturb my ritual today.
Humming to myself, I shrugged off the heavy cloak and arranged my implements at the edge of the water. The walk had warmed my body, causing me to sweat through my thick layers. I was looking forward to cooling down in the water. Using the knife on my belt, I traced a faint circle in the dirt, and sat inside, placing the mortar and pestle, the scrap of parchment containing the spell, the leather thong, and my herbs and bark in a semi-circle in front of me. I dumped the herbs into the bowl and worked them into a paste, speaking an incantation aloud, my tongue slipping easily over the ancient words.
My voice carried great power in the silence of the grove – I could feel the magic tingling in the air. The Goddess is listening.
I set down the pestle, satisfied I had created a fine paste. I stood and lifted my sheath over my head. Naked now, I dipped my fingers into the paste and drew the sigils across my body, my skin tingling under my touch as I traced the lines across my bare breasts and belly.
The magic is working. The Goddess will bring me a man, so that my aunts and I can continue to use our magic.
I twirled around three times, laughing at my giddiness. Now it was time to wash. Speaking a final prayer, I stepped across the circle, moving slowly into the pool. I shivered as the water lapped against my toes, inched up my calves, and splashed against the downy triangle between my legs. When I was waist-deep I dived, enjoying the shock as my body penetrated the coolness. Laughing, I emerged again, lying back and floating on the skin of the water, the sigils smudged across my pale skin.
Divine Goddess, I prayed, closing my eyes and imagining my prayer being carried away on the breeze. Bring me a man to cool my fires as this water cools me, and to restore to my family the powers you have bestowed upon us.
Witch Hunter: dark medieval paranormal romance (Witches of the Woods Book 1) Page 2