Once a Witch of Endor

Once a Witch of Endor

Witch is not a welcome word in our land. After the king drove out the necromancers and magic makers, it’s best to carry on every day like the non-magical folk tied to this land, adhering to their ways. All else must be hidden.

This is why the stranger at my door gave me such pause. At first he did not speak, but only stared. An understanding passed between us. He knew or was guessing at my craft. He had the advantage.

Despite his beggar’s cloak, and hunched appearance in my doorway, there was something about him that did not fit his counterfeit image. The rain drizzled steadily, but he did not venture into my house.

“Are you…?” His bold voice that broke the silence stopped short of its intent.

What was this man’s purpose here?

“I am searching for a woman in these woods,” he said, beginning to straighten to his full height. He was a tall man with a solid frame, a knight maybe? But he had no squire that I could see.

“I am a woman.”

“Yes, I see. But I seek a certain kind of woman.” He spoke deliberately yet ambiguously. Why was he restraining his true query? To determine whether I were such a one?

“I do sell herbs and bread,” I offered. “For other goods you need only travel a mile further east.” I hoped to steer him away. Danger weighted the air with this stranger present.

“Have you no husband?” He asked, searching my home from the doorway.

“He is near,” I lied. Perhaps not so much a lie as he was buried nearby. A robber perhaps? Worse?

“May I enter?”

There was nothing stopping him if this polite inquiry became a demand. I preferred it as a request.

“Yes, of course," I said, touching the dagger concealed in my dress.

He took at seat at my table, welcoming himself into my home. Despite his appearance, I sensed this man begged for nothing. He was escaping notice with his grubby garb, but he held an air of importance. He sat as though this were his domain. And then I was struck dumb at the realization. All domain here was. He was the king. My very destruction.

So many cures, spells, and desperately-requested curses were bound to catch up with me. Whispers that brought many lonely, hurt, and vindictive souls—whose offerings and payments made my cozy home one of wealth and comfort—surely would reach the king eventually. Inevitability cannot be banished with a spell, only held off for some time.

I sat across from him at the table, the table that could quickly become his in a blink. It probably would once he had disposed of me. My hands shook in my lap. Why had he no guards present?

I focused on his eyes, dark and brooding. Strangely, I noticed a hint of fear in those eyes. What could he possibly know about me that would induce concern? Was he here to persecute? Did he think I had issued a hex on his life? Had another? Or was he here to make some sort of exchange for something he could not get by his own means?

The cards had indicated a coming threat, but I had not anticipated this degree of peril.

“What may I offer you, Sire?”

He appeared surprised that I recognized him. “I come for your work. I have consulted my most astute and trusted advisors, but they offer no truths. I have sought the highest officials of the temple, to no avail. This matter grows more urgent by the moment and I have no indication of my fate. I have no guidance to set my direction. I hear no wisdom to prompt my actions and my actions are of an urgency I cannot overstate. I have come here because I have heard your name given in hushed tones by those who have received their desires by your hand.”

Denial was a fool’s strategy against a man with his knowledge. Would he kill me after my admission of my trade? Or would he wait until he first received my gift? Perhaps if the gift were enough he would only curse me with departure from my home. Where would I go if I could not stay here? Lest you think me simple, I had considered this when the first magic folk fled. I purposely did not glance at the sack beneath my hung cloak, my essential items in case an exodus was required to preserve me.

“How may I offer my assistance, Highness?”

“What is it you can accomplish? A chant to cheat death? A tea to conjure images? Could you issue a curse to kill a thousand men in battle?”

“I curse no one, Sire. I curse no one.” At least not without warrant.

“Surely you can help me?” The question came out unexpectedly distressed.

“I shall do all within my capability to assist you.”

This did not visibly comfort the man in the least.

“What can you do?”

While I would not deny my craft, I would not readily admit it to this man of all the men on earth.

“Perhaps if I knew your dilemma I could more readily assist.”

“Have you not heard?” He seemed astounded by my ignorance. “A battle is imminent! You are not aware?” He put his hand to his head. “Certainly a woman of your standing, if you are what they claim, should know when the entire land is subject to such a threat?”

“I do not pretend to know what they claim, Sire. I do know of these dangers…and many others.”

This seemed to satisfy his exasperation but I was not certain he caught the meaning of the “many others.” Wisdom dictated that I not press the case.

His agitation put me on guard. “I asked for guidance but God has not spoken. His interpreters remain unwise. I am brought to this, such the hypocrite I know you must see. This desperation demands resolution. If you cannot conjure this knowledge, my last attempt to preserve myself and my land may fail me. Woman, you must have some of what they attribute to you of the powers beyond the temple’s eye!”

“You fear for your life,” I said.

“And my kingdom.”

“You want to know what will happen.”

“Yes.”

“You would have me scry and divine your fate?”

“Yes.”

“You want your fortune revealed as though I were a witch?” I did not avert my eyes from his as would have been proper. The word had finally been spoken.

“Yes. The irony is not lost on me. I did as the temple dictated. But I have come to you and I must know.”

You who cast out all those magic souls? It did no good to speak on it and invoke wrath.

“Do you possess such power?” he asked.

My barn owl, Bits, swooped down and landed on the back of one of the unoccupied chairs. I stroked her soft feathers. “I can but try.”

* * * * *

My crystal remained hidden. No tea leaves would satisfy this man as I could simply state what he most wanted from this battle in an attempt to preserve my life. A miracle would be necessary for the king’s satisfaction of absolute truth. As a man of the temple, none but a familiar specter would convince him that he had received wise council. What I had previously thought a misfortune might supply a solution, if he could be convinced.

Months ago a spirit had come to me. He visited my dreams before rudely attaching himself to my house in the dark hours of the night, sulking in corners and molesting me with his constant lamentations. I had not conjured him. The origin of the spirit was unknown to me and despite my fevered attempts to banish the annoyance, he always returned after too short a time. He had been unusually silent the past few days, for which I had been grateful. Could I find him again at will? I begged the gods to allow me this favor.

* * * * *

I cast the circle around us in the clearing behind my house. A large fire crackled and flamed in the middle. A good omen for the work, the rain had ceased. I followed my breath and closed my eyes, feeling the nearly unbearable heat of the fire on my face. This work I preferred alone, but he must pay witness. A journey alone to the lower world would not convince him of my worth to him.

I called the spirits forth, dispelling those who would interfere. I sang out a solid note and repeated, following the noise into the space of non-ordinary reality. When I arrived I began my song, calling for the spirit of Samuel, calling for any who would locate him for my bidding. I called to bring him to the king so that he could experience for himself the sacred prophet who had died some time before my arrival to this land. I could not find him. The spirits ignored my pleas. What if he would not come?

I sang again and moved to the double-sourced river, up a thin mountain path behind a waterfall. I sang for Brigid. I sang for my Lord and Lady. I called out for the spirit again.

A startled yell jarred me back into the ordinary realm.

“I saw it! I saw an image of a man in the flames!” the King said excitedly.

“You saw a spirit,” I told him.

“I saw a spirit!”

“That is your guide. You may ask him what you desire to be revealed but ask with reverence to coax an answer. He can be difficult to consult.”

“Who are you?” He asked the fire.

“I am Samuel, too quickly risen by this wretched Sorceress.”

Sorceress? I hold no intent to cause harm.

“Samuel? The prophet Samuel? Will you help me?”

After some time of complaint, Samuel finally agreed, as if we must pay for his knowledge with our ears and no shortage of sympathy. He began the prophecy, and I could see the events as if they were before me, in the violent flames of the fire. I did not know if this was what the King saw. Perhaps he only heard Samuel’s words. A brilliant flash of a battle, the loss of many knights, the King wounded. A sword dimmed the life in his eyes. My heart sank, not just for his loss, but also my own. This devastation by my work was revealed, and his despair over this message might breed his desire for vindication despite the fact that he had wanted it. Fear prevented me from assessing his visage. I stared into the fire and reminded myself that all mortals must face their souls torn from their earthly forms. This gave no release from the agony of knowing that I would be released from this corporeal realm of existence. What torture would be final hours before my heart was finally silenced?

Suddenly, the king dropped to his knees and let out a wrenching sob. I was astonished.

One should not pursue knowledge of their demise. This I did not warn as I would any other being. However, any other being does not hold the power of a Drush ruler, particularly one known for eliminating my folk.

I placed my hand on his shoulder. One so powerful reduced swiftly to infantilization, reduced to emasculation by a life thread soon extinguished. Little in his life had been spared him, and now he would lose every last comfort only to face the darkness with no attendant or guard to guide him.

“Come, Sire,” I bid him. “Come inside.” The rain had begun again, more prodigious than before, but still he did not move. It was not for me to move a king, so I stayed still, my hand resting on his shoulder. I grounded my energy into the earth and called down golden light from the heavens, directing it through my hand to his shoulder. It was the little I could offer now, a small comfort. A witch cannot bend fate to her will in the end. She can only manipulate the energy to postpone it for a time, unless the time for transformation has been set. Then, there is nothing to be done but accept the contract.

I stood until the fire began to perish. My hair and dress had grown damp from the rain. My hands and face were nearly numb from the cold.

“Sire, let me provide you comfort in my home. This is no place for a king.”

Without speaking, he rose from the muddy ground and I led him to my fireplace to dry his cloak. He gazed into the fire, holding the tea I made him, most likely recounting every detail of his message. He needed a good meal. It was the least I could give him as there was nothing more to be done for the king. I considered how this lost battle would change life for us in the forrest. The Yearish, while brutal with enemies, were tolerant of my kind and if I still lived tomorrow, perhaps the new rulers would show mercy to their conquered subjects, particularly if we had skills they sought.

I approached with a plate, which he took and placed in his lap. He took my hand in his and I was suddenly fearful of his intentions. Men who have always received their desires have no need for chivalry. I did not pull away. I had no wish to invoke punishment. But he did nothing other than continue to hold my hand. Did he need a consoling touch? He did not look at me as we stayed in this way for some time. He did not eat.

Finally, he let go my hand and stood, inspiring me to step back quickly. I braced myself, hand at my weapon.

Rather than advance, he simply said, “I thank you, Enchantress. While it is not the message I had hoped to discover, it is nonetheless a message. You spared no truth, whatever was the method for that vision.”

Was this truly all he had come to accomplish?

“I wish the message portended a long, prosperous life, Your Grace.” No matter his past trespasses against us, a word of kindness seemed due.

“As do I.” He took a small pouch from beneath his cloak and set it on the chair. “Your payment.”

His eyes revealed the sadness and regret of his knowledge. I wished there were more to be done. I prayed the gods would make his death swift and gentle. So mote it be.

He departed into the dark, rainy night to submit to his eradication and I contemplated the wonderment of outliving a Drush king.