“They called me a witch… Although I suppose it is only natural to use such a name, when it is all you know. I never had a name for what I was, for like every living person I am merely a child of the Earth. But I could do things that the others did not like. This was back before there was even a town here, of course. Just a small village…” She paused again, and her brow furrowed slightly in the grip of memory.
“They were gifts available to all of the Earth’s children, but they frightened the people of the village. They called me a witch and on a particularly sunny day they decided it would be best just to put an end to me. It took more than a handful of men to bring me down, and let’s just say that a good few of them didn’t survive the struggle. In the end they were only able to accomplish their goal because of this.” She looked down and held the pendant in her hand.
Observing the pendant up close, Patrick could see that there was something very unusual about it. At a glance the red stone on the end of the darkened metal chain appeared to have simply been polished in a rock tumbler, no different than a shiny piece of river rock found in a gift shop. But now the red color seemed exactly that of fresh blood, and what had appeared to be a reflection of the sky now looked almost like a glow from within. It wasn’t perfectly round, but it was very smooth, and Patrick doubted that the rock tumbler had yet to be invented in whatever era Ramildienne was referring to. But above all things, it was the feeling he got from the stone that made it stand out the most. He thought he must be crazy, but the mere sight of it sent a wave of unease over his whole body.
“You are wondering what this is,” Ramildienne said, as more of a statement than a question. “This, perhaps, apart from changing into a crow at my will, was what bothered the fair townsfolk the most. It is a deep sort of magic—if you will call it that—that saw this into my hands… Within this stone lies a part of my soul. Placing a piece of myself into this strengthened me, for as long as the stone was mine, I could never truly die, and I could forever do great works of the Earth.”
She regarded Patrick curiously as he examined the stone from his swing. After she stopped talking he found that he couldn’t stand to see it any longer. He looked away quite purposefully, and saw her drop it back onto her chest before continuing.
“But in the final struggle someone took this from me. And that, in the end, is what drew away my strength.” She glanced at him. “You see, there is a very deep magic at work in this world, and it is that of ownership. When I put myself into this stone, it became as much a part of me as my head or my legs or my heart. My body was intact, but the very moment that man pulled it off of my head it was no longer in my possession. And not being in my possession, its power was taken from me and I became weak. This is how they managed to tie me up…” Her face suddenly grew dark, though her voice remained decidedly light.
“It was so long ago, though the memory is still fresh in my mind. I hung there from the stake, above the heads of every jeering villager, utterly unable to defend myself. The men gathered up straw and timber and placed it around me. Many of them took straight from their personal holds, apparently eager to donate to the forthcoming flame that would have them finally rid of me. And as such, the wood and bales of hay were all perfectly dry; I could smell it. They wanted to make absolutely certain I didn’t die of suffocation from the smoke before I roasted before their very eyes, like a pig…” She paused and heaved a great sigh, her face becoming somewhat resigned.
“They lit their unnecessarily large pile, and the flames went up, and as I felt the life draining out of me I found one last bit of strength. A crow had come to watch from a nearby tree. I was able to use what was left inside of me to put myself into its body. I had spent much time as a crow, so naturally it was an easy mind to commandeer. I watched as the flames took what was left of my body and the people cheered. They were so happy to be rid of me, when all I did was use my gifts—the same gifts they could have had themselves had they only wished to open their minds… I laughed in my heart when they found that no matter how high they piled the wood they couldn’t reduce my body to ashes. It burned on the outside, but a body it remained. That much power was left in it, at least. After they had finally given up on the fire no one dared touch me, using long ropes and stakes to get me into a casket. They decided that if they couldn’t send my ashes into the air they would bury me under their feet.
“I laughed again when they tried to destroy the stone. They had thrown it into the fire to burn with me, but someone came across it in the ash while cleaning up. It was completely untouched. A few had a go at it—casting it under the wheel of a carriage, smashing it with a sledgehammer, shooting it with a rifle, even… But when they found that not even a scratch appeared on its surface they threw it in the casket with my body.
“I didn’t laugh however when they lowered that wretched box into the ground and there was not a thing that could be done about it. They buried it in the woods, far enough from the village that no one would pass that way willingly. But it seemed I stuck around for too long, because soon after someone suggested having every crow in the area killed on sight; and as you can guess, the rest of them were more than happy to oblige. A good many animals died after that, but I got away, and traveled as far as I could from the village…
“But it turned out that that was not very far at all. For you see, I couldn’t seem to get myself to leave the place where my body perished. I was always drawn back, back to the place in the woods where the stone was buried. There was nothing for me to do, of course, as no amount of furious pecking could unearth something so large, as you can imagine.”
She laughed and looked to Patrick, as though to see if he could understand or relate.
His face didn’t move. He had decided that yes, this was a nightmare.
She looked away again and continued.
“Over time a true town was planted here, and civilization grew around me. And after so many years of sorrow and loathing there were long periods of time that I can’t even remember… I only wandered, apparently just… being a bird, I suppose.”
This feeling she described was something Patrick could relate to, though he didn’t say as much.
“The town grew, but somehow this little patch of woods remained untouched. It was the oddest thing; it didn’t appear as though anyone was making the conscious decision to avoid it, but decade after decade passed and these trees were left floating like an island. Apart from the occasional harvesting of firewood, so few people ever even passed through them…” She trailed off, appearing to consider this with some wonder.
Though he knew the answer must be coming soon, Patrick used the brief silence to ask the question that burned inside him.
“Why can I turn into a wolf?”
Ramildienne smiled a strange little smile and looked around at the playground equipment blankly.
“As the town grew and my small island of woods remained untouched,” she continued as though Patrick hadn’t said anything at all, “I somehow lost track of the exact spot where I had been buried. I suppose I can owe this to the long periods of haze that often overcame me. But one day someone did venture into the trees. It must have been a hundred and fifty years ago, though maybe more and maybe less… It is very hard to keep track of such things after a while. Something was different about this man. He did not simply pass through as some were known to do; he lingered. Somehow the act of venturing into the woods of his own accord and staying for a prolonged period of time spoke about him. There was something deep inside that I couldn’t quite place… The man saw me staring and as he looked to me I found myself trying to speak with him. I could communicate thoughts to other crows—I always could, in fact—but I doubted that I could make such a connection with a human in my current state. Yet for some reason I reached for him, and even though I was without my stone and thus without my true power, I found that I could tell him about the gifts of the Earth. I cannot quite ex
plain how, for it seems that I have trouble understanding it myself… but I planted something in him, opened up his mind, and he changed. Needless to say I was soon forgotten by him, though I thought that surely if I could tell him I needed help he might try to look for my body. I could not communicate this to him clearly however, and he was immediately engulfed in his new power.”
She paused again, and Patrick took the opportunity to ask another question that he sensed would soon be answered anyway. He felt that if he didn’t speak on occasion he would go insane, lost in the world of this woman’s memories.
“What happened to him?”
A grim look passed over Rachel’s face for a moment.
“He died. It seemed he couldn’t handle the power of turning into a creature of the woods and savagery soon overtook him. He was shot a few weeks later.”
At this, Patrick suddenly wanted to kill her. She had apparently given him this power knowing full well what might happen, and now he wanted to lash out at her, scream at her, tell her that she was evil, but he couldn’t get himself to move. She still had so much information he needed.
And she had powers that frightened Patrick more than any unseen terror he had ever experienced.
“I gave this gift to many, in hopes that they might help me,” she continued (a fresh surge of anger passing through Patrick at her use of the word “gift”). “I’m not sure why such a power drove so many mad, though I suppose it was simply a matter of character. Their primal minds reflected their human ones, and their newfound strength proved too much a temptation to abuse. Not all died by others’ hands, it’s true. But they did die…
“But over the last several years I found three that were somehow different. First, the older gentleman. I sensed a courage in him that was uncommon—determination, yet also an unusual gentleness of heart. When I gave him the gift he succumbed to the same sort of behavior that ended the others’ lives… yet after a while he began to exhibit more control than they had. For a time I was hopeful! It was very disappointing however when his courage finally failed him, and instead of overcoming these feelings or ending in madness and gunpowder he merely retreated to live out his years in darkness. It seemed that my assessment of his courage had been rather wrong indeed.
“From the large boy I sensed an immense strength. He did not falter in his actions or his beliefs, and seemed to have a reserve as hard as the stone around my neck. But in the end there was indeed a fear inside him, and instead of letting the animal part of his mind overtake him as I feared it might, he was the first to ever embrace it. Again, he didn’t lose his mind to his primal side; he chose instead to live his life as a terror. As such, I could not communicate with him no matter how much I tried. He had turned out to be strong indeed, though the thought of using his strength for the purposes of something good never crossed his mind at all.”
She looked at Patrick with eyes that were warm, though the light behind them was somehow cold as ice.
“Which brings us to you. What is your name, boy?”
Patrick looked into those eyes and didn’t speak. He didn’t know if there was any power in a name, but he suddenly felt the very strong conviction to keep his to himself. She didn’t deserve to have it, just as she didn’t deserve to be sitting next to him now.
When it was obvious that he wouldn’t be giving it to her, she turned away again.
“I felt something in you that was different still. It was as though you held the courage that the older gentleman could not bring to the surface, and the strength that the large boy could not manage.”
It was strange to hear this, as Patrick didn’t quite feel the same way about himself.
“I normally wouldn’t give the gift to someone while two others also shared it—in fact, each individual opportunity normally only arose once every several years—but I couldn’t seem to help myself. I couldn’t place it, but you were more different than different. There was a determination inside of you. A power that you had before I even gave you the one you now hold. Even if you didn’t realize it yet.”
She looked at him again and smiled. “And it seems that this time, I was right… Are you certain that you won’t give me your name?”
Patrick looked into those eyes for another long moment. He didn’t move a single muscle, for hate and for fear.
Ramildienne broke the silence once more and said, “Alright. I will learn in time. I can almost feel it, somewhere within this brain. When I look into your face it comes so close to my mind that I can almost reach out and grab it.”
At those words, something broke inside Patrick’s mind.
“Give her back,” he said quietly. His voice was almost a croak, but there was more malice in those words than he even knew he was capable of. For a moment his fear was lost, and instead of a dangerous creature full of dark power sitting on the swing beside him he saw a grotesque, sniveling monster, holding the most important person in the world in its claws.
Ramildienne didn’t respond. She only looked at him, as if waiting for him to say more.
“Give her back,” he said, louder and more clearly.
“I have worked far too long to get this body, child,” she said calmly. “I am afraid that I have too many works to accomplish on this Earth to give it back.”
Patrick’s mouth had loosened.
“You haven’t done any work at all!” he shot at her. “You had others do it for you, and it cost them their lives. How many people have to die before your ‘works’ can no longer be justified? How many lives is your one life worth? If you were a true servant of the Earth, you would know that no one of its children is worth more than another.”
Patrick wasn’t quite sure where this last thought came from, but it apparently struck a little too close to home. Ramildienne’s face grew dark.
“I am one of the few to ever truly touch this Earth—to tap into its deeper powers and discover its secrets. I assure you that my heart weeps for those who have been lost, but I simply must go on with my study. I have discovered so much that to turn back now would be madness.”
“If ownership is so important, how can you justify taking the body of an innocent girl?”
“Because it was simply something that had to be done. In the grand story that is our world, when all of us join back into the stream that is Life, she will thank me.”
Patrick was seething. His hands clenched at his legs in an attempt to stop himself from jumping out of his seat. He wanted to act, had to act, but there was nothing to be done.
“Give her back now,” he growled.
Ramildienne seemed to read his thoughts.
“Or you will do what, my dear boy? I’m afraid that as long as I have this body there is nothing you can do to harm me. Even if you were powerful enough, you simply would not be able to do it. This girl meant a great deal to you, I can feel that.”
Patrick’s body was hot all over, and he felt a rage that was so intense it was painful. He squeezed his legs even harder, until his fingers began to ache.
“You are a witch.”
Ramildienne looked at him solemnly through stolen eyes.
“I thank you deeply for what you have done. It is the only reason I have taken the time to come here and tell you all of this. I felt that you deserved it. You should consider yourself fortunate.”
Patrick’s eyes flitted to the stone around Rachel’s neck, then back to her eyes.
She smiled, but the look on her face was more a sort of regretful pity.
Patrick’s hand dashed to the stone with a speed that felt inhuman.
His hand closed around dry leaves, a flurry of which fell onto the swings and to the ground in a swirling gust. He clutched the leaves in his hand for a long moment, then let the crumbled remains flutter to the ground with the others.
Patrick sat on the swing until the sun touched the mountains, weeping into his hands.
Chapter 22
Patrick wished that he had
announced his presence before trudging quietly up to his room, because not doing so apparently gave his father permission to come up and see him under the pretense of “checking in”.
He was lying in bed, trying hard to push every thought from his mind and even harder to hold back the flow of tears, when there was a knock on his door.
“Patrick?” his father called from the other side.
Patrick imagined that his eyes were probably puffy and red, and it would be very obvious what he had done on his walk. He knew he should be comfortable with his father knowing, but a nagging and undoubtedly teenaged thought tried to convince him that it was shameful and embarrassing.
Without another option, he called, “Yeah, Dad?”
His father opened the door and poked his head through.
“Just making sure you got home okay,” he said innocently. “Didn’t want you to be stranded somewhere without a ride.”
Patrick managed a smile, but only in the literal sense of raising his cheeks in that specific manner, as there wasn’t even an ounce of sincerity in it.
“Thanks, Dad.” He tried not to look directly at his father and attempted to obscure his red eyes and haggard face by scratching at his forehead, covering the puffiness as best he could with his arm. (The puffiness that had undoubtedly been made worse by his great effort to cleanly wipe away every single tear, he thought bitterly.)
His father opened the door fully and stepped into the room. Patrick wanted so badly for him to just leave, though he could never say so.
Six days had passed since Rachel had gone missing, and though they hadn’t found her body anywhere around town yet, the hope that she was still alive was diminishing. As far as his parents were concerned, his worry about her safety was now turning into mourning of her death. In ways, he thought, that would be better. He would be able to let go of her memory and move on with his life, as her father would undoubtedly have to do as well. But this… This was torture. Every day the lingering hope that he may be able to help her grew smaller and smaller, and surely a crushing loss couldn’t compare to an ongoing helplessness—knowing exactly what had happened to her and who had done it and not having the tiniest bit of power to reverse it. That was, of course, unless you were Dave, in which case Patrick couldn’t think of a pain more horrible than the one the man must be feeling now.