The Witches of Bluebell
By Ludmila Rishkova
The fog rolled down from the hills and settled in the valley and over the village of Bluebell like a dirty grey blanket. It offered no comfort to the honest man, although who was honest in those days was a matter of great debate leading to the great inquisition and the deaths of many honest and dishonest men and women.
The fog crept through the village and through the blissfully forgetful dreams of those lucky enough to have fallen asleep. Sometimes it got tangled in the roof-tops and the church’s blue bells making them tingle softly. It hung there like an ominous cloud then moved on, slowly retreating from the rising sun. It moved westward, across the fields and river, up and down a hill and finally reached the forest. It was quiet there. The birds were still asleep and the night creatures had already retired for the day, full from the night’s offering to their scavenging. The fog rolled between and above the trees, nestling over the deepest part of the valley, listening.
It wasn’t long before a rustle of leaves and a crackle of twigs broke the stillness of the forest. A bird awoke and called its first song, awakening others. A rabbit stirred in his hole and strained his ears. Somebody, a stranger, a girl, had entered the woods, and brought the morning with her.
She was about ten years old and she was running towards the tallest tree in the forest. The hem of her skirt was torn and muddy, and her long auburn hair had come undone from its long plait, but she didn’t seem to notice this. She was out of breath and so was the creature she carried crammed beneath her armpit. At a quick glance, the creature looked like a cat, but a second look proved otherwise. It was a little too large to be a cat, and its ears were a little too long. Its teeth were too sharp and protruded out of its furry snout like daggers. It struggled, annoyed by its restrictions, and its fur changed from the dirty white color of his mistress’ dress, to the deep green shade of surrounding foliage. “I know you’re angry,” whispered the girl. “But we’re almost there. Patience.”
Puffin barked, disagreeing, but his opinion did not matter much. The girl climbed between the oak's roots.
“Open thy doors, Oak tree,” she said. The Oak obeyed and an opening appeared where the roots met the trunk of the tree. The girl stepped inside and was gone. The fog gradually gave way to the sun.
***
Two girls, one twelve and another fourteen years old, sat in a small cave within the Oak. A cauldron bubbled over a fire between them, casting uncertain shadows on the wooden walls of the cave. There were no other sources of light, and the girls’ faces transformed between those of children and old women depending on the flicker of the shadows. Behind the older girl was a heap of small animal bones mixed in with bundled herbs. Behind the younger was what looked like a pile of severed limbs. There were half a dozen small legs, a dozen hands with painted fingernails, two heads with curly blonde hair and several dozen glass eyeballs. All of these limbs belonged to dolls, once pampered, now victims of an obscure ritual known only to the girls.
“Marion is late,” said one of the girls. She had long blonde hair that descended in a tight braid down her back. Her dress, a long white nightgown that had seen better days, was torn and dirty in most places. Her bare feet were soiled a deep red, the color of the earth and spoiled blood. She picked up a green glass eye from the ground and held it above the cauldron, watching it mist over.
“Don’t do this, Lia,” the other girl said. “It annoys me to no end.”
“Don’t do this or what?” Lia asked.
“Or I’ll confess on you,” said the other. She had long black hair which she didn’t bother tying up, and took pride in the way it cascaded down her back. “I’ll say that I saw you in a dream,” she said, leaning over the cauldron so that her shadow grew large behind her. The flames of the fire flickered. So did the uncertainty on Lia’s face.
“I’ll say that I saw you fly through the night and dance and embrace the Devil until he made you hot with lust.”
“You wouldn’t do that,” Lia whispered.
“Try me. Besides, we discussed this before, didn’t we? We might need to sacrifice some real blood soon. Those stupid dolls do nothing but stink up the cave with burning rubber. Haven’t I told you? If we are the only ones left unharmed, we might perish all, for conspiracy. If one of us is seen as a heretic, and we give her away, we might have a chance!”
“I’m not sure, Helde,” Lia said. “Which one of us would you sacrifice? Not you, surely. You love your long hair too much to smell it as it catches on fire, and you know it will be the first thing to burn. Would it be me, because my mother and her sisters have already died by the hand of the inquisition? And if not me, it leaves Marion.”
“Marion is the obvious choice,” said Helde. “Here she is, late again. She puts us in danger of discovery every time she fails to get in before sunrise. She is careless. Besides, she is a freak. What is that creature she carries with her everywhere? The one that looks like a cat? If that thing can shape-shift as Marion says it does, it could be a spy. She is a freak.”
“We’re all witches,” Lia said. “Whether we have any powers or not, we’re all witches in their eyes.”
“Indeed, we are witches, and she is a freak. I wonder what she will bring for the cauldron today. Last time it was the oddest herbs I’ve ever seen. They stunk up the place and nothing happened!”
“They brought color to my cheeks,” Lia said.
“And a burning stitch to my belly,” Helde added. “I have better herbs, always did. Today, I brought lilac blossoms.” From the pocket of her petticoat, she removed a rag, folded many times over itself. “I gathered them by moonlight. They hush the forest so it can hear your wish. What did you bring?”
Lia showed her a bundle made out of rags and began to unfold it, revealing a large red stain the color of the earth in its middle. “A goat’s heart, said to be the very heart of the devil. It gives you strength to carry out your will and to commit sacrifices,” she sighed.
“Good. It appears that we think alike,” said Helde. “Now, let us see what Marion has to bring, and whether she has any value to us.”
The two girls sat closer to each other, one rubbing her hands over the cauldron as it bubbled merrily before her, the other staring into the rising steam, seeing in it what the other could not.
***
Marion found an odd calm greeting her at the tree cave. Helde sat before the cauldron, a bouquet of withering lilacs in her lap and long black hair streaming over her shoulders. Her skin was the grey-white of foam that Marion sometimes found on the riverbank. Her brows were thick and dark, her lips a deep red. A sense of foreboding crept over Marion, intensified by Lia’s lack of enthusiasm at the sight of her friend. There was a guilty slope to her shoulders and a bloody bundle in her hands. She didn’t meet Marion’s eye.
“You’re late, Sister,” Helde said. “The sun has dispelled the fog and the animals have awakened. Weren’t you concerned about being followed? Show us what you brought.”
Marion stayed by the entrance, slightly taken aback by this greeting. Helde might have been calling her ‘Sister’ by custom, but there was a steel edge to her voice. Quietly, she released Puffin onto the ground. The creature immediately stuck its nose in the earth and began exploring the place. The color of its fur changed to a deep matted red, similar to that of the ground. Its round tail vibrated as it found particularly interesting smells. Slowly, it progressed toward Lia, ears up, nostrils flaring at the scent of blood.
“You brought the cat, I see,” said Helde. “And no news?”
“I have news. Bad news. This is why I came late. There was too much commotion in the village. Besides, Puffin is not a cat. I have explained this to you many times over. He is a shape-shifter.”
“Good for him; he may well take the shape of a stew very soon. What is the bad news?”
“There were convictions last night. Thirty-eight in all.”
“They have my sister, don’t they?” Lia said. “First my mother and my aunts. And now, my sister. These people are thirsty for blood and the smell of charred flesh!” She glanced quickly at Helde, who held her gaze, un-flinching.
“They have your sister, yes,” Marion went on. “They also called out your name. And Helde’s.”
“And yours?” Helde said.
“No. Not yet.”
“You went and confessed on us, didn’t you? I knew it,” Helde spat, rising and throwing her lilacs into the cauldron. The water turned a shimmering purple and big boiling bubbles rose to the surface. “Well, let the forest hear this. I wish that you get what you deserve, you little freak!”
A deep silence fell over the forest, and for a moment, time itself seemed to have stopped to listen. The birds hushed, the rabbits stiffened in their holes, the spiders froze in the centre of their webs. A minute passed, another, a lifetime. Slowly, footfalls broke the silence of the forest. Cut off from most outside activity, the girls did not hear them.
“I haven’t told anyone anything,” Marion said. She walked over to Lia to pick up Puffin, who had already started chewing on the folds of the rag.
“Liar,” said Helde. “If they come to us, I’ll tell them it was all you! You made us do it. You threatened us! You command evil creatures and you made us do it. Lia will support me in this, will you not?” Helde turned to her accomplice, who, to her surprise, was smiling at the cauldron. Slowly, she unwrapped the bloody rag.
Puffin shifted impatiently in Marion’s arms.
“It is not the time yet; hush,” Marion whispered in his ear.
“The second item in the cauldron strengthens the first command, Lia. Be careful of what you say,” Helde snapped.
“I know, Helde. It also applies the first command to its caster.” Picking up the goat’s heart with her bare hands, Lia pressed it against her chest. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, and threw it into the boiling water just as Helde rushed to stop her.
A mushroom of smoke rose up in the air, and the water turned red. The three girls stood, watching the cauldron as the water turned yellow, blue and finally green.
“Green means peace,” Lia said. Her reflection appeared on the water’s surface, and repeated after her, “Green is peace.”
Then, as the girls watched, Lia’s reflection spoke on its own. “I confessed everything. Everything Helde and I did. And everything we didn’t do. I’ll confess to more if they make me. And then, there will be fire. Then peace and serenity. My mother and my aunt will be waiting for me, and I’ll come with my sister holding my hand.”
“What is it saying?” Helde’s voice rose to a hysterical pitch. “Have you lost your mind?”
“Listen and you will hear the footfalls in the forest. Only one of you can escape, but at a cost,” Lia’s reflection went on.
“What cost?” Helde said.
“I sacrificed what was most dear to me,” the reflection said. “The One will sacrifice what is most dear to her.” Then it fell silent.
Then a call, and another reached the girls in their hiding place.
“I see it!”
“It is that Oak, the tall one!”
“Oh, dear Devil,” Helde hissed. “You did give us up!” Two angry roses flared up on her otherwise pale cheeks. Hatred ignited in her dark eyes as she settled her gaze on Lia, then Marion. She darted towards one, then the other, like a captive wild bird looking for an exit. She reached for her hip, where she kept her dagger, a kitchen knife stolen from her mother’s kitchen, both edges patiently sharpened. Drawing it, she lunged at Lia.
“You made us do it,” she screamed. “You made us do it!”
Lia did not move, ready to receive the blow. Puffin wriggled free of Marion’s arms and lunged for Helde’s hair, claws out, a steady purr welling in his chest.
He landed straight on her head, and sunk his back claws into her scalp, his forepaws extending towards her eyes, claws out, looking for a grip. There was a moment of panic on Helde’s part and Marion rushed to Lia’s side.
“Come, there is still a chance. If you hold my hand through it, there is still a chance. Puffin can change us into spiders if we wish it. Come.” But Lia wouldn’t budge. The voices outside resonated ever so closely. The smell of burning wood began to fill the place.
“Don’t smoke them dead, yer’ idiot,” a man’s voice said. “We need them to confess to what they’re accused of, get them alive. Chop at the roots instead.”
Inside, Helde fought off Puffin from her hair, but he only got tangled deeper in it. The voices of the village men reached them. Helde stopped struggling, and even though she was bleeding from her brow and neck, she gathered all her might into a scream.
“Help!” she yelled. “They are witches. They made me do horrible things!”
The Oak began to tremble as the villagers chopped its roots.
“Puffin,” Marion whispered. “Come here. It’s time.”
Puffin let go of Helde, and, landing on his paws, ran towards his mistress. At the same time, Lia turned towards the chopping noises. A smile spread across her face. “I’ll let them in,” she said.
***
Later that evening, a young boy of about ten attended the great fire of the daily inquisition. Out of the thirty-eight convicted, nineteen witches were at the stake, a small number, even for Bluebell. The word was that ten had passed on during torture, nine others had not confessed as of yet. Two faces among them, the boy knew well. They used to be his playmates. One as dear to him as his own sisters, the other less so as he didn’t feel bad for her, nor the way fire licked up her beautiful black hair.
The crowd roared at this, and screamed, “Out with the Devil!” The black-haired girl cried.
“They’ll pretend anything, artsy as they are,” a gruff voice said behind the boy. He looked up; a shadow of recognition crossed his face. Then, a shadow of fear. What if he was recognized in his new shape? The man was the Bluebell butcher, and his neighbour back when the boy was, well, something else. It was not good to think of what the boy was before he was a boy. His body still felt new and stiff and itchy. Yet the butcher did not show any signs of recognition and the boy breathed a sigh of relief. His stomach growled. He’d had a long day.
“There’ll be a feast tonight, boy, a good one. The pretty black ‘un came from a wealthy family.” He patted the boy on the back. The boy smiled and turned back toward the burning stakes and the two faces that he knew. One of them smiled right back at him. Lia, the one he regretted to see there. Lia and right there next to her, her sister. Both caring and loving like his own sisters were before the inquisition took them away, he thought. But this was bad thinking. He didn’t have sisters anymore, and he didn’t have friends. He had to push these thoughts away. Instead, he thought of the small creature, one that could easily be mistaken for a cat, that would greet him at the door of a new home.
The fire abated and a deep blue night descended over the town of Bluebell, bringing with it the merry sounds of a feast. And after the feast came the fog, rolling down the hill.