“Isn’t the tree the other way?” Emilio says. “At the Bridge of Ancient Ages?”
“That’s just another old wives’ tale,” Isidora says, pushing her way through the tall water grasses.
The night is already stormy, but now the wind turns violent, whipping the reeds into their faces. It feels like a summer thunderstorm is just about to hit.
“Maybe we should turn back,” Emilio says.
“I knew you’d be scared,” Isidora says.
“We’re not scared!” Sergio says.
“Dang right we’re not!” Rosa says. Her eyes don’t agree with what her mouth is saying, however.
As they keep walking, Emilio says, “Hey, aren’t we going around in a circle?”
“No,” Isidora says. “It only seems like it.”
Primo is completely lost by the time they get out of the thick brush. They climb up a wooded hill until they reach the edge of a meadow. The grass stretches out to a sky showing the last hints of sunlight. On the horizon stands an enormous walnut tree. Beneath it, a fire burns.
Primo feels himself gulp.
“There it is,” Isidora says, pointing. “The tree! To get there I suggest you do not go through the open field. Witches don’t like to be snuck up on. Follow the path through the woods and it will lead you to the far side of the tree. ”
She turns and starts walking back the other way.
“Wait!” Primo says. “Where are you going?”
“Home. I have to go change into a Janara, remember?” Isidora turns back and smiles, a gleam in her eyes. “Don’t worry. I’ll see you there!”
A moment later, she’s gone.
The four cousins huddle.
“I’m cold,” Emilio says. “Is anyone else cold?”
“Is this really a good idea?” Rosa says. “Or are we all being a bunch of donkey brains?”
“Hah! I never thought I’d see it—the famous Rosa, scared!” Sergio says, stalking off ahead. “Well, I’ve been waiting my whole life to see the Janara, and I’m not heading back now because of a bunch of scared little kids!”
“Hey! Who are you calling little?” Rosa says.
They all shake their heads at the new Sergio.
The path through the trees is twisty and dark, and they keep having to re-find the way. Finally, they come to the edge of the woods, like Isidora said they would.
The towering walnut tree stands at the peak of the meadow, a dark shadow against the starry sky. Beneath it, the fire blazes away, throwing light on a group of animals circling the tree. They look like sheep or goats, except that people are riding them.
People—or witches?
“It’s now or never,” Rosa says.
Primo nods. But he doesn’t move.
“Well, I’m going!” Sergio says.
As soon as he takes a step, however, there is a loud crashing. And again!
The crashing noise gets louder. And then there’s a spooky sound, like from some kind of strange trumpet.
“Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea . . .” Sergio says, carefully backing up along the path they came in on.
The others start to back up, too.
A stick breaks.
“Where are you gooooing?” a voice from behind them says.
The four cousins jump out of their skins and turn to see a hooded figure. They quickly turn to run back the other way, but they are blocked by someone—or something—else.
Another creature! This one is also hooded, and holding a big blazing torch.
What are these monsters? Janara? Or some other, more sinister kind of witch?
The second one moves a step closer, and the fire lights up its face. Its face! It looks like some kind of horned demon gorilla! It’s gruesome! Hideous! And the skin on its face, it’s so red—red like blood.
And then the face—it goes away.
“AHHH! Its face—its face just fell off!!!” Sergio screams.
And then he faints, dropping to the ground with a thud!
“Sergio!” Primo says, rushing to him.
As Primo pulls him up off the ground, Sergio’s eyes open back up.
“What’s going on?” he says, all groggy. “Where am I?”
“You are somewhere you do not belong!” the first hooded figure says. “Tell me, children, WHY should we let you live? Live, so you can tell the secrets of the Janara!”
“We won’t tell anyone!” Rosa says, blubbering in terror along with the others. “We p-p-p-promise!”
“You must do more than promise. You must swear!” the creature says. “Double swear!”
They all put their hands over their hearts and spit and say, “I swear!”
“You will never breathe a word of what you have learned to anyone. You will not even talk about this with each other! And if you do—if you reveal anything you know of any Janara—there is only one punishment!”
“D-d-d-d-death?” Sergio says, on the verge of tears. Suddenly he’s the old Sergio again .
“No! A fate worse than death!”
“But what’s worse than . . .” Emilio says, and gulps. “Death?”
“You don’t want to know!” the horrible hooded figure says. “Swear again!”
They all swear again.
“Just remember—we can come get you!” the figure says. “Wherever you are!”
The figure looks at the four children, holding each other, cowering, and says:
“Now run!”
They all race back home.
Screaming!
Life goes on, but our book is done!
So now you have it! You have seen a real liveJanara! Two Janara, in fact!
Or have you?
Things are never how they appear in Benevento, even when you think you are IN on the secret.
But wait! What’s this? There’s another chapter! Oops! Excuse us for rushing the ending.
Now let’s have a look at what’s left, shall we?
Sigismondo
RAFAELLA
Bruno
10
CODA
“YOU’RE being awfully quiet this morning,” Poppa says to Primo.
He nods silently.
Primo is pretty sure he will never speak again. Speaking can only get him into trouble with . . . them.
Isidora, however, is positively chatty at breakfast. And hungry. She reaches across the table for another slice of bread, but Momma grabs her hand before she can get it.
“Isidora, what happened to you?” Momma says. “Are you bleeding?”
“No!” Isidora says. “What are you talking about?”
Momma turns Isidora’s hand over. Across her palm is a bright red streak.
“Well, it’s something,” Momma says.
“It’s just some dye—from the other day when I went to the mill.”
“I didn’t see it on you yesterday.”
“What else would it be?” Poppa says in his annoyed-at-Momma-for-worrying voice.
Isidora gets up and washes the red off. It’s a color that Primo recognizes. In fact, he will never forget it.
It was the color of the face of the Janara.
Of a mask.
* * *
All day, Primo doesn’t say anything to Isidora about knowing. He might have been mad at her, but he understands. In fact, he thinks it’s funny.
Isidora tricked them! It was all staged—she terrified him and the others into keeping quiet so they’ll never tell her secret.
It’s fan-tas-tic! Now Primo doesn’t have to worry or feel guilty anymore.
That night, the heat is so bad that the whole family goes to sleep in their underwear. The wind whooshes and howls, so much so it rattles the shutters and wakes Primo up. He looks over next to him.
Isidor
a isn’t there.
Primo decides to get up and watch her put on the Janara oil . But this time he won’t interrupt.
He doesn’t get the chance, however, because Isidora is already coming back to bed.
Did she not use the oil?
“Hey! Hey, sis!” Primo whispers.
She doesn’t respond. Instead, she gets back into bed and lies down, her eyes shut.
“Hey!” Primo says, shaking her. “Isidora, come on! Quit playing! I know you’re awake. You were just walking!”
But there is no getting her up.
Primo even tries lifting up her eyelids, but it’s like he can barely see her eyes, they’re so far back in her head. For a moment he panics—is she dead?—but then he realizes she’s breathing.
She is in some sort of trance, like Sleeping Beauty. Is this what happens when a person becomes a Janara? But what about their bodies turning into wind?
Primo stays awake, nervous. The shutters rattling and slamming make him jumpy. Finally, the storm quiets. He hears a gasp.
It’s Isidora.
Her eyes are open.
He smiles at her.
She smiles back.
“Does it hurt?” Primo leans in to whisper so as not to wake the others. “Becoming a . . .” He still doesn’t want to say the word.
She shakes her head. “No, not really,” she says. “Not at all, actually.”
“Did you do any mischiefs tonight?”
“No, I’m not really that kind of—” She stops herself and smiles. “You know.”
They just lie there a moment, in silence. Then Primo asks:
“Do you think there really is no chance that I’ll become one, too?”
“To be honest, Primo, I have no idea.” Isidora takes hold of his hand. “I think you have the same chance as I did. The same as anybody. Maybe better.”
Should Primo tell her that he knows about her trick? And say that it doesn’t matter? That he really won’t tell anyone.
But saying that will only make him feel better. Isidora will feel better if she thinks her trick worked.
So Primo gives his sister a kiss, turns over, and goes to sleep.
Life goes on, but NOW our book is done!
Life was very different in Benevento in the 1820s.
HERE’S HOW THEY LIVED: TIME
Most people never looked at a clock.
If you lived near a church, you would know what time it was by the pattern of the bells ringing.
If you lived in the countryside, you would tell time by looking at the sun. Its path across the sky was divided into twelve hours in the same way a ruler is divided into twelve inches.
Instead of noon coming at 12:00, it came at the sixth hour, because it was when the sun was halfway across the sky. The first hour was the one after sunrise, and the eleventh the one before sunset.
The hour grew or shrank depending on the time of year, because it was 1∕12th of however long the sun was out. So in Benevento, an hour in late June would last 75 of our minutes, while at Christmas it would last for only 46 of them.
If you want to learn MORE, please visit witchesofbenevento.com.
HISTORICAL NOTE
Witches have a history, too. And since the 1820’s, the ones of Benevento have been in steep decline.
While the city is still associated with magical beings and events, now even the citizens of Benevento imagine their witches to be the black-hatted, broomstick-riding sort that have been imported from the English-speaking world, and not their own home-grown variety.
What is special about the mythological universe of Benevento is how unique it is. Benevento has forever been a crossroads, a place where tree- worshipping Germans mingled with the followers of Greek Hecate, Roman Diana, and Egyptian Isis, and myths like those of the Sirens were carried in and out of town. All of of these ancient influences took root vibrantly here, producing the inimitable folklore of the janara, the Manalonga, and the Clopper.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The one source that stands above all others—and the person who has done the most to keep the mythology of Benevento alive—is Paola Caruso. Paola has documented the mythology of the region, including the experiences of her own mother, who grew up in the Triggio. Without her, this series would not exist.
As far as what the janara might have actually been like, our main source is Carlo Ginzburg’s I benandanti, which uses records from long-ago witch trials to examine the ancient—and secret—religious rituals of rural Italy. The scene of Primo’s family chasing an eel, on the other hand, was inspired by Carmine d’Agostino’s memoir of life in the poorest part of Benevento, Il mio Triggio. For understanding what the state of learning in Catholic lands were, we consulted George Borrow’s 1830s travelogue, The Bible in Spain. And beyond literary sources, the contemporary prints and drawings of artists like Gaetano Dura and Achille Vianelli were vital to our understanding early 19th c. life in the region.
To them—and those we are unable to mention—we offer our most sincere thanks.
JOHN BEMELMANS MARCIANO
I grew up on a farm taking care of animals. We had one spectacularly nice chicken, the Missus, who lived in a stall with an ancient horse named Gilligan, and one rooster, Leon, who pecked our heads on our way home from school. Leon, I have no doubt, was a demon. Presently I take care of two cats, one dog, and a daughter.
* * *
SOPHIE BLACKALL
I’ve illustrated many books for children, including the Ivy and Bean series. I drew the pictures in this book using ink made from black olives and goat spit. In 2016, I received a shiny gold Caldecott Medal for Finding Winnie. I grew up in Australia, but now my boyfriend and I live in Brooklyn with a cat who never moves and a bunch of children who come and go like the wind.
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The Secret Janara Page 4
