by Jones, L. A.
He looked down at his palm, and he froze.
“Hey guys,” he said. He widened the beam to create some ambient light. “This cave is filthy, right? Covered with dirt and mold and bug droppings?”
“Nice, Dad,” Aradia replied.
“Bear with me,” he said. He ran his hand over the wall then held it up to them, palm out. “Why isn’t my hand dirty?”
Aradia's mouth dropped open in shock. With unusual trepidation, she crept to her father’s side.
“I feel… warm,” she stated. She didn’t really know what she meant, and neither of her parents questioned her.
Her hand shook as she reached ever-so-slowly to repeat her father’s act of brushing the wall.
She swept her hand across the stony surface. For a moment, she was terribly disappointed, but also relieved. It felt like normal rock. However, no sooner had she touched the wall than it began to melt like a pad of butter plopped atop steaming vegetables. All three Prestons jumped back in surprise.
When the wall finally stopped melting, all that was left was a hazy rippling mass of grey. Without warning or ceremony, Aradia stepped through it, followed promptly by her parents.
The sight that met their eyes was a curious and frightening one: an old, abandoned village, ripe with the stench of death. Smoke rose from burned out huts, clearly built mostly of wood and thatch. Animal carcasses, those of horses, turkeys, and goats, rested in their pens. Wood and iron tools lay abandoned near the huts and in the fields. Behind them was nothing but a seemingly solid stone wall.
“This place looks like it’s been abandoned,” Liza said.
“Not abandoned,” Aradia corrected.
“No,” Ross agreed. “More like razed to the ground.”
Aradia began to tremble and her mother wrapped her arms around her daughter's shoulders. Aradia did not shrug her off.
The Prestons slowly explored the entire village. Ross entered many of the huts checking for survivors, but every time he returned shaking his head and looking ever more defeated. Eventually Aradia abandoned caution and called out, "Hello? Hello? Anyone here?"
“I’m not sure that’s wise,” Ross stated. His voice was the only response to her calls.
“Why not? We didn’t come here for nothing.”
“Somebody attacked this village, destroyed it,” Ross replied. “These buildings are still smoldering, so the attackers can’t be far. It doesn’t look like they left any survivors, so who do you suppose might answer your calls?”
“Oh,” Aradia replied simply. After that, she was careful to be as quiet as possible but Ross kept his pepper spray handy.
They continued in this fashion for an hour, until they’d mapped out the entirety of the village. The only building left to explore was a huge stone structure, somewhat reminiscent of medieval churches. Without addressing the matter directly, each had decided to save this building for last.
Aradia was the first to approach the huge wooden doors. The metal handles were heavy; it took her more-than-human strength to pull just one of the doors open. Again she led the way.
The structure was large, but not so cavernous as to feel oppressive. No, rather, it was a cozy place, large enough to comfortably fit perhaps a few hundred, but small enough that a group of just twenty or thirty would feel perfectly welcome. It was decorated in all kinds of unusual symbols. The roof appeared to be solid silver. At the roof’s center was a hole allowing the sun’s rays to fall upon an old, dusty cauldron.
“This must be where they did their rituals,” Aradia stated as she observed the cauldron and the surrounding area.
“Nobody’s said it,” Ross said, “but we’re going with time travel, right?”
“Ross…” Liza whispered.
“I think he’s right,” Aradia replied. “The witches have been gone for a long time. I’ve been hoping that maybe they were just hiding, but… I think I was sent forward through time. I think this is where I came from. When I came from. Whoever sent me to you, they lived here.”
Ross found a chamber near the rear of the room hidden by curtains. Ross pulled the curtains aside and peered behind them. His eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness. The moment when he could make sense of what he saw, he was filled with a sudden, overpowering nausea. He clamped his hand over his mouth and instinctively backed up, fighting the urge to vomit. Aradia saw her father's reaction and, concerned, ran toward him. Ross frantically waved his arms trying to prevent her from seeing what he had seen, but to no avail. Aradia came to her father's side, looked past the curtains, and saw the nightmare inside.
Dozens upon dozens of bodies decorated a smaller chamber. They had been men, women, and children. Many hung upon the room’s walls like evil, twisted, sadistic paintings. Some were crucified with the arms apart like wings in flight and their heads hanging heavy with sorrow and pain. Others hung from the rafters with hands tied behind their backs and sacks upon their heads, dangling lifeless and limp as puppets on strings. Several were piled, almost as if they’d been an afterthought. Aradia's mouth fell open, chalky dry, and her eyes grew wide with horror.
The stench was incredible, but Aradia was too grief-stricken to either notice or care. “How?” Aradia whispered, “How did this happen? Who could have done this? How recently was this done?” So many questions swirled through her head, but one seemed to her to be the most important of them all. “Were these the witches?”
She shook her head fervently at that thought. By now Liza had joined the others. “They couldn’t be witches,” she stated, almost to herself more than the others. “The Salem Witch trials had happened centuries ago.”
“We really did travel through time,” Ross realized. Even though he’d acknowledged it earlier, the reality facing him drove the point home.
What difference does it make? Aradia wondered to herself. What does it matter if they’re dust and bones or rotting chunks of flesh. Either way, they’re all gone. Aradia started to smile sickly thinking that this was all probably just a cruel joke.
“I think we should leave,” Ross stated. Aradia and Liza both agreed.
“Liza,” Ross whispered as they hurried toward the exit, “did you see their necks?”
She nodded sharply.
They were well on their way to the building’s front door when Aradia was struck by a sudden urge. It hit her like an inspiration; a cold and wet rag upon the back of her brain.
“Wait,” she commanded. The others obeyed.
She moved toward the cauldron. It was raised up on sturdy feet. There was plenty of room underneath to mass wood for fuel, and there was plenty of wood. She dropped to her hands and knees and shoved the wood out. She blew hard to remove as much of the char as she could.
“Dad, do you have your knife?” she asked. He obliged her, passing down his Swiss army knife. She opened it up and used it to pry up one of the stone tiles which just didn’t seem right to her.
Underneath was a rippling mass, like the one they’d passed through in the cave wall. In surprise, she dropped the knife. Upon touching the mass, it vaporized in a puff of smoke.
“Oh dear,” Ross murmured.
Aradia didn’t hesitate, for somehow she knew she would come to no harm. She thrust her hands into the mass, grabbed what was underneath, and pulled it out.
In her hands she found a thick, black, leather bound book.
She climbed back from under the cauldron and showed her parents what she’d discovered. They took seats together at one of the pews. Aradia sluggishly moved to open it, her hands feeling like clay and her nerves stretched thin as a wire.
Using whatever strength she had left, Aradia opened the book and began to read.
This blessed tome is the record of Salem Coven, under the protection of the witch goddess Aradia. It is written in my own hand as I, Madea Blackthorn, am the coven’s chosen scribe. The words I set to parchment shall tell of our events, lives, and worship in honor of our patron goddess who guides us and delivers us to our destiny. So may it be!
The book was thick, far too thick for Aradia to finish in one sitting, especially under the circumstances. That being the case, she flipped through, skipping huge chunks, but getting a sense of the story. The volume covered everything from spells and potions to mundane cookbook recipes to accounts of odd dreams. One passage in fact described, in exquisite detail, a pumpkin which the author had apparently found fascinating.
Aradia soon focused on the diary-style chronological entries.
May 5th, 1690
Today we finished the spring festival by completing the chanting and the spells cast in the sacred cauldron in honor of our lady of the dark moon, Hecate. More news has arrived from the seer: four babies will be born before a year and three months have passed. One of the children will be in possession of a great destiny. No one, not the Seer who predicted it, nor the elder witches who guide our coven, knows what sort of destiny.
July 8th, 1691
Over one year ago, our great Seer predicted four babies. Today, they were born, all fine and healthy, two boys and two girls. Sadly, as these four new flames enter the world, one older one is extinguished. The mother of the eldest of the babies died in childbirth. She lived only long enough to cast one first and final glance upon the beautiful baby girl. She did not even name the poor little one. We had no idea what to do when the Seer stepped forward and adopted the baby as her own.
We were all shocked, for the Seer has never shown interest in children. Yet, the moment she held the little girl, we witnessed the most miraculous sight. The Seer smiled at the baby, but what’s more, the baby smiled back! Everyone in the room swore they could feel their hearts melting.
"Her name is Aradia," the Seer then said as she turned to face everyone who had gathered in the hall. "Named after our patron goddess who was the first of our people and the greatest witch of all!"
August 17th, 1691
It has been over a month since the four came into the world, and the Seer relishes her motherly role with Aradia daily. Indeed, she seems younger and happier than any has ever seen her. The child is a bundle of pure joy, enchanting all who come upon her. It is obvious that the young one is in possession of great magic, but I suspect it goes even further than that. I believe her power could one day surpass even that of the coven elders. Part of me suspects this to be part of what drew the Seer to her.
Most expect she shall be the next Seer, but it seems like a waste. It is true, that the role and responsibility of Seer is among the most important individual roles of the coven. She foretells the future and helps us to prepare for what is to come. Still, with the powers that the child displays at such a young age, even the most important role seems trivial.
October 10th, 1691
The Seer's mood has grown depressed. She has been thrust into another world, a dark one. All the latest prophecies have been of doom and destruction, mostly for our people, but also for others. The Seer has never been wrong, but it cannot be that our entire kind is doomed to extinction.
November 8th, 1691
The Seer was right! As she always is. It began in our neighboring village, the human community of Salem, in the home of a Christian preacher. Several young girls, starting with eleven-year-old Abigail Williams and nine-year-old Elizabeth Parris, began behaving as if possessed by devils. Soon Ann Putnam Jr. and other Salem girls began acting similarly. The doctors diagnosed it as witchcraft. It stunned the whole village when we heard of this, for we are members of the hidden race! To be known to the human world… it is forbidden! Yet, now all humans not only know of, but hunt witches. How can this be? Numerous trials have been set to try the poor women accused of human witchcraft. This is what truly frightens us! Humans are killing innocents, and those murders are on our hands.
November 29th, 1691
I write more often than I have grown accustomed. Events have become serious than I had ever imagined. We have been accused of betraying the hidden race, breaking the most important and sacred law: to remain hidden for all eternity. The penalty for such a crime is death to all accused.
December 12th, 1691
Ever more hiddens turn against us. We have lost contact with several of the other covens. There have been rumors of hunting parties being seen. We do not know who they are or what they are hunting, and we are too terrified to find out. The people who leave the safety of the commune end up disappearing altogether. Most of our allies no longer speak with us. Daily we have asked the Seer what we should do, but she says there is nothing we can do. She has tried to intervene or ask divine guidance in how to save our people. She says no matter what she does or how she tries to read the signs, the result is always the same: our kind is doomed.
Aradia paused and took deep heavy breaths trying to prepare herself for what was going to come next. The entries in the book became frenzied scrawls filled with panic and terror until finally Aradia reached the last entry. Immediately she noticed that on this particular entry the handwriting was different from the others.
July 12th, 1961
I, Cassandra Fauna, the Seer of the coven under the divine protection of the witch goddess Aradia write this entry in my own hand. The hunters gather around the commune trying to force their way in. The elders are confident in their belief that the hunters will not breach our defenses, but they shall. I know not how they will achieve this feat, but I am certain they will, for I have seen it. Many times, repeatedly, the same vision for months on end! I have seen what would be the end of my race and my people. In spite of all the spells I have cast I still find no answer to why this is happening. I have chosen to accept my fate for it seems to be unavoidable. However, I will not condemn my daughter Aradia to death. I have raised her as my own since her mother died and now love her as if she were my own. My visions have shown that it is my fate to die, but I have seen no such visions of Aradia, and I will not accept that my fate must be hers.
It has taken me months, but I have found the right spell.
It will send Aradia to a place where she will be needed, loved, and where she will find her destiny. I know neither where nor when she will appear again, or even if she will survive the spell casting. It is a risk I do not take lightly, but which I must take, for to do nothing is to sentence my darling daughter to gruesome and horrible murder. Aradia may not have been born of my blood, but I do not care. She is my daughter, I am her mother, and I will protect her at any cost.
This spell will take much of my energy, and by my age, I doubt I will survive. I am a strong and proud hidden witch, with a life span rivaling a vampire’s, but I am no longer as resilient as I once was. Using this much energy… it will end me. I cannot survive the casting of this spell, but my life is already forfeit, and it might save my daughter.
I write these words in hopes that one day she will find them and know how much I love her. It may seem a cruel fate, to be sent alone somewhere unknown, but it is the only way. I cannot join you, Aradia. When you find and read this, if ever you do, you will know that you are indeed the very last of your kind. I have foreseen that none of us will survive this genocide, not our coven, nor any others. You, Aradia, are the only one whose fate eludes me, and for this I am grateful. You might outlive this slaughter to become the last witch.
You will wield the entire power of our people. That which is distributed will, in you, be drawn together, like so many sticks into a powerful bundle.
History has shown that only two pureblooded witches can produce hidden witch offspring, suggesting you would truly be the last. Even if you have children, they will not be true hidden witches, so goes conventional wisdom. But my vision is blurred around you. So much power in one being defies the laws and rules set in place prior to your existence. I cannot say what you will be, for I, I who has seen anything, I cannot see your future.
I consider that I might be sending you to an even worse fate. Might it be more merciful to simply snuff you out right now, as you lay sleeping beside me? But I refuse to let my child die! Call me selfish, oh great Aradia, patron godd
ess of my coven and namesake to my only daughter, but I will protect her at any cost. I hope that wherever you go, my dear Aradia, that you will find happiness, and most of all that you may one day know and understand how much I love you.
Aradia burst into tears upon reading the last line. It was horrible enough to find out what had really happened to her people, to confirm Mr. Dayton’s claim, but this book and this place made it real. Was Cassandra Fauna’s body one of the ones in the next chamber? Was it hanged from a rafter, or buried underneath a pile of her loved ones?
Aradia felt like she had been stabbed a thousand times with thick, burning knives.
Overcome with grief and sobbing, Aradia raced out of the sacred building turned morgue. In spite of the worry in her parents' voices as she raced past them, Aradia did not stop. She kept running and running until finally she found a clearing overlooking the scenery of Salem Woods. Now exhausted both physically and mentally, Aradia collapsed into a heap and buried her face in her arms.
She realized she’d left behind the book. Quickly, she made a motion to get up and retrieve it, but her strength left her. “What is the point?” she asked the forest. “The book just repeated everything everyone has already told me. Why should I go back for it?”
She sighed to herself in response.
"It really is true," she muttered tearfully. "I really am the last. I really am all alone."
Chapter Three
Next time you feel like getting all emotional and running off, Aradia chastised herself, don’t.
Her parents had tried to chase her, but for a human, following Aradia through the woods would be like following Superman up into space. It just wasn’t going to happen. She found them, just as twilight had definitively shifted into early night, in front of the sacred structure turned crypt.
