The Witching of the King

by Greg Hoover

  “You will address the king and not the criminal,” ordered Malachi.

  Myles cleared his throat. “I found several items of witchcraft, such as a wand, pentacle, and an athame.”

  “What’s an athame?” I asked.

  “A ceremonial blade used by witches,” said the king.

  “Yes sire, and also a boline,” said Myles. He then looked at me and gave a definition, “Another witch blade, a white-handled knife with a curved blade shaped like a crescent moon.”

  “But you missed an important piece of evidence,” said Malachi. “Shakespeare himself showed me a witch’s poppet that he had in his room.”

  “Why would he show that to you if he is a witch?” asked the king.

  Malachi laughed. “He claimed that he found it in his own room. And with a stroke of evil genius, he even made the poppet to look like him. But I could not be so easily fooled.”

  “Of course,” said King James. “Is that all?”

  “No,” said Malachi. “There is one more thing, Your Highness.”

  “Yes?”

  Malachi reached into his pocket, pulled out a necklace with a star-shaped pendant, and showed it to the crowd. “A witch’s pendant.”

  The crowd gasped and began murmuring.

  “Where did you get that?” asked the king.

  Malachi looked at me and smiled. “I took it off of William Shakespeare myself when we arrested him.”

  “You liar!” I said and sprang towards him, but the guards caught me and held me tight.

  “A witch’s amulet!” screamed a young woman.

  “That proves it!” said an older man. “The king’s witchfinder is a witch himself!”

  “He’s a witch!” said voices in the crowd.

  “Silence!” King James stood and raised his right hand to quiet the crowd. “This is terrible news, my friends. I had no idea that witchcraft had climbed so high in the royal palace. I am afraid I am left with no choice but to deal with this crime with extreme prejudice.”

  The king stroked his beard for a moment and looked at me. Then he spoke out in a loud voice.

  “William Shakespeare, you are hereby convicted of the high crime of witchcraft. The penalty is death by burning. You and your daughter shall be burned at the stake, and Samantha Winston shall be burned with you.”

  “The end of witchcraft!” shouted a tall man with a long red beard.

  “The end of the plague!” said another voice from the crowd. “Hooray!”

  “Seize him!” ordered Malachi. Two guards stepped forward and grabbed me by my arms.

  A woman’s laughter rang out across the Great Hall, silencing the crowd.

  I turned my head towards the wicked laughter, and my blood ran cold. To my great surprise I saw my wife, Anne Hathaway. Clad in a long black gown, her hair flowed behind her as she strode forward from the back of the room. Her eyes were framed in dark; her face pale—almost white—her lips ruby red and twisted into a wicked smile. Taking center stage, she turned and addressed the crowd.

  “Fools!” she shrieked. “You fumble around the palace and the countryside looking for witches to burn. You see sorcerers in every shadow, and magicians behind every curtain. And all the while the queen of all witches is right here among you.”

  I glanced at Malachi Hunter, who was staring at Anne in horror. She had everyone’s attention, including mine.

  “Wax figures and silver daggers are children’s toys. Pentagrams and candles are meaningless in and of themselves. A real witch has no need of such playthings when the power of all existence courses through her veins.”

  She turned and glared at me. “William Shakespeare is not a witch. He could never master the witches’ art, even if he wanted to.” A wicked smile spread across her face. “For my amusement, I toyed with the Witchfinder General like a cat with a mouse. While he was out hunting witches, I possessed his wife and stole her identity.”

  The crowd gasped and shouts of “No!” rang out across the Great Hall.

  “It’s true!” she continued. “I have been playing the role of Anne Hathaway, loyal wife and mother, and he was too stupid to even notice. I explored the palace and made my plans, and the king’s Witchfinder never caught on.”

  She looked at King James, his eyes wide with shock.

  “It is in Hampton Court Palace that I shall sit on my throne. I will rule over all Britannia, as witches did in the days of old. I am not some poor old widow tortured until she confesses to crimes she couldn’t fathom. I am not a kind midwife whose only crime is to help women bear children. Fools! They are not witches!”

  Anne threw back her head and let out a sinister cackle. I glanced at the crowd, and everyone was on their feet, transfixed on Anne.

  “Judith and Samantha are only senseless children who love theater,” she continued. “They have no magical power and no interest in the occult. They are just silly girls obsessed with games and dances and pretty dresses. Bah! It sickens me they would ever be accused of being something as grand as a genuine witch. Their arrest bears witness to the foolishness of the Crown.”

  The king looked indignant, and one of his guards looked to him for an order. King James glanced at him and shook his head.

  “I am ancient,” said the witch. “I have lived for thousands of years, and I shall live thousands of years more. I am birthless and I am deathless. I am known by many names.”

  She walked closer to the crowd, and several people shrank back.

  “I was Lilith in the Garden of Eden. King Saul knew me as the Witch of Endor. King Arthur called me Morgan le Fey. And I have had many other names. Today, you may call me Ravynna the Witch, Queen of England.”

  Palace guards rushed the stage, swords drawn and muskets aimed at the witch. Anne Hathaway—Ravynna—raised her hand, and they stopped in their tracks.

  “Fools!” she screeched. “Do you still not understand the power of a genuine witch? I have no need of swords and muskets to fight my battles. I need no magic wands or wax poppets to kill my enemies. If I wanted to turn you to stone, I would simply blink my eyes.”

  Voices in the crowd cried out, but the guards stood their ground.

  “If I wanted to burn you alive, I would utter a single magic word. If I snapped my fingers,” she held her fingers as if she was going to do so, “you would turn to dust.”

  The guards began backing away from her.

  “And if I wanted to kill the king,” she looked at King James. The witch outstretched her fingers as if she was going to squeeze her hand tight. “All I would have to do is make a fist and he would burst into flames.”

  The king bravely met her gazed and never blinked. If he was afraid, he showed no signs of it. After a long moment, Ravynna the Witch smiled and turned away.

  “Today I will let your petty king live, for he may prove useful to me yet.” She looked at the king sternly. “But be warned, King James, that you serve at my pleasure. You live and you die at my command.”

  She turned away from him sharply and addressed the crowd. “And to all of you, know this: Ravynna sees all. Ravynna knows all. There are no whispers so quiet that I cannot hear them. There is no room in the palace so private that I cannot see into it. All of your actions, all of your words, and even all of your thoughts, are known to Ravynna the Witch.”

  The crowd stood in stunned silence. No one dared to speak or even move. After a long moment, Malachi Hunter moved to the witch’s side. He looked at her for a moment and then knelt before her. He then stood and addressed the crowd in a loud voice.

  “Long live Ravynna the Witch!”

  Many in the crowd rep
eated after him, quietly at first, “Long live Ravynna the Witch.”

  Malachi said again, “Long live Ravynna the Witch!”

  The entire crowd began chanting repeatedly, growing in intensity each time:

  “Long live Ravynna the Witch.”

  “Long live Ravynna the Witch!”

  “LONG LIVE RAVYNNA THE WITCH!”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Applause for Ravynna filled the Great Hall as she strode regally towards the door. She walked down the center of the crowd, and people parted before her like the Red Sea before Moses. They knelt before her as she passed them, and an old woman reached out for her hand and kissed it.

  Stunned, I turned to the king. “Am I free to go?”

  “Yes,” said the king. “Return to your investigations. You have a killer to catch before he strikes again.”

  He then turned to a guard. “And release the two young women, too. Any fool can see that they’re not real witches.”

  King James looked at me without blinking. “Not like Ravynna the Witch.”

  “Thank you, Your Majesty,” I said. Relieved, I bowed before the king. He seemed not to notice and left the room with his entourage.

  It was now dark outside; the day had passed so fast with all that had happened. Malachi Hunter walked up to me and spoke.

  “You’re a lucky man,” he said.

  “How so?”

  “Being so close to Ravynna the Witch,” he replied. “I’ve always been a huge supporter of witches, you know.”

  “You were a witch-pricker!”

  “Yes, yes,” he said, and then he added in a voice loud enough for anyone listening to hear, “but only false witches. My mission was to reveal all the fakers pretending to be real witches. Only those so bold as to try to steal the glory from the one true witch, our good Queen Ravynna.”

  “That’s not the impression you gave earlier.”

  “Nonsense,” said Malachi. “My historic support of witchcraft is well documented.”

  “Mine too,” said a man next to me in a frightened voice.

  “Mine too!” parroted several others, their words laced with fear.

  A minstrel strummed his lute. “I’m inspired by Ravynna the Witch to compose a ballad in her honor.”

  “And I will create marvelous paintings of Her Majesty for Gallery Hall,” said an artist.

  “And sculptures of her for the Chapel Royal!” added another.

  “Ravynna will save us,” said an old woman, her eyes wide with terror.

  “Ravynna will stop the plague,” said an old man standing next to her.

  “Mommy,” a little girl tugged on her mother’s dress. “I want to ask you something, but I don’t know how to say it.”

  “Think of Ravynna and the words will come,” said her mother.

  The little girl closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Can I be a beautiful witch queen when I grow up?”

  “If Ravynna wills it, you will be,” replied her mother, patting her on the head. “All hail Ravynna the Witch!”

  “All hail Ravynna the Witch!” replied the little girl.

  There was horror behind their words, but no one dared speak of it openly for fear that the witch may be listening. The crowd was dispersing when I noticed Alban Braunstone sitting at a small table near the back of the room. He looked at me and smiled sympathetically.

  “William, are you all right?” he asked as I walked up to his table.

  “My ribs are sore,” I said. “But they don’t seem to be broken.”

  “Still, you should visit the physician in the morning,” he said. “But I was actually inquiring about your soul. How are you feeling about all this?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, shaking my head. “I’m still in a state of shock. I’m exhausted, and there is so much to think about.”

  Alban stood up. “Will, get some sleep. If you need to talk, come see me in the morning.”

  “Thank you, I will,” I said. “Should I meet you at the sacristy?”

  “No,” he replied, handing me a piece of paper with directions to his room written on it. “Too many ears there. Come to my room.”

  “Ravynna can see into all rooms, no matter how private.”

  Alban smiled. “Will, I am an old man. I have no fear of anyone at this point. Not kings and not witches. It will just be easier to talk openly in private. See you in the morning.”

  Tears for my wife running down my cheeks, I made my way back to my room and collapsed onto the ripped mattress. Exhausted, I fell asleep immediately, and dreamed about ghosts, bonfires, and Ravynna the Witch.

  ***

  The bright sunlight shone into my room, warming my face as I awoke. I looked out the window at the icy gardens and thought about all that had happened the day before. I stepped out into the hall, and made my way towards Alban’s room. Lost in my thoughts, it surprised me when someone grabbed my arm and whirled me around. It was Judith.

  “Daddy!” she cried as she hugged me tight. “They released us this morning!”

  “I’m so glad,” I said, hugging her back, my eyes wet with tears. “Did they tell you why?”

  Judith looked serious. “They said mother’s a witch.”

  “She’s not just a regular witch,” said a servant girl who overhead us talking. With eyes filled with dread, she said in a loud voice, “She is the Witch Queen, ruler of England, Ireland, Scotland, and Wales. Long live Ravynna the Witch!”

  “Long live Ravynna the Witch!” echoed the boy next to her as they walked on.

  “Father, I don’t understand.”

  “I know,” I said. “Judith, I’m so sorry, but I need to go see someone. Rest, and we’ll talk later.”

  Judith looked disappointed, but agreed. We hugged again and parted.

  As I continued to make my way towards Alban’s room, everyone I passed spoke about Ravynna with glowing words. I learned she had commandeered a luxurious private room, posted guards outside, and ordered that she not be disturbed.

  When I got to Alban’s room, he greeted me at his doorway and invited me in. His room was small and tidy. He had a simple bed and a small table with two wooden chairs. Books, scrolls, and manuscripts lined his walls, many appearing ancient. I would have loved to go through each one and explore the literary treasures he had amassed over the decades of his interesting life. However, we had more pressing matters to attend to. He offered me a seat and poured me a cup of tea.

  “I see your eyes coveting my books,” he said with a smile, taking a seat next to me.

  “Yes,” I said. “How did you gather so many ancient scrolls and manuscripts?”

  “I worked in the monastery library,” he said. “When Henry VIII dissolved the monasteries, I preserved as many as I could. Others I gained here and there through my various jobs, usually during a wave of persecution. A few were given to me right before their owners were arrested, hanged, or burned at the stake.”

  “They must be worth a fortune.”

  He nodded his head. “Historically, they’re priceless. But I’m afraid they will be burned when found, and lost forever.”

  “Some are heretical?”

  “Depending on who is in power at the moment, yes.”

  “Do you have any magical texts?” I asked.

  He looked at me cautiously. “I’ve encountered magical teachings over my many years, yes. Of course, I studied it as a scholar and not as a practitioner.”

  “Alban,” I said. “There are forces at work in this palace beyond my comprehension. Could you
please teach me the basic principles of magic?”

  He rubbed his eyes, took a deep breath, and let it out. “What would you like to know?”

  I shrugged, not even knowing enough to ask an intelligent question. “What is magic?”

  “Magic is the science of the occult. It seeks to harness and use mana, the underlying power latent in all creation. The magician taps into this universal spiritual force that permeates the entire universe. Through properly applying magical principles, practitioners direct this magic power to achieve their desired results.”

  Alban poured himself a cup of tea. He took a sip and continued.

  “The most basic principle is, ‘As above, so below.’ Magic users believe that there are two worlds: the natural world here below and the supernatural world above us. By making a physical form of something, they believe that the higher spiritual world will bring about the desired effect on earthly matter.”

  “Like a witch’s poppet.”

  “Yes,” said Alban. “They mold and shape physical wax to represent a person. Then the supernatural world works to bring harm to the person who the wax represents.”

  “You’re saying if one thing resembles another thing, they are connected magically?”

  Alban nodded. “According to magic users, yes. And they believe this is especially powerful through contagion. In other words, once this item has been in physical contact with a person, that connection remains. This is true even if the victim becomes far removed from the cursed item. For example, a witch might stick a poppet with pins or throw it into the fire. This would harm or even kill the victim, even if he was far away.”

  “Perhaps that’s why someone placed a poppet under my bed.”

  “Yes, I would think so,” said Alban, taking a sip of tea. “And it may interest you to learn that magicians use a type of theater for magical purposes.”

  “How so?”

  “A sorcerer might use his magic wand as a sword and act out thrusting it into his victim. He would try to add emotion and perform as though he were actually stabbing the person. Or a coven of witches might perform a ritual and act out all the parts of the situation they were trying to bring to pass. They would chant. Maybe use incense. Whatever they need to create a mystical atmosphere and bring their desires to life.”