Awaken_A Rose Caldwell Tale

by JM Bannon

  Embarrassment and empathy engulfed Rose, “I am sorry Mother, I just never really thought about how hard it was for you and them or why they are unhappy.”

  “Ah and someday you may be an old gruff nun set in her ways, but today you’re a young one with too much energy looking for your fight with evil. Rose, not all of us will have an epic battle like Saint Ostric. In my case, my battle was with myself.”

  “When I was your age, I too joined a convent near my home village. I saw my friends getting married, having children and I began to regret my decision. The Mother Superior came to me and spoke in a similar manner to this. I don’t remember her exact words, but she told me that every nun ever ordained went through the same battle.”

  “The cause was not the same for every nun, but the battle was the same. That was my battle to accept my part in God’s plan in spite of my personal desires and the envy I wrestled with. If that is what you are facing now, accept it as part of your path and know that it is a good experience for you to help others who face the daily battles of infirmity and grief.”

  The Mother Superior stood and made her way to the door, she turned before leaving the room.

  “The reason for the battle, the reason to fight it and more importantly how to win it, is between just you and God, my child, just the two of you!”

  She made the sign of the cross, “God’s blessing on you my child”, then she was gone.

  Rose listened to the shuffle of her feet receding down the hallway and sighed. For now, Rose’s personal struggle was in figuring out if accident and the children’s illness were caused by an evil force or if she was indeed slipping over the edge into insanity. The next time she talked with her superior she wanted to be able to definitively tell her that creatures of the devil lurked in the town, or that she required a stay at a sanatorium. Either way, she had to figure out if there was an active coven practicing witchcraft in Chester and tonight was a night that no witch worth her weight in bats wings could resist, it was the autumnal equinox.

  10:30 PM, Potter’s End Chester, England

  Rose had changed out of her habit into the simple home spun dress and warm shawl that was hers and not provided by the convent and slipped out of the abbey to embark on her night time exploration of Potters End. From what she had learnt and Mr. Cooper’s confirmation that seemed to be the most likely starting point in her quest.

  Rose was determined to find the cause of the recent tragedies and following her investigations she was convinced the forces of evil were at the root of the trouble, forces not of the mortal realm but called from the beyond.

  Tonight, the Autumnal Equinox, a night of power, when the Witches of Westfield, would, according to legend and the old wives tales, be dancing naked in the field and drinking the blood of children, cats and bats in order to call their foul master.

  Looking back to the words of her mother, she realized that she had believed the fanciful tales told to frighten her into obedience, when chores needed completing and to stay near to home. Now she felt that there had been more than a grain of truth to the stories. With a start, she realized the one person she had not talked to about this was her mother. She made a note to herself to go talk to her about the stories in the morning.

  She shivered as she made her way towards Potters End, the night was cool, the year was fading away, already leaves had begun to fall heralding the onset of winter. She almost considered going back to her cell and its warm bed, perhaps this was all just her vivid imagination?

  She stopped, vacillating between going forward and returning. Was she seriously considering the tales of the witches, old crones and hags who stole babies to use in their rituals to be based on fact?

  Every town and village in the land had the same tales. She had left the convent at night without permission. Rose had used the old apple tree in the corner of the walled garden which let her climb over the wall without too much issue. Getting back in meant climbing a cherry tree near the fish ponds. She had left behind her habit and dressed in clothes her mother had made for her to purposely sneak through wood and field in order to feed her obsession.

  Logic and clear thinking would suggest she was losing her mind. What kept her from accepting this was a deep-felt conviction, a guiding sense of there being more to this than just vivid dreams. Rose had been allowed to feel this sensation, this feeling of knowing, since she had cut her finger on the skull and the waking vision, just about a year ago. It had resulted in an energy and drive that fueled her need to learn and was now powering some type of spiritual intuition. Why should she not be being guided by the spirit of Saint Ostric in this matter? As she thought this, the face of the monk she had seen in her vision seemed to appear in front of her. The monk gave her a knowing smile and a nod then faded away. She felt a satisfaction as her feet seemed to move of their own volition.

  Maybe this was another of his miracles; he seemed to know what she had been thinking. The Mirror of Angels was a tool the Saint had used to show Aethelred the true nature of the witch who beguiled him and now she had created a similar mirror.

  Wasn’t this the essence of spiritual guidance? God set you on a path and you discovered what you were supposed to do. The more you stayed with God’s plan the easier it was to see how to put the puzzle together. The writings of Kelly and Dee had been put in front of her by two separate sources. Acting on the information in those writings she was then able to replicate the method of scrying the occultists had discussed and used.

  The story of Saint Ostric and the Mirror of Angels she proudly thought to herself as she made her way through the woods was where it all started.

  Maybe it’s not what I was to learn from the nuns but the relic being there that drew me to the Order?

  Her thoughts scattered as the sound of metal on stone brought her out of her reverie. She paused to listen then crept forward to the deeper darkness under the grove of trees. She rested a hand on the bark of the tree as she slowly made her way around it, trying not to make any noise. Just ahead of her on the edge of the clearing, two women were working a rough-hewn stone. It was too far away to see clearly what they were shaping, but the clink, clink of iron on iron and stone echoed with every mallet strike.

  From behind the tree Rose watched the two women working in the glow of oil lamps; just average women, no cabal of naked crones dancing around a fire. The sounds of their work ceased and the two commenced chanting, whilst the one holding the chisel put it down and picked up a flask and poured fluid over the rock. It was impossible to tell what the fluid was in the dark, but it poured slowly and thickly, and was black in the lamplight.

  Rose’s mind immediately turned to it being blood. For several moments, Rose watched in amazement; these witches were not the least bit secretive. The duo worked by lamplight, banging away with a hammer. Any one from the town who wasn’t deaf, or blind could find these two. She quietly edged her way round the tree to get closer for a better look.

  She heard the snap of a branch and turned in alarm to see two forms in dark cloaks, looming behind her. Before she could move, the closest shape grabbed her arm.

  10:30 PM, Potter’s End

  Rose was held in a grip of steel, she tried to pull away in vain. Her efforts caused the hood of her captor to fall back revealing the face of a woman only a few years older than herself. She felt sure she knew her, but the name escaped her in her fright.

  She was pulled forward as the woman spoke. “You will come with me,” she insisted.

  The women working on the stones paused their activities as they noticed Rose and her captors. Rose was pulled into the area of lamp light and forced to sit on the ground. The circle of lamplight revealed that there was more than one stone that the women had been working on.

  Around them was a collection of stones, carved with runes and swirling markings into each face of the rock. What Rose had feared was blood, in the light of the lamps was shown to be a deep blue dye. The two women stood and faced Rose and her captor who roughly pulled the b
ag from Rose’s shoulder and handed it to the woman holding the chisel.

  She tucked the chisel under her arm and began going through Rose’s bag. She pulled out some candles then found her mirror. She held it up and spoke,

  “You have the sight?”

  She put the items back and stepped forward.

  The woman grabbed Rose’s chin squeezing her face and stared intently into her eyes as if she was examining the back of her skull.

  “She’s one of the Carmelites,” announced the witch holding the mallet, “Caldwell’s child, Rose.”

  Rose strained to move her head; she had recognized the voice, “Mrs. Weber?” Rose said as the woman released her grip on her chin, “is that you?”

  She was sure the voice belonged to was Mrs. Weber, the mother of her childhood friends. How could such a kind woman be capable of the recent acts?

  The woman stood in front of her demanded, “What are you doing out here girl?”

  “I could ask the same, what witchcraft do you work?” challenged Rose.

  She held up the mirror in front of Rose. "Candles and a mirror, smells of witchcraft Christian!” the woman had a point.

  “We practice the craft it’s true, but only that of the white way.” Rose recognized another voice as the fourth woman walked round in front of her and pushed back her hood, Rose gasped, before her was the wife of the Sheriff, Mrs. Alderton.

  The woman in front of her pushed back her hood and Rose felt a moment of confusion, it was the Widow Culpepper, a wealthy property owner, with a significant sheep flock held on several tenancies around the town as well as the mill her father worked amongst other properties. Her face was familiar to Rose from those occasions when she would come to the granary to discuss the work of the mill with her father.

  Mrs. Culpepper looked the mirror over again before returning it to the bag and dropping it at her feet.

  “We are not followers of the black path, we are of the white. You would probably think of us as Druids, though those of the black are called that too. We have served our people with both prophecy and protection for many centuries; from a time before your Christ walked the earth.”

  “We hold to the eightfold wheel of the year and the three truisms of our people, your people from ages past to now, wisdom, creativity and love. At the end not so different to your Christ eh?”

  Rose considered the woman’s statement before responding, “You are not followers of Marbas, or the Morrighan?”

  All of the women gasped, whether in fear or anger Rose wasn’t sure.

  “What do you know of these names?” demanded Mrs. Culpepper stepping forward and raising the chisel as if to strike.

  Rose held her ground despite her fear and was please that her voice was strong as she spoke.

  “I know only what I have read, that Saint Ostric banished a demon in female guise, who had been summoned by means of witchcraft, and that banishment released the Christian King from a greater evil, the master of that demon who would control the king and so control the land.” Rose countered.

  “Well, at least you have part of the tale correct.” Mrs. Culpepper lowered her arm.

  “Your Saint Ostric may have been instrumental in defeating the beast from the lower depths that you have named Marbas, but it was and still is, we who have kept the monster in its slumber all these years,” replied Mrs. Culpepper.

  “Really?” Rose smiled, “So the myths are all true? There was a demon, and it was banished, and now you’re here…..?” she trailed off.

  “Why do you smile so!” demanded the unknown woman on her left.

  “Does it make you happy to know that our land is plagued with a fell beast,” spat the woman who had grabbed Rose in the woods.

  “No, No, forgive me, I smile at this news because I thought during the last few days that I was surely going insane and my future was to be a life in Bedlam!” She paused.

  “Let me explain, I have had strange dreams all my life and lately I have had what I must call visions. I think that within those visions I may have seen Saint Ostric but also the dreams have shown me the Morrighan.” She sighed.

  “You asked me if I have the sight, I don’t know exactly what you mean by that, but you are right, I have used this mirror and within it I have seen strange creatures, little grey beast – men, I thought of them as imps. I have seen them in the mirror at the temple of Minerva and at the Cathedral,” Rose explained.

  Excitement and joy bubbled within her, to finally have the supernatural events she had experienced validated. She watched the faces of the four women as her news sunk in. Her words had clearly shocked them.

  “Come here girl” Mrs. Culpepper crouched down by the rock on which she had been working. “This is a petro glyph, a stone of warding,”

  Rose knelt on one knee to get a closer look. Mrs. Culpepper grasped Rose’s right wrist and pulled her hand to the face of the stone. Her hand made a wet slap as it was pushed into the liquid that covered it.

  Mrs. Culpepper looked up at the other women who had gathered around them and nodded at them, clearly something of import, some test, had been passed when she touched the stone.

  She could feel some of the strange spiral carving under her hand through the cold liquid.

  Mrs. Culpepper continued, “Those things you saw are the minions of your Marbas, you were right to call them imps for that is what they are, imps working to free their master. They are stealing our stones, Rose, breaking the wards by removing the stones from their places. They know that our network of petroglyphs restrains their Master and prevents his return to the plane of man. The stones do more; they power the link for generations of women who have summoned the Morrighan when it was needed,”

  Mrs. Culpepper kept her hold on her wrist as she stared into Rose’s eyes.

  “They have destroyed the stones they have found, and the restraint weakens! Marbas stirs from his long slumber. This is not the first time it has happened, but they have found more stones than before, I fear they have help from this realm.”

  The elation Rose had been feeling vanished she looked from one woman to the next, their obvious fear and concern and her happy feeling was lost.

  “I am so sorry Mrs. Culpepper, ladies,” Rose acknowledged the other women. “I came here tonight expecting to find the Witches of Westfield summoning a demon, hoping I was insane and that I was imagining all of this. Now you confirm that what I have seen in my dreams since I was little is true that the earth will open up and release a great evil and this is Marbas that St Ostric slew,” said Rose quietly.

  Mrs. Culpepper spoke as she released Rose and stood up,

  “This land and the practices of our faith are far older than Christianity; and it is this sisterhood here on this estate and in the town, who have been protecting us all down through all those years.”

  “Careful what you share with her, she is beholden to the Church,” the small woman whom Rose did not know cautioned.

  Rose looked at her, then back to Mrs. Culpepper,

  “I am beholden to the truth and goodness; it does not matter to me if it is called the Holy Roman Church, or Druidism or some other name for faith in humanity”

  “Well said Rose,” Mrs. Weber offered her support. “I have known her all her life Mary,” she addressed the woman rose hadn’t known. “She is no enemy to us,”

  Rose realized she did know the woman after all, it was the doctor’s wife, Mrs. Belkin! Were all the women of note in this part of town involved? Surely not, they were good women!

  Mrs. Culpepper picked up a lantern, “Finish the stones”, she told the other women, then to Rose, “come with me and bring your bag.”

  She led Rose to the far side of the grove of trees and beyond until they came to a stile over a low stone wall. She pointed to an upright stone on the right of the stile; Rose recognized the carvings on it.

  “This wall is more than a boundary of my property. Within the ring of walls that surround this field, the ancient beast is trapped. For cen
turies, my sisterhood has worked diligently to keep this barrier empowered with the stones of wisdom. Outside of this ring there are stones in cardinal points in hidden locations, in a double circle of protection. A third ring lies beyond that. It is from the outer ring that the stones have been stolen.”

  “But, if you have this beast contained within the walls, how does he contact and control these imps and others? Why are they taking the outer stones? Why not come here and break the inner circle?”

  “Not all of the stones are to keep it contained, others are to deter and keep his agents out,”

  Mrs. Culpepper shared as they made their way towards the middle of the field.

  “The stones themselves are warded, and they make a circuit of magic you might say, that erects an unseen field of power. That power stops his agents and creatures like the imps from entering the circle. It uses the power of the earth to keep him contained.”

  “The power of the earth?” Do you mean magnetism or gravity?

  “It is not a power recognized by science and graced with study in universities. No, it is scorned and deemed the realm of fantasy. I am talking of ley lines; they criss-cross the land and even stretch on to the continent. We believe they actually cover the world in a network of power. “

  “The cardinal stones here are erected on strong ley lines. The power they contain is gathered by the stones and where they cross is in the center of the inner circle.”

  Rose felt her stockings and the bottom of her skirt growing wet from the damp grass. A dew was falling as the night wore on.

  “Where is the center? I thought it was in the grove,” she gestured off into the darkness behind them.

  Mrs. Culpepper didn’t answer immediately; rather she set the lantern down. They were in the middle of the field. Rose realized that here was an almost bare patch of ground, the grass short and withered, brown in comparison to the lush growth around it.

  Mrs. Culpepper looked at Rose and nodded confirmation as Rose’s eyes widened in understanding then she quietly spoke.