This year, there was a coughing illness in the village, and people still feared the wave of fatalities that had passed among them only a few years earlier when the Black Death was everywhere. Small towns had disappeared entirely, with none left behind to bury the dead, and cattle soon enough had made their homes in abandoned houses where there were no roofs or windows or doors. In their village, women turned away from the doctor, for he had never been to school and believed in bloodletting and using stones and petrified wood to discern both the illness and the cure. Instead, they came to Hannah, in the night, along the path where the ferns were green and sweet, so that the world seemed brand-new, and anything seemed possible, even salvation.
For Health
Wash your hands with lye soap before treating the ill person.
Horehound, boiled into a syrup, for coughs.
Tea of wild onions and lobelia to soothe.
Beebalm for a restful sleep.
Vinegar elixirs stop nosebleeds.
Eat raw garlic every day and a cup of hot water with lemon and honey.
For asthma, drink chamomile tea.
For chills, gingerroot tea.
Licorice root gathered from the riverside for chest pain.
Dragon’s blood from tree bark and berries of the Dracaena draco, the red resin tree from Morocco and the Canary Islands that can only be found in one market in London and can cure nearly any wound.
A live snail rubbed on burns will help heal the blisters.
Feed a cold, starve a fever.
In the summer of 1674, a time of unusual heat, a woman with red hair arrived at the cottage. As fate would have it, she brought the future with her. She knocked at the door, and Hannah said, “Come in,” even though she seemed to hesitate. Bad news often came this way, without warning, on what appeared to be nothing more than an ordinary day. The visitor had on beautiful, muddy clothes. Her shoes were made of kid leather, dyed red, decorated with buckles, and she carried a cloak made of fine blue wool, fringed with the fur of a fox. She wore a linen gown dyed scarlet with madder root and a silk, corded petticoat. Yet beneath her lovely, ruined clothes, purple bruises bloomed upon her skin, and there were marks left from a rope that had been tied around her wrists. From her place by the fire Maria stared at the red-haired lady. The stranger was so elegant, with a pretty, calm voice. She said her name was Rebecca and that she needed to spend the night. Hannah allowed her to sleep on a pallet of straw, knowing that though good deeds should bring good luck, such results aren’t always the case.
The red-haired lady announced she was in search of a remedy to quench her husband’s fire for her. Hannah explained to Maria that the lady was running away from her husband, which was a perilous proposition, especially when there was another man in the picture, the one she truly loved. She needed a cure to protect her and allow her to leave her wedded life.
“Is this what love does?” Maria wished to know.
“That’s not the name I’d give it,” Hannah responded.
“Is it so different than your man, who claimed you had a tail?”
“Perhaps not, but at least he was a coward and never set his hands on me.”
In the morning, after a quiet night of sleep, their visitor was in better spirits. Hannah crafted an amulet of apple seeds. She then added mandrake, the heart of all love potions, first mentioned as such in Genesis, referred to as Circe’s plant by the Greeks. The roots of this plant grow in the shape of human limbs, combining the aspect of a dragon and a man. It was so powerful that some refused to pick it themselves, and instead attached the plant to a rope wound around a dog’s neck, so that the dog would be party to the mandrake’s wrath when it was pulled from the earth, for the plant screamed when it was taken, its roots torn from the comfort of the soil in which it grew. Rebecca admitted she had cast a spell on her husband years earlier. She had bound him to her, bewitching him with the Tenth Love Potion, a spell far too dangerous for common use.
Wrap a red candle on which his name and yours is written on red paper, soak in dove’s blood and burn through the night. Saying the words:
Love conquers all, so it must be. Let him burn with love for me.
My lover’s heart will feel this pin, and his devotion I will win.
There’ll be no way for him to rest or sleep, until he comes to me to speak.
Only when he loves me best, will he find peace and with peace rest.
The incantation must be recited while stabbing a dove’s heart with seven pins on the seventh day of the week. For the use of the Tenth, an enchantment too strong for the usual manner of dissolving spells, Rebecca had paid a steep price. She could not undo the magic she had called onto herself, though she had tried for more than ten years. To change what she had wrought, Rebecca needed help from another woman, one who was adept at magic and could reverse the spell entirely. Hannah was that person, a master at the Nameless Art. After she made the charm, she wrote Rebecca’s name and her bewitched husband’s name on a white candle coated with myrrh oil. She then had Rebecca say: “I burn this candle as a token of the spell that binds our love. Let this magic now be broken by the gods above.”
Hannah wrapped the candle in white cloth, for pure intentions must be cloaked in pure fabric, then she brought her visitor to the nearby pond, where she flung the candle as far as it could go. Maria stood behind Hannah and Rebecca as they watched it sink. They could all feel the spell breaking apart, as if dust were sifting down from the sky. For one wild moment, all three danced in a ring, forgetting the many trials of this world. Rebecca then insisted she must wash the mud and bloodstains from her clothes. She did so, and then set them to dry on the twiggy branches of the low-growing shrubbery. Rebecca wore several amulets and charms, acorns and agate strung on red thread and a brass circle onto which a pentacle had been etched. On both her wrists she wore spells that had been knotted and woven into bracelets for protection. It was summer and so hot the birds remained in the shadows.
Careful, the sparrows told Maria, warning her not to go near. Cadin took one look at Rebecca and flew away, making certain to keep his distance, but Maria was entranced by the stranger who was so alluring. Hannah gave their visitor a bar of black soap, and Rebecca walked to the shore, past the reeds, into the cool green water. She was still wearing her undergarments embroidered with blue thread, but they could see enough of her to spy that behind one knee there was a red mark in the shape of a crescent. Maria stepped closer. She, herself, had the mark of a star on her arm.
Hannah always had Maria wash with water from a bucket, never from the pond, but now Maria longed to take off her clothes and bathe. Hannah grabbed her by the arm and said, “No, you mustn’t. Water reveals who you are.”
Maria had never been allowed to go near the pond, but now she felt the call of the cool water. She noticed that every time Rebecca attempted to dive under the surface it was no use. Again and again she sprung back up and clearly was too buoyant to dive or swim beneath the currents. She gave up, washed with the black soap, then floated back to the shore. She drifted like a lily pad, with no effort, a spoiled, beautiful flower.
“What’s wrong with her?” Maria asked.
“Her kind can’t be drowned. She’s a bloodline witch. Whether it’s wrong or right is not for us to say. She has magic in her.”
Maria thought this over as she watched the woman dress, for her clothes had already dried in the sunlight. The black soap had caused her to appear even younger and more beautiful. But witch or not, she was still covered in bruises. She should have come earlier if she’d wanted a cure for her husband’s love, as so many women before her had done, but perhaps she’d been prevented from running away. Runaways were dangerous. They brought trouble on their heels. Maria could smell it brewing. It smelled like blood and fire.
“I’ll be gone soon enough,” the lady Rebecca assured them as they walked back to the cottage. Her silk petticoat rustled, and she was lovely to look at. She’d brought death with her, as the enchanted often do,
yet she was so captivating that Maria found herself charmed by her all over again. When Rebecca rested her hand on the girl’s head, she noticed the hairpin. “Look!” She bent down so that Maria could see the back of her head. “I have one like it. I used to have another, but I was a fool and lost it to a black bird that was upon me before I could be rid of him.”
Maria bit her lip. Surely this was the work of Cadin’s thievery. “You can have this one,” she was quick to say. “Then you’ll have two again.”
“I’m grateful, but it gives me pleasure to see you wear it. Let us vow to wear them every day.”
* * *
Later, as Hannah was fixing supper, Maria came to help her. They had eggs from their hen, and mushrooms from the woods. Hannah did not eat beef or lamb, and they would have a vegetable soup for their dinner served directly from the cast iron pot. Maria was too curious to stop herself from asking, “Why did she come here? If she has her own magic, why doesn’t she use it?”
“Working magic for yourself is tricky. It should be something you use to help others. If you use it for yourself, it can backfire and bring you untold troubles. As you may be able to tell, our visitor is not exactly selfless. She set an unbreakable spell and now regrets what she did. Let that be a lesson to you.” Hannah knew exactly who this woman was. She had seen a spool of blue thread in the satchel the lady carried, and a pile of tarnished silver coins. “It’s likely she’s come for more than a spell.”
Maria furrowed her brow, confused.
“Just because you lose something doesn’t mean you don’t want to see how it’s turned out,” Hannah told the girl.
“And has she?” Maria asked.
“She’s seen how right you turned out, hasn’t she?”
That was when Maria knew. The stranger was her mother.
Hannah glanced at the girl’s shining face. It was never a good idea to place one’s faith in someone who was by her very nature undependable. Rebecca’s presence meant there was trouble ahead. There was a reason she hadn’t come to see her child before now. She’d had other things on her mind. Love for some people was like that, easy to slip on and off.
“I don’t think she’ll be here much longer,” Hannah assured Maria. “Now that she’s seen what she’s come to see she’ll be gone by morning. And don’t expect her to say good-bye.”
* * *
When Maria returned to the pond to wash the supper dishes, she crouched down and dipped her fingers in the silky water. She was usually a well-behaved girl, but now she hastily stripped off her clothes, leaving her shift, her skirt, and her smock on the ground. She felt the prick of a strange sort of freedom as she stood there in the damp evening air, doing as she pleased. Maria had never before questioned her situation. She was Hannah Owens’ girl. But perhaps she was something more. She stalked through the reeds, quickly, before she had time to lose her nerve. Frogs splashed away from her and small fish darted into the depths. When she was knee-deep, she threw herself in. She floated perfectly without effort or skill, exactly as Rebecca had. Curious, she climbed onto a rock. She closed her eyes and leapt, her heart pounding, wondering if she would sink to the mucky depths. Instead, Maria landed so hard on the surface of the water that it took her breath away. Try as she might, she couldn’t sink. When she staggered onto the shore, Maria shivered as she pulled on her clothing, not because of the night air, but because her situation had become quite clear to her. She could not be drowned.
* * *
Rebecca left while they were sleeping, just as Hannah had predicted she would. Twice she had managed to come to this place. Once when her daughter was born, when she ran off through the snow, and now again when she wanted to see how the girl had grown. She was not the sort of woman to say farewell.
Hannah and Maria awoke when they heard the door close behind her, and as it did, the future became the present and the present became the past. The witch had only stayed a night, but one night was all it took for her husband to find her. This wasn’t love. Maria knew that without anyone telling her. It was ownership and revenge. They could hear horses in Devotion Field, and the barking of hounds, all of which gave Hannah time enough to pack what mattered most in a leather satchel. Cheese and bread, a change of clothes, Maria’s Grimoire, a sprig of juniper for protection, a spool of blue thread, packets of herbs, the makings for Courage Tea, the painted black hand mirror, along with the fine wool baby blanket that had been in Maria’s basket when loving hands abandoned her.
Hannah took Maria as far as the pond. They had hustled so quickly that they were soon out of breath. The sky was clear; a perfect day. Hannah had vowed never to leave her home, but the girl had her future ahead of her. She was told to run until the forest ended, then to keep on through the fens until she reached the sea. This wasn’t a country for someone with her bloodline. She’d do better in a new world, one where a woman wasn’t considered worthless.
“But where will you be?” Maria begged to know.
“I’ll be here where I belong. They couldn’t drag me back to the world I used to know.” Hannah shoved her own Grimoire into the girl’s hands. No one gave up such a treasure unless her own end was near. “Burn this as soon as you can. And whatever you do, don’t come back here.”
For Revenge
A wax figure cast into fire can cause damage or death.
A curse thrown to bind a man to the place where he stood.
Nightshade, wolfsbane, foxglove, yew, fire.
The bones of a bird baked into a pie of thorns.
When Rebecca’s husband arrived, the deathwatch beetle came out of the wall and sat on the threshold of the cottage. Its appearance came as no surprise to Hannah, who had known all along that her time was near. There were ten men in all, half of them his brothers, worked up into a fury of rage. They immediately took Hannah for a witch and tied her to her front door. They nailed her shadow to the ground so she couldn’t escape. These men knew a cunning woman when they saw one. Give her a chance and she’d poison you or seek to do you harm. She might look old, she might walk with difficulty, but even more than most women she was not to be trusted.
When questioned about the red-haired lady, Hannah simply said, “She’s gone home. If you think you want her, you’ll regret it.”
Rebecca’s husband told his brothers to leave Hannah where she was as they burned down her house. What was the life of one old woman worth? Nothing to these men. They thought she couldn’t fight back, but she could. Sparks flew everywhere, and in no time the apothecary garden beside the house caught fire, including the plants in the poison garden that Maria had learned not to pluck from the earth. Yarrow and black nightshade, wolfsbane with its purple hooded flowers, foxglove that could slow a heart, yew, lords and ladies laden with poisonous berries, all went up aflame, their dark fumes breathed in by the very men cheering on the blaze. The husband of the red-haired lady, a man named Thomas Lockland, had come closest, so he might shoot an arrow through the witch’s heart, and because of this the poison affected him more than the others, leaving him unable to speak or move or see. Smoke soon caught in his men’s chests; they began to cough and retch, then were beset by dizzy spells. They did their best to run for their lives, but in the end they all lay sick in Devotion Field. Though none ever truly recovered, not a single one died on that day, for what you gave to the world would come back to you threefold, and what Hannah was most proud to give to the world was a ten-year-old girl who had more knowledge than most grown men, and more courage, as well.
Maria had not done as she was told. It was a lesson she’d learned from Hannah. Do what you know is right. She watched from a hillside and wept as the house burned. When it was over, and the men had gone, she went back to add Hannah’s Grimoire to the fire. The smoke was green as it arose in spirals into the canopy of trees. It was a lifetime of knowledge given back to the world from which it had come. Maria saw a glimmer in the grass, the brass bell that had been attached to Hannah’s door. She took it with her so that she would always re
member to keep her door open to those in need.
By evening, Maria had reached the fens, where the land was so marshy and wet the hem of her skirt was sodden and her leather shoes were soaked through, for she was ankle-deep in mud. She carried the satchel Hannah had packed held high over her head to keep it dry as she followed the path of the crow, westward. She wept to think of Hannah and her tears turned hot and burned her cheeks when she thought of Rebecca, who had caused the end of one fate and the start of another.
She was so close to the sea that when Maria licked her lips she tasted salt. There were different kinds of birds here, gulls and terns that wheeled through the pink-tinged sky. Soon the water she walked through was brackish, and all along the shore small crabs burrowed in the mud. Maria climbed a tree in which to safely rest for the evening, and from that high vantage point she could see blue in the distance, the miraculous sea. There was her future before her.
She already knew that the past was over and done.
Magic Lessons Page 3
