Forest of Whispers

by Jennifer Murgia

  We come to a stop and I am lost. This part of the forest looks foreign to me, though I am sure I would recognize it in the daylight. We stand in a small clearing; from where my feet are, it looks to be a complete circle swept clean of all woodland debris and underbrush.

  “Where are we?” I ask.

  “Some say this is the oldest part of the forest,” Matilde says proudly, looking around. The wind makes the branches dance between the slices of moonlight, and she protects the small flame with her cupped hand. “Now take this for me and hold it tight.”

  She hands me the candle and pulls four more wax stubs from her apron pocket. One after another, they are lit and placed upon the ground. Framing the edge of our strange circle, their flames flicker to and fro, while the fifth sits at the center, shining enough light so that I can see. It’s small and tight, and I am not sure where to place myself within it. I hold my skirt close to me so I don’t accidently knock into the tiny fires and set myself ablaze. That chills me and brings a disturbing feeling to the edge of my senses.

  For the first time in my life I am afraid of where I am. This place is my home. The boughs of green have always been comforting walls, but tonight I feel they are arms that stretch not only too far, but too close, and I am penned in. I used to think that living in the woods gave me an advantage over a girl my own age who might have grown up in the village. I’ve had room to roam, freedom. Tonight, I’m not so sure. Is it possible for a person’s world to shrink before their eyes? To feel what was once comforting transform and become unrecognizable? The forest normally teems with life at this time of night. Wolves roam, owls hoot, mice scurry, but like earlier at the stream, all is dreadfully silent, as if the forest waits for something.

  The knife Matilde used to cut my hand is now in the open air, circling high above her. She points it toward the sky, and then over each flame. I’m worried that she will use it on me again, so I begin to back away.

  “You must stay within the circle, Rune,” she tells me. “Don’t step outside of it.”

  I will my feet to stay put, but the effort makes me sway.

  “This is the altar to the Sacred Mother. As long as you remain within the circle during the invocation, you will be safe.”

  “Safe?” I am struck with fear that I’ve been found out in the village, and that I will forever be labeled a liar, a thief, a murderous girl.

  “You are very special, Rune. Believe that.” Matilde’s hand coaxes my chin a little higher. I go to argue that point, but am stopped with a finger on my lips. “I know what happened today, Schätzchen. You don’t have to relive it by telling me. Know that I love you still, as if you were my very own.”

  My heart breaks at this. Even after what I’ve done today, she still loves me. There is a place for me in her heart that promises to keep me safe. I want to reciprocate; I owe it to her to tell her what the butcher said to me on my way home. I want to warn her that I’ve done more than con an old woman at the market. I’ve brought death to the butcher’s horse. I’ve brought death to an innocent woman and her child. I should take the blame for it, not her.

  In a flash, the small silver knife is pointing and circling at the night.

  “I call to the four corners of the earth and invoke the elements!” Matilde cries out. “Water, may you cleanse this girl of harm and wash away her fears. I invoke thee!”

  She turns and points the tip of the knife over the next flame. “Earth, may you give solid footing to this girl. May she make choices that provide her with stability and wisdom. I invoke thee!”

  Over the third flame, Matilde cries out, “Air, embrace this child and comfort her. Let harm blow away, and allow the power she must harness to stir within her. I invoke thee!”

  At the fourth flame, where I stand, Matilde turns to me, and holds the knife upward toward the dark and endless sky. She appears to not notice me, although I’m sure she is aware that I am standing right in front of her.

  “I call to Fire and ask that you give this girl, your servant, the power you possess. She will need you most of all. That by which her birth mother met her end, give her the flame of life to endure what is marked for her. Give her the power to fight fire with fire. I invoke thee!”

  Matilde steps around the center flame and faces me over it. The light between us flickers and illuminates our features. Where she is old and wise, I am young and naïve. I have no idea what she is doing or how she intends this to help me, but something inside feels right. There is a strength in me that was not present when I followed her here, and I hold my breath, waiting along with the rest of the forest.

  With one hand she takes mine and wraps it over hers. Together, we hold the blade aloft.

  “I invoke Spirit, the essence that is the Sacred Mother and the spirit that is Rune to join together. Keep this child steady. Never let her falter. Guide her, Mother. Keep her safe.”

  Matilde pulls her hand away, leaving mine the only one holding onto the hilt. I haven’t been properly trained. I’ve had to leave the cottage on several occasions so that I did not witness certain ceremonies and words, and now I’m in the middle of something that seems so incredibly significant. I’m suddenly terrified of my place in it.

  “Hold it steady, Rune.” She urges me to keep my elbows locked to support the blade.

  A warmth trembles through me from my fingertips to my shoulders. It spreads and warms its way down my back and chest, into my legs where it stretches out toward my feet, and then disappears.

  When my skin has grown cold and my arms are trembling from holding the knife high for so long, Matilde guides my arms to my sides. She bids thanks to the Mother, as well as to each element, then blows out each flame and pulls my hand to follow her as we step to the edge of the small clearing. My feet feel useless. All I want to do is go home where, hopefully, Matilde will read the runes. Then, I want to lie down and sleep in my warm bed. But we aren’t leaving the circle just yet, and I follow her around, and around, and around.

  She senses that I am spent, but does not release my hand. “Widdershins,” she says.

  I think I’ve heard her wrong, because it’s a word I don’t recognize anyone ever saying. At last we stop, and my legs ache at the sudden stillness.

  “Widdershins is when you walk against time to rid the circle of negative energy, before closing it.”

  “Oh,” I say. I am too tired to try and understand it, and force myself to give a little smile.

  Leaves and twigs crunch beneath our feet; the walk back to our cottage feels tremendously longer than the time it took venturing away.

  “How did you learn to do that? The circle, I mean.”

  “I didn’t know. I’ve heard of circles being drawn in the past, and the invoking of spirits. I’ve just never had the courage to try it until now. My guess is that it was you who allowed it.”

  “But I thought you were trained to do all this. Healing, circles, fortunes…didn’t your own mother train you?”

  Matilde chuckles a raspy chortle. “Oh goodness sakes, no, my grandmother was the one who taught me tricks to make money, to earn a little in order to survive. Folk remedies and intuition tend to skip a generation with peasant folk, with the exception of witches. Real witches. I’m no magick weaver like…”

  I stop her then. “Like who, Mutti?”

  She stares me in the eye and takes my hand. “Like you, Schätzchen. Like you.”

  I stare at her.

  “Tell me, what did you feel?”

  I know well what she is speaking of, but I don’t know how to describe it. “It was very hot. In fact, it burned in the beginning, but then it just sort of tingled, like tiny butterflies fluttering beneath my skin.”

  “Then it was the Fire that spoke to you,” Matilde says with a reflective smile. “I had a feeling it would be.”

  Fire. I’ve felt it before in dreams, only I was never too sure if they were dreams at all. They were more like memories.

  Her memories.

  My mother’s.
/>   “What did you mean when you said, ‘that by which her birth mother met her end?’”

  Matilde is quiet.

  “And you said something else too, about ‘fighting fire with fire?’” I ask. “And what do you mean, ‘witches?’” I cast a glance into the dark trees around us, sensing eyes upon us, still hearing the old stories and feeling them come to life beneath my skin.

  Matilde clucks her tongue against the roof of her mouth and wrings the hem of her dress. “Your mother’s name has been included in several stories that have been told…along with the terrible things she was accused of.”

  “But you never told me what those terrible things were, Mutti. Won’t you tell me now?” I pause quietly. “Especially since I’m just as terrible?”

  “You are not terrible,” she replies fiercely, and turns me around so that I am looking right at her. “You are nothing like her. There is no death tonight.”

  I’m speechless. Surely I am. Surely there is.

  Suddenly, I’m filled with an absolute need to tell Matilde what has happened, what will happen, because of me. On top of it all, I’m filled with the overwhelming need to learn about the woman who was my mother—her life, her death, and, most of all, why she left me behind as her world fell apart. What terrible things could she have possibly done?

  “Come, let the stones explain, child. But know that you are nothing like the woman who gave birth to you. You are far greater than she, in more ways than you will ever learn, and that is why you must be safe.”

  “Safe from what, Mutti?”

  With a heavy sigh, she tells me, “Safe from her.”

  There is lamp glow shining from within the window as we approach home. Matilde opens the door. I am trembling and wide awake. I am closer than ever to finding the answers. I must know. If I don’t, I will be in pieces. The stones call to me from the doorway, as if I am holding my open hand over them at this very moment. The stones know the truth. They know why I must be protected from a mother who is dead.

  They will tell Matilde, and she will tell me.

  Only now, I’m fearful to find out what I am.

  Chapter 10

  Rune

  “If you aren’t prepared for this, you must tell me. Once we begin, there is no way of stopping her.”

  I nod my head. I understand what Matilde is telling me, but there is no way I can say no. Not now. No matter how it scares me.

  “Rune, understand what I am saying.” Her voice is urgent as she leans across the table to me. There are thirteen stones on the table between us, all upturned. I’ve been doing all I can not to lower my eyes and look at them. I don’t know what they mean. I have no idea what they will say to her, or if she will be truthful in passing along their secrets. I hope she will. She’s never lied to me before, but I guess there’s always a first time for things. Like now, like piecing together who my mother was so I can understand who I am.

  “I understand,” I whisper, trying to sound strong. I am strong. I am.

  And that’s just it. Do I really understand? Do I understand the magnitude of what she is about to tell me?

  I lift my chin. I’m ready.

  Matilde takes a deep breath and steadies her hands against the wood. “We must begin at the beginning, then.” She starts as she does with all her readings, by taking a deep breath and gazing upon the stones, then closing her eyes. I know the stones are speaking to her. I wish she would skip ahead to the important part, like telling me what they say, telling me who I really am, because, quite frankly, I really don’t know. I know bits and pieces and fragments of what she’s chosen to tell me all these years, never the whole story.

  “Your blood chose the stones,” she finally shares out loud, making me quite aware this is very important, not a fortune teller’s trick. I’ve never witnessed her using someone’s blood before, and it’s disconcerting to see my own smeared across the top of each stone, marking a red streak over the black symbols.

  “Blood is the strongest medium for revealing the future. Even more so for revealing the past. It calls to the soul and reveals only what is deep within.”

  The windows are wide open to invite the soul of my mother, yet despite the crisp breeze, I am sweating. My finger hovers above the rune stone that depicts a woman. “Is this my mother?” I ask.

  She shushes me by placing a finger to her lips. “Rune, please, it must go in order.”

  I’m too anxious, though, and sitting still is a feat I cannot seem to master. I bite against the inside of my cheek in order to stop myself from speaking out again. No wonder I’ve never been included in secret readings, I have not the patience nor the ability to stay quiet or still. I’m not only a burden, but an annoyance.

  “There will be a war,” Matilde says at last, as she points to the first stone. “A war with many people, but it is a war with words and angry accusations.” She points to the stone just above it, and says, “There is no war greater than the one you will find within your heart, and I fear it will be a long and treacherous journey you will make to finally be at peace with your decisions.”

  She takes her time touching the stones, reading them to herself first, much like I knew she would. I begin to think she’s reluctant to tell me what they say. Her face changes through a multitude of expressions over the course of seconds, and I suspect there is something she is keeping to herself. I want to know what the Man stone means. I stare at it and cannot help thinking of the man at the hedge today—of Laurentz. A warm blush creeps beneath my cheeks, and I let my hair fall over my face to cover it, hoping she doesn’t notice.

  “You must watch your heart, Rune. Guard it closely,” she warns, and I smile to myself that my dear Matilde has not lost her touch. “Decisions you make with your heart have the power to destroy not only you, but others as well.”

  I listen to her sigh. It is impossible to tell if she is tired or if the stone reveals something that is troubling. She picks up the smooth pebble that represents Disordered Thoughts, rolls it between her fingers, and then sets it down. It’s a while before she speaks again, long enough that I pour water from the basin into the heavy kettle and set it over the flame. After I’ve busied myself long enough to not cause trouble, Matilde’s voice breaks the silence.

  “You must be wary of lies, Rune, lies strong enough to cause death. You will be the spark that sets these falsehoods ablaze.” She gives me a knowing look, and in it, I know she is referring to the element of Fire. I notice how she grips the table until her knuckles turn white, and soon after, a strong wind blows into the room, upsetting the herbs above our heads, causing them to sway wildly until dried bits fall and float to the table. It is Rosemary that falls, nothing else, and the tiny leaves scatter between the stones, sticking to the blood that is not quite dry.

  My very being bristles.

  Rosemary is for remembrance… comes the whisper.

  Matilde turns to me, her old eyes sharp and decisive. “She is here.”

  The wind whips throughout the room. Baskets overturn, linens rumple. Even the stones slide out of order across the table with the force that barges through the open windows. I try and help Matilde reach for the stones before they fall over the edge and onto the floor, but I’m too late. The fortune is ruined.

  Matilde stops suddenly and thrusts her hand upon her heart. “There is something she doesn’t wish you to know!”

  But the wind has become a symphony of whispers, and is so loud that I cannot hear anything else she says. It fills my ears with a murmur reminiscent of my dreams. I try to listen, but it becomes too painful for me to bear. I cover my ears with my hands and sit on the floor, waiting for it to stop, only there seems no end to it.

  I reach for Matilde’s hand, and for one glimmer of a second we are face to face, and she presses her worn hands to my cheeks.

  “You are stronger than she is, and she knows it. Don’t let her know you are scared.”

  But how can I not be scared? What mother returns from the dead for her child? How can
this not frighten me?

  “She wants something, Rune. Whatever she tells you, always be aware it can mean something else entirely,” says Matilde, as she covers her own ears with her hands against the noise that whirls around us.

  I lean closer to her, “What does she want?”

  Matilde shakes her head. Either she is saying she doesn’t know or she won’t tell me; I can’t be sure.

  The kettle’s lid rattles and the hook falls over against the inside of the fireplace. The cupboard from the far end of the room swings open and the door flies off, splintering as it crashes to the floor.

  Matilde’s face is a horrified mask when I peek through the laced fingers that cover my eyes. She crawls along the floor, making her way toward the few stones left on the table.

  “What are you doing?” I cry out to her, afraid she will get hurt, and I begin to crawl after her on my knees. She reaches for the tattered cloth, her gnarled fingers shaking and stretching.

  “Mutti! Leave it!”

  The little cottage begins to shake. My mother is angry.

  “I’m sorry!” I cry out to the wind. “She’s all you’ve given me!”

  Matilde stands, white as a sheet, her mouth open as her hair whips about her face. Before either of us can speak, the wind stops and everything flying through the air falls to the floor with a clatter. It is followed by a deafening silence that steals our breath.

  Somehow, the upturned stone that is Poison lies between us on the debris-scattered floor.

  “That is your mother, Schätzchen.” Matilde points to our feet. “She is the poison that threatens to destroy us all.”

  I open my hand, for there is something I have been holding, yet I do not remember what it is or how it has come to be in my grasp. I uncurl my fingers and suck in a deep breath seeing the single rune stone in my palm, its black-stabbed triangle smeared with my own blood. It is the symbol of Woman and I have no recollection of how it’s come to be in my hand.

  “Will you tell me now? Will you tell me who I am?” I ask, helping Matilde sink into the chair I’ve turned upright at the table’s edge.