A Girl Between

by Marjorie Weismantel

  Belinda started to ask another question but I stopped her. I grabbed her arm and held tight. “They have come to get us. They push us through the heavy door to a beautiful day. My eyes close as the sunshine pains them. I view the crowd of men who are eerily quiet. After all, I am the last woman. Is this what they desire? I have a past memory of their booing and jeering at these burnings. I notice that some cannot bring themselves to look me in the eye. Do they see how their godless ways have mocked them? I reach the woodpile high above my head. They jab at my back so I struggle up the ladder and climb onto the platform. Oh, no!”

  “What is it Gysel?”

  “It is Bruna, my cat. They said she was my familiar so she would also burn. They tied her to my stake. At least they broke her neck so she will feel no pain.”

  “Gysel, you do not have to . . . . ,” Belinda beseeches me.

  “NO,” I scream. “I must know about this!”

  I breathe in, breathe out, before continuing, “My bare feet scrape on the wood. The executioner pushes me against the pole and roughly pulls my hands behind it. He ties them back and wraps the rope around my waist and my ankles. I look up to get one last look at my world. I see the archbishop staring at me in his glorious rapture. I see one of the courtroom judges next to him. That man has been silent but complicit. Something about him is very disturbing. The fire is lit. I see smoke swirl by me and I feel heat on my bare feet. I breathe in the smoke as hard as I can. As it thickens, I open my eyes one more time and see the judge still staring. My eyes stinging, feet burning, and those eyes, those eyes gleaming through the smoke . . . . Oh, my, God, I KNOW those eyes! I SEE him. I see in his soul. I know who he is!”

  Belinda shouted, “Tessie! It is time to go back again as we discussed. You are done with this life. You must go back to the light and The Between, then you must go through the darkness and to the light.”

  The darkness descends upon me like a thick curtain, and then it transports me to the divine beauty of The Between. I want to stay there after the fire but, no. Here comes the short time of the warm darkness. Then, the icy cold of the new light.

  50. The First Apocalypse

  I smelled the sweet breezes of wet spring. I opened my inner sight to the surroundings, damp woods and clusters of ragged people. We were together, shivering in the forest.

  “What do you see?” asked Belinda through the sound tunnel.

  “I am in a forest and for once I am surrounded by my own kind,” I answered softly.

  She responded, “What do you mean by ‘own kind’?”

  “They are witches like me,” I whispered. "I can feel it. They wear their magic like a bitter shroud. It has been weakened by their anguish. They need their magic to be strengthened.”

  Belinda leaned in. “Why are they with you?”

  “They have traveled far and wide to get here. I am known as Colette and I live in the Frankish village of Rodemack. They are from the countries of the continent and England. They are seeking their salvation, along with their revenge.” My eyes gleamed at that.

  “Why would they seek revenge?”

  “We are living in very grave times. The year is 1320. We have just been through the Great Famine. There were two years of no summers, just eternal rain and damp. It was a bitter, cold winter and there was snow on the crops. We were unable to cure the hay so the animals could not feed. We could not even dry the salt.”

  “That sounds terrible, but I still do not understand the part about revenge,” Belinda persisted.

  How could she not understand? “After a time, all of the draft animals were eaten and then the planting seeds rotted. In order to survive, the villagers had to dig for roots and scrape the bark, and at that they still died of starvation by the thousands. Some people even left their little ones to die. When humans face such terrible calamities, they always blame the others.”

  Belinda asked in a quiet tone, “Is that what they did, they blamed the good ones, the luminars?”

  “Yes,” I answered, “and of course it was led by the devil witches, the diaboles.”

  Suddenly, I felt a sharp crack. It was as if the cord that tied me to my 21st century reality snapped. I look around me. All that I see and hear is my life in this 14th century. The ragtag witches stare at me, as if waiting for me to speak to them, and so that is what I do. I find that the words flow naturally off my tongue. As I speak to them, I feel an overwhelming passion well up in me.

  “It is your lords and masters,” I cry to them. “They are the greedy ones, the ones who continue to tax you and take what little you have. They have even stolen the last morsel of food from the mouths of your babes. THEN, to deflect from their gluttony, they blame us and they incite the commoners. The priests in their holy pulpits accuse us of all sorts of devilry. They say we are the cause of the great tempests, that we inflict injury on the work animals, and that we bring the pestilence to our neighbor’s fields. They even accuse us of blocking the sun, as if we could do such a thing.” I stare at them as I speak. Their hoods are concealing their eyes, but I know they are listening to me by their stillness and the tilt of their heads.

  I pause and the crowd begins a whispering murmur. A green-robed man next to me steps forward and raises his hand for silence. A hush goes over the crowd and he speaks. “You know the truth of what she says. The diaboles are determined to destroy us and our kind. It is easy to target us for we are the luminars. We are the ones who spend our days trying to rid the fields of the harvest rot and the children of the hunger diseases. We are always near the death and destruction. We do not hide away in our manors or sanctuaries as they do.”

  “Why did you have us come to this place?” questions a stooped old crone in the front.

  I lift my chin and regard her. “We must stop them, before it is too late! Since this terrible famine, many of our kind have been dragged before the village lords or judges, recipients of false accusations. The accused would then be questioned and tortured before the very folk they tried to help. As convicted witches, they are then tied to the stake and burned completely to ash.” I pause, than quietly add, “The commoners have been convinced of a grave falsehood, that erasing all evidence of our being will rid the world of its sorrow. That is a deception that they will surely regret.”

  A short man from the back speaks up, pointing his finger for emphasis, “I live in Friesland. The witches are not being persecuted there as such. The famine has been bad, but they have only summoned the witches to the big house and spoke to them. So far, no one has been hurt. My master has been good and he will leave us be. I declare that to be the truth.”

  “Tis easy for ‘ye to say such things.” A tall woman with a faded red cloak and a sallow-skinned child by her side stepped on a log to be heard. She glanced around furtively before she continued. “I am from the Gaelic country. At the begin’ of the starvation, it wa’ like ye say.” She nodded toward the short man. “The laird called each o’ the witches, un by un and he had words with us. Thought tad be the end of it we did, but t’was not. The time of hunger woudn’a go away so the laird and his son went agin us. T’was not as we thought it’ would be. I was off’n the field with our lassie when they came and took my ma and my da.” She sobbed for a moment, clutching the girl to her side, but her voice was clear as day, her flashing eyes defiant, “They were accused of the witchery they were, and whipped and burned, all the same dae. I could thee hear screams and smell the foul odor of the smoke as I ran. I ben wandrin with our poor lass, Kellie ever since.”

  The red cloaked woman stepped down and all were silent. I searched for the right words to say but I could think of nothing.

  The green-robed man next to me finally started to talk in a low but steady voice. “We all know what is happening throughout the continent and in the English lands. The diaboles are using the human suffering of this famine to rid the world of the luminars. After all, if the world is rid of good witches, the power of the bad ones will be unending.

  The stooped crone s
poke again, impatience in her tone, “So, tell us what you want of us.”

  “We will simply do the deeds they accuse us of,” I say quietly with raised eyebrows, waiting for their reaction.

  “And what deeds would that be, dearie?” the crone waved her staff at me.

  “They accuse us of evil deeds even though they know we are not guilty of such things. So, why not let them truly suffer the consequences of their deception? We will contrive an illness upon their families, we will raise tempests upon their farms, we will divine spells to cause distrust among their households, we will make their animals lame and we will bring ruination upon their fields.”

  A shout from the crowd, “And where are we to carry out these acts?”

  The green-robed man touched my arm before he answered for me, “Henceforth, ye shall go to your place of origin and commit these crimes against your lords and masters. You will have some time because they know this is not of your true nature, so they will not suspect you, at least for a while. There will be a time when they determine the cause. You must be very careful when that time comes. However, remember that not all lords and priests are diaboles. Some of them are of a decent sort. Be careful only to target the evil ones. It is not our way to go after the innocent.”

  “We feel such danger around us now. Why must we add to our troubles?” the voice of a boy choked out.

  “This is what must be!” I angrily directed at them. “I know it is hard for good ones to engage in such destructive acts. But, we either do this, or we wait for our demise at their hands. There is no choice in the matter.”

  At that I waited. The witches had been through enough. This war of witches would bring them more pain and death. They were hoping for peace. The witches were again murmuring among themselves. After a time I sensed something from the crowd. I knew they were turning my way.

  The old crone finally spoke up. “We will do your biding, girl. Don’t know if it’ll work but nothin’ else comes to mind. Tis better to die fighting, than be led like a blind man to the burning pyre.” I could hear some muttering in the crowd but most of them were nodding their assent.

  As the witches were gathering their belongings to begin their journeys, back I went among them to converse and inquire as to where each was from. I was pleased to learn that they came from all over the continent and the English lands: Scotland, England, Bavaria, Friesland, Castile, Denmark, Hungary, and many more states. When they go back to their homelands and carry out the plan, the destruction to the diaboles will be unforeseen, wide spread, and devastating.

  Out of respect to me, the witches pulled down their hoods as we met. I was taken by surprise at many of the meetings for it was revealed to me that I knew a number of them. Strangely, they did not respond in return. How could that be explained? Most of them were from afar. When could we have possibly met?

  Most shocking of all, however, was the green-hooded man. When I first heard him speak at my side, I sensed a connection with him even though his voice was not familiar. When he finally pulled off his hood and looked into my eyes, I felt a peculiar warmth spring from my heart. I knew instantly upon gazing at his face that he had once been my father.

  What was strange about that was that I had watched my own father die many years before of the falling sickness. This man did not even look like my father. No, this man was not my father from this lifetime. He had been my father in some other lifetime. I was sure of it.

  51. Personal Vengeance

  Suddenly, I felt a shaking sensation, almost as if we were experiencing an earthquake. What’s the matter with the others? Don’t they feel it? The witches were talking and gathering their belongings as if nothing was happening. I fell to my knees to try to slow down the sensation of movement. It was making me dizzy.

  A tiny voice in my head: “Tess, Tess, do you hear us? Please, you must come back.” I could feel something grasping my shoulder.

  A voice I’ve heard before, but so faint: “Mom, her eyes look different. Start the count back. I think she’s starting to hear us.”

  It was now louder and insistent: “Tess, I am going to count down from ten to one. By the time I reach one, you will return to the present. Ten, nine, eight, seven…………one.”

  My inner sight faded away to a tiny black pinpoint. I felt around and opened my eyes. I’ve been here before. Why was I here?

  I turned to the right and saw her staring at me, obvious concern on her face. On my left was the older one, outwardly calm, but I could see a twitch in the corner of her eye.

  “Are you alright, dear? You looked dazed. Remember me? I’m Belinda.”

  “And you know me, I’m Mercy, your best friend. Are you doing OK?”

  “Yes, yes. Give me a moment,” I said, holding my head in my hands. I could feel a headache coming on. “Moving between centuries, it makes you lose your bearings.”

  “Why didn’t you want to come back to us, Tess?” asked Belinda softly.

  “Because it was so terrible for the witches there. They were pitiful, starving, devoid of hope. Somehow I felt responsible for them and I did not want to leave.”

  Belinda smiled. “I’ve heard of this happening, but I’ve never seen it. Sometimes people are regressed to a past life and they don’t want to come back so they try to stay. It can be very dangerous. People have been known to…..well, never mind. ” She took my hand. “I’m just glad you returned to us, Tessie.”

  I gazed back at her. “I saw what happened. I witnessed the beginning of the Karmic Apocalypse of the Wiccans.”

  “We had an idea you did. We could hear you speaking to the witches about a plan to nail the diaboles on their own territory,” Mercy remarked.

  “Do you know how things turned out, Tess?” Belinda inquired.

  “The luminars all went back to their homes and followed the plan. We only targeted the diaboles and it went as you would expect. The evil ones suffered great hardship for a few years: failed crops, poor health, family troubles, and general bad luck. It resulted in a time of some hardship, because when the lord and masters suffer misfortune, everyone is affected. However, for a while, it was also a time of peace because the diaboles were busy trying to fix all of their misfortunes. They even stooped to seeking out the luminars for help. We would not help them, though. We just pretended to help.”

  “Why would they ask you for help? After all, they were witches. Didn’t they have any powers?” Mercy asked.

  “One power the diaboles completely lost was the power to heal, primarily, because of disuse. If they needed a healer they had to call a doctor, or a luminar and the doctors weren’t very good during those times,” I explained.

  “What did you do when you went back to your lord and master? Did he deserve retribution? Did you torment him and his household?” Mercy asked with a little smile.

  I nodded and explained, “In my village there were two evil ones who tormented everyone within their reach, including the commoners. One was Lord De Mornay and the other was the Bishop of Reims. The Bishop was just your everyday witch-hater. But Lord De Morney was especially heinous. He went after the so called ‘child witches’. We knew he just had a thing for children. He enjoyed abusing and torturing them. The threat of arresting a child was also a very effective way of controlling their parents.”

  “So, what did you do to them?” asked Belinda.

  “My mama, who was also a witch, was determined to make Lord De Mornay pay. You see, he had taken my baby brother, Renaud, the year before. It was terrible. We had loved him so. Mama and I had lost all our fear after that tragedy. In fact, I would say Renaud’s death was one of the reasons I decided to call together the witches to plan The Karmic Apocalypse.”

  Mercy cried, “What a horrible man! How’d you make him pay?”

  With a deep sigh I explained, “We decided to inflict him with as much pain and suffering as possible. Most importantly, we did it very quickly and we hit him hard. That way, he was completely overcome by the shock of it all. He had to spend a
great deal of his time trying to manage the calamities that fell upon his household.”

  “What did you do to him to bring him to his knees?” Mercy asked with a note of thrill in her voice.

  “I had access to their household on occasion because they called me to treat disease and illness. I turned to Belinda and added, “I learned that I had a talent, curing maladies by ‘the laying of the hands’.

  Belinda looked startled. “Really? Can you explain it?”

  “Actually, I believe that I still have that talent. It is a kind of healing through warmth and displacement. My healing methods were not always successful, but I was much better than the doctors. They were terrible in those days.”

  Belinda asked with obvious curiosity, “What would happen? What would you do?”

  “I would place my hands on a person’s diseased parts and think about my hands and how they were warm, but also how they could act as a vessel. I would think about pulling the disease out of their body and into my hands and my body.”

  Mercy gasped, “You would suck the disease into your body? Wouldn’t it make you sick?”

  I nodded in agreement. “Temporarily, yes. If I was able to pull a sickness out of someone’s body, I could be very tired and sick for a quite a while. Under most circumstances, I knew that eventually I’d rid myself of the disease for my body was not aligned for the growth of that disease at that time. It was always a risky procedure because I didn’t know when I might acquire an illness that would stay with me.”

  Belinda appeared puzzled as she asked, “Why do you still think you have the healing power of ‘the laying of the hands’?”

  “Because I have cured people before. Twice that I know of.” I looked between Belinda and Mercy as I continued, “When I was a girl of about seven, I was home with my mom. I knew she was pretty sick because she looked so bad. She was vomiting and she had a high fever and chills, the whole bit. She stayed in her bed and could hardly talk or do anything. I was running around heating up soup and trying to make her better but it was frustrating. I felt terrible for her and really missed her company. Anyway, I laid my hands on her when she was sleeping and I wished that I could make her better. After a time I could feel something leave her body and go into mine. It felt weird, like ants crawling into my skin. I remember feeling awful right after that feeling of the crawling ants hit my stomach. My mom was the opposite. She woke right up and got out of bed and then she put me right to bed. I was so sick for about a week with some kind of flu. My mom figured that I simply caught it from her, but deep down I knew it was more than that. I knew that I took it from her.”