Beguiling
Crone
The cat had furnished Nick
with the witch's address. He parked a
block away and walked to her residence, trying to affect the air of one taking
a casual, leisurely stroll.
Nick had hoped to
at least possess the element of surprise, but as he approached the front yard
of the residence, the woman standing next to a rose bush in the front garden
turned instinctively, looking him directly in the face, her lips turning up in
a gentle, slightly bemused smile.
She was not what Nick had
expected. Although obviously elderly, she was far from frail. Her appearance was that of a hearty, good
humored woman with ruddy cheeks and an ample bossom. What's more, she seemed to glow with a
natural energy, and something about her appearance was singularly strong and earthy. In fact, she looked as if her limbs had actually
sprung from the soil beneath her, and her hair was a tangle of intertwining
strands that formed an unkempt halo that blossomed wildly around her face. She looked as though the rose bush she was
tending might actually be her cousin.
To
Nick, it seemed as if this woman might have been sculpted directly from the
primordial substance from which the rest of mankind had only descended --
sculpted by some divine hand that, if not all knowing, at least possessed artistic
flair and the capacity for great forethought.
"I've been
expecting you, dear." her voice was low and deep, but not marred by
age. It reminded him of rustling leaves.
"I..."
Nick stammered, taken by surprise.
" I
understand you are in a bit of a quandary.
I'm sorry, what is your name, love?"
"Nick...
Nicholas."
"A pleasure
to meet you, Nicholas. I'm Deirdre. I suspect we have a lot to discuss. But let's do so more comfortably, shall
we? Do come in, dear. I'll make you some tea."
Wordlessly, Nick
followed her into the house. As he
passed through her screened front porch, he noticed a large loom tucked in the
corner.
Deirdre ushered
him into her living room. It was a room
that looked lived in -- the furniture worn, though not shabby. She urged Nick to make himself comfortable on
the sofa and trotted off to prepare their tea.
As
he observed her fussing over the tea tray in the adjoining kitchen, it struck
Nick that Deirdre embodied all womankind -- a maiden peeking through in her coy
smile while a mother's kind eyes gazed tenderly out from the wrinkled face of a
wise old woman. Yes, she was all women,
and Nick found himself inexplicably mesmerized... and more than a little
overwhelmed.
Perhaps
he was under her spell? Was she some
sort of siren? In her presence, he felt
almost a wee bit tipsy, his vision ever so slightly off-kilter, tilted at an almost
imperceptible angle. Perhaps she was
giving off powerful pheromones or some other intoxicant?
Deirdre
returned to the living room with a tray containing two cups and saucers, a
rather delicate looking china tea pot, cream, sugar, and a plate of tea
biscuits. She set the tray gingerly upon
the coffee table.
"Cream
and sugar?" she asked, beginning to pour.
"Really,
I'm fine." Nick said, trying to gently decline her hospitality. He was nervous about drinking anything she
had prepared.
Deirdre
frowned. "Why so wary, dear?"
She
was too perceptive to try to fool, so Nick took a deep breath and proceeded
with honesty. "It's true, I am a
bit wary of you, Ma'am. You see, I know
you can control people's actions."
"Oh,
my, no!" Deirdre clucked. "You
make witches sound so sinister. We are a
good hearted lot, I assure you." she said with a chuckle. "And we would certainly do nothing so
obvious and vulgar as control anyone...
we simply offer gentle suggestions.
Think of it as merely a psychic nudge in a desired direction. Purely benevolent, you see. If someone needs a little help getting going,
we provide the needed push."
She had kind eyes that twinkled and seemed
to have endless depth. There was a hint
of mischievousness glimmer in them, it was true, but it was playful and didn't
seem at all malicious. Nick decided that
he liked her. He couldn't help it.
"You
came here because you have a problem, did you not, Nicholas?" she asked.
Nick nodded.
"But you
seem to have some misconceptions about witchcraft. Let me put your mind at ease a little, dear,
and then we'll get to your problem."
She paused to
pour herself some tea and savor a sip.
"There
are many types of witches, young man, and the vast majority are benevolent. The world would be in far worse shape than it
is if it weren't for the guiding hands of witches. But, while technically a witch, I'm not a
typical one. I perform a specialized
task; few women throughout history have chronicled the lives of mankind. In Greek mythology, these women were known as
the Fates. They have also been known by
many other names over the course of history.
But their nature has always been fundamentally misunderstood."
Nick waited
for her to continue.
"Such
women have been credited with writing men's fates." she said, shaking her
head sadly. "But our involvement has
never been active; it is a passive role.
I do not write a man's destiny; I merely record it. I am a simple historian." she said,
turning her palms turned up in a gesture of openness.
"So that
loom you have..." Nick gestured in its direction.
"Yes,
my life's work. I weave the thread, but
each tapestry is merely a history. I do
not create the events; I merely record them."
Nick
nodded.
"So,
your problem then?" she coaxed him with a gentle smile.
"Ah,
yes. There is a sort of shadow
disease." he began. There was no
easy way to explain this. "It is
bleeding over from the realm of the collective unconscious and infecting
people. Eventually, they are overwhelmed
by shadow and disappear from our world, apparently absorbed into the shadow
realm..."
"I
am aware of the growing rift between our worlds." Deirdre said
thoughtfully. "And I am also aware
of your role. You have been using sets
of universal symbols to help contain the ruptures, have you not?"
"Yes."
Nick responded. "But that won't
stop this infection."
The
old woman nodded.
"The cat said
that symbols will not work because of your involvement." Nick said.
"No, symbols
will not work, but that has nothing to do with me. I did not create this distorted fate."
she said.
"But do you
know how to stop it?"
"To intervene
in a person's fate is a serious crime.
But I don't think that is of real concern to someone with your
nature." she said with a smirk.
Nick dismissed the
reference to his nature. There were more
pressing matters than his damnation right now.
"Besides,
these fates are a result of underlying sickness in the tapestry of life."
Deirdre continued. "The pattern is
unnatural -- altered by disease. I
cannot interfere myself, but I don't object to you doing so."
"You will
recognize the afflicted by the pictures on their skin. No mortal can cross over without these glyphs
of transportation. That is why your symbols can have no effect. Their own organic ciphers act as a
shield."
"Why did the
cat blame you then?" Nick wondered aloud.
"Damned cat
can't admit that there are things he doesn't know." the old woman
grumbled. "Snarky psychoid."
she muttered.
Shaking her head,
she continued, "But the infection can still be purged. When you encounter one of the afflicted,
induce vomiting. I will give you a
conduit -- the afflicted are tainted by shadows; they must purge until their
liquids run clear."
She placed a leathery
hand atop his own, patting it reassuringly.
Looking into her face,
Nick was suddenly struck with the beauty of age. Living in a culture that valued youth, he had
automatically dismissed aging as undesirable all his life -- an unfortunate
side effect of growing older. But now he
saw with sudden clarity that each line was like a medal life had bestowed. With every wrinkle, there was wisdom. An aged face was like a palm; the lines could
be read if only the person looking was correctly versed for the task.
The crone was beautiful
in her quiet, faded way -- in the same way a flower is still beautiful when its
blossom is waning. It was not the
arrogant beauty of youth, but a humble beauty -- deepened by experience, replete with the
soft, lingering sadness that comes with wisdom.
The kind lines around
her eyes bunched as she smiled, and Nick was in a strange sort of reverential
love. A love for her kindness, wisdom,
and understanding. After he left, he
would have to banish this epiphany from his mind in order to go back to a
valuing the empty robustness of youthful beauty.
"Thank
you." Nick said.
She nodded,
patting his hand once again. "Purging
will cure individual cases. But, in
order to put an end to the phenomenon, I'm afraid you'll need to do something
far more dangerous."
Nick nodded but said
nothing. He knew that the big final
showdown that everyone kept alluding to was probably his alone to face.
"Just a
moment." Deirdre said, rising and excusing herself.
Nick stared blankly at
his undrunk cup of tea.
The
old woman soon returned with a bottle of what Nick presumed was an herbal
concoction that would cause the afflicted to purge the shadows from their
bodies. But as he took the it from her,
he saw that it was just ipecac. He gave
her a confused look.
"What,
did you expect some 'eye of newt' mumbojumbo?" she laughed. "Why would I spend all day brewing up an
elixir when something over the counter works at least as well?"
