Tales of Aradia The Last Witch Volume (8 page)

“Oh,” Aradia replied simply. After that, she was
careful to be as quiet as possible but Ross kept his pepper spray
handy.

They continued in this fashion for an hour, until
they’d mapped out the entirety of the village. The only building
left to explore was a huge stone structure, somewhat reminiscent of
medieval churches. Without addressing the matter directly, each had
decided to save this building for last.

Aradia was the first to approach the huge wooden
doors. The metal handles were heavy; it took her more-than-human
strength to pull just one of the doors open. Again she led the
way.

The structure was large, but not so cavernous as to
feel oppressive. No, rather, it was a cozy place, large enough to
comfortably fit perhaps a few hundred, but small enough that a
group of just twenty or thirty would feel perfectly welcome. It was
decorated in all kinds of unusual symbols. The roof appeared to be
solid silver. At the roof’s center was a hole allowing the sun’s
rays to fall upon an old, dusty cauldron.

“This must be where they did their rituals,” Aradia
stated as she observed the cauldron and the surrounding area.

“Nobody’s said it,” Ross said, “but we’re going with
time travel, right?”

“Ross…” Liza whispered.

“I think he’s right,” Aradia replied. “The witches
have been gone for a long time. I’ve been hoping that maybe they
were just hiding, but… I think I was sent forward through time. I
think this is where I came from.
When
I came from. Whoever
sent me to you, they lived here.”

Ross found a chamber near the rear of the room hidden
by curtains. Ross pulled the curtains aside and peered behind them.
His eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness. The moment when he could
make sense of what he saw, he was filled with a sudden,
overpowering nausea. He clamped his hand over his mouth and
instinctively backed up, fighting the urge to vomit. Aradia saw her
father's reaction and, concerned, ran toward him. Ross frantically
waved his arms trying to prevent her from seeing what he had seen,
but to no avail. Aradia came to her father's side, looked past the
curtains, and saw the nightmare inside.

Dozens upon dozens of bodies decorated a smaller
chamber. They had been men, women, and children. Many hung upon the
room’s walls like evil, twisted, sadistic paintings. Some were
crucified with the arms apart like wings in flight and their heads
hanging heavy with sorrow and pain. Others hung from the rafters
with hands tied behind their backs and sacks upon their heads,
dangling lifeless and limp as puppets on strings. Several were
piled, almost as if they’d been an afterthought. Aradia's mouth
fell open, chalky dry, and her eyes grew wide with horror.

The stench was incredible, but Aradia was too
grief-stricken to either notice or care. “How?” Aradia whispered,
“How did this happen? Who could have done this? How recently was
this done?” So many questions swirled through her head, but one
seemed to her to be the most important of them all. “Were these the
witches?”

She shook her head fervently at that thought. By now
Liza had joined the others. “They couldn’t be witches,” she stated,
almost to herself more than the others. “The Salem Witch trials had
happened centuries ago.”

“We really did travel through time,” Ross realized.
Even though he’d acknowledged it earlier, the reality facing him
drove the point home.

What difference does it make?
Aradia wondered
to herself.
What does it matter if they’re dust and bones or
rotting chunks of flesh. Either way, they’re all gone
. Aradia
started to smile sickly thinking that this was all probably just a
cruel joke.

“I think we should leave,” Ross stated. Aradia and
Liza both agreed.

“Liza,” Ross whispered as they hurried toward the
exit, “did you see their necks?”

She nodded sharply.

They were well on their way to the building’s front
door when Aradia was struck by a sudden urge. It hit her like an
inspiration; a cold and wet rag upon the back of her brain.

“Wait,” she commanded. The others obeyed.

She moved toward the cauldron. It was raised up on
sturdy feet. There was plenty of room underneath to mass wood for
fuel, and there was plenty of wood. She dropped to her hands and
knees and shoved the wood out. She blew hard to remove as much of
the char as she could.

“Dad, do you have your knife?” she asked. He obliged
her, passing down his Swiss army knife. She opened it up and used
it to pry up one of the stone tiles which just didn’t seem right to
her.

Underneath was a rippling mass, like the one they’d
passed through in the cave wall. In surprise, she dropped the
knife. Upon touching the mass, it vaporized in a puff of smoke.

“Oh dear,” Ross murmured.

Aradia didn’t hesitate, for somehow she knew she
would come to no harm. She thrust her hands into the mass, grabbed
what was underneath, and pulled it out.

In her hands she found a thick, black, leather bound
book.

She climbed back from under the cauldron and showed
her parents what she’d discovered. They took seats together at one
of the pews. Aradia sluggishly moved to open it, her hands feeling
like clay and her nerves stretched thin as a wire.

Using whatever strength she had left, Aradia opened
the book and began to read.

This blessed tome is the record of Salem Coven, under
the protection of the witch goddess Aradia. It is written in my own
hand as I, Madea Blackthorn, am the coven’s chosen scribe. The
words I set to parchment shall tell of our events, lives, and
worship in honor of our patron goddess who guides us and delivers
us to our destiny. So may it be!

The book was thick, far too thick for Aradia to
finish in one sitting, especially under the circumstances. That
being the case, she flipped through, skipping huge chunks, but
getting a sense of the story. The volume covered everything from
spells and potions to mundane cookbook recipes to accounts of odd
dreams. One passage in fact described, in exquisite detail, a
pumpkin which the author had apparently found fascinating.

Aradia soon focused on the diary-style chronological
entries.

May 5th, 1690

Today we finished the spring festival by completing
the chanting and the spells cast in the sacred cauldron in honor of
our lady of the dark moon, Hecate. More news has arrived from the
seer: four babies will be born before a year and three months have
passed. One of the children will be in possession of a great
destiny. No one, not the Seer who predicted it, nor the elder
witches who guide our coven, knows what sort of destiny.

July 8th, 1691

Over one year ago, our great Seer predicted four
babies. Today, they were born, all fine and healthy, two boys and
two girls. Sadly, as these four new flames enter the world, one
older one is extinguished. The mother of the eldest of the babies
died in childbirth. She lived only long enough to cast one first
and final glance upon the beautiful baby girl. She did not even
name the poor little one. We had no idea what to do when the Seer
stepped forward and adopted the baby as her own.

We were all shocked, for the Seer has never shown
interest in children. Yet, the moment she held the little girl, we
witnessed the most miraculous sight. The Seer smiled at the baby,
but what’s more, the baby smiled back! Everyone in the room swore
they could feel their hearts melting.

"Her name is Aradia," the Seer then said as she
turned to face everyone who had gathered in the hall. "Named after
our patron goddess who was the first of our people and the greatest
witch of all!"

August 17th, 1691

It has been over a month since the four came into the
world, and the Seer relishes her motherly role with Aradia daily.
Indeed, she seems younger and happier than any has ever seen her.
The child is a bundle of pure joy, enchanting all who come upon
her. It is obvious that the young one is in possession of great
magic, but I suspect it goes even further than that. I believe her
power could one day surpass even that of the coven elders. Part of
me suspects this to be part of what drew the Seer to her.

Most expect she shall be the next Seer, but it seems
like a waste. It is true, that the role and responsibility of Seer
is among the most important individual roles of the coven. She
foretells the future and helps us to prepare for what is to come.
Still, with the powers that the child displays at such a young age,
even the most important role seems trivial.

October 10th, 1691

The Seer's mood has grown depressed. She has been
thrust into another world, a dark one. All the latest prophecies
have been of doom and destruction, mostly for our people, but also
for others. The Seer has never been wrong, but it cannot be that
our entire kind is doomed to extinction.

November 8th, 1691

The Seer was right! As she always is. It began in our
neighboring village, the human community of Salem, in the home of a
Christian preacher. Several young girls, starting with
eleven-year-old Abigail Williams and nine-year-old Elizabeth
Parris, began behaving as if possessed by devils. Soon Ann Putnam
Jr. and other Salem girls began acting similarly. The doctors
diagnosed it as witchcraft. It stunned the whole village when we
heard of this, for we are members of the hidden race! To be known
to the human world… it is forbidden! Yet, now all humans not only
know of, but hunt witches. How can this be? Numerous trials have
been set to try the poor women accused of human witchcraft. This is
what truly frightens us! Humans are killing innocents, and those
murders are on our hands.

November 29
^th
, 1691

I write more often than I have grown accustomed.
Events have become serious than I had ever imagined. We have been
accused of betraying the hidden race, breaking the most important
and sacred law: to remain hidden for all eternity. The penalty for
such a crime is death to all accused.

December 12th, 1691

Ever more hiddens turn against us. We have lost
contact with several of the other covens. There have been rumors of
hunting parties being seen. We do not know who they are or what
they are hunting, and we are too terrified to find out. The people
who leave the safety of the commune end up disappearing altogether.
Most of our allies no longer speak with us. Daily we have asked the
Seer what we should do, but she says there is nothing we can do.
She has tried to intervene or ask divine guidance in how to save
our people. She says no matter what she does or how she tries to
read the signs, the result is always the same: our kind is
doomed.

Aradia paused and took deep heavy breaths trying to
prepare herself for what was going to come next. The entries in the
book became frenzied scrawls filled with panic and terror until
finally Aradia reached the last entry. Immediately she noticed that
on this particular entry the handwriting was different from the
others.

July 12th, 1961

I, Cassandra Fauna, the Seer of the coven under the
divine protection of the witch goddess Aradia write this entry in
my own hand. The hunters gather around the commune trying to force
their way in. The elders are confident in their belief that the
hunters will not breach our defenses, but they shall. I know not
how they will achieve this feat, but I am certain they will, for I
have seen it. Many times, repeatedly, the same vision for months on
end! I have seen what would be the end of my race and my people. In
spite of all the spells I have cast I still find no answer to why
this is happening. I have chosen to accept my fate for it seems to
be unavoidable. However, I will not condemn my daughter Aradia to
death. I have raised her as my own since her mother died and now
love her as if she were my own. My visions have shown that it is my
fate to die, but I have seen no such visions of Aradia, and I will
not accept that my fate must be hers.

It has taken me months, but I have found the right
spell.

It will send Aradia to a place where she will be
needed, loved, and where she will find her destiny. I know neither
where nor when she will appear again, or even if she will survive
the spell casting. It is a risk I do not take lightly, but which I
must take, for to do nothing is to sentence my darling daughter to
gruesome and horrible murder. Aradia may not have been born of my
blood, but I do not care. She is my daughter, I am her mother, and
I will protect her at any cost.

This spell will take much of my energy, and by my
age, I doubt I will survive. I am a strong and proud hidden witch,
with a life span rivaling a vampire’s, but I am no longer as
resilient as I once was. Using this much energy… it will end me. I
cannot survive the casting of this spell, but my life is already
forfeit, and it might save my daughter.

I write these words in hopes that one day she will
find them and know how much I love her. It may seem a cruel fate,
to be sent alone somewhere unknown, but it is the only way. I
cannot join you, Aradia. When you find and read this, if ever you
do, you will know that you are indeed the very last of your kind. I
have foreseen that none of us will survive this genocide, not our
coven, nor any others. You, Aradia, are the only one whose fate
eludes me, and for this I am grateful. You might outlive this
slaughter to become the last witch.

You will wield the entire power of our people. That
which is distributed will, in you, be drawn together, like so many
sticks into a powerful bundle.

History has shown that only two pureblooded witches
can produce hidden witch offspring, suggesting you would truly be
the last. Even if you have children, they will not be true hidden
witches, so goes conventional wisdom. But my vision is blurred
around you. So much power in one being defies the laws and rules
set in place prior to your existence. I cannot say what you will
be, for I, I who has seen anything, I cannot see your future.