The Witch Within Read Free

have witnessed throughout their long lives. Finally, my soul has been lulled.
    There is no more remorse and no more pain, just pure contentment in my newly found freedom. Nevertheless, grandmother’s warning still lies in the back of my mind, making me cautious. But it's not only her warning that I comprehend, it's far more than that. It is her and perhaps also my own awareness that starts bubbling up; the supposed boiling pot of treason.
    As I amble along the trunks of ancient oaks and beeches, I find myself remembering their wisdom. It's truly amazing how one can recall information that has been not only forgotten, but also forbidden and systematically suppressed for so many years. Now, when I look at a tree or a plant, I'm suddenly aware of its power. I gaze upon the beech and I know that it speaks the language of the elderly, that its bark heals wounds and rashes, not only those on the body but also those on the soul. I see an oak and I remember that its leaves are gentle nourishment for burns and injuries, and its acorns edible miracles that allow humans to survive in the wild. I notice dandelions and I see little suns that help with thirst and hunger and fulfil daily needs and nourishment.
    I look at the beautiful white branch of the birch tree and I behold that all that is ill disappears if one eases themselves beneath it. Then I spot nettle bushes and enthuse over the vision of a potent lunch, even more so if I boil it with nuts. Nuts, my favourite treat—food we share with squirrels. I also observe a few clovers and visualise the perfect bondage for injuries or scars. I pick one up and wrap it over my swollen finger. I fell on something sharp as I landed with my hands in the mud yesterday, during the horrid parade.
    I feel like I'm still being guided through those woods, although my deer has disappeared. I step into a small clearing and start nibbling on blueberries that I have found under the three intertwined oaks. And then I remember that I was here before. Oh yes, we used to come here with my grandmother to pick all kinds of berries that nobody ever finds, because they are too afraid to come here.
    I hope that my grandmother awaits me, still alive and healthy, because the image of me living here all alone, never being able to talk or communicate with any other human being again makes my heart ache. I shall miss my father, even with his unmerciful judgements and I'm going to miss my mother and her gentleness. I shall miss my sister too, and my dear brother who is in heaven now, if there is such a thing as heaven.
    It’s starting again. I remember it rained the day before yesterday, the first time since my grandmother’s heritage awoke in me. It was when my little brother got badly injured and everybody gathered by his bed waiting for him to pass away. As I gazed upon his pain-struck face, I suddenly knew that if an elder tree does not help, then nothing else will. I snuck out into the deep night and ran across the field to where the oldest elder tree grows tall. An elder tree lady is said to possess it, she is a goddess of harvest and potency that celebrates the abundance of any natural fruition. Only those who ask and those who are kind at heart may gather her fruits and use it for their purposes. If used without permission or for ill reasons, it loses magic power, lest the intentions were erring.
    I begged her to help my brother, relieve him of pain and the omen of death. I picked the luscious berries and prepared a dark red liquid. Then I poured it down his dry throat and all of a sudden my hand started involuntarily moving over his forehead, drawing symbols and shapes that I couldn’t recognise, yet still harbouring a feeling that I knew these symbols somehow.
    The next morning he was dead and they found me lying next to him, my hands still red from the elder tree juice. Only now can I finally mourn his death, the state of shock that followed afterwards choked me in a trauma of unspoken words and unspoilt