episode 10: The Maelstrom Within

I gazed upwards, watching a gentle November snow drift through naked branches, savouring the stillness of early morning. I stood in a small clearing, surrounded by a bush lot that I’d played in as a child; spending innumerable hours climbing trees and inventing adventures. Grandfather had taught me which berries I could snack on, and what mushrooms we could add to our evening meals. I’d played assistant to my mother when she’d performed simple incantations and recalled her delight when I’d shown aptitude as a witch. My grandfather had never approved of her practice, but she and I were the only family he had left, so he’d tolerated it with just occasional grumbling.

The rest of the town had been less forgiving. As the daughter of a suspected witch, during a less tolerant time, I’d endured unending teasing and harassment. This had, unsurprisingly, soured me on my hometown; but it had also turned me away from my mother and her beliefs. I liked to think that my mom's spirit found comfort in my return to our farm and to the craft.

My opinions on my hometown, however, remained substantially unchanged. I had come back, yes. But it was to reclaim my heritage, my place in the world, and perhaps rediscover some of the joy of my early youth. With Shigeto, I had accomplished this, and more.

We had found this particular clearing seven years ago, shortly after we’d bought the place. We’d been mapping the faint traces of ley-lines that we knew must be criss-crossing our property because there were two Capstones on our farm. One of the ley-lines ran through the woodlot that I’d played in as a child.

So we had thrashed our way through the dense brush until, suddenly, we came across a deadfall that had opened up a patch of sky. An abundance of wildflowers glowed in the sunlight that dappled the glade. Right along with prickly raspberry stalks and a good helping of poison ivy. We immediately recognized the space as ideal for the rites that we hoped would help our farm prosper.

We’d made love in the clearing, shortly thereafter, to deepen our bond to the land and the heavens above, one union reflecting the other. I smiled, recalling the day – it had been raining, and more than a little cool. April, even late April, wasn’t as warm as the poets would have you believe. We’d giggled at our attire — naked but for coats and work boots, the latter being necessary to avoid the mud and poison ivy. It had been a bit ridiculous as we’d struggled to stand on shaky knees, bracing ourselves against the fallen tree. It was a memory that made me smile every time I came to this place.

During the rest of the spring, we’d cleared the deadfall and used a weed-whacker to get the undergrowth under control — then planted a ring of the saplings within it. We’d relocated these from elsewhere in the bush lot to reflect the natural population of our land. Spells followed this; venerating this patch of earth to the Goddess, and through it, our farm. From those spells, I eventually developed a small area of friendly greenery, replacing the poison ivy in a near perfect circle within the ring of saplings. Shigeto, though, was fond of pointing out that the scattering of seeds for sweet, shade friendly herbs and ground cover might have helped with that process as much as my magic.

Using a clearing in an overgrown woodlot for our outdoor rituals had one other key benefit — it protected our magics from the eyes of any prying neighbours. Our house was less than a hundred meters away and almost invisible, even through the leafless trees.

Today’s ritual was an offering of propitiation to Hecate. As Shigeto had pointed out, I’d sworn by her name with less than ideal veneration while we’d been at the Royal. She wasn’t one to object to this in principle, but she did require that I show evidence of respect and reverence. So here I was.

I drew my circle and the appropriate symbols with cornmeal, an idea I’d run across when reading about voudou. It seemed more sensible than using the salt or chalk that my own European traditions suggested. I added the usual markings for the cardinal directions, but also marks oriented to the ley-line that passed through the grove, as well as the other Capstones in the region, to help draw a little more energy toward us.

The ley-lines on our property offered us a substantial amount of occult energy, though it had required a bit of customization to our Capstones. Like most, our Capstones were simple granite blocks, about a foot on each side, the sigils against witchcraft incised on each surface, and then bound with bands of iron. The Capstones in our county were well maintained; a community effort led by the local churches, rather than The Bureau of Ecclesiastical Orthodoxy. The Inquisition lacked the political sway it once had, which was reflected in their budget. So the local churches had taken up the slack, harking back to an earlier time when witchcraft was something that the Church took care of, rather than the State. I wasn’t so sure if this was an improvement, but it meant that they lacked the expertise to note any tampering — if we were careful.

We had contemplated removing them, but rumour had it that the Bureau had ways of knowing when Capstones were damaged or destroyed. Also, the Church did ask to inspect them periodically, a request we dare not refuse if we wanted to avoid trouble with our neighbours.

So rather than destroy them, Shigeto had cut through the iron band with a grinder, and I’d filled in the gaps with a thin seam of silver. The Capstones still functioned, somewhat, and so far the Inquisition hadn’t come calling.

For most spells, we used the power that rose from our land. But in colder weather, the land was sleepy, so I utilized the ley-lines more heavily. I also accessed them for spells such as this; for Hecate was no simple nature goddess. She was a keeper of the crossroads and a guide between the spiritual and material planes. I felt it appropriate to acknowledge her nature by linking my dedication to the wider world.

As I completed the circle and began chanting the opening invocation, Babe stepped out of the woods and into the clearing. My heart skipped a beat. If Babe entered the circle, it would disrupt my ritual. Certainly, it would be less than ideal for Hecate to question my dedication while I was invoking her presence to make a very personal plea for forgiveness. Goddess alone knew how her displeasure might manifest, but I could imagine innumerable unpleasant options.

Of course, the same would be true if I stopped the ritual prematurely. In a burst of annoyance and frustration, I came very close to invoking Hecate’s name, inappropriately, once again. This, of course, would have rather defeated the entire point of my invocation. I managed, instead, to channel my emotion into the words of apology and thanks, my anxiety lending them an exceptional fervour.

By the end of the ritual, my heart rate had calmed, and I attributed this to the Goddess accepting my plea. This serenity persisted even as Babe took a couple more steps into the clearing during the ritual. His steps were halting, hesitant, and it seemed that he was being careful to not approach the circle too closely. He seemed determined to do… something; but he very obviously did not savour the prospect.

Finally, I finished. All that remained was to release the circle. Just as I was about to give a sigh of relief, Babe stepped forward decisively. He had been waiting.

His deliberation unnerved me. I was grateful that he hadn’t interrupted my prayer, but this was a deeper indication of just how much he had been changed. Whatever he was now, he was no dumb animal.

Instinct bid me wait and let this, whatever this was, to unfold. Whether the Goddess guided me, or my curiosity, I did not know. There had been a time, only a few weeks earlier, when such an exceptional event would have excited me. But since the events of the Royal, I’d discovered that I did have a limit to my fascination with unanticipated outcomes.

But Babe was indifferent to my mixed feelings; he moved inside the ring of saplings, then halted just outside the circle. He looked at me, took a deep breath — released in a huff — then gingerly stepped over the line.

His aura slammed into me like a tsunami. Desperation swirled through me in a rush of images and emotions. There were no words, but rather clusters of meaning that I could barely parse.

Memories. So many memories, falling backwards and backwards through time.

Old magic, ancient rituals, repeated life after life.

Fleeting joy.

Enduring pain and sacrifice, time after time.

Coercion, revulsion, rejection

the burning grip of old bindings

… still felt, but not invoked,

giddy freedom, but lost, so lost. Ignorant, surrounded by strangeness,

fear of what is to come,

of blood and pain.

Yet another death.

I was drowning in his aura, for its totality was held within the circle; my mind caught in currents that I could neither understand nor control. I looked into Babe’s eyes, pleading, seeking some respite. But instead, I saw my own panic reflected and magnified. His power and his history were vast beyond knowing. Beyond his knowing. He was lost in his own mind, adrift in his own immensity. This should not have been possible. No spell I was capable of could do this.

I struggled to understand. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of versions of Babe surrounded me. Odd reflections of him, like those that I’d sensed that first day after my spell. Then I realized I’d had seen glimpses of his past lives.

My enchantment should have brought forth the best version of my Babe. But when my spell had interacted with the ancient magic of his bloodline, I’d lost control. Those ancient magics had called to his past selves, and what ancient Minoan culture had deemed most worthy.

But the spell was unfinished; I’d lost consciousness and Shigeto had broken the enchantment, leaving it incomplete. So the door to those past lives had remained ajar, and they’d forced their way into Babe’s mind, seeking to supplant him. To live again. He had managed for a while, I could tell that much — but now he’d lost control and he was drowning in those histories. Each of them demanding that he explain this alien world, one that he didn’t truly understand himself.

It was a wonder that he hadn’t gone mad with it. Yet, in his gaze, I saw his sanity unraveling with each passing moment. I had seen a similar sort of madness before. Had seen my mother consumed by something like this; thinking then that it was Alzheimers or senility. I wondered, now, if my mother had glimpsed something too vast and dark to encompass and had lost herself to it. Regardless, I had seen this madness claim someone I loved before. I would not allow it again.

Not here. This was my place. My farm. I would be the rock in this maelstrom. I had, unknowing, cast him into this sea of chaos and I would save him from it.

I called the land’s power and felt its answer. I was the land; caught in winter’s embrace, yet still brimming with life’s potential. We would not be moved by something as tiny as some poor lost bull, however deep his history. The land’s history extended far beyond his, beyond knowing, yet only ever existing in the present.

With this truth, this farm, as my anchor, Babe’s panic, and the swirling depths of his past lives buffeted me, but I was steadfast.

I caught his gaze. "You are here. This is now. What is past is past."

It did nothing. He was still drowning in panic, and in the ancient history of his lineage. I remembered the frustration and horror of my mother losing track of herself and her place in the world. I could do nothing then, but by Hecate, I could do something now.

I stood, gritted my teeth and waded through his aura towards him. It was like swimming through treacle. But finally I was nose to nose with the magnificent beast. I took hold of his horns and felt the shock of his surprise. He tried to shake me free but could not. I was rooted in the land.

"You are HERE." I intoned, "This is NOW." I seized his aura like the bridle of a horse that had begun to panic and plunged his awareness into the land with me so that he could feel this truth.

I gasped with surprise; taking control of his power felt unnaturally natural. Babe tried to pull away, but my grip was implacable. Our awareness surged through the acres of our farm as never before. It touched every creature. From the field mice conspiring in their winter tunnels to find food, to the cows restless in their barn.

It even caught Shigeto as he worked on his beloved tractor in the garage. He jolted upright and banged his head against the damn machine. I smiled at hearing him curse in Japanese — because of his usual reserve and gentle nature. These bursts of temper charmed me. I felt some surprise from Babe at this surge of affection. But more than anything else, I felt his frustration and resignation. His memories iterated this experience in life after life. His power usurped by one priestess or another, again and again in his ancient pasts.

It was incredible, the manner in which his aura complemented mine. It was truly synergistic. I understood, now, why some witches took familiars. I had been skeptical till now, but my mind whirled as I contemplated the possibilities.

Then I felt Shigeto’s presence push its way, gently, into my presence. He had settled cross-legged on the floor of the machine shed and began meditating as he did when he assisted in our magics. I shifted to give him some place in… what? My aura? That seemed ridiculous, given the extent of my awareness throughout the farm, but it was something akin to that. I was joined to the land in a way I never had been before. I felt god-like.

Then I sensed Shigeto frown.

Without words, he drew attention to what I had done. What was part of Babe’s nature. His memory had spoken of "the burning grip of old bindings".

I had, without thought or consideration, grasped reins that had been built into his very soul and used these to pull Babe to my will. Babe could sense Shigeto’s disapproval just as I did, and I could sense his shock at such insolence from a man towards a ‘priestess’. For that is what he assumed I must be.

I hesitated longer than I liked to admit to myself, but I knew what needed to be done. It wasn’t enough to simply release those bonds. They were a slave’s chains, waiting for someone to grasp them.

So I took hold of the immensity of our combined power and, with a sigh, I broke the bonds that had allowed me to possess it.

The ancient bindings unravelled explosively. Layer after layer of ancient magics had been woven into the structure of those mystical chains. Once broken, their power surged along the ley-lines in a torrent of arcane energy greater than any I’d ever thought possible, dragging my awareness with it. In that moment I felt the network's reach, far beyond our little farm. Understood something of the vastness of our world, and the latent magical power straining under the suppression of the Capstones. In some places, those Capstones, weakened by neglect, could not handle the sudden influx of magic and cracked.

The world had largely forgotten magic, but I suspected these memories would require some attention in the future. Magic was alive, in its way. It was adapting to the Capstones, finding ways around them. Whatever had just happened would accelerate that process.

I wanted to explore, but I heard a sound of distress. I opened my eyes to see Babe looking at me, a shocked expression on his face. It was the most expressive bovine face I’d ever seen. I could not help myself. I burst out laughing.

His face looked hurt, and I felt an instant of shame, but really, it was the most astonishing expression. I let go of his horns, leaned forward, my forehead against his. He seemed different. Younger. Less of the magnificence that had won him the blue at the Fair, but more himself.

The circle had dissipated, but I could still feel a connection between us. It lacked any ability to coerce him, but his feelings were open to me, bewildered and unsure. I sought to reassure him.

"You are free of your bonds. You are here, and now."

The words seemed, finally, to register with him. He looked at me and I felt that regained his sense of where and who he was in time. But as he tried to parse what had happened to him, to understand the world around him, iteration after iteration of his past lives piled on, asking questions, demanding answers he did not have, he lost that grounding.

I growled in frustration. One step forward, two steps back. I needed a bloody injunction against these former versions of himself, to prevent them from constantly harassing my Babe.

As soon as the word ‘injunction’ passed through my head, I felt Babe’s mind stagger as though the endless runaway babble of his previous lives had hit a rut in the road.

The word, "Injunction?" echoed in Babe’s mind, like a bell’s toll, sweeping away every other voice. A question spilled into my mind from his.

"Like Pillar, or Mareva?"

It was time for my mind to stagger. My response was a whisper, hoarse with shock. "Yes, exactly."

Suddenly, I was caught up in memories of my law degree. Babe rooted through my mind like a pig hunting after truffles, uncovering memories I had long put behind me. The late, panicked nights and the dry pointed humour that my classmates and I had shared as we explored the seemingly innumerable examples of human foolishness. And, in that seemingly distant past, my desire for justice despite all of humanity's foibles.

With an abrupt insight, I understood why these memories drew him. When the ancient workings of the Minoan enchantments had woken and tried to supplant me from my own spell, they had done so by trying to scour my memories from my mind. Instead, I had willingly given forth all the education and learned expertise in law that I could recall, knowing that knowledge willingly given is knowledge deepened.

But that instruction had been smothered under the weight of all his past lives, for it had been divorced of context. And no wonder, for the language of both case and statutory law is opaque more often than not, and profoundly divorced from the people that should lie at the heart of it. Now though, as Babe snuffled through my mind, he had a framework for this world that he found himself in.

I took deep breaths, forcing myself to allow him to wander freely through those memories, so that he might better understand this world and the legal theory that was a part of him. But it was hard. It was, perhaps, the most intimate thing that I’d ever experienced. But he was my creation and my responsibility. He was a part of me in a way I didn't fully understand. Finally, I felt his searching slow, then stop. There was astonishment in our shared link. His panic replaced with wonder as his previously chaotic thoughts seemed to crystallize into an inner monologue.

Words, I have words... again.

Again?

I am?

I remember… me, not me?

Myself?

Again.

Not god-touched,

I feel the magic, but,

Where are the gods?

not the mad half-bull. I am whole!

yet I remember his pain, his rage, his hunger.

She called me Babe. I remember being Babe, but just a bull.

Are his/my memories real? The world is so strange,

The witch’s magic called me, like they called me before, but this time…

Another sacrifice?

But where are the compulsions?

What am I without them?

I embraced Babe’s great neck, mind and magic open, and stroked him, as I had when he’d been a calf, as I had when I groomed him before the show at the Royal, before the spell. I spoke, "You are not a sacrifice, but simply a creature of this earth like any other. You have a place here. The memories you have are not you, you are no Minotaur or godspawn. You are my Babe."

My words, or the stroking of his giant neck, seemed to slow the manic rush of his thoughts; though they were still turbulent, and in our linked state, still had the potential to pull me under. For a heartbeat, I felt the overwhelming fear that, in my youth, had driven me away from my mother. But I was stronger now, and would not succumb to my own weakness.

I took a breath, the same breath I’d taken before every court case, every confrontation with an asshole partner, every dismissive judge or skeptical client. I took the breath that, in so many ways, was rooted to this place, to the joy and wonder of those early years, where learning and work were tied into the earth. Into the complicated legacy of family, deeper and stronger than even my neglect or guilt and even my family’s madness. I let it out, and as I did, I pulled Babe into that exhalation. As his presence joined mine, voluntarily this time, I felt a shock at the extent of his power, potent still with his ancestral enchantments broken. It flowed through me into the land that I loved. I felt Napier farm around me once more and shared that belonging with Babe. Every blade of grass, every struggling shoot. The beauty and life of it surged through me. With me, he now felt his connection to this place. Where he was bred and born. I looked into his eyes and said to him, "This is your home and mine."