Next Generation

I tried to stifle my screams of pain, the contractions were almost too much to take. After ten hours of contractions and biting on things to keep the screams from being heard past the walls of my cabin, I delivered her just after twelve noon, full head of jet black hair, ice blue eyes, distinct features; I could see all my loved ones in her new face. Her blood on my hands was the least of my problems, having just given birth to the next generation in a long line of witches. I could hear the wind howling outside. Off in the distance, I heard the dogs baying at a scent trail as I cradled my newborn daughter. I took the athame and cut the cord, laying her on the furs next to me. I got up to a squatting position as the next contraction expelled the afterbirth, which I disposed of in the fire.

Then I heard them, the witch hunters, yelling and calling their dogs. I had already cast a circle of protection and invisibility around my cabin in the woods. I soaked some water into the cloths I had previously prepared and cleaned myself and my daughter. I then wrapped her in clean cloths and a fur and listened to the loud footsteps of the hunters outside. I picked her up, allowed her to latch on and nurse, to ease the fullness and to keep her quiet as I walked carefully to the window. I dare not move the curtain, but peered out from the slight opening in the center in time to see three hunters with dogs on leads go by. I turned away from the window and breathed a sigh of relief. The circle of salt and protection along with the charmed amulets hung in the trees around my cabin had worked once again.

The magic of nature and the elements, passed down from my great-great grandmother to her daughter and down the line to me, was something I deeply cherished. But it was also like a bullseye on my back, and now on my daughter, a reason to feel cursed, even for all the good we did, helping to heal people in the nearby villages. All it took was one person, a man of course, to see me levitate the bucket of water up from the bottom of the well after the rope had snapped to set him on the vendetta of thinking all witches are evil and want to rid the world of as many as possible, if not all of us. I looked to my now sleeping bundle and wondered what the future would hold for her, what to name her, not that it would matter what she was named until I went to register her birth in town. I laid her back down on the furs, drank some of the healing broth from the pot over the fire and laid down to rest next to her, falling quickly asleep from the exhaustion.

Some time later, the light of the full moon beamed in through that same curtain opening and shone down upon my face, awakening me. Off in the distance, I heard the wolves baying their greetings to the moon and listened for any other sounds; none came. I got up, helped myself to some more broth, retrieved some bread from the table, dipped it in the broth and ate to replenish my strength as I carefully looked out the windows. How much longer would we have to stay in the cabin, I wondered. Two, maybe three days, just to be on the safe side, but then what... we couldn't hide here forever. Doubt started to creep in. I forced it out by reciting a chant I learned when I was very young, one of the first ones I ever learned.

Stories in my family were often passed down from generation to generation, much like the magic of nature and the elements. The wee one stirred and I moved to pick her up and cuddle her; she searched and fed again. I sat down on the furs next to the fire again, closing my eyes for just a moment.

Suddenly I heard scratching at the door. The wee one was asleep again, so I laid her down and went to investigate the noise. Carefully and quietly moving to the door, I put my foot behind it and cautiously opened it a quarter of an inch. It was a dog, a lonely, disheveled, obviously hungry dog. I closed the door and went to get a cup of broth from the pot over the fire. Taking it to the door, I did the same with my foot, but opened it a bit more, just big enough to get the cup through. The dog backed up, not knowing what I had, but not sensing any maliciousness, it wagged its tail in hope. I held out the cup for it, which it sniffed, then snorted on, blowing some broth onto my hand, then it licked the liquid off my hand. I put the cup down, closed the door again and went to get a bowl full of the broth this time, meaning to put the bowl outside the door for the wayward pup. When I returned to the door, the cup was empty and flipped over and the dog was gone. I set the bowl down outside the door anyway and went to mix up the ingredients for some more bread. I heard scratching noises again and went to check. I opened the door slightly and the pup had returned, but had two rabbits in its mouth. It set the rabbits down next to the opening and stepped back, lowering its head and nudging the rabbits toward me, then sticking its tongue out as if smiling...

Perhaps this was a sign that we would be alright, and my daughter and I now had a protector from the witch hunters. The days passed, and the dog would bring more meat in return for broth. On the third day, I contemplated the journey to the village to register my daughter’s birth. I opened the door to find bloody clothes, of which the last time I saw them was on the witch hunter, piled at my doorstep with the dog lying on top of them. It looked up at me, wagging its tail, with those irresistible puppy eyes and stretched its head out towards my hand, its nose just barely touching my fingers. It inched closer until its head was fully under my hand. I scratched behind its ears gently and its tail started wagging more. There was an indescribable bond between us, an unspoken knowledge; I then knew that everything would be alright, that there was no more danger.