Witch Child

Using her staff to support herself, she picked her way slowly across the scree slope, taking care not to dislodge any stones that might take her tumbling down with them. Slowly but surely she was nearing the wriggling bundle lying in the sun where the villagers had left it. Another mouth that someone can't feed, she thought. She had heard the baby's cries from the top of the slope. Even more, though, she had felt the child. She had known that the baby would be here. Reaching the child, she picked it up gently and held it in her arms. Shading the child's face with her hand, she gazed into its eyes, and the child seemed almost to be gravely returning her look. Yes. I can feel the power within you. You will be a great one, and you will bring them low.

           And so began the boy Col's life with the woman that the villagers and the farmers called "Witch", but whom he called simply "Mother". The fact that she was not his mother by blood simply bound them more closely, because it meant she had chosen him. It was not, though, as if he could have gone anywhere else, because none of the local children would play with him. As he grew, Mother allowed him to wander by himself, as did the village mothers with their own children. It was the way in those days; as long as a child was out from under its parents' feet and wasn't up to mischief, the parents were happy. One incident in his early childhood always stood out, though. He must have been about three or four years old, and he was playing on his own by the river when he heard laughter over the sound of the babbling waters. Following the sound, he found two children of about his age playing in the shallow water by the bank. Evidently these children, who turned out to be brothers, had not been warned against playing with him, because they allowed him to join their game in the easy way in which young children fall into immediate friendship. It was not long, though, before their mother appeared with a water pail. Her loving smile as she looked at her children melted into horror when she caught sight of Col. The boy did not entirely understand the look, of course, and burst into tears.

           The woman was not mollified. "Stay away from my children, Witch Child!" she cried, gathering her sons into her arms. Col turned and ran, and didn't stop until he tumbled through the door of his own house, where Mother was waiting. She caught him in her arms and hugged him until the tears stopped.

           The boy grew up hardened. He learned to be tough, not to show his feelings. He never again tried to befriend any of the local children. Instead he wandered solitary and wild. He roamed far and wide, climbing the hills and swimming in the rivers, having no company and seeking none. If anyone should chance by, he would disappear without a sound.

           So things went on as the days, months, years rolled by. Solitary though he was, however, the local children delighted in tormenting him. Sometimes they would try to sneak up on him to beat him, or they would throw stones at him. He learned always to be listening for the sound of others approaching - that whispering of the long grass as someone passed through, that tell-tale snapping of a twig. Often his tormentors would think they had caught him, only to spring from hiding and find him gone.

           Sometimes they did catch him, though. One day, when Col was fourteen years old, he was sitting in the shade under a tall pine tree by the Allt Dearg, one of the many small rivers that ran down from the higher hills to feed the great river that ran by the village. It was a cloudless day in July, and Col was lost in thought, studying the patterns of the water as it ran by the steep bank. He didn't hear them approach until, at the last moment, he heard a giggle. Then, all of a sudden, he felt strong hands push him sharply forward. He tumbled down the bank before he could stop himself, and landed in the water.

           The river was not deep, at least, and Col brought himself, blinking, to his hands and knees. Looking up, he saw a group of children on the bank, about his own age, smiling maliciously, with stones in their hands.

           "Don't you like the water, Witch Child?" laughed one. "Maybe you'll like the stones better. Stone the Witch Child!"

           At that, the children began throwing stones at Col. The children laughed merrily as they pelted him. "Bull's Eye!" one cried with delight when her stone cracked on the back of Col's head and sent him sprawling in the river.

           What could one do against so many? He ran, of course. He hopped through the water as fast as he could, while stones whizzed through the air around him and sometimes hitting him. He limped off with as much speed as possible, soaking wet and with blood running from his several wounds. Meanwhile, the children ran in the other direction, laughing with glee and exultation, eager to share the news of their adventure. They had faced up to the Witch Child, and had come away unscathed! That was something to boast of!

"I don't understand why they hate us," said Col with tears standing in his eyes. Mother had bandaged up the cuts and had reassured herself that there was no permanent damage.

           "It is human nature, dear child. They fear what they do not understand, and they hate us for making them afraid. And they hate us because they need us. They can never forgive us for that."

           "Us?" The boy frowned. "What do you mean, 'Us'?"

           "Me and those like me. Those who have powers that others don't have, to heal or to harm."

           There was a long pause. Col gazed at the fire as he turned this over in his mind. He knew, of course, that Mother was often visited by people in need of help. Hardly a week went by without her being summoned to a difficult childbirth, or a farmer with a diseased wound or a mother with sick child made their way, usually under cover of darkness, seeking healing. Something in the way she had said the word "powers", though, suggested to the boy that she meant something other than simply the herbs that were neatly stored in jars on the counter.

           Seeing Col glance at the herbs, she smiled. "Yes, you have guessed correctly. Now, don't misunderstand. The herbs are useful. There is no sense in wasting the true power on such things as herbs can cure. Even more, it is very easy for a person to believe that it is the herbs that have healed them, and nothing more...sinister." She gazed off into the shadows, and seemed to be recalling something - something unpleasant, from her expression. "Once upon a time, we had places of honour in the community. We provided the magic that kept the people safe and well. We could communicate with the spirits of wind and rain, and ensure that the harvest came. We have fallen far since then. Beliefs changed. New gods came, and they drove us out." Her mouth twisted into a bitter smile. "How it burns them to know how much they need us. Otherwise they would burn us. Some would, even so." She turned back to Col, and her intense gaze transfixed the boy. "That is why they abandoned you, and left you to die."

           Col gave a start. Mother had never spoken so directly about his abandonment before. "Do you mean...do you mean that I can do these things too?"

           Mother nodded gravely. "Yes. I have been sure of it from the beginning, since the moment I found you. I could feel the power within you."

           "Then I want to learn to use it. What do I need to do?"

           "You don't know yet what you are committing yourself to. I am sure you can learn, and I know I can teach you, but you don't understand yet the sacrifices involved. What would you do with this knowledge?"

           The boy looked steadily at her, though his eyes flashed with barely controlled rage. "Revenge," he replied simply. "They have rejected us. I reject them. I will bring them down."

           Mother smiled at him fondly, almost wistfully. "Then I promise you revenge. But it is too late tonight. Tomorrow, we will begin."

His lessons began the following morning. Mother woke him at dawn, and led him out of the house to a clearing in the woods nearby. There was a chill in the morning air, but the ground was dry where they sat, cross-legged, facing each other. All was silent except for the chirping song of a blackbird.

           "Take my hands," she instructed, "and focus on the blackbird's song." As he did so, Col felt a tingling in his palms, and instinctively tried to jerk his hands away, but Mother held on tight. As he made himself relax, though, he began to feel unfamiliar sensations. He seemed to be more aware of Mother's breathing, to sense the beating of her heart.

           "Do you feel it, child?" she whispered. He nodded mutely, and Mother smiled. Now he began to feel the life around him - the grass growing, the trees striving after water and sunshine, the busying of insects and mice. Before long he was lost in the sensations, and could only hear Mother speak as though from a great distance. "It is overwhelming the first time, isn't it? Let's pull back."

           Col felt the sensations fade, and let go of Mother's hands. "What was it?"

           Mother smiled gently. "There is a life force running through all living things, unsuspected by most. That is what you were feeling. People like us can sense it, and can learn to control and manipulate it. Now let us begin again."

           Col took Mother's hands again, and they went through the process once more, more easily this time. Through repetition, the sensations became more familiar, and after a few more attempts Mother asked him to try on his own this time.

           He closed his eyes and allowed himself to feel the life around him. "Now focus again on the blackbird," he heard Mother say. He reached out his mind to the bird, and was almost startled back to himself when he realised how much he could feel of the bird. He could feel its wings and its feet, its simple joy in the song it sang. "Good," Mother's voice continued. "Now bring the bird here. Allow your awareness to touch its mind, and then summon it."

           Col was distantly surprised at how easy it was to make the bird do his will. With a flutter of wings, the blackbird flew to him, and landed on his upturned palm. He opened his eyes and looked down at the bird perched without a care on his hand. The bird began its song again.

           He looked up questioningly at Mother, and saw her eyes shining with joy at his achievement. "I knew you could do it. Now, imagine the bird is one of those people who have wronged you." She looked at him with a strangely eager look on her face. "Feel your anger. Feel your hate, and direct it towards the bird."

           He stared at the blackbird, and allowed the feelings to well up, directing them towards it. The bird stopped singing and started to quiver.

           "Now," Mother went on exultantly, "draw out the lifeforce from the bird."

           The blackbird's movements became weaker as Col felt its strength pass into him. In later times, he would be able to handle much more, but he was new to the power this time, and even a blackbird's tiny lifeforce was enough to make him feel giddy. With a final jerk, the blackbird fell and lay lifeless in his palm.

That was the beginning of his training in this strange new power. The first time, after the giddiness faded, he felt horror at what he had done, killing an innocent bird. When he felt the power within himself, though, those feelings were pushed to the side. In time, they ceased to trouble him at all, such joy the power brought. He had never felt so alive.

           In time, he could do without guidance, and could do more and more. After some months, he knew it was time. He walked determinedly through the woods near the village, to a place where, with his new powers, he could feel human beings. He strode into the clearing where, by chance, it was some of the children who had stoned him who were there, playing a ball game.

           The laughed when they noticed him. "Well, well," said one, "if it isn't the Witch Boy! Come for more, have you?"

           Col gave no response. The one who had spoken gave a scowl of irritation and then spoke again. "Obviously he hasn't learned since last time. Stone him again!" As he picked up a stone and prepared to throw, though, Col stepped forward and grabbed his arm. In a flash, Col opened himself up to the boy's lifeforce, and drew on it. With a heart-rending cry of agony, the boy collapsed sobbing. The arm that Col had grabbed hung lifeless. The other children ran in terror, tripping over each other in their haste as their erstwhile companion lay whimpering and weeping. Col turned and walked away without expression, but inside he felt intoxicated by what he had taken from the other boy.

Nearby, unseen, Mother was watching with a smile of satisfaction on her face. She would have to leave this place now, but that was of no importance. She had performed the task her masters had set her, and all had gone as planned. She had turned this boy loose upon the world. Her masters would be pleased with her. Turning, she disappeared into the shadows and was seen no more in that place.