The Origin of Isaac

III

The witch showed Isaac many thing that day, things he hadn’t ever thought existed, and thanks to his memory, he retained them all. Once the day grew dim, and Isaac’s brain was filled to the brim with all kinds of new things, she sent him up, but not before giving him his own set of keys. One for the cellar door, one for the archive door, and the last for the room where she kept her herbs and medicines.

When the next day arrived, Isaac went straight to the cellar door. After all he learned the day before, he found a new place to explore other than the spacious woods beyond the village. Placing the key into the hole and trying a number of times to unlock it, the key finally clicked, and the door swung inwards. He carefully traversed the stairs, going deeper and deeper into the abyss, the torch fires behind him snuffing out as the ones before him breathed to life. He assumed it was magic, and feeling the resonation of the earth course through him, young Isaac continued on to the second door.

Despite the many chests and trinkets that’d been rummaged and looted by him the previous day, the great room looked almost exactly the same as it did when Isaac first saw it; like someone had come back late in the night and put everything back in its place.

In the center of the room stood the witch, and Isaac was sure she’d fooled him about the impossibility of seeing the future. Either that, or she just knew her son all too well. His curious nature would only grow more and more each time he looked at those keys.

“Aha. I knew that you’d be down, bright and early at that. Curiosity is what killed the cat, you know.”

“Well, good thing I’m no cat.” He responded cleverly. “So what are you going to teach me today, Mum?”

She paced about the room for a brief moment. “Well, I thought I’d tell you a bit about what it means to be a witch; and set your mind straight so that you don’t go believing all those silly wives tales!” She raised a finger in the air and stared hard at the boy. “For one, witches do not worship the Devil. As far as I know, there is no Devil. Don’t let the churches fill your head with lies and fallacies. They’ll be so quick to claim that their God despises my kind just as quick as yours. And you’d be surprised how easy it is for people to just eat it up. Blind idiots, the lot of them.” Noticing her negativity, she apologized. “I shouldn’t blame the people. Most spells a witch can cook up are nothing compared to the fear of God the church instills in them.” Isaac paid attention to the way she used the word church, or specifically, the church, as if she were speaking of one, singular establishment. Isaac had no ill will against religion and others beliefs; he just never gave it much thought as his mother never spoke about or exposed him to the subject.

“What do witches believe then?” He asked curiously.

“Hmm, well, most witches believe in the Sun, the Moon, and the gods of nature and Earth.”

“Gods of nature? Oh, is that why you know so much about herbs and plants?!”

She shook her head. “I don’t believe in gods at all. Nature doesn’t need to be sentient to be respected. I believe we’re the masters of our own will, and how we use what we’re given is up to us. That leads to another key rule in their belief that I agree with known as The Rede: if it harms no one, then do what ye’ will.”

Isaac thought about this rule carefully. What exactly did it limit, and what would be considered “harming”?

“While a lot of nasty witches out there throw this idea to the wind and do whatever they please without abandon, I like to live by those words. That’s why I choose to heal rather than to destroy. It’s been worthwhile thus far. . .considering.” She glanced wistfully at the burns wrapping around her hands. While she did this, Isaac’s mind grasped onto a single word over the others: