The Witch of Northester

Rising Up

Kelan didn't open up to me much more on the way back. He seemed reluctant to even allow me to climb into the same carriage, remaining in stiff silence through half of the journey. Desperate for something to talk about, I tried, "Meredith said she's set everything up at the house...for everyone to give their final goodbyes."

"It should be good for them, now that she's gone to enter that house."

Were my suspicions correct? "What do you mean?"

"Mother wasn't a recluse, like you might assume given the placement of her bedroom and the lack of faces surrounding it near the end." Kelan snorted, glaring out the window at the line of carriages following us back. "She had a large family, as you can see."

I frowned. "I...did find that a bit surprising that...they're all here NOW."

"Exactly."

"Was it because of your mother's place in the sisterhood?"

Kelan pointed a dumb look to me. "You tell me. Was your mother the socialite of Northester?"

No. As a matter of fact, anyone in the sisterhood wasn't just considered an outcast, but a threat. "Not exactly."

"Nobody even knew about it until she returned home. Some of her friends let it spill after she trusted them with the truth of where she'd been. She...was really upset about your mother's death." His voice softened. "She needed some reassurances, but didn't get any save the same one-minded condemnations from the churches in Northester. That she need to repent if she wants to be accepted."

I fidgeted. "If...communities want to stick together...they kind of need to think alike."

"In ignorance."

Despite the stiff lilt of the conversation, I let out a short laugh. I stopped, believing it inappropriate, until I saw his own lips tremble. Soon, we were both laughing.

He sucked in a breath at the end of it. "I thought you might understand, you see. I could tell from the first day I met you...you're not a witch."

I smirked. "What gave it away?"

"Your innocence. Your purity." He smiled. "You just want to help people."

"I'm not...SO innocent as you think."

"No?"

I winced, but smiled while I admitted, "You weren't...TECHNICALLY the first man I had spent relations with."

His expression softened, as did his voice. "The boy back there? In Northester?"

I nodded. "Bren."

"No wonder he attacked me," Kelan threw another half smile before sobering. "Did you love him?"

"I did. And I believe he loved me but...if we wanted to be anything, he made it clear we couldn't be outcasts about it. His father is adamant about my rejoining the church, selling mom's shop. Leaving the past in the past."

"Why did you ever leave?" He sounded sarcastic, but I took it as a genuine inquiry.

"The church would rather let people suffer or die than use any herbal remedies or...'potions'," I mocked. "And for a while there, after seeing what my mother did...I was with them. Until they started condemning people for their sufferings. Saying that God inflicted upon them as punishment for past deeds or even relative deeds that they had nothing to do with. Some by mere association from said outcasts."

"That's awful!"

"I don't disbelieve in God...but if he really did leave the earth to us...who's to say He didn't leave us these herbs, these plants...to help? If we can't afford modern medicine and the closest immediate physician is over 50 miles away...why couldn't we do what we can with what little we have?"

He nodded, adding quietly, "Ignorance."

"That's when I left. WHY I left." I shook my head, swallowing to think of poor Mrs. Potts, Fresca's mom, and several others that had come to me, suffering in the wake of day all so they could visit me in the dead of night for help. "There are a lot of people who believe in what I do. They're just quiet about it."

Kelan nodded, slowly. "I loved my mother. What I said back there...I didn't mean it how it sounded. I'm glad she's not suffering."

I nodded, understanding. "You think I was relieved after my mother's death?"

"Well...let's face it. The sisterhood was not without consequence, and those who had taken part of it had certainly been...marked." He blinked. "And they continue to leave their mark on their offspring."

I knew what he meant. Bowing my head, I tried not to think about it. "Do you know the story of the Pheonix?"

He shook his head. "What is that?"

"It's a bird that the ancient Greeks believed were born from the ashes of their predecessors. They're the offspring that rise faster, and fly higher and grow stronger than the one before. A cyclic generation meant as a symbol of hope, usually associated with the sun and fire to reborn again."

He nodded. "You think that's what's going to happen to us?"

"I believe that...what we've experienced before were merely the fires that burned those before us, but it's up to us to rise from the ashes and be better than before." I shrugged. "And then I hope the ones that come after can be stronger than us. It's a symbol of hope. It helps us feel that the trials we endure in life aren't for nothing. There's always a reason, even if we can't see it. And if we only embrace the change...we will recognize our own potential long before it's come to fruition. Our stories have been burned into us from birth. Only a few are brave enough to find them."

"That sounds...very poetic." He looked at me with admiration in his eyes. "I hope you're right."

Pointing to him, I grinned, "See? Hope already exists."