The book of forgotten wi.., p.7
The Book of Forgotten Witches, page 7
And yet there are some who do choose to avenge others’ cruelty. But whereas curse-bringers take victims indiscriminately, avengers only turn against those who are hostile to them or to the ones they protect. Then there are others who help anyone who turns to them, as long as they do not exploit their kindness. One such example is Louhi, the witch of the frozen North. And there are many more, as we shall discover in the next chapter.
Louhi
TYPE witch
AREA Finland, Karelia
POWERS giving birth to miraculous and horrible creatures, healing, creating powerful spells, affecting celestial bodies
TALE Louhi is fed up with being seen as a sidekick in someone else’s story. It’s always about heroic Väinemöinen or valiant Ilmarinen. And Louhi is presented as the horrible, evil one. She hasn’t been treated well. Didn’t one of her daughters die because of Ilmarinen? Didn’t he kidnap the other one and turn her into a seagull just because she resisted being forced into marriage? It is Louhi who saves Väinemöinen’s life when he is wounded and dejected on his little boat and cannot get home without Louhi’s sleigh. And he calls himself a shaman! All she wants in return is the sampo, the mysterious device that brings wealth and good fortune. But eventually Ilmarinen and Väinemöinen resent her having it and enviously steal it back … and she loses everything. But she will not put up with this. She will fight, even if that makes the whole world sink into the sea!
Mélusine
TYPE freshwater spirit
AREA Western Europe
POWERS turning into a dragon, building castles
TALE Can we ever overcome our parents’ legacy? Or are we all destined to endlessly repeat the fate passed on to us by our ancestors in cycles of tragedy?
Take Pressyne, the fay or faerie, who marries a human. Her free-floating hair is covered with a veil, her proud neck hidden under a silk wimple. She only makes one condition to her husband – that he is not allowed to see her giving birth to or bathing her children. He agrees but breaks the promise, so Pressyne leaves him forever, taking with her their triplets: Mélusine, Palatyne and Melior.
When Mélusine is 15 years old, she and her sisters find out about their father’s betrayal, so they kidnap him and imprison him deep inside a mountain, along with his treasures. Pressyne punishes her daughter by making her turn into a serpent from the waist down every Saturday. Eventually, Mélusine finds love with a human called Raymondin. Just like her mother, she sets a condition: she wants one day of solitude a week. In return she gives her husband ten children and marvellous castles to live in. But Raymondin cannot resist temptation – he spies on his wife and eventually reveals her secret in front of the whole court. The faerie then turns into a dragon and flies away.
Later, Mélusine is worshipped as the spirit of fresh water. Yet I wonder if she has ever realized when looking at her reflection in the well that despite all her rebelliousness, she is repeating her mother’s life.
Aicha Kandicha
TYPE jinn
AREA Morocco
POWERS many supernatural skills
TALE Some say Aicha Kandicha, whose family and husband are killed by the Portuguese invaders, used to be a beautiful woman. But instead of fleeing, Aicha waits until nightfall to avenge the death of her loved ones. She kills many soldiers, so the survivors are convinced that they have been decimated by a supernatural being, a jinn.
Other people think she is connected with the rivers and water springs, which is why one should never pour hot water down the sink unless one wants to upset the jinn. If someone accidentally conjures her, Aicha will seduce him easily. Only later does she reveal her true, horrid face and hooved camel’s feet. Whatever the truth is, I would not want to get in Aicha Kandicha’s way.
Kurdaitcha
TYPE avenger
AREA Central Australia (Arrernte people)
POWERS noiseless steps, “the spear of thought”
TALE Whoever commits murder and tries to escape the verdict seals their fate. The elders will send two or three Kurdaitcha after them, because they can creep up on the condemned noiselessly in their shoes woven of emu feathers, without even leaving footprints. Once they have found the culprit, one of them goes down on one knee and points a magic object made of animal or human bone at them. This kundela or “killing-bone” is used as a “spear of thought” during ritual execution to inflict a lethal wound. Then, the Kurdaitcha delivers the guilty verdict in a short chant and the culprit usually dies within a few days.
Jakotsu Baba
TYPE yokai or supernatural being
AREA Japan
POWERS burning and freezing
TALE Grief that cuts to the bone can change anyone. This might be true in the case of Jakotsu Baba, who transforms into a horrible monster after her husband’s death. There is a blue snake wrapped around her right arm that breathes ice and freezes everything and a red snake on her left arm that breathes fire and turns everything to ashes. So don’t go looking for Jako Emon’s long-lost tombstone that’s marked with a snake. If you get too close, you will face his widow, who has been mourning and keeping vigil there for centuries, protecting her beloved’s grave from intruders.
Garabonciás
TYPE wizard
AREA Hungary
POWERS summoning a dragon, starting a storm
TALE If only we had given him what he wanted! Now it’s too late, dark clouds are gathering around the figure riding a dragon, and soon he will be sending a hailstorm down on our village that is so ferocious not even our grandmothers have lived through anything like it. Our pantry is full of curdled milk and he only asked for a little – why did we say we had none? But who would have suspected that this ragged, devilishfaced student was a garabonciás. He knew immediately that we were lying. He summoned a dragon from his magic book and jumped on its back. Now the creature is already tearing the roofs off the houses with its tail. Quick, to the church! Ringing the bell might be the only way to chase him away – though we might already be too late and there may be nothing that can stop this storm anymore.
Deer Woman
TYPE deer spirit
AREA North America
POWERS revenge on predatory men
TALE The Deer Woman or Deer Lady is a supernatural being in many North American folktales, including the legends of the Potawatomi, Creek, Omaha and Ponca peoples. She is usually regarded as a benign spirit who is fond of dancing, but it would be a mistake to underestimate her powers. The tales about her teach men and women how to choose a partner and emphasize the dangers of impetuous passion over respectful courtship.
Some say she was once a real woman who turned into a deer to escape a predatory man. She has been luring such men into the woods ever since to bewitch them and make sure they never have the chance to harass women again. The only way to survive such an encounter is to recognize that she has hooves instead of feet – symbolizing the power of women. If a man ignores this power, his dance with the Deer Woman will be the last thing he does on this earth.
I HOPE YOU WILL NEVER have to face an avenger, but if you do, try to understand why they are so hostile before you engage them. In the previous step of our alchemical journey, we’ve tried to get rid of our negative traits. These traits have been part of us for so long that if we have been successful, then we must feel quite fragmented and empty. The next step is called conjunction or reunification. Its purpose is to reintroduce these negative traits as positive qualities – for example, greed as generosity, prejudice and envy as renewed interest in others, lust for power as empowering our partners to achieve what none of us could have done alone. This exercise will make us whole again, but like all steps in alchemy, it has its pitfalls.
The Emperor in the tarot integrates his negative qualities with ease, and this enables him to govern his country with a firm hand and achieve any goal he sets for himself. However, he concentrates only on earthly things and he doesn’t realize he isn’t making any real progress. To continue our spiritual path, we first need to recognize how bogged down we are in the material world. This was the task of Amelia in the next story, who arrived in Wælmoor to examine a case of mass psychosis. But she soon realized that the symptoms people were experiencing in this village hidden in the backwaters were caused by something else entirely …
Where the Moor Reigns
WÆLMOOR WAS SITUATED in the middle of the marsh between the backwaters, about an hour’s walk away. But in this weather, that time would be nearly double. Dr Amelia ban-Cofan could hardly see anything through the rain.
“Wraith sightings. Mass psychosis. Please help!” the telegram her professor received had said. He had dismissed it immediately as a joke. But the unforgettable words of Amelia’s first university tutor, the one who inspired her to become a psychologist, had sprung straight to her mind: “You shall be healers of the psyche.” Amelia had felt a compelling urge to put all her training to the test, so she had followed the courier, found out who sent the message, and was now leaving the city behind and heading out along the muddy dirt road to investigate. Even though Amelia had just been awarded her doctorate in psychology – the first woman at the university to receive the title – she wondered if she was doing the right thing …
She was at the edge of the moor when she saw a horse-drawn cart stuck in the mud. An old farmer was raising his whip to hit the horse, which was clearly too exhausted to go on. When the horse neighed weakly, Amelia almost felt the pain of the whip lashing her own skin.
“Enough!” she shouted, and leapt over to the farmer before snatching the whip from his hand.
“Hey!” he protested.
“What are you doing?” asked Amelia. “Can’t you see this poor animal will never pull the cart out if you hit him?”
The old man opened his mouth to tell her to mind her own business when he stopped himself, his anger replaced with curiosity. “Who are you?”
“Amelia ban-Cofan. I can help get your cart out of the mud.”
“How can you do that? Trust me, another whack and Chestnut will come to his senses!”
Instead of answering, Amelia tucked the whip under her coat and stepped closer to the trembling horse. She stroked the animal’s neck. Chestnut bent his head toward her and gently blew into Amelia’s hair. The old man stared at her in bewilderment.
“Get out, and when I tell you, push the cart as hard as you can,” shouted Amelia.
The old man climbed off the cart and, upon Amelia’s instruction, gave the cart a push. To his obvious astonishment, it rolled out of the mud with such force that he almost fell over. He cursed and climbed back up. By the time he sat down he was smiling gratefully at Amelia.
“See?” she said and stroked Chestnut’s nose.
“Where are you going, miss?”
“To Wælmoor.”
“Hop on then and I’ll give you a ride.”
Amelia climbed up onto the cart and they set off. Chestnut pulled the cart through the misty rain with renewed vigour. Amelia could see nothing except the endless spears of reeds on the side of the road.
Time passed, then gradually dim spots of light penetrated the veil of fog. The cart ran onto cobblestones and they found themselves among the houses of Wælmoor.
Wraith sightings. Mass psychosis. Please help! Amelia mulled over the message that had come from a Mr Bheidh, the village pharmacist, and wondered where to start.
The farmer stopped the cart and nodded to Amelia, who jumped down onto the wide road.
“Thanks for the ride!” she said, but the old man pointed at the whip under her coat. Amelia smiled and spread her arms.
“You don’t need it anymore, sir. And, as you see, neither does Chestnut!”
The old man shook his head, flicked the reins and in a few moments disappeared into the fog.
The wide street might have been a square, but it was impossible to tell. Amelia looked around but couldn’t see anybody to ask about the pharmacist’s whereabouts. She started toward the first signboard she could make out: The Rusty Reedmace. A tavern!
The door creaked open when she entered, and she was hit by the smell of hops and tobacco, intermingled with music. She went down the stairs and saw a crowd of people dancing. The men wore black waistcoats, the women green, blue and pink gowns. Rather strange behaviour for this time of day, she thought as she passed the gramophone and approached the barman.
“Good afternoon! I’m looking for Timothy Bheidh, the pharmacist?”
“Timothy? Of course, love! But why are you in such a hurry? Let me get you a drink.”
“Thank you but I am on urgent business.”
“Okay, okay!” he replied, leaning closer to her and pointing toward the back of the room. “You see that guy with glasses in the corner? He’s the one you’re looking for. But if you want better company, come back and I’ll let you taste my best whisky!”
Amelia nodded her thanks and started toward the pharmacist. At the table furthest away from the dance party, a thin, hunched man hardly older than herself was crouching over an untouched pint of beer.
“Mr Bheidh? Excuse me, I think it’s you I’m looking for.”
The man’s round glasses reflected the hop-coloured lights of the tavern. He looked embarrassed and pulled himself together at the sight of the young woman.
“Really? Oh yes! Have you been sent from the university? Please, take a seat! Excuse me!” He jumped up to pull another chair to the table.
“Thank you. Amelia ban-Cofan,” she said, as she stretched out her hand.
“Timothy Bheidh.” The pharmacist shook her hand. “Tell me, when can we expect the doctor?”
“I am the doctor.”
“You? Sorry, I thought …”
“It doesn’t matter what you thought,” Amelia interrupted him. “Please tell me, what exactly is going on. Is the situation serious?” She looked toward the dancers.
“It is indeed. But these people – they have no symptoms yet. We are the last ones in Wælmoor who have not seen the wraiths. Every time another person shows signs of this madness, we let them go home so that we may stay sane.”
“You let them go home? Who’s treating them?”
“Treating, Dr ban-Cofan?” The man adjusted the glasses on his nose. “In my message to the university I indicated that in my opinion, what we’re seeing here is mass psychosis. I was hoping they would send a psychologist to confirm this.”
“I am the psychologist,” Amelia answered impatiently. “Tell me in detail what the symptoms are and where I can find the patients.”
The man lit a cigarette. “The first person who was afflicted arrived two days ago. He stormed into the pharmacy and started searching among the vials, but before I could ask any questions, he screamed and ran out. We have had 28 cases since. Slowly we worked out from their rantings that they all believed they had seen a wraith, as if in a nightmare. Except that they saw it when they were awake. Indeed, one of the symptoms we are certain of is that the patients are no longer able to fall asleep once they’ve seen it.”
“What makes you think that?”
“They are too afraid, miss. Quite simply too afraid. And they just blabber incomprehensibly about what they have seen. They all described the same thing. It has to be mass psychosis.”
“I understand. You did the right thing, contacting the university,” Amelia said, watching the dancers with concern.
She suspected this was not a case of mass psychosis at all, as that would not affect people individually and at different times. She was curious about what could have caused the symptoms but equally worried she might not be able to help them. Maybe I should have convinced the professor to accompany me, she pondered, but then dismissed the thought. He would never have come.
“So, everyone who has not yet experienced the symptoms is here, in this tavern?” she asked.
“Yes, Dr ban-Cofan.”
“And why do you send away anyone who has seen the wraiths?”
“We don’t. They leave of their own will. At first we wanted to stop them but Otis suggested letting them go, as there was nothing we could do for them. The old fool! He says he has been through all this before and we are cursed.”
“Otis?”
“Otis Barron, the Mayor of Wælmoor. But take no notice of him, he is over 70. He doesn’t need any psychosis to invent his far-fetched stories.”
“Still, I would like to speak to him. But first, please take me to someone who has seen the wraiths, so that I can assess what we are dealing with.”
Before the pharmacist could find a reason to refuse, a bloodcurdling scream interrupted the music and the dancers stopped in their tracks. A woman dressed in green stared at the people around her as if expecting them to attack and backed away in panic toward the stairs. Then she screamed again, ran up the stairs and out of the tavern, slamming the door behind her. The others, as if used to what had just happened, resumed their dancing. Amelia was shocked and about to go after the woman, but the pharmacist caught her arm.
“Please, there is no use. Trust me, I have seen what is coming almost 30 times now. You can’t do anything for her. Lily will run home and close the doors and windows. All we can do is hope that her hallucinations become milder with time.”
“There must be something we can do! Have you tried giving them any medicine?”
“I have tried everything. Opium, morphine, nothing works. The first patient has not slept a wink for almost two days now. I check on them every few hours and several of them are showing symptoms of severe insomnia. In my opinion the biggest danger for these people is lack of sleep.”
“I agree. We must find the root cause so that we can treat the patients properly. But first, we need to understand exactly what we are facing. Mass psychosis does not attack people one by one – so that’s not what is happening here. Mr Bheidh, do you have any explanation for why you and the others are not hallucinating?”
