Wild Horses

This is the story of how two children’s lives are changed one night as they become entangled in a web of witch-hunts and paganisam.

Moonlight drifted lazily though the clouds, lighting the mountains green beneath its gaze in patches of silver and night. A cool breeze grazed over the meadow, its sweet aroma stirring the countless purple thistles common to the Highlands. Hurried feet disturbed the sleeping grass.

            Throwing a concerned look at her little brother, Catriona pulled harder on his small arm, urging him to hasten with a tightening grip on his breakable fingers. His soft panting became laboured quickly casting white vapours into the darkness. But still he did not complain.

            “Com’on Tomás!” Cried Catriona, tears prickling her eyes, freezing before they could fall. “We hav’ to get to the village! Mama’s having the bairn. We mus’ get the midwife.”

            They reached the woodlands, where a ragged lane would be their path though the trees, a short way to the other side lay the village they sort, a fluttering lantern their only light in the columned gloom. Hesitating but a moment on the border, the children caught their breath in the freezing night as the first snowflake fell. Plunging themselves into the darkness they were off once more, their progression now slowed due to the many huge pines that barricaded their way, their roots a hazard in this obscurity.

            Tomás clung solidly to his sister as they moved blindly though the forest, the chilled winds playing havoc with their only candle; the sounds of the lumber creaking in the airstreams harmonized that of the Pipers. Beautiful yet mysterious. The scavenging of the forest crept about them, unnerving to a child’s ears, the drumming of their hearts never muted as they wondered afraid. 

            The wind howled as the flame died.

            “I can’t see Catriona!” Moaned Tomás, tugging his sisters sleeve. “I can’t see.”

            Catriona patted the back of his neck, his exposed skin like ice. “Hush now Tam. It’ll be alrigh’, I knows where we’re going. It’ll be alright.”

            They walked onwards, each step uneasy on the bitter earth as they felt their way, terrified. For five minutes they wondered thus, arms outstretched, their eyes never growing used to the inkiness that surrounded them.

            “Owww.” Yelped Tomás as he walked into the back of his sister’s legs. “That hurt Catriona! Why’d ye stop for? Couldn’t ya…”

            But Tomás didn’t finish nor was his question answered as long fingers suddenly wrapped themselves over his mouth, something pulling him to the ice-covered soil. Screaming muted; Tomás struggled wide-eyes against his captor, only to be silenced as he sister whispered in his ear:

            “Hush. Someone’s coming.” 

            Together they looked forwards from their hiding place and watched with amazement as a blue light emerged in the trees. A single flame flitting about, the movement of it mesmerising. And then it stopped, just a few feet ahead, its dim light piercing the shadows just enough for Catriona to see the silhouette of a figure holding it and the bare surrounds of a clearing in the trees. 

            The figure walked into the dell, its small light not evening struggling in the wind and knelt at the centre of the circle of trees. Gathering small twigs and bits of foliage the figure made a small mound of kindling in which it buried the candle. Standing it turned again and vanished once more into the crop of trees.

            The children waited a moment, Tomás clinging close to his sister quaking form. But it was not from cold that Catriona was shivering.

            “Do ye think they’ve gone?” Tomás questioned, his small voice apprehensive.

            “I don’t know.” She whispered back. “Come on, we hav’ to get out of here.”

            Quickly they started walking, backs crouched, arms tightly bound to each other, towards the glade, their only option to get the village. But as they neared the darkness ignited.

            What had been a small pile of sodden vegetation was now a roaring bonfire, it’s flames licking the canopy above. Candlelight flared atop twelve small boulders that encircled the fire some five feet away. Together flame and fire expelled a glorious string of grey smoke that seemed to swirl up towards the heavens. Ribbons and garlands appeared bound to the trees surrounding the dell, each festoon an array of bright holy, rowan and dogwood, lavender, thistle, pinecone and juniper and hawks tail feathers, all entwined with lemon grass and miniature hoary bells.

            Pushing Tomás into a nearby bush, Catriona only just had time to join her little brother amongst the leaves as the figure came back.

            Se�™nag surfaced from the darkness once more, an image of ravishing nature or so she hoped, as she moved one padded foot, then another. She was well aware of the children that cowered in the undergrowth near her yet made no move to acknowledge them as she past. The ceremony could not wait and time was fast fleeting.

            Lifting her right arm uncomfortably she flexed the scared muscles around her wrist, delighting in the feel of the soft bearskin on her flesh. Se�™nag smiled despite herself. No matter what the reasons for her attire she was charmed by the fleece she wore, the heavy skin trailing on the floor behind her, it’s warm folds just covering her naked breast, snug about the shoulder as it flowed down her long arms in a diamond cut sleeve, the front claws of the creature resting atop her pale hands. Her thin legs skirted with every step the long stretch of her she-wolf kilt, the beautiful pelt iron grey against the brown hide of the bear, it’s wiry tail stitched in place to form a sash just above her navel, where a round wooden talisman proved her mantle. Upon its planed surface an engraving of a running hoarse painted crimson, its racing form blazing from the dark rosewood. At rest on her collarbone a thick chain of wooded toggles and holed stones, each baring the mark of some symbol or another. Se�™nag’s jet hair was loose down her back, a virginal mark. Amongst its soft strand were threaded bluebells and gillyflower, crowned with a band of fawn fur, it’s glorious red coat flaked with white.

            Walking straight-backed to the fire, Se�™nag knelt before the blazing beacon, and shed her much cared for fleece. Raising her naked arms to the heavens, she titled back her head and sat a moment in prayer, her eyes closed to the darkness. Taking deep breaths of the frozen air and wood smoke Se�™nag let the warmth of the fire warm her body, its restful caress playing with her senses almost to the point of sending her to a premature slumber. When she was calm, the women opened her eyes again and feasted on the magnificent above her.

            The trees peaked into the black skies above, their emerald outstretch creating the perfect frame for the most spectacular of spectacles. Small whips of white cloud littler the sky, causing dusty flakes of snow to descend yet where the cloud was not the blackness beheld thousands of tiny jewels, each one more beautiful than the last. As she watched, so truly captivated the clouds began to shift, taking different forms, forms Se�™nag knew, ones she understood, their ashen haze revealing a bright full Blue Moon. As its mighty light shown down into the clearing Se�™nag could not help but let her voice ring out in gratitude, her high voice melting into the wind as she sung the Gaelic words.

            Bowing once more before the flames, Se�™nag reached to her side where she had left a small white basin patterned with the lunar phases in red paint, a tribute to the Maiden, the Mother and the Crone. Lifting the bowl to her lips she drained the silky liquid within, it’s cool texture running down her throat comfortingly as she exulted in the water. Then replacing the bowl she lifted from the earth at her other side a small package wrapped in the finest white linen. Unfolding the thing as though it beheld grate treasure Se�™nag carefully reviled a display of golden leaves and blue berries. Settling these things in her lap, Se�™nag lifted then one by one and gently threw them into the blaze. Bowing once more the women muttered her thanks to the Mother Earth and prayed for a fertile year.

            Rising to her feet Se�™nag pulled her robe back over her shoulders and took up a flagon of icy water to dampen the flames.

            The esbat was complete.

             Carfully picking up her few things Se�™nag went about extinguishing the twelve black candles that still burned upon the stone circle. When she reached the last one, she paused and looked over to where the children sat watching.

            “Should you light this last candle Tomás McFadden or am I incorrect in thinking that you are afraid of the dark?”

            Tomás felt Catriona go still beside him. Gently he pattered her arm and nodded towards the women, but his sister made no response, which he took as the go ahead.

            Pulling free from the flora, Tomás took a few small steps towards the candlelight, his face set in stone, an expression of pure terror all to readable on his angelic young face.

            “Do not be afraid young Tomás.”  Se�™nag smiled at the boy, all to conscious to his fear. “I’ll not harm you or yours. But I should like to give you this candle to light your way.”

            Without hesitation the young boys hands reached out to take the candle from the women, but before he could touch its black surface his sister was beside him.

            “Don’t touch it Tam!” She cried, swatting the thing away, knocking it from Se�™nag hands causing inky wax to spill on her own. The candle hit the floor and went out. Catriona cried in pain and alarm as the hot substance burned the flesh of her left hand and wrist. Fearfully she took a step away, pulling Tomás by the collar to join her.

            Easily Se�™nag retrieved the candle from the foliage and as she did so the candle came back to life, brightening the darkness with its heated colour. Gasping out loud Catriona pushed Tomás behind her, shielding.

            “Ye stay away from us!” Screamed Catriona.

            Moving backwards Catriona looked about them hurriedly searching the darkness from an escape.

            “What’s the matter…Catriona?” Asked Tomás, his little voice breaking into small almost inaudible gasps. But Catriona could not speak to answer him, her eyes were surly focused on the danger before them.

            “Yes, Tomás, what is the matter indeed?” Smiled Se�™nag with kind eyes as she bent down to be closer to the boy’s height. “I think she must be very frightened for she has gone so pale. What say yo…”

            “Don’t spe’k to him, Witch!” Shrieked the young girl, her grip so tight on her brothers arm that he was tugging against her in a fight to break free from the pain. “ I see what ye are. You’ll not put a spell of us!”

            Se�™nag straightened and put one hand on her hip, still holding the candle before her.

            “And why pray tell would I wish to do that?” She queried. “Granted of course if I had such talent.”

            “What do ya mean?” The words came in a fierce whisper, a clear show of protection and utter terror.

            Se�™nag laughed, a sound so light it could have rivalled the soft melody of her garlands bells in the breeze.

            “I am no witch child.”

            “Do not lie!” She yelled back at the women. “You are a witch and frightened tha’ I might know the truth and that the laird will hang ye for it!”

            “Be carefull who you call witch, Catriona.” Warned the women as she shook her head sadly. “For one day you might be called witch yourself.”

            Se�™nag gave the child a moment so that the information could settle, feeling sorry for her misguided upbringing. Too many of my sisters have fallen thus, Se�™nag reflected, we pagan few tormented with the threat of witchcraft for our worship.

            “I am not a witch.” The women repeated. “That I can assure you.” 

            Catriona stopped backing away, dumbfounded but never the less she hugged her sibling all the more closely to herself.

            “Not a witch?” She asked puzzled. “Then what was a’ this if not magic?” She said with a wave of her hand towards the dell.

            The women smiled shyly and pulled her furs tightly around her, covering her still exposed breasts. Then with a dry, dreamy chuckle she answered.

            “I was looking for horses.”

            “Horses? Out here? Why?”

            Se�™nag’s eyes danced as she recalled the shapes in the clouds. “I love horses. They are so free! I like to watch them dancing in the sky. The Mother sends them when she is done honour you see.”

            Though Catriona did not see she nodded despite herself, suddenly realising that if she agreed with what the witch said they might yet be able to leave.

            As though sensing Catriona line of thought Se�™nag broke off what she was saying and observed, “But you must be gone from here. Your mother is nearing her time. Here take this candle and be away.”

            This time Catriona held out her hand for the light, her eyes passing over the pink crescent moon shaped burn on her hand and the light shone boldly.

            “Thank you.”

            Se�™nag nodded. “Your very welcome young McFadden. Now go. And give my blessing to your new sister.”

            “How do you…?”

            Se�™nag shook her head placing a single finger to her lips.

            “Not now, you have a job to do.” She whispered. Then in a louder voice, “You will see your sister safely to the village now will you not Master Tomás?” To which the boy nodded his head reverently.

             

A little while later and the Reverend Burns was woken to a hammering on his door. Watery eyed as he opened it he observed a queer scene before him. Two small seemingly freighted children stood at his door, shivering in the think falling snow, while the Laird, his wife and son and a few of the male villager towered behind them with a flurry of lit torches, their faces the shadows of concern, hatred and alarm.

            “Here now, what’s going on?” He questioned, as the Laird roughly shoved the girl though the Reverend’s door and himself stepped though. “Laird what business is this?”

            “Tell him quick girl.” The Lairds voice boomed.

            Cowering beneath his mighty shadow the girl looked up at the kindly faced vicar, her eyes streaming with tears.

            “Me mam’s haven’ the bairn...” She shrieked as the Laird grabbed her by the shoulder and gave her a good hard shake.

            “Not that! ‘Bout what held ye up lass.”

            The girl gulped as the vicar raised an eyebrow, clearly impatient and most certainly annoyed at the late intrusion.

            “There was a wom’n...in the forest sir, dressed like an animal. She was singing to the moon sir.”

            Reverend Burns looked at the Laird, his eyes carrying the gravity of his fright.

            “So Satan’s W***e walks among us.”

 

Tomás raced though the undergrowth. His small legs darting over the frozen landscape on which he stumbled often. Hurriedly he went wishing to beat the midwifes cart back to the McFadden cottage beyond the forest and meadow. He had to get back to tell his parents what was happening. The Laird had taken Catriona with him and the village men on the hunt for the Cunning Women. They had let Tomás go, so that he could be there when his Mama gave birth, but the girl they still needed.

            Stumbling again as he reached the clearing Tomás fell forward onto the empty ground and looked about him to see if the women was still there.

            Se�™nag watched the small lad as he pulled himself from the ground, his worried face as he shoot a look the way he had came at the approaching sounds of men and dogs. Se�™nag stepped out from behind the tree in which she had sheltered.

            “Best you hid yourself my dear. We need you safe now. You’ll make a difference someday.”

            And with her words the calls of the hunters grew louder, and just as Tomás dived under the hedgerow for the second time that night they appeared.

            Blazing fire erupted into the clearing, the hammering of a hundred footfalls sounding out the execution drums as the crowd moved on Se�™nag. She curtsied to her guests.

            “Good evening gentlemen.” Se�™nag called in a sweet yet clear voice, folding her arms before her, casting her eyes downwards unable to look at them with the pity she felt, nor able to let them see the worry within her.

            “Se�™nag McNeil, ye are under suspicion!” Accused the Laird in his thunderous tone, pointing a muscular arm at her.

            “Suspicion Laird?” Se�™nag questioned with a small crocked smile playing on her lips. “Of what might I ask?” 

            It was the Reverend Burns whose answered as he came forward with a large silver cross, pulling the young McFadden girl along by her upper arm, her silent cries as painful for Se�™nag as if they where her own. The women shared a sorrowful look with the girl.

            “Witchcraft!” Hissed the clergyman. “You cannot deny it!” He accused pushing forward with the crucifix as his insulting gaze travelled over her naked chest. “S**t of Beelzebub!”

            The Laird took a step closer. “Do you deny it Se�™nag?”

            “Nay Laird, I do not deny that there is a reason for you to be here, just what you believe that reason to be. For you see I am no witch.”

            The Lairds cruel laughter echoed off the trees.

            “Then if ye not a witch Se�™nag then what do ya claim we should be here for?”

            “For the salvation of your souls.”

            The Laird and others laughed outlandishly.

            “Are you not a practiser of pagan rituals?” Demanded Burns.

            “If you see it as such, then aye I suppose I am, for want of a better description. And do not think that I do not know the law...”

            The McFadden children never heard what Se�™nag would have said next as the men as one roared their fury, taking torch and fist to the women, ripping from her thin body her prize furs, not caring if they scratched her, they ripped those shinning black locks from her head, sharing what would not come with knives until all that way left was a bloodied scalp. Throwing a rope over her neck they pulled tight, twelve men picking up her body as she fell to the ground putting up no resistance as they carried her to the nearest pine and flung the rope over a branch. Pulling sharply they raised the poor wench from the ground until she was dangling like a petrified puppet.

            “Se�™nag you are found guilty of witchcraft and heresy and therefore must be condemned to death.”

            And so both the Reverend and the Laird took up torches and held them to the accused’s skin. Se�™nag  flinched at the heat but remained silent, unable to give them the satisfaction. Burning and blistering. Eyes fluttering against the intensity of it, as her skin peeled roar, running red her inner juices bubbles against the flames, cremating her. Scolding. 

            “Whit’s fur ye’ll no go by ye!” Se�™nag screamed as more people lent their torches to her crisping skin. The hunger for her death rallied in their cries, “Burn her! Burn the witch!” the bloodlust of men a mutiny on compassion. And all because of a faith not their own...

 

Tomás ducked under the last tree, its low hanging branches like a cage willing to entrap him in this nightmares scene forever. At that moment the boy knew not what pain was, nor hope, honour or defeat. All Tomás McFadden knew was that he wanted mercy.

            Sliding over the snow covered meadow, the boy reached the cottage where he lived, beating the door until his father came. McFadden looked down at his son and seeing the terror in his eyes pulled him instantly into his arms.

            “Where’s ye sister son?” McFadden asked. “Where is Catriona?”

            Tomás sobbed until dawn in his father’s arms, too afraid to speak, too tired to think about all that had happened. Shortly before the first rays of sunlight touched the meadow young Tomás awoke from his misery by the soft sighing of a newly born babe settle in its cot by the fire. Tomás peered over the side, looking down into those closed eyes and the first smile touch him that night.

            “What is it?” He asked curiously.

            “She’s ya sister.” Replied McFadden, growing more uneasy by the minute by his eldest disappearance.

            “Just like the witch said.”

            McFadden turned his son sharply about, grasping him painfully by the arm.

            “What did you say?”

           

Within the village boundaries the men had been at work all night, erecting a stake in the square. Together they gathered branches and straw to place around the execution pole. Just as the sun rose, they brought out their prisoner.

            Catriona was terrified. Unable to walk through the snow for the manacles they had chained to her blistering feet, she was trapped in herself, unmoving, unwilling to be brave. She had seen what they did to the witch. After they has burned her alive they had cut her down, hacked off her pretty head and buried her mutilated blackened body at the crossroads. Her head they retained, place now in a scavengers cage in the woods, to warn all others against the evils of magic.

            Catriona also knew her fate.

            Late into the night the village council had debated, the Laird asking for an exorcism, the good Reverend pleading for the execution. He claimed the only way to save the girls soul was to release her into the grace of God. Unwillingly the council agreed.

The only way to repent such sins as the harbour of a evil soul was a taste of hell fire.

Catriona cast an eye down as her hand, the crescent moon shaped burn shining on her pale skin, remnants of black wax still clinging there. This they said was the mark of a familiar, the witches brand of her next body. It must be destroyed.

The wind crept up Catriona’s dress as they marched her to the gibbet, her lose hair hanging damp down the soft folds of scarlet. Chaining her to the pole  the Reverent now clad in his priestly black robes came forward to sprinkle holy water upon her brow. Taking a step back he raised the first torch.

“Wait!”

Arguments could be heard, a man trying to push his way through the gathering crowd in an attempt to reach the Laird.

“Laird!” Cried McFadden, cradling his new born in one arm, pulling his small boy by the hand. “Tam has explained it all to me. This witch, she foretold to my son that me wife would have a daughter. And it is true.”

He held the bairn up for the laird to see, holding his gaze to the floor as he heard the growing whispers of superstition that grew around him.

“You have done right McFadden.” Said the Laird, nodding to the Reverend Burns to collect the child from her father. “Now home with ye, your wife needs ya the most now.”

McFadden nodded, then looked sadly up at his eldest’s entrapment.

“Why...”

The laird whispered briefly in McFadden’s ear, explaining. Nodding once more McFadden turned a half circle and walked away, grief plain on his face.

“Com’on Tomás!”

Reluctantly the lad followed.

Careful not to touch the infants skin with his own, the Reverend unfolded the cloth from around the bairn to expose its head. Then taking a firmer hold of the babes legs he spoke to the crowd.

“In the name of Christ I vanish all evil!”

And with his declaration he swung the infant by the legs downwards onto the cobbles with all his might, snapping the things head wide from its body, killing it in an instant.

Catriona screamed, thrashing against her bonds as she beheld the murder of her little sister. Wild with rage the tears streamed from her eyes like the blood now pouring from her heart.

Panting heavily the Reverend now reclaimed his burning torch from a fellow villager and placed it to the kindling. His soft words of peace never reaching Catriona’s ears.

As the smoke began to rise, Catriona’s energy failing with the growing heat, she had no choice but to fall back against the stake. Struggling for breath and feeling faint she cast an eye to the heavens about to receive her.

What she saw took her last breath.

For there in that mighty blue, amongst the pastures of pure white clouds was a magnificent drawn horse. Tossing its main in play it stood on its hide legs majestically, all the while seeming to watch Catriona as she beheld it. And as she watched it return to all fours she witnessed another come to join it. This one smaller, a foul, galloping into the scene it found it’s friend and together they charged though the sky.

Wild and free.

Author's Note

I enjoyed creating this piece, as it was interesting to explore the true natures of the witch hunts, the fear of the community at that time and also to look at the possibilities of what was often seen as witch craft being nothing more than a different faith, a disfiguration of the skin or even a women who would happily speak her mind. I have taken certain creative liberties in this narrative, not so much in the brutality of the piece, as peoples fear can drive them to such extreme measures and the exestuations you read here are relatively accurate, based on recorded cases. But the pagan ritual described. This is very much a mixture of imagination and many nature worshipping cultures. Its essence, the worship of Mother Earth and the elements is relevant to all pagan cults, however the festive of the moon, the giving of fruit and Se�™nag costume are created on or taken from different covens and time frames. You hear mentioned in her thoughts her sisters, pagans will sometimes belong to groups but can also worship alone as in this story. The name Se�™nag is one I picked because it is the Scottish Gaelic translation of the name Joan and as some of you may known Joan of Arc was burned as a witch in France after hearing the voice of God. Witch Hunts lasted for many centuries though out Europe, claiming the lives of many thousands of innocent women, usually of poor birth or elderly. If you are interested about the witch hunts or paganism you can read more about it of Wikipedia or alternatively go to your library and ask for a copy of the Witches Hammer, a guide for local magistrates though out the world on identifying and punishing of witches.

Reviews

[Gandré]

I have read this piece.. and thought you did a wonderful job, your characters were clear and you used a poetic language which lets space to form my own associations. I also think, you were perceptive about the body language of your characters. All these factors which would complicate your work you untangled the voices in nice literary passages, so I was able to learn about the characters’ personality. this was surprising and the imaginative devices worked fine, I liked this once again. You are developing to a great writer, my dear. I hope all is fine and thank you for reading/reviewing my poem. You were missed. L.

[James Watts]

“Com’on Tomás!” Cried Catriona, tears prickling her eyes, freezing before they could fall.( “C'mon, Thomás!” Cried Catriona, tears prickling her eyes, freezing before they could fall. Anytime a character addresses another use a comma)

“We hav’ to get to the village! Mama’s having the bairn. We mus’ get the midwife.” (just go ahead and spell out have. Will sound the same either way)

“I don’t know.” She whispered back. “Come on, we hav’ to get out of here.”(This falls under the he/she said category so you would use a comma between know and the quotations)

Above were just examples of what I noticed, and was mainly just dialogue structure. This a very well written piece and the flow and imagery were excellent. The characters well fleshed and I enjoyed the read.